Chapter 124 124

Chapter 124 124
“I told you once already to go,” I spit. “I’m not the kind of man who repeats himself.”

I say it loudly enough that the bartender looks our way. So do the two girls he’s still flirting with. I realize suddenly that I’m slightly unsteady on my feet. How much have I had to drink? One, two, three, four…

Across from me, the poor man’s June is on the verge of tears. She has the hand that was touching me clamped tightly to her chest as if I burned her, and she’s whimpering like a helpless little lamb.

That one little sound seems to break whatever resemblance I thought she’d had to June.

This woman is nothing like mine.

She may be pretty, but June is beautiful. A dancer who lost her legs, but is no less a dancer for it. I wonder if I’ve ever told her that.

“Yo! That’s no fuckin’ way to treat a lady.”

I turn around to find myself face to face with a burly guy in a cut-off shirt and a dark, unkempt beard that hides most of his face. Prison tattoos ripple over his shoulders.

“I’ll treat you worse if you don’t get out of my way,” I sigh, feeling suddenly woozy and exhausted of all this bullshit. The violence and tedium of my life.

“I don’t think so, buddy. Not ‘til you apologize to the girl.”

I wasn’t really looking for a fight when I walked in here. But now that it’s knocking on my doorstep, I realize it’s just the thing to take the edge off.

My fists are aching for contact.

My soul is crying out for blood.

I answer the wannabe white knight with a sharp jab to the nose. He goes down like a lead weight. I hear the crunch of cartilage and I feel satisfaction race through my body. It ticks all the same boxes as an orgasm.

A chorus of gasps rings through the bar, as if everyone here is taking their last desperate breath before the rest of the oxygen is stolen away. All I see around me are deer in the headlights. Feeble. Useless.

“Okay, man, you’re drunk,” the bartender says, coming around the countertop. “And I don’t need the hassle, alright? Just leave.”

But before I can, the bearded knight lunges up from the floor. He grabs me around the waist and tackles me against the bar. He’s just big enough and I’m just drunk enough that it takes me a minute to get my bearings.

But no more than that.

I grab his jaw and twist until he screams. Something in his neck snaps. Then I ram a knee into his ample gut, smash an elbow into the nose I already broke, and send him right back onto the floor where he belongs. He’s a whimpering, gibbering mess.

I sigh, stand, and straighten the cuffs of my shirt. Then, with a cheeky salute to the bartender who’s standing transfixed a few feet away, I saunter out of the bar.

But I don’t feel any better than I did when I walked in.

43

KOLYA

The drunkenness doubles down when I hit the outside world. Signs shimmer and multiply, lights refract a dozen times over, and the ground heaves like a concrete ocean.

I’ve just turned the corner when I hear the roar of sirens.

Someone must have called the cops on me. Tonight would have turned out a little different if they’d gotten here a few seconds earlier. As it is, they’re going to be sorely disappointed.

I pull out my phone and, after a few drunken misses, hit the first and only number on speed dial.

Milana shows up in what seems like mere minutes. But then again, I’m so fucking out of it that time is mostly just a suggestion.

I slump into the passenger’s seat, but she doesn’t drive off right away like I expect her to. Instead, she just stares at me. I’m coherent enough to see the judgment in her eyes.

I immediately regret calling her. Why hadn’t I called Knox, or Pavel, or fucking anyone else?

Maybe part of me wants her judgment.

“What?” I snap.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Am I?” I ask without concern. “Weird. Didn’t feel anything.” My estimation of the failed white knight rises marginally.

“Kolya.” Milana’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “What the hell are you doing?”

I shrug. “I needed to blow off some steam.”

“Since when do you go to bars to pick fights with strangers?”

I glare right back at her. “I don’t remember asking you for your opinion. I needed a ride. That’s it. Pretend you’re a taxi and take me the fuck home. I’ll tip well if you do it in silence.”

Her jaw tightens as she leans back into her seat. “You have got to get your shit together, Kolya. This is not good.” She says it in the same tone of voice I used to use on Adrian in the early days of his addiction. Once I’ve clocked in on that, it’s hard to unhear it. It’s hard not to despise her for it.

“Who are you to l-lecture me?” I slur.

“I’m your friend,” she says emphatically. “And I’m worried about you, Kolya. This is not like you. Blowing off important business meetings, ignoring your commitments, delegating so much that you’re barely in the loop. Drinking in excess and fighting nobodies. None of this is like you.”

“And you know what’s ‘like me,’ do you?”

She wrinkles her nose in distaste. “You know who you remind me of right now?”

Of course I do. Of course I fucking do. And I don’t want to hear it. Doesn’t she see that she’s treading on dangerous ground now?

My eyes narrow. She just stares back at me, completely unbothered by my reaction. Anger takes over again, white-hot and pure.

Apparently, I’m not done fighting tonight.

“There you go again,” I snarl. “Assuming I give a shit about what you think.”

She sighs and shakes her head. It’s not the lack of reaction that gets to me; it’s the disappointment in her eyes.

“That’s just it, Kolya,” she says, her voice softening. “You do care. You just don’t want to admit it. All I’m trying to do is stop you from making a huge mistake with your life. You love June. And instead of admitting that, to yourself and to her, you’re wasting your time trying to get back at your brother for just happening to meet her first.”

There’s truth in what she’s saying. I react the only way I know how: with rage.

“Stop fucking talking, Milana.”

“Stop ordering me around like I’m your subordinate and nothing else!” she cries out. “I’m your friend, and friends give each other advice. They tell each other the truth!”

“I don’t want advice from a fucking whore.”

I regret it the moment that word flies out of my mouth. I regret it even more when I see the way her eyes retract with hurt. The way disappointment seems to melt into her body and fuse with her skin. The way her soul shrivels.

She turns away from me and starts driving.

The whole time she drives, I beg myself to apologize. To take it back. To try and make it right again.

Say it. Say it, you miserable bastard.

But the alcohol has made my head heavy. And it’s weighing down my good intentions.

So we sit there in the silence as the rift between us spasms out of my control.

And one more good thing in my life crumbles into ash.