Vote Then Read: Volume III

by Aleatha Romig

  I choked on the fourth shot. “What?”

  His soft chuckle and smile soothed over the anxiety his question had triggered. “I'm just playin' with you, sweetheart. Besides, my drinking days are over, and no way in hell would I go into a fight with your man sober.”

  My man. Right. Brenton wasn't my anything.

  Wait.

  “How do you…?” I followed his pointed finger across the bar to find a pair of striking green eyes already staring back. “Oh.” While I watched, a pretty blonde walked up and attempted to talk to Brenton, but he ignored the woman to keep his sole attention on me.

  “He's been there since you saddled up next to me. And since I'm the sober one of us two, I'll tell you something. That man hasn't taken his eyes off you. I think you should be more worried about the idiot who tries to get near you instead of worrying about that boy breaking your heart.” His wise eyes flicked across the bar. “Because I don't see any leaving in those eyes.”

  “How—”

  A thick, hairy arm stretched between my new best friend and me. Instead of pulling back after grabbing the beer from the bartender, the obtrusive man stayed angled between us.

  “Well aren't you the prettiest thing in here tonight,” he said with a slight slur.

  The old cowboy gave a high-pitched whistle. “Boy, I'd watch it.”

  The brute shoved off the bar to tower over him. “Oh really, you think you have a shot? Your balls are too shriveled for someone like her, old man. Let me show her how young cowboys ride.”

  Oh hell no.

  I swiveled on the stool, the room spinning as I turned, to face the jackass. “Hey, lay off my friend here. I bet his shriveled balls are still bigger than yours, fuck face. Go practice your bolstering elsewhere.”

  “My what?” he said, obviously confused.

  “Showing off, you idiot.”

  “Girl, you dissed my balls and suggested I'm ignorant—”

  “Not suggesting. I said it. To your face.”

  Instead of deterring him like I hoped, his smile only widened. “Come on, you owe me a dance after all that sass.”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head before turning to the old cowboy whose wide-eyed stare tracked a course down the side of the bar.

  Too busy trying to locate Brenton again, I didn’t notice the man’s closeness until his tight grip wrapped around my forearm. “I asked nicely. Now come on, dance with me.”

  I snorted. “That was a damn command, not you asking.”

  Stale beer breath wafted up my nose when he leaned in too close and said, “Bet a tough woman like you likes being ordered around.”

  A tingling sensation of being watched had me glancing over my shoulder. Brenton stood two feet away, his glare promising a slow death locked on the man touching me.

  “I only take orders from him,” I said with a nod in Brenton's direction. “Not sure why I’m warning a douchebag like you, but leave, now, before he rips your ass apart for touching me.”

  The burly man looked in the direction I nodded and smirked at the stone-faced Brenton. “That pretty boy? Ah hell, baby, ditch that city boy and let me show you a good time.”

  The stupid shots of tequila had me snorting again before I turned back around to the bar in obvious dismissal.

  The old cowboy smirked down at his water cup. “A lady like you shouldn't defend a man's balls. I think you castrated me.”

  “I'm no lady,” I said, then raised my hand for another shot, only for it to be smacked down to the bar. “Hey,” I shouted, glancing over my shoulder with a scowl, knowing exactly who I’d find being so damn bossy.

  Brenton's fiery green eyes pulled me back an inch in surprise. “No more shots. I don't know what you're trying to do or what happened between you and Ryder, but you're not getting blackout drunk on my watch.” His heated stare shifted down to the short skirt that was now barely covering my girly parts. He leaned down to brush his lips against the shell of my ear. “And don't forget you're not wearing any underwear.” With an exaggerated inhale, he closed his eyes and groaned. “Fuck, I can smell you. Let’s go home and—”

  Just as I closed my eyes, ready to get lost in his words, his lips pulled away. With an exaggerated pout, I swiveled back around.

  My mouth gaped at the scene unfolding just feet away. The brute had wrangled up a couple of friends. Two big friends. All three men surrounded a relaxed and smirking Brenton.

  “Let him fight,” said the old cowboy who'd also turned around to watch the show. “He's itching for it.” At his tilted nod, I focused on Brenton's fisted hands. “It's a guy thing, sweetheart. Defending our women and all.”

  A small frown dipped the corners of my lips. “He just likes to fight, always has. I'm not his anything.”

  The old man tipped his head back with a loud bark of a laugh. “Women. Let me guess. He hasn't told you, hasn't explained how he feels about you.”

  I tucked a lock of dark hair behind my ears and looked to the sticky floor. “Well, yeah. I mean no….”

  “Listen, I'll fill you in on us guys. We don't fight for just anyone. We only fight for the ones we love. And whether he's said it or not—hell, he might not even know it, but that man loves you.”

  The four—or was it five?—shots were playing with my hearing. That or the old man was lying about the water and it was actually pure vodka in his cup. I not so casually leaned to take a quick sniff. Nope, not vodka, just water like he said.

  Huh.

  So did that mean what he said could be true?

  Did Brenton Graves love me?

  Warmth spread up my belly into my chest, and the noises of the bar turned hollow. I needed to leave before I turned into a drunk fool.

  I stretched up high, using the barstool as leverage to scour the dance hall for Ryder, but came up empty.

  Oblivious to the chaos behind me, I shoved off the bar to stand and stepped back while looking at my phone.

  The old man's eyes went wide and he lunged for me.

  Unfortunately he was too late to stop me from stepping right into the middle of a bar fight.

  18

  Rebeka

  Somewhere, Ryder shouted my name.

  I twisted toward her voice just as something solid slammed against my right cheek. The room spun at the force, and I stumbled back, arms outstretched in search of the bar or stool to steady me.

  Stars still blurred my vision when an arm snaked around my waist and hauled me against a solid body. Somewhere in the distance, a rage-filled bellow vibrated in my ears.

  “You're okay, sweetheart,” my old man friend whispered. Rough hands scraped down my arms and his hold tightened, securing me to his side. “Holy shit,” he murmured in awe, more to himself than to me.

  At the astonishment in his tone, I blinked several times to push away the haze clouding my sight and attempted to focus on the chaotic scene in front of us. But none of it made sense. The three men from earlier lay groaning while flat on the floor, Brenton standing in the middle with his bloodied hands on his knees.

  “What's going on?” I said, blinking again to clear the tears building in my right eye.

  The old man started to respond but stopped as a crying Ryder pulled me into her arms.

  “What's going on?” I asked again, still a little stunned. Hell, why did I take so many shots?

  “You're okay. I'm here,” she whispered. “Those fucking bastards hit you, and that dumbass started it all.”

  Her grip around my waist dropped as she turned to face the devastated-looking Brenton. The sadness lurking behind his eyes shredded my heart. Even though I wasn't quite sure what happened, there was no way he could’ve prevented it.

  A loud smack echoed around the quieted area when Ryder's hand connected with Brenton's cheek. He didn't flinch. Didn't drop my stare. The next hit was directed to his face, but that time it was a punch.

  The third hit nailed his balls.

  Brenton's grunt of pain set my feet in motion toward them. Cutting m
e off, Kyle hauled Ryder away from Brenton, who was hunched over with his hands cradling his crotch.

  Ryder thrashed and pulled at Kyle's arms, shouting at him to release her.

  “Ryder, stop,” I slurred, my jaw stiff. “Don't hurt the part of him I like.”

  At that, she dropped her fight. Chest still heaving, she said, “He started the whole thing.”

  I looked around to the men on the floor. “More like he finished it. See that guy—”

  “Why can't you see it now, Beka? He's no good for you. Every time you're around him, you end up hurt in some way. Walk away. Get the hell away from the bastard before he gets you killed.”

  I turned from Brenton's stare and glared at my best friend. “Stop.”

  Her eyes widened. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.” A disappointed look flashed across her features as she shook her head. “I won’t sit back and watch him hurt you all over again. He'll break you and never look back. Call me when you come to your damn senses.”

  Tears welled as I watched her shove out of Kyle's arms and storm off.

  The shouts and band playing flooded back as a hand gripped mine. “Sweetheart, you gotta get your boy out of here. The cops are on their way.”

  In a daze, I took the three steps to Brenton and gripped his forearm. Instead of resisting like I expected, he flipped my hold to grasp my elbow and guided us through the staring crowd. Eyes focused on the sticky floor, I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, hoping to not trip over my feet or someone else’s. The last thing we needed was Brenton getting into another fight because someone accidentally tripped me.

  A heavy metal door slammed at our backs as we stepped into the dark back alley. The hot night air amplified the stench of rotten food and urine.

  Brenton's protective grip loosened as his hand fell to his side. After leaning against the brick wall, he bent forward, resting his palms on the tops of his knees. “Do you want to press charges?”

  “What?”

  “I'll stick around for the cops if you want to press charges against me. I started the fight. I'm the reason you were hit.”

  A tight ball of unshed tears lodged in my throat, preventing me from responding immediately.

  At my perceived hesitancy, his shoulders drooped, and he stepped toward the door we escaped through.

  I wrapped my hand around his wrist. “No, I don't want to press charges. And you didn’t start it, B. You were defending me. Getting that drunk ass off me. You had no idea I’d step into the middle of it. Nothing that happened was your fault.”

  “But still—”

  The gravel shifted under my wedges as I moved close enough to grip his face between my hands. Grief and anger swirled behind his eyes as I stared into them. “I know you, B. I trust you. It was an accident. Come on, let's get out of here.” When he didn't move, I dropped my hands and shrugged. “Fine, go back in if that’ll make you feel better. But I'm not, and I'm too drunk to drive home, so you have to choose. Let me drive home like this alone while you go back inside, or you drive.”

  There was no doubt which option he’d choose, but I still blew a relieved sigh past my lips when his steady footsteps sounded behind me halfway down the alley.

  Not a word was spoken in the truck on the way back. The radio stayed turned off, only the full blast AC blowing and the pinging of gravel kicked up by the tires filling the silence.

  We pulled along the circle drive to the main house instead of driving toward the back to Daddy's place.

  “Okay, here's where I draw the line. I’m not walking back in these shoes,” I said with a smirk, knowing full well what his intentions were but hoping it would invoke a verbal response.

  It didn't.

  Instead, Brenton shut off the engine and climbed out of the cab.

  Damn, wish he would snap out of his mood, because I was fucking happy. The tequila had made everything fuzzy and warm and fun.

  My eyes slammed shut to prevent them from being blinded when the bright overhead light snapped on.

  “You're staying with me,” he stated, leaving no room for negotiation.

  Like I would.

  “I love you bossy,” I responded with a smile.

  Not even a smirk or a grunt at my comment before he scooped me from the seat.

  I gave a high-pitched squeal. “Brenton, I can walk.” I laughed as he shut the door with a boot against it.

  “No.”

  Fine by me.

  I snuggled into his arms and took a deep breath of his intoxicating masculine scent. “You smell nice,” I said. Focused at his neck, I leaned forward to drag my tongue along his soft skin. “You’re tasty too.”

  “Damn you're drunk,” he grumbled, with no anger or frustration in his tone.

  His grip tightened to stabilize me in his arms as he climbed the stairs to the main house. I closed my eyes, relishing in the strength, the way he made me feel lighter than I was and protected. Safe. Even after everything that happened tonight, I was safe with him.

  That was what Ryder didn't understand. Hell, no one could. Passion. Heat. Jealousy. Possession. All of it described who we were together, what we felt.

  Through the front door, he stomped past the living room, down a hall, and turned into his childhood bedroom. Craning my neck, I searched the walls to see what all had changed since the last time I’d been in that same room, but I couldn't see a damn thing in the dark.

  Almost like I was his most precious possession, he gently laid me on top of the soft comforter.

  “Brenton—”

  “Stop it, would you? Just let me do this without a fight. Can't you see what tonight did to me?” he growled. “You're hurt because of me, and I don't give a damn if it was an accident. It happened.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but he shoved away from the bed and stormed out before I could formulate a response. Okay, he was taking it hard. Not sure why since he wasn't the one who hit me, but I guess he felt responsible since he started it? Which was crazy. That jackass started it when he wouldn't leave me alone.

  Once my vision adjusted to the dimly lit room, I took it all in. A large dresser stood on the opposite wall, and bland pictures like you'd buy at any home goods store accented the walls. Nothing personal, not a single thing that made it look lived in.

  I curled my fingers, clenching the soft and probably expensive comfort. Everything looked the same. Boring. No feeling. Hollow.

  My heart ached for Brenton’s empty life. Even with Daddy being a chauvinistic ass, I still had some happy moments. Most of those were due to Brenton, but I had friends too, good friends.

  Tears welled at the thought of Ryder. My best friend who’d had enough of my bullshit. I knew I should call her, but what was there to say? She thought she knew what was best for me, but she didn't. Ryder had gone on ultraprotective mode the moment Brenton stepped across the county line, and it’d only intensified when I told her I wasn't planning on telling him the whole story of our last night.

  What did it matter at this point anyway? He didn't remember, and honestly, I didn't want him to. What if he remembered it all and realized he made the right choice to walk away?

  “You're crying,” Brenton said in a horrified tone. “Does it hurt that bad? Do you need to go to the hospital? Fuck!”

  His knees landed with a thump at my feet. Damp cloth in hand, he reached up and pressed it against my injured cheek.

  “I'm so sorry, Beks. I didn't know that would happen, didn't think it through.” His rapid breaths brushed across my neck. “I would never let anything happen to you. You know that, right? I'd rather kill myself than hurt you.” The tremble in his voice sent more tears rolling down my cheeks.

  “I'm crying because of Ryder and what she said. And because of you. And because of us. And because—” A sob shook my shoulders, stealing my next words.

  “She was right.” Warmth enveloped my hand as he wrapped his hand around mine, bringing it up to replace his hold on the cool cloth. I wrenched open m
y eyes to search his, not understanding what he was saying. The first step he took away from the bed had my stomach dropping with fear. The second step ignited more anger than dread.

  “The fuck are you talking about?” I snapped and stood.

  “Ryder, what she said—”

  “I get that part, you moron. I'm asking what the fuck are you talking about agreeing with her?”

  Not a single corner of his lips twitched up as he said, “Good to see that hit didn't stop your smart-ass mouth.”

  “I know something you can shove down my smart-ass mouth to stop it,” I replied with a seductive smile. “How are your balls, by the way?”

  “We're not talking about my balls, or me shutting you up with my dick down your throat.” Heat flared behind his eyes, showing me he might not 100 percent agree with that statement. “How many times will you let me do this, Beks?”

  “Well, I'd like to say as many times as you want, but my jaw might get tired.”

  “I'm fucking serious,” he seethed. At his side, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists. “I hurt you back then, and now, tonight, I'm a selfish bastard asking for your help when I know—”

  “Know I agreed to all this after you laid it all out there? You made it clear that you only needed my help to get over your head shit. And by the way,” I sighed, then sat back on the bed, “you didn't pass out tonight.”

  Both his dark brows shot up. “You're right, but here, when I saw you crying, the symptoms came back. I could barely breathe when I was by the bed staring at your injured cheek.” His gaze shifted to the door, moving away from me for the first time since he came into the room with the rag. “It was like a replay, but I couldn’t see anything. Like a déjà vu feeling without knowing why.”

  Unease settled in my gut at my guilt. I turned my gaze from him to focus on my clasped hands and prayed he didn't press the topic any further.

  19

  Brenton

  I looked at my beauty on the bed. Air caught in my throat at the sight of her rounded shoulders, eyes downturned and focused on the hands clasped between her pressed thighs. Apprehension now rolled off her when moments ago, she’d joked about stuffing my dick down her throat.