Sweet Destruction

by Paige Weaver

  “Walker, stop,” Sam mumbled against my lips, pulling back. “That’s enough.”

  But I didn’t stop. The alcohol in my system made thinking next to impossible. All I knew was I wanted to touch her. I became a crazy man, needing a taste of what drove me insane.

  I ran my thumb across her nipple, feeling it respond to my touch. God, she felt like heaven. She gasped and pulled away from me, but I held her tight, one of my hands cupping her breast, the other clasping the back of her head and keeping it still for my mouth.

  Sam pushed against me, her hands on my chest. The sober part of my brain screamed to let her go. The other part of me craved her like she was a drug. I knew what I was feeling for her wasn’t right. It was Sam. We hated each other. I shouldn’t want her this much but I did. Hell, I usually felt pity for the guys that had the hots for her.

  Now here I was, one of them.

  Sam gave me a nudge, trying to hold me off her. “Let me go, Cole. You’re drunk and I … I don’t think you know what you’re doing. You hate me,” she said as I dropped my mouth to her neck. God, she smelled so sweet.

  “Believe me, Sam, I know what I’m doing. And right now, I don’t hate you. I’m feeling the opposite,” I whispered against her skin as my thumb ran over her nipple again. I placed a kiss on her hammering pulse, feeling it beneath my lips. Each beat of her heart sent my dick pulsating and my own heart racing.

  Sam was silent, letting me kiss and touch her. Hell, I wanted to lick her everywhere, she tasted so good.

  “Cole,” she said, her voice throaty. “This is the alcohol talking. Not you.”

  “Hmmm,” I answered, pulling back to look at her, my hand still on her breast.

  “We hate each other. We always have,” she said, looking up at me.

  “Yeah, I know,” I whispered, feeling the room spin. “But let’s just play like we don’t for tonight. Just tonight…”

  I started to lower my mouth to hers again, needing her. She was like a drug, like the alcohol I craved, warming my blood and confusing my mind, blocking out all reason.

  “No! Enough!” she said, giving me a shove and ripping my hand from her breast. “I’m not like my mother! You can’t use me!”

  I lifted my head, blinking in confusion. Use her? I didn’t want to use her. I needed … god I needed her.

  I grasped her wrist, bringing her back to me. I started to lower my head, wanting to prove to her that what I was feeling was real, but she was quicker.

  “LET. ME. GO!” she shouted, planting her foot on my knee and both hands flat on my chest. With a push, she gave me a hard shove.

  I stumbled backward, letting go of her. The liquor in my system made it difficult to maintain my balance. The room tilted, making my stomach roll and everything spin. When I could focus on her face again, I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. The fog cleared from my vodka, beer, and whiskey-soaked brain.

  Holy. Hell.

  Sam looked at me with anger, her eyes full of hate and moisture. Fuck! There were tears in her eyes! Tears!

  I rubbed a hand over my face, disgusted with myself. I had never seen her cry. To know she was because of me almost made me double over in pain.

  “Sam, you better leave,” I mumbled, afraid to look at her. I hated myself more in that moment than I had ever before. What had been lust was nothing now but simmering anger, directed at myself. It hummed through me, spreading to the tips of my fingers and the bottoms of my toes. I hated myself like never before. People were right – I was an animal. Self-disgust turned the meanness in me to full blast.

  I couldn’t trust myself around her, it was obvious. I was afraid the evil inside of me - the one that made me explode with rage – might decide it was tired of playing nice and take what it wanted from her instead.

  The thought left me cold.

  I had to protect her at any cost, and the only way I knew how was through hate and anger. Only then would she be safe from me.

  When Sam didn’t move, I glared at her. “Leave!” I roared, taking a step toward her. “Get away from me!”

  Sam stood her ground. Was she crazy? Could she not tell I was barely holding it together? I wanted to smash something. Take out my pain at hurting her on someone else.

  “Goddamn it, Sam, leave! PLEASE!” I pleaded, feeling panicked that she was still standing there, her chin stuck up in the air with stubbornness.

  She stared up at me, spite making her unafraid. “You’re just like your dad, Cole. A drunk who is out of control. But I’m nothing like my mom. Nothing!”

  “You sure about that?” I asked, coldness in my veins when I heard her words.

  Sam blinked, surprised. I regretted saying that but if they kept her away from me and made her hate me more, so be it. She was safer that way, even if it killed me.

  Sam took a step toward me, her tears gone and revulsion in her eyes. “I hate you, Cole Walker. I hate you more today than I ever have before. Don’t come near me again. Don’t look at me. Don’t touch me. Just … don’t.”

  I stood still, watching as she turned and crossed the room. Without looking back, she flung open the door and walked out. Taking what little amount of self-worth I had with her.

  She was right – I was a drunk, out of control like my dad. My fingers ached to hold a drink in my hand. My throat was dry, craving the burn of alcohol to quench the thirst. I longed for a drink like a starving man yearned for a meal.

  I clenched and unclenched my hand, looking around for something to bury my fist in. That’s when I heard it. Yelling from somewhere in the back yard. I didn’t think much of the shouts until I heard a crash then a scream.

  “Fight! Fight!” someone shouted from somewhere in the house.

  What the hell?

  I rushed out of my bedroom and down the hallway. The crowd was frantic, everyone heading for the back door. Feeling uneasy, my eyes scanned the room looking for…

  Sam.

  I spotted her in the crowd, looking confused. She glanced at me, a panicked look in her eyes.

  “Go home,” I shouted above the yelling and the music, backing away and motioning for her to leave. The last thing I wanted was her near a fight. She may be a pain in the ass and hate my guts but protecting her had been ingrained in me from the first moment I saw that asshole trying to stuff her into his car when we were kids.

  Sam’s eyes rounded with confusion as she watched the crowd rush around her. She stood still as everyone scrambled to get outside. Like a herd of buffalo, the crowd moved as one, heading for the sliding glass doors.

  I moved along with them, glancing back at Sam once. She had turned, heading for the front door. Thinking she was safe, I followed the crowd outside.

  I had only made it a few steps when I stopped. People pushed past me, excited chatter filling my ears. Their words didn’t make sense, the alcohol making it hard to focus on one voice at a time.

  I heard Bent’s name whispered once then twice. Glancing around, I looked for Sam’s brother but all I could see were people, standing in the yard and rushing past me.

  As if on cue, the crowd parted. A cold wind slammed into me, sending a chill down my spine. Or maybe it was the scene in front of me.

  Bentley was being held down by a big guy, someone that looked twice my age and half my size. The guy’s fists plowed into Bentley’s stomach again and again, beating him like he was punching a bag. Bentley was trying to fight back but he was no match for the guy’s massive strength and muscles.

  A group of men stood in a semi-circle around the fight, watching with grins on their faces. They were big guys. Heavyweights with attitudes. They seemed to be standing guard against anyone trying to break up the fight. They weren’t kids out having a good time; they were thugs.

  I stood frozen, trying to process what was happening. I heard people talking around me but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. Something about gang members. A job. It didn’t make sense. Bentley didn’t mess with these types of guys. He did some stupid shi
t but this wasn’t his style.

  It was more like mine.

  But he was my best friend and he was getting his ass kicked. If there was one thing I was good at, drunk or sober, it was fighting.

  I rushed forward, ignoring the nausea choking me. I kept my eyes on the man on top of Bentley, pushing people out of the way to get to him. He kept Bent pinned to the ground, one hand pressed to Bentley’s chest. The other was pulled back, ready to hammer into Bentley’s stomach again. Something caught the moonlight, glittering gold in the night. Shit! The guy was wearing brass knuckles, hitting Bent with the metal again and again.

  I broke out into a flat-out run, my own fists clenched at my sides. When I was closer, I roared, drawing back my fist. The guy looked up, putting his chin right where I needed it. I swung, catching him in the jaw. His head snapped to the side as he fell back a few steps, dazed by the hit. Surprised by my attack.

  Take that, asshole.

  I ignored the guy’s friends rushing me. In my peripheral vision I saw Tommy take one of the guy’s down, bulldozing him to the ground like the powerhouse he was. Someone else stepped in, blocking another guy from getting into the mix. But this was between me and the guy with the brass. The one that had hurt my best friend.

  Advancing on him, I swung again, landing a punch to his stomach. But the alcohol was making me slow. Sluggish. The man recovered quickly and swung, clipping my jaw. Pain ricocheted in my skull. I tried to catch myself but I fell, landing on my ass close to Bentley.

  The guy snarled down at me, growling and showing teeth that had probably never seen a dentist. He popped his knuckles and flexed his fingers, widening his stance.

  Music continued to blare from the house, something hardcore and loud. Perfect for fighting. But I didn’t need any encouragement.

  As Bentley scrambled to crawl away, I jumped to my feet, ignoring the world tilted at a drunken angle. Around me, people were fighting, throwing punches like they were going out of style. How a simple party could turn into a mob of angry drunks, I didn’t know. It was a free-for-all. A big-ass brawl that was suddenly out of control.

  I shook off the pain in my head and kept my eyes glued on the guy in front of me. He was big and probably as strong as an ox but I was mean and had nothing to lose. He turned his attention to Bentley, who was a few feet from us. Blood covered his face and was splattered everywhere on his shirt. He looked pretty messed up but he was going to look a whole lot worse if I didn’t stop this maniac.

  The guy’s neck popped as he rolled his head from side to side, loosening up for another round. He rolled his shoulders next, flexing his massive muscles like a showoff. I thought he was done when suddenly he rushed Bentley, picking him up when he was close enough and throwing him to the ground.

  Shit!

  I slipped in the mud, scrambling to get my feet underneath me. I cursed myself for drinking so much. If I hadn’t fuckin’ drank everything in sight like a goddamn lush, maybe I could have ended this before it started.

  And maybe I would never have touched Sam and caused her to hate me even more.

  Pushing a kid out of the way, I rushed toward Bentley, catching glimpses of him as the crowd closed in between us. The man kicked Bentley in the stomach, putting all his power behind the kick. Bentley cried out and grabbed his middle, pulling himself into a protective ball on the ground. The guy pulled his foot back for another kick but it never met its target. He was distracted by a scream.

  “BENTLEY!”

  A shiver went down my spine. I swung around, protectiveness sweeping over me.

  Sam was pushing her way through the crowd, her eyes on Bentley. Terror was on her face. “Bentley!” she screamed, racing forward.

  NO, NO, NO! These guys would chew her up and spit her out! I swear my life flashed before my eyes, seeing her sprint across the yard. I started running toward her, watching with terror as she flew into the fray.

  The guy kicking Bentley paused, glancing up at Sam as she ran toward him. It was just the opportunity Bentley needed. He scrambled to his feet, blood dripping down his face. I lost sight of him in the crowd but at least I knew he had escaped.

  His attacker caught my attention again. His eyes flicked to someone else, someone I couldn’t see. I saw him nod toward Sam. That’s when I knew she was in trouble.

  I swung my gaze back to her, feeling my heart pound harder. She was close. Too fucking close to the fighting!

  I pushed a guy out of the way and ran toward her. The dislike that was always there between Sam and me disappeared. The lust I felt for her didn’t matter. All I knew was fear for her.

  But that fear turned to rage seconds later.

  Some guy jumped out of nowhere, grabbing Sam around the waist. She screamed, kicking at her assailant as he picked her up, lifting her off her feet.

  I saw red. Fucking blood red. I didn’t want his hands on her. I didn’t want him near her. Hell, I didn’t even want him looking at her.

  The thread of violence that lived inside of me unraveled. It was the same seam of violence that hovered around the edges of my subconscious all the time, aching to be released. The one I couldn’t control.

  I tossed someone out of my way as Sam turned in the guy’s arms and pushed against him, just like she had done to me minutes ago. I didn’t find it ironic; I found it suicidal. She could do that to me all day long and I would never hurt her. This guy, shit, this guy would break her in half.

  She struggled, trying to get him off her. But the guy wasn’t giving up that easily. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her against him. Sam fought back, slamming her foot on top of his, screaming for Bentley at the same time.

  I ran and watched as she threw her knee up, aiming for the guy’s nuts. But the guy was faster. He blocked her knee with his leg. She tried again but the guy had enough. He smacked her, snapping her head to the side.

  That’s when the monster in me came out.

  I don’t remember running across the yard or throwing people out of the way. All I remember is seeing that man’s hands on Sam.

  He never saw my fist coming. I caught him on the side of the head, missing Sam by inches but knocking the asshole back a foot or two.

  He let go of her, but it wasn’t good enough for me. He had touched her. Hurt her. For that he would pay.

  I punched him again. And again. Over and over. Blood covered my knuckles and dripped from my fingers. It sprayed across my shirt and landed on the muddy ground. I didn’t care. I was in that dark place, the one that lived beneath the surface, waiting to come out and play. The one that ate at my insides and turned me into the devil everyone thought I was. I was consumed by anger, unable to control it.

  I lowered my head, punching the guy in the stomach. Once. Twice. Three times. Someone called my name but I didn’t stop. I slammed my fist into his mouth, rattling his teeth. My elbow cracked the guy’s nose, breaking it. His head snapped back, his eyes rolling into his head as he fell.

  I followed him to the ground, my fists hammering into him. I was in the killing zone. Nothing could stop me.

  When someone tried to pull me off of him, I swung, catching the person in the chest. I didn’t know who it was but I was willing to kill anyone who tried to pull me off Sam’s attacker.

  The guy beneath me had gone limp minutes ago. All my pent-up rage, all the abuse I had taken in juvie, all the self-hate and anger at my dad came out, landing on the man.

  I punched him again, leaving his face nothing but a bloody mess. Despite the cold, sweat dotted my forehead. My breathing came faster and faster, my lips curled in a snarl.

  Time to finish him.

  I raised my fist again, ready to deliver the final blow when someone grabbed my arm.

  “Stop, Cole! You’re killing him!” Sam shouted, her hands wrapped around my bicep.

  But I was in a fog, full of fury and rage. I only knew one thing – to destroy.

  I jumped back on the guy, beating him with both fists. But someone larger than Sam grabbed me f
rom behind, pinning my arms against my chest. With a tug he hauled me off the man and dragged me back along the ground. I roared, terrible sounds ripping from my throat.

  “STOP!” Tommy shouted, holding onto me.

  My skin itched, my nerves jumping in anticipation. I wanted Sam’s attacker dead. I wanted to bury all my resentment in him. But then I heard something.

  A cry.

  I snapped my head to the right. My eyes landed on Sam, on her knees a few feet away. She was bent at the waist, curled into a little ball. Her slender body shook, the cries coming from her muffled. I had never seen her like that. It scared the shit out of me. All the anger inside me died. The fog lifted. The evil disappeared.

  “Shit! Let me go!” I said, struggling against Tommy, his arms still around me. My eyes stayed on Sam, watching as she rocked back and forth in her own world. The fighting continued around me but it didn’t matter. I just had to get to her.

  As soon as Tommy let go of me, I rolled onto my knees. People ran past me as I crawled over to Sam, my throat so thick I could hardly swallow.

  When I was close enough, I sat down, my knees on either side of her body. “Sam?” I whispered, reaching out to touch her.

  She looked up, her eyes full of tears. Her hair had fallen out of its messy bun, lying in thick strands around her face. The lips that I been kissing moments ago were parted, looking red against her pale skin.

  Her gaze darted down to my hand, still resting against her. “Don’t,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself and peering at me from behind her fallen hair. “Just … just stay away. You’ve got blood…” Her eyes dropped to my chest and back up again, full of fear. I saw her swallow hard. “You … you almost killed him, Walker. You almost killed a man like … like a monster.”

  I sat back on my haunches, letting her go and dropping my hand away. The sweat on my forehead had dried, leaving a chill on my skin. Glancing around, I saw the mayhem around me but all I felt was emptiness.

  ‘Like a monster’ - the words kept repeating themselves in my head.

  A monster.

  I looked down at my shaky hands, turning them over. My knuckles were scraped, the skin pulled away from the bone. It didn’t hurt. The alcohol and rage made sure of that. Blood soaked both hands and my shirt. I didn’t know if it was his or mine. Maybe both.