Bullseye Read online

  I don’t like this intimacy, but she doesn’t force me to move closer. She simply turns around so her back is facing my front. My arms are rigid by my side, my hands curling into fists. When she begins circling her hips and shaking her ass, I almost lose my shit and give in.

  I interlace my hands behind my neck, watching her give me a lap dance that isn’t really a lap dance at all because she isn’t touching me. Surely, this song will end soon. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to sit here and not let the demons win.

  Bloodlust and revenge drive my demons, and all they want to do is cause pain because misery loves company. I want to watch the world burn with me. But the monster inside me has always lingered. It was just waiting for the right moment to slither out of hell.

  As the tempo increases, so do her movements, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t deny the fact that her beauty fucking turns me on. I haven’t been this close to a woman’s body in so long, and I’ve forgotten how soft and supple their curves are. And how good they smell. Tiger smells like cherry blossoms.

  I continue breathing slowly, attempting to control my craving. But as she spins around and hovers over me, I grunt low, unable to hide my longing. Her chest is inches from my face, and suddenly, I turn my cheek to the side.

  But with a hesitant finger, she deliberately places it under my chin, coaxing me to look at her with an arrogant smirk. She sweeps her pointer across the small tattoo under my right eye, admiring the cross with interest, as I sure as shit don’t look like a religious man.

  I don’t know what she’s doing, so when she reaches for my hands and draws them to her chest, I almost rocket off my chair in surprise.

  The moment I feel her soft tits, my hard-on presses against her, but I jerk my hips away, feeling suffocated. She surprises me when she gasps and begins rocking her hips over my cock. She is still suspended over me, using her impressive core strength, so she is merely going through the motions.

  Her hands are secured over mine, encouraging me to fondle her tits. As I feel her nipples swell underneath my hands, we both hiss at the sensation. I remember what they looked like on stage. But regardless of how good she feels—and she feels fan-fucking-tastic—I need to end this. Now.

  But before I know what she’s doing, she swoops forward and fucking kisses me.

  I’m stunned at the unfamiliar feel of someone’s lips on mine, and when she softly coaxes my sealed mouth open with her warm tongue, it brings home the fact that I haven’t kissed a woman since I was seventeen years old.

  I don’t know what I thought I’d feel, but for once in my life, the shadow of anger and pain lessens for a split moment in time. But it doesn’t last. It never does.

  She tastes of bubblegum, but underneath her sweetness is a goodness I want to corrupt. I want to thread my hands through her long hair and pull—hard—until she’s squirming, begging me to stop. I want to bite her, bind her, mark her because her purity is contagious, and I wonder if I can steal it to erase the tarnish burdening my soul.

  I want to see her beg. I want to make her bleed.

  I’m an undeserving, vile monster. Tiger knows I don’t like to be touched, so she keeps her distance. Most would acknowledge her kindness, but I’m not most. I want to exploit her weakness because I thrive on pain.

  I don’t even realize the music has ended because I’m torn between right and wrong. But this is done. Over. There isn’t a hero in me. And that’s what someone like Tiger deserves.

  Like a butterfly, she is so beautiful, but all I want to do is tear off her wings.

  With that as my driving force, I turn my cheek, severing our connection. Tiger reads my retreat loud and clear, even though she’s confused. But that’s not my problem. I go to stand, forcing her to do the same.

  “Thanks for the dance.” Unable to help myself, I slowly rub my thumb across her supple lips, smudging her lipstick across her mouth—the mouth I just fucking owned. Seeing her disheveled is a shot of heroin to a fiend like me.

  The tremble to her lips reveals her nerves, which just confirms what I need to do.

  “I’ll catch ya round, darlin’.”

  She appears to want to say something, but soon changes her mind. She simply nods and nervously walks over to where she dropped her dress, turning her back so she can slip it on.

  There is no room for small talk because I don’t engage in pretenses. This is me. A coldhearted bastard. A depraved animal. My story doesn’t end with Prince Charming saving the princess and living happily ever after with her because…I killed the fucking prince.

  Bull

  “Morning, bright eyes. You sleep okay?”

  “I did. Thanks, Venus,” I reply, looking over from the tattered town map taped to the wall.

  Venus is dressed in a pink jumpsuit with a matching pink wig. The silk scarf she wears does a poor job to hide her Adam’s apple. I don’t know why she bothers with it. She needs to own her shit. But I suppose Detroit is unforgiving to misfits like us.

  “Do you know if the bus still drives past Oakland Road?” I ask, tracing my finger down a blue line that runs through the middle of town.

  “If I recall correctly, yes, it does. You going to take the bus?”

  “Yeah. I was thinking about it.”

  “You don’t have a car?”

  I shake my head and meet her eyes. “I don’t have a license.”

  She pulls back, shocked. “How old were you when you got locked up?”

  I rub the back of my neck. “Just turned eighteen.”

  Pity flashes over her. “Oh, I’m real sorry to hear that.”

  She has nothing to be sorry for. And she better stop looking at me with pity in her eyes. “Don’t be. Jail was probably the best place for me.”

  She leans on the counter, listening intently. “Whatcha get done for?”

  And there it is. The dreaded question.

  I have to get used to saying it, so I may as well start now. “Murder,” I reveal frankly, watching her face drop.

  I also better start getting used to that look.

  She clears her throat after a few uncomfortable seconds. “Well, if anyone deserves a second chance, it’s you.”

  She catches me off guard with that unexpected reply. But she doesn’t know me. And if she knew my story, and what I’m planning to do, she wouldn’t be so quick with the touchy-feely crap.

  “I’ll be back later.” I zip up my leather jacket. “I got a job.”

  “Oh, yeah? Where?”

  “The Pink Oyster.”

  She grins, rocking back on her stool. “The ladies just can’t keep away from you, can they?”

  My lips twitch in a resemblance of a smile.

  It’s another cold as fuck morning, so I slip the gray beanie over my head and walk the mile to the bus stop. Thankfully, I don’t have to wait long. It’s funny because although I haven’t been on a bus in a very long time, the sights, sounds, and smells are exactly the same.

  I close my eyes, recalling the last time. It was with my brother, Damian, on the night of the big game. He could have driven with friends, but he wanted to ride with me.

  “C’mon, squirt. It’ll be fun.”

  “I don’t even like football.”

  Damian laughed. “You will when you see the cheerleaders.”

  Scrunching up my face, I replied, “Gross. Girls are weird.”

  “That’s ’cause you just turned fifteen. Give it a couple of years, and they’ll be anything but gross.” He messed up my hair as we pulled up at our school for the big game.

  “I doubt it.”

  “Trust me, squirt. You’ll change your mind.”

  He picked up his gym bag and helmet. My brother, the quarterback.

  My eyes snap open when the bus comes to a slow stop. Rubbing the sleep away, I see that I’m a block away from where I want to be. Nothing has changed. It’s just as I remember it and still as depressing as the day I was last here.

  A light layer of frost covers the foliage,
and even the flowers are wilting in the harsh autumn. It appears every living thing wants to forget it exists in here.

  The grass crunches underneath my shoes as a light drizzle begins to fall. But I don’t let the weather deter me from doing something I’ve wanted to do for years. My memory serves me well, and I walk on autopilot to the last grave in a row that replicates the ones before and after it. But this row is special.

  It’s special because it holds the grave of my brother.

  “Hey, Damian.” I drop to a squat.

  Dried flowers sit by his headstone, and I instantly kick myself for not bringing him fresh ones. “I’m out. Twelve years pale in comparison to a lifetime of hell you’ve endured because of me.

  “I haven’t heard from Mom and Dad in over nine years. Not that I can blame them, though, because I told them to stay away. If only it was me and not you, things would have been better for everyone. If only I’d gone straight home after the game, things would have been so different. For starters, you’d be alive.”

  Sighing, I cast my eyes downward, ashamed. “I’m sorry, bro. I’m the reason you’re…dead. I’ll never forgive myself for what I did.

  “You saved me—literally, and in turn, you died because you’re a fucking hero. You sacrificed your life to save me. But my life wasn’t worth the sacrifice. It never was.

  “But I won’t let your death be in vain. I promise,” I vow, clutching the pendant around my neck. It once belonged to Damian. His good luck charm.

  This is the only place I’ll allow myself to grieve. Allow myself the penance I don’t deserve.

  “I’m sorry it was you. If I could trade places, I would in a heartbeat. You were always the good one, and I…” I pause, peering down at the pocket watch tattooed on the back of my hand. “I was always waiting for something better to come along. I wish I realized that something better was you.”

  Kissing my middle and pointer fingers, I place them on Damian’s marble headstone, before coming to a slow stand. “They will pay. Every one of them. And when they do…we’ll meet again. Rest in peace, brother. I love you.”

  Damian is the only person who I ever told I loved. I didn’t even say it to my parents. But with him, we weren’t just brothers; we were best friends. I looked up to him—fuck, everyone did. Everyone wanted to be friends with him. There was something special about him, something everyone wanted to be a part of.

  That something special was taken away the night he was murdered…thanks to me.

  With nothing further to say, I turn around and leave my brother to rot in the grave where he’s been for the past fourteen years. In my mind, he is forever young. A seventeen-year-old kid who had his whole life ahead of him before it was cruelly stolen.

  My fists clench as I think about the reason that is, the reason both Damian’s and my life changed forever. One simple fucking decision destroyed the lives of so many, but I can’t take it back. What’s done can never be undone, and I have to live with that guilt for the rest of my lousy existence.

  But I’ve thrived on that guilt since I buried my brother. Only one thing kept me going on the inside, and that was revenge. And now that I’m out…burn, motherfuckers, burn.

  Done with the reminiscing, I wait at the bus stop, not sure when or if I’ll ever return. My parents haven’t visited in a while; my brother’s unadorned grave is a sure sign of this, which is a change from when he first got buried six feet under. My mom would visit every day, and my dad had to pry her away to come home.

  But then she was back the next day, crying and cursing the universe that it took the wrong son.

  As the bus pulls up, I amble up the steps, sinking into a seat toward the back. Peering out the window, I wonder where my parents are. The last I heard, they were finally getting a divorce. Dad found solace in a woman half his age, and my mom found her happily ever after in her prescription pill bottles.

  But I don’t judge. Fuck, I’m the reason their life turned to shit. Before this happened, we were one big happy family. Damian was the golden boy, but I wasn’t jealous. I could only ever wish to be half the man he was.

  He was the type of person who helped elderly people across the road or tended to a bird with a broken wing. Me, I preferred to put the bird out of its misery and laugh at the old farts who shuffled along. We were so different, but Damian never judged me. He loved me regardless of my flaws.

  My reflection stares back at me from the dirty bus window, and as I peer into my mismatched eyes, I wonder if my brother would love me now. Scoffing, I shove such sentiments aside because I don’t deserve love. I deserve to be alone, just as Damian is.

  When the bus pulls up at a stop a few blocks away from The Pink Oyster, I get off and walk the rest of the way, thankful Lotus saw something in me that I don’t. I’ll do my job without a fuss and keep my nose clean because I’m here for a reason. However, when I push open the back door and see Andre talking to one of the girls, I know that keeping my nose clean with this asshole on my ass will be fucking hard.

  Nodding a curt hello, I make my way through the club, hoping to find Lotus, so I can keep interaction with Andre to a minimum. She’s in a small room down the hallway that serves as her office. The door is open, but I knock, nonetheless.

  “Hi, Bull,” she says, peering up at me briefly, before returning to the mountain of paperwork in front of her.

  “Hey. You got any tools I can use?”

  Lotus sweeps her hand to the corner of the room where I see a metal toolbox and a first-aid kit close by. It seems her office has many uses. Not wanting to disturb her, I enter quickly and grab what I need.

  Just as I’m about to leave, Lotus huffs and throws her pen onto the messy desk. “I give up,” she grumbles, rubbing her tired eyes. “Why isn’t this adding up?”

  I don’t know if she’s speaking to me or not, so I assume she isn’t and continue toward the door.

  “I don’t suppose you’re any good with numbers?”

  I stop in my tracks and turn over my shoulder to look at the scribbled piece of paper in front of her. She appears half hopeful since I didn’t blow her off. Doing a quick calculation in my head, I see where she’s gone wrong.

  “You didn’t carry the one,” I say, looking at the figures on the page.

  I’m guessing these are the takings of the club. Or maybe she’s doing her taxes. Fucked if I know. Whatever it is, she quickly peers down at the sums in front of her and hums in realization. “Holy shit, you’re right.”

  “Of course, I’m right,” I counter while she smirks. “A lot has changed since I’ve been locked up, but math isn’t one of them.”

  I instantly regret my overshare as I’ve just revealed I’ve been inside. But Lotus doesn’t flinch or look at me with judgment. She merely nods with a smile.

  “A jack-of-all-trades. If you’re not careful, I’ll have you doing my books as well.”

  “I’ll be out there if you need me.” I don’t linger and make my way into the club.

  Andre is helping himself to the top shelf vodka, which is a total dick move because I doubt he has any intention of paying for it. I don’t like freeloaders or cheapskates. Life isn’t free. But I ignore him and go to work testing the stability of the barstools.

  They’re all unsteady, so I open the toolbox and hunt for what I need. Seconds later, a huge shadow casts over me, hinting I have an audience. I don’t take the bait because I know exactly who is lurking.

  If this assclown is looking for a fight, he is shit out of luck. No matter how badly I want to kick his ass, I won’t, because I refuse to disrespect Lotus in that way. Just as I’m about to lift the stool and lay it on the bar, Andre slams his paw onto the counter and blocks me. I don’t flinch as I lift my eyes slowly. We lock gazes, and it’s evident he is intent on making my life hell.

  Isn’t he lucky that I don’t give a shit?

  Chewing on a toothpick, he tries to intimidate me as he stares me down. His attempt is laughable. Lifting the stool, I place it on the bar,
regardless of the location of his hand.

  He swiftly draws it back. “Looks like Lotus has found herself a little bitch,” he taunts, removing the toothpick from between his rubbery lips.

  Ignoring him, I drop eye level with the stool and examine the legs.

  “Are you deaf and stupid? I’m talking to you.” He yanks the top of the stool, sending it crashing to the floor.

  Taking two deep breaths, I rise calmly, refusing to buckle. Andre clenches his fists with a sneer, awaiting my retaliation.

  He’ll be waiting a long time.

  Reaching for another stool, I repeat the same action I did with the first. The uneven leg is more evident on this stool, so I hunt through the toolbox for a small saw. Andre doesn’t like to be ignored.

  “Listen, freak,” he spits, thankfully keeping his hands to himself. “Stay out of my way, and we won’t have a problem.”

  It’s evident he’s not going anywhere unless I reply, so I give him a brisk nod. “Suits me fine.”

  Andre must feel as if I’m challenging his top dog position, which is ironic, considering I don’t want any part of it. I’m not interested in being alpha over this dipshit, because there is no competition. “You’re one weird motherfucker.”

  “Thank you,” I counter, returning to my search inside the toolbox. He’s gone a few seconds later but not before swiping a bottle of vodka.

  Exhaling slowly, I rein in my anger and focus on fixing the barstools. The cheap wooden legs are easy to cut through, and it doesn’t take me too long to even them up. As I’m sanding the legs down before I replace the caps so they’re stable, a waft of something sweet catches the air.

  Wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, I turn over my shoulder to see I’m no longer alone.

  “Hey, handsome,” Tawny says with a smile. She makes no secret that she’s eye fucking me as her blue eyes study me from head to toe.

  I’m in black ripped jeans and a white V-neck T-shirt, which exposes the tattoo sleeves on both my arms and also the ink on my neck. Tawny tilts her head to get a better look, but she’ll be looking for a while. My tattoos are private. I didn’t get them for people to fawn over or ask questions. I got them as a permanent reminder of what I’ve done. And what I must do to avenge my brother.