Corps Security: The Series (107 page)

“Nope, just had a little trouble finding the place. So . . . Slice is interesting.”

“Yes. Very interesting,” he mumbles while his eyes never leave my chest.

What a tool.

“Would you like to go find a place to sit?” I ask, hoping that he might just tell me that he would rather spend time with the Playboy Bunny behind the bar.

“Of course. Forgive me. It’s been a long week and my head must not be on right.” He waves his hand in front of him, hinting for me to take the lead.

When I start off in the direction of an empty booth, his hand rests heavily against the small of my back. The first step I take, his hand leaves my back, caressing my ass before giving me a little tap. I yelp before spinning around and glaring at him.

He holds his hands up. “Sorry, sweet cheeks. I just couldn’t resist.”

“It would be best if you remember to keep your hands to yourself, Nikolas,” I snap.

He smirks and gives me a wink before grabbing my hand and taking off in the direction we were headed. I try unsuccessfully to pull my hand from his, but he keeps his firm hold on mine.

What a nightmare.

* * *

So far, I’ve been in date hell for about two hours, and within those two hours, I’ve actually talked to my date for about thirty minutes. The second we sat down, ordered some finger food—since that was the only thing offered—and some drinks—nonalcoholic for me and shot after shot for him—he disappeared. I would have left, but the greasy food was so good that I couldn’t stop eating.

And then I ordered some more, along with another water with lemon, and by the time I realized that I had been people-watching and living in my own head, another hour had passed. It isn’t abnormal for me to space out when I’m in the middle of a crowded place. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a writer. It doesn’t matter where I am. I sit and story after story just filter through my head. Clearly I have been living in my own personal bubble, because while I was writing a new story in my head, my date vanished.

Well, isn’t this lovely.

I flag down one of the scantily clad waitresses and pay the bill—the whole bill—before grabbing my purse and heading off to the bathroom before I leave.

The hallway leading to the bathroom is oddly quiet. The lighting is just as bad as the rest of this place, dark and smoky. Once I make it up to the door marked
Chicks,
I give it a good shove before realizing that it’s locked. I would leave, but since I was sitting there living in my head, I downed seven waters, and right now, baby bean is making it very clear that space is limited and my bladder looks like a nice pillow.

Knocking on the door, I yell, “Excuse me? Is anyone in there?”

“Yeah, bitch. Hold the hell on!” comes the muffled reply followed by a crash and some giggles that quickly turn into one of the longest moans.

While I’m sitting here about to pee on myself, cobwebs having collected around my neglected pussy, some chick is getting her rocks off. Life is not fair. I laugh at the thought of my lacking sex life. It’s not for lack of want—Lord knows the pregnancy hormones have me turning into some sex-craving whore—but there is only one man my body craves, and regardless of what I tell myself, that will never happen.

“Come on! Pinch her tit and roll your hips, dude! Showtime is over!” I yell, slamming my fist against the wooden door.

I hear some more grunts, moans, and muted curses before silence takes over. I’m just about to say the hell with it and brave the men’s room when I hear the lock disengage and the door swings open. Honey McSexpot from the bar struts out first, fluffing her hair and hooking her uniform top back into place. Her makeup is all over her face and her hair looks like she stuck her head under the hand dryer in the bathroom.

I laugh. Yeah, that’s right, I literally laugh in her face at the picture before me. “Honey, you might want to check your face before you go back to work.”

“Whatever, bitch. You might want to check your date.” She shoots back before walking back down the hall.

I don’t even think about what the heck she just said. I’m more focused on the toilet paper sticking out of the crotch on her shorts. What a whore.

I’m still laughing to myself when I turn back to the bathroom and collide with a firm chest. “Whoa there, pretty thing. If you want some of Nik the Dick, all you have to do is ask. Didn’t think you were the type, but I’m more than ready for round two!”

I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my tongue to keep myself from laughing even harder at the hilarity of the situation.
Nik the Dick?
What a mess this whole night has turned out to be.

“Nikolas. I would say it’s been a pleasure, but being the minuteman that you seem to be, that would be a lie. I should thank you for showing me just what I’ve been lucky enough to miss out on here.” I take a second to look at him, really look at him, and this time, I can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out. “You do realize that you have a tampon stuck to your face, right?” As disgusting as it is, I can’t stop laughing.

By far, this is the worst date I have ever been on. Knowing that my
date
was busy fucking the bartender should sting. I clearly don’t have the wow factor anymore, and that is perfectly fine with me—especially since the prick I was supposed to be here with now has a very used tampon stuck to his face.

He looks confused for a second before spinning on his heels and running back into the bathroom. I can hear his girlish yelp seconds before I hear him losing his stomach.

And I just turn, walk to the men’s room, relieve myself, and then head the hell home. I don’t stop laughing until I’m waving at Joe and safely behind my apartment door. Only then do I realize just how lonely I really am and my giggles turn into sobs.

CHAPTER 5

Asher

“Come on, faggot. You’re nothing but a piece of white trash!”

“Such a crybaby, trailer trash!”

“Where is your big, bad brother now, little boy?”

“Expecting a flood soon? Huh? Can’t even get clothes that are clean?”

“How bad do you want this apple? Want it bad enough that you’ll kiss my feet, gay boy?”

I can hear them taunting him before I even round the building. I know what I’m going to find. It’s the same thing that I found last week after Coop came home from school with a black eye. He looked terrible, which really isn’t that hard for us.

Coop started high school this year, and I knew it would be bad. It was bad for me too—until I taught those bully shits what taunting me will get them. I had to fight for my respect, but no one messes with me now. I might not be wearing name-brand clothes. I can’t even buy my own lunch without government assistance. And I will never be a kid in this school who drives a brand-new BMW. But I will demand respect that, at even fifteen, I know means more than any name-brand item I could ever own.

Coop and I don’t have nice things. Hell, we don’t even have kind of nice things. We have shit. We have filth. We have
nothing
.

But we have each other, and we will always have each other. My piece-of-shit excuse for a mother doesn’t even try to take her hands to Coop anymore. Not since the last time I scared her so bad she pissed all over herself. I tower over the woman who gave birth to us. She tried to take a shovel to Coop last year when I had snuck him a piece of cake I’d stolen from a local baker. She came home, saw us laughing and eating real food, and went nuts. All it took was my getting in her face and threatening to flush all of her pills. She took one look at me, big for my age, vibrating with years of hate, and backed down.

These days, she is gone more than home, thank Christ.

I can still hear them when I finish the remaining steps that will take me to what I know will end in a lot of fists flying and blood spraying.

It’s time to teach these motherfuckers that they don’t touch my brother.

My gut clenches when I see him, my
brother
, curled into his small self. He’s small for his age, but then again, when you lack the proper nutrition needed to actually grow, I guess that’s normal. His bony arms are wrapped around his head. His head is tucked into his bent legs, and he is rocking back and forth.

And it breaks my heart.

I wish I could take all of the pain and all of the hurt away from him. I wish that I could make it so that he never suffered. I wish I could save him from the world.

“Get the hell away from my brother!” I roar.

All five of the bullies who are walking circles around my brother’s huddled form turn their heads at my voice. When I see the evil gleam in their eyes, I know that there is no way I’m going to walk away from this fight without feeling it.

“Come on, shitheads. You want to pick on someone, then pick on someone your own size.”

“Oh we will be happy to,” Dillon Sharpton grunts.

“My pleasure, fucker,” Drew Cardy snarls.

I hear the others chime in, but I only have eyes for Coop. I see him peek through his folded arms and I mouth the only thing I can before ten fists are flying towards me.

“Run.”

I know this won’t be pretty. I know I’m going to feel every second of this. But I’m going to fight these jackasses until I can’t fight anymore.

I watch Coop struggle to his feet, giving me one more look of fear before he runs as fast as he can around the way I came.

Safe.

And then . . . I fight.

“Wake the hell up,” I hear, followed by a hard kick to my ass.

Before I can stop my body, I’m rolling over the side of the guest bed in Maddox’s apartment and landing hard on the wood floor.

“What the fuck!” I slowly climb off the floor because every damn inch of my body is screaming in protest.

“Yeah,
what the fuck
would be a good question, seeing as my whole fucking apartment looks like a tornado came through here. Not to mention how you look.”

I look up and meet the pitch-black depths of Maddox Locke’s cold, hard stare.

“What are you doing here?” I question, trying to wake myself up.

“Uh, news flash—I live here.”

“Oh, right.”

“Yeah,
oh right.
What the fuck, Asher? I ask you to stay here and watch the damn cat. Watch. The. Cat. Did I say to make yourself comfortable and re-fucking-model while you were here?”

I’ll be the first one to admit that I’ve spent the better part of the last . . . I’m not sure how long . . . stuffed in the bottom of whatever bottle I can find, but I honestly have no damn clue what the hell he’s talking about.

Maddox called me last week—that much I remember—and asked me to come stay at his apartment and keep his cat fed and shit. But the rest of that . . . Nope, no idea. And clearly with how hard his stare is getting, he knows I’m clueless right now.

“You need to lay off the booze, brother. I understand you. Trust me, I do. But you can’t keep drinking away your grief. Scream, yell, fuck it out, but do not sit here and drink yourself into a grave right next to Coop. You know damn fucking well he wouldn’t want that for you.”

He looks at me for a few more beats before he walks away from where I’m standing, mouth gaping, and shuts the door with a loud click echoing throughout the otherwise silent room.

He has no fucking clue—none of them do. No one knows what it’s like to lose the other part of your goddamn life. No one. They all look at me with pity and it makes me sick. My brother was my reason for living. For as long as I can remember,
he
was the reason I woke up, and now that he’s gone, I have no clue how to move on from this darkness I’ve been drowning in. Every time I close my eyes, I see his smile and it kills me to know that I wasn’t there to save him when he needed me.

For the first time that I can remember, I let him down.

And I have no idea how to move on from that.

* * *

After taking a scalding-hot shower, I’m finally feeling human enough to join Maddox. Judging by the noises coming from the living room, that’s where I’m going to find him.

Coming around the corner, I feel my mouth drop. What the hell happened to this place? He wasn’t wrong; it looks like a tornado came through. Hell, there might have been an earthquake as well.

Maddox isn’t big on the whole decoration shit, but then again, being a single guy myself, I completely get it. There’s no need for accents and shit when it’s just going to be you looking at the shit. It isn’t barren, which my old apartment was, but it damn sure is lacking anything personal. Just white walls and black furniture. It’s pretty much your typical bachelor pad. The only thing making it a step up from college dorm life is the lack of naked women posted on the walls with thumbtacks. It’s not much of a step, but at least there’s that.

I had my reasons for keeping my old apartment void of personal touches. I didn’t even have pictures of Coop out around the place. It just had the bare minimum needed for me to come, eat, and sleep. It was, hands down, my fuck pad. More importantly, there were no reminders of the life I’d left behind when I got out of the Marines.

I wasn’t enlisted long. I went in and got the fuck out. Don’t get me wrong; I respect the hell out of these guys. I respect the hell out of anyone willing to risk their lives for our country. I saw things and did things that can never be unseen or undone. I’ve killed, I’ve helped others kill, and I watched half of my unit blow up right in front of my face.

So when it came time for me to reenlist, I declined.

And then every day that I sat at home while my little brother was overseas on some unknown mission, I felt like I was dying a little inside.

I suspect that Maddox has his own demons that follow him from his time in the Marines. I know he’s highly decorated, but I also know that he suffered the worst out of all of us over there. The kind of shit that sticks to your skin and never, never lets go.

“Are you just going to stand there or do you actually plan on helping me clean up your shit? And where the hell is Cat?”