The Scars That Define Us (The Devil's Dust #2)(32)

“Bullshit,” Bobby snaps, stepping up, ready to take Skeeter down for trying to arrest me. If Skeeter’s going to lie and claim I assaulted him, he’s going to get what he wished for.

“All right, let’s calm it down,” Bull orders, sliding his hand between Skeeter and me.

“Locks, take the f*cking ticket. We’ll get the mess cleaned up, Skeeter. No need to arrest anyone,” Bull tries to reason.

“I don’t like your tone. You better watch it, boy. I think you forgot whose town you’re in,” Skeeter states, cocking his eyebrow. My teeth grit in anger, a couple nights in jail for assaulting a police officer, Skeeter in particular, doesn’t sound too bad at the moment.

He rips the paper from the pad and throws it in Locks’ direction.

“Enjoy the rest of your day,” Skeeter practically sings before walking back to his cruiser.

“Fucking prick,” I rumble in anger.

“Are you trying to get thrown in prison?” Bull questions.

I shrug and mutter, “It would be worth it.”

“Locks, I had Tom bring the truck, so ride back to the club with him. I’ll call a couple of guys and get this cleaned up,” Bull promises, climbing on his bike.

“I have to ride in that f*cking thing?” Locks asks, pointing at the SUV. He hates vehicles; I’ve seen him ride his motorcycle in every kind of weather just to keep from being in a vehicle.

“Unless you want to ride bitch?” Bull laughs.

Locks strides over to the SUV and climbs in, shaking his head and cursing. I don’t know what happened to his bike, but I know it didn’t catch fire by a gas leak. He takes care of that thing too well to let something like that go unmended.

***

After we head back to the club, I’m ready for another beer. Only when I find Locks sitting at the bar getting drinks at the clubhouse, I can’t handle the temptation to throttle him and need to go somewhere else. I haven’t forgotten how he disrespected Dani so easily.

“What’ll it be, babe?” the bartender asks, her red hair tangled and sticking to her sweaty forehead. When just us boys are looking to get out and get some fresh beer, we hit up this hole-in-the-wall bar. I don’t even know if it has a name aside from Bar.

“My usual,” I reply, cracking a peanut in half.

“Get me one, too, babe,” Bobby slings her way, sliding onto a stool next to me.

“You followed me again.” I observe rather than ask, tossing the peanut in my mouth.

“Yeah, I want to clear the air between us,” he states, taking his beer from the bartender.

“Not anything to talk about,” I say, grabbing my beer, as well.

“Bullshit there’s not.”

I look up at the TV and see the missing person add for Parker flash between commercials. I grin, they’ll never find Parker. I may or may not have paid him a visit in the night recently. I never leave a job unfinished.

“Hey, I’m Heather.” I look over and see a short, blonde-haired girl sliding up Bobby’s side. She has on ripped fishnet stockings with a red skirt and a black corset.

“Well, hey, doll,” Bobby grins, sliding his hand down over her skirted ass and giving it a squeeze.

“Heather, let’s go. We got business.” Another girl wearing the same outfit yells from the door.

“Shit, I gotta go,” Heather says, pulling from Bobby’s hold and walking toward the door.

I can’t help but hold judgment at Bobby, my disgusted gaze telling him just that. That girl would be nasty even if I was shitfaced drunk.

“What? Anything goes with hoes,” Bobby chuckles.

“That’s repulsive. Do you not have any standards?” I ask, popping a peanut in my mouth.

“I wouldn’t have slept with her,” Bobby tells me, his tone serious while he cracks a peanut. “But I’m not going to be a dick to her either,” he continues with sincerity.

“Right,” I sneer. I can’t help but be pissed at Bobby, since he encouraged Dani to move on without me and put his hands on her.

“Hey, *!” Bobby and I look over our shoulder’s to see three men standing at the door, the one in front pointing at Bobby. He has on baggy jeans and a sleeveless shirt, his head bald and shiny. Of the two behind him, one has a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off and the other is wearing a white shirt with holes all over it. All walks of life in this bar.

“Me?” Bobby questions, pointing to himself.

“You mess with my girls, you pay up,” the bald man roars, slapping his chest with a loud roar.

“I didn’t mess with anything, and you better watch who you’re talking to,” Bobby retorts, pointing at the man.

“That’s not what my girl said, so you calling her a liar?” The bald man’s walking up to Bobby.

Suddenly, Bobby is ripped from his bar stool and thrown on the ground. The bald man straddles him and punches Bobby square in the face. I turn leisurely on my stool to get a better view of the action. Nobody seems to even notice the fight; everybody just goes about their business, drinking, dancing, and playing pool. A fight in this place isn’t uncommon. Bobby takes the hit and throws his own punch, making the guy fall off him. Then Bobby rolls over and punches the guy in the face again; he might actually have this fight. The bald guy spits blood to the side and grins at Bobby maliciously. The two guys who followed the bald one suddenly grab Bobby by the elbows, one on each side, and haul him off the guy in charge. He rises to his feet and wipes the blood from his lip before delivering a punch to Bobby’s gut without warning. Bobby grunts in pain as the man throws another.