Walk Through Fire (Chaos, #4)(7)

“Your stool? This is your place?” I asked.

She straightened and held my gaze like a threat as she stated, “Yeah. Was suckin’ the wrong dick. Wade didn’t own the place, don’t know what I was thinkin’, takin’ his shit. The old man might not’a gotten around real good but he still had a dick and any man’s got one of those, they like it sucked. Sucked my way to him changin’ his will. Now Wade’s gotta eat my * to get on my schedule to get his tips and actually work to get ’em. Like it better that way.”

I knew she was sharing all of this information to shock me and she succeeded.

I tried not to let it show and replied, “Well, good for you, Reb. Glad you got what you wanted.”

“Didn’t get it,” she returned. “Worked for it. Worked my ass off behind this bar for ten years. Sucked old man dick for two. Now it’s mine, shit hole that it is, so not exactly doin’ cartwheels ’cause it cost a f*ckuva lot more than it’s worth.”

I couldn’t agree more.

I didn’t share that.

Instead, I asked, “Can I have a beer?”

“No.”

This time, I held her eyes and started softly, “Reb—”

She leaned in again.

“This here’s a biker bar, Millie,” she snapped. “Chaos quit comin’ years ago but it’s still a biker bar and there aren’t many people wanna show here but I’ll pour a drink for any a’ them, ’specially if they’re a biker ’cause that’s the way it is; that’s the way it’s always been. Who I will not pour a drink for is some up-her-own-ass bitch who don’t like bikers. I think you get I can use every dollar my boys spend on the rotgut that goes here. That don’t mean I’m willin’ to take yours.”

“Reb, what happened was a long time—”

“What happened was you told one of my kind,” she jabbed a thumb to her chest, “you’re too f*ckin’ good for him. You’re too f*ckin’ good for High, you’re two f*ckin’ good to sit your ass on my stool. Now, Millie, not gonna say it again, get the f*ck out.”

High.

That was right. I’d forgotten. Logan had become High when he’d officially become Chaos. The joke was his name had been shortened by his parents to the nickname Low. But he liked to smoke back then and not only cigarettes, so he’d become High.

I’d hated that name mostly because I really wasn’t that fond of how often he smoked pot. I’d hated that name enough I’d never used it.

I had to admit (just to myself) I still hated it.

“There are things that I—” I tried again.

“Don’t give a f*ck.”

“I’m looking for Logan,” I blurted.

Her face twisted in a way that scared the absolute shit out of me as she moved closer to the bar, put her hand on it, and leaned deep.

“And I hope like f*ck you don’t find him,” she hissed. “He moved on but before he found it in him to do that, you obliterated him.”

My heart constricted in a way I actually felt pain.

Excruciating pain.

“Christ, he was so into you, he was you,” Reb spat. “He lived for you. Every breath he took, it was for you. Then you sunk the blade in and slashed it straight through, gutting him. Honest to f*ck, Pete, Tack, Arlo, Brick, Boz, none a’ us thought he’d survive. Ride off a cliff. Set himself swingin’ in the Compound. Get himself in a fight he knew he couldn’t win. He searched for it. It never came and you could smell the goddamned disappointment on him when he woke up to face another day without you in it. Every woman on this goddamned earth wants a man like that to feel like that about them and you had it and you f*ckin’ tossed it away like it was garbage.”

I nearly fell off the barstool in my need to flee because I could take no more. The pain was so immense it was a wonder blood wasn’t oozing from every pore.

“Yeah, bitch,” she kept at me as she watched me move. “Get gone. Get the f*ck gone. Don’t ever come back.” She lifted a hand and jabbed a finger at me. “And don’t you go lookin’ for High. He don’t need your shit in his life. Not again.”

I backed away two steps, unable to tear my eyes off her simply because I had no thoughts. It was actually a wonder I was moving.

All I could feel was the pain.

Eventually my body took flight and I got out of the bar. Into my car. I hit the button and reversed out of my spot without even looking to check if it was clear.

And I drove home.

It was late and even though I needed her, I wasn’t going to call Dottie again. I wasn’t going to call any of my other friends who knew about Logan and my inability to get over him. I wasn’t going to go home and burst into uncontrollable tears that felt like they’d choke me and keep crying until I hoped they would so it would finally be over.

I got into my house and flipped the switch illuminating the kitchen.

I locked the farm door behind me.

I walked to my marble countertop that was white with gray veins and dropped my purse on it.

And then I stood still and stared unseeing into the living room.

Reb was right. I knew it. I knew I’d destroyed Logan.

We’d met when I was eighteen, nine weeks after I graduated high school.