Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Before he could finish his drink someone from behind him slammed into his back, tipping over the shot glass. The alcohol spilled along the counter, and his rage grew.
He had wanted that damn shot, and the intoxicated state he was in right now, the memories surfacing through his head, and the images of what had been taken away from him and his mom for so long made this beast inside of him rise. He turned his head and saw some asshole glaring at him.
“Watch it,” the asshole said, and tried to push between him and Ace to get the bartender.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Toby asked, not hiding his anger. The guy looked at him, his drunken state pretty damn clear, but his attitude and lack of common courtesy making Toby want to beat his ass.
“This is a bar, a place to get drinks, not sit there and stare at the wall, like you and your friend have been doing for the last hour.”
Toby curled his hand into a fist on the counter, and before he could stop himself he turned and slammed it into the other man’s face. This surge of satisfaction filled Toby when the prick fell back and grunted out in pain. He was then out of his seat and hauling the guy off the ground.
“You fucked with the wrong guy on the wrong day, asshole.” Toby hit the prick again, and once more.
The guy started swinging, cursing out foul insults and trying to get the upper hand. But Toby knew how to fight, knew how to handle himself because of the life he had led.
The guy got a hit in, but it wasn’t optimum in positioning and skimmed Toby’s cheek. Toby threw a left hook, and then a right uppercut. The other guy fell back on his ass once more, and it was clear the fight was draining from him fast. People were moving out of the way, and Toby knew that this fight would be shut down pretty fast by the owner of the bar.
“Get up, motherfucker,” Toby gritted out.
The other guy finally pulled his sorry ass off the ground, and turned his head to spit out a mouthful of blood. He suddenly charged toward Toby like he’d gotten a second wind, or thought he could possibly win.
He swung left, and then right, but he was no match for the built-up anger Toby had inside of him. He swung out once more, but Toby clocked him in the face, knocking him back on his ass.
“We need to get out of here, man. The owner called the cops,” Ace said and pulled him toward the front doors. The guy was out cold on the floor, and Toby spit on him. Yeah, maybe not the way to spend this evening, but fuck it all to hell.
Twenty minutes later and Toby stumbled away from the taxi, walked up the porch steps, and braced a hand on the banister. The cab behind him skidded out of the neighborhood, and Toby grabbed his keys from his pocket, realized he wasn’t back home in Silver Springs, and cursed.
For shits and giggles he tried the handle, surprised that it was unlocked, and stepped inside. The living room of his mom’s place was dark, cold even. Before he had left with Ace he had made sure his mom had been okay.
She had all but pushed him out of the house, telling him to spend time with Ace. And that was what he had done, for the last five hours, and until he couldn’t even see straight.
His cell vibrated when he stepped inside and shut the door. Fishing out his cell from his pocket he saw the screen, recognized Ace’s number that he had given him earlier in the evening, and answered.
“I’m surprised you can even dial my number, man,” Toby slurred and lowered his voice.
Ace started chuckling. “Just wanted to make sure you got home okay, and that you aren’t feeling any pain from that fight,” Ace said in an equally slurred voice. “I knew you were just as fucked up as I was, and you were in a bad spot at the end.”
Yeah, he was, but the fight had gotten some of his anger out. “I’m good, man, and I’m glad you’re home safely, too.” Toby moved through the house on unsteady legs, knocked his shin into the coffee table, cursed, and stopped. He continued to move through the house, up the stairs, and stopped at his mother’s bedroom.
The door was slightly open, and he saw her sound asleep in the center of the bed.
She wasn’t crying, and for that he was thankful, but he hoped that she allowed herself to heal healthy, because moaning over a man that had beaten her on more than one occasion was not something she should put her energy into.