Into the Nothing (Broken Outlaw Series Book 1) (19 page)

She makes me feel again. She makes me feel safe. She makes me feel… normal. But how normal would she see me if she knew it all—if she knew the worst of it? She’d never be able to look at me the same way again. It’s selfish for me to continue on with this…with her.

The sight of my buddy sitting outside the restaurant interrupts my thoughts. The last time I saw Chase ‘Irish’ McGregor’s big burly ass he was deploying to Afghanistan. Three months later, I got word from some of our buddies he was shot. He’s a sight for sore eyes to say the least.

“Motherfucker!” I shout to him as I hop out of the truck. He stands, reminding me how much bigger he is. I’m no shrimp, but this dude is
big
. Like NFL defensive lineman big, which makes sense considering he started four years at defensive tackle for West Point. Besides a new gut starting to show, he’s still a guy you don’t want to fuck with. His cabbie hat sits atop his head as usual.

“You look pretty good for a man who got shot.” I say. He laughs, pulling me in for a bro hug and letting me go. I feel like a little kid in his embrace.

“Shit, man, call me Forrest Gump, I guess. I got shot in the ass by a sniper. Came out my right thigh without hitting any bone.” He sits, lifting his empty beer to the passing waitress he motions for another one.

“Well, it’s great to see you, dude.” I take a seat, backing the chair up just a bit to retreat from the cigar smoke billowing from the ashtray. Chase is rarely seen without a cigar stoking nearby.

“Great to see you too, man. Didn’t think it would happen so soon. Shit, we deployed what… six months ago?”

The waitress returns with two Bud Lights and sets them before us. Chase’s eyes follow the waitress’s ass as she makes her way back inside.

“Yeah, six months,” I say, though his attention is anything but mine. “How the fuck you still drinking that beer piss, Irish? You need to get on the craft beer train.”

He reluctantly returns his eyes to me and shakes his head. “Shit, no way I’m paying seven bucks a beer like you do!” He lifts his beer with a smirk.

“It’s been too long, man,” he adds.

“It has been! How is everything? How’s the wife?”

He takes a long pull of his beer and averts his eyes. “Yeah, that shit’s over. Divorce is almost finalized.” He takes another chug and shakes his head. “Fuck her.”

“Shit, I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“Minus all the bullshit you already know about, my dad caught her fucking my brother. Nobody was able to reach her when I got shot. They got ahold of my dad instead and passed on word I’d be heading stateside. He called and called and called… nothing. So he’s got an extra key for the house—for emergencies, ya know?—and he goes over there. Finds them both strung out on meth. Dog shit everywhere. Fucking ball gags and anal beads… the works, man. Pops said it looked like some bizarre fucking porno shoot.”

I’m speechless. I knew the chick was a piece of shit from the day I met her. Some people just stink of worthlessness. She’s one of those people. But this? This is just fucked.

“I’m sorry, dude.” It’s all I can manage.

“Shit, better to find out now, without any kids or anything. My dad was smart enough to take video of the house and both of them passed the fuck out. She has nothing on me which means a clean break. That’s all I want at this point.”

“Fucking crazy.”

“Anyways, enough with my sob story. What the fuck are you doing in Missouri?”

“Shit, I could ask you the same, man. Fort Leonard Wood?? What the hell is an infantryman doing at a MP base.”

“I’m processing out, man. Can’t keep doing this infantry shit anymore. I’m tired of it and I just don’t know how much more I can take.” He looks a little ashamed of his words. Being friends with a big group of infantry fucks for as long as I have, you come to learn quickly the sanctity of the title and what it means to be in that brotherhood. They don’t often extend a positive greeting toward a civilian like me, but as is the case with most of my life, my fists earned the necessary respect.

I can see in his face it wasn’t a decision he came to lightly.

“Fort Leonard Wood is closest to my family in Iowa, so I asked to do all the exit paperwork down here,” he adds.

As he speaks, I can’t help but think about our years spent together in Georgia. He was the first real friend I ever made and it’s not something I take lightly.

“Fuck, man, you know what just popped into my head?” I blurt out, the rush of nostalgia running through me. “The first time we met.”

Chase laughs loudly, holding two hands to his gut.

“Do I ever, man. I thought for a second that one of us wasn’t gonna make it out of that bar alive.”

“You started that shit, acting like you owned the place.”

“What kind of cocky fucking civilian walks his happy ass into a military bar and starts mouthing off?” Irish says, taking a swig of his beer and then shaking his head. “Compared to you, I did own the bar!”

“Shit, you bumped into me, fucker. Funny how quickly shit turned though, huh?”

“Leave it up to some queer-ass sailors to make me forget about you spilling your drink on me.”

“I think my favorite part was running away from the cops after beating the living shit out of those Navy fucks. Seven grown-ass motherfuckers jumping fences and slinking through alleys and shit. We used to be so fucked up.”

“What’s with this ‘used to be’ stuff?” Irish jokes. “That was only like three years ago. I think I may have gotten worse.”

Though I know he’s kidding, a part of me thinks there may be some truth to that.

“I’m right there with ya. Hey, at least we’re in bed at an earlier time these days.”

“You got that right! Cheers to being old, drunk and stupid.” He lifts his beer and I do too, though I don’t cheers him right away.

“I’m with you on the drunk and stupid part, but remember you’ve got about seven years on me, you old fuck.”

He laughs, his broad shoulders shaking as he does. He orders two more beers and two burgers he claims are the best he’s ever had. It’s not even close to the first time I’ve heard him say that. Food is his best friend… and his worst enemy.

“Back to my question you so quickly bypassed,” Irish interjects. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Well, after you guys deployed, I didn’t really feel like hanging in Columbus anymore. I was making my way west and stopped in this little town called Truman Valley for the night. Ended up meeting a family that owns a winery. They needed a hand for a few months, and I needed the money. So here I am.”

“Which town? Worth checking out?” he asks.

“It’s this tiny-ass town about an hour west of here. Not much going on there, but it’d be good to have you visit either way.” My thoughts stray to Paige and the potential of her meeting Irish. As much as I would love him to meet her, and vice versa, I just don’t know if it’s good for me. Our lives have already become entangled enough.

“Any hot tail? I’ve been having a hard fucking time getting back into the game after everything, and my dick is
not
happy about it.”

“There’s a few sexy girls.” Brandi momentarily crosses my mind. “One that you’d definitely be down with, and I get the feeling she may be open to the idea.”

“Sign me the fuck up! Weekdays I’m pretty much stuck here, but one of these weekends coming up you’re showing my ass a good time.

“Just say the word, man. We’ll work something out.”

“How about next weekend?” Irish is definitely hard-up. He takes a large bite of his burger, eyes still on me.

“Fuck it, sounds good to me,” I finally say.

“Alright, that’s what I like to hear. I can’t stand these MP fucks here, and I need to get my party on. Somewhere I don’t have to worry about who will run into my drunk ass. Sometimes I really hate being an officer.” He stops for a moment, as if in thought, before continuing. “I should’ve been in the NFL, man.”

“Yeah, or fucking prison.” We both laugh, his teenage run-ins with the law are common knowledge among friends.

“Like you weren’t a little fuck back then too. Let’s not forget the flashlight incident, man.” He notices my immediate discomfort and rolls his eyes. “Don’t get all chickish on me. It was a long time ago. Nothing to still be bothered by.”

“No, I know. It’s not like that. I just don’t like thinking about it. That was a different me.”

“Not a different you, just an immature you. If I remember it correctly, the guy deserved a good beating. Hitting a girl and shit. Fuck that.”

“I honestly don’t even remember if he hit her on purpose. It all happened so fast. I definitely don’t think he deserved the beating he got.”

A half dozen or so people from a town over are gathered around the bonfire. Only one of them—Jared—knows me, though still only on a first-name basis. We go to the same weed dealer and have partied a few times together. The guy knows how to get down, and at this point in my life, I like hanging with people who know where the party’s at. As it turns out, he’s an acquaintance of the only two girls here. The men, all four of them, are complete strangers to both of us. Almost as soon as we pulled up and got out of Jared’s van, the dirty looks started.

The fact that we don’t know most of the people here is something he failed to inform me. And though this dumbass is too ate up to recognize the problem with a scenario like this, I’m not. I have an analytical personality—overanalytical, to be perfectly honest. I may be eighteen, but they’ve been a hard eighteen years and I’ve become pretty adept at smelling out shitty situations. This situation right here is nothing but bad.

As Jared approaches the two girls, I quickly realize the looks have intensified and whispers are being passed between the others. I pull Jared back by his sleeve while the girls continue their conversation as if he had never even been there. One whispers to the other, and they both look at me and giggle. I smile and nod, then lean into Jared.

“Dude, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“What?” he asks, entirely too loud. A few of the guys are cracking open new beers, while others engage in obnoxious conversations.

“You don’t know any of these guys. Do you not see the problem with that?” Jared’s eyes are bloodshot, and he looks at me through squinted eyelids. His breath reeks of whiskey, his motor skills wrangled by THC.

“No, I don’t know them. The girls invited me. They’re high schoolers, bro. Hot as fuck!”

“Okay dude, that’s really great news, but do you not get that we are kind of encroaching on their territory here?” I pass a nod toward the group of guys, who are now working their best game on the two girls.

“What do you mean?” he stammers, his eyes wandering to the girls. “The girls invited me.”

I can just shake my head. I don’t know which of us is dumber, him for being so fucking blind or me for letting him drive me here. It’s not like I have a car anyway, but it sure would be nice to have the option of leaving.

Jared staggers back to the bonfire. He pulls a flask from his back pocket and takes a big gulp, drunkenly stumbling over his feet a bit. He introduces himself to the guys who take his hand without much enthusiasm. Some fail to shake his hand at all, leaving it floating awkwardly in the air.

I turn back to fetch the Jack Daniels I left on the floorboard of Jared’s van. After downing about a third of the bottle, I stow it in my back pocket. If shit’s going down tonight, I’m going to be in an ‘I don’t give a fuck’ mental state.

I can fight with the best of them sober. I’ll take someone’s ass out with a quickness, but being sober comes with limitations. It comes with a moral code. When I’m drunk, that code vanishes. Limitations cease to exist. I become ruthless and I give zero fucks. If I’m gonna get my ass beat, I’m at least taking a few of these cocksuckers with me.

I grab a lighter from my front pocket, and as I tread slowly back to the bonfire, I pull a Marlboro Light from behind my ear. I slip it between my lips and light it, taking a long drag. It’s when the smoke dances back out my lungs in waves that I see Jared thrown to the ground by the biggest guy of the lot.

A flurry of fists rain down on Jared from the guy who pushed him down as two others kick him. The last one watches me. One of the girls bends down to try and pull the big man off Jared, and as he pulls back to throw another punch, his elbow connects with her face. She stumbles back, her hands holding her nose. He doesn’t seem to notice as he continues pummeling Jared.

I see red. Before I know it, I’ve grabbed a Maglite from the van, and within seconds, I’ve whacked three of them hard in succession. They back off, hands guarding their faces. The big guy sees me with the Maglite and then looks at his buddies bleeding from fresh cuts on their heads. He lets go of Jared, whose face is swelling already and bleeding badly, and he jumps to his feet. He takes off toward his car, but I’m right behind him. The others are in shock, not moving a muscle. The big guy doesn’t make it far before he trips and stumbles to the ground.

He turns onto his back but doesn’t have time to get up. The Maglite comes down on his face in quick succession—one, two, three, four. I can’t stop. I lose count. I’m blind with rage, and the only thing running through my head is just how much I like watching him bleed. He begins yelping like a dog on the other end of a rolled up newspaper, sad little cries that make this big man now look utterly pathetic. Flesh splits wide open and pours blood. His nose now juts sharply to the left.

I keep hitting him. I can hear the two girls screaming. One of them is crying. I don’t care, nor do I pay it any mind. I bring the Maglite down a few more times before I hear his friends’ footsteps growing closer.

Jared pulls the van next to me. The door’s open and he’s yelling at me to get in. I don’t want to stop. I bring it down on the dude’s face two more times. He no longer cries, but struggles to breathe through the blood collecting in his mouth. I stand, admiring my handiwork for a few moments before I rear back and throw the Maglite full speed at his face. It connects with a loud thump and then falls to the ground. He lets out a sickening gurgle and groan. I hop into the van and we take off, leaving him bleeding in the rearview.