18. Rhys

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Rhys

I’m not a violent person.

There are only two times I’ve ever started a fight. The first was freshman year of high school when some asshole senior was trying to take advantage of Elton’s kindness by talking him into throwing a boat party for the upperclassmen but refusing to invite him last minute. Even then, I just shoved the guy until he fucked off and left, leaving Elton to enjoy a free party.

The second was when I caught Everest trying to buy drugs from Knox, but even then, I’ve never felt the kind of consuming rage that obliterates all common sense and reason, leaving you only as your most primal self, with pure instinct being the only thing to guide your way.

Until now.

Britt and Skylar are yelling behind me as I throw my entire body over the bar, knocking over drinks and people as I do. I plow my way through the crowd, elbowing them out of the way to reach the center of the dance floor. Knox still has his fucking hands all over Everest—his ass, his bare chest, his face—and I don’t hesitate.

Especially when that asshole tries to fuck his tongue into Everest’s mouth.

I rip Knox off Everest, only catching the surprise on his douchey face before my fist is connecting with it.

“What the hell!” Everest shouts, grabbing onto my arm when I raise my fist again. “Rhys, stop it!”

Knox isn’t passed out; he’s not even on the floor, and the animal within me doesn’t like that. I try to go for him again, but this time, a pair of thicker, stronger arms are pulling me back. I whip my head around, ready to deck whoever’s stopping me, until I see that it’s Butch.

“Let go of me!” I growl, thrashing in Butch’s grip, kicking my legs out when he lifts me.

He shakes his head and continues to drag me away from Everest and Knox. “Not likely. After that stunt, the boss wants a word with you.”

Suddenly, I’m as pliant as Jell-O. My legs barely work as Butch takes me through the club and up the stairs that lead to Davis’s office. The overwhelming rush of how fucking stupid I just was hits me. I can’t believe I lost control like that. Especially at work. I wouldn’t be surprised if Butch takes me straight to Davis so he can fire me. Who gets into a fight at their job and keeps it after?

I’ve only been in Davis’s office a handful of times, but it’s still eerily cold. Just like the club, the walls are black glass with one floor-to-ceiling window looking down onto the dance floor and bar. There’s minimal lighting in here, which makes it creepy as fuck as Butch deposits me onto the leather sofa across from Davis’s desk, where the man himself is spun around and facing his empire.

“Um, so, he’s here,” Butch says, a little flustered as he shuffles from one foot to the other, almost as if trying to gather courage. It’s laughable for someone his size, but also weirdly endearing. “Go easy on the kid?”

It’s posed as a question to which Davis doesn’t respond. I give Butch an appreciative smile, even though I’m nervous as hell when he leaves. The club is my only source of income—good income, at that—and I have no idea what I’ll do once I’m kicked to the curb. I already depend on Elton for so much. Now, I won’t even be able to afford food or gas or?—

“I was having such a good night,” Davis starts, still facing the window. “A supplier agreed to lower his cost and Butch told me we hit a record rate of attendance for a Wednesday night. Do you know what made this otherwise perfect night a hassle?”

I gulp. “Me?”

He finally spins around, and he doesn’t seem all that pissed. Well, Davis is a robot that never shows any sort of emotion, albeit a cool robot, so the most he looks is slightly inconvenienced.

He stands, walking toward his own mini bar, and reaches for a decanter of scotch, pouring himself some in an equally bougie glass tumbler. “Tell me, Rhys. Is it too much to ask that my employees do good work?”

“No.”

“And is it also too much to ask that my employees don’t assault guests while they’re trying to do good work?”

“No.”

He gives me a tight smile. “Wonderful. So, can you explain why you stopped doing your good work to assault a guest in the middle of what was a very good night?”

“I…” But I can’t find the reason. That’s a lie. I know why I jumped over the bar and decked Knox in the face. If I’m being honest with myself, I think I’ve known it for some time now. Yet, my voice is quiet like a whisper, harsh even to my ears as I speak. “He was touching him.”

Davis raises a curious eyebrow. “Care to be more specific?”

“They were just dancing, and he got all handsy, and I…” I let out a puff of air and drop my face into my hands. “I lost it, I’m sorry.”

“Was someone touching your boyfriend?” Davis asks.

To this, I scoff and look up. “Everest is not my boyfriend.”

“Christ, I forget how young you are sometimes,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So, all of this was just because some guy was touching some other guy who’s not your boyfriend?”

Well, when he puts it like that, I sound like an idiot.

Because Everest isn’t my boyfriend. He’s not even my friend. After all the shit we’ve said to each other, enemies would be a more fitting title.

But then, why did my blood run both hot and cold at the sight of Knox’s hands all over his bare skin? Why did I feel the need to burn the world down when their lips met? The idea of him touching something as precious as Everest… But he’s not precious, he’s a nuisance. Annoying, entitled, self-centered. I keep repeating that to myself, only it doesn’t matter.

None of the shit between us mattered anymore. The only thing that mattered was getting him away from someone who doesn’t belong to him.

Someone who belongs to me .

Maybe my hatred has taken on a possessive streak that’s both unwarranted and unwanted. Maybe fucking with him has unlocked something I didn’t realize existed within me. All I know is that something needs to be made loud and clear.

The only one who gets to have Everest is me.

Davis leans back against his desk and raises an eyebrow. “It’s settled, then?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, getting up with a newfound resolve. “It’s settled.”

“Just don’t be a fucking idiot,” he snaps, and his voice is uncharacteristically filled with venom. I do my best not to raise a brow in curiosity while he quickly masks his expression. “You’re a good worker, Rhys. I need you here.”

“Thanks,” I say.

And as I leave his office, it’s with a confidence I hadn’t expected. I whip out my phone, determined to see this through.

Me: You’re coming home tonight.