103. Brandon

ONE HUNDRED THREE

My hands tremble on the bar top.

This lying, scheming, traitorous whore.

Rage slithers down my spine.

For years. For fucking years, I've been sucking up to that bitch. Giving her time. Letting her get comfortable around me.

I've given up so much for her.

I've been so nice to her.

For fucking what?

For her to spread her fucking legs for Mad Dog Maddox?

I pick up my cocktail and tip it back, swallowing the expensive liquid.

I narrow my eyes at the table across the dining room, watch him put his filthy mouth on her.

I don't want to stay.

I don't want to sit here and fucking watch this.

I don't want to act like a fucking doormat as they walk all over me.

"Want another?" the bartender asks, only paying me attention once my drink is empty.

I slide my empty glass toward him. "Yes."

I think about the way Maddox rubbed his fucking car in my face.

I think about him stepping out of her office after that tacky party.

I think about her telling me she had a boyfriend.

Nearby laughter scrapes across my nerves.

I came here by chance. I'd read an article about how great it was. Saw the photos of the beautiful women seated at the bar, figured I'd come take my shot.

I clench my teeth as I pull my phone out of my pocket.

I'll take my shot, alright.

Opening the camera, I act like I'm reading something, but I slide my fingers across the screen and zoom in.