Chapter 6 - Chance

The rage comes rushing back in a tidal wave and crashes over me with a force I can barely contain. My entire body is trembling with fury - at the military who cast us aside like garbage, at the injustice my baby brother suffered, at the whole goddamn world that failed us both.

Part of me wants to lash out, to start throwing punches and smashing anything within reach until this scalding wrath burning through my veins is extinguished. It's been years since I truly unleashed the mercenary lurking inside, and the beast is howling to be set free.

I should warn the girl to get the hell out before I completely lose my grip on control. Open my mouth to snarl at her to run while she still can...

But then her soft, gentle voice cuts through the storm raging within me.

"Chance...I...I had no idea. I'm so sorry for judging you."

Her delicate hands are on me once more, tenderly cleaning away the fresh streams of blood from my re-opened wounds. Somehow, her soothing touch is like a balm against the fires of my rage, slowly cooling their scorching heat.

Drawing in a ragged breath, I force myself to meet her gaze, to focus on those caring eyes instead of the burning hatred and resentment swirling inside.

"Life just ain't fair to anybody," I rasp out hoarsely. "I have to accept that early on and move ahead, one way or another."

She holds my stare for a long moment before murmuring, "Is that why you joined up with a... motorcycle club?" A frown creases her brow. "Not that I think hurting innocent people is right, no matter how unfair the world's been..."

I can't help but throw my head back with a harsh bark of laughter at that, the unexpected sound making her flinch. Me, hurting innocent folks? Shows what she really thinks of me under that sweet, unassuming facade.

"If that's how you see me from the outside, then I can't blame you," I admit with a rueful shake of my head. "I'm the big, bad Mercenary who bulldozes over anything in his path, no mercy given, right?"

I'm about to try and set her straight, to explain that I only dish out pain to those who've got it coming their way. But the distant rumble of a motorcycle engine cuts me off, rapidly growing louder until it's idling right outside.

Instantly, I'm on high alert once more, body tense and primed for another attack. Jabbing one finger toward the metal door of the supply closet, I bark out,

"Get in there and hide, now!"

Holly's eyes go wide with fear, but she doesn't argue, already scrambling to obey. Before ducking inside though, she pauses, throwing a worried glance my way.

"What about you?"

Meeting her gaze, I do my best to gentle my own.

"Just get in and cover your ears. Trust me on this."

Holly hesitates, worry etched into her delicate features, "Are you sure?"

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to raise my voice and sound harsher than I intend.

"Just go! I need to handle this alone. I can't be worrying about keeping you safe, too!"

It's a lie - I want nothing more than to tuck her someplace secure so I can let the beast off its leash without holding back. Truthfully, I'm almost giddy at the thought of having a deserving target to unload all this pent-up rage and hatred upon.

But I don't want her to see that side of me, not with her own eyes...not yet.

Seeming to understand I won't be swayed, Holly finally nods jerkily and scrambles through the metal door, pulling it shut behind her.

As soon as she's out of sight, I roll my shoulders and crack my neck, psyching myself up like a prize fighter before an important fight. Whoever is foolish enough to come slinking back here better be ready for one hell of a fight.

Silently, I slink around the bar, keeping low behind the door, as I listen to the cautious footsteps slowly approaching the entrance. Someone wanting to scout the place first before barging in, smart but not smart enough.

When the front door finally creaks open, I tense, coiled like a cobra about to strike. A scrawny, weasel-like figure in a battered biker jacket slinks inside, knife gleaming in his hand. One of those Outlaw bastards, no doubt here to finish the job his buddies started.

I don't give him a chance. The second his back is turned, I explode into motion, launching myself at him like a missile. My powerful body slams into his, using every ounce of momentum to drive him backward.

The knife clatters uselessly to the floor as the skinny punk crashes back-first over an overturned table, arms flailing. Landing in a crouch, I snatch up a chair and bring it crashing down on top of him with a savage roar.

Wood splinters and the man howls in pain, a cry abruptly cut off by my fist smashing into his face with bone-jarring force. I'm everywhere at once, a whirling tempest of knuckles and boots and pure, unbridled violence.

Just like with my training all those years back in the military, I slip into that cold, detached state of mind. My focus narrows down to the threat in front of me, the rest of the world fading out as each thunderous blow I land releases more of the pent-up wrath and anguish.

I toss the punk through another table, sending beer bottles and shards of glass raining down as I pounce after him.

Smash after earth-shaking smash, unloading years of fury and abandonment into the poor bastard's face until my knuckles are thick with his blood...

It's only when a thin, trembling voice finally cuts through my haze that I pause, chest heaving.

"P-Please...stop...!"

Panting harshly, I slowly lift my gaze to find Holly standing in the open doorway of the supply closet. Her eyes are wide with shock, one hand pressed to her mouth as she takes in the absolute carnage surrounding us.

The scrawny biker punk lies in a crumpled, bloody heap amidst the shattered remains of tables and chairs. He's still conscious, but just barely, wheezing labored breaths through a face so swollen and pulverized it's almost unrecognizable.

I must be a terrifying sight - shirtless, dripping with sweat, and streaked with the crimson evidence of the brutal beating I've just doled out. My knuckles are raw and split, flames of rage still flickering behind my eyes.

Yet Holly doesn't look afraid, not of me at least. There's something else in her expression as our gazes lock - pity, maybe? Sadness? An emotion I can't quite read clouding her pretty features.

The tension hangs thick in the trashed bar until, finally, I slowly uncurl my fists and straighten up from my fighting crouch. I give a minute shake of my head as if to clear it.

"He'll live," I grunt out, my voice sounding unnaturally hoarse even to my own ears. "They always do..."

The scrawny man lets out a pitiful moan from the floor, like he's trying to form words but lacks the strength. I don't spare him a second glance as I turn away and start gathering up my tattered shirt.

I can still feel Holly's probing stare burning into the back of my sweat-soaked skin as I struggle to stuff my trembling arms back into the sleeves. That merciless side of myself that I always keep brutally contained...she just witnessed it in all its primal glory.

Part of me expects her to turn and flee, to get as far away from the monster she just glimpsed as possible. But the soft footsteps behind me tell a different story as she slowly approaches.

"You...you didn't have to go that far," Holly tells me.

Shrugging into my tattered shirt, I let out a loud laugh.

"That scrawny piece of garbage had it coming the second he stepped foot in my place waving a blade around." Turning to face her, I jerk my chin towards the groaning man crumpled amidst the debris. "In fact, he'd do well to get his worthless hide out of here before I really lose my temper again."

As if on cue, the scrawny biker lets out a pitiful whimper and starts trying to drag himself across the sticky floor, leaving a smeared trail of blood in his wake.

Holly starts moving towards the battered man, clearly intending to try and help him despite the vicious beating I just laid into him.

"Don't you dare," I growl, holding up one hand in a stern gesture to halt her approach.

She freezes, eyes widening slightly as she looks up at me in surprise.

"Were you really about to go over there and try nursing that dirtbag back to health?" I demand incredulously.

To her credit, Holly lifts her chin defiantly.

"I'm still a nurse, Chance. I don't just stop being one because the person is..." She casts a hesitant glance at the groaning biker. "A bad man. I thought you would've realized that about me by now."

I shake my head slowly, hardly able to believe her bleeding heart.

"That piece of trash wouldn't hesitate to hurt you - hell, he'd probably put a bullet in your head if he had the chance. Yet you want to go nurse him back to health? You're crazier than me."

Her eyes flash with a sudden spark of fire.

"Maybe I am crazy then. And maybe you're just a fool who can't see the good in anyone!"

While we're bickering, the beaten biker has managed to drag himself upright, favoring his left leg as he limps with agonizing slowness toward the exit. He pauses to shoot me one last venomous glare before shoving his way outside, the rumble of his motorcycle firing up moments later.

"You really think he's fit to be driving in that condition?" Holly remarks, raising one slim eyebrow at me.

I shrug nonchalantly. "Don't rightly care one way or the other."

To my surprise, instead of pressing the issue further, Holly suddenly closes the distance between us. Before I can react, she starts lashing out, punching at my bare chest with her small fists as fat tears spill down her cheeks.

"Why...do you have...to be so rude?" She demands between sobs, each ineffectual blow punctuating her words. "I know...there's good in you...Chance! Why...can't you...see that?"

I simply stand there, letting her vent her frustrations against me without a word. Truth is, I could easily grab her wrists to halt the assault. But my body remains frozen, unmoving, as wave after wave of her anger and anguish crashes against me.

Maybe I do deserve this, every punch and scream. I am the bad man she believes me to be, after all. So why does this beautiful, caring woman remain so stubbornly convinced that there's some goodness buried inside me?

And the most dangerous question of all—is it even possible that there could be? That the girl somehow senses something I've long since given up hope of?