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Amber to Ashes (Torn Hearts #1) Page 76
Author: Gail McHugh

“You and your building. Blah, blah, blah. I have no doubt in my ability to crush you,” Amber replies, her face all kinds of cute with confidence.

“Ah, well, I must warn you, Moretti, my boys can attest to how intimate me and Lady Tequila can get. I make love to the bitch. That says something, since that’s a rarity for me.”

“Very true.” Brock nods with a smirk. “Still, I’ve got a Ben Franklin on my girl taking you down.”

Amber pecks Brock’s cheek, and I instantly feel tension spark the length of my spine. Yup. I’m gonna need the whole fucking bottle to get through tonight.

“Again, Ry, prepare yourself for total annihilation.” Amber nudges my ribs. “I’m about to embarrass your manhood right out of this bar. Wa-wa-wa.”

“Those are some badass fighting words,” Mike Reynolds—a seedy motherfucker Brock and I do business with—snickers from behind us.

Mike sidles up next to Amber, extending his hand. Amber takes it, and I clench my jaw, wanting to break the fucking bottle over his skull.

“Who’s the sweet piece of ass challenging you, Ashcroft?” Mike licks his lips, his gaze sweeping up and down Amber’s body. “I gotta know.”

My jaw clenches again, this time coming close to cracking my teeth.

“Excuse me?” Amber drops Mike’s hand. “Who the hell do you think you are, calling me a piece of ass when you don’t even know me?”

“The sweet piece of ass is my girl.” Brock stares Mike down, his eyes lit up like coals. “Amber, this is Mike, and you, my sweet piece of ass, aren’t allowed to look in his direction when he’s anywhere in the vicinity.”

“Amen to that,” Madeline huffs in disgust.

Mike shoots Madeline a look, a sneer working across his deep wrinkles as she gives him the finger. I’m positive Brock’s keeping his composure for Amber’s sake, but he won’t take long to lose his cool with the dick if Mike gets out of line. High school dropout, divorced three times before the age of forty, and spawn spread out from one end of the country to the next, Mike’s a walking septic tank. Human shit at its finest. Between slipping Ecstasy into chicks’ drinks to get them into bed, to cutting clients’ bags of coke with baby powder—which makes Brock look bad since he’s the douche’s supplier—to smacking around his most recent old lady, he’s straight-up poison to the air.

Mike smirks, his yellow train-wreck teeth on display. “Come on, Cunningham. That was a little harsh, don’t ya think, kid?”

Amber snorts and downs her third shot.

“I thought I was being pretty fucking nice,” Brock deadpans, his voice eerily monotone.

Though Mike’s oblivious to it, cocaine hindering any common sense the mutant has left, Brock’s composure is wavering. Fast.

Brock takes a pull from his beer and jerks his head toward the back entrance. “Let’s go take a walk, Mike. I wanna discuss a couple of things with you.”

Mike glares at Brock then swings his attention back to Amber, the corner of his mouth pulled up. “Well, it was nice meeting you—Amber, was it?”

“Lee, can I get another?” Amber asks, ignoring Mike. “This sweet piece of ass isn’t nearly as tanked as she needs to be.”

“I see.” Mike drags his thumb across his chin, his words a slow taunt. “I guess I’ll catch ya some other time.” Mike goes to turn around but halts, his neck craned in Amber’s direction. “If Cunningham ever stops doing it for you, hit me up. I’m easy to find. A babe such as yourself needs a man, not a little boy.”

I lunge at the asshole, but Brock beats me to it.

Right hand wrapped around Mike’s throat, Brock throws a fast left elbow, the powerful blow connecting with Mike’s jaw, shattering it to pieces. Mike’s shit-brown eyes go wide, his whimpered groan an orgasm to my ears. Dazed, the dick blinks once, twice, then slithers to the wooden floors with a glorious thud, down for the motherfucking count.

“Brock!” Amber wails, shooting to her feet. She curls frantic fingers around his shoulders, her face arranged into a mess of panic and fear.

Brock knots the pussy’s greasy hair in his fingers, dragging his body off the floor.

“Brock, don’t!” Amber begs, her fingers white-knuckling his biceps. “You already knocked him out. That’s enough, baby, please.”

Ignoring Amber, Brock stares into Mike’s semiconscious eyes. “You think you’re a tough guy, you fucking waste of life? Huh, cocksucker? You like talking smack to my girl?”

Mike manages a grin and clams at Brock, the bloody string of saliva slipping down Brock’s chin. “Fuck off, asshole.” The words tumble out garbled, the strained effort comical considering his jaw’s hanging off his face. “You’re lucky I didn’t rape her dirty cunt on the bar in front of you.”

Seething, my fists clench and unclench at my sides as the need for his blood hurdles through my chest. But Brock and I never roll like that. Pussies take down assholes like Mike by teaming up. Not us. Unless one of us is in bad shape, really bad shape, it’s an unwritten rule that neither of us steals the show from the other. The most amusing part about this whole thing is that the scumbag had a decent chance of walking out of here somewhat coherent. “Had” being the operative word.

My pal’s about to fuck him up the ass.

Hands still gripped in Mike’s hair, Brock casts a glance Amber’s way, seemingly asking permission to continue. Such a gentleman.

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Gail McHugh's Novels
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