Page 50 of Combust (Everyday Heroes 2)
Walk to your brothers, Malone.
Walk.
Back.
Now.
I take one step toward Grant and Grayson, and the next thing I know, I hear myself calling Wes’s name. It’s followed by the bite of pain when my fist connects with his cheek as he turns to face me.
After that, everything moves in fast forward. The two of us falling and crashing against a row of barstools. The clatter of one of them hitting the ground—metal to concrete. The grunt as my fist connects again. The shuffle of patrons scattering, and the sudden stop as we land on the hard floor.
“You son of a bitch,” I manage to get out right before his fist connects with my solar plexus. I grunt again.
Rage owns me.
Every part of me.
Each punch I land.
Every curse I spew.
Each thought of Dylan and the fucke
d-up shit he said about her.
I buck off the hands grabbing at my shoulders but come right back.
“Grady.” It’s Grayson.
“Grady, bro. Enough!” Grant.
Well, fuck.
Seconds clip by in still frames, and then Grant is pushing me out of the bar. The cold air outside clears the remaining fog of anger the fight didn’t.
My fist throbs.
“Your ass should be in jail, Grady,” he mutters as Grayson opens the car door for Grant to shove me in.
My cheek hurts like a bitch.
“The fucker deserved it.”
The silence is golden.
Jett left for the night on a jaunt a few hours north to Napa. He said something about meeting up with an old friend from his days pushing his demo tapes to record labels. I would put money on Sunnyville being too tame for him and he needed to go cause some trouble to keep his rock-star street cred.
But he said he’d be back in the morning when all I wish he’d do is head back home. Not home. To Los Angeles. To his home.
Then there is Grady, who is God only knows where.
I’ve checked on my mom, checked in with my brother, and even replied to an email from Ava despite still being mad at her for telling Jett where I am among other things.
That leaves Petunia and me to enjoy a nice glass of wine in the silence around us. Well, the quiet less her grunts.
And just as I lift my Kindle and start the first paragraph on the page, the back door slams open.
“He’s all yours,” Grant says with a chuckle as Grady comes in after him with Malone sandwich number three, Grayson, right behind him.
