Atone (The Disciples 2)

“I did a lot of drugs and fucked a lot of women.” Not having the patience for his glassy eyes or the party in general, I stand and turn my focus to Blade and Eve.

“I’m going to bed.”

Blade eyes me as Axel looks in the other direction, silently judging me. I can feel it yet I’m too beat to bother proving that I’m full in.

“Let’s talk in the morning,” Blade says as he pulls Eve closer, his thumb rubbing what looks like the Disciples brand on her neck.

“I need a bike. I’m returning the Ferrari tomorrow.”

Blade keeps stroking Eve’s neck. “Talk to Torque. He’ll hook you up.”

I look up at the stars sparkling in the night sky.

“I’ll let you guys rage. See you in the morning.” I reach down to take Axel’s pack of smokes, and he raises a dark brow and scowls.

“Christ, Axel, I’ll pay you back. It’s cigarettes, not a fucking kidney.” I’m ten seconds from losing my shit. Axel is being a dick, even for him, and I need to go upstairs before I punch his stupid, pretty face.

“You sure you’ll be here in the morning?”

And that’s it. His bad energy, along with my whole fucked-up life, has made all my patience vanish.

I lean both hands across the table as Eve says, “Blade, do something.”

Ignoring her, I snarl right in his smirking face. “You got a problem with me, spit it the fuck out. Because I’m not in the mood to listen to any mumbling or pathetic passive-aggressive shit out of your fucking miserable mouth.”

It’s almost as if the whole party screeches to a stop as Axel pushes back his chair.

“What’d you say to me? You want me to tell you what I think?”

“Blade.” Eve jumps off my cousin’s lap, grabbing his hand. He pulls her back, wrapping both arms around her waist.

The bonfire crackles, but the music has stopped as everyone starts to make their way over.

“I don’t think you want to fuck with me, Poet. You’ve been sucking the cocks of billionaires and I’ve—” I don’t even let him finish and punch him right in the fucking jaw. His body doesn’t move. He rubs his chin and spits out some blood. Then he looks at me and smiles before he throws the table over.

“That’s it, Poet. Let’s see some of that rage. Because I don’t trust you. So fuck you.” He spits blood in my face.

Rage, it’s so intoxicating, like a long-lost lover dangling her cunt in front of me. It takes over my brain and I smile too as I slam into him.

I don’t know how many punches each of us gets or who pulls us off each other. It must not have been Blade; he’s still holding Eve.

Screams and cheers fill the yard as the party seems to have taken a turn. The music gets louder and brothers are tossing empty glass bottles into one of the bonfires.

Not even looking at Axel, I grab the pack of cigarettes and walk toward the clubhouse. God, he’s a fucking prick sometimes. You mark my words—out of all of us, Axel will live to be the oldest. He’s too mean to die.

I storm into the house and almost barrel into Amy who’s coming out of the kitchen carrying a cup of tea and a baby monitor.

“Jesus,” I breathe out. My right eye is cut, the blood almost obscuring my vision as I blink at her. If she’s surprised, she doesn’t look it, although everything is a little blurry.

“Oh David, when are you going to learn? You’re too smart to get into fights at your age.” She slaps my arm, causing me to groan.

“Obviously not.” Using my forearm, I wipe the blood out of my eye. “I’ll be fine. Trust me, I’ve had worse.” I start to walk past her toward the stairs to my room.

“Let me know if you need a needle to stitch your eye.” I turn and look over my shoulder. The top of my eye is still bleeding and the warm, sticky wetness slides down my neck.

“You know I need it.”

She just smiles. “Yep, I do.” Turning toward her room, she adds, “Go get cleaned up and I’ll leave it on your bed.”

I take the stairs two at a time, still all jacked up, except now my hands are starting to throb and the top of my eyelid has a pulse.

Tearing off my pants, which are now covered in dirt and blood, I toss my cut on a chair in the corner and flip on the bathroom light.

Once I start the shower, I turn to assess myself in the mirror. Leaning in, I get a good look at my eye. It’s not horrible but it will need a couple of stitches. A bruise is already forming on my pec underneath my tattoo of Tabatha’s name.