Storm (Storm MC 1)

“Thanks, baby,” she murmured, and leant in to me, rubbing her nose against my throat. Fuck, I was angry at her, and yet, my dick wanted her.

I pushed her off me. “I didn’t do that for you. I did that for him. Otherwise he would be fucking dead.”

Shock hit her face. “Are you mad at me?”

Christ, she really was gone. And in no state to sit on the back of my bike, so I pulled out my phone to call for backup. “I am so fucking mad at you right now, that it’s best if you don’t say another word,” I cautioned.

As I brought Scott up to speed on Madison’s whereabouts, she sidled back up to me, both her hands gripping my shirt. The smell of bourbon hit me in the face as she spoke. “Don’t be mad at me, J,” she slid one hand down to my crotch as she said this, and settled it on my dick, “Take me home and fuck me.”

I abruptly ended my call, and then, I picked her up off the ground and settled her away from me. “Don’t fucking test me, babe,” I seethed.

“Fine,” she pouted, and then started to walk towards the bar.

“Where the fuck are you going?” I growled.

“None of your business,” she threw over her shoulder, not stopping.

Scott hit the room and made eye contact with me before looking at Madison. He was as angry as I was. She had worked damn hard to kick this habit, and to see her back here was fucking devastating.

We both caught up with her at the same time. Scott was the first to talk. “It’s time to go,” he ordered.

She looked from him to me, and her eyes flashed annoyance. “No. I don’t want to leave. There’s too much shit out there, and I’d rather just stay here in my own little happy world.” She suddenly seemed sober.

“This is your happy fucking place?” I asked, incredulous.

She turned on me. “Yes, J. I like it here. Don’t know why I fucking left.”

Scott cut in. “Okay, you two, enough’s enough. We’re wastin’ time here arguing. You can do that at home,” he looked to me, “Just fuckin’ carry her out of here and be done with it, brother.”

He was right, so I picked her up, threw her over my shoulder and stalked out of the pub. Scott had his Charger here, so I deposited her in it, ignoring her grumbling about it. “I’ll meet you back at my house,” I said to him, and headed to my bike.

I was relieved at this point that Scott was taking her home. The anger and disappointment swirling in my gut would have only led to further arguments with her if I had been in that car. I hoped the ride home would help me clear my head enough to be able to have a conversation with her, rather than a screaming match. Alcoholism was something I struggled to understand, and this didn’t bode well for us.

&nbs

p; Chapter 23

Madison

I waited for it.

Whatever he was going to say about my drinking was nothing compared to what I was screaming at myself. At this point, I hated myself. Hated that I had let myself drink again.

He came into the house, and the energy instantly changed. Whereas Scott had been mad at me, J seemed to be filled with rage and disappointment. It was the disappointment that pierced my heart the most. To have a loved one disappointed in you, was one of the worst feelings in the world. I wanted to run from him, and never look back. Never have to experience the look he was giving me right now.

He and Scott exchanged words, and then Scott left, without saying goodbye to me. I didn’t care. All I cared about was what J was going to do next.

We stood there, looking at each other for what felt like eternity. I crossed my arms, as if by doing so, I could shield myself from him. He clenched and unclenched his fists, and I noticed the muscles in his neck twitch.

Finally, he spoke. “Why?”

Out of all the things to ask an alcoholic, that was maybe the one thing we never wanted to be asked. For me, anyway. Because, it was the one question that I just sometimes couldn’t answer. Or maybe, it was the one question I didn’t want to answer.

I sighed, and fell into the couch behind me, dropping my face into my hands.

“I asked you why!” his voice boomed throughout the room.

Shocked, I jumped in my seat. I looked up at him. “I don’t know.” My words were pathetic, and he knew it.