Betrayed By Beauty - Ashley Lane Page 0,64

fairy who’s probably had everything handed to him all his fuckin’ life.

I take another mouthful of whiskey.

And Oakley! That ugly fuckin’ bitch. I’ve seen the way he looks at her. That glint in his eyes when she walks past, it’s what clued me into the fact that the faggot was a little straighter than we all thought. A shiver of disgust runs down my spine when I think about Angel and Jax and the things they do to each other. Fucking sick.

When the last mouthful of whiskey flows down my throat, I lean back on the sofa and close my eyes. Angel may have won this time, but I’m not backing down. And if that means I go to war with the entire Heaven’s Guardians? So fucking be it. Best buckle up motherfuckers.

***

An hour out of Aspen, I hand the Uber driver the money and step out of his car, smoothing down my shirt and checking my reflection in the car window before he drives away. Setting a broken nose wasn’t as hard as I expected it to be, but it hurt like a motherfucker, and now I have a broken bathroom mirror to add to the list of shit I’ve fucked up in the past 24 hours.

The bar is smaller than Corrupt, and when I walk in and see a hooker on her knees beneath one of the tables, it’s clear their standards are a hell of a lot lower too. Right on par with mine. I used to love working at Corrupt. The pay was better than any other place in Colorado, and the hours were perfect, allowing me to go clubbing or to dive bars to pick up women willing to exchange a night in my bed for a bit of cash.

Everything was fuckin’ peachy until Rhys started. He was the perfect little goody two shoes. Suckin’ up Angel’s ass every chance he got. Rhys was watching me too closely, and I knew the minute he saw me taking cash from the register to pay the sluts in the back, he’d run his mouth to Angel. It was going so well too. Even got myself a nice little nest egg out of it.

“Hey there, what can get ya’?” The bartender, an older guy with silver hair and a thick beard leans on the bar in front of me.

“Whiskey’s good, thanks.” Being on this side of the bar is surreal. I’ve never liked it and don’t think I ever will. I like being the one to scrutinize others, having that attention on me makes me nervous as fuck, as though I’m being interrogated.

“You’re not from ‘round here,” the bartender says.

I shake my head, turning the white cardboard coaster with my fingertip. “Aspen.”

“Looks like ya’ got ya’ self knocked around pretty good, you in some kinda’ trouble?” He studies my bruised face, broken nose, split lip… fucking bruised knuckles.

I shrug. “It’s nothin’. Run in with my ex-boss.”

He blows out a whistle through his teeth. “You decide to sue, let me know. Buddy of mine’s a fancy lawyer. He’ll help you out.”

That actually makes me laugh. I slam down my empty glass and gesture for another. With my second glass in hand, I scan the small dance floor where a few women are grinding up against men who are clearly too drunk to be able to get their dicks up, let alone dance.

One of the women meets my gaze and gives me a seductive wink. Just on the verge of tipsy, I decide to give it a shot.

I nod, and she tugs on the hem of her red leather mini skirt and walks across the dance floor toward me. She’s about what I would expect to be, trolling for dick in a place like this. Her bleached blonde hair is growing out, leaving her black roots showing, and when she reaches me, I notice her lipstick has smeared onto her teeth. Fucking gross.

I hate women who show no pride in their appearance, but I also have needs that hafta be met and when push comes to shove, beggars can’t be choosers. Plus, I can always fuck her from behind if I need to.

“Heya’ sexy,” she purrs into my ear. “Looks like you need some lovin.” She glances at the bartender. “Expectin’ a busy night, Phil?” she asks.

He shakes his head as he pushes another glass toward me. When the fuck did I finish the second? Or was it the third? Uncaring, I swallow the amber liquid, enjoying the smooth burn