Deviant (Boys of Winter #3) - Sheridan Anne Page 0,69

I stayed there, they would have made me talk, they would have made me face it instead of allowing me to bury my problems in violence.

I need to hit something. I need to release the fury burning through me.

My door flies open and I storm toward the dodgy dive bar, knowing that the boys are going to be less than ten minutes behind me. It was a ten-minute walk from the Escalade up to the house, and the second I broke through that garage door, they would have run.

I need to make this quick.

As I make my way toward the bar, I glance back at my father’s car. It’s a pile of steaming shit now. I’m sure it used to be amazing, but the condition it’s in now is nothing special. I bet he’s looking down on both me and Mom so fucking ashamed.

The thought has the fury igniting all over again and I clench my jaw as I throw myself through the door of the bar.

It’s just after midday and I’m not surprised to find a few men already here, telling me everything I need to know about them. Who in their right mind needs to be drinking at this time of the day anyway? Pathetic.

As I look around, searching out today’s victim, I’m reminded of Kurt and his reckless alcohol addiction. He was a sloppy drunk and I hated him for it, though there’s also a few other reasons why I hated him, but that’s all in the past.

I walk through the bar slowly, taking my time while knowing that once I get my first hit in, it won’t take long to finish the fucker off. I just hope that Carver and the boys don’t get to me first.

A wolf whistle sounds across the bar and my gaze instantly snaps up.

Bingo.

I guess it won’t be hard looking for today’s punching bag after all. It seems that he’s going to beg for it instead.

I zone in on the old fucker sitting across the bar with a sleazy smile across his dirty face. He’s old and gives off a filthy Santa Claus vibe with his big belly, rosy cheeks, and need to please children. Dirt covers the front of his white, holey shirt, and I can see exactly where he’s used it to wipe food from his mouth. He’s the definition of filth. “Come here, sweetheart,” he says through the three missing teeth at the front of his mouth, making me long to knock out a fourth. “Come and let Daddy buy you a drink.”

Fuck. Maybe I didn’t throw up everything in my stomach before because that shit makes me feel sicker than the thought of Sara and London combined.

I strut around the bar, giving an extra sway to my hips as I go and getting longing glances from the other drunk assholes lingering around. “That’s right, baby,” Santa says. “Let me take care of you. You’re a young thing, aren’t ya?. Way too young to be in a place like this.”

I make my way over to him, sneering at the way his eyes drop over my body as though he has the right. He pats his lap, inviting me to take a seat and my stomach churns at the thought of getting anywhere near this asshole, but luck isn’t on my side because to actually beat the shit out of him, I’m going to have to get a shitload closer.

I take a deep breath, knowing that when I take that final step to close the distance, I’m going to smell that toxic stench that rolls off drunks as the alcohol comes out through his pores and sits clammy on his skin.

God, it’s so gross.

My hand curls into a fist and the sweet feel of my brass knuckles tightening over my skin gives me the strength to keep going. “Why don’t you stand up and let me see what I’m working with?”

“Oh, a lady of the night?” he slurs. “Trust me, I’ve got exactly what a girl like you needs.”

“A girl like me?” I question, watching as he shakily gets to his feet and has to grab hold of the table just to keep from falling. “What’s that supposed to mean, Santa?”

He laughs at the name, thinking it’s something cute, but he couldn’t be more wrong. “You’re a dirty little slut,” he says with a wink. “I haven’t got any cash for ya, but I’ll get you off real nice.”

Ugh. Gag.

“Oh, yeah?” I ask, stepping right up into him with