***Warning: 18+ only. This chapter contains swearing and explicit scenes.***
Buddy pushed into a bar in downtown Buxton, the stench of stale beer, cigarettes and sex assaulting his olfactory senses. His sharp eyes surveyed his surroundings before he took a seat close to the liquor.
Throwing a coaster onto the pockmarked bar, the bartender asked, “What’ll it be, Buddy?”
“The usual,” he replied from around the hand-rolled between his lips. The bartender grunted a reply and shuffled around the bar, producing cheap whiskey in a dirty shot glass and a beer chaser. “Thanks.”
He nodded. “You want me to start up a tab?”
Buddy thought about it for second. “Yeah. You do that.”
“You got it.”
The shot of whiskey burned his throat as it went down, but he let it burn. He needed to feel this pain now. When the edge had worn off, he sucked back his beer, draining the bottle in one sitting. He wiped the back of his sleeve across his mouth. As he placed the bottle back on the bar, another shot of whiskey and a fresh beer were sitting there. Buddy’s eyes met the near black of his new best friend behind the bar and he nodded.
By his sixth ride on the merry-go-shot, Buddy’s body hummed with warmth. The temperature of the liquor in his blood didn’t deaden his hard-on for a fight though. If anything, it made him hopped-up for more than just one. The sound of loud laughter brought his head up from looking down at his now empty shot glass.
The bar had slowly been filling up with the usual Wednesday night crowd as he sat there drinking himself into a stupor. Most of the cocksuckers were truckers wearing their wife-beaters and ripped jeans like it was something they could be fucking proud of. Their arms had some kind of ink on them, and mostly it was the name of the trash they’d managed to knock up. The rest of the clientele were working girls getting nice and blunt for the whoring that would come later. They were all the fucking same. His top lip lifted from his teeth in a sneer before he focused on the fresh drink in front of him.
“Hey!” someone said beside him.
Buddy lifted his head slowly to look at the guy. He was a trucker wearing the requisite wife-beater and jeans. “What?” Buddy snarled.
“My girlfriend here says you were checking her out. Is that right?”
Buddy’s eyes drifted over the guy’s right shoulder. The bottle-blonde who was standing against the pool table was wearing a shirt that was about three sizes too small and a pair of panties that had been mistaken as a skirt. She smiled at him as he looked her over, her legs widening a little and telling him all he needed to know—she was jonesing for a fight so she could get laid later on tonight, and by the look in her eyes, she wanted it to be Buddy and not the fucking mouth breather standing in front of him.
“So? What have you got to say for yourself?”
Buddy’s gaze finally fixed back on the Whiskey Tango in front of him.
“Yeah. I was checking her out. What are you going to do about it?”
The guy’s face reddened as Buddy metaphorically cranked the man’s balls in his palm. He could smell his anger––the acrid stench of his rage was like a red rag to the bull in him. Buddy saw the trash’s fist flying before the punch could land. Dodging the fist, Buddy elbowed him hard in the solar plexus. Air left the guy’s body in a warm rush of beer-drenched breath as he doubled over. Buddy slammed his knee into his face while he was bent over, knocking him down to the filthy ground.
Like all bar fights, it took less than two seconds for a crowd to form, the bottle-blonde front and center behind her man. They all yelled and jeered as Buddy’s eyes roamed over the nameless faces. His lack of attention left him open for the punch in the face that he hadn’t even seen coming. Buddy felt his lip splitting open, blood crashing out of the wound in an angry wave. Buddy’s anger pulsed out of him with his blood, his adrenalin kicking in and jacking him up. The guy swung at him again, the blow glancing off his cheek and landing on his jaw. Buddy stumbled backwards, catching himself on the lip of the bar.
The guy danced back a few steps, holding his hands up in front of him like he was some goddamn professional boxer. His bitch screamed at him to hit Buddy again, but Buddy saw his hesitation. With a grin twisting up his lips, he pushed away from the bar and kicked the guy in the kneecap from the side and watched him go down. When he was finally on the ground, a kick to the face made sure he stayed that way.
“Fucking cocksucker,” Buddy growled, spitting out blood onto the guy’s face.
The cheer that erupted from the peanut gallery hurt his ears. He staggered back until the bar stool hit him in the ass and a fresh shot and another beer were lined up under his nose along with a cloth. Buddy looked up into the bartender’s life-worn face.
“For your lip,” he said, pointing down at the cloth.
Buddy picked up the fabric and held it gingerly to his mouth. The pain felt fan-fucking-tastic. It brought back memories from being on the street again, fighting for survival, and later on fighting just for the hell of it.
By the time he had downed the drinks, the blonde had twitched her way over to him.
“Hi, handsome,” she purred into his ear. “You wanna get out of here?” She pressed her silicone wonders against his arm, making sure to jiggle the goods as incentive.
Buddy turned his whole body to look at her. Her eyes were the color of watered-down peas, her lips pumped so full of collagen that she probably sweat the stuff. There was nothing about her that was real except for her eye color and even then that was debatable. Physically, she wasn’t anything like his usual type, but she would do. She looked like a screamer.
“What do you think?” she asked, sucking in her lower lip so slowly that it made his cock grow hard.
“You’ll do,” he growled. She pressed her upper body closer to his, moaning when he ran his hand along her hip and dug his fingers into her ass. He pulled her towards him until she was forced to straddle him on the bar stool. Her skirt rode up revealing just a thin piece of fabric between her core and his straining cock. She ground herself onto him, throwing her head back, her mouth parted in an open invitation.
He glanced over her shoulder to find the whole bar watching their little show. He lifted his hips up to meet her core until she moaned out loud. He smiled at all the other cocksuckers and pushed her off him roughly.
“Are we going to get out of here, baby?” she asked, pulling down her non-existent skirt.
“I’m going to finish this drink, then I’m going to fuck you next to a dumpster in the alleyway. You feel me?” he asked raising an eyebrow at her. She nodded slowly at him, her eyes heated. Her arousal was so strong that he could have said anything to her and she would have done it.
Picking up the drink in front of him, he threw it down before grabbing some green from his pocket and leaving it on the bar. The bartender lifted an eyebrow in question.