Half Blood: Chapter Seven
June 30, 2015Seven
***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.
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