Free Zane (Inked Brotherhood Book 3) by Jo Raven
Authors: Jo Raven
smash my fist into the wheel. The pain feels good. Too good.
I need to drink, smoke and fuck, not necessarily in that order. Anything to blank out my mind.
Dakota’s image suddenly fills my head, and I want to punch it out of my memory. She deserves so much better than me. If I fuck her, I won’t keep her and… damn, I want to keep her.
Shit. I’m going fucking crazy.
I rev up the truck and hightail it out of the hospital, out of Zion, racing for the open highway. I’m tempted to stop at a bar on the way, but I find myself driving past town after town and not stopping.
When I realize why, I groan out loud. I want to see Dakota. My heart beats faster at the thought, and my dick hardens.
Down, Dick. She’s not interested in a quick grope and fuck. Nice girls like her want more— deserve more—and I can’t deliver.
I crank up the music, some punk rock shit Rafe gave me, and punch the wheel to the rhythm. Caught up in the beat, it takes me a while to realize it’s music from their group, Deathmoth, and that the powerful voice blasting out of the speakers is Dakota’s.
I turn off the stereo and grip the wheel so hard it creaks. I need to get drunk off my ass. Need to get so wasted I stop thinking of Dakota.
Problem is, even if I drink enough to forget my own name, I don’t think I’ll manage to forget her.
***
“Gimme another.”
Without batting an eye, Joe, the bartender of Bent, pours me another whiskey. It must be my fourth. Or fifth? Maybe sixth. I really have no fucking clue. I’ve been here for a while, and I’m still working on forgetting—Dakota, Emma, who I am and what I’m supposed to do.
Maybe I should get the bottle of whiskey and get out of here. A few girls have wandered over to chat me up, but I couldn’t bother. Not interesting. Not pretty. Not… Not Dakota, dammit.
Get your head out of your ass and pick one.
It’s just sex. Pick a chick, choose a quiet corner and just fuck the pain out of your system. Say goodbye, finish your drink and go home.
It’s worked for many years. It will work again.
I scan the thickening crowd. Music is blasting from the speakers, old rock, and voices rise over the din. It makes my already aching head feel like a time bomb about to explode. At the back of the room, I can see couples getting down and dirty against the wall, not concerned about being seen.
Perfect.
Grab a chick, bang her, then go home to finish getting wasted. That’s the plan.
My cell beeps. A message from Ash, asking where the hell I am, and if I want to go out for a beer. I already have text messages and missed calls from him, Tyler, Dylan, Erin, Audrey and Rafe with variations in the theme. They want to know if I returned safely. If I’m okay.
Fuck no, I’m not okay. I shove the cell back into my pocket and focus on the plan.
A blonde with an impressive rack smiles at me. I check her out. Good ass. Nice hips. She has the bold curves I usually go for, but…
Slight curves, wild dark hair, large blue eyes…
No, dammit! Why do I keep seeing Dakota in front of me?
I push off my stool, stumble a little and nod at the blonde. Her smile grows wider, and she sidles up to me. She’s wearing a micro skirt that shows off her long legs, made longer by dangerously high heels.
Yeah, she’ll do nicely. I grab her hand and drag her through the crowd. She squeals, then laughs, and I grit my teeth. Too high-pitched. Fake. No chimes and bells.
Oh, fuck’s sake, Zane.
I pull the blonde into the twilight zone behind the last tables and into the dimness. That’s my territory, my domain: the dark. I slow down to let her catch up and then swing her around, pushing her back to the wall. She yelps, teetering on those ridiculous heels.
“I have some rules,” I tell her. “Non-negotiable.”
She nods, her eyes wide.
“You don’t touch me. Only I touch you. You don’t put your arms around me, don’t even fucking think about touching my back, and no kissing.”
“Okay, babe.
I need to drink, smoke and fuck, not necessarily in that order. Anything to blank out my mind.
Dakota’s image suddenly fills my head, and I want to punch it out of my memory. She deserves so much better than me. If I fuck her, I won’t keep her and… damn, I want to keep her.
Shit. I’m going fucking crazy.
I rev up the truck and hightail it out of the hospital, out of Zion, racing for the open highway. I’m tempted to stop at a bar on the way, but I find myself driving past town after town and not stopping.
When I realize why, I groan out loud. I want to see Dakota. My heart beats faster at the thought, and my dick hardens.
Down, Dick. She’s not interested in a quick grope and fuck. Nice girls like her want more— deserve more—and I can’t deliver.
I crank up the music, some punk rock shit Rafe gave me, and punch the wheel to the rhythm. Caught up in the beat, it takes me a while to realize it’s music from their group, Deathmoth, and that the powerful voice blasting out of the speakers is Dakota’s.
I turn off the stereo and grip the wheel so hard it creaks. I need to get drunk off my ass. Need to get so wasted I stop thinking of Dakota.
Problem is, even if I drink enough to forget my own name, I don’t think I’ll manage to forget her.
***
“Gimme another.”
Without batting an eye, Joe, the bartender of Bent, pours me another whiskey. It must be my fourth. Or fifth? Maybe sixth. I really have no fucking clue. I’ve been here for a while, and I’m still working on forgetting—Dakota, Emma, who I am and what I’m supposed to do.
Maybe I should get the bottle of whiskey and get out of here. A few girls have wandered over to chat me up, but I couldn’t bother. Not interesting. Not pretty. Not… Not Dakota, dammit.
Get your head out of your ass and pick one.
It’s just sex. Pick a chick, choose a quiet corner and just fuck the pain out of your system. Say goodbye, finish your drink and go home.
It’s worked for many years. It will work again.
I scan the thickening crowd. Music is blasting from the speakers, old rock, and voices rise over the din. It makes my already aching head feel like a time bomb about to explode. At the back of the room, I can see couples getting down and dirty against the wall, not concerned about being seen.
Perfect.
Grab a chick, bang her, then go home to finish getting wasted. That’s the plan.
My cell beeps. A message from Ash, asking where the hell I am, and if I want to go out for a beer. I already have text messages and missed calls from him, Tyler, Dylan, Erin, Audrey and Rafe with variations in the theme. They want to know if I returned safely. If I’m okay.
Fuck no, I’m not okay. I shove the cell back into my pocket and focus on the plan.
A blonde with an impressive rack smiles at me. I check her out. Good ass. Nice hips. She has the bold curves I usually go for, but…
Slight curves, wild dark hair, large blue eyes…
No, dammit! Why do I keep seeing Dakota in front of me?
I push off my stool, stumble a little and nod at the blonde. Her smile grows wider, and she sidles up to me. She’s wearing a micro skirt that shows off her long legs, made longer by dangerously high heels.
Yeah, she’ll do nicely. I grab her hand and drag her through the crowd. She squeals, then laughs, and I grit my teeth. Too high-pitched. Fake. No chimes and bells.
Oh, fuck’s sake, Zane.
I pull the blonde into the twilight zone behind the last tables and into the dimness. That’s my territory, my domain: the dark. I slow down to let her catch up and then swing her around, pushing her back to the wall. She yelps, teetering on those ridiculous heels.
“I have some rules,” I tell her. “Non-negotiable.”
She nods, her eyes wide.
“You don’t touch me. Only I touch you. You don’t put your arms around me, don’t even fucking think about touching my back, and no kissing.”
“Okay, babe.