All the Pretty Lies (Pretty #1)(11)
Author: M. Leighton

“Nobody. Because this is all on me. Part of being an adult, right? Dealing with the consequences?”

“Yeah, but you’ve never had to ‘deal’ with Dad. Or Steven really. They might’ve seemed hard on you, but you don’t know what hard is.”

“I’ll protect you,” I say, taking another sip of my drink. The burn is less evident this time and I’m able to appreciate the bite of the rum coupled with the sweetness of the Coke.

“I’ll remember you said that.”

“Please do.”

********

The thing about alcohol, I’m discovering, is that it sneaks up on you. One minute you feel a little lightheaded, the next you can’t see straight.

“I think this needs to be your last one,” Sig says as I drain my third Corona with lime.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, noting the happy, warm feeling, but no real impairment. “But I am getting a little sleepy,” I confess, stifling a yawn. “Let me out so I can use the bathroom and then we’ll go.”

Sig moves out of the booth and I stand, the bar dipping and swaying around me. I reach back to lay a hand on the table until I can steady myself.

“Can you even make it to the bathroom by yourself?”

“Of course I can,” I say, noting that my voice sounds slurred even to my own ears. “Just point me in the right direction.”

Sig takes me by the shoulders and turns me slightly, until I’m facing the bar. “Straight ahead. They’re just down that hall, on the left.”

I strain to focus on the hall to which he’s referring. When I do, I nod. “Got it,” I say and I take off, weaving carefully between bodies as I go.

For the most part, I’ve never been at such a disadvantage when peeing. I’m a squatter, my butt never having touched a public toilet seat in my life. That’s more of a challenge, however, when maintaining one’s balance is an issue. I do the only thing I can. I plaster my palms to the silver metal walls of the stall and I lean back until I’m hovering above the commode, then I let fly.

I’m quite pleased with myself when I’m finished and have still managed not to even so much as graze the toilet seat. After I finish up, I right my clothes, wash and dry my hands, then check my reflection in the mirror.

My black hair is still smooth and straight and my minimal makeup is still intact. It’s my eyes that give me away. They look heavy and unfocused. I look drunk, even though I had no idea I was anywhere close.

I stick out my tongue to wet my dry lips and press my cool hands to my overly hot cheeks before I head back out to the bar.

It’s as I’m crossing the crowded floor back to Sig that I wish for a little more clarity.

“Sloane Annelle Locke, just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I know that tone. I know that voice. And, despite my determination and my earlier bravado, I cringe. It’s my older brother, Steven. He’s as bad as Dad for using my whole name when he’s pissed.

I turn toward the voice. “Steven!” I say enthusiastically. “You were just who I was looking for. Please tell me Dad’s here. That would be just perfect.”

“No, he’s not. And you’d better thank your lucky stars, too.”

“And why is that?” I ask boldly.

“He’d ground your ass for a year if he saw you drinking.”

“Well, that would be a little difficult since I’m twenty-one. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“The hell you’re not!”

“The hell I am!” I counter, equally emphatic.

“That’s not the point and you know it.”

“Then what is the point?” I snap, getting madder by the second.

“The point is that—”

I cut him off. “There is no point, Steven. I’m not living like this anymore. I’m my own person. I make my own decisions and no one is responsible for me but me. Now back off! I came here in hopes you’d be understanding and that maybe, just maybe, y’all would stop treating me like a child. Clearly I was wrong.”

I start to stalk off, but Steven grabs me by the arm and turns me back around to face him. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

“Home,” I say, trying to jerk my arm free, but unable to break his firm grip.

“Like this? Behind the wheel? I think not.” He starts to walk off, pushing me through the crowd in front of him.

“Let go of me!” I struggle against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s just too strong.

“No. You’re coming with me. Right. Now.”

“Steven—”

“I suggest you take your hands off her. Right. Now,” a familiar voice says from behind us. My stomach does a happy little flip and I look back to see Hemi standing a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl marring his gorgeous face.

“Stay out of this, ass**le,” Steven replies, undaunted.

“I won’t ask you again,” Hemi says.

Steven stops dead in his tracks. He’s already mad, and he’s the brother with the worst temper. As he turns, his fingers bite into my arm.

“Shit, Steven! That hurts,” I say.

“How about this?” my brother begins, his voice calm but hard. “How about you take your nose out of my business before I feel like I need to do it for you?”

Hemi takes a step toward Steven, obviously unconcerned. “Do what you have to, man. I’m not going anywhere until you take your hands off her.”

“You really don’t want to do this,” Steven warns.

“Oh, I think I do,” Hemi says, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Oh shit! Where’s Sig when I need him?

I step in front of Steven, facing him. “Steven, I’m fine. I’m not driving. Just go back to what you were doing. Don’t start trouble.”

Cops don’t start trouble in cop bars. Other people start trouble in cop bars. And that’s the story every cop in the place will stick to. It’s just the way it is. If Hemi gets in the middle of this, there’s only one way it will end. With Hemi in the back of a squad car.

Steven doesn’t even look at me when I speak to him. He’s focused on Hemi and Hemi alone. Purposely, like he’s making a statement, Steven puts his hands on my shoulders and moves me behind him.

“You can consider this your one free pass. You won’t get another one.” As if to punctuate his control, Steven grabs my arm again and propels me in front of him.