The Anti-hero (The Goode Brothers)

“You live in a Laundromat?”

“I live above a Laundromat,” she replies as she unlocks the front door and ushers me in. This would be the strangest part of my day if not for that moment back there when my father had someone hold me down while he broke my nose.

I can only assume it’s broken by the way it keeps bleeding and has gone completely numb. In the truck, Sage tore off her shirt and handed it to me to stop the bleeding. Now she’s prancing around in a bra, and I’m doing my very best to keep my eyes off of the tattoos scattered around her torso and chest.

My eye being swollen shut helps.

I don’t object as she pulls me through the dark and empty Laundromat. There’s a door in the back that she opens and pushes me through. Then we’re walking up some cement stairs when my ears are assaulted by a sound that feels like nails being driven into my already pounding head.

“Roscoe, hush!” she whisper-yells as she unlocks the door of her apartment.

As we enter, she scoops up the small dog, but he doesn’t stop his incessant yipping. When I try to pet the tiny demon, he snaps at my hand.

“Jesus,” I say with a wince.

“That’s not a good sign,” she says with a judgmental glare, carrying him away from me. As if dogs can sense evil, and I’ve just failed the test.

“In my defense, I’m bleeding profusely and I smell like a dirty sex club.”

She mumbles something as she walks away, and I realize I should probably feel bad for insulting her club, but I’m too irritated to care at the moment. The pleasantries and chemistry from that morning we met are long gone, and at this point, I’ve lost the energy to care. If I wasn’t covered in blood, I’d turn around and order a ride home.

“Come in here,” she barks out the command, and I follow her to the kitchen. If you could call it that.

The apartment is a studio, long and narrow. A large velvet green couch covered with pillows and blankets faces a wall full of old windows overlooking the city. Not a bad view, actually.

To my left is a kitchen space with one small counter, a mini-fridge, and a sink. No oven. No range. She has a tiny microwave next to the coffeepot, leaving her about ten inches of usable counter space.

I find myself staring before she snaps at me, and I direct my attention to her. She has some mismatched chairs around a table that looks like it came out of an old diner. She points to one of the chairs, and I meander my way over, wincing at the stabbing pain in my rib cage.

“Sit.”

Bossy.

As I sit down, the chair squeaks, and Sage positions herself between my legs, tilting my head back and taking a look at my nose. When she makes a pained expression, I know the diagnosis.

“I have good news and I have bad news,” she mumbles quietly.

“Let me guess. It’s broken.”

“Afraid so.” When she pinches the bridge, it hurts so bad I flinch, yanking my head out of her grasp.

“So, what’s the good news?” I ask. My eyes are tearing up from the pain in my nose.

“I’ve done this before.”

“Done what?” I barely get the words out before her fingers are back on my face, and she’s popping the cartilage back in place. She might as well have torn my nose straight off my face for how bad it hurts.

“Fuck!” I shout as I grab my face.

Sage steps away from where I’m sitting, and by the time I blink the moisture out of my eyes, she’s roughly tilting my head back again and wiping it clean with a warm, wet washcloth.

I stare up at her, feeling a good deal more sober than I was at the club.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

“Mm-hmm,” she replies with a flat expression.

“I was an asshole at the club,” I confess.

“You’re all assholes.”

At that, I nod. She’s right. We are all assholes.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” I ask as she presses on the cut on my cheek, which stings as she does it.

She responds with a shrug. “My stepdad taught me when I was a kid because he had a habit of running his mouth and getting punched for it.”

Well, that’s depressing.

“Where was your mother?”

“Half the time, she was the one who did it,” she replies with a snicker.

Thinking about her mother instantly makes me think of mine. She would never lay a hand on my father. And yet, with what I know now…she should.

Nausea builds in my stomach, and pity for my mother makes me want to throw up. Does she know what he’s up to every night?

Definitely not.

Sage’s hands drift away from my face, and she pulls up a chair to face me. And as my gaze trails to her face, not bothering to hide the melancholia I’m feeling inside, she doesn’t say a thing. Instead of a snarky, sarcastic comment, she just shows me a sympathetic expression and rests her hand on my knee.

It’s so strange how comforting and unexpected that is. Not a single word. Not a lecture or a line of questions. No lies or words of wisdom. Just empathy and her presence.

“I have a butterfly bandage for your cheek. Stay here.”

When she stands up and disappears into the bathroom on the other side of the apartment, my eyes follow her. I try to find the warmth toward her I felt the last time I saw her, but it’s gone. In its place is only bitterness and resentment, and it goes both ways.

If I had it in me to apologize for being such an ignorant brute, perhaps I could fix it. But I don’t, and not because she doesn’t deserve it. But because she does—and I’m just a prideful dick.

Instead, I point out the obvious when she returns from the bathroom.

“Your boyfriend didn’t tell you he sold the club.”

She glances up at me, a glimpse of confusion on her face before understanding. “Technically, he used it as collateral. For a loan from your dad.”

“He’s not my dad,” I reply, my tone dripping with resentment. “Not anymore.”

Sage takes a deep breath, looking sympathetic. “Well, it would seem Brett got a loan from Truett,” she says, correcting herself.

I laugh. “Your boyfriend isn’t getting that title back. When my father has the upper hand, he keeps it.”

She lets out a sad-sounding chuckle before shrugging her shoulders. “Oh well. Not my business anymore.”

“Did you just find out tonight?” I ask.

“Shortly before you came in. Yes. He said he was using the money to hire some sex club consultant. Which is ironic because he’s never listened to me, so I don’t know why he would listen to her.”

I stare at her with scrutiny while I silently wonder what the fuck that Brett guy had that was worth so much heartache and pain.

“It seems we were both betrayed tonight.” She says it very casually, but I can see the hurt in her eyes. Just two weeks ago, I saw the pride on her face when she gave me the card to the club. Now, it’s all been ripped away from her, and I’m curious if that hurts worse than the lost relationship.

“He’s so busy taking care of your dad that he hasn’t even texted me to see if I’m okay.”

I want to tell her I’m sorry, but I don’t.

She opens the bandage and stretches it over my skin. I wince from the sting, but after it’s in place, I feel like a new man. No more aching nose or dripping blood.

But with my focus no longer stolen by the pain, I’m left to picture the whole scenario again. My father grotesquely tongue fucking some random woman right there in the open at the club.

“It doesn’t make any fucking sense,” I say, and Sage stares at me in confusion.

“What?”

“How he can go there and do that where anyone can see. After he’s been so vocal about closing them down. Why hasn’t anyone outed him for that?”

She laughs. “Oh, you mean the VIPs? That good-ole-boys’ club? Your father isn’t even the most prodigious man in that group of snakes.”

“You’re joking,” I reply, stunned.

“I wish. Your dad feels comfortable in there because as long as he holds everyone else’s secrets, his are safe.”

“And Brett wouldn’t ever use that against him?” I ask, trying to piece it all together.

“Not now that Truett Goode holds the deed.”

“Brett is an idiot,” I reply before I can stop myself. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right. But to all of them, it’s a game of power over each other. They probably get off on that more than the sex, to be honest. They think they have each other by the balls, but what they really have is a roomful of powerful men just holding balls.”

I let out a laugh.

Once the tiny apartment grows quiet, I look up at where she’s sitting across from me. “I should go. I can catch an Uber.”

“It’s late,” she replies softly. “You can take the couch. It’s really comfortable. I sleep on it almost every night.”

There’s something in her expression that has me thinking she wants me to stay. It’s the only reason I give her a nod and a tight smile. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“Of course,” she replies, jumping up from the chair. She scrambles around the apartment, putting a new pillow and fresh blankets out for me.

As I stand up to move toward the couch, my ribs scream in pain again. She notices and rushes toward me.

“Let me look at that.”

With her fingers on the hem of my shirt, she waits for me to give her a nod of consent before she pulls it up and inspects the ribs on my left.

I wince as she presses on them. Then her fingers slowly cascade down the length of the bottom rib and my skin erupts in goose bumps. I force myself to swallow as I stare at her.

Maybe I’m still a little drunk, after all, but suddenly I feel like the girl I just met and I have bonded more than I’ve connected with anyone in my life. We were both betrayed, blindsided, and hurt by those we should trust more than anything.

“I think it’s just bruised, but even if it’s broken, there’s not much they can do. Just have to wait for it to heal and hope you don’t have to cough or sneeze for the next six weeks.”

“Lovely.” I groan. As she pulls my shirt down, our eyes meet in a heated and intimate gaze.

She’s standing so close I feel the heat from her skin. As she stares up at me, the intensity between us burns, but not in the way it did before. Not in a good way.

And when her fingers reach for the buckle of my belt, I stop breathing. With her eyes on mine, she slowly pulls the leather from the metal clasp.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, not entirely sure how I feel about this. I’m somewhere between wanting it and not wanting it, lust and virtue battling for superiority in my mind.

This isn’t right. I know it’s not right, and there might have been a moment today when I wanted this with her, but now…not like this.

And yet, I don’t stop her as she unbuttons my pants.

“I don’t know,” she replies. “I just…need this.”

“Because you’re mad at your boyfriend?”

Still, I don’t stop her. Even when she nods, confirming that it’s just a revenge fuck she wants.

I’m frozen in place, my cock growing hard behind my boxers, but my mind still reeling from whatever this is.

Lust. Need. Hate and rage all blurred into one.

Once my pants are undone, she slips her shorts down, and just like that, she’s in nothing but a bra and panties, and I’m staring dumbfounded.

Without looking up at me, she presses her hands against my chest. “Come on, Adam. Please don’t be a nice guy right now.”

A nice guy?

Is that what I am? A guy who does everything right. Who follows the rules.

Nice guys don’t fuck for revenge.

Nice guys don’t fuck without emotion.

Nice guys don’t fuck at all.

Something in me snaps, and maybe it’s the alcohol or the fact that I was in a sex club tonight, but I’m real fucking tired of saying no to the things I want. So I grab her by the back of the neck and pull her face to mine.

With our mouths inches apart, I mutter against her lips, “I’m not a fucking nice guy.”

She smiles wickedly, almost like a dare. “Then prove it.”

Holding tight to her neck, I spin her around and bend her over the back of the couch. She lets out a small yelp and then a moan as I drive my hips against her backside, grinding my hard length against her.

Her pink hair falls over her face as I release her neck and rip her thin satin thong down her legs. I take in the sight of her, bent over and moaning with need. Every little vertebra on her spine moves with the heavy intake of each panting breath. Unable to stop myself, I lean over and roughly kiss my way down, biting and nibbling on her sensitive skin like I need to devour her to survive. As I reach the sweet pink globes of her ass, I bite down hard on her flesh, making her scream. Releasing my teeth, I lick the marks I left and do the same on the other side. This time, she trembles, and my cock twitches in response.

Her fear turns me on.

So I drop to my knees and spread her wide, like an animal inhaling the scent of her. I’m unhinged. Completely undone, dismantled, and royally fucked in the head.

I’ve never done anything like this. Never so depraved or disgusting.

And I fucking love it.

Burying my tongue in her cunt, I fuck her with it, just to hear her scream again. My dick leaks at the tip from the taste and scent of her.

“I know what I’ll call you,” I mumble as I nibble my way around the cheeks of her ass, then back into her pussy, spreading her just to take another long, devouring lick of her. As I pull my mouth away, I smile. “Peaches. Because you taste so fucking sweet.”

She’s humming and moaning, husky and needy, as she hangs her ass in the air. “Please fuck me, Adam.”

“I’m not done yet,” I mutter. Then I take another bite, and she screams again.

She’s still shaking as I stand up behind her and pull my cock from my boxer briefs.

A nice guy would probably find a condom or at least ask her first. But I think we’ve already established that that’s not who I am or what she wants right now.

So I slide the head of my cock through the warm, wet lips of her cunt, teasing the entrance before thrusting in without mercy.

When she lets out a yelp, I thrust in rough again. “This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? Then, fucking take it.”

I slam in again, and her yelp, this time, is loud and slightly alarming. But then she murmurs a breathy, “Yes. Fuck me.”

Suddenly, I hear myself, and I can hardly believe what just came out of my mouth. I’m not like this. I’m fucking her like I want to hurt her, but she likes it, so I don’t stop. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Slamming my hips against her ass, I pull out and push back in, fucking her with brutal thrusts. And with each one, she pleads for more.

All thoughts disappear from my mind until all I know is sensation and the feel of her. Her body. Her sounds. Her touch.

Or is it mine? At the moment, I don’t exactly know the difference. Only that it feels so fucking good. Being inside her. Letting go. Feeling freer than I’ve ever felt in my life. Almost as if fucking her is releasing the anger and rage I felt today. Which I guess is why she needed it, and apparently, I did too.

Before long, my spine tenses and my dick tightens and I pull out just in time to watch my cum shoot out in warm jets all over her back. The noise that comes out of me as I let go sounds more animal than human. It sounds like a monster, but it feels like freedom.

For a long time, I stand here, waiting for every drop to release, watching her spine move with her breathing again. Minutes go by while I wait for the shame to creep in.

“Get me a towel,” she says in a breathless command.

It feels like waking up as I go to the bathroom, not daring to look at my reflection in the mirror before I grab a towel off the rack, returning to wipe the mess from her back.

Then everything becomes quiet and awkward. I can’t quite tell if this is shame or disappointment with myself, but I stare at her as she pulls her clothes back on.

Was I too rough? Did she come? Did I do the right thing?

As I stare at her, pulling her pink hair into a ponytail and wiping the running makeup from her eyes, I realize that Sage and I truly are from two different worlds. We couldn’t be less compatible, and I’d be an even bigger asshole if I tried to pretend that it didn’t have anything to do with status and wealth. It has created two completely different people who will never see eye to eye.

“You can still stay,” she mumbles awkwardly as she moves toward her bedroom.

I clear my throat and zip up my pants. “Thanks, but I’m going to go.”

“Fine,” she mutters with her back to me.

“You’re…okay, right?” I ask, wanting to reach for her.

With a huff, she turns toward me with a sad smile. “Don’t try to be the nice guy now.”

I let my hands fall to my sides as I shrug. “I can’t help it.”

“Night, Adam,” she says, pinching her lips together and backing away, moving toward the door that leads to her bedroom.

“Night, Sage. Thanks again.” I awkwardly point to my nose.

Holding her arms crossed in front of her body, she lets her gaze linger on my face a moment, and I can tell there’s something heavy weighing on her mind. I wait for a moment before she finally mutters quietly.

“I wish there was a way we could make them both pay.”

A short huff escapes my lips.

“I’m not the revenge type,” I reply.

“It wouldn’t be revenge,” she says. Before disappearing through the door, she softly adds, “It would be atonement.”