I wasn’t texting any of my friends. I knew what they would say or do. Unfortunately, Endgame had hurt me enough times that they had all reacted before. Fiona would say she told me so. Tinsley would want to slash Endgame’s tires, even though he didn’t have a car right now and he had a suspended license for drinking and driving. He was a mess. He was making a mess of me as well.

It was near closing time when I locked eyes with him sitting in his pink shirt.

He’d found me. Not that it was too hard, Parker’s bar was a great place to crash.

Endgame tilted his head. The skinny guy next to him was sucking on his tattooed neck like he was drinking blood. It would leave a huge mark, threaded into his ink. Then the tall girl next to Endgame leaned in and whispered in his ear. Endgame started French kissing her.

The last was a girl known for her hilariously public blow jobs. As she approached Endgame, I saw him toss a dime bag to her and point at his crotch.

She looked one way and then the other before sneaking under the tablecloth. I didn’t need to guess what was going on, as Endgame tilted his head back. This was how he fought with me.

Not just words. Not just getting physical—he would fuck with my mind. He didn’t even like girls, but he was happy to bribe this chick to do him. Right here.

And I should’ve left, never should have stayed, but I was stubborn. I didn’t want Endgame to know he was getting to me.

That’s how I ended up toasting him when he met my gaze. The kissing girl had dipped down to his chest and was lapping at his right nipple, his shirt fisted in her hand to allow her access.

Mr. Hickey was going to town as well. All bets were off as Mr. Hickey got to his knees and pulled his pants down.

I could see the feet peeking out from under the table. Endgame was getting a blowie in person while giving a guy a public hand job and having his nipples stimulated.

When he came, he started slapping the top of the table, making a show of it. “Fuck, yeah. This. I fucking love you guys.”

And that was the way he sharpened his knives. He told them the thing that he should've been saying to me. That I had been pulling teeth for.

Blow Job wiggled out from under the table, licking her lips. I watched as her fist clenched and unclenched the drugs she had earned.

Endgame pretended to listen to the guy whose dick he was still holding, but his stare was on my face—gauging my reaction.