Restraint is Useless Here

Brian’s intoxication from both alcohol and Anna evaporated the moment he heard that familiar voice.

“Boo!” Fucking Val. How did he not see her coming?

Considerably annoyed and empty, somehow, the moment Anna’s hand left his skin, Brian felt like someone had ripped a joint from his lips before he could take a hit. No. He wasn’t done yet. He needed to fill his lungs with her, hold her in until his vision blurred and his chest threatened to explode from the burn.

The way his skin still burned where she’d touched him.

And the look on Anna’s face the moment she tore away from Val’s embrace was enough to rouse something violent in Brian. It was pitiful. And her technique... God, it was all wrong. It pained the jiu jitsu fighter in him to witness. She had zero focus, flailing and clawing her way out of Val’s grasp. Her defense was instinctual and sloppy and entirely fear-driven. She should’ve planted her feet and bent at the knees, then swung her left leg around the back of Val’s knee. This would’ve effectively knocked her off balance so Anna would gain the edge.

But why would she feel the need to evade Val? The darkness from earlier in the week tugged at his mind, but he couldn’t concentrate with Val’s serrated stare slicing his head off.

Brian knew that look on her face, too: pupils dilated like a cat stalking a mouse, lips turned down at the corners and barely containing her canines. Or...felines. Whatever they were, they were sharp and scary and he’d hear about this later. Self-preservation told him not to turn his back on Val, but he also wanted to get the fuck out of dodge before anyone noticed the strain on his zipper.

So he raised his glass and walked away.

He’d rubbed one out in the bathroom after the show—auburn curls, leather pants, that fucking side boob— but even that wasn’t enough. He tried to shut down the idea of her but, being the idiot that he was, he couldn’t leave well enough alone.

Jesus Christ, he wanted that girl.

And it wasn’t just the sex drought that had him hot and bothered. Watching her guard slip away as her eyes grew wild, rhapsodizing over the band and the music they created—the music he created—made his chest ache. It gave new significance to why he did what he did. He loved writing and playing music and lived for the fact that he had his best friends along side him, of course. But Anna’s completely unbiased, completely unfiltered raving inspired him like...well, like not much else had in recent memory.

He was so inspired, in fact, that he may as well have broadcast it across the whole fucking bar. He could throw the egotistical bad boy image to the wind after admitting that, out of 14,000 people, he only gave a damn about her reaction that night. That, combined with her fire hot touch she etched into his chest, had shot straight to his pants and sent him reeling. And it took every goddamn ounce of restraint to keep his touch G-rated instead of sliding his hand down her side, his fingers memorizing the cinch of her waist like he so badly wanted.

Like he didn’t have his pick of women to sleep with.
Like he didn’t sell out stadiums of thousands.
Like their last album didn’t go platinum.
But that was the kicker: Anna didn’t care about any of that.
Furthermore, why did he care so much?

None of that mattered anyway. The chick had a boyfriend. She had a funny way of having a boyfriend. Not to mention he was a diabolical asshole. But still, not his business.

As he approached the table, he found Johnny and Jimmy engaged in a lively game of ashtray hockey between the platters of half-eaten pizza. Catching his friend off guard, Brian shoved his way onto Zack’s lap with too much gusto.

“Asshole!” Zack shouted as he lost his balance, arms reflexively grabbing for something to catch himself. He clutched Brian’s shirt and the crotch of his jeans before toppling over and straightened up in the seat, scooting for Brian to share the chair.

Realization, then repulsion, flashed across Zack’s face as his mouth sunk into an upside-down U. “Are you... are you hard right now, dude?” Zack wiped his hands on his jeans, probably trying to rid himself of dick dust or something.

“Boooooner,” Johnny sang in a high-pitched voice, returning the ashtray puck to Jimmy.

Fuck. “The girls call us ‘Synacky’ for a reason. You get anywhere near me and I just can’t help myself.” Brian took another bite of pizza wolfishly and winked at Zack, hoping his friends wouldn’t call him on it.

“Bullshit,” laughed Matt. “We all saw you over there, man. I was rooting for you. I tried to hold Val back, but...” Matt threw his hands up in surrender. There was no need to finish the statement.

“The kinky bad boy, am I right?” Jimmy said with a sly grin, playfully flinging the ashtray across the table. Brian caught it, but the force littered ashes onto the table. “Seems like you’re all set to live up to your stereotype, you scoundrel.”

Zack scoffed, using his hand to sweep up the mess. “Come on, Gates. You know better. That’s a shitstorm waiting to happen. She’s a pretty girl, I get it. But you saw what she comes with.” He snatched the ashtray away from Brian and dumped the remnants back in. “I hate smoking in bars. You guys wanna head outside and...” Zack trailed off as Jimmy’s eyes widened, fixating on something above their heads.

Brian and Zack followed his gaze to find Anna sprinting into the bathroom, her face pallid with a greenish tint. Had she drunk that much? He tried not to feel the sting from the idea that her flirtation was purely driven by alcohol, but he was a vain S.O.B.

It did sting.

“Incoming,” mock-whispered Jimmy as he slipped out of his chair, heading for the men’s room. “Nice knowing you, Gates.”

Brian turned once more and matched gazes with a pissed off-looking Valary closing in on him. He scrambled to his feet, not sure if his intent was to escape or go toe-to-toe with her, but Val’s fire hydrant red fingernail stopped him before he could make a decision.

“Stay,” she commanded.

“Jesus. I’m not a dog.”

She narrowed her eyes as her finger tipped south. “Sit.”

He sunk to his chair once more, only half-heartedly upset. As humiliated as he was to be chastised in front of everyone, he loved that she loved Anna so much. She deserved that love.

Val’s jaw was clenched as she looked down at him, her fingers steepled and pressed against the bridge of her nose as she took deep, steady breaths.

Like she was praying.
No, like she was The Godfather.

This was her stance when she was dealing with morons who double booked a venue, trying desperately not to kill them. So much for the love.

”What the hell did you do to my friend.” More an accusation than a question.

“Val, I didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t hit on her?”

Three seconds passed. Brian rapped his knuckle on the tabletop to count each one, stalling. And in that moment, he cursed his friends for not going to bat for him. His eyes shot murderously to each one of them—of course there was a shit-eating on Johnny’s face—before his gaze dropped back to his fist, white-knuckled. He couldn’t lie to Val. “I didn’t directly hit on her.”

”You’re unbelievable.” Val’s eyebrows drew together, forming a V. “She’s my oldest friend, Brian. She’s like a sister to me. And she’s fresh out of a breakup. How do you think that feels? She’s drunk and probably hurting and you thought it was a good idea to try and take advantage of that? Of course she’s freaked out!”

“Easy, girl,” Matt said quietly, slipping a finger through her belt loop and coaxing her toward him. Her expression softened a little, realizing they had spectators.

“‘Take advantage of that?’” Brian echoed indignantly. He huffed a breath and shook his head at her accusation. He loved his friend, but enough was enough. From his vantage point, Anna seemed to be doing damn pretty well until Val’s hydrogen bomb ass came up and dropped a 120lb load of buzzkill on them. It’s not like he was undressing her in the middle of the fucking bar. There wasn’t even a cock to block yet. “I didn’t even know they broke up! You’re the one who freaked her out. We were just talking and—“

A crucial part of her statement sunk in. Brian shook his head and scrunched his nose, drawing back in confusion. “Hang on, they broke up?”

Maybe that charged moment wasn’t only fueled by alcohol—maybe she actually wanted him, too. Brian tried to suppress the flicker of delight at the thought.

Val’s attention snapped toward Jimmy, who was wildly waving his arm with one ear pressed to the door to the ladies room. He nodded toward her door, imitating the act of puking by puffing out his cheeks and holding his stomach. Val walked quickly toward Jimmy to join him in waiting, but not before shooting one last warning look over her shoulder.

As Brian sat back down, his three friends suddenly found their surroundings fascinating, as if they hadn’t been in this bar a million times before.

“Fucking Judases,” he muttered, reaching into his shirt pocket for new pack of Marlboros and began packing them forcefully against the heel of his palm. Though he couldn’t deny that he’d have kept his mouth shut, too. Val was Medusa when she was pissed—you risked turning to stone if you looked her directly in the eye. Turning to Matt, Brian reached out his fist. “Except you. ’A’ for effort, dude.”

Matt bumped it in reply.

Brian knew they’d all be fine; they always were. Val was protective of her people and, even though he was on her shit list right now, he was grateful to be part of her tribe. Whatever had happened between Anna and Jack, if she clung to Val—and Val wouldn’t give her much of a choice—she’d be part of it, too.

Anna emerged from the bathroom, the pink tint to her face failing to hide her withered expression, as Val and Jimmy closed in on her. She didn’t once look over at Brian. It deflated him a little and he loathed that.

An elbow nudged his ribcage and he turned to find Zack’s face stricken with concern. “Dude, don’t do it,” urged Zack, messing with one of his lip rings. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but please don’t. And don’t make me list the reasons it would be a terrible idea, because you don’t have that much time. Besides, it’s got Val all—“ Zack curved his fingers into talons for emphasis. “—prickly. Do you really want to deal with that all summer?”

Brian often suspected that Zack was a 100-year-old trapped in a 26-year-old body; somebody’s world-weary, wise old grandpa reincarnated into a rhythm guitarist— pierced and tattooed only to feign the image of rebellion. No matter how Zack longed to be home by 7 in time to watch Jeopardy, he still tagged along with their shenanigans and put up with their shit.

Brian attempted a dismissive shrug, but knew Zack saw right through it.

“See you later, Anna,” called Matt, stealing Brian’s attention. Johnny and Zack’s hands went up in casual waves. Anna’s eyes met his, her lips offering a half-hearted smile.

She was seriously leaving? What the fuck? He threw up a palm, more in question than farewell, and scooted his chair back to follow her.

Zack’s foot swung around the leg of Brian’s chair, pulling it back in before he could stand, and mouthed, “Leave it.”

There were way, way too many fucking people giving orders tonight. Still, as he watched her deep crimson curls disappear, Brian left it.

Jimmy and Val rejoined the table and conversation picked up where it left off, though the public scolding had put a damper on things. The conversation oscillated between relief to be back in California, plans for the upcoming week, and Jimmy asking around for a Backstreet Boys CD to listen to on the ride home. Brian felt the sudden weight of exhaustion on his eyelids. The faces of his five friends mirrored his need for a long night’s sleep, minus potholes, honking horns, and traffic jams. God, he couldn’t wait to get home.

Matt and Val were the first to stand. The lithe blonde stretched her arms over her head with a yawn as Matt nuzzled her neck from behind, wrapping his arms around the sliver of her bare midsection. Brian’s heart pinched a bit at the tenderness.

“Let’s go home, guys,” she said grabbing her purse. “Anna and I have a noon appointment at the salon tomorrow, then we’ll probably do some retail therapy.“

“Is she okay?” asked Brian. He couldn’t help it.

Val turned to him, analytical and observing for a moment. He braced himself, but she seemed to sense his concern was genuine. “She will be,” she replied with a sad smile. “I’d be sad after a breakup, too.”

”She’s better off,” muttered Jimmy, out of Val’s earshot. The drummer ran his palm across his beard restlessly. Almost nervously. “For as primadonna as he looks, Jack’s scary. I wouldn’t want to be around when he snaps. I’m changing my number tomorrow. The guy is fuckin’ unhinged. I’m surprised he hasn’t come up here to raise hell. No coke and no girl? God knows his ego must be bruised right now.”

Scary. Unhinged. Bruised. Jimmy’s words rattled Brian’s skull.

Matt gestured to the guys, jerking his head toward the bar and asking for everyone to split the tab. Brian tossed a few $100 bills at Matt.

“You guys go and pull up the ‘Burb to the curb.” Jimmy slurred, tossing Val his keys, making a chink sound as she caught them. “I’m gonna go procure some herb, so do not disturb.” Jimmy cackled and held up his hand to Val, who high-fived him and laughed despite herself.

The four guys walked off toward the bar, but Brian remained seated. His brain buzzed louder and louder as he turned Jimmy’s words over in his head.

“Walk out with me.” Making peace in her own little way, Val hip checked him and started toward the door. She frowned when he didn’t move. “You okay, Bri?”

Bruised.
Bruises.

Brian shot to his feet, his chair tumbling backward. “Get Anna on the phone now.”

He couldn’t feel his feet as they carried him through the door. Pushing through the exit and out into the street, his senses sharpened. But all he heard was the steady drumming of rain against pavement—a rarity in Orange County. The sidewalks on either side of the street were barren. Several blocks away, he heard the rattling bass of a car. The cooler air of the early morning hour did nothing to calm the frantic pumping in his chest. He needed to find her. He could chill out once he knew she was safely in a cab or at Maria’s.

“Brian?” Val’s voice was unsteady and lacked the derision from earlier. He wasn’t surprised she’d followed him.

“Now, Val.”

Val punched the buttons and held the phone to her ear, her other hand fiddling nervously with a lock of her hair.

A garbled melody answered her call from about halfway up the block. An ominous chill seized his spine, worsened by his soaking wet clothes. The pizza he’d eaten threatened to make its way up his esophagus. Val gasped something unintelligible, but he didn’t register her words.

He followed the ringing. There in the street, surrounded by a rising puddle, laid a small silver rectangle. As he crouched down, afraid to touch it and make it real, the display screen was already damaged from water—but he could still make out Val’s smiling face on the caller ID.

“Oh my God,” Val gasped, a strangled sort of cry. He felt her fingers dig into his shoulder.

From behind them, a muffled cry came from deep within the alley.

Not a cry for help.
A cry of pain.

On instinct, Val began barreling into the alley, but Brian gripped her arm and spun her to face him.

“Go inside, Val,” he uttered, hushed but resolute.

He didn’t stick around to see if she listened.

The halo of the streetlight didn’t reach the source of the cry, but he knew. He knew what was there. The blood drained from his face, rushing to his feet and his hands, rousing them to action. As he clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides, he realized they were the only weapons he had on him.

He didn’t need anything else, anyway.

The skies opened up above him, unleashing torrents of rain that masked the sound of his footfalls as he closed in on his target. He sent up a silent ‘thank you’.

Closer.
Closer.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, his shoulders tightened when he saw a large figure, their hands constricting the neck of a smaller frame—a girl. A girl with rain-dampened crimson locks, so dark that it was hard to tell where it ended and the blood began.

The moments before a strike are a powerful thing, because the choice is still your own. Time slows and there’s a charged stillness about it, like the universe pressed pause to give you an out; an opportunity to turn the other cheek. Pride can still be swallowed, words bitten back, and fists withdrawn.

As for pride, he had too damn much.
As for words, he didn’t need them.
Tonight, fists were enough.

Brian charged from behind. He hooked one arm around Jack’s neck in a rear-chokehold, his other arm flanking from other side, locking his arms and securing pressure on the windpipe. Brian yanked him away from Anna, garnering a sadistic pleasure from Jack’s wheezing as he struggled to breathe. His hands shot up, clawing at Brian’s arm as he was pulled back, back. Jack was taller and heavier than Brian, but he was sloppy.

“Oh my God! Anna?” shrieked a female voice. Val never listened; in this case, he was glad she didn’t.

Casting a glance over his shoulder, he was relieved to find Val propping up her barely conscious friend as she gulped in oxygen. She was bloodied to holy hell—but she was breathing.

Brian twisted his body to the side, hauling Jack with him and slamming him to the ground with more force than was necessary. His body hit the wet asphalt with a thud, writhing as he continued to gasp and wheeze. Brian knew exactly how to slam him down to knock the wind out of him, a spasm seizing Jack’s diaphragm. He’d be down for a minute or so.

“Fucking coward,” Brian spat, cracking his neck as he turned away. “You hear me? Only cowards put their hands on a woman.”

Brian knelt in front of Anna to assess the damage, brushing the matted hair from her eyes. The alley was dark, but his eyes had adjusted enough to see the blood that oozed from a nasty cut on her eyebrow, streaks of red mixed with rainwater cascading down her face. He gently ran his hand down her cheek, lifting her chin. She winced as his finger ghosted over her split lip.

“Goddamnit,” Brian whispered. Half-curse, half-apology.

Anna’s lips parted, each breath becoming steadier. After a few moments, she peered up at him and croaked, “It’s not as bad... as it looks.”

“It looks pretty bad, sweetheart.” Brian smiled sadly at her bravado, but her trembling hand clutching his told a different story. Peeling his wet shirt off his body, he wiped off the extra blood and pressed the fabric to her lacerated eyebrow. To Val, he said, “Put pressure on the bleeding. Give me your phone and I’ll call the guys. She’s probably gonna need stitches for that head wound. Maybe the lip. We’ve gotta get her to the hospital.”

Sharp, mocking laughter sounded from behind him. Jack knelt, bracing his hands on his thighs with a menacing smile slashed across his face. “‘She’ll need stitches for that head wound,’ he says. I knew you were a bad ass guitarist, Synyster Gates. Tonight, you’re a white knight and a medical doctor, too?”

Brian rose to his feet, shielding the girls. “Better than you. What happened to ‘do no harm?’ Isn’t that the oath you take?” He gestured to Anna, case in point.

Jack scoffed with a flippant wave of his hand. “The Hippocratic Oath? Pretty archaic practice these days.” He stood up and wrung out his shirt. He had to be high. There’s no way he was this stupid on his own. Confirming Brian’s suspicion, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag, frowning at it. “Well, my stash is fucked. Hey, is Jimmy still inside?” He smiled wider, knowing he struck a nerve.

“Asshole,” Val snapped, holding tighter to Anna.

The rainstorm had dissipated to a light drizzle and slivers of moonlight peeked from behind the clouds. The tinny trickling of water running through the gutters was the only sound as Brian glared at the maniac in front of him, wrestling over how to deal with him. He could barely keep the growl from his voice as he said, “Get the fuck out of here, man. Don’t contact her. Don’t come near her. Don’t even think about her. Forget she ever existed.”

“I wish.” Jack’s eyes shone darkly as he snarled, stepping forward and thrusting a finger toward Anna. “That bitch ruined me. You fucking ruined me, Anna!”

Brian met his advance, stopping him with a palm and forcing him backwards, hard enough to make a point. Jack’s eyes bore into his, pure hatred, as a rush of adrenaline coursed through Brian. “Go,” he warned, the single word dripping with malice.

“Fine. Have fun with my sloppy seconds.” Jack held up both hands in defeat, slowly pivoting on his heel and taking several paces toward the street.

Brian exhaled, letting his shoulders relax as he turned to the girls. Val had the phone to her ear and was explaining their current circumstances to Matt.

In his periphery, he saw Jack spin around, windmilling his arm like a baseball pitcher. Instinctively, Brian walled himself in front of the girls as pain shattered his flank. As he hunched over, gripping his side, a small piece of broken asphalt skittered to the ground. Jack began to run.

Something primal, something lethal ignited in Brian. In training Jiu Jitsu, he learned and practiced several things: 1. Relinquish the ego. 2. Don’t act on impulse—react to your opponent. 3. Conserve your energy.

But everything he’d ever trained for, everything he’d learned lay battered on the ground, bleeding next to a beautiful girl.

He exploded down the alley, only running about 20 paces before he ambushed Jack from behind. Jack’s head hit the ground with a sickening crack as the two tumbled over and over. Brian rolled on top of Jack, straddling his torso and pinning him.

Blood sprayed across the pavement as Brian pounded his fist onto Jack’s nose, the cartilage collapsing beneath his knuckles. Jack screamed in agony, flailing his arms but failing to block his face. The guy didn’t have a prayer of getting a jab in.

Brian knew he’d already won, but he did not relent. This was ecstasy.

His blood turned black, bolting through his veins like lightning. And he never struck the same spot twice, pummeling his knuckles onto every untouched pore on Jack’s face.

A cacophony of shouts and cries filled the air around him, but Brian couldn’t be bothered. Every fiber of his being—every bullshit high school brawl, every begged martial arts lesson as a boy—was a tiny cog in the killing machine that he had become that night.

Right. Left. Right.

This fist.
That face.
His throbbing purple knuckles and the dark red staining Jack’s stupid fucking teeth. He didn’t know whose blood was whose, but he didn’t care. He would bleed to punish this motherfucker.

Brian’s fingers found a fist-sized chunk of asphalt and palmed it, smiling at the irony. It was bigger than the piece that Jack had used. The jagged edges pricked his skin as he curled it into his fist.

Finish it, the devil in him whispered. Brian was too far gone to feel any mercy as Jack lay beneath him, sobbing and listless. A bloodied shard of white lay inches from Jack’s face. God, how he wanted to knock out the rest.

“I could kill you,” Brian panted through gritted teeth. He meant it.

“Brian. Don’t.” A soft, strained voice snatched him from his tunnel vision, quelling his rage. He cast a glance back and met Anna’s eyes, wide and glistening. Her lip had swollen to double its normal size, causing a slight impediment in her words.

Jimmy and Val flanked her, holding her up with stony expressions on their faces. Zack, Matt, and Johnny, all still as statues, watched him from the alley’s opening.

Matt took a few cautious steps toward him, holding out his hand. Whether to help him up or to disarm him, Brian wasn’t sure. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened or who he’d become, but was afraid to touch anyone.

Looking back at Anna once more, a strange mingling of emotions pierced him—pride and guilt and sadness. She blinked and two tears spilled down her cheeks. “Please. He’s not worth it.”

They all looked terrified.
Of me.

Collecting himself with a steadying breath, he let the asphalt roll out of his hand. His knuckles were bloody and throbbing and suddenly, he could hardly move his hand. Pain radiated from his abdomen, keeping time with his furious heartbeat. His head held the weight of a boulder and he failed to muster the strength to stand.

Matt tossed his phone to Johnny, something about an ambulance, as he and Zacky approached on either side, lifting him off Jack.

Matt clapped his palm against the back of Brian’s neck, pulling him close enough so their heads touched. “Let’s get you out of here, brother.”

Notes