Текст книги "Under Locke"

Автор книги: Mariana Zapata

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“What are you doin’ here all by yourself, pretty Iris?” he drawled lazily, stopping to the side of me.

“Waiting on Sonny,” I told him with a smile, but really, I was making sure he wasn’t a belligerent drunk. Or worse, someone with a weak stomach. He hadn't been last time we stopped in but you could never be too sure. Getting thrown up on wasn’t on my list of things I’d like to suffer through any time soon.

He tisked. “Saw him go off with Tiff. Might be awhile.”

I made a face because seriously, that was gross. “Well, I’ll wait for him a little bit longer.”

Trip backed up to sit on top of empty stool to my left. “Not much of a party girl, eh?”

“Not really.” I never had been. When I turned twenty-one, Lanie and I had bought a bottle of boxed wine to celebrate an age I wasn't sure I'd make it to. So it wasn't a surprise that we'd celebrated way too much. The next morning, when I was hunched over the toilet seat puking my guts out, I swore I’d never do it again. Three years later, I’d kept my word. On the rare occasion I'd drink half a beer or maybe a glass of wine.

Party animal, I know.

His fingers swept over the sides of his mouth, brushing the yellowish hair of his goatee. The look on his face was pure sin. “I’ll keep you company then.”

“Why thank you.” I shot him a smile, still keeping an eye on his mouth's movement to catch any gag reflexes though I was grateful to have someone to talk to. “If I start to bore you, feel free to go hang out with other people.”

Trip rolled his eyes and pressed the bottle to his mouth for a long drink. “Whatever you say, baby.” He smirked. "You likin' the new job?"

Not wanting to be rude but also not wanting to lie, I shrugged a shoulder. "It's coming along, but I'm still looking for another one."

He leaned toward me. His face serious. "Dex bein' a dick?"

I didn't mean to do it but the laugh just kind of burst out of my chest. Wasn't Dex the first person Blake thought of when he saw someone had upset me? That should have been a sign of what I was getting myself into. If Trip immediately guessed, I could only imagine what that guy must have done to earn a reputation of pissing people off.

"Why you laughin'? I'm right, aren't I?" Trip grinned.

I had a record for putting my foot in my mouth so I shrugged instead, still laughing just a little bit.

It was Trip's turn to shrug. "He's as moody as can fuckin' be, baby. Always got somethin' up his ass."

So, so true. But I wouldn't admit it outright like that. They were friends, after all. It would be like me hearing someone call Lanie a bitch. I could call her a bitch but no one else could. "He definitely had something living up there a few days ago."

Blonde brows rose. "Was it his dad’s shit?"

"I have no idea." But I wondered for all of a second what had been the cause. Then I realized I didn't give care because it didn’t matter. A dick is a dick.

"You tell me if he's givin' you a hard time," Trip said. "I'll beat the dumbfuck out of him." His blue eyes flicked to the side. “He’s got so much in him, it’ll take a while.”

Something really reassuring settled in my chest at his offer. I couldn't help but nod and pat his arm. "Sonny called his kneecaps, you can have the rest of him."

He chuckled. His eyes had drifted down to where my hand rested on his forearm, his gaze sliding up and over my elbow, stopping on my bicep. My sleeve had rode up my arm at some point. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his hand clench open and close. His baby blue eyes flicked up to mine, his expression confused and curious.

Trip's lips parted for a moment before closing. Once, twice, three times.

I'd done this enough times to know what he wanted. Where his confusion stemmed from. Extending my arm out so he could take a better look at the scarring, he winced and instinctively reached out to touch it. It wasn't a good-looking scar. The flesh looked gnarled and silver-white against my healthy skin. After four different surgeries, I'd stopped caring what it looked like. Seeing it in the mirror didn't bother me anymore but I hated the looks I'd get from people.

Like I was broken.

Like there was something wrong with me.

I lost the name my mom had so carefully chosen and became a medical term.

A hand came down to smack Trip's fingers away. "What the hell are you doing?" Sonny asked, pushing himself between our two stools, his amber eyes going back and forth between Trip and I.

Trip didn't even seem bothered by Sonny's reaction. The look on his face was a little relaxed and a little more confused. "Hangin' out," he answered vaguely, keeping his gaze on Sonny.

Sonny narrowed his light colored eyes at his friend before turning his attention to me and pulling down my shirt sleeve as if it were a second thought. There were times when I'd catch him looking at my arm with an expression of pure, painful remorse. Like it'd been his fault that I'd gotten sick. Or maybe it hurt him to see it. I didn't know and I wouldn't ask. If I didn’t make a big deal out of it—AKA pretend there was nothing different—no one else would either.

"Ris, I'm going out for a minute with a friend," he whispered into my ear, putting both hands on my shoulders and squeezing.

A minute? Ha.

I tilted my gaze up to look at him over my shoulder. There was a pretty brunette standing just behind him, a possessive hand clasped on his arm. Interesting. "Okay. Is it fine if I go home or do you want me to hang out here awhile?"

He smirked and squeezed his grip. "You can go home. I'll be there later." The gross ass smirked again. "Way later."

I faked a shudder.

With more pressure to my shoulder, I saw him reach out to slap Trip on the back. He gave him a hard look that I didn't understand before disappearing into the crowd behind us.

A woman squeal loudly to my right and I found Luther leaning against a high countertop table with a young—probably around my age—girl tucked on his lap.

Gross.

Trip must have recognized the look in my eye because he laughed, either forgetting all about what he'd seen or choosing to push his question aside. “You get used to it.”

Not trying to be rude because obviously Trip knew Luther, I covered my dry gag by looking at him out of the corner of my eye. “But she’s… young enough to be his daughter.”

“She’s younger than his son, baby.”

I sucked in a breath way too loudly that made Trip smile wide. “But… but… how? Why?” Luther wasn’t going to win any awards in the beauty department. He wasn’t one of those men who had gotten better with age, or even aged gracefully. He was okay looking but that was as far as I’d compliment him.

Trip looked at me with a straight face and laughed, his beer bottle shaking in his hand. Once he settled down, he shook his head. “Because some girls don’t care if a man’s old enough to be their daddy as long as he’s the Prez.”

“The Prez?”

Trip nodded.

What the hell was the Prez? Even if he was the President of the United States, I’d have to get paid at least a few grand to go anywhere near his lap. Yuck.

“The Widows?”

Trip slapped a hand over the right side of his leather vest over where the white patch was stitched. “What else would he be the president of?”

I ignored his smart ass comment and focused on the men hustling around, messing with each other. "There's a lot of you guys."

“We got chapters all over Texas and the Southwest.”

Hmm. I still didn’t have a single clue what exactly it meant to be in a motorcycle club besides what I saw on television, or hell, the stuff my mom had told me about years ago when the club was mixed up in drug running. She hadn't told me much but it was enough to know that twenty-five years ago, the WMC wasn't a group of people that valued family and community service.

Though now, even after Sonny had explained that the Widowmakers had changed their ways, they probably still didn't hold bake sales but whatever.

As nice as Trip seemed, I figured I should probably hold most of my questions for Sonny. If anyone was going to laugh at me for asking dumb things, I’d rather it be him than someone else.

“If you would've gotten here last month you could've gone to our rally,” he mentioned.

"What do you at a rally? Get together?"

Trip nodded, clinking his bottle against mine. "We all drive down to Galveston and," he smiled wickedly, "party for a couple of days."

It was impossible not to miss the implication in his face. He had trouble written all over him, making me snort. "I bet you guys just party."

"We do," he insisted with another grin, his fingers inching up his neck to scratch at a two-inch scar that scissored his skin. "Now. Ten years ago... that'd be a different story."

That was something to think about and ask Sonny about later. I shoved that plan into the back of my head and raised my eyebrow at Trip instead, just as the same girl squealed once more. We both looked back at Luther and the twenty-something who had her face buried in his neck.

Sheesh. That was disturbing. I was pretty sure that Luther was definitely older than my dad. Yuck.

There were plenty of other men scattered around, some in their forties and younger who weren't unattractive, sure they were kind of hairy and had tattoos that would probably give me nightmares, but they weren't eyesores. So I didn’t understand why the girl was hanging all over Luther of all people. There was something really hard about his face that made me a little wary and added to the comment Trip had made about the club's activities ten years ago. If anyone had a face of a lifetime worth of doing risky things, it was Luther.

If Trip was right—and I knew he was—then the girl was just like any other little gold digger. Or groupie! She wanted the top dog even if he was in his fifties or sixties. And not so attractive. And more than likely had wrinkly balls, which I couldn't even figure out why I would think about to begin with.

Gag.

We talked a few more minutes about some of the people around us. Trip pointed out those who were native to Austin and his club.

I looked back over at Trip and raised my eyebrows, sliding the glass of juice I'd been holding away from me. "I guess I'm going to go home."

"Want me to walk you to your car?"

The incident the night before flashed through my brain. Friggin' Dex. "Nah. I parked close by."

"You sure? Son might kill me if something happens to you."

I snorted. Total Sonny. Threatening people left and right. "It's fine. He's a pussy cat."

"Are we talkin' about the same person?" Trip laughed. "The day you showed up, he said he'd break both my legs if I tried anythin' with you.”

“Aren’t you his best friend?”

He scrunched up his face, making the harsh lines of blonde facial hair seem pretty darn cute. “And?” Trip leaned back, shaking his head.

The mental picture of my half-brother breaking someone’s legs made me grin. "It's really okay." He didn't need to know my car was back at the shop's lot. I mean, it was close by. Squeezing his forearm, I smiled at him. "Thanks for keeping me company."

"Baby, trust me, it's a pleasure."

I gave him a lopsided smile. "Bye, Trip."

Wiggling my fingers at him in goodbye, I hopped off the barstool and shimmied my way through the thick crowd of strangers.  I'd barely pushed through the doors when the loud roar that could have only come from a group of motorcycles filled the air. The small group of people hanging outside smoking cigarettes were murmuring, but the louder the roar got, the louder their voices did too.

Six or seven bikers slowed their motorcycles to a crawl in front of the bar as I made my way down the block. Someone close by started yelling, but I wasn’t paying attention to what was being said as I kept my eyes on the bikers. They weren’t wearing leather vests like the rest of the WMC. They also didn’t look relaxed and ready to have a good time like everyone else did either. Instead, their faces were pulled tight as they drove by. Bodies stiff with something that was the opposite of friendly.

And that was my mistake of the day.

I should have gone back inside and asked Trip to walk me out. I should have, but I didn’t.

And that was my second mistake. I should have just looked at the bikers, and then hauled my ass as quickly as possible to my car. But I didn’t do that either.

I moseyed because I was tired. It was then, in my nosey nature and slow feet that two of the men in the street turned to look at me in a way that wasn’t a warm, appreciative gaze. It was a look that took in as much appreciation as a lion held for a gazelle before slaughter. It was a calculated thing.

But I’m an idiot and by that time, though it was too late, I walked faster down the sidewalk to the annex parking lot; Dex and Slim appeared from up ahead. They stalked down the block, keeping their eyes locked on the group parked behind me. Only when they saw me hopping over wide jagged cracks in the pavement, tugging my short, white shorts down my legs, did Dex veer in my direction.

Crap!

His dark eyes were locked on me. Raking me. Grazing me. Swallowing me. But whether it was in approval or just plain annoyance, I had no idea. To be honest, I didn’t care. Dex was a dick. A good-looking dick—a very good-looking dick—but a dick nonetheless.

And he. Looked. Pissed. Well, more pissed than usual and that was saying something.

“What in the fuck are you doin’ walkin’ to your goddamn car alone again?” he growled, swear to God, growled as he cut the distance between us. “Didn’t we just talk about this yesterday?”

It was my hormones. The hormones that raged through my body right before I started my period made me insane. I know it. Every girl knows it.

So obviously, they made me stupid. Because I looked behind me before slowly turning around to face my boss, taking in the angry, pulsing vein lining his neck. “Me?”

Slim paused midstride, looked between the two of us and kept walking toward the bar, throwing up a peace sign at me on the way.

Wuss.

“Who the hell else would I be talkin’ to, babe? You’re the only goddamn person walkin’ to their car at night by her fuckin’ self.” He put way too much emphasis on the last two words.

I whipped the keys out of my front pocket and spun them around my index finger, talking myself back from losing my temper because that was clearly the road I was going down. What I really wanted to do was throw the keys at his face but that wouldn’t exactly be the smartest thing to do. “You don’t have to talk to me like that.” I added a mental ‘asshole’ in my head.

Dex was in my face the second the words were out of my mouth, so close I could feel the heat from his skin. “We just had this talk yesterday. No more walkin’ to your car alone. You hear me? I know you’re still pissed off but it ain’t that big of a deal, babe. I already told you I say and do stupid shit when I’m pissed and you were in the wrong fuckin' place at the wrong time. It ain’t much to get over.”

Maybe throwing the keys wouldn’t be that stupid if it was either that or clipping him with my car’s bumper.

"Did you or did you not call me a fucking idiot?" The strained silence he answered with was enough to confirm what I was already sure of. Thank you very much. "Being in a better place at a better time, boss, you still would've said what you did only I wouldn't have heard you." I ground out. "That doesn't make it better. I haven't done anything to you, and you act like… like I stole your Christmas presents as a kid.”

His right eye started twitching but he didn’t deny the thought.

So I shrugged at him. What else was I supposed to do? “Tell me what I did.”

The pause was dramatic before he huffed out, "No." Dex's lips tightened in a hard line, not saying a word to argue with the fact that I was right.  "You didn't do nothin’.”

“What is it then? Because I’m not from here? Did I breathe too loud? Or because —”

“None of that. I already told you, you need to learn to grow a thicker skin, babe. Shrug it off, it ain't that big of a deal."

Someone was going to get stabbed, and that person was named Dex.

Unfortunately the same person that needed to get stabbed was the same one who would sign my paychecks. I had to grit my teeth. I wasn't going to apologize for not having a thick skin, as he put it. "I can't shrug off you being a jerk," I snapped. “Obviously, you don't really like me and that's fine. You’re pissed right now again for some reason, so I’m going to leave,” in hindsight, I should have ended the sentence right then. But I didn’t. “Before you make me cry, your perfect highness.”

Two things happened to Dex’s hard face. I could see him physically flinch at the same time he sucked in a low, barely audible breath. Then he just stared at me. Eye to eye. Me having to look up at him because while I wasn’t short, he still towered over me.

Dex lifted a hand to press his fingertips to his upper lip. Silent. His odd shade of blue eyes were penetrating mine, probably hoping that I’d go back to my state of being a quiet, avoiding wuss. “Look...I'm sorry.”

Did he say he was sorry?

"I can be a fuckin' asshole sometimes," he kept going.

Well, I wasn't going to argue with him on that point, though I wasn't exactly positive why he felt obligated to care whether or not he'd hurt my feelings. Probably because of Sonny. I could only imagine what he'd threatened him with.

"You're impatient and you're mean," I corrected him, not bothering to admit that I'd called him an asshole in my head at least a dozen times. A dozen times an hour that is. “You’re rude—and forgive me for saying it, but you make some dumb friggin’ decisions. And you think I’m stupid? Why the hell would you risk hurting your hand by getting into fights with people? That’s stupid.” Should I have stopped? Yes. Did I? No. “What do you have to be so pissed off about anyway?”

It took me a second before what I said really hit me. What had I just done?

Stood up for myself. Sort of. It wasn’t like I could take it back either.

Dex's nostrils flared, his face still impassive. "Said I didn’t mean it," he repeated in a crisp tone.

"It's not that easy." I stood there, waiting for something I wasn't even sure of.

"Yeah it is. I said sorry, now you can quit bein' pissed," he said the words like a command.

Oh my God. "No." I narrowed my eyes at him. "It doesn’t mean anything if Sonny had to threaten you to be nice.”

That same muscle in his neck quivered again as he stared back at me. “Look…” That burning blue gaze made a slow trek from my face down my body and up again. Slow, slow, slow. Under the thick black stubble of his neck, his throat bobbed. The texture of his voice got rougher. "I'm sorry, all right? Ain’t that enough?"

This was pointless. I loved words. I’d always loved words. I loved the freedom you could find in them. I loved manipulating them. I loved the way they sounded and the power they held.

But sometimes, sometimes, they weren’t enough.

Sometimes strings of letters were meaningless in comparison to actions. Actions held the power of a choir versus the strength of a solitary singer. My bones recognized that this was all I would get, this one person a cappella.

“Be the bigger person,” my mom would have said. I didn’t really want to but I lifted a shoulder anyway. My breath came out shaky. "Saying that you’re sorry doesn’t take back what’s been done, at least in my book. I can’t just forget it overnight."

Dex's throat bobbed again, those eyes beamed a hot line straight into me. "I wanna ask if you’re bein’ serious, but I think you are."

When I didn't say anything in return, he licked his bottom lip, looking down my length one more time.

“Say somethin’."

I didn't.

He stared at me for a minute, the tension in his shoulders tightening before he let out a whoosh of air. Pure exasperation. "C’mon."

Was I that resentful that he could see that I wasn't happy with him? That I'd rather sit in a portable toilet than next to him? I'd spent the last few years trying my best not to stress about things, trying to take care of myself, and the first time someone was genuinely mean to me–upset me—I crumbled?

I could still be hurt, but I didn't want to let that linger in me too long. Not anymore.

"Ritz?" he asked in a low voice.

I shrugged. God. There really wasn't a point in being bitter forever. Constantly raging against him went against the majority of the cells in my body. “Forget it. Apology accepted. I won't say anything to Sonny again.” Words, words, and more empty words. I wasn't lying, I was going to find another job and never say a word about Dex again.

Beeping the doors unlocked with the key fob, I lowered my eyes to his throat, noticing for the first time that Dex had put on his Widowmakers vest at some point.

I cleared my throat and eyed his Adam’s apple. “See you Tuesday.”

Dex didn’t say a word as I got into my car. He only took a step back when I turned the ignition.

When I glanced back in the rearview mirror after pulling out of the lot, he was still exactly where I’d left him.

Chapter Seven

“Son, on a scale from one to ten, how mad would you be if I quit my job?” I asked over breakfast.

And by breakfast I meant we’d both gotten up well after noon, but since it was the first meal of the day, I figured it was still considered breakfast. Wouldn't it? I didn’t have a clue what time he’d finally gotten home. I was in bed by three and promptly passed out before the backlight on my cell phone was out.

Sonny made a noise that sounded like a muted chuckle in his throat before peering up at me, chewing on a piece of bacon while raising a tired auburn eyebrow. “More trouble in paradise?”

I scoffed. “Dex is kind of an asshole.”

Sonny’s nostrils flared and his lips twitched. The doofus was trying his best not to laugh. "Kid, tell me something I don't know."

The second person I was going to beat after Dex was my brother. "You sent me to work with him," I might have hissed out.

"Because I know you can handle it."

Handling Dex Locke would be like handling a scorpion. You were gonna get that poisonous sting at some point. Unfortunately for me, that sting had a taste for Iris Taylor. The urge to babble to him that Dex had gotten an attitude with me in the parking lot was right on the tip of my tongue. But... I'd just told Dex that I wouldn't keep going to Sonny and whining.

Damn.

"Right?" he egged on, taunting me.

I had to settle for grumbling. "Yeah."

He lifted that dark eyebrow. “I told you I'd knock his teeth down his throat.”

"Don't forget his kneecaps." I kicked his shin underneath the kitchen table.

Sonny laughed before shoving another piece of charred bacon into his mouth.

"No, it's fine I guess I’m just not used to his type of personality You know—bossy and brooding." By bossy I meant jerk. Because that was the question. He was good-looking—very good-looking—and he had a successful business, what could really be that bad that sent him into such a crash?

He smirked. “Ris, you just described all my friends," he chuckled. "But I get it. He's not so bad, kid. I promise I wouldn't have sent you over there if he was a bad guy. He's a loner," he paused, thinking about what he said before adding, "usually an asshole, too, but he won't do a thing to you. He’s got sisters, he knows how to behave around Widows’ family."

Besides make me cry and yell. No big deal.

"But why?"

Sonny looked at me long and hard, his mouth twitching with indecision. He finally sighed. "Same reason we all have issues."

Because of other people?

What a lame excuse. There was more to that story but whatever he wanted to say, whatever he should have said, he wouldn't.

"If you really hate it, we can find you something else. The bar always needs help, but I don't know about you being around the MC constantly."

“Maybe. You’re not a dick, and Trip is really nice,” I tried to explain to him.

“I’m not a dick to you, and Trip’s nice because he likes you,” Sonny said.

I sighed and cut into my not-fully-cooked pancake.

“Look, Ris, I’d rather you not quit since you’re right around the corner from me. But you’re a big girl. You’ve been on your own forever now. I can spot you on money, no problem.” He shot me a pointed look. “It’s up to you.”

Damn it, I hated it when reasonable people had reasonable points. Did I really want to ask him for money?

No.

So I blew out a long breath from my lips. “I’ll try my best to put up with him, but if I get arrested for assault, you’re bailing me out of jail. I wouldn’t cut it in the pen.”

My half-brother grinned wide. “Doubt that, but I’ll bail you out if it happens. If he acts up again, treat him like you would Will if Will were tripping out.”

Like my little brother? My reply was a silent expression that reeked of confusion. I'd pinch Will's nipples if he did something so thoughtless and stupid. The end.

“If he was being a dumbass, you’d give him hell, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, yeah.” Someone had to.

Sonny raised his eyebrows up and down. “Just don’t let him get away with all the shit he does. I know Dex. You make him see what he’s done and he’ll react. He’s not a total shit. He’s got a big mouth and a short temper.”

I thought about the night before and how he’d asked me for forgiveness. Forgiveness that I only half-assed gave him. Hmm.

Sonny’s words, along with my insistence that I really didn’t care too much about staying in my boss’s good graces, swept over me in understanding and approval. I was already looking for another job, though that search wasn't going successfully. What was Dex going to do if I was being honest with him? Fire me? Like I friggin' cared by that point.

That was a lie, I did care. At least until I found another job, I'd care. There was always that back-up plan in the form of trampling over what remained of my pride and asking Son for money.

“I can do that,” I told him honestly.

He nodded slowly. “I know you can, Ris.”

With my game plan in mind, I smiled. “You got plans for the day?”

“What do you want to do?”

I batted my eyelashes, which I’m pretty sure still had clumps of mascara on them from the night before, and grinned. “Want to clean out your garage?”

~ * ~ *

We spent that Sunday afternoon going through Sonny's dusty, filled-with-crap garage.

At least five times I heard him muttering, "Only for you, Ris. Only for you." We managed to go through half of it, quitting only when the mosquitoes got so bad I was whacking a body part every other second.

By the time I came out of the shower, Sonny was dressed and stated that he had “club business”—whatever that meant—to attend to and that he’d be back later.

I made dinner for two, ate my share, and then molded my ass to the couch to watch television for a little bit. A little bit turned into hours, hours that added to my relaxation with rerun after rerun. The last thing I remembered before passing out a little after midnight was thinking that I should have moved to Vegas to get a job with the guys at Pawn Stars instead of Pins.

~ * ~ *

“Just leave her on the couch.”

“Bro, that’s fuckin’ uncomfortable.”

Someone sighed but I was still in my loopy, I’m-fighting-to-stay-asleep-world while the two voices spoke from what seemed like dimensions away. My dreamscape, a place that looked just like the park my dad had taken me to every week when he’d been a permanent fixture, was tilting on its axis as the voices outside got louder.

“You’re right. Let me go take a piss, and then I’ll get her up," someone said.

The silence that followed should have made it easier for me to slip back into my dream, but the depression of the cushion under me did the opposite. Two arms slipped beneath me, one spanning the width of my shoulder blades and the other hooking under both knees. Then I was up and against something warm and solid, something specifically that smelled like a hint of exhaust over clean laundry detergent. It was good. Even my half asleep dream-ass knew it.

My eyes cracked open to see that I was being carried down the hallway of Sonny’s house. My face rocked against a chest, my nose pressed to a man’s throat. And I knew, instinctively, that it wasn’t Sonny’s. That chump would have made me walk to my room.

I tilted my head up, blinking slowly to take in the person carrying me. Hair so dark it that couldn't be Trip. But the high cheekbones and hard angle of a jaw were all I needed to realize that it was Dex.

Dex!

“What are you—,“ I started to yawn, fighting the closing pull of my eyes.

"Go back to sleep," he murmured under his breath without even moving his lips.

He didn’t look down at me when he stopped at the closed bedroom door or when he opened it by putting my butt on what I imagined was a raised knee. Dex finally looked down when he was setting me on the mattress gently. He didn’t smile or wait for me to ask why he was putting me to bed.

He took a step back in my super dark room and whispered, “Night, Ritz,” before closing the door and leaving me in there alone.

If I would have been less tired, I probably would have wondered what the hell was going on instead of falling right back asleep, but I wasn’t, and trying to figure out Dex’s actions wasn’t something a half-asleep brain, much less a fully competent one, could handle.

Chapter Eight

When I got up the next morning, I was seriously asking myself what the hell had happened the night before.

I knew it couldn’t have been a dream. Dex The Dick carrying me to my room had happened.

It. Had. Happened.

And I couldn’t understand for the life of me why A) he’d been at Sonny’s house so late. B) Why he’d taken it upon himself to get me to my bedroom. C) Was a repeat of A and B.

I could have walked or at least stumbled my way to bed.

It being Monday, my brother was at work by the time I woke up. Dinner from the night before had mysteriously disappeared and the dishes had been washed.

Hallelujah.

Limited by the lack of funds in my account until payday, I had to settle for the free things life had to offer. Like laying around the house, watching television, going through catalogues Sonny had on the kitchen table. Basically, I was a lazy ass the first half of the day.

In the middle of it, I sent Will another email. It’d been more than a month since the last time I’d talked to him but that wasn’t completely unheard of. In the past year, I'd only gotten to see him a total of a week's worth. I should have been a seasoned professional at keeping calm when I didn’t get anything from him but the fact was, I worried about Will every day.