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Ryder takes a sip of beer and eyes the kid. “How long’s it been? Six, seven years since he rode his bike off the road?”
Brodie straightens his shoulders. “I don’t talk about that. I have a different life than Satan’s Seeds. They don’t want me, and I need money.”
He looks at me as Sydney slithers up from behind and wraps her hands around my waist, reaching for my cock.
“You want a dance, Poet?” Her cheap perfume is so strong it almost smells like bug spray.
“Not tonight, Syd. If you can bring a water and another round that would be great.” I glance at Brodie. He’s fixated on Ryder.
A loud sigh comes out of Ryder as he sets down his phone with a thud and looks at Brodie. “Kid, I don’t give a fuck where you put your dick.” He leans his elbows on the table. “But you need to stop staring at me because I love pussy.”
Brodie shifts uncomfortably. “I… I’m so sorry. I wasn’t…” He jerks his eyes away and looks straight ahead.
Sydney starts to snicker, and I hold up my hand. “Just go get the drinks.” Then I slap her ass, which used to be rock hard. Unfortunately, years of too many men, drugs, alcohol, and Camel nonfilters have aged her.
She rasps over her shoulder, “He definitely loves pussy.”
Smoke remains in the spot where she stood. I flash to Pig Pen in Peanuts and the dirt always swirling around him.
Brodie leans over Edge, who gives him a what-the-hell look, so that he can speak to Ryder without yelling over the music. “I’m sorry. You’re kind of my hero. My dad was so impressed.” His pale face turns crimson and my patience, which was at maybe a five, is now at zero.
“Do you have the phone?” I reach for my cigarettes on the table and light up.
Los Angeles banned smoking basically everywhere years ago. And I couldn’t give two shits. I need one and I dare anyone to stop me.
“Brodie? You got your old man’s phone?” I snap, taking a deep drag and letting the nicotine do its job. I hold the cancer stick in my teeth as I grab a chair.
He swings his backpack onto the table almost knocking over Edge’s beer. “Sorry.”
I keep smoking, my eyes narrow. Is he a trap? He’s almost so ridiculous that if he is, I’d have to give the Seeds credit.
I put my hand on the bag before he unzips it.
“Tell us again. Why? Because if what I need is on that phone, Satan’s Seeds will not exist anymore.”
He leans back, motioning that I can open the backpack. I do and see nothing but college textbooks, notepads, and one black flip phone.
“I’m gay.” His eyes dart around the booth.
Ryder snorts. “No shit?” Then he turns to the stage, bringing the beer to his lips.
“My old man and all of Satan’s Seeds thought I was wrong and enjoyed hurting me.” His voice cracks and his eyes reflect his pain. Whatever past this kid has had, it’s all there in his eyes. Demons like to fuck with him too.
“So yeah, I hope what you need is on this phone. I don’t care if every one of those pigs in Satan’s Seeds dies a slow, painful death. In fact, every night when I go to sleep, it’s what I pray for.”
At last, Edge looks at him, brow raised at the hatred frothing from his mouth.
The annoying loud beat has changed to a dull thud. The new DJ must be on. Lenny Kravitz’s “American Woman” plays and the lights flash red, white, and blue for a laser effect.
Brodie shrugs. “But that’s not the reason I’m helping you guys. I’m betraying them because my mother was left with nothing. Nothing. That piece of garbage that was my father drove his bike off a cliff high as a kite and left us with no insurance. She’s sick.”
He pulls out the black flip phone and tosses it to me almost as if it’s dipped in poison. And it just might be.
“I’ll be back,” I say.
Brodie leans forward and grabs my wrist.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You need to let go.”
He must realize his mistake. The look I gave him is not friendly. He drops it and sits down with a loud thud.
“Sorry, I panicked.” He looks at Ryder and Edge who stare at him, expressionless. “I need my money.”
“Relax. We have your money,” I hiss. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you go anywhere or giving you a dime until I check that this is really his phone.”
“But…” He looks like a boy who lost his puppy. “My mother… I need this money.” He looks around the table. No one says anything. The music and dimmed lights are all that keep us company.
“I guess you’ll have to trust us.” I stand with the phone. “And Brodie?”
