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“You’re blackmailin’ him?”
Bebe shrugged. “I see it as compensation for giving the bastard the two boys he wanted. And ruining my tight pussy when your big heads stretched it. The other one ripped me damn near in half.”
“The sons you never wanted.”
“You know what kids are?”
“Blood,” Randy muttered. At least that was what they should be.
“Parasites who suck your blood. Suck the fuckin’ life right outta you. And after I gave him the sons he demanded, he still stuck his dick in our whore of a house mouse.”
“You fucked Tin Man!” he screamed, the heat from his fury burning his cheeks.
She most likely fucked a ton of other bikers. Whether from the Blood Fury MC or other clubs. She had no right to judge Dutch for fucking around when she had done the same damn thing.
“Now you know why I left.”
“You woulda stayed if he hadn’t paid you off?”
Bebe shrugged and flicked the growing ash of her Pall Mall near an ashtray but totally missed. “Why not? Had a roof over my head, food in my belly and plenty of dick to choose from.”
Not one of those things she listed included her own flesh and blood.
Randy pressed his lips together and nodded. More to himself than her. Yeah, she didn’t leave because she was scared of the shit going down with the Fury, she left because she was a greedy, selfish cunt. And the only way Dutch could get her to leave him was to pay her to do so.
She did that willingly and without a fight.
Bebe got what she wanted.
Dutch got what he wanted.
And two kids got confused. As well as lied to.
“You got any cash, boy? I’m outta beer.”
He lifted his head and stared at the woman who used to be his mother.
He dug into the front pocket of his jeans, pulled out a quarter and flipped it at her.
Bebe watched as it fell to the floor at her slippered feet. “Think that’s funny?”
“You hear me laughin’?”
Yeah, maybe it was good he came. Got the truth. He could now put the woman out of his head and never think about her again. Maybe tell Chris she was dead.
Because that was what she was. Dead to him. Dead to his younger brother.
“Better take that fuckin’ quarter, ‘cause that’s the last cent you’re gonna get from a Dietrich. Tellin’ Dutch to never give you a fuckin’ dime again. Gonna tell him your threats are empty. Also gonna tell him to shoot you right between the fuckin’ eyes if you ever show the fuck up in Manning Grove again. You hear me, you worthless slit?”
Her mouth got tight and her fingers curled into a fist like she was thinking about belting him one. “You don’t speak to your mother like that.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Wouldn’t, if I had one.”
He was done.
With her.
With this shithole.
With all of it.
He spun on his boot, jogged out the door, down the porch steps and didn’t stop moving until he was in the LeMans and headed north out of Maryland.
He didn’t stop until he was forced to.
By the red and blue flashing lights behind him.
He had no choice but to pull over since the Pontiac piece-of-shit would never outrun the souped-up Crown Vics the state pigs drove. Maybe he should’ve taken the back roads all the way home instead of the interstate.
Too late now.
He slammed his palm against the steering wheel and muttered a curse under his breath as the uniformed pig approached the back of the LeMans with one hand already resting on the butt of his gun.
Randy didn’t have to roll down the window since it was already open. The LeMans didn’t have air conditioning and, being late afternoon in the middle of August, it was ball-sweating hot outside.
“How you doing, sir?” the pig oinked.
Sir. Randy’s tight jaw shifted.
“Need your license, registration and insurance. Assuming you have all that even though the registration plate seems to be missing.”
Randy stared straight ahead, waiting. His fury from his used-to-be mother still bubbling like lava in his gut. Now he had to deal with a pig of a different kind.
“Must have lost the key, too, since I see you’ve made your own with a screwdriver. Do I even need to run the VIN to see if it’s stolen?”
“Do whatever gets you off.”
The pig leaned closer to the window, tilting his head just slightly. “Sorry, I think I missed that.”
Randy turned his head slowly and stared straight up at the pig who wore one of those stupid-ass hats on his head with the black strap across his double-chin. Dumb fucks didn’t even know how to wear a hat right.
This time Randy repeated it slowly, loudly and in very clear English. “Said do whatever the fuck gets you off.”
“Huh. Guess my ears don’t need cleaned. I heard you right the first time.”
