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“Eh, this fool better go get him some food.” Ace chortles. “That cheap ass foster mom of yours got your MMA lookin ass living on cup-of-noodle soup.”
I lock eyes with River. No words are necessary. You should’ve fought the other night.
“I’m good, bro.” With his daily quota of words complete, River kickstarts and heads off.
I ask Ace and Duke, “You guys coming this evening. I’m not charging my boys to get on board.”
“And have all those Barbies to fuck? Nah,” Duke frowns. “You like getting your dick sucked by three DuPont bitches at the same time—”
“Two flick, one sucks my balls.” I jerk a shoulder.
“But I’ll take one of our girls over three of them, staring up at me like, ‘Am I doing this shit right?’ All the dick they suck.”
“Beat the confidence into them.”
Ace rolls his eyes. “Speak for yourself, Duke. I’m in.”
“Free drinks, though?” Duke asks.
“Look, bro,” I tell him. “I can’t give you all special treatment. Climb aboard. I’ll slide you a couple dollars. But Duke, you pocket my shit, I’ll bash your fucking face in.”
“Easy on the threats, Cam. Is Costco Barbie making the run? Even if I kept half the drinking cash, not saying I will, but you’d still be good.”
“As we speak, she’s getting all the drinks. Speaking of good, how’s River really doing?”
Ace chews his thumb. “Riv knows he’s still got you and Li and Tatum looking out for him.”
“I’m gonna see y’all later tonight then?”
“Run me a couple dollars now,” Duke replies.
“C’mon, now. My tattoo parlor won’t pay for itself. The fuck I look like? Like I’m handing out cash?”
“Burn,” Ace laughs. They’re not rich by any means, so my boys are welcome to my house anytime they need. It’s been a while since River came by. The two of us took turns breaking bones during our dirt bike stunt days. So, I’ll have to catch up with him or convince him to fight for me again.
* * *
Ahalf-hour later, I’m on the top deck of the yacht I’d rented for this evening. Tonight, every square inch of this luxurious beast is my Green Room. I’ll be swimming in pussy. Next stop, cash. With all the required contracts, Amir couldn’t drill cameras into any of the property. He’s pretty crafty, though, inconspicuously positioning our equipment throughout the vessel since some DuPont Barbies are camera shy. They get off on seeing themselves live, no doubt, but shine a handheld lens down, and they clam up.
Amir’s placing the finishing touches on a camera he positioned near the hot tub. While assembling the wires, he mutters, “Court’s at SAT prep. Says she will arrive right before we depart. College Barbie came by and dropped off the drinks.”
“Barbie? You listen to every fecking thing I say?” Sure, my boys know the terms I gave DuPont Academy girls, but not a fellow student.
“Pretty much, boss. About fifteen minutes ago, I saw Big Booty Barbie.”
“Who is . . . Lolo?” I rub my hands together.
“Lolo?” His eyebrow tips, and he settles onto an aquatic blue chair. “We’re not calling her any variation of Barbie?”
“We?” My mouth tenses.
“I mean you. Anyway, Willow was on the light blue boat, two slots down. I’m missing the correct adaptor for the cameras in the last stateroom down below deck. I’m going to Wally World. Need anything?”
“Um, nah.” I wander down the steps. Four days ago, I last saw Willow Greene. I’d started to believe she was a figment of my imagination. Amir follows after me. I stop on the cement pier and lean my elbow against a post. I lock one leg about the other ankle.
“Amir, get some extra ice at Walmart,” I call after him. “You see who she was visiting?”
“Ice, check. I thought you’d ask. Mr. Garland,” he mentions the guy who rented us the yacht, “said a doctor owns the boat. Also, Willow’s right there.”
His voice lowers as he points over the railing. “Possibly scoping out the place. Who knows?”
Shrugging, he continues toward the gates. I let Amir’s intel percolate while leaning against a post. Eyeing the boat in question, I light up my blunt.
I’d read little miss thang’s entire cumulative file. Two months ago, the shit hit the fucking fan in some capacity. She got into fights at her old school, let her grades slip. Lacking coping skills, she’s beautifully broken. I refuse to believe I called it wrong when it comes to her.
She’s my shiny, new, untouched toy. A few puffs later, the top of Willow’s head, dreadlocks in a bun, peeks out. Next, she’s crawling in my direction, face down.
What are you up to, Lolo? A smile curves my lips. Whatever mayhem she’s gotten into, I’ll bite. Willow Greene’s creeping around and doing a shit job at it. Maybe I’ll teach her a thing or two, or not, but either way, I’m bending her to my will.
