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“This what ya looking for?” I toss Nelson forward, landing him in a heap at Brax’s feet. The fucker can carry him back to the van himself.
“And that’s a wrap.” Squealer appears behind Brax along with his mute brother, Screwy’s face is splattered with blood and the dripping knife he’s holding in his hand suggests that tonight he went for blade over bullets.
I ain’t surprised. Screwy likes to make them suffer. He’d make an excellent executioner if he had a fraction of the patience Jessie or Brax do.
“Your boys back home wanna speak to you, brother.” Brax kicks Nelson hard in the ribs.
“Load him up,” he orders, looking up at me, his eyes daring me to argue. I glare back at him, holstering my gun and stepping forward, lifting the guy by his scruff and dragging him back to the cage where Grimm is waiting.
“Ya got three turning stiff back there, Grimmy.” Squealer looks pleased with himself as he steps up into the back of the cage and gives Nelson a hard shove in the back, forcing him onto the bench seat. Grimm nods his head thoughtfully, before pulling a huge duffle bag off the front seat.
“See you back here when you’ve dropped them off,” he tosses me the keys. “And bring shovels.”
Great, looks like I’m spending my night shifting fuckin’ stiffs.
I take the driver’s seat and wait till everyone’s loaded before I pull off.
“You fucked up, Nel,” I hear Brax snarl.
“It ain’t what you’re thinkin’,” Nelson argues back, and I glance over my shoulder when I hear a loud thud. Screwy's just cuffed the sorry motherfucker in his jaw, I wouldn’t be surprised if the force that came from behind his fist hasn’t dislocated the thing.
“Oh, so we didn’t just find you cozied up, sharing flake with five of Yardley’s goffer’s?” Brax mocks. “You know, my instructions were to take you back in one piece so your own Charter can serve you your punishment. But I’m struggling to see what I’m gonna get out of that,” he threatens.
I’m just glad I’m not in Nelson’s position. Nobody fucks with Brax, he’s a different breed of Dirty Soul.
“I can explain,” Nelson pleads. Brax has a reputation for being merciless, and I don’t hold out a lot of hope on this fucker making it back to his Charter whole.
“You wanna tell us why you’re so far away from home, cuttin’ blow with those dead motherfuckers?” I watch Brax calmly light up a smoke in the rearview mirror, its cherry glowing and illuminating the fear on Nelson’s face. And I’ll bet he’s wishing I’d shot that bullet into his skull right about now.
“Come on, man, I got a family to feed. Club back home ain't doing so well, I was trying to make some connections for the club,” Nelson stutters his lame-ass excuses.
“You getting a whiff of that, Screw?” Squealer sniffs the air in front of him. “Smells like fuckin’ bullshit to me.”
“Those fucking cowboys have had feds sniffing up their ass for months. There’s a reason we’ve stayed clear of them and their business, you stupid fuck.” Brax stubs out the end of his cigarette in the space between Nelson's eyes and I hear him hiss out in pain.
“I didn’t know that, I swear, take me back to Jimmer and let me explain, please, Brother, you got to believe me.”
“I ain't your fucking brother no more,” Brax tells him before I hear a painful scream come from behind me.
“That was your spleen,” Brax speaks to him calmly. “You keep that knife in place, you might survive long enough to make the journey back to the club. Our doc can fix you up and I’ll get to keep the promise I made Declan to get you back to him alive. Piss me off with any more of your bullshit, I swear I’ll pull that knife out myself and let you bleed out right here in the back of this cage. To fuck with promises.”
I flick my eyes back there again and catch Squealer snorting a line off the arch of his hand. “Rest in peace, Yardly, ya cut some good shit.” His eyes look up at the truck roof before he looks at Nelson and laughs like a fucking psychopath. “Ya know, it’s been a while since I watched someone bleed out. What about you, Nyxy boy?” he callss out at me.
It’s gonna be a long assed fuckin’ night.
It’s the Mother-Daughter Luncheon day and, same as every year, Mom’s insisting that I dress to standard. Today’s choice isn’t as bad as some of the previous years’ choices, but I still look like a Stepford housewife in training.
My white summer dress tapers in at the waist, the floaty skirt section finishing respectably a few inches above my knees. My look is finished off with a yellow cardigan and matching pumps. I protested against having my hair pinned in a French pleat, reminding Mom that I’m eighteen and not forty. Instead, I compromised and agreed to wear a yellow headband behind a subtle quiff.
“You look great,” I assure Abby when her and her mom arrive to pick us up. Abby’s eyes roll in her head, unimpressed. She’s also been dressed to resemble a china doll, looking completely out of her comfort zone in a baby blue dress cut below the knee with a matching jacket.
The luncheon is exactly the same boring fiasco that I remembered it to be last year. The Hannigan sisters attempt to gossip, and Abby and I smile sweetly, making polite conversation back. When we’re seated at our tables, I’m pissed off that I’ve been separated from Abby. It’s all part of the club’s attempt to network, and I’m suddenly surrounded by fake, mindless women incapable of talking about anything besides their husband’s career and how exceptional their children are.
I sip tea, and engage in a dull conversation with the senator’s wife who’s been positioned beside me. She persistently brags about her son and how he’s heading for law school once he finishes his bachelor's degree. Meanwhile, I can’t get the image of Nyx out of my head, his plump bottom lip and how his eyes spark a thrill inside me. The skin on my arms tingle when I think of his fingers touching me yesterday, and the inappropriate flutter between my legs seeps into my panties when I think about the dreams I’ve been having about him lately.
I excuse myself from the table, picking up my clutch, which of course matches my cardigan, and make my way to the bathroom. Locking myself inside a cubicle, I take out my phone and stare at the message Nyx sent me last night. I’d fallen asleep before it came through and when I opened it this morning, it made my chest beat like it was caging a thousand butterflies.
Night x
