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FightFuckFinnegan: thot u were coming 2 pick up ur shit.
TheseDarkWoods: other kind of emergency pickup
FightFuckFinnegan: sure mate. Give me an hour, haven’t fucked yet tonite. WYA?
TheseDarkWoods: Delacroix place. Have a question about stepbro 2. Will ask later.
For the next hour, I sit on the porch and watch people leave. A couple gets in a fight down the street. I’m pretty sure the guy is Royal Dolce, judging by his oversized ‘roid-head build. He tosses the girl up on the hood of the car and they fuck, which is pretty hot to witness when they don’t know I’m watching. I consider jerking off, but I figure if Gideon comes out and sees me spanking it while spying on his party guests after he told me to leave, he won’t go so easy on me.
A black Jaguar with tinted windows pulls up, and I adjust myself and head down the steps into the rain, sliding into the passenger seat. We start down the street, his headlights sweeping over the couple still going at it on the car.
“Damn,” Colin says, his Irish accent slightly slurred. “Little pervert got a show while he waited.”
Great. I just climbed into a death trap with a drunk drug dealer. My decision-making skills are top notch tonight.
“Apparently Mr. Stallion there couldn’t wait to get home to try out another one of his endlessoptions,” I say bitterly as we pass them. “Guess you never run out of those when you’re hung like a porn star.”
“I can confirm,” Colin says smugly, toying with the coins he wears on a chain around his neck.
“Fuck you.”
“Is that what you’re pissy about?” Colin asks. “Your cock’s too small?”
“It’s not small,” I say, glowering at him.
“It’s not all fun and games, having a massive cock,” he says. “I can count the number of times I’ve been able to talk a woman into anal on one hand.”
“A real fucking tragedy.”
“Condoms don’t fit,” he says. “Speaking of, I got your shit in the back.”
“Thanks,” I say, reaching behind the seat and feeling around until I find a paper bag.
“Don’t pull it out while I’m driving, you bloody idiot,” he says. “I’m sloshed.”
“Let me drive.”
“Fuck no,” he says. “If I can’t handle my whiskey and my ride, I deserve to die.”
“I guess I deserve to die for being dumb enough to get in the car with you,” I mutter. I barely know the guy. I just buy drugs from him. But who else was I going to call? I’m sure as shit not calling Mom, who would probably tell my stepdad. And I don’t want to wake my sister or look like a loser she has to come pick up from a party. I’m not even drunk. If it wasn’t raining, I would have walked home. I probably should have.
When we pull up outside the Montgomery house, I grab the bag out of the back and reach for the door. The next thing I know, I’m a headlock.
“Whoa there,” Colin says, his strong arm crushing my windpipe. “Where’s my fucking money?”
“It’s inside,” I say. “Calm the fuck down.”
“Drop the bag.”
“Do you sell Cotton Montgomery roofies?” I ask, struggling against his grip.
“I sell people what they need.”
“If my sister gets hurt because of you—”
His forearm tightens on my neck. “Finish that sentence, pretty boy,” he growls into my ear.
“I’ll get your money,” I say, dropping the bag.
