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Crow never said why, but no one was allowed in the master bedroom. It looked as if it hadn’t been touched since his mom died, with the light blue bedding and frilly curtains. His mom’s shit was still on the dresser, and her clothes were still hanging in the closet as if she were coming home any day now.
We all had our fucked-up shit going on, so none of us pressed, but we made sure when we threw a party, the room was untouched out of respect for our boy.
I downed my bottle of Patron, tossing the bottle against the metal fencing behind me. It splintered into the air, and bits of glass rained down on the broken concrete. The alcohol hummed through my system, and the world around me began to lean. There was such a thing as too much, and I had gotten to that point.
The chronic.
The liquor.
Even if I hadn’t meant to, I had overdone it.
“You look fucked, man,” Saint said, snapping his fingers in my face. “Banger brought his trailer. Load your bike up and hitch a ride with him tonight. You’re too high to ride, bruh.”
He was right.
Getting on my bike feeling like I felt wasn’t going to happen.
I nodded, and again my eyes caught on the new girl with Zada.
She was standing on the sideline, hands clasped and looking so out of place I almost felt bad for her.
Almost.
I knew her type. She was just another prep school slam piece coming from their side of town to slum it with a bad boy. Wearing their expensive shoes, draped in money, and smelling like freshly printed trust funds. Most of the guys took advantage of the stars in their eyes and gave them what they wanted … one night with a biker boy.
Not me.
I didn’t have time for that shit. I paid them no attention, sticking with the familiar girls in town had less drama and bullshit. But this girl, with her long curls and innocent eyes, was determined to get someone killed. Every time I looked her way, she was closer to the street until finally, I looked, and she was toeing the line.
It was as though she was begging for someone to hit her. The bikers who raced the strip didn’t stop until their front tire hit the finish line. It didn’t matter who was in their way. If she were from around here, she would know that.
The guys talked shit around me, and when they passed the blunt my way, I pinched it and took a hit. The girl moved closer, leaning forward and letting her hair fall while she peered down the track to see if the racers were headed her way yet.
She was going to get herself hit or worse; she was going to cause an accident and get a lot of people hurt.
I handed Joker the blunt and started in her direction.
“Yo, where the fuck you going, bruh?” Saint called out from behind me.
I held my hand up to let them know I was all good. My boots crunched through the gravel until I was close enough to see that her hair wasn’t brown as I had thought, but a red tone.
She was little red, and I was the big bad fucking wolf.
Just as I reached her, she stepped too far onto the track. Banger was moving down the strip, his engine screaming for her to move, and I knew Banger, he wouldn’t stop for anyone. Not when money was on the line. It didn’t matter if he hit her or not. He would drive through her like she was a cloud of nothing.
Without thinking twice, I reached out, grabbed her by the arm, and slung her back and away from the street just as Banger came screeching by, his exhaust blowing us he was so close. She fell, her ass slamming into the gravel on the ground, and her wild locks shifted, blocking her face from me.
I hadn’t meant to pull her onto the ground, but the closer he got and the longer she stood there, I was sure she was trying to get hit. She looked up at me from the ground, her wild mane covering her face. My eyes skimmed her body and her clothing, from the light pink T-shirt to her terrible jeans.
I was right.
She was just another prep school pussy trying to get into a biker’s pants—trying to defy Daddy with a hard, bad boy dick.
Anger ripped through me.
The high school girls were nothing but trouble for my boys. They swore the young girls were more willing to do the crazy shit, but I always worried they would get their hands on one who was lying about her age. That last thing any of us needed on our asses was a statutory rape charge.
“Are you murderous, suicidal, or fucking stupid?” I barked down at her.
