AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Come on, let's get out of here.”
Fifteen minutes later, Squealer parks outside a dive bar, just off Route 24. It reminds me of the place where we first met each other. I had no idea that a quick hook-up then was gonna lead to all these complications.
“Don’t you think I'm a little overdressed for this kinda place?” I laugh, sliding out of the car and speaking to him across the top.
“I think you look just fine.” He clicks the fob to lock the doors and moves around the car to take my hand in his again.
I let him lead me into the bar, which is surprisingly busy for a Thursday night. There's a live band playing on the stage and people dancing on a small dance floor in the center of the room. This time all eyes fall on me, and consciously I pull down on the hem of the dress I’m wearing.
I’m totally overdressed for this place.
“They’re only staring ‘cause they all wanna fuck you.” Squealer leans in from behind me to whisper, his breath tickling my neck and making my knees weak.
“Take a seat. I’ll get us a drink.” He points his head toward an empty table and squeezes my ass before he goes over to the bar.
I settle myself into a chair and take a look around. There are deer heads on the wall, neon lights, and pictures of the bands that have played here in the past. There are a few older couples on the dance floor a few steps down. And despite the place being a little shabby, it’s got a good vibe about it.
Squealer returns a few minutes later with two beers and places one in front of me.
“Thanks.” I take the bottle and sip it before placing it back on the table between us.
“So, what comes next?” he asks. It’s hard having him front on like this. There’s no avoiding him here. It seems I have his full attention, and I’m gonna have to give him mine.
Still, I can work that to my advantage, find out more on Hawker and what he did to warrant being on the club's shit list.
“We talk, get to know each other,” I explain, wondering how he can possibly be so clueless.
“I can do that. You get to go first, being a lady and all.” One of his eyebrows raises sarcastically, making me want to slap his face, but… I’m playing nice.
“Okay.” I decide to go in hard. “Why were you in a mental facility when you were a teenager?”
Squealer almost spits his beer at me. “You don’t mess around, do ya?”
“Never.” I shake my head seriously.
“You’ve been doing your homework. That's cute.”
“Don’t be flattered, I read up on you all,” I hit back. I’ve been interviewing people long enough to know that when he spends time studying me, he’s deciding if he’s gonna answer truthfully, or make up some bullshit.
“When we were fifteen, Screw lost his shit and killed our stepdad,” he tells me, seeming unashamed.
“I read something about that,” I admit. They were just kids when the incident happened. Rick Taylor had a colorful background of domestic violence.
“Rick was an asshole, he hit on Mom and gave us both more than a few hidings. Screw just flipped and lost his head. It wasn’t long after we’d lost our sister. And instead of juvie, his attorney got him sectioned. Shrinks said he had some kinda breakdown.” Squealer shrugs like it's no big deal before taking another sip of his beer.
“That doesn’t explain how you ended up in there with him,” I point out.
“What kinda brother would I have been letting him go in there alone? Place was full of quacks.” Squeal smirks.
“And how does one go about getting themselves sectioned?” I ask him sarcastically.
“Easy, you just smash your head against a concrete wall and refuse to speak to anyone, until the men in the white coats come and drag you away,” he sniggers, noticing how I swallow thickly.
“You're serious?” I can’t help but laugh inappropriately.
“Deadly,” he leans across the table and whispers.
“And how did you know your brother wasn’t crazy?”
