Page 38 of Desert King

11

Tarak

The last thing I expected to witness when I went on a coffee run was that girl launching herself at my sister. She vaulted off that table like a Diva from Monday Night Raw. It was impressive. She even looked sexy for a split-second. If she weren’t Edge’s rat maybe I’d even like her.

But something about her spooks me. Makes me uneasy. The fragrance of her hair had me leaning in to sniff more.

She’s nothing like Mandy and yet they do have a slight resemblance. Mandy flaunted her body and always had her nails and makeup done. But this Amber girl, wears nothing but faint freckles and plain gloss.

“What the fuck was that, Regan?” I turn from my spot at the window where I was watching her flee.

“You were the one who made her cry, not me.”

“She was afraid of me. It was in her eyes. She never was before. What did you say to her to make her leave?”

“I didn’t say anything. I just kissed her.”

“What?” I bark in disbelief.

“Don’t tell a soul, Tarak. Mouse is hot. I don’t know what came over me or how it happened. I was in her apartment lounging on her bed, drinking her wine, leafing through the dirty parts of her diary—when she launched herself at me much like she did now. I don’t know… I saw the broken parts of her. The ones she fixed. She was fired up, it was hot… it just happened.”

“Are you—?”

“No. I don’t think she is either.”

I steal the bag of goodies from her hand, turn and swipe the girl’s coffee.

“Hey!” Regan protests.

“Fuck it. She left and I need it more than you do.” I open the bag, stuffing the buttery muffin into my mouth. I shut my eyes in bliss, washing the muffin down with a hot strong swig of coffee.

“She has good taste.”

“Of course, she does. She kissed me back.”

I almost choke on the muffin. “What? Was this like a full on make out scene?” I frown, faking horror. “I can’t picture my sister in a girl on girl scene. I feel sick.”

“No? How about picturing her with Edge?” Regan’s lips curl.

“I knew it.” I polish off the stolen muffin, throwing the empty bag in the trash. “Make sure she stays gone. I’m heading to Vegas. I’ll be back in a week or two…”

Regan takes the coffee from my hands and helps herself to a long swig. “Be back for the Quinceanera,” she warns.

“I’ll try. But I can’t make that promise. I gotta go. Be good.” I tweak her nose. I jerk the coffee back from her hands walking slow. The sun is bright as I use my elbow to open the door. The light feels like tiny needles pricking my brain.

“Ugh,” I squeeze my eyes shut, pinching the bridge of my nose then fish around my cut for my shades. My jumbled thoughts bleed into one another. Mandy. Mouse…the MC.

I turn. “What broke her. What was in her diary?”

“COVID. She almost died.”

“Well, shit.” I breathe. That means the blood running through her veins is liquid gold. Little brown mouse has a target on her back. One that makes the one I put on her tiny. She better run back to whatever hole she came out of. She just put herself square in an underground war where people like her will be hunted.

* * *

My body achesbut I power through it. My headache dulled to a throb, but I need a fuck-ton of water and sleep. Shit. Maybe I’ll pull off for a bag of intravenous fluids. I’m tempted to take that shit I smoked last night every night if I could have an experience like that again. But I can’t get so fucked-up like this again. Because I can’t make the clear decisions I need for my Club.

I can’t tell a soul what I experienced. I’d lose my Prez patch. Lose respect. I gotta keep this shit to myself.

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