Page 6 of O'Mega's Revenge
“Sprout?” Of course, he addressed his brother in leather before me.
“Weed for Kush — a peace offering.” Sprout had interpreted Wolf’s question and given him the most pertinent details so he wouldn’t blow his shit in front of the guests.
“Make it quick.” He guarded the door and crossed his arms, glaring into the darkness.
Of course, it wasn’t the welcome I’d expected. But at least he wasn’t getting mauled by some slobbering bike bunny. I took a quick peek at my phone. A message from Danielle was on top. It read,“Sorry, not going. Sprout says no. Party here?”It was a little too late now. I answered her with a quick “yes,” then shot off a text to Trot. Maybe a little revenge on the boys was in order?
The contrast of night to the sweaty clubhouse was mostly in temperature and mood. Outside was raucous and testosterone-fueled with a scent of hunger to the mood. Inside, it sounded like a strip club and smelled like a brothel. It felt like lust and smelled like pot.
Jelly was right. Kush was in no shape to go anywhere soon. He was tied up on a St. Andrews Cross and getting a blow job by one hooker while another hooker fed him her tits. Two more stood ready with smoke and drink. He took hits off a pipe between swigs of alcohol, and then they’d shift the cross for the next girl in line to take a turn.
I did not feel sorry for him one bit. I felt sorry for the girls, but they seemed to be enjoying the fun.
Sprout snapped his fingers. “Hand it over.” I dug the weed out again and handed it off. Missile was too busy watching the floor show to notice or protest.
Around the edges of the room, the club positioned mattresses still covered in their storage plastic and boxes of condoms spilled out by each one. The party was in full swing. A couple of the girls the club kept were on their backs. But that didn’t account for all the mattresses. I tried to ignore the activities and keep my eyes trained for threats.
One approached us as Sprout hung out at Kush’s side, waiting for the right moment to interrupt.
The girl had a bright blue and purple cosplay wig and leather straps that could be considered clothing, but they didn’t cover anything. “Who brought in the trash?”
She wasn’t asking the big guy flanking her. He wore no colors, but he had a certain set of rings I was all too familiar with. My brain flashed back to some terrible memories.
“No one calls the Devil’s Handmaidens trash.” Missile shot her mouth off before I could stop her.
The bodyguard raised an eyebrow and flexed his fingers.
The girl cocked her head. “Devil’s who?”
I slapped a hand over Missile’s mouth before she could give away everything. “Friends of Kush. We brought a gift for his retirement.”
The bodyguard relaxed slightly.
The girl eyed me.
Missile pushed at me to release her.
“What gift?” She took in my outfit, then Missile’s. The struggle had bared her crotch. She wore underwear, thank God. But they were neon pink with the words “Eat me.” Written in sequins on the front.
“Pot. Ask around. It’s the best in the region.” I supplied. Hopefully, that’s all they’d remember and not dig deeper.
Missile made a noise of protest and crossed her eyes at me, but I’d locked her down with one arm barring her chest and the other across her mouth. She breathed angrily through her nose, spewing snot on my hand. I didn’t dare let her go.
The girl pointed at Missile. “Control this one. No freebies. We’re getting paid by the head, and I expect the payday to not be shorted by some skank-ass party girl looking for a new daddy.”
Missile began to struggle violently. She was spitting mad. I locked down on her harder, expecting bruises I’d have to apologize for later. I whispered in her ear, “Trot is outside.” Then added, “vulnerable.” And that settled her ass right down. I let go of her carefully.
“That bitch called me a skank.”
She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of her before I could stop her.
The bodyguard caught the motion and snapped a picture of his own.
“Shit.” My reflex was to turn my head, but I knew it was already too late. I arrested the motion, dropped my chin low, and turned to Missile and took her phone. Then I marched her out the door. Wolf was there, waiting, still glaring at the night.
“We’re good.”
We still had a whole gauntlet of Destroyers to walk past, and I couldn’t drag Missile out by the ear like I wanted to.
