Page 8 of A Dangerous Game
Feeling like a bitch, I kick him in his shin. “And girls too. Sometimes both girls and guys at the same time.”
“Dad and Jenny’s house was bombed by some pipe bomb some assholes made. It blew up about three quarters of their house,” he explains. “Jenny’s dead.”
I don’t feel any sadness besides for her kid.
“And dad?” I don’t know why I care. I don’t know why my chest is constricting at the thought of my father being dead. Or how I feel like I’m contradicting that feeling because I also have relief.
He winces. “He’s on life support and it's not looking good.”
Something closes in my chest and my breathing picks up. “So, what are you doing here?”
“I need you to come back with me. We need to talk to you about some shit.”
I shake my head knowing how bad of an idea this is. Super bad. Not even just bad. Super fucking bad.
“Talk to me here.”
“It's not safe. Mom’s murderers still haven’t been found and now this? Fuck no. Someone’s targeting us and you’re probably going to be next!”
“I’m a porn star for fuck’s sake. What are they going to want from me?”
“They want the club.”
“Jesus!” I shout. “The club! The club! The club! Everything’s about this stupid club. I can’t take dance lessons because the dance teacher was afraid of dad. I couldn’t date someone because they were afraid of you assholes.”
My chest is rising and falling rapidly. I’ve suppressed all of this.
Thorn takes a deep breath and then pulls my chair closer to him.
“We don’t have much time but we need to go back. Sin, I know we’ve had our fuckin’ problems but you’re still my sister. I love ya.”
HULK
“We’re sittin’ fuckin’ ducks here!” I growl at the brothers as we stand on the curb of our president’s house.
Thorn shakes his head and looks at the carnage from the explosion of his father’s house. “Look, I don’t like this anymore than you fuckers but this is my dad.”
Ink, one of the older brothers, rolls his eyes. “I don’t give a fuck about who it is to you. What I care about is the fact that our brother, our president’s house was just bombed.”
About thirty minutes ago, we got a phone call we never expected. Detective Bill Woods called us to let us know that Bishop’s house was bombed and they are on their way. The worst part about the whole thing? We had to hear it from the cops! Our own brother’s in such a fucked up state he couldn’t even call us.
“Everyone, move out of the way!” An EMT calls out as he wheels a gurney out of the house.
“Fuck,” I mutter below my breath.
Bishop’s on the stretcher and he’s looking pale while he’s loaded into the back of the ambulance.
The sirens are switched on at the same moment the ambulance pulls away from the curb. It’s only a matter of seconds before Jenny, the president’s ol’ lady, is being wheeled out of the house too.
The difference? She’s in a body bag.
This can mean only one thing.
This means war.
Woods strolls over towards us with an annoyed expression on his face. “Anyone care to tell me why your president’s house got blown to fucking shreds?”
We shrug.
