Page 40 of Maddox
As much as I’d like to see the pig get fucked up, it’s not the time or the place.
Besides, Lilli don’t need to worry about Wolf being locked up. At least not today…
“We got nothing for you, pig,” I say.
Even if we did, we don’t trust the pigs to do this right. Margie was a sweet butt.
In Ben’s eyes, she’s just more MC trash, since she hung around the club and made herself available. He ain’t here about Margie beyond pinning this shit on the MC if he can.
Ben’s eyes move my way, and I grin with all my teeth as my fucking sister sneers over my shoulder, “You’re blocking my fucking ride, cop.”
This time, I’m the one who stiffens because if this fucker looks at my sister sideways, I’ma be the one locked up tonight with zero fucks given.
You don’t mess with my blood, even if they’re a pain in my ass on any given day.
Besides, I don’t trust this cop alone with my sister. I don’t trust him alone with any-fucking-body.
Curling my fingers into fists, I prepare for the blow and I’m almost disappointed when the pig nods and says, “I’ll be around.”
No one bothers to respond and as soon as he’s gone, Draven stalks past me while I turn to Wolf and ask, “You think that was about Margie?”
“Nope,” Wolf says, and I shake my head.
That’s what I thought. So, was the pig searching for information in relation to the dead ass sheriff, or something else?
Chapter 9
Delaney
At school on Friday, I round the corner and stop up short when Micah blocks my path.
I guess my luck ran out because despite managing to avoid him for a while, I was hoping for more time. I don’t have the energy to fight with him again.
I woke this morning from a gnarly dream and although I don’t remember the particulars, the dread still clings to me like a fucking shroud.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he says.
“Tell you what?” I ask behind a yawn.
I’ve worked every night this week. Between that and studying, I’m dog tired.
Micah brushes his hair off his face and says, “You could’ve stayed with me.”
Huh?
Standing from my slouch against the wall, I say slowly, “What are you talking about?”
“C’mon, baby. I thought you knew. You can always count on me.” He touches my arm, pointing his baby blues my way.
Pulling away, I say, “Really? You don’t even trust me, Micah.”
He has the good grace to flush but it’s not enough. I spent years trying to make him happy because I thought he loved me, and he stomped all over that sacred relationship when he accused me of fucking everyone within a ten-mile radius.
“You know it didn’t mean anything,” he mutters. “Why can’t you see that I love you, babe?”
“Were you dropped on the head as a baby? Take too many shots to the brain in football? Because your pathetic excuses are just, fucking…pathetic.”
Pushing open the door, I step outside while he follows and says, sullenly, “I spoke to Peter. He knows we broke up.”
