Page 7 of Wreckage of My Life
“What the fuck, man,” he mumbles in his squeaky voice. “You could’ve knocked.”
“Yeah, but where would the fun in that be?” I lift my foot and push at his chair to get him spinning.
“Okay, that’s enough,” he manages to grab onto the desk with both hands when he turns that way, and I stop. I don’t need him to pull the equipment to the ground, especially now that I need his help.
“I need you to do something for me,” I drop into the chair he keeps for guests. “It’s personal.”
“Not club related?” he verifies, and I shake my head no. If it’s club related, he’d have to run it by my father before he does anything for me. There may be a club whore involved, but this has got nothing to do with the club.
“Okay, what is it about?” he pulls the pencil he has behind his ear and grabs a small notepad, ready to take notes.
“I need you to do a check on Mia Smith…”
“Sugar?” His eyebrows about get lost in his hairline, that’s how surprised he is. His voice also goes up another octave, which I didn’t even think was possible.
“You remember her?” I eye him carefully.
“Yeah,” he gives me a stupid grin that can mean only one thing. He fucked her. I almost roll my eyes at the thought, because who hasn’t, but I don’t want to hurt Shortie’s feelings either.
“Anyway, she called today. She says she’s had my kid almost four years ago.” I don’t miss the angry glint in his eyes when I mention that, but I don’t say anything about it.
He must’ve had it bad for Sugar. I can’t imagine her being extra nice to him out of the goodness of her heart, not based on today’s conversation.
“I need you to track everything down, up until she left here. Where she went, who she met with, the date of birth of this kid she says is mine.”
“So you want a full background check on her,” he asks for confirmation.
“Fuck yeah. I need to know everything.”
Movement from the doorway makes me spin my chair around. My eyes clash with my father’s, an ugly smirk on his face.
“Can I help you?” I raise an eyebrow in question.
“Where’s your mother?” he grunts.
I shrug in annoyance. “I didn’t know I was her keeper.”
“You were the last one seen with her,” he retorts with resentment coating his words.
“Yeah, so? That was what, two hours ago? Is it a crime scene now?”
“Stop being a smartass. What was so important that she had to tell you?” he prods. He is acting like the doesn’t know anything, but I got a nasty feeling that he may know more about this than I think.
“It was personal,” I spit out, matching the tone of his voice.
“Personal?” he laughs, slapping a hand on his thigh. “There’s nothing personal when it’s in my club.”
“This is notyourclub,” I point a finger at him. “It’sourclub.”
“Yeah? See this?” he points to the patch stitched onto his cut. “That makes itmyclub. And you’re here only because I tolerate you.”
“Fuck off,” I turn my back to him, noticing Shortie’s eyes bouncing between the two of us, unsure of how to proceed going forward.
With a muttered curse under his breath, the door slams behind me and my father is gone.
“You shouldn’t talk to him like that,” Shortie warns me. “He could have you killed. Hell, he could have me killed too only because I was sitting here minding my own business.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that shit, Shortie,” I stand up and pat his shoulder a little too forcefully, jolting him forward.
