Page 21 of Wreckage of Me
We need to get on this and start plotting. I’m sick of living in hiding.
“Be sure of what you wish for, Dylan,” Malone says out of nowhere just as we’re about to get the floor plans of the clubhouse up on the computer screen.
“As far as what?” I eye him carefully. Sounds like he’s about to lecture me on something. For some reason, even though he has only about fifteen years on me, Malone acts older, making me feel like I am a punk ass kid in comparison.
“Giving your kid away. Make sure it’s really what you want.”
I’m not sure what exactly from what Malone said triggers me. But it does. In a bad away.
“What the fuck do you mean, giving my kid away?” I turn to face him and push him with both hands. Since he wasn’t prepared for it, I manage to take him by surprise, and he takes a couple of steps back.
“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” he now tries to pacify me.
“What the fuck did you mean then? Huh?” I push again, but this time he’s expecting it, so he won’t budge. “All I’ve been doing since I turned fuckin’ eighteen was to do things for people.”
“Dylan…” he tries again, but I don’t care.
“I spent the last seventeen years being an asshole to my mother,” I shout in his face, almost having to lift myself on the tip of my toes to reach him, “so that my father wouldn’t think I cared about her, and hurt her to get back at me.”
Spit is flying out of my mouth, and if I was in a different state of mind, I’d recognize that insanity has taken over my brain.
“I sworn allegiance to the club so that my little brother could get the fuck away from it,” I continue.
I feel a tightness in my chest, and I worry a bit that I may drop dead of a heart attack.
“My father set me up by paying one of the whores to say her kid was mine, all while he was trying to use me so that he could keep the kid for himself.Mykid,” my voice cracks again when I call Ethan my kid.
I guess I didn’t realize how much I actually cared about him or this entire situation.
“I didn’t give my kidaway,” I push a finger into Malone’s massive chest. “I gave him up so that he could have a better life. Better than I had.”
My outburst is followed by complete silence. My heavy breathing is the only sound that can be heard in the large room. I am ready to crash now. I don’t give a fuck about clubhouse plans, or even about eliminating my father.
“Understood,” Malone finally says in his calm voice, like he’s talking to a scared animal. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
Quiet footsteps echo through the room, but I don’t turn my head to see what’s going on. I feel hot all of a sudden. Sweat is dripping down my face and rolling onto the floor as I am bent over, resting my hands on my knees. My heart rate has got to be through the roof right now, like I just did a solid ten-minute sprint.
“Dylan,” Devereaux’s voice reaches my ears right before his expensive shoes come into view. I realize that this is the first time he’s called me by my first name since I’ve been confined to these quarters for the last three months as I’ve been trying to pinpoint where my father could be.
I take a deep breath, then stand up, using the long sleeve of my t-shirt to wipe the sweat off my forehead and out of my eyes.
“I know that I didn’t involve you with my operation through, shall we say, more traditional means.” He’s back to sounding like a pompous ass. “I apologize for that.”
I just nod in acknowledgement, my eyes never wavering from his. I don’t know where he’s going with this, and, in all honesty, I don’t give a fuck either.
“With that being said,” he continues his one sided conversation, “I assure you that the wellbeing of your mother, brother, son, as well as yourself, is my top priority.”
My eyebrows go up in surprise. I don’t understand why he is so stuck on me and my family. My mother. I feel like there’s so much more to this story. I just hope to live long enough to find out.
“But,” Devereaux brings my attention back to the conversation. “That can’t happen until your father is completely out. Get your head back in the game,” he orders, making my shoulders go back, and I almost want to click my heels together like the good little soldier he thinks that I am.
With that, he turns around and walks out. The room is cloaked in tension. I feel like I can’t let it out of my body.
“We got this,” Malone puts his fist up for us to bump. I am grateful he doesn’t hold grudges.
Time to get to work.
8
