Page 66 of Wreckage of Us
I do my best not to react at hearing Becca’s name from Shorty’s filthy mouth. Instead, I focus on taking each step down carefully, taking as much time as possible until I finally reach Shorty. I could snap his neck and…
“He won’t care if you kill me,” Shorty starts laughing hard. “Let’s go sit on this lovely couch over there,” he points toward the living room.
“Yes, son,” my father’s voice echoes from the side. The fucker is smoother than I’d given his old ass credit for. “Let’s sit on Becca’s lovely couch, shall we?”
“Bricks,” I grin at him. “Long time, no see.” I take in the pistol he’s holding in his hand, and which is pointed right at me. His left hand, I realize with a start. He’s right side looks immobile. That means there’s someone else out there helping him, whoever just shot at me.
He nudges me in the back with the pistol, and I have no choice but to follow his directive. When he pushes me to sit, I do so, pretending like he was really able to move me.
I take in the large sliding door in front me. The ceiling is high and there are more windows above the door. One of them is open, I realize with a start. That’s how the shooter was able to quietly aim at me without breaking any windows or walls. I need to get out of this room.
“You really thought you could outsmart me, boy,” Pops chuckles in a condescending tone. “Me,” he points at himself with the gun. “The man who taught you everything you know.”
“I gotta say, Pops,” I clear my voice and start speaking. “I did underestimate you big time. Respect,” I mock salute him.
“You sure did, son,” he laughs again. Shorty follows suit, and pretty soon, they’re both laughing like two lunatics in the middle of Becca’s living room.
“I can’t believe all this because of a club whore, Pops.” They both stop laughing. Shorty freezes in place, his breathing becoming labored.
“Don’t you ever call my Sugar that,” he points a mangled finger at me. Ah, the weak link of the group, I conclude and decide to bank on it.
“That’s what she was though,” I continue talking like I am not witnessing his complete meltdown right in front of me. “Wasn’t she, Pops?” I turn my head to look at my father.
“Tell him not to call her that,” Shorty screeches at him. “Tell him!”
“Relax, son,” Pops pats Shorty on the back with the hand still holding the gun. “He’s just trying to goad you. You’re too smart for it, aren’t you, Shorty?”
The words seem to calm Shorty down in an instant. “I am smart,” he mumbles like he’s a small child.
“How did you two become friends anyway?” I ask in a teasing tone. “I thought you were on my side, Shorty.”
“You didn’t want me to have Sugar,” he tells me like it’s the most logical answer.
“You never told me that you wanted her,” I shrug in response.
“I was supposed to be the father of her baby,” he continues like I didn’t even speak. “You took her away from me.”
“Pops did that, Shorty,” I snort. “I didn’t even know she was having a baby.”
“You stole his baby, too.” Shorty completely ignores me and points at Pops. “We could’ve all been happy raising the baby,” he slaps hard at the side of his face.
I raise my eyes to Pops. He is watching me with a knowing smirk.
“Well played, Pops,” I nod. “Really well played.”
“If it helps you any,” he chuckles, “so you can die with a clear image of this situation, I underestimated you too, son.”
“How so?”
“I knew of your plans all along. When my own plans of having you killed in Illinois didn’t pan out,” he gives Shorty a pointed look, “I had to figure something else out.”
“And Shorty was your answer?” Sarcasm is thick in the tone of my voice.
“I didn’t think you’d send the boy to live with the bastard,” Pops admits.
“Are you talking about Wyatt?” I ask, even though I know.
“Yeah. I’ll get to him too as soon as I am done with you,” he promises. “And my good friend Jon is dead by now as well,” he announces. “Your mother is on her way here with your woman.” My heart is beating so hard, I can feel it in my head. “Never have best friends, son,” he points at me. “They screw you over.”
