Page 71 of Nothing to Lose: Lost Trilogy: Part 1
“Yes!” Shortie cackles back. We’re having the most idiotic conversation right now. “He got all your money, then he kept you around to kill people,” Shortie cackles again.
Pressure has been building in my chest since Shortie started talking crazy. And now, I may finally drop dead. On the eve of the day when I’m supposed to finally be free.
“What did he do with Kenny?” I ask and hate myself for it. For all these years, Bricks allowed me to believe that I helped him take down one of his greatest enemies—my uncle, Kenny. Unfortunately, due to a bunch of legal mambo jumbo, the money was lost, and other people were after me. People who hated Kenny, and who wanted me dead too just because I was believed to be his son.
“Kenny’s fine,” Shortie waves it all off. “He got the insurance on your mother. It wasn’t as much as your trust fund, but it was enough to get him out of a pickle. Bricks helped.”
“How did Bricks help?”
A knock at the door startles us both. It’s more of a banging actually, followed by Bricks’ voice himself.
“Shortie, need you in five. Hussle!”
“Oh,” Shortie jumps to grab his other laptop, not the one we’ve been working on. “I have to go, can’t have the boss wait.” With that, he is out.
I continue sitting here in shock, wondering what the fuck just happened. And how I could’ve been this stupid.
How is Kenny alive?
After Bricks told me that he’d taken myfatherout, I didn’t just take his word for it. I looked shit up. He was dead. Bankruptcy was filed on behalf of his estate. The mansion was sold to cover for some of his debt.
To find out now, after over twelve years, that he is not only alive, but he is living well, is a shot to the heart.
Tomorrow can’t come soon enough. As soon as this fuckin’ clubhouse is blown to pieces, and Bricks is out of our lives, Shortie owes me a whole bunch of explanations.
I stand up to leave, but do a whole sweep of the room before walking out. I notice a laptop sitting on a shelf to the side. It is not the one we worked on for what’s about to happen tomorrow, and it is not anything Shortie uses on a daily basis. It is also obvious that this laptop is not meant to be seen.
Without thinking twice, I slide it out from its spot on the shelf and stick it in the back of my jeans, under my cut, thanking the computer gods that they started making these things thinner and lighter than ever before.
My room is at the opposite end of the hallway from Shortie’s. On my way there, I have to walk by Sully’s room, so when I hear voices down the hall heading my way, I try my luck and hope his door is not locked.
“The fuck you doing’?” Sully eyes me suspiciously when I turn around.
I look around and notice that he’s got a bag ready to go. It’s just an oversized duffel bag, but nothing too big. Mine is a little smaller than that. Sad to think that I spent twelve years in this place, and all I have to show for it is one bag filled with personal items. I do, however, have a pretty healthy bank account, so there’s that. Doing bad, illegal things pays well.
I take a step forward, and the laptop I stole from Shortie’s room slides lower into my jeans.
“Fuck,” I mutter and yank it out. “Here,” I shove it Sully’s way. “Hide this in your bag. Don’t fuckin’ lose it,” I point a finger at him.
Without a word, Sully grabs the laptop from my shaky hands and sticks it somewhere in the middle of bag.
“Anything else?” he lifts an eyebrow at me.
“I’m panicking, dude,” I confess quietly so no one hears us talking. “What if something goes bad tomorrow morning?”
“That’s why we’re gonna leave right now,” Sully informs me.
“What? Won’t they think it’s weird?”
“I told Bricks we’re going to the strip club for a few hours,” Sully explains. “By the time we’d be back, they’re usually balls deep in some bitches around here. And since Sugar is all shacked up with Bricks now, you know he’ll be busy.”
“Okay,” I nod in agreement. “How are we gonna take these bags on the bikes?”
“We’re gonna have to leave the bikes here.”
“Fuck,” I run a hand through my hair. “I paid a lot of money on mine, it’s custom. I was hoping to at least sell it…”
“I’d say your life is more important than a custom bike, yeah?” Sully interrupts my rant. “Grab your bag and meet me by the outhouse in the back. There’s an old truck there. We’re leaving in it.”
