Page 74 of Nothing to Lose: Lost Trilogy: Part 1
“Why didn’t he come here with you?” It’s a fair question.
“He said he needed to grab something from his house,” I shrug as if it wasn’t any big deal, but now I’m starting to get a bad feeling in my stomach. “We had to sneak out. Had to leave our bikes there. And speaking of that,” I point at Devereaux, “I love that bike. I’ll never be able to find another one like it.”
Devereaux turns his head to look at me. His eyes are so cold, I feel shivers running up and down my spine. His dead stare scares the fuck out of me.
“So, me getting you out of the club that would’ve eventually gotten you killed, and also not killing you myself for having fucked my daughter is not repayment enough?”
Well, when he puts it that way, I really don’t have a good come back. Neither does anyone else. We are all quiet and holding our breaths, until Malone busts out laughing.
“You got him, boss,” he cracks up, but I’m a little scared to laugh to be honest.
Instead, I stare at the screen. Something moves in the corner, which brings everyone’s attention to the show that’s about to happen. I hear Wrecker asking Sully questions, double checking everything.
The longer we wait, the more my stomach is in knots. The fact that Shortie decided not to drive up here with us is fucking with my head. He is my key to finding out what happened to Kenny, so nothing can happen to him.
“I feel like we’re missing something,” Sully murmurs from somewhere next to me, confirming my damn suspicions that something really is off.
He and Wrecker start talking logistics again, but I space out and don’t listen, focus solely on the large screen in front of us. The fucker is big too, you can see everything in great detail.
“What the fuck is that?” Wrecker snaps when there’s some action happening.
I squint at the image, trying to make sense of it. “Looks like a whore,” I mutter in surprise.
“Club whores are in there?” he asks accusingly.
I let Sully explain that one. We got as many as we could out, but the ones who were too high or drunk to understand they needed to be out stayed.
All of a sudden, my heart is beating out of my chest at what I see. I’m going to throw up, I’m sure of it. I jump off the couch I was sitting and march closer to the screen.
“No! What the fuck!” I yell at the TV when I see Shortie inside the club. The fucker said he had to grab something from his house. What is he doing at the clubhouse?
Wrecker asks for the volume to be turned up, and we all fall quiet, straining to hear anything that might happen on the screen. The fucker is now talking to Sugar. I am fuckin’ sick.
“Sugar, you have to listen to me,” he tells her, following her around like a lost puppy.
“Fuck off, Shortie,” she snaps at him. “I can finally be President’s ol’ lady, and now you want me to leave?”
“What ol’ lady?” Yeah, great question. The bitch is out of her mind if she thinks Bricks would ever make her his ol’ lady, even if we weren’t about to blow them all up to pieces.
“You’re so stupid, Shortie,” she laughs at him, and unfortunately, I have to agree with her on this one. “I used to suck your dick because I felt sorry for you. You were the worst lay I’ve ever had.”
“But I helped you…” Shortie is about to cry. He really loves this fuckin’ whore. Fuck it all to hell. His next words coat the room in anger and disbelief. “I drove all the way to Illinois to help you kill Wrecker…”
“This can’t be,” Wrecker agonizes from behind me while things heat up on the screen, and not in a good way. Sugar pushes Shortie against the wall and gets in his face.
“Prez was so right,” she cackles, “youaredumber than a box of rocks.”
“But you promised, Sugar. You said you love me.” Shortie sounds like a little kid who’s begging his momma for some love. Fuck, it reminds me of myself when I was really little, before I understood that my mother didn’t really give a fuck about me at all.
“You disgust me,” Sugar adds more salt to Shortie’s wound. “I just wanted the money Prez said he’d pay me if Wrecker died. You couldn’t get that shit done,” she spits into his face. “He was just lying there in a cornfield, and you couldn’t fuckin’ shoot him dead.” She slaps him across the face so hard, I’m sure his ears must be ringing.
“Sugar,” Shortie cries, “I tried. I wanted to take care of you and the baby.”
“You’re such a joke, Shortie. Like Prez would’ve allowed for anyone else to take care of me and his baby.”
“It’s not his baby though,” Shortie tries to tell her the truth.
“It is, you retard,” she lashes at him, no longer amused by his stupidity.
