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I still haven’t said shit about it.
Or Emmerz.
Not yet.
Not until I know more about where this is all going between us.
Not until her being my Old Lady is more than just a fucking feeling.
A deep…undeniable…written in my owner’s manual lifetime warranty type of feeling.
An unlit cig is offered to both me and Flames who is vibrating so hard in place he struggles to light it.
“Your pops on duty?” Keggers questions after a deep drag.
“Yeah.” He mirrors our Misfit member’s action. “Can’t wait for him to see my artistry.”
“Go on,” my best friend encourages at the same time I light my smoke. “Pick your target.”
“The back,” he gleefully exclaims and hurries to where we started our pouring task. “There’s gonna be the most beautiful flames.”
We exchange amused looks before relocating to the open windows at the front.
“Your employers set you up to die,” Kegger announces and removes the object from his mouth. “And who are we to disappoint them.” Flicking the lit piece into the front seat results in the dude’s crotch catching fire, an action that has him screaming, although it’s trapped behind his duct taped mouth. “They were already warned.” It’s my turn to throw mine inside on the passenger’s lap. “Now, it’s war.”
Chapter 12
Hogan
“Dock”
They should’ve gotten the message by now.
They haven’t.
And my ass should be in class.
I’m not.
Fuck, I hate Tuesdays.
Why is it nothing ever seems to go right on them?
Slouching further against the wall barely precedes me checking my phone.
Again.
I know it’s dead.
It’s been dead.
Consequence of not charging it.
Aftermath effect of being too goddamn tired to do anything other than crash face first into your mattress.
Between what gives me a fucking paycheck and what gives me a fucking purpose, I’ve barely had time or energy to scratch my own sac.
Club business isn’t always this intense.
