Preppy: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part One (King #5)(3)

“Yeah, I called to make sure she’s got a private room,” I said.

“Good, one of the brothers has a stepsister who works there. She’s going to keep an eye on her,” Bear said.

There wasn’t much Bear and I agreed on, but taking care of Grace, even if it was behind her back, was one of those rare things that didn’t require an argument or a flip of a middle finger.

“Drop me at the club,” Bear said. “I don’t get my bike back from Dunn’s until the morning, right before we ride out.”

I nodded. While Grace was gone Bear was going to be out on a ride with the Bastards, something about something and them going somewhere. I didn’t really know the details because I really never listened to what he said, and right then there was something still nagging me about our earlier conversation. “I mean, you really wouldn’t get gay-married with me to help King’s kid? That’s kind of bullshit.” I knew it was odd to be offended because my very heterosexual friend wouldn’t marry his other very heterosexual friend in a gay-wedding to save the kid of their other very heterosexual friend, but there wasn’t a f*cking thing I wouldn’t do to make shit right again. It wasn’t the f*cking marriage part, it was the thought that Bear might not be in this as much as I was that was making me all twitchy.

Some f*cking people.

With one hand on the front gate of the fence lining Grace’s yard, Bear stopped and turned around. “The truth? Ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do to get King’s kid back for him. And stop being such a dick, Preppy, because you f*cking know that. Believe it or not, this shit isn’t all about you.”

I felt better knowing we were on the same page. “That might be true, but what’s also true is that all this sucks major f*cking *.”

“That it does, my friend,” Bear agreed, pushing open the gate.

“Hey Bear, you want to know what they call gay marriage in states where it’s legal?” I asked as we reached the car.

“No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway,” he said with a laugh, struggling to maintain his semi-permanent state of looking annoyed.

“Marriage, you f*cking idiot,” I said, flicking him on the back of his head as I jogged over to my car. He shot me a tattooed middle finger.

*

“I came in like a wrecking baaaallll.” I belted out the open window at a bunch of teenagers walking across the causeway. The group of mostly girls scrunched up their noses in confusion as if they’d never been the victims of a drive-by-singing before.

“Fucking teenagers,” I muttered, propping my elbow up on the door and waving my hand through the wind to the beat of the music, continuing my radio duet at a volume not fully appreciated by most, and especially not appreciated by the party-pooper next to me who had a pained look on his face as if my singing was causing his dick to tie itself in a knot.

“We’re all feeling shitty about King and Max, Bear, but do you have to look so constipated?” I asked, punching him in the shoulder.

Bear was silent for a moment. He blew out a breath and scratched the back of his neck. “It’s not just King. It’s my old man too. He’s been all over me lately, even more than usual.” I parked outside of the gate. Bear looked up to the darkened clubhouse, staring at it like he could see something more than windows and walls.

“Fuck your old man,” I said. “That motherf*cker best never step to me or I’ll show him the Preppy special.”

“What exactly is the Preppy special?” Bear asked, one bushy blond eyebrow quirked up.

I made the shape of a gun with my thumb and index finger and pointed it up to the clubhouse. “A bullet with a side of bow tie.” I shot my finger gun and made my best exploding gun noise with my mouth.

Bear laughed, not that fake-laugh shit he’d been trying to pass off as the real deal these last few weeks, but a real, live, genuine laugh, which was a relief to hear, considering the cloud of doom he’s been walking around in. Motherf*cker could be so serious sometimes, it made my dick hurt.

Bear got out with a good-bye salute and disappeared behind the gate.

I headed to Mirna’s, feeling more determined then ever to get Max back for King, and protect the people I called family.

There was nothing I wouldn’t do.

No one I wouldn’t kill.

If only it were that f*cking easy.





CHAPTER TWO





DRE


I have cum in my hair.

Blood caked underneath my fingernails.

Bruises between my legs.

I was so over being me that I needed a new word for over. I needed a new f*cking life. I patted my bra over my shirt, feeling for my bus ticket for the hundredth time. I breathed a sigh of relief when the paper crinkled against my skin, my reminder that a fresh start was only a bus ride away.

I righted my shirt and took in my surroundings. The small house was once very familiar to me, in what seemed like another lifetime, but in reality was only a few years ago. I used to feel at home there.

Oh, how things have changed.

I nervously crossed and uncrossed my legs, as Mirna shuffled around the kitchen. I felt everything and anything but at home. This had nothing to do with Mirna (I’d always called her by her first name) and everything to do with me.

I pulled down on the hem of my shorts as if I could somehow make them longer, suddenly all too aware of the hole in the pocket exposing the skin on my upper thigh. After uselessly yanking at the worn denim, I switched to my sleeves, stretching the fabric over the palms of my hands and folding my fingers over it to keep it in place. Sunlight beamed through the large window of the living room. The last light of the day rendered the thin material of my shirt completely see through, and I hoped with everything I had that Mirna wouldn’t see my arms.