The Broken Pieces of Us (The Devil's Dust #2.1)

The Broken Pieces of Us (The Devil's Dust #2.1)

M.N. Forgy


some time way back

I lean against the bar, noticing empty beer bottles every-where. I think we may have partied just a little too hard last night. I take my hands off the bar in search of a cup for coffee, noticing my fingers are sticky.

“What the f*ck?” I whisper.

I press my thumb and forefinger together and watch my skin stick together when I pull them apart. Looking down at the bar’s countertop, I notice grime and dust coating the top of it. I feel my knee brush against the dish bin, causing glasses to clash together. Looking down, I find it overflowing with dirty cups. Some have been there way before the party, along with week-old beer bottles. This place really needs a cleaning, and these boys are not up for the job. Hell, I have to put a gun to a prospect’s head just to get them to take the trash out.

The club’s front doors slam open with force, shaking all the pictures of mug shots and memorabilia on the wall, grabbing my attention from the filth lining the bar.

A fuming Babs walks in, her red curly hair piled on her head with little strips falling loose framing her heart-shaped face. Got her name Babs because she talks too much. Every time we have a get-together, you can hear her loud mouth from anywhere. She’s wearing a white button-up shirt that ties at the bottom, tight blue jeans, and black leather boots up to her knees. She looks good, busty and confident. She looks like she just turned thirty rather than being in her forties. How Locks got such a spitfire, I’ll never know.

“Morning, darlin’.” She glances up from looking at the floor, her green eyes squinted with anger, and flips me off. I laugh so hard my body shakes. I forgot she’s pissed at me. Locks has been playing her dirty here lately. He’s been staying here with whomever will warm his bed, and uses me as a scapegoat, telling Babs I need him here, that shit went south on a deal and I might need him at a moment’s notice. It’s all a lie though, and I didn’t agree to be a scapegoat either. Not to mention, I’m not entirely in favor of him sleeping around on his ol’ lady the way he does. But there’s no law saying he can’t cheat on her, thanks to my pops. He was president before I was, and pretty much made the rules of the club. Sure, I could hold a meeting and have it changed, but I already know that vote wouldn’t pass.

A huge crash echoes from down the hall along with screaming and shouting.

I rub my face and sigh. I already know what’s going on. Locks finally got caught.

“Fuck you, Locks!”

I stride out from behind the counter, going toward the commotion. I walk in the room and find the end table turned over with the lamp broken on the floor. Locks is standing with his shirt unbuttoned, buckling his belt, and Candy is getting up from being on her knees. Well, more like being pulled up by her hair by Babs.

“What’s going on here, brother?” I question Locks, but I can clearly see what’s happening.

Locks takes his fierce gaze from Babs and looks at me. His brown eyes stare at me, eyebrows furrowed, causing a swarm of winkles to form.

“You might be involved with a lot of shit around here with you being the club president, but this doesn’t concern you,” Locks replies, his tone sharp.

My jaw clenches with anger, and my fist trembles with the urge to punch him in his disrespecting mouth. I look away from Locks and look toward Babs. Her green eyes are widened with rage, as she clenches her hand in Candy’s blonde hair looking at me warily. I rub the scruff of my face, and leave. Who the f*ck does Locks think he is, talking to me like that? I’m his f*cking president, and he should show me more respect, but I’m going to leave it for now because I respect Babs too much to punch Locks right in front of her. She has enough to deal with right now.

I position myself behind the counter, my jaw gritting with anger. When I glance up, Babs is rushing toward the doors to leave, holding her cheek and looking down at the floor.

“Babs?” I call after her. My tone is questioning, curious as to why she is holding her face.

She ignores me and walks out the doors. I jog out of the club, trying to catch up to her.

“Babs!” I yell again, trying to gain her attention. She continues to ignore me, not faltering in her steps toward her red truck.

“Delilah!” I shout, using her real name. She suddenly stops, but doesn’t turn around to face me. I catch up to her and place my hands on her shoulders. She’s still holding her cheek with her hand, her face turned away.

“What happened?” I question softly. She doesn’t reply. She just keeps looking down, holding her cheek. I grab her hand gently and pull it from her face, revealing a hand mark staining her porcelain skin. It’s so red it looks purple. Little goose bumps rise from the pain firing through her cheek.

“What the f*ck happened, darlin’?” I whisper, my eyes widening with concern. She’s silent, just a lone tear escaping her eye.

“Candy hit you?” I ask. Candy, a common whore of our club, has mattress hopped every room of the club, and then some. I can’t stand that bitch; reminds me of her momma, Roxy. I used to f*ck around with Roxy before I found a woman I was crazy over. Bad thing is, I just didn’t realize how crazy I was over that woman till she left. Candy and her Momma have a thing in common, taunting the ol’ ladies. I sure thought one of the ol’ ladies would have taken care of Candy by now, like they did Roxy, but that must just be wishful thinking.