The Broken Pieces of Us (The Devil's Dust #2.1)(11)

“You done * footing?” Locks quips, placing his gun in his holster.

“I had it handled,” I reply, wiping my face of the guy’s blood. “Besides, you guys got old fat guys. I got some f*cking martial arts bullshit,” I defend myself.

I look at the guy Locks just shot, and then glare at Locks.

“You shouldn’t have killed him; you know the Ghost would have wanted one of these guys alive,” I observe. My brow curls in irritation at Locks’ impulsiveness. When shit like this goes down, you usually want one of the guys who f*cked with your stuff. Get them to talk as to why it happened, how it happened, and who ordered the hit. Locks shrugs and moves along, like going against code and killing someone he didn’t have to means nothing.

“This is definitely the Ghost’s shit,” Shadow says, slamming the lid down on some wooden crates. I walk around the crates and find an outline of a ghost printed on the side.

“I’ll give the call. He’ll owe us for this one,” I reply, digging my phone from my pocket.



I have my foot propped up on the coffee table, painting my toes bright red, when Locks walks in. I think about telling him about the condom wrapper I found in his dirty jeans just moments before I started painting my toes, but decide against it. I don’t even care anymore, so it’s pointless.

“I won’t be home tonight,” Locks says, leaning down to kiss me on the cheek.

“Why’s that?” I ask, not all that interested.

“Party at the club,” he informs, walking toward our bedroom.

“Babs, come here, baby!” Locks yells from down the hall, his tone taking on a fake sincerity and seductive purr. I know that tone, and I won’t be coming to him. He wants some pre-party *. I haven’t had sex with Locks since before he made it clear my future with him was indefinitely.

“Sorry, I just got a call from my niece. I gotta go,” I lie, grabbing my purse and pulling on my shoes, surely smearing my just painted toes, and I quickly get in my truck and drive.

I head to Scarlett’s apartment. I need to check on her anyway and make sure she is keeping her nose clean of any drugs. A few days ago, I decided to get her an apartment to keep her off the streets, hopefully it will help. I pull up to the apartment building, turn my truck off, and get out. This place is pretty shitty compared to a lot of places in the area, but I didn’t have much cash to get her a better place. Locks would shit a brick if he found me spending our money on an apartment for Scarlett, so I used what I made from Bull. I head up the metal stairs, passing doors that carry sounds from televisions, music, and people talking. I make it to door E1 and knock. The door opens to Scarlett standing there in a small tank and short shorts.

“Hey, Auntie Babs,” Scarlett says, her voice disoriented. I grab her by the chin harshly, bringing her face close to mine, examining her pupils.

“Ow, you’re hurting me,” she whines, sniffling.

“You’re on that shit!” I yell, stepping into the apartment.

“It was just a bump, Auntie Babs. I couldn’t deal with the shakes anymore,” she whines, stumbling onto the couch.

I sigh. Scarlett needs help I cannot afford and I don’t know what to do. Maybe if I give her a lesser high, but still a high, it will help get her off slowly.

“What if you only smoked weed; think that high would be enough?” I question, my hands on my hips.

“I don’t do it to get high, just enough to keep my head straight,” she says, running her hands through her dark red hair.

“Scarlett, you are addicted and need help.” I’m not trying to talk down to her, but I’m frustrated and out of my element in this situation.

“Thanks for the obvious observation,” she smarts, standing from the couch. I reach into my purse and pull out a baggy of weed, hoping the small high will keep her away from the more dangerous shit until I can figure something out.

“Use this. If you need more, you call me,” I demand.

Scarlett picks the little green baggy up and eyes it. “I can get weed from my boyfriend, or anything else I want for that matter,” she replies, dropping the bag to the table.

I point at her with my face serious. “You don’t take any drugs from anyone else but me, do you understand?” I yell. She looks up at me, her face confused at my sudden rage. Who knows where she is getting drugs, or what they are laced with.

“Promise me,” I demand, still pointing at her.

Her tongue snakes out, licking her bottom lip slowly as she processes what I just said.

“All right, I won’t take drugs from anyone else. Promise.” Her tone is honest and sincere.

***

I stare at the clubhouse from my truck, not entirely sure how I ended up in the parking lot.

“Locks, come on!” I find Candy in a next to nothing outfit pulling on Locks’ arm, tugging him across the parking lot toward the garage where the boys work on trucks. I roll my eyes and sigh. I could get out and make a scene, but what for? What would it change? I’m done being everyone’s doormat and need to start thinking of me. I spit out the piece of a nail I had just torn from my fingernail and open the door. I look around the lot noticing not many bikes or people are here. The party must be later. I walk into the club and notice a bunch of half-naked girls standing around the radio, arguing about what they should listen to next. Hinder’s ”Lips of an Angel” starts playing as I make my way down the hall to Bull’s room. I hear the shower on and see the steam rolling out of the bathroom and bellowing into the bedroom. I look back at the door coming into the room, not sure if I should leave. I should leave. I need to. I close my eyes, trying to calm my beating heart, knowing the repercussions of the actions I am about to proceed with. I look back at the bathroom and drop my purse. All I can do is go forward. Stopping and thinking of what I could do differently won't get me to tomorrow. My heart thudding fast and a sudden chill racing up my back, I turn and lock the door.