The Broken Pieces of Us (The Devil's Dust #2.1)(3)

“What’s your name?” he asked, sipping what’s left of his jack and coke. I bit my lip, debating if I wanted to tell him what I told all the drunk men hitting on me, or really tell him my name. I looked back at him, thinking. He tilted his head to the side and smiled, making me melt on the spot. Why not? I wasn’t getting any younger and I could use some excitement.

“My name is Delilah,” I finally answered, my skin tingling from the excitement sweeping through me.

“Delilah,” he said, my name playing on his lips. “Well, Delilah, I’m Locks,” he said, putting his hand over the bar for me to shake.

“Locks?” I asked, confused. What kind of name was that?

“Yeah, it’s my road name,” he said, tugging on his cut, which hugged his shoulders perfectly.

“What is a road name?” I questioned, laughing. “Why do they call you that?” I continued to interrogate.

He smirked, his finger playing with the rim of his glass.

“What?” I inquired, curious what was so funny.

“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” He smiled, his brown eyes meeting mine again.

I shrugged. I’d been told I talked a lot; when in reality, I just asked and said what was on my mind. A lot of people didn’t do that, too afraid of pissing someone off. I couldn’t care less; take me as I am.

“I’m a part of a motorcycle club called the Devil’s Dust,” he informed. I had seen the group of bikes flying back and forth through town. They were rugged, tattooed, and sexy.

“So how did you get your road name?” I questioned. He smirked and eyed his glass.

“I’ll tell you what, you go for a ride with me, I’ll tell you why they call me Locks,” he suggested, his hand slapping the bar’s counter.

I grinned. “On a motorcycle?” I asked, my face feeling like it was going to split from smiling so wide.

He laughed and nodded. “Yeah, on a motorcycle.”

The light turns green, snapping me from my daydream. Locks and I were inseparable from that night on. I fell so fast and hard; it was all a blur. Even though I know he has been cheating on me for the last several months, seeing it, finalizing the death of our marriage, shreds me.

A sudden laugh escapes my mouth, breaking through the sobs. But Bull, he just hired me to clean the club and keep an eye on Locks. Not that it will keep him from messing around on me, but if it’s one thing Locks preaches about, it’s women aren’t allowed at the club. Like it’s a f*cking man cave or some shit, so at least this will really piss him off. I mean, I’ve been to the club and stayed my fair share of hours, but it’s mostly before or after get-togethers. Locks never seemed happy I was at any of them, not here lately anyway. My phone rings from inside my purse on the passenger seat. I lean over and grab it, swerving into oncoming traffic as I fish it out.

Just as I lean up, a black car swerves to miss my truck, honking its horn at me.

“Fuck! What?” I answer the phone, frantically.

“It’s me, Ruby. What the f*ck is your problem?” my sister snaps. I sigh. I only talk to her every couple months, usually when she needs something.

“I just caught Locks messing around on me,” I say softly. I should be more broken-hearted than I am, but I’m angry more than anything.

She gasps. “Shit,” she whispers. “Anyway, we have a problem. Meet me out front of the hospital,” Ruby demands.

“The hospital? What for?” I ask.

“It’s Scarlett; she’s overdosed, again,” Ruby says, ending the call, not even saying bye before hanging up.

“Shit,” I whisper as I do a U-turn right in the middle of the freeway, cars honking their horns, swerving to pass me, and slamming on their brakes not to crash into me.

“Yeah, screw you too, buddy!” I yell out my window to an old man flipping me the bird.

***

I meet Ruby at the front of the hospital. She looks beautiful as always with her bright red hair straight and flowing down her shoulders and her green eyes done up with black, smoky makeup. She is wearing blue jean capris with a green tank. My little sister and I have nothing in common but the color of our hair and eyes. At my age of forty and hers of thirty-two, we don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. She got pregnant young, and our mother kicked her out. Ruby leaving was one of the hardest things I have been through.

She came to California and shacked up with some rich guy, got her a job, a house, and a car. Then she found out he was married and took everything he gave her and left. Some bitches have it so lucky. If I took what Locks gave me, it would be a cheap wedding ring he bought me years ago and that’s it. I look down at my hand; I don’t even wear the damn thing anymore. We have grown apart I guess, so what’s the point.

Ruby and I make our way into the emergency room and into Scarlett’s room. She is pale and has vomit all over her. I stare at the tubes going into the crook of her elbow and wires going down the front of her gown.

“She really did a number on herself this time,” Ruby whispers, not entering the room.

Ruby crosses her arms and looks down the hall, her lips pursed

“I can’t do this anymore, Delilah,” Ruby says, beginning to cry.

“Do what?” I ask, placing my hand on my hip, curious at what she’s going on about.