What Doesn't Destroy Us (The Devil's Dust #1)(32)

“I used your toothbrush. – D”

As soon as I hit send I slap myself in the forehead, baffled that that was the best I could come up with. I was hoping he would hear his phone go off before climbing onto his bike. I sit staring at the phone, waiting. I’m not sure what I expect him to say, I just want him to say something after the question I tossed at him last night, I don’t want to scare him away before I even have a chance to have him.

“I don’t mind. – S”

My heart instantly does a back-flip. My cheeks feel like they are going to split at the goofy grin I have on my face. He didn’t tell me he loved me; he didn’t tell me he wasn’t going to hurt me; but his simple text justifies that he thinks of me as more. I bet he doesn't let Candy use his toothbrush.

“I know that smile; that’s love. Your man miss you back in New York, Babe?” I hadn't noticed Babs sitting on the other side of the counter, I was so intent at staring at my phone. How long had she been sitting there? She slides a plate of eggs over at me, and lights a cigarette.

“Uh no, no, man. Just messing around on the net,” I lie. Shadow is the reason behind my giddy state, but nobody can know that.

She throws her pack of cigarettes on the counter, and shakes her head.

“I don’t much care for the internet, not my thing. I just have my cell phone to call Locks on, that’s about as high tech as I get.” She seems to really love Locks. I imagine you would have to really love someone that is in a club though.

“Why do they call him Locks? Is he good at picking locks?” I ask, picking at my food.

She laughs and takes a big drag off her cigarette. “Nah, that was a good one though. Fuckers call him Locks because of his long blond hair. You know, Goldilocks.” I spew O.J. all over the counter, imagining Locks as Goldilocks is not something that would normally come to mind.

“They call me Babs because they say I talk a lot; *s. Trust me, it’s not a name I would pick. I was thinking more of Red, 'cause of my red hair and I love the color. But you don’t get to pick your name around here,” she says, picking her bright red fingernails. They are so long I bet she could mess someone up if they crossed her.

“Does everybody have a nickname?” I ask, trying to gain my composure from the O.J. I spewed everywhere.

“Mostly. Some prospects don’t, but they will in time. Only person that doesn’t is Bobby, and that’s because 'Overgrown Child' is too long to put on his cut. I’m sure you will get one, you stay around here long enough.” She pauses, staring at me intently.

“Are, ah, are you staying?” she asks hesitantly. I sit there thinking about her question, I'm not trying to be rude, but I honestly don’t know how to answer. Truth is, I don’t want to go back to New York, to the life I lived sitting in a house, studying and watching TV, because my mother thought if I was given the chance I would stray off the right path. Sadly, she is right. After seeing how the other half of me lives, it seems mundane to go back to New York. I want the Motorcycle Club world, at least what I have seen of it. Living on the edge is way more appealing to me than anything my mother could ever offer. Maybe that’s why I didn’t feel like I fit in, in New York. My blood knew I was born with more tenacity than what I was giving myself credit for, and to finally be around what I was bred to do seems fitting rather than immoral. I hadn't even been shocked last night when Bull said they were going to kill the f*ckers who had shot at us.

“Well, I know we all would love it if you stayed. I’m sure we could get you a little apartment or something; get you all set up. You think on that, doll.” She grabs my plate of half-eaten eggs and strides into the kitchen, leaving me with thoughts of actually having a life here in L.A. and getting away from my mother. Maybe I can start my life over doing what I really want to do and not worry about what my mother would do to disown me.

I look around the club, noticing only a couple of guys are left. Prospects from what their cuts say. Where are all the Ol’ Ladys? Every time I'm here all I see is Babs.

Babs walks out of the kitchen holding a cup and eyeing me as I look around the club. “You looking for someone?” she asks over the rim.

“I just noticed I never see any Ol’ Ladies here but you. Are all the guys single, or something?” I ask, seeing how most of these guys are brutes, that wouldn’t be an unfair assumption.

“Nah,” Babs says chewing on ice. “There are a couple Ol’ Ladies, but they’re not allowed here unless a family gathering is going on. Club Law.” She raises her eyebrows as she says club law.

“I’m here because Bull favors me. I clean up all the shit around here and do what needs to be done. Could have one of the skanks do it, but they don’t do it near as well,” she says, putting glasses under the bar.

“Oh,” is all I can muster.

“and… I can make sure Locks keeps his dick in his pants,” she says slamming the cabinet door, “Win, win for everyone.” She walks back in the kitchen, leaving me a little shocked. Locks cheated? Why would she stay with him? Do all the guys cheat behind their Ol’ Ladies backs? The more I hear about being an Ol’ Lady, the more I don’t want it.

I need to go check on my mother and make up a lie about leaving the safe house. Last night I could tell my dad did not want my mother to know about the drive-by, and neither did I. She would just make everyone’s life hell, and she would be on top of me more than ever.