N9ne: The Tale of Kevin Clearwater (King, #9)(42)

I slap his thumbs down. “No, motherfucker. She’s not a man. She’s the girl from the fucking bridge.” My voice is louder than I intended. I turn around to make sure no one was listening. Thankfully, Lenny and Dre are still talking.

“She’s…” Preppy says in disbelief, his jaw to the ground. “Oh, motherfucking holy shit of fucking fucks.”

“Brother, for the first time and probably the last time ever, I’m going to tell you this.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“So, wait…you and Jared’s girl?” Bear cocks his head and squints.

“She’s not Jared’s girl,” I correct again. I look over to my brother because he’s the only one besides Pike who knows about that night.

“Uh, how? Thought that girl from the bridge was dead?” Preppy asks, his jaw on the floor. “She fell from the Causeway for fuck’s sake!”

“I thought she was dead, but as you can see, she’s not because she’s inside your house talking to your wife.” I’m saying the words, but I still can’t believe my own words are actually true.

She’s here.

She’s alive.

I killed her boyfriend.

“Whoaaaaaaa,” Preppy says doing an explosion gesture with his hands on each side of his head. He quickly fills King and Bear in on the story as I chug my beer in an attempt to numb the pain in my arm that’s getting worse by the second.

“Well, this puts a bullet in our plans to torture the information out of her,” Bear says. “But, just like in the MC, if you lay claim to her, she’s under your protection and that means she’s under ours, too. That’s your call, but remember that you don’t get to change your mind once it’s done.”

King empties his beer and stands, tossing it into a metal trash can on the side of the deck. “Claiming her also means that if she turns out to be lying, we won’t touch her. It’ll be on you to make shit right if it turns out that she was the one responsible for fucking us over, and I don’t think I gotta explain to you what that means.”

I nod my understanding. It means if she needs to be taken out, I’m the one that has to do the taking out.

“So, what’ll it be, brother? She yours?” Bear asks, looking highly amused.

I look through the sliding glass doors and catch a glimpse of Lenny’s long brown hair as she crouches down, talking to my twin nieces. They giggle at whatever it is she’s saying. A feeling inside me more powerful than any drug I’ve ever sampled takes hold.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine to protect. Mine to…

I don’t even have to finish the thought. I have my answer.

“Yeah, she’s mine.”

King looks into the house, a grin spread across his face. “The question is, does she know that?”

Lenny picks up Miley and twirls her around.

“No,” I stand and toss my beer in the trash. “but she’s going to find out.”





Chapter Sixteen





LENNY





“For the love of all that is unholy, please tell me you have vodka in Breaking Bad two-point-o?” I point to Nine’s RV. It’s yellow on the outside, although I’m not sure if that was the original color or if it ended up that way over time. It’s around thirty feet long if I had to guess with brown and orange pin striping down the middle.

“I might have some stashed somewhere,” he replies, leading me to the door with my backpack in hand. “But I’m not sure how I feel about you calling my RV a meth lab.”

“Hence the two-point-o.” I explain. “Do you live here all the time or is this just where you take your victims? Like a dungeon on wheels. How modern and convenient.”

He rubs his temple with his free hand. “I used to live with Preppy and Dre and their son Bo, but it got a little crowded when the twins were born. Figured it was time to give them some space. Here I can keep an eye on the fields, especially at night when the local kids get the bright idea to jump the fence in search of free weed.”

The inside of the RV is different in the light of day. It’s older, with faux oak panels covering the walls and a thin dark carpet on the floor, but clean. Simple. Off white no-nonsense flat cabinets hang above an open galley style kitchen with a two-burner stove and half-sized black refrigerator. A two person eat-in counter with cracked linoleum counters separate the kitchen from the tiny living area. A forest green built-in sofa sits to one side, a smaller than is trendy flat screen sits on top of a pile of books on the opposite wall. No pictures. No visible personal items of any kind besides the books, but they could just be here to prop up the TV. A door separates the small living area from what I think is probably the bedroom. It can’t be more than two hundred square feet but it has everything a bachelor could need.

Nine ducks so he doesn’t hit his head on the low ceiling by the door.

Everything except maybe head space.

“Good, then point me in the direction of said vodka because I’m going to need a drink or twenty before we begin the torture and interrogation,” I announce.

Nine shuts the door behind me, and I jump at the sound of the lock clicking into place. Unsure of what to do with myself and unsure of where the vodka is, I press my nails into my palms until it stings.