Order (Tattoos and Ties Duet #2)(93)
“Where’s Cummings?”
“Whoa,” she said, her brows lifting as she looked Keyes up and down then stepped back, opening the door wider. Keyes stayed on the threshold, scanning the small living space. Cummings lay sprawled out on the sofa maybe fifteen feet away. Keyes took the step inside, the strong smell of weed hanging heavily on the air. This Cummings looked different than his mugshot, his head was shaved and he’d put on some muscle. He had that menacing prison vibe and a stare aimed directly at Keyes.
Keyes ignored the hard stare, scanning the rest of the room until he spotted the Disciples of Havoc prospect patch hanging on the back of a chair, letting him know he’d come to the right place. He’d apparently been elevated to a prospect at some point. His irritation spiked as Cummings broke the number one cardinal rule of all prospects when he didn’t show respect as Keyes entered the room. The disrespect crawled all up his spine. Prospects always acknowledged when a patched brother entered any goddamn room.
“You need to get to your fuckin’ feet,” Keyes commanded. All Cummings did was lift the leg hanging off the edge of the sofa to cross his ankles.
“Dory, get me a beer,” Cummings drawled in a lazy redneck kind of way, ignoring Keyes altogether.
“He need one?” she asked, stepping a little too closely to him as she twirled her wannabe mermaid hair. The smell of cheap perfume stung his nose when she stepped past him toward the small kitchen.
“Nah, he ain’t stayin’. This is Smoke’s queer boy.” The room grew still as the words scraped through the air like nails on a chalkboard. The girl stopped in her tracks, staring between both men. “Remember the dick suckin’ fag Smoke used to talk about all the time?” The prospect’s gaze remained locked on his. “This is him…in all his cock-sucking glory.”
“Donny, I don’t need no trouble,” she cautioned, edging her way to the opening of the kitchen.
“Ain’t no dick here for you to suck, queer.” Cummings’s voice dripped with disdain, but it was the sneer curling his lips that grated up his spine.
He took a deep breath and stepped closer to the smart-mouthed prospect. “I’m here to tell you to stay the fuck away from that kid of yours before you fuck her up.”
“Pussy.”
“What’d you say?” Keyes growled, his intentions imploding in that five second pause.
“I said you’re a fuckin’ pussy.”
Keyes shook his head, biting back his anger as the thought of a sweet little girl being terrified by this pig ripped at his heart.
The prospect jumped off the couch, catching him by surprise when Cummings grabbed a Lucille-style baseball bat from a spot behind the couch. The guy was smarter then he’d anticipated, with all his fake lounging around and shit. A mistake Keyes wouldn’t make again.
“I’m gonna make a special visit to see my little girl just as soon as I beat your homo ass.”
Over his dead body. Rage fueled Keyes’s steps as he stalked across the small room toward Cummings. The stupid fuck had a lot to learn, and Keyes figured today was just as good as any to take him to school.
“That’s right. Come get some of this, fag.” The dumbass hauled the barbwire wrapped Louisville slugger over his shoulder, readying to swing.
Was this loser serious?
Keyes’s level of pissed off shot through the roof.
“You sorry son of a bitch, I came here to fuckin’ warn you to stay the fuck away from your kid, but you’re pissin’ me the fuck off,” he roared.
The stupid motherfucker hadn’t been listening, because he swung the bat. Cummings’s whole upper body twisted around, the force of the swing throwing the guy off balance. Clearly, the douchebag had never been in an actual bar fight. Taking his chances, Keyes lunged at the asshole, easily manhandling the barbwire wrapped bat out of Cummings’s hands.
What Keyes had in height and strength, Cummings had in quick and wiry. The guy darted under Keyes’s arm while Keyes attempted a swing of his own, clipping Donald in the side as he fled across the living room. Keyes jerked around, taking long strides, pointing the bat at Donald as he spoke. “You can bet your ass your fuckin’ days with Havoc are numbered, but that’s not gonna fuckin’ stop me from fuckin’ your shit up if you go anywhere near your kid again.”
“I don’t take orders from fags,” Donald said and spit at him, challenging him.
Man, what the fuck was wrong with this guy? Logic screamed at him to toss the bat on the sofa and take off, let the threat resonate and do its job, but he just couldn’t get past the slurs. He’d put up with that shit his whole adult life. The same hate he’d found in his father’s eyes so many times stared back at him with malice. All of that contempt should have died with his old man.
As if in slow motion, Keyes watched the guy reach behind his back. Instinctively, he knew the scumbag was pulling a weapon. There was no hesitation on his part, Keyes charged forward and swung the bat with every bit of brute strength he had, knocking the pistol from Cummings’s hand before he was able to truly take aim. The gun exploded somewhere behind Keyes and he lost his shit.
Momentum from the swing pulled him forward as he brought the bat back around to catch Cummings in the ribs. Lucky for him the hit did the trick, stopping Cummings in his tracks, sending him staggering back. Shock flashed across his face right before Donald crumpled and dropped forward, clutching his side. Keyes released the bat, grabbing Cummings by his dirty wife beater, driving his fist straight in the guy’s startled face. “Call me a fag now, motherfucker!”