“Shit!” I curse, jerking my wheel to miss them. I veer off onto the side of the road and slam on the brakes, the van honking its horn as it speeds off. I look out the window, ignoring them, needing to see Piper just one more time. All of the kids are looking at me, including Piper now. Alarm ignites and I panic. Shit! I grip the wheel and dart back onto the road, cursing for drawing attention to myself as I drive away.
That was her. That was my little girl. She’s still here, and still alive. My brows furrow. She had on a really baggy shirt, and jeans that looked like they were boys. What the hell is Eric thinking? I shake my head. He obviously knows nothing about raising a little girl.
LIP
Picking up the phone, I let out a long breath. I need to hear Cherry’s voice today.
“Lip?” Cherry’s sweet voice sounds, and my body sags against the brick wall.
“Sup?” I reply coolly.
“Hey, how you doing?” she questions. I pick at the cement between the bricks.
I hate it here, but I never tell her about what goes on in here. Gangs and rival gangs are here, and I constantly have to watch my back. I can feel myself slipping into something dark and very familiar. I feel like a fucking DeLuca. I have to stand my ground constantly; if I walk away from one altercation I basically put a bulls-eye on my back, but if I stand up and beat my enemy to a bloody pulp, I draw attention from some of the prison’s most notorious outlaws. Not to mention the worst thing that could have happened. I had an FBI agent visit my cell the other day, told me he could get me out of here if I gave him something, anything about the club. I told him to get the fuck out of my cell without hesitation. But I lay awake at night wondering what it would be like if I did rat. What if I did give him something, nothing big, and got the fuck out of here.
“I don’t know. I’m fucking sick of it here. I needed to hear your voice,” I reply honestly. I hear her gasp in the phone, and my chest squeezes. I’ve been cold to her, I know. I don’t want to be, but it’s hard in here. I hate her seeing me like this, and I hate that I’m keeping shit from her.
“Lip, are you okay? What’s going on? What’s wrong?” she rambles, prying me for information. I sigh into the phone and rest my elbow on the wall.
“Just the same ol’ bullshit, ya know. Temptation knocked on my cell door yesterday. I needed to hear your voice, remember my way of life, and not pussy out.”
“Temptation? Like guys?” Her voice goes soft, like she thinks I might be messing around on her in here.
I chuckle. “No, not like guys. I like the feel of wet pussy, baby.”
“Then what? Lip, you can tell me anything,” she murmurs. I bite my bottom lip and close my eyes. I want to tell her, but I don’t want her to worry.
“Tell me, what have you been up to? Club treating you okay?” I change the subject.
“Umm, yeah. Everything’s good.” Her voice takes on an unfamiliar tone. Little hairs on my arms rise, worried that something is wrong.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my tone coming off snappier than I intended.
“I’m fine, really.” She doesn’t sound fine.
“Inmate, time’s up!” Guard Geraldo hollers toward me.
“Shit. I gotta go, babe.”
“Yeah, I understand. It was good to talk to you.” Her voice falls back into that sweet tone again, and my dick perks at it. Fuck, I miss her. I miss her pussy, too.
“Stay out of trouble,” I add. I’ve been told by Bull himself that Cherry is a resilient one. They went on lockdown at the club because they got into some shit a while back, and Cherry ignored his texts and fled. It made me beyond angry, because I was in here and unable to do a damn thing about it. Cherry is a fire that nobody can put out, having a mind of her own. I’m afraid one of these days she’s going to burn herself trying to prove to others she doesn’t need them to thrive.
“Yeah, we’ll see,” she retorts, knowing exactly what I’m talking about. She’s feisty and stubborn, and I both hate it and fucking need it at the same time.
CHERRY
3 Months Later
Sitting in my car, I watch Piper from afar. I’ve been coming up here and sitting in the gas station right across from the trailer park, watching her like a creeper. I can’t help it, though, and in doing so, I’ve learned Eric’s schedule. He works construction, I think. He came home one afternoon when I was watching Piper play; I nearly had a stroke, but he never even looked my way. He works Monday through Saturday, from sunrise to sundown. Sundays, he comes home at noon. In the mornings, he takes Piper to a trailer next door before he leaves for work, and no longer than five minutes after Piper is dropped off she runs out of the trailer to play in the playground. She’s there most of the day with the other kids. She’s never dressed in anything nice, though; in fact, she looks like a damn boy.