I just give her a kind smile and sit next to Cherry. She is slumped forward with her hands in her strawberry-colored hair, which is acting as a curtain, shielding her face from everyone.
“It’s so awful,” Cherry whines, turning toward me. Her eyes are red and puffy while mascara is smeared down her face.
I rub her back and give a half-smile. “She’s going to be okay,” I reassure her.
“She’s in a fucking coma. How is she going to be okay?” Vera spits.
“She’s in a coma?” I ask shocked, hearing that information for the first time.
“They found her in the street with bags of chips everywhere in a mangled mess. She’s got a heartbeat, but is in a coma,” Vera explains, lighting a cigarette with a cigarette.
“Shit,” I say, thinking about poor Babs.
“You know who did this,” Cherry declares, looking at Vera.
“Shut the fuck up, Cherry. You don’t know shit,” Vera demands, slamming one of the cigarettes in an ashtray.
Cherry slumps forward again and begins to sob. I give Vera a confused look as she stares back at me with an angry one.
“Who?” I ask, curious who Cherry thinks did this to Babs.
“Nobody,” Vera snaps.
SHADOW
“So, we don’t know who hit her?” I ask Locks across the table and everyone looks at him, waiting for his reply.
He looks at the floor. “I don’t know, probably just some drunk not paying attention,” he responds casually. I can’t help the look of uncertainty on my face. Why isn’t he freaking out, screaming for the blood of the person who did this to his ol’ lady?
“What did the cops say?” Bull asks, tapping his fingers on the table.
“Oh, you know, the same bullshit they tell everyone,” Locks replies, rubbing his beard.
“Which is what?” I push, irritated.
Locks looks at me, his blonde and white speckled mustache twitching with irritation. “That they will do their best.”
“Who found her?” Bobby asks.
“Some passerby,” Bull answers.
“Any video surveillance around the area?” Old Guy wonders.
“Yes. But it only shows a white car speeding like a bat out of Hell. Can’t see anything but a white blur,” Locks rambles, his voice wobbly with excitement.
Bobby looks at me across the table, his eyebrow raised.
“Right. Well, I’m going to go over and see her.” Bull stands, patting Locks on the shoulder. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Locks.”
Maybe I’m being irrational, but I feel there is something Locks is not telling us.
Dani
The door slams open and the men’s boots stomp out.
“Come on,” Shadow calls, giving my shoulders a light squeeze. I gently rub Cherry’s back before slipping off my stool. Shadow grabs my hand and pulls me down the hall to his room, away from the crowd.
He shuts the door behind us and runs his hands over his face in irritation. I cross my arms over my body as I look at the bathroom; the last time I was in here, a slut stood in there. I close my eyes, feeling the light tension of the ache, which used to reside in my chest cavity try and resurface.
“What’s wrong?” Shadow asks.
“I don’t know if I can be in here,” I reply honestly, looking back at the bathroom.
Shadow scoffs.
“Why, because I had a girl in here?” he demands arrogantly.
“Yes, that’s exactly why,” I respond, uncrossing my arms and feeling defensive.
He falls on his back. “Unbelievable,” he whispers. He sits up on his elbows and scowls at me. “You’re upset I brought you in here, because I may or may not have fucked another woman in here?”
“Yes, I don’t need you to rub it in my face, believe me.” I raise my eyebrows; now I’m pissed.
He growls in frustration and pats the bed beside him for me to sit. I comply hesitantly, and he grabs me by the hips and pulls me on top of him. Straddling him, I place my hands down on his chest to keep me from toppling over.
“Let’s just leave the past in the past. Looking back doesn’t do anything for the future. Especially for us,” he says, trailing his fingers up and down my arm. His touch raises little goose bumps on my olive skin, and I relish the feel of his touch.
“How many women did you sleep with?” I ask. I can’t leave it in the past until I know what I’m leaving behind.
“None,” he says flatly. My eyes nearly bug out in shock. I surely thought he had reverted to his old ways, sleeping with countless women.
“None?” I repeat in question.
“What, shocked?” he sneers, sitting on his elbows and looking up at me. “I couldn’t get your innocence, your face, or those fucking eyes out of my head.” He shakes his head like hearing it out loud sounds crazy. “No one can ever compare to you,” he explains, pulling me to lay on top of him.
I lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat beneath me. Why does he feel I’m so innocent, so angelic, worthy of never doing anything wrong? Living in the Devil’s Dust lifestyle has taught me one thing: I’m no angel. Far from it even. I broke a club law by going on that date, did drugs, tried to kill my mother, and I’ve nearly beaten a guy to death.