“This is Nic, leave a message,” her voice sounds through the phone in a surprisingly pleasant tone. Maybe the fact that she rarely answers her phone is a good thing. At least leaving a message ensures I’m gonna hear something nice out of her mouth.
I wait for the beep and say, “Come on, Nicole. Answer my calls. We both know you got a house full of food, and I’m hungry. I’ll be by in a bit so we can have dinner. I’m thinking you could get those steaks going.” I don’t know if she’s eaten yet, but I haven’t, and I’m fucking starved. Plus, eating a second dinner isn’t going to hurt to put some pounds on that stick figure of hers. I head back to my room to grab my bag and head over to Nic’s house, but stop halfway there. Trigger’s door swings open, and he stands in the doorway. His head is bent. and he’s looking down at his phone in his hand.
“Got a text from Cub,” he says without looking up. “Got to pick her up.”
“Where is she?” I ask, giving him a nervous glance. He keeps sucking air in through his nose and blowing out heavy breaths. He lifts his hand and wipes white powder away from his nose then lifts his head. His eyes are pinned and unfocused.
“House party. Downtown,” he says. “You’re gonna want to follow me.”
“Why?”
“Because she left the house with Nic,” he says and pinches the end of his nostrils together, sucks in a deep breath, and shakes his head. “Fuck.”
“If you’re not good to ride, I can take Ruby’s Suburban to pick them up,” I say. Irritation tickles the back of my neck as he sniffles and shoves his phone back into his pocket. No wonder she didn’t answer my call. “What the fuck are they doing at a house party downtown? Those places are fucking skeezy.”
“And the clubhouse isn’t?” he asks, smirking and grabbing his dick.
“At least we know the fucked up shit that goes down at the clubhouse,” I mumble and turn around to head back down the hall and out the door. Trigger’s behind me when we pull out of the driveway, but then he takes lead. The house is a short drive from downtown, but we take our time riding slowly up and down every street in between. It isn’t long before Trigger signals with his left arm that he thinks he’s found the house.
The house in question is jam-packed with people, and the music is blaring. I recognize this house and fucking pray this isn’t where they are. Fort Bragg’s small, but there has to be another house party going on tonight. At least, I hope. This place is owned by a couple of meth heads who used to cook the shit here a couple years back before the club had to shut them down. We only found out about it because Layla was buying her shit here.
Trigger pulls up to the house in front of the fire hydrant, makes a sharp right and then backs the bike up to the curb. I follow his direction. When I dismount, I look for a guy to watch the bikes. People in this town know not to fuck with us, but some of these losers need reminding and my bike already has one fucking scratch in it. I’m not about to let her get another.
Scanning the crowd, I find a kid who can’t even be out of high school yet. He’s young enough to be Nic’s brother, and he’s standing on the sidewalk holding a forty in his right hand. His eyes widen as I point at him and say loudly, “You. Come here.”
The kid walks over all wobbly-like and nods. He obviously knows who we are, and he’s been raised right if he looks like he’s going to piss himself like he does.
“You watch my bike. Make sure nobody fucks with it, or I’ll be breaking bones when I come out,” I say. He nods his head furiously and takes a swig from the bottle.
“Yeah, I can do that,” he says.
I jerk a thumb over my shoulder at Trigger and raise my eyebrows at the kid as I take my helmet off and set it on the handlebars. “And that guy? His bike gets fucked with and you might want to be careful. He likes to pound his dick into tight young assholes.”
The crowd parts and quiets down as we walk through. Trigger jabs me in the ribs for my comment, but says nothing else as we head through the house. The faces in the rooms aren’t familiar as far as I can tell, but they aren’t stupid. Someone turns the music down and conversation stops save for a few people who stand on the periphery whispering among themselves. Forsaken showing up at a house party they weren’t expected at is a big deal to the people in this town. In the kitchen, shoving baggies and a glass pipe in a drawer, is the meth head who owns this shithole. He’s skinny as fuck, and his limbs jerk as he moves.
“Shut this shit down,” I say to him. He nods his head and his hands twitch as he continues to sweep a mirror and a few needles into the drawer. Fucking loser.