“Nic won’t tell me much about what happened, and you were too young to see it all very clearly, but this guy? I’m sure he remembers it all. I’ll bet he remembers waiting until Butch got busted to take Nic’s virginity. I’ll bet he remembers telling her the only man who will ever love her now is him.”
Every ounce of guilt and fear that I’m feeling slowly disappears, and in its place is a numbness. It makes me want to barf, but I feel my conscience dying every second that Duke speaks. It’s like my body’s gone on autopilot as I slowly slide the flathead farther into Darren’s mouth.
“Did she ever tell you that this prick told her he was going to kill my baby? She ever tell you that my baby being inside her made him sick, sick enough to brutalize her until my fucking kid was dead?”
My muscles tense as the flathead darts into his mouth quickly, hitting what I think is his tongue. Duke’s iron fist reaches out and pulls me back. Darren coughs and lunges forward as the flathead leaves his mouth. The blade and shank are covered in blood. Unlike before, the reality of what I’ve done doesn’t seem to creep up on me as I watch him choke on his own blood. He leans to Duke’s side, spitting it out all over his bed. Duke lifts the bed sheet to cover himself from the blood splatter and says, “We’re not ready to kill him yet.”
“Right.” I tuck the screwdriver into my pocket.
“It’s in your best interest to get your bitch daddy and cunt mommy back in town. Either they come home for your release from the hospital or for your funeral. It’s your choice. You have two weeks,” Duke says and swiftly throws his clenched fist into Darren’s face before he walks away. Darren folds in on himself, blood streams now from his nose as well as he cries into his hands.
Grabbing ahold of his hair, I hiss into his ear, “I don’t have to tell you that telling anyone about this visit is a bad idea, do I?”
Darren shakes and sobs simultaneously as I pull the syringe from the pocket of my hoodie and pop off the cap. Ryan suggested a sweet coke/meth powder combo, but that just seemed like too much work. Taking a deep breath, I grab his arm and position him as best I can to make it look like he’s injected himself in his stomach. I don’t give a fuck if the stomach is a place people shoot up—I wouldn’t fucking know—but his arm is stiff and uncooperative.
“Save a place for me in Hell,” I murmur as I plunge the concoction into his body. He shakes mercilessly, cries booming from his throat, and stares down at the needle in his stomach with wide, fearful eyes.
I take a step back and reach over, handing him the red button to make sure he doesn’t end up dying just yet. His fingers struggle to push the plastic piece down, but he finally makes it, and I bolt out of there before I have to stare at what I’ve done any longer.
Duke’s just outside the door, and together we race to the same stairwell we just came from and down to the second floor where the cafeteria is. A few minutes after sitting down with a pair of nasty hospital burgers, Nic comes in, escorted by a frazzled nurse. My sister has the good sense to look sheepish as she sets Robin in a chair between her and Duke.
“She has gas,” Nic says quietly.
The nurse clears her throat. “Ms. Whelan, please call the nurse helpline next time you’re worried. We’re here to help.”
I raise an eyebrow at the nurse, who tucks a stray hair behind her ear and feels around ensuring the rest of her hair is still up in a messy bun. The woman diverts my gaze and turns away. When she does, I realize where I know her from. She’s got an angel tattoo on the back of her neck. The last time I saw that, she was naked and swinging around a pole at the clubhouse.
“What did you do?” I ask, curiously.
Nic smiles down at Robin and says, “It wasn’t me. She really did have gas. Wouldn’t stop screaming. I just acted like I didn’t know how to deal with it.”
Duke and I smile at my sister, who can’t take her eyes off her baby. My eyes drift to his, and when he turns toward me, I say, “It’s worth it.”
He returns my words with a nod before digging into his nasty burger. We fall into conversation about the upcoming party at Pres’s place and whether or not we should bring food or beer.
“I can’t drink, so food,” Nic says.
“But I can, so beer,” Duke retorts.
“This party is half in honor of the human I birthed, and she can’t do either, so I get her vote. Chey isn’t legal to drink, so she automatically votes food. That means we win. Food.”
Duke and I throw our hands up at her reasoning and laugh easily. Not that Chey won’t drink just because she’s not legal, but Nic’s crafty and I’m in too good of a mood to argue. It should always be like this. There’s just one person missing—my girl.
CHAPTER 23
April
12 months to Mancuso’s downfall