Was everything a lie?
Maybe he doesn’t recognize the number.
Fuck!
I’m going to call Autumn again. Maybe she can tell Killer to come here. I’m terrified, and I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing working here.
I don’t know how to get to the clubhouse. My call to Autumn goes to voicemail again, and I leave another message.
This is fucked up.
Ten
Killer
After the run, I enter the clubhouse and walk straight to the bar. I need a beer to release the fucking stress. The Prospect hands me a beer, and I take a long pull.
“Get me a bottle of tequila,” I growl, pulling out my cigarettes from the inside pocket of my Cut. I grab on, light up, take a long drag, throwing back my head. I roll my shoulders and twist my neck.
I called Karla, but the call went to voicemail. I texted her, but she hasn’t even seen it.
I take another pull of the beer, looking at my cell phone.
I have several missed calls from an unknown number.
I have to get Fiend to ask Autumn if she’s heard from Karla. The ache in my gut is persistent, and I don’t like it. Especially since I’ve seen the fucking shit that Castro deals in.
“Hey,” Fiend says, leaning against the bar countertop. “Get some sleep, we’ve been up all night.”
“Nah, I can’t. Karla has not answered my calls or texts. I don’t like it, and Castro is her Dad,” I growl, taking a pull of tequila from the bottle.
“Fuck! That’s not good,” Fiend says, grabbing the beer from the bar countertop.
“I need to talk to her,” I say, taking a drag of my cigarette.
“Maybe she’s sleeping in,” Fiend says, scrubbing his face. “Get some sleep. We have the run strip club tomorrow.”
“Fuck! Okay,” I huff, putting out my cigarette.
I take another long pull of the tequila and finish the beer.
Fiend is right, I need to sleep. When I get up, I’ll call Karla, do the run, and hopefully pick her up because she has to be by my side, not living at Castro’s mansion. I need to protect her.
I pull on my boots and grab my cell off the bed. I slide my fingers over the screen, hoping that I have a missed call from Karla or a text.
But nothing.
I grind my molars and walk out of my room, leaving the apartment. I go down the stairs and into the clubhouse. I approach the bar counter and slide onto the stool.
“Beer,” I say, looking around the clubhouse.
Thank fuck the club whores are busy cleaning the damn place. It’s about fucking time. I can smell food.
I grab the beer from the bar and take a pull. I push off the stool and walk to the kitchen. I stop at the entrance to look at my Mom, Mama Bear.
“Killer, are you hungry,” Mama Bear asks, wrapping the breakfast burrito.
“Yeah, Mom,” I say, nodding.
