“Please.” She walks over and hugs me. “I’m bored. I’ve been in this house for two days.”
“You’re drunk, and there was no alcohol in this house when I left.”
“I had a friend over.” She grins.
“Maybe you should have considered cleaning up this house first. And it’s not safe to bring random guys here.”
“Yeah, but it’s fun.” She pumps her brows, her words like a wrecking ball to my chest.
Because the thing is, I’m a lot like her. I do my best to control it when I can. I’m not always successful, but I do like that high of doing something dangerous, things I’m not supposed to do. It’s why I keep thinking about Cherry, why I was both disgusted and intrigued by him, and why I’m standing here, thinking about that night again when it should be the furthest thing from my mind.
I disentangle from my mom, who is touchy-feely as shit,and go into the kitchen. “I’m not going out with you,” I repeat, then force myself to start cleaning the house because at least it will keep me busy. She pouts, but then goes back to her room, I assume to drink and talk to men online.
It’s late when I finish cleaning, but once I’m in my bedroom, guitar in hand, it’s easy to lose myself in the music. Before I know it, one in the morning ticks by, and the second I set my guitar down, I’m feeling antsy again.
We’re going to need more money at some point…
The Pizza Palace doesn’t pay shit, and it’s not like I can depend on my mom for help. Plus, I deserve this. I should be able to have some fun—even if it is really fucked-up fun.
Not letting myself overthink it, I tug on a black hoodie, make sure my gun is loaded, grab my shit, and leave. I shouldn’t go back to The Dove. That’s too fucking dangerous. But then…isn’t that the point?
So that’s what I do. My nerve endings tingle with excitement, my body almost too jittery to sit still when I’m driving. I park in the same place, sneak closer, see new cameras have been installed. It shouldn’t make me smile, but it does.
I find a different hiding spot, this one behind a dumpster close to the woods but still in the parking lot. When I take one of the guns from my bag, it’s not mine. It’s his. The guy who made me feel more alive than I have in a long time, if not ever.
I’m not as picky this time because I know it won’t be him. When a car pulls up, I tug the mask over my face and sneak over. The guy’s wearing crisp clothes, sneakers, and a baseball cap. Like Cherry, he doesn’t look like he belongs here, but I guess rich college kids hook up or buy sex too.
“Don’t fucking move,” I say from behind him, gun pointed. There’s no doubt in my mind that the cameras can see me. If anyone is watching, I’m fucked. This is irresponsible,stupid, and…fun, though not as fun as last time.
“I don’t have much,” he says, a tremble to his voice that just annoys me. I don’t get the same rush out of this as I got with Cherry.
“I don’t fucking care.” I shove him against the wall, pull his wallet out, and take the money. Two hundred and fifty bucks is all he has, but it’s two hundred and fifty more than I had before.
I don’t hit him like I did with Cherry. Where would be the fun in that? I knew I had a reason to be afraid with Cherry, felt the simmering rage and feral energy vibrating off him.
“This way,” I tell the guy, and he stumbles but catches himself.
“Please don’t hurt me. I just wanted some pussy, man.”
I ignore him, directing him toward the dumpster. “Climb in.”
“What? I’m not getting in there! It stinks! I just got this outfit, bro.”
I roll my eyes at the dudebro. Fucking college kids. “Get the fuck in the dumpster before I put a bullet in your head.”
“I’m sorry. Don’t. I’m going.”
And then I watch as he does what I say. The second he’s inside, I close the lid on him, run back to my car, and I’m gone.
It wasn’t the same, but for now, it’ll have to do.
CHAPTER FIVE
Rory
“What do youneed?” I ask the guy trembling like a leaf in front of me. I should be in class right now, but I’m not feeling it. I know it disappoints Bunny that Cillian and I aren’t as into school as he is, but it’s hard for me to find it in myself to care much about it. What’s the point? It’s not as if I’ll spend my life doing anything other than being part of the O’Shea family, and for that life, a college degree is not required.
“Um…molly?” he says like it’s a question. It’s clear he doesn’t have a lot of experience with drugs, and while I should feel bad for selling to him, I don’t feel bad enough about it not to. He makes his own choices, and that’s not on me.
