“Forty-six dollars and seventy-eight cents.” Nix pays and Cocoa hands us our drinks. “Sit anywhere. I’ll bring the food when it’s ready.”
We shuffle to our usual booth.
I surreptitiously track Cocoa’s movements, because, fuck, I can’t help it. She brings our order to the table.
“Need anything else?”
“It’s good you’re getting accustomed to serving your superiors,” I say snidely.
She glowers at me and stomps away.
As I eat, my attention is drawn to the way Harry unnecessarily brushes against Cocoa, and rage pulses through my veins. Fucking pervert. We quickly devour the greasy meal and get up to leave. At the exit, I look back, scanning the dive for a last glimpse of Cocoa, but she’s MIA.
“Dude, chill. You can gawk at her in school tomorrow,” Deeheckles me.
“Fuck you.” I shove him out the door.
Nix laughs and I whack him on the arm.
“Hey,” he complains. “I didn’t even say anything.”
I see Harry leaning against the building, smoking a cigarette. I stride over to him and deliver a blow to his gut.
He crumples to the pavement, coughing uncontrollably.
“What’d you do that for?” Dee asks.
I ignore Dee and kneel beside Harry. “Touch Cocoa again and I’ll wreck your shit. Say anything about this and I’ll wreck your shit. You got me?”
He nods his head jerkily.
I smack his cheek. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
I stand and saunter to my Jeep.
“You want to tell us why you rearranged Harry’s intestines?” Nix asks.
“A slight misunderstanding.” I shrug. “See y’all in the A.M.”
I hop in my ride and drive off.
Christina’s frantic cries greet my ears the second I walk through the front door. I climb the stairs and see John dragging his long-time girlfriend along by her hair.
“No, John, please, not tonight,” she sobs.
“Be an obedient whore and I’ll go easy on you.”
Christina wails louder.
He hauls her into his torture room and slams the door shut.
I’ve been witness to John beating and sexually assaulting my mother in that room on numerous occasions. My earliest memory is at four years old.
“I’ll do whatever you want, but please send Maverick to his room,” my mother pleaded.
“He needs to learn that the only place for a woman is on her knees.” He smiled sinisterly.
“I’m begging you,” she wept.
