She leans over him, her wavy black hair falling around her shoulders, gripping his chin and putting her face right up in his. “You can suck your own dick next time, asshole.”
“Yeah?” Lopez knocks her hand away, grabs her ass, and yanks her down onto his lap. “I don’t fucking think so. If I tell you to suck my cock, you’ll suck my cock.” He turns his head to Zeta. “Or I’ll find a replacement.” His intent is clear.
Valeria throws back her head, laughing, as she slides off Lopez’s lap. I see her noticing Powell watching from the far corner of the room. “You think that bitch gives head like me?” Her hands are firmly back on her hips. “Puh-lease. She’d probably faint if you showed her your cock.”
I know what Valeria’s suggesting, but Lopez, given his giant-sized ego, interprets it differently. “That’s more like it, baby,” he purrs, thinking she’s just complimented the size of his dick.
Zeta has remained quiet this whole time, but as she stands, I watch her preparing to say her piece. “I’m betting I’ve seen more cock than you’ve had hot dinners,” she challenges, eyeballing Valeria like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Young is practically drooling as he hangs off every word Zeta says.
“And I’m betting you’re full of shit,” Valeria retorts with a smirk.
“I think there’s an easy way to resolve this,” Lopez butts in, rubbing his crotch as his gaze latches onto Zeta’s chest. He’s grinning like he’s just won the lottery, and I want to smash his face into the wall. Rivulets of rage start trickling through me, and I grip the side of my chair, grinding my teeth hard.
“I wouldn’t touch your cock if you paid me,” Zeta supplies. “And I don’t have to prove anything to any of you.”
Powell moves from her position, heading this way. It’s clear from the body language that something is going down, and she’s ready to head it off at the pass.
“That’s not the way things work around here.” Valeria prods a bony finger in Zeta’s chest. “And you can’t disrespect my boy like that. Someone needs to teach you some manners.”
Zeta snorts. “And you think that’s you?”
I rise, hoping the movement will catch her attention. I’m trying to caution Zeta with my eyes, but she’s solely focused on the girl in front of her. I’m not sure what Zeta hopes to achieve by antagonizing Valeria and Lopez, but she’s treading on shaky ground.
“I will fucking gut you, girl,” Valeria threatens.
“Not if I gut you first.” Zeta’s voice is like ice as she holds firm. Thrusting Valeria’s finger away, she squares up to her, leaning right into her face as she says, “Just like I did with my momma.”
4
Zeta
Ihate myself for what I’ve just admitted, but I can’t let that bitch gain the upper hand. Although I’m shaking inside, I hold my chin up, fixing her with a deadly stare. I can do this. I can act like nothing or no one affects me until she gets the message that I’m not about to be pushed around. Then, hopefully, she’ll get bored and leave me alone.
“What’s going on here?” Powell asks, materializing at our table.
“Your girl here says she’s gonna gut me like she did her momma,” Valeria confirms, with a look of disbelief splashed across her face. “Why is she here? She do that?”
“That’s none of your concern,” Powell calmly replies. “And I need you to come with me, Zeta. Your attorney is here to see you.”
Without looking at any of them, I follow Powell out of the cafeteria. We walk side by side in silence, my stomach twisting sourly as my words repeat in a loop over and over in my head. When we reach the interview room, she stops with her hand on the door handle and turns to me. “I’m sure you have your reasons for saying what you said back there, but you don’t want to mess with that girl.”
I force back the bile traveling up my throat. “I don’t have a choice. If I don’t look like I can stand up for myself, she’ll never leave me alone. I’ve met enough girls like her to know that.”
“Watch your back. And stick with Ryder. He knows how to survive in here.”
“Why are you being nice to me?”
“Keeping the peace is in my interests,” she cryptically says before opening the door and ushering me inside.
“Zeta. How are you?” my court-appointed attorney asks as I take a seat across the table from her.
Peachy. Just peachy. I’ve just used my dead mom as a way to try to prove I’m a hard-ass. Made a mockery of her death like it doesn’t upset me. But, of course, I don’t articulate any of those thoughts. I shrug my shoulders, acting casual. “Fine.” Resting my elbows on the table, I lean forward.
She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose before opening a file in front of her, thumbing through pages, muttering to herself and frowning as she flicks through the file for whatever she’s looking for. After a few minutes, she slides a couple of sheets across the table to me along with a pen. “I need you to sign here and here.” She points to certain sections on both pages.
“What is this?” I refuse to sign anything without understanding what I’m putting my name to.
“Official court documentation I need to log.”
