“And you’ve loved many other girls around town.”
“No, I haven’t. The others… that’s sex. Just sex. Chanel has owned me since I was fourteen.”
“Just because she was the first to suck your diddly-pop doesn’t mean she owns you. Or should have the free rein you give her to make you feel like shit every time she gets the itch for whatever it is Dorian ain’t giving her at home.”
Diddly-pop. I don’t hate that term. Not sure I agree with her assessment, but I know it’s not completely false either. Chanel was the first to give me a blow job. Something she quickly stopped because she hates it, but after going down on her the first time, she let me take her virginity. Same fucking night, and I was in love.
And we haven’t gone longer than a few hours around each other without stripping down naked since. It’s usually minutes after my front door shuts that we’re coming together to get that high we can’t seem to get anywhere else.
“What do you expect from me, Nan? I’m kind of fucking lost these days.”
“Can I help you?” Lainey Sloan calls as she wipes down a table.
I turn to look at Johnny’s only biological offspring. If Mama and Johnny had gotten married, Lainey would legally be my stepsister, but she’s been my sister since I was seven. Since the day Johnny became the man I called my dad.
“Remember my rule,” Nancy says as I stand and walk over toward the commotion. “No fighting in my bar.”
“I can think of a few things you can help me with,” Wylie says with a smirk, his hand firmly on Lainey’s ass.
She swats it away and pushes him backwards. He stumbles a few steps but catches himself. He may not be his father, but I hate him almost as much. And right now, he’s the closest I’ve gotten to Butch since Johnny died. His father seems to be hiding from me.
For good reason.
“How about I help you? Would you like your body tossed in the dumpster or the river?” I ask.
“Zep, I got this. It’s fine,” Lainey says, trying to push me back, but I’m a hell of a lot stronger than she is.
The dark blond smirks up at me, and I want to wipe that smile away by smashing it into the table. Then, for good measure, permanently remove it with a sledgehammer.
Too much?
I don’t think so.
“You think you can hit me without making me laugh? That’s cute, little brother.”
“I’m not your fucking brother.”
He scrambles to his feet and shrugs, and I hate how he wears a tank top under his leather. Everything about him screams TRAILER COURT, not the higher-class neighborhood he lives in. “Your mom fucked our dad and got knocked up. Kind of makes us kin.”
The idea of Mama sleeping with Elvis “Butch” Ballard makes my skin crawl. I hate that man with every fiber of my being, and I’d give my left nut to have a tombstone for him in a cemetery instead of Johnny. Especially because I know in my bones that he was the one who took Johnny out. Whether directly or by proxy, he still made the call.
“Then I guess I have a claim to the family fortune, huh?” I say.
This makes Wylie stand a bit straighter. Butch has made quite the name for himself, and he never holds back when it comes to bragging about how much money he has.
“Go to hell, Molloy.”
“But I thought we were brothers. Here I thought we’d make a pact to always be there for each other and seal the deal with that stupid thing kids do where they spit in their hands and shake. Then I could get my sleeping bag and watch a movie with the family.”
His jaw clenches. “Funny.”
“Your mama won’t mind me being there, right? I mean, it would be an in-her-face reminder that he fucked Mama while he was supposed to be fucking her. That has to sting, huh?”
He takes a swing, but I dodge it, holding back my rage as Nancy comes running from behind the bar, baseball bat in hand.I know better than to fight, but I also know easily the two Ballard men are to rile up. And their collective lack of self-control.
“You know the rules, Wylie!” Nancy shouts and slaps the bat into her palm. “Get out.”
“He—”
