My fist against his shoulder knocks him to the ground and effectively shuts him up. As nice as it is to have someone around who isn’t a grouch like Pacino or Kannon, Rooster can get on my last fucking nerve sometimes.
And he wonders why we like to bring him around the things he’s so damn terrified of. If he could learn when to shut his mouth, it wouldn’t be a problem.
“She’s eight, and she’s incredible. Makes complicated shit too damn simple, and she helped me. I finally did something I should’ve done years ago.”
“What’s that?” Pacino asks.
No one but Misty knows, and it feels weird to admit to my brothers. “I told Chanel to stop coming around. To stay the fuck away because I’m done.”
“For how long this time?” Rooster asks.
This time, Pacino handles it, bouncing Rooster’s head against the wall. “You talk too fucking much.”
“For-fucking-ever,” I snap at him.
“Good for you.”
Rooster gives me a disbelieving look, his head hitting the wall not affecting him in the least. Says a lot about him, actually. And I can’t really fault him for it. I know Pacino feels the same.
There have been times in the past when I’ve said the same thing. That I was done and never letting her back in, but it never lasted very long. This time, though, feels different.
“Look, Chanel stopped by a couple days ago, and I turned her down. Told her to go back to her fiancé. I was done, and I left her on the porch as I drove off.”
“Wow, you are serious this time,” Pacino says.
Biting my lower lip, I nod. “Yeah. Bernie asked me why I let her treat me like shit. Had no answer for that one. She made me think.”
“And your head’s still intact? That’s impressive,” Rooster says.
I open the supply closet while Pacino pushes him inside, a satisfying splash of water making us both smile. Followed by a crash of something that earns a groan from Rooster
“Come on, guys, now my jeans are wet,” he groans. “And that fucking hurt. What fell on my head?”
We turn on the light and help him out of the mop bucket before bursting out into laughter. The box that landed on him is a bulk order of strap ons. This really couldn’t have gone better.
“After I refused to let her in, I lit a cop’s house on fire. Made the day much better.”
Pacino laughs. “The same motherfucker we’re here to blacklist?”
“Yep.”
“What’d he do again?”
“Fucked me over and chose the Venom.”
“Fucker deserved it,” Rooster says.
Laughing, I slap Pacino’s shoulder. “Look, he does have relatively intelligent comments to make sometimes!”
“Ha ha.”
Rooster struggles to walk normally with his ass wet from the bucket, and it really was deserved. As much as I love him, he talks way too fucking much for his own good. And doesn’t realize just how easily we could kick his ass.
“Hey, Pacino, can you do me a favor when you have time? I want to know about Bernie’s dad. I don’t know anything other than his name is Ben, but I’m guessing he’s probably on her birth certificate.”
He nods. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Queenie, our madam in charge of Velvet Desire, walks around the corner. “You got pushed into the supply closet again?”
