“That must’ve been hard. Being so young and on your own.”
She sighs, and I like how my head rises and falls with her chest. Like we’re one entity. “Yeah, it was.”
“Tell me about the early years with Bernie.”
“This is about you tonight, Zep.”
Looking up, I reach up to run the back of my fingers over her cheek. “I want to know. I want to know everything about this amazing woman who makes me feel worthy. How the fact you ended up in my life takes my breath away, Misty, and I want to know everything about you.”
Her eyes shine, and I swear they’re filled with love. As much as I want her to say it, I hope she holds back. Not tonight. Tonight shouldn’t be the night we confess the love I know we both have for each other. Not when it started with such a darkness.
She doesn’t confess her feelings for me, but she does answer my question. She tells me everything I want to know, and we spend the rest of the night talking. I take a chance and tell her some of my darkest secrets.
The secrets aren’t club related, but they’re both embarrassing and shameful. Things I’ve never told anyone else. Especially not Chanel. And I don’t feel judgment from Misty as I say the words out loud.
We fall asleep, my head on her chest, and I don’t remember ever having as good of a night’s sleep than I did that night. Content in a way I’ve never felt before.
Maybe it’s not a bad thing I’m here. And she helped me understand Mama’s side of things. It still doesn’t take away the sting of the truth, but it helps.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Zeppelin
Waking up in Misty’s bed, our bodies tangled together after a night of just talking was better than I thought it could be. We agreed to go to the park with Bernie that afternoon after she got home from Carly’s, and I’m itching for some violence.
The events of the day before still weigh heavily on me, but Jennings is right. I have to be smart about this. Even if I want to kill Butch—now more than before—I can’t just go and do it. I need to have my ducks in a row. Something to lessen the blowback.
Or a hell of a plan in place with backup to get rid of every fucking Black Venom member from here to the east coast.
“What are we doing here?” Rooster asks as we pull up outside of a house on the richer side of town.
If I can’t hurt Butch, I need to inflict pain on someone else. Or at least intimidate them.
I look up and notice things about the house that make me smile. The hedges aren’t trimmed, and the flowers are dying. Which means no gardener comes to take care of the lawn like he used to.
There are cracks on the stucco that need to be filled. And based on the amount of sand built up in them, it’s been this way for a while.
The pool in the back is covered up even though we’re getting into the prime swimming season. So, that tells me there’s no pool guy, either.
This motherfucker’s broke and house poor.
“We need to send a little message,” I say, hopping off my bike.
While Rooster’s the golden retriever of us, he can get vicious when the need arises. And Capone and Pacino look like a permanent black cloud hangs above them, ready to scare off the bravest of men with a single look.
I pound on the front door like I’m the goddamned police until a frightened woman answers. “C-can I help you?”
She has light brown hair pulled back into a bun, and her dress is nice but thrifted. The tag from the store two towns over hangs out of her collar.
“Your husband home?” I ask.
“Troy?” she calls.
A man wearing cargo shorts and a white T-shirt walks to the front door. “Can I help you?”
His wife scurries away, and I back off the porch. “Troy Martin?”
“Yes?”
