Page 150 of Devil’s Disciples

“You might not be done.” I said over my shoulder. “But I am. I’m going for a ride.”

Baker was still babbling when I walked through the door, but I didn’t hear a word he was saying.

My mind was on other things.

Things I hadn’t thought about since high school.

57

Kimberly

I had mixed emotions about what happened between Cash and Tito. I didn’t know for certain what drove Cash to do what he did, but I had my doubts that his actions were a direct result of Tito simply showing up at my house.

On the surface, Cash’s reaction seemed extreme. Then, when I considered that he wasn’t overly angry before he hit Tito, and that he acted indifferent about it afterward, it left me to wonder what drove him to act so violently.

Jennifer’s pounding at my door brought me out of my state of deep thought and thrust me back into reality. With reluctance, I set my glass of wine aside and rose to my feet.

The pounding continued.

I cleared my throat. “I’m coming.”

“I’m outta wine,” she shouted. “Open up!”

I pulled the door open. Jennifer was leaning against the side of the house. Her hair looked like a rat’s nest, her feet were bare, and she wasn’t wearing a bra.

She looked at me and then belched. “Got any wine?”

I looked her up and down. “You look like you’ve had enough.”

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

She pushed her way past me and stumbled into the house.

Quite possibly depressed about her cancelled date, and obviously drunk, she looked like baked shit. I gestured toward her bare feet. “Where are your shoes?”

“Who knows,” she murmured. “All I know is that Dolla Bill is a thief.”

She shuffled to the living room and picked up my glass of wine.

“Don’t drink that one, I’ll get you--”

Before I finished speaking, she’d downed the half-full glass of wine and flopped onto the couch.

I lifted the empty glass of wine from her limp grasp and set it on the coffee table. “Why did you say that? About Cash?”

“Because. It’s eight o’clock.”

I waited some time for her to continue, but she didn’t. “What does that have to do with anything?” I asked.

“If it wasn’t for him,” she muttered. “I’d be riding Tito’s dick right now. Dolla Bill stole my dick. He’s a thief.”

I sat down across from her. “You don’t know that you’d be riding anything.”

She gazed blankly at me. Inch by inch, her body leaned to the side until she was flat on her back. She gazed up at the ceiling. “You can’t prove that I wouldn’t be.”

I studied her. Her dress was covered in orange handprints. “Your dress is filthy,” I said. “What have you been doing?”

She lifted her head and looked herself over. “Drinking wine.” Upon seeing the neon-colored filth, she brushed her hand against her dress a few times. “And eating Cheetos.”