Page 5 of I Stop Somewhere Waiting For You

“I love you more, Nick.”

He raises his hand ‘til it’s suspended in the space between us, wiggling his fingers at me. I giggle, bringing mine up to meet his and wiggling my fingers up against his own.

“Woogity woogity woogity,” we chant in unison, before breaking into a fit of laughter.

When I was younger, I saw the handshake once in some old cartoon, and I loved it so much Nicky declared it ours. All these years later, it’s stuck. He’s never once been embarrassed of our bond or how we display our love for each other. Nicky could be at the negotiating table with Scarface himself, and you can bet your ass if I walked in and demanded some woogity woogity, that boy wouldn’t even hesitate. That’s the kind of man my brother is.

So, if you’re judging him based on the fact that he’s a drug dealer and choosing to ignore all the other shit I just told you about him, then you can be sure to fuck off… and our story’s probably not for you.

CHAPTER 3

MAV

I sit in the passenger side of my blacked-out Tahoe, my eyes fixated on the blur of buildings whizzing by, though my mind is lost deep in thought.

We dropped Amber’s cracked-out ass at home about ten minutes ago and, despite her offering up a wide variety of sexual favors in hopes I’d stay the night, I ended shit instead.

Amber’s a trainwreck; if it wasn’t evident before, it became abundantly clear tonight when she started snorting fucking heroin. Though we’ve been fucking around on and off for years, that journey’s run its course. She did all the stereotypical girl nonsense. Scream, slap, cry. None of that shit fazes me.

My ADHD brain tends to hyperfixate at times. And right now? I am all the way dialed in on the knockout from the club. Everything about that chick is a fucking ten. Her long soft blonde hair fell freely down her back in natural loose waves—a stark contrast to the unnatural bleached-blonde shit Amber rocks as a hair color. Her full, pouty lips were stained blood red, popping against her flawless complexion, and I imagine how fucking stunning she’d look with it smeared all over her face as I throat fuck her.

My mind then moves to her body. Yeah, she’s tall for a chick but that never bothered me. I’ve always towered over everyone, so a girl with some height on her isn’t an issue. If anything, the taller the girl means the longer the legs to wrap around you. I think about those sexy-as-fuck black jean cutoff shorts she was rocking, hugging the curve of her full hips, and exposing her long tan legs for me. I remember as my gaze raked over her, traveling all the way down to her cherry-red low top Vans. Who the fuck rocks Vans to a club? She does. And you know what? The memory of seeing them paired with that little shredded Rolling Stones tee has my dick ten times harder than any of those bitches in stilettos and their short skirts could have gotten it.

And when I leaned in and caught a scent of her perfume… jasmine and vanilla… she had my mouth watering. She had me putting in game trying to land her. But you wanna know what really hooked me? When she straight-up turned my ass down.

I don’t consider myself arrogant. Confident? Sure. I worked hard to get to the top and now that I’m here, there’s no shortage of bodies to warm my bed. But this chick? She wasn’t having it. She shot my ass down so fast, I was left reeling in her wake. I’m still sitting here whiplashed by her smartass remarks. Honestly? You know what I think of that defiant little mouth? That it has a direct line to my dick. It’s been a fucking minute since a girl made me chase her. I forgot how hot it is.

Jesus, what the fuck is my malfunction? I breathed the same air as this girl for three minutes and I already feel the possessive pull taking root in my brain. A possessive pull that, when I saw her leave the club with that asshole Nicky C., had my inner monster raging.

An obnoxious throat clearing sounds out from the driver seat, pulling me back to the present.

“Jonsie,” Bentley states, breaking the silence as he hands me a blunt.

“What?” I feel my face contort into a look of confusion as I take it from him.

“Her name,” he continues. “The chick from the club. Her name is Jonsie. Or at least that’s what they call her.”

I’m mid-pull when my adrenaline spikes at the realization of what he’s telling me. I try to remain calm and act like he didn’t just seize my full attention with his knowledge surrounding the siren from the club. However, I must be doing a shit job because Bent just smirks at me as I realize I’ve now practically fully turned in my seat to face him.

Bent and I have been boys since we were in diapers. Ain’t no way I’m getting one over on him. Even still, doesn’t mean I’m gonna give the smug bastard the satisfaction of knowing just how twisted this chick got me.

“So, who is she? Since when is Nicky C. wifed up?” I take another hit, holding the smoke in my lungs as I pass it back to Bent.

“He’s not,” Bentley replies, eyes still fixated on the road, not offering up any additional info. Jesus Christ, he’s really gonna make me work for it, isn’t he? Fucking shit.

“So, she’s what? Just one of his side pieces?” I find myself equal parts annoyed and relieved. Annoyed, because what kind of fucking idiot would keep a dime piece like that as a simple slot in the rotation? And relieved because the thought of a shit like Nicky C. exclusively owning something as stunning as her makes me borderline homicidal with envy.

I’m not what one would call an ethically sound man. I steal, I deal, and if I told you I didn’t know how hard it is to move a body once rigor mortis starts to set in then I’d be lying to you. I’ve only been on this Earth twenty-one years, but that’s long enough for me to know I’m a fucked-up dude. But I still live by a code.

Wifeys are off limits. You don’t fuck, snatch, or harm another boss’s wifey. Side pieces, though? Fair fucking game as far as I’m concerned. And while I’m not particularly thrilled with the idea of Nicky C.’s sloppy seconds, for that one I’d be willing to make an exception and just fuck any trace of him out of her.

“Bent,” I snap, my brows raising in annoyance.

“Yeah, boss?” He glances over at me with that smug smirk.

I know he’s loving every minute of this. Bent doesn’t call me boss. We’ve been bros too long for that shit. He’s being a dick for the sake of watching me squirm.

“You’re gonna make me shoot ya, aren’t you?” I glare at him as he launches into a fit of laughter.

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