Page 9 of Macon

“Someone used to call you DamnDean? What’s up?” I ask, wondering why the sudden sadness.

“Someone used to call me Dean, and it took me by surprise, is all,” Ray explains as I watch her facial features change.

When I rub my face again, she huffs and says, “I’m sorry. You started thrashing around, getting louder and more agitated. I tried shaking you to wake up, but nothing worked, so I slapped you.”

I look around the room and see we’re in one of the clubhouse rooms, but not my room upstairs. The bed seems like we’ve had a night of fucking, but I know we haven’t, so I must have been thrashing around.

Dammit. I shake my head.

We partied pretty hard last night.

Memories of the last two days come barreling in. We had a meeting with our rival club, the Black Crows. Dallas found out information about his doctor. Dallas rushed back to Doc for answers. We met Doc’s friends Vi and Raydene, and a drive-by shooting which led to the clubhouse being on lockdown.

This led to me watching and making sure Raydene was okay, and now, both of us are smoking weed.

With all the mayhem in the last two days, no wonder I dreamed about my late sister. I haven’t had a dream about her in a long time.

When I look back at Raydene, she seems to have relaxed, sitting on her ass with her legs crossed.

God, she’s hot. Crazy, but hot as fuck. If she were single, I’d be all over her. She’s got her walls up and seems to be hiding a fuck ton from me. I have to admit she’s got me more intrigued than interested.

“Who’s Faith?” Raydene inquires, snapping me from my thoughts.

I tilt my head against the headboard, looking up at the ceiling. I take a deep breath before shifting my eyes to her.

I usually don’t talk about my sister, but fuck it.

“She’s my dead sister,” I rush out.

Shock fills her eyes. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

I shake my head, regretting it instantly as the pounding starts.

“Don’t be. She died a long time ago. I was twelve years old when it happened.”

When she doesn’t say anything, I chuckle. “She likes to haunt my dreams.”

Raydene’s expression switches to concern and asks, “Why do you say that?”

Needing pain relief, I grab a joint next to the bed and light it up, taking a long drag. Exhaling, I explain, “She comes to my dreams and tells me to watch out for a girl with two faces.”

Raydene doesn’t say anything.

I laugh.

“I know, right? It’s wild. Same fucking dream. Her getting into my aunties SUV…” I pause and take another hit. “The same SUV that she died in and says the same fucking shit each time. Watch out for the girl with two faces. She needs you or some bullshit like that,” I say, running my hand through my hair.

Raydene moves to sit next to me, leaning against the headboard. She grabs the joint and takes a hit.

We sit silently for a few minutes before she asks, “Does she come to you often?”

I shake my head. “Nah, it’s usually when I’m sober.” I grab the joint back from her, lifting it in front of us. “Hence why I’m always high.”

She smiles. “Seriously?”

I tilt my head to look at her. “Yep.” I say popping the ‘P.’ “Which is why it’s bizarre it happened last night. We were really high.”

We both laugh.

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