Page 48 of Dev

I’m about to order another drink when the expression on Ruckus’s face suddenly changes, and pulling back his shoulders, he stands up a little taller. “Well, well, well.” He looks to the door, and when I turn my head and see Greaser standing in its frame, the huge bag he dumps from his shoulder onto the floor suggests this ain’t just a passing visit.

“Now, that ain’t much of a welcome home, is it?” He laughs at everyone who's staring at him and marches over to the bar. His huge hand slams hard into Ruckus’s back.

“What ya doing here, Grease?” Wrath abandons Eden and makes his way over. Not looking impressed to see him.

“What the hell d’ya think I’m doing? Tryin’ to get a drink. Where the fuck is Pol?” He scans the room looking for her as if nothing’s happened.

“I thought you were riding nomad, now?” Ruckus looks confused.

“What can I say? I missed all you mother fuckers.” Greaser sniggers.

“I really think you need to talk to Raze,” Wrath warns him. Last time we saw Greaser, things were hostile between the two of ’em. He left because he didn’t like the direction Raze was taking us in, and I don’t know what this attitude he brought here with him is, but I don’t think Prez is gonna like it.

“So you're here to stay?” Ruckus checks and when the door opens back up, and Vike walks back inside with Alicia, I watch his skin turn pale when he sees our new visitor.

“Oh, yeah, I’m here to stay,” Greaser assures us, smiling to himself as his eyes fix on Alicia and he knocks back his beer.

I leave the club just after midnight, heading home to my empty house and stepping straight to the refrigerator to grab myself a beer. The peach cobbler Jean from next door made is still in there waiting to be eaten. I always thought she left her little parcels on the doorstep for Corey’s benefit; that she felt sorry for him being raised by the likes of me. It seems she’s taken pity on me, too, now. She even had her son mow my front lawn the other day, though I’m not sure if that was out of kindness or just because my lack of fucks was making the street look untidy.

I decide to leave the cobbler where it is. I don’t seem to have much of an appetite lately, not for anything other than finding Quinnell and ripping out his spine.

I’m convinced that Burlusconi knows more than what he’s telling us about that bastard, and I’m determined to find out what that thing is. So far, there has been no consequence for thehundreds of weapons we took from his shipyard, but I can’t see Quinnell letting that go. He’s playing us at our own game. Biding his time, keeping low, and no doubt…watching.

I pop the cap on my beer and take a seat in the armchair, not bothering to put on the TV. Now I’m alone with no one to judge me but myself, I’ve got something much better I can look at. I take my phone outta my pocket and scroll to the pictures I sent myself from Corey’s phone. Before I gave it to Millie, I made sure I had all the memories I wanted from it. I also couldn't resist stealing a few of my brother’s, sending myself some pictures he’d taken of her.

I had no idea that Corey had such a talent for photography, or maybe it’s just the subject that makes each image look so striking.

It’s obvious how much he loved her. He’d captured her in every single way: dressed up for prom, looking tired in her uniform after a shift, and sleeping with her hair all messed up on his bed. My cock goes hard every time I fuckin’ look at them, and I have no idea why I torture myself the way I do by keeping them on here.

Placing down my beer, I give in to temptation and unbuckle my belt, taking my cock in my fist and pulling it through my palm. I think about those lips again, how soft and gentle they were, and how fuckin’ right they felt against mine. How could they have, when all this is so fuckin’ wrong? I bite my lip hard when I remember how I kissed her back. I let all the tension in me release, and for those few short seconds, I let myself believe that she could be mine.

Knowing the girl wants me to do it all over again makes holding back seem impossible. Does she not understand what I’m trying to protect her from? Doesn’t she see the wrong in this, the way I do? I need to get a better grip of myself, and not the kinda grip that I got on myself right now. Because it’s sick.

I speed up my hand when I close my eyes and picture her in what she was wearing tonight. Her skirt was far too short, her top left nothing to the imagination. Millie Dawson came to the club tonight looking for attention, and she got all of mine. I have to stop letting her have that kinda power over me.

This last month that she’s stayed away hasn’t been easy, even though it’s what I told her to do. I’ve hated it. I can’t count the amount of times I’ve ridden past the diner. There have even been days when I’ve thought about going inside. All this is such a betrayal of Corey, yet I can’t stop flicking through his photos of her on my phone.

I pause when I get to my favorite one of her sitting on my bike out front, sticking out her tongue and posing all seductively. I have no idea how she manages to look so adorable at the same time. No doubt, Corey would have dared her to do it; he knew damn well how angry I get about people touching my bike. But lookin’ at this picture now, makes me realize how much I want her on it. I want her on my saddle, I want her on my mouth again. In my hands. In my life. I want her fuckin’ everywhere. I just can’t fuckin’ have her.

“Darling, we have something we’d like to discuss with you.” I know as soon as I walk into the dining room and see the way the breakfast table’s set up that I’m not going to like what that something is.

Mom has got out her best china…well, Rachel has. And she and Dad are sitting, their backs straight, while they wait for me to join them.

“Look, if this is about me sneaking out last nigh?—”

“Frank.” Mom looks to Dad, urging him to get to the point before I’ve even finished.

You’re mother and I have been discussing your options,” Dad tells me, wiping the corner of his mouth with his napkin and clearing his throat.

“What options?” I stare between them, confused.

“We were thinking it might be a good idea for you to attend college out of state, perhaps in New York with your Aunt Maeve,” Mom explains.

“Aunt Maeve?” I repeat, wondering if this is some kind of joke. My parents know how much I hate my mom’s sister, and Dad detests the woman just as much as I do.

“Yes, dear, there are some wonderful colleges in New York.” Mom smiles as if she’s doing me a favour.

“But I’m enrolled in a college here. It’s too short notice to change all that now,” I remind them.

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