Page 70 of Manhattan Secret
I get more pissed off thinking about it.
“Let’s go,” I signal after ten minutes. “Don’t forget to wipe down,” I warn when we climb out of the sweet ride some twenty minutes later at the dealer garage.
Kian wiggles his gloved hands. “Not my first rodeo, Bishop.” And then. “Speaking of,” he says, as we saunter off up the street to his Rover, we hop in. “There’s this kid in my class, whining that he’s gonna fail his summer history class, blah blah. Kid is thick as pig shite, Lachie,” Kian chuckles madly. Thankfully driving us home slower than the NASCAR shit we’ve just been doing. “I enquired, subtle like, how much he’s willing to pay to make a passing grade. His momma is rich as a bitch can be, talk was she used to do porn and made a killing back in the day. I’ve seen her, I wouldn’t say no to a spin.”
“TMI.”
“You’re only saying that ‘cause you have your own old chick.”
“Laney isn’t old.”
She’s perfect.
Even pissed off at her.
Still no messages.
She’s begging for a spanking and to be put on her knees.
But the little mouse would love that too much.
How can she go to sleep when I feel like my brain is leaking trauma out of my ears?
I don’t need reminding that as the haze of selfishness sits as heavy and obstructing on me as a thick blanket, she is mine. Maybe my girl needs that lesson though. Maybe she needs showing in basic terms just how savage our beasts are when we face each other, straining and starving for what only the other can give.
“What did he say?”
“He got real interested all of a sudden. You know how talk is around school about the Bishop. Half thinks he’s an urban myth and the other half know how to keep their fucking traps shut.”
That’s true. It’s like that old movie. What happens in Fight Club stays in Fight Club.
Anyone who’s ever been given passage to the Bishop…aka..moi, are warned that I know how to ruin their whole existence with just a few clicks if they ever open their mouths on what they know.I mean it too. They’d never get into a good college, never get credit. I’d even be so petty as to put them on some watch list as a dick swinging predator.
“Long story short, he needs help and has mommy’s plastic to pay for it.”
“Give him my number, I’ll see what I can do.”
If not for leaving my car at Kian’s place when he gave me a ride toGinger Girlearlier, I would have missed the scene we pulled up to.
His house is lit up like the Vegas strip.
“Fuck,” Kian mutters, parking at the side of my Escalade.
He yanks the gloves off and shoves them into the glove compartment.
Fuck is right, because the engine isn’t even switched off when the front door opens and out steps Ronan MacNamara and my dad.
I chuckle, unfazed. “This should be good.”
“Fuck off. I was already on a warning.”
“Then why take the car tonight?”
He grins that lunatic kind of grin and rolls a shoulder that will one day undoubtedly get the kid in real trouble if he keeps messing with the wrong people. “Easy money, why else? Too hard to say no to.”
His family aren’t hurting for money. I’m guessing it’s more the thrill than the coin. We each have our thrill-seeking ways to get the blood pumping and mine is across town sleeping soundly in her little girl bed.
Stepping down, I meet the sardonic expression my dad wears.
