Page 19 of The First Cut
“The bastard that was upstairs fuckin’ his new whore in our bed?” He laughs—a cruel, ugly sound that grates on my already raw nerves.
I’m well aware of what Havoc and his old lady got up to in my bed. I was the one who came home to find the evidence of their lovemaking on my sheets. I spent the rest of the day throwing up, wondering how the boy I once loved turned into a man who could so easily hurt me like that.
“That’s why you’ve been sleepin’ on the couch, right?” He smirks, swaying slightly.
He’s right, of course—but how does he know?
My expression must give something away, because he snorts. “Hadda make sure you didn’t go runnin’ back to him. R’member, Lola—I always got eyes on you.”
“I didn’t run, Driller. I wouldn’t.”
“I dunno know if that makes you smart or fuckin’ stupid.”
I do, but I keep my mouth shut.
“Yer lucky, though. If you’d run to Havoc, you’da risked yerself andmykid. I got plans for Havoc and the mother chapter, and I sure as shit ain’t changin’ 'em for you.”
Thoughts swirl in my head. What exactly does he mean? He has plans—plans to do what?
“Now don’t you go worryin’ yer pretty lil’ head 'bout the details, baby. Jus’ know… when me an’ Khan are done, there ain’t gonna be no more Havoc for you to cry over. Hell, if you’reinto it, we’ll visit his damn grave—and I’ll fuck you right over it. Mark the occasion, you know?” He laughs loudly, stumbling over to the doorway. “Be a good girl, Lola,” he slurs. “An’ maybe you might just come outta this in one piece.” He winks before he staggers down the hallway and leaves, slamming the front door behind him.
The sound ricochets off the walls, making my heart beat wildly out of control as I stand frozen in shock. I don’t know how long I stand there, but then my body starts shaking. Holding the torn remains of my T-shirt together, I walk over to the fridge on shaky legs and close it.
Leaving the kitchen, I head upstairs, not entirely sure that my legs won’t give out. I walk through the door to my room, and stop, staring at the bed. Since I haven’t been sleeping in here, I never bothered to close the drapes. They’re still wide open, and moonlight pours into the room, giving me plenty of light to see.
The bed’s stripped bare. I throw sheets in the washer the second I got home, but looking at the mattress still turns my stomach. I hate it here—this house, and the memories. Every day I stay, I die a little more. And with no other choice, I just let it happen.
But haven’t I suffered enough already?
I think about what Driller said, and his threats against Havoc, and shiver.
“Don’t do it, Lola. Don’t stick your neck out for someone who’d happily watch you hang,” I mutter, peeling off the ruined T-shirt and heading into the bathroom.
I turn the shower on as hot as I can stand and step under the water, scrubbing every inch of my body until my skin is red and raw. Once I’m done, I turn the water off and climb out, drying off before dabbing some antibacterial ointment on the bite on my chest. I grit my teeth—it stings like a motherfucker, but the last thing I need is for it to become infected. Blowing out a deepbreath, I grip the edge of the sink and force myself to look in the mirror.
The area around my eye’s already swollen and starting to bruise, so I’ll have to stay in for a few days or cover it with makeup. A sweatshirt with a high collar will hide everything else.
I walk back into the bedroom and stand next to the dresser, hesitating for a moment as my eyes drift over to the window and the big, bright moon staring back at me.
“Shit. Fuck. Dammit,” I curse. I’m an idiot for doing this. But I’m doing it anyway.
I pull on a pair of clean underwear and some ripped jeans that sit low enough on my hips to fasten them under my bump. I don’t bother with a bra, knowing it will aggravate the bite. Instead, I tug on a red tank top and then an oversize sweatshirt that hides my bump.
Walking over to the closet, I grab one of Driller’s baseball caps, tucking my hair under it before pulling it down over my head. Then, from the back of the closet, I pull out the canvas messenger bag with the broken strap I’ve had since high school and carry it into the room that’s slowly becoming a nursery. I started painting it yellow—something cheerful and neutral—before I found out I was having a boy. Now, I’m tempted to repaint it a light green or a sky blue, then adding something bright to detract from the rest of this hellhole.
Shaking my head, I walk over to the toolbox I left sitting against the far wall and grab a screwdriver. I take the paint tray from the steps of the ladder and lay it on the floor before dragging the ladder over to the air vent. Climbing up carefully, I unscrew the vent cover and pull out the two items. Once the cover’s back in place, I climb down. I put everything back where I found it and look around the room to make sure nothing seems out of place before shoving the items into my bag.
Hurrying downstairs, I take a bottle from the cupboard and fill it with water before grabbing a couple sleeves of crackers and tossing them into my bag. Taking a deep breath, I consider backing out of this crazy idea, but I know I’ll never be able to live with the guilt if I don’t at least try. So with that in mind, I head to the door, grabbing my sunglasses and wallet on the way. I shove my feet into my beat-up Converse, then slowly ease the door open.
I look around, making sure the coast is clear, then slip outside and head to the garage. It used to house Havoc’s prized possession—his dad’s bike—but now it’s where Driller keeps his beat-up old truck. It’s seen better days, but at least it still runs. Climbing in, I toss my bag on the passenger seat and pull down the sun visor, letting the keys drop into my sweaty palm. As I shove them into the ignition, I acknowledge all the things that could go wrong with this stupid plan. But I tell the voice in my head to shut up and carry on like the idiot I am anyway.
There are two ways in and out of the compound. The front entrance leads straight to the clubhouse, where most people enter and exit. It’s always guarded by a two-man team of rotating prospects, day and night, which is why I’ve never tried to slip out that way before. The rear exit is much smaller and only really used for deliveries. Usually, it’s guarded by one prospect—and the dogs.
If Driller snuck in, there’s no way he would’ve come through the front. Too many people would’ve spotted him. The back entrance, though, is generally empty at this time of night, except for the prospect. As VP, Driller could’ve easily found out who was supposed to be on guard tonight and ordered them to stand down, not turn up at all or simply look the other way.
I have no idea why Khan and Driller aren’t here. I half expect them to stroll in as if everything’s fine. I’m not stupid, though. Something’s clearly going on between them and the motherchapter, but anyone who knows is being tight-lipped about it. The fact that they both went missing while Havoc and the brothers from the mother chapter were here, though, says a lot. And I know I’m not the only one with questions.
It also makes me wonder if Acid and Knuckles are involved somehow. It seems way too much of a coincidence for them to go nomad now—especially when they’re Driller and Khan’s biggest supporters. Shit, what if the four of them are out there, planning to take over the mother chapter? Then they’d never have to answer to anyone. It’s that thought that forces me to continue.
