Page 19 of O'Mega's Revenge
He talked about things. People. Danielle. Chatted while I drank.
“She leave?” I finally asked the question burning in my brain. Please let my gut be wrong.
“Last I saw, Quick had her keys, so no.”
“Good.”
He shook his head at me.
“What?” My irritability shone through the single word.
“Ma says that when, I mean if, I argue with Danielle, I should just apologize right up front and wait to ask what the fuck I did wrong later.”
I angled my head to gawk at him. “She said that?”
“Yup.”
Fucking deep. And bullshit.
He picked up a rock and threw it toward the deep water. A bullfrog croaked to the night. An answering call came from the western edge of the marsh. He returned it, to show the interloper who was boss.
“That’s fucking stupid, man.”
“Ma’s never steered me wrong.” He picked at the cracks between the boards. The gravel tracked up onto the dock no matter how often he bitched at the guests not to tramp through the gravel around the edge.
“She practically married you to Danielle after the first night you slept together.” Then Jackson put the hammer down and ordered him to do it. Sprout took his damn time making sure Danielle knew it was really his idea, not anyone else’s.
He held up a finger. “All we did was sleep.”
That was a damn lie. I told him that.
“Scout’s honor.” He made a crossing sign over his chest.
“That ain’t how you do it.” I slapped his hand down. He deflected it.
“Sue me. I was never a Boy Scout.”
Truth. Then again, Sprout was a much better person than I was, and I fucking made it past Webelos. Loved the woods, hated listening. But I was getting side-tracked.
“So, your ma tells you how to handle Danielle?”
He made a face. “Naw. And yeah.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
His face puffed out as he let out a long gust of air. The stupid on his face was replaced by shocked introspection. “So, she tells me stuff.” He waved a hand to stop me from making fun of him.
“But I don’t fucking listen to her. I mean, shit.” He gave me that face that said, “What kind of idiot do you think I am,” but it really proved he thought deep down he was an idiot.
“So?”
“So, then I fuck up, and yeah.” He tossed another rock. It landed with a little plink.
“Your ma, she’s a good one.”
“Best biker bitch you’ll ever meet. Worth a hundred of those fucking DHMC bitches.”
“To Destroyer women.” I raised the bottle in toast and drank deep. His ma was the shit. Widowed over twenty years. Maybe even twenty-five now. Never remarried and never strayed from the club. She was more of a Destroyer than half the guys I called brothers. Then there was Sprout. Legacy son. Born to be a biker. Had every reason to leave and stuck it out.
