Page 24 of O'Mega's Revenge
To be honest, I liked it, too. Between his ma adding a splash of the hair of the dog, and the scraped organic vanilla sugar Danielle liked, the Joe elevated from needful to elite. I hovered over the first sip, letting the smell of sharp whiskey and vanilla mix with the robust coffee tones. Best damn cure for a hangover.
“Started when Quick poured Tits into someone’s truck, and she came in all fired up. Never seen that girl angry at a god-damned soul. What the fuck did you do?”
And there it started. I looked at Sprout. He mouthed, “apologize” to me. I flipped the bird at him.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t you ‘nothing’ me. I know how bad someone can fuck up. I raised Sprout, didn’t I?”
He protested. But she ignored him.
“Did you cheat on her?”
That cut. “No.” Meghan accused me of the same damn thing. I wasn’t no cheat.
Ma’s face flashed through a couple of emotions before settling into a sharp study in “none of my business, except I’m making it my damn business” — a look I’d seen before.
“You broke her heart then.”
Maybe Sprout got his court jester wisdom from his mother’s side of the family.
Sprout mouthed “apologize,” again.
“Advice?”
She skewered me with a sharp look. “Would you take it?”
“Maybe.” Never reveal your cards until it is time.
Sprout raised his eyebrows, as if to say, “apologize.”
She took her time setting up a plate for Sprout, then carefully poured out batter for two more pancakes.
“She’s hurt. Needs a place to land. Those bitches are bound and determined to be that for her. You get there too late, and that’s what she’ll cling to, not you.”
I took it in, worked out the logistics. This woman was brilliant. Too bad she didn’t lead our club. Then again, we’d be scraping vanilla sugar into our fucking coffee every morning when we should be kicking ass. Not going to happen.
My phone buzzed at my hip. I didn’t have to look at it. With a sixth sense, I knew it was Jackson calling us to the table. Kush had to be replaced. A second later, Sprout’s buzzed.
“Can’t. Got shit to do here.”
I stood up, traded my mug for a to-go cup, and swung my head toward the door, telling Sprout we had to get moving.
“Vote’s happening.” Sprout checked his message.
His ma frowned. “Bad timing.”
“Dude, you’re not going in looking like that.” He pointed at my head.
The DHMC cut off locks of my hair. Every. Single. One got a piece. Someone carved a “M” so deep my scalp showed through. Despite that, long hanks of hair dangled in random pieces.
Danielle saved the day. “I’ll get the clippers.”
Chapter Six
“Hey Tits, wakey-wakey.”Ugh,Missile sounded too chipper to deal with. I pulled a pillow over my head.
Wait a minute, I cracked one eye to peek out from the gap. I didn’t recognize the room. My head pounded and my mouth was dry. I lifted the edge of the pillow a bit higher to see the nightstand. A takeout coffee cup sat on it. Venti-sized.
