Page 20 of O'Mega's Revenge
“Why do you stay in the club?”
He glanced at me before studying the lake. Finally, he spoke. “It’s home.”
“But with Danielle, you don’t need us anymore.”
“The fuck I don’t.” His words were fast and decisive.
“Well, I stand corrected.”
He turned toward me.
“Wolf,” he didn’t continue. His face held a million words. And if I was patient, I might have unlocked a cosmic secret. Opened the gates to wisdom from bikers a generation or more past. But I was a drunken asshole.
“It’s my name.”
He blew a raspberry.
“You’re a fucktard.”
That was more like it. I laughed.
“What did you fight about this time?” he asked.
I shrugged.
Maybe I knew, maybe I didn’t. I wasn’t a fucking mind reader. She was angry about the prostitutes. But it wasn’t because of who they were or what they were doing. It was more about her past than anything. I should have minded that better.
In some ways, she was like glass. Heartbreakingly beautiful when the light hit her just right. Clear, pale skin and the hint of blue veins where she was most delicate. And in most ways, she was steel. A blade honed to razor precision. A thing worthy of the word, covet. A man would pay anything to possess such duality in the flesh. Both were a product of her past. She’d been broken and folded and forged and beaten over and over again until the result was something that begged for a new meaning. Infinitely feminine and yet stronger than any man. Because deep down, any man would have broken under what she went through. Even me.
But even through it all, she glowed. Her captor taught her philosophy and tactics, brutality, and refinement. She was, in theory, perfect.
And wild. Running like a feral thing in the darkest of wildernesses. That called to me the most.
“I don’t know what to do, Sprout.” I loved her. Had loved her since I caught the fight in her eyes, even hanging in a cage bleeding.
“Dude, you are so fucked up. Are you asking me for advice?”
I held up the almost empty bottle as proof of my state. And since, yes, I’d admitted there was a problem with Meghan and I, then I’d stooped as low as to ask the class clown for advice so… But sometimes, the fool is the wisest person.
“Yeah.”
“Marry her.”
I laughed in his face.
“You asked.”
I had. Shit advice. I stood up.
The world swayed around me, and it wasn’t from the dock. In an act so stupid, I knew it was wrong but did it anyway, I slammed the rest of the liquor and prepared to throw the bottle as far as I could.
Somehow, Sprout not only snatched the bottle out of my hand but steered me uphill. That took a bit. For every step forward, I swear I staggered five steps back. Gravity was not my friend.
“Take me to Meghan.”
“I’m so surprised she hasn’t killed you yet.”
“She loves me.” I dropped onto my heels, which spun into two more steps backward as I reeled from the realization.
