Page 21 of Dr Feel Good
“Hand over the briefcase,” Trixie demanded, pointing a revolver shotgun at my heart while Chantilly aimed an Uzi at my head.
“I want that fucking money, Athena,” Thirteen spat.
I looked around, praying for a small opening, a way to distract them, but finding nothing. “Fuck you.”
They’d take the briefcase once they gunned me down, but no fucking way would I just hand it over. Fuck them.
Trixie opened fire. Not on me, but on Fendi. Again.
The bullets tore into her flesh, ruining her a little more. I’d held my dead baby in my arms, so fuck them.
Seemingly through a tunnel, I watched Thirteen reload her shotgun, put it to Fendi’s temple, and pull the trigger. Her head exploded, and I leaned over and vomited.
“Give me the fucking briefcase, Athena,” she ordered again, aware she’d just completely fucked with my head. I was defenseless and at their mercy, which left me no choice but to allow their abuse of my VP.
“Roman’s dead,” Thirteen spat, brimming with anger and resentment. “All the brothers from the KC chapter are.”
What the fuck did she want me to say?
“On your fucking knees,” Trixie ordered, a wad of spit hurtling from her mouth.
Still clutching the briefcase, I dropped to my knees. Thirteen sauntered forward and jammed her reloaded shotgun against my temple.
My eyes flew open. Drenched in sweat, I blinked, and my heart pounded. It took me a moment to realize that I’d been dreaming about that awful night, and that I was currently safe…
Safe…
“Doc?”
No response.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but I only saw blood and gore. As if I’d faced her. The entire scene replayed in my head. Fendi landing on my back. The shotgun they put to her head…
A shudder ran through me, but I allowed no other reaction.
This world wasn’t for the weak and the meek. In my experience, my existence diminished every time a tear slid down my cheek. It exposed a frailty, a fact that something in my world had gone horribly wrong.
My lost virginity in exchange for two hundred fifty dollars because my father pissed away that same amount after Mama earned it on her back. Choosing between Warrior and my family when starry-eyed love sent me into his arms. Until him, sex, my body, had been currency. Finding out my parents had been killed by one of Mama’s johns. Losing my baby. Warrior’s ultimatum and the discovery that he was fucking Fendi as revenge.
Devastating events that ripped me to pieces and exposed all my vulnerabilities. Some people shed ‘happy’ tears because maybe they were able to compartmentalize. Or maybe they hadn’t endured my trauma.
Yet, every time I thought about Fendi, I came close to breaking down. Even as I hoped she’d somehow survived, I knew that was a pipe dream. She was gone, and not only in thedeadsense. They’d taken her. They’d taken Razor’s money. Not that it mattered, because the blame lay at his feet.
Motherfucker. Traitorous old noodle-dick fuckhead. He’d set us up and would make us the scapegoats. There was no fucking way those cunts would’ve known our location without someone feeding them that information.
That money hadn’t been for Roman Mac’s help. It was a Bloody Femme payoff to fuck us up.
But why? What had we ever done to Razor except prove our loyalty through blood and sweat? Our shops earned money for the Bastards, enough that we sent a percentage to the KC chapter, to National, and to Duchess, and still had enough to give my club members a decent amount. Whenever Razor, Jameson, or Duchess had a job for us, we never complained. We got it done with smiles on our faces and determination in our hearts.
So, what fucking reason would Razor have to order our deaths?
An even more alarming thought settled into me, and I shot into a sitting position, then moaned. Fucking gunshots. Those bitches hurt, yet I was pretty mobile all things considered. Either Dr. Feel Good was a crack surgeon, or the injuries weren’t as bad as I imagined.
Dr. Feel Good. Bet he wouldn’t like either Motley Crue’s songorAretha’s.
Snickering, I scooted to the edge of the bed, grunting the entire way, but I needed to piss, and I didn’t want to deal with that snooty motherfucker when all I wanted to do was sob.
In the two days since I awakened, I’d gotten stronger. Mainly because Dr. Feel Good was also Dr. Fuckhead, insisting I walk to get my strength and ordering my every move as if he had the fucking right.
