Page 8 of Lost Soul

“You don’t need to know.” He shakes his head.

“Yeah, I do, Jessie. Don’t do that,” I warn, my own smile fading as I straighten myself up in the bench seat.

“Do what?” He pretends like he has no idea what I’m talking about.

“What you always do, trying to shield me from the truth, it pisses me off,” I sulk.

“You gonna make me wash your mouth out with soap now?” he asks, looking at me with his forearm resting over the wheel, taking another shot at skirting around the truth.

“Jessie…” I warn him again.

“You really wanna know?” he sighs, his voice almost begging not to make him tell me.

“I really wanna know,” I assure him.

“Okay fine,” he shrugs. “Tommy said some shit ‘bout Prez’s daughter being too good to hang out with him, and then that Maddox fucker…” He takes a long inhale through his nostrils, looking as if he might back out of telling me.

“Jessie. I can handle it.”

“Fine. He said that you weren’t too good to be choking your throat around a DSD like a club whore.” Jessie’s eyes drop to the wheel, and for the first time in a long time he looks embarrassed.

“DSD?” I screw up my face. Jessie lets out another long breath before explaining.

“Dirty Soul Dick.”

I press my lips together tight to stop myself laughing.

“That’s ridiculous.” I let a little giggle escape, and it seems to ease him up slightly.

“I know right? Especially since his mama's sure had her fill of it over the years,” Jessie sniggers, making me instantly wonder if Maddox’s mom has had her fill of him.

“Idiots don’t know shit. I wouldn’t choke.” I wink cheekily, waiting for his reaction.

“Girl… You’re barely sixteen years old.” Jessie takes his eyes off the road to eyeball me like I’ve gone crazy. “And I don’t wanna hear that shit coming from you again... you’re set for better things than this place. It ain’t what your mama wanted for ya,” he reminds me, his tone turning serious.

“Says the guy who has wanted to wear the cut since he sprouted his first pubic hair,” I tease. I know this because I used to sneak into his room when he was out, he’d draw the club’s patch on just about everything.

“You eat, sleep, and shit this club, Jessie,” I point out.

“Yeah. I do, but we’re talking about you now.”

“Well then, don’t I get a say in what I want?” I cross my arms over my chest.

“Sure. So tell me, pretty girl. What. Do. You. Want?” he asks with a curious smile that reaches all the way to his blue eyes, and for the briefest of moments, I feel brave enough to tell him. My heart pumping full of adrenaline as the words near my tongue.

You Jessie. I want you.

I hear the words in my head, and just like when I was ten years old, with a letter written on pretty pink stationary. I hide them away again.

“What I really want is a burger and a shake from Bernie’s.” I smile a fake smile, and when he snuffles a laugh back at me, I feel myself fall that little bit harder for him.

PRESENT DAY

There’s tension in the room. The sort that has every fucker sat around the table on edge. We’re here, in church, to discuss the latest in a long piss stream of fuck-ups, and there’s no surprise that it involves the Bastards. It always involves the fucking Bastards.

Our rival club is situated about twenty miles south of town, and despite being taught the consequences enough times, they’re increasingly bringing their shit to Manitou Springs. These days the fuckers weren’t even showing us enough respect to be sly about it.

Over the years the Dirty Souls have built stable relations with the local PD. A relationship that up to now has worked perfectly. We uphold our side of the deal and keep the town clean, and as a thank you they keep the fuck out of our business.

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