Page 94 of I Was Born Ruined (Death by Daybreak MC 1)
“Funny how rumors work, huh?” I ask, feeling the beat of the music in the bottoms of my feet. “Sometimes they get things dead wrong.” I pull the cocaine out from inside my jacket and see Trevone’s eyes widen. “And sometimes they get them dead right.” He snatches the drugs in mid-air and grins at me. “You know how to lay out a line?”
“I’m guessing you can teach me?” he asks, and I shrug, setting my beer down and getting out a pack of cigarettes. I smile with red-red lips as I cup a hand up against the wind, and light up.
“Of course I fucking can. I’m an outlaw’s daughter, aren’t I?”Only a noob lays out lines with a credit card. That much I do know from being around the club. Razorblades are where it’s at, according to Cade Grainger. Fucking Grainger, I think as I serve up lines of coke to the entire senior class of Ashbury High. Dena, especially, is excited to the point of squealing. You’d think I was passing out free Louboutins, and not highly addictive and illegal narcotics.
I am most definitely going to hell, I think as I down another beer and light up another cigarette. Despite Crown’s warning, I’m not at all tempted by the drugs. I’ll stick to my lesser vices, thank you very much.
Glancing up from the old coffee table, I spot Reba in the back of the room, watching me. She is quite clearly pissed the hell off, her arms folded over her white and red cherry dress, hair twisted up in a chignon. She looks like she’s on her way to a cotillion, not standing in the crumbling living room of a long-abandoned house. Rap music blares from Johnny R.’s speakers, making what little glass is left in the windowpanes shake.
When she turns away in a huff of red hair and skirts, I stand up and follow after her, certain that there’s not enough blow left for anyone to get into too much trouble.
Reba’s waiting for me when I round the corner and find her in the archway that leads to the old dining room. Leaning my shoulder against the rotting woodwork, I cross my arms over my chest, the alcohol buzzing in my head like a swarm of bees. I wish they’d sting my brain until I was so full of venom, I forgot who I was and where I was going. To an early grave, most like.
Stan comes on over the speakers, a little old-school Eminem to rouse the crowd. I can hear them all rapping from here. The melancholy vibe of the lyrics suits my mood perfectly.
“Really, Gidge, you’re a drug dealer now?” Reba asks, spinning back around, red curls bouncing. Her green eyes are full of tears; they might as well be an ocean between us, a salty sea that capsizes every ship I try to send. I can’t build relationships here, with the club and the mafia. That lesson’s something I should’ve learned long ago, when my sisters’ shiny coffins were lowered into the dark shadows of the earth.
“Cat says jump, I ask how high.” My voice is dry and far away, almost tinny. Too much booze, too much nicotine, too much bullshit. My heart feels heavy, my skin clammy. Tomorrow. It has to be tomorrow. Cat isn’t going to give me much more time.
“You …” Reba starts, cocking her head to one side, her pretty Southern perfection contrasted against the ragged old glory of the Jensen Manor, all of that sprawling urban decay making her seem even more untouchable. But even the righteous bleed. That much I’ve seen with my own eyes. Goodbye Reba, I think as she takes a step toward me and pauses again. “You’ve never once cared what your father had to say,” she reminds me, and I give a tight smile. What can I really say? I still don’t? That I’m going to disappear and never talk to her again? “What’s going on, Gidge? You know I don’t believe any of that stuff you said to me in the driveway.” She reaches up to touch the soft fabric of her white cashmere sweater, probably reaching for the bruises on her back. I’m sorry, I really am. I hadn’t meant to push her that hard.
“Really? Because you should,” I start, but my words are slurred. And it’s not just the alcohol, it’s the grief, too. Reba and Fem are the only people in my life that I still care about. What am I going to do without them?
“Jesus Christ, Gidge!” Reba shouts, slapping a hand over her mouth. My eyes widen. That’s literally the first time I’ve ever heard her curse like that. If this were any other situation, any other day, I’d be teasing her mercilessly.
Instead … “Can you take Fem for me?” I ask, and her brows go up. She reaches up to fiddle with her pearl necklace. Again, not the best time for jokes. “I’ll put him in the backyard tomorrow and let Nellie know you’ll be by to pick him up.” My mother’s far too stupid to put two and two together. I’ll just have to be sure that whoever’s on guard-duty in the morning—piece of shit Grainger, I think—doesn’t hear me tell her that. The asshole’s too smart for his own good.
