Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Her lips part but no words come out. She walks over to the chair to get her shoe. “You want to blame me so you feel better? Fine. But I’m not the bad guy. I think you need to talk to your beloved club.”
The room is silent save for our harsh breathing and the never-ending sound of LA’s traffic.
“The fuck are you saying?” She’s so magnificent in all her rage that my brain is slow to process what she’s telling me. Either that or I’m in denial.
She sighs and looks at the ceiling then straight at me. Frustration, pain, and regret, it’s all there and I almost take a step back.
“Jesus, Edge. I tried. From the moment you saved me from Troy, I wanted to testify. They locked me in my room. I tried to see you, and they said no.”
“They? Who the fuck is they?” I snarl.
“My dad. The club. All of them. I was told that if I tried to contact you, you’d get raped in jail.” She waves her hands around. “But like a fucking loser, I still tried. Unlike you,” she hisses.
My mind spins as I remember back to the numerous times I asked Chuckie or Prez about her. All my constant questions about where she was, how she was doing. On and on and Shark and the Prez always said she was fine and that she had moved on. Or was busy in school. That she was free to contact me if she wanted. I grab my jeans and pull them on.
“Edge? What are you doing?” She reaches for my arm.
“Get ready. We’re leaving,” I spit out. My mind seems unwilling to face anything other than the idea that Dolly is to blame.
Not the club, my brothers. Everyone I love.
“Fuck.” I grab the lamp attached to the nightstand and rip it off. Rage. It can make even the weakest strong. I’ve lived on it. It’s what made me get up and stay awake at night.
They lied. They let me bleed. Let me lose faith in the one person I love. I throw the lamp off the fucking balcony and hear the satisfying sound of broken glass.
“Holy shit.” Dolly runs out to look down. She spins and holds up a hand. “It’s okay. No one is out on the sidewalk and you missed a car.” From the sound of her voice, she’s trying to remain calm while I’m seconds from tearing the sheets off the bed and tossing tables.
My breathing is harsh as I close my eyes and talk myself down, much like I did as a child when my pain and anger wanted to take over. I’ve worked hard to be the one who stays even, never flinching, never scared.
“Edge?” Dolly’s hand touches my cheek. Opening my eyes, I see the love and sadness in her eyes. “What are you going to do?” She sounds almost tired.
“Get dressed,” I snap, picking up her shoe from under the chair.
“You’re scaring me. Don’t do anything stupid or… rash.”
I turn to her and cup her cold cheeks. “This matters. We matter. I need to talk to your dad and Chuckie. I was led to believe all sorts of things and I want an explanation.”
Our eyes connect. I see the truth now.
She’s not lying.
The thing is I’m not stupid or rash. I know exactly why Shark and the club did what they did.
The question is do I allow it?
EDGE
Eighteen years old
“I think she’s crazy. No. I know she’s crazy. How can she be the mother of my baby?” David sits in one of the booths in our shithole strip club. He’s supposed to be helping me get it in shape so that it’s not that much of a shithole.
Unfortunately, he’s been here for days and all he’s done is fuck and party with the girls rather than help me with what I’m trying to create here.
I glance over my shoulder at him and take a swig from the bottle of Wild Turkey on the table. Those new neon lights I had installed wrap around the bar area. I’m checking them out to see how they work. Seems I can switch them to pink, blue, or purple.
“You didn’t wrap it up, man. I guess you don’t have a choice,” I say and wonder why I’m even bothering to talk to him. He’s high on cocaine and I’ve lost count of how much booze he’s consumed.
“Fuck.” He shakes his blond head at me, his silver eyes bloodshot.
“When’s the last time you ate?”
“I had a burrito this morning.”
I want to say that must have been yesterday, but why bother?
He keeps talking to me over the music. “You don’t understand.” His head drops down and he does another line of cocaine.
“Christ, aren’t you supposed to go to the doctor with her in a couple of hours?”