Preppy Page 8

  “Nice shoes, wanna fuck?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  PREPPY

  What in the fuck was she wearing? Her dress was hugging her tiny waist and pushing out her tits, and suddenly it was as if I’d gone deaf because all I could hear was the blood rushing to my cock. Everything in me was shouting at me to bend this girl over and fuck her until we both fucking DIED.

  I didn’t care that Mirna was sitting right there. I didn’t care if the Pope and the Dalai Lama were watching on the sidelines with Jesus himself. All I wanted was to see that glossy red lipstick smeared all over my motherfucking cock.

  Rein it in shit-head. I scolded myself, you have more important things to be focusing on, other than her tits.

  But those tits…

  It looked like Mirna had roped in another one. I was glad too because as much as I liked her, when she’d insisted on teaching me to meditate I mostly played a recap of American Ninja Warrior in my head until she told me we were done. Her current pupil had been shocked and amazed by how good I fucking looked and had fainted across my lap, unable to get a grip on her swoon.

  OR, I’d scared the shit out of her and she fell onto me.

  It was definitely one of those two things.

  Regardless of how it happened, what stood out most to me was where her hand had landed when she tried bracing her fall. I’m not gonna lie, it was actually kind of cute when she blushed after realizing it was right over my cock.

  I admit that when I first saw her sitting there in that dress, with her hair all done up in shiny waves, and her lips painted bright red like the star in my favorite fifties porn, Rosie the Rectal Riveter, I didn’t even recognize her. My first thought was very caveman. Must put cock in pussy. But when I realized it was Dre behind that get up, it added a whole new layer of intrigue to the girl who already had me intrigued.

  I had tasted that pussy, and I liked it.

  No, I fucking loved it.

  A fucking lot.

  I wasn’t going to tell her that, but omitting information isn’t the same as lying. I wasn’t a liar. I would even go as far as to say that my strength had always been in my amazing ability to be completely and brutally honest. Of course, the gift of honesty was in addition to my sense of humor, wit, charm, character, striking good looks, phenomenal—yet classic—sense of style, and last but not least, the tribungus slab of man meat dangling between my legs.

  But I motherfucking digress.

  So when my phone vibrated, and I found myself listening wordlessly to some guy, who I quickly realized was Dre’s dad, launch right into an apology for turning his back on his only daughter, followed by a plea for me to tell him where she was so he could bring her home, my first instinct was to tell him the truth and take all the glory and credit for being the individual who successfully reunited the estranged father and daughter duo. After all, that’s what Dre had said she really wanted more than anything, to go home to her dad. And there I was—holding the capability to do just that in the palm of my hand.

  Dre plucked the fuck-me heel I’d taken off the porch from my hands. I was about to tell her that it was her dad on the line when I remembered the reason I came over in the first place. I froze with my mouth open and the phone to my ear, like Zack Morris had paused time, Saved by the Bell style.

  If Dre went home, then I’d lose my one last chance at getting Max back for King. I mean, it’s not like I hadn’t done anything for this chick, I reminded myself. I’d let her live and all.

  Motherfucking generous is what I really was.

  King had saved my life, several times over. Shit, he’s the one who gave me a life to begin with. And as far as heterosexual life-mate’s go, I’d won the fucking lottery when he showed up on the playground that day and knocked the fuck out of a bully, who I may or may not still have egged his mother’s house on a regular basis.

  I walked off and waited until I was at the back gate, far enough away, where I was positive there was no chance of Mirna or Dre hearing me before I uttered a single word. “Who the fuck is this?” I asked, inserting as much annoyance as I could into the question, interrupting Dre’s dad, who hadn’t stopped talking, his fast speaking made it almost impossible to make out his frantic plea.

  “This is Adnet Capulet. Who…who is this?” he echoed my question, anger and confusion replacing the desperation in his voice.

  “Adnet, I’m the guy who picked up the ringing phone,” I sang, “And you’re the guy who called and made the phone ring. Go ahead, ask me another one. This is fun.” I bent over to pick a sand spur from the side of my boot. One of its unholy devil points stuck into the side of my finger. I shook my hand several times before it finally detached from my flesh, flicking it into the brush where it would undoubtedly find another unsuspecting victim to torment, with their ability to cause just enough of an injury to throb mildly in the middle of the night and wake you out of a deep sleep. Those little cunt-seeds were so annoying, they were like the plant version of Dancing with the Stars.

  Again, I motherfucking digress.

  I sucked the drop of blood that pooled on my fingertip. “My daughter,” Adnet started, “her name is Andrea. She called me a while ago from this number. I want to talk to her. Please, if you know where she is. I made a mistake. I just want her to come ho…”

  “Let me stop you right there, man. You sound like a nice guy, maybe a little high strung, but nice. Unfortunately, I have no fucking clue who you’re talking about. The payphone I was about to use started ringing, so I answered it. Sorry, man. Might want to look into getting her on the side of a milk carton, STAT.”

  I hit END and was about to shove my phone back into my pocket, when it vibrated again. “Listen,” I snapped, the irritation in my voice no longer fake. “I told you that this is a public phone and I don’t know where the fuck your daughter is but, I’m trying to make a call here…” Bears booming laughter interrupted me.

  “Oh, it’s just you,” I said, and if a voice could snarl, that’s how I spoke to Bear. Snarly. I held the phone under my chin and picked at the tall grass that had grown over from the connecting field and wrapped its way around the gate latch.

  “Whatever’s going on, you got it handled?” Bear asked. “Or is this gonna end with me finding half-burnt body parts in the fire pit?”

  “Jesus Christ. You put one fucking body in the fire pit and suddenly it’s a big thing.”

  Bear must have been somewhere near a highway because I could hear passing cars and honking truck horns. “Seriously Prep, everything okay down there? We just hit the Mississippi state line and stopped to gas up. Figured I’d check in while I could.” Motorcycles roared to life. Men shouted to one another over the noise of their engines.

  “You don’t need to check in on me. I’m not a toddler,” I pointed out, sucking on the tip of my finger, where blood had pooled into a drop from the sand spur from hell.

  “Yet, I can hear you pouting through the fucking phone.”

  “I just got a lot of shit going on,” I muttered, pulling the gate closed behind me. Understatement of the fucking year.

  “Like someone calling and asking the whereabouts of their daughter? Yeah, I’d call that a lot of shit. What did you get yourself into now?”

  “No, it’s not like that,” I argued. “It’s just some guy looking for a girl who doesn’t want to be found,” I lied, and if lying to Dre’s dad didn’t feel quite right, lying to Bear felt like I was coming down with a case of something I didn’t know how to cure.

  Guilt. A disease I wanted no part of.

  Telling Bear about Dre. Or my new plan to have her help me with the growhouses while I took care of the Max situation, was off the table, at least until I knew it could actually work. Getting him or Grace’s hopes up, only to crush them if it all turned to shit, wasn’t something part of my plan.

  Again, omitting isn’t technically lying.

  “You sure you’re not just shacking up with some chick, Prep?” Bear asked, laughing at his own ri
diculous statement.

  “Yeah man, forgot to tell you. Me and Sylvia got something going on. It’s real serious, too. I think she might be pregnant,” I shot back, rolling my eyes like he could see me.

  Sylvia was a one of the other founding Granny Growhouses.

  She was also ninety-two-years-old.

  “But seriously, Prep, this girl, the one who don’t want to be found. She in some sort of trouble?” Bear asked, raising his voice above the background noise, which had only grown louder.

  “She’s Mirna’s granddaughter. She showed up out of the blue, all strung out and shit, and beat the fuck up. She’s gonna stick around with Mirna and watch over my plants until the facility in Sarasota has a spot.” Which was sort of the truth.

  I took the file out of the back waistband of my pants.

  Bear was now yelling above the noise, when he asked, “You fuck her?”

  “No.”

  Although, I think about it. Although, I’ve gotten a taste.

  “She’s fucking strung out, has the shakes all the time. One eye is like way bigger than the other and she’s got this huge hump on her back. I mean, I’m not against it, but it’s not like she’s first on my to-do list.”

  “Does she live in a bell tower, Prep? ’Cause your girl sounds a lot like Quasi-Moto.”

  “She’s not my girl. Don’t try to do that thing you do where you make this into something it’s not. I just made the shitty mistake of letting her use my phone, and now I gotta get a new fucking number so her daddy stops fucking calling me wanting to know where his junkie daughter is.”

  Suddenly, I was very grateful that Mirna didn’t have a phone. If I were him, and just as desperate to get in touch with her, Mirna’s house would’ve been one of the first places I’d call.

  “Whatever, Prep.” Bear laughed, like he knew something I didn’t, which pissed me off and was probably the reason why the need to defend myself had me spewing my next line of bullshit.

  When did life get so fucking complicated?

  “You guys are looking for new BBB’s over at the clubhouse, right? Didn’t Puerto Rican Fury and Robert Dinero leave recently?” I asked.

  “Yeah, Jessica and Ivette left. Jessica is knocked up and marrying some dentist, and Ivette disappeared into thin air, but you know how that goes. We could definitely use a few new faces around the MC.” Bear ignored my use of two of the nicknames I’d come up with for his club girls over the years. I’d named the one girl, Puerto Rican Fury, for good reason, she was in fact Puerto Rican, and always pissed off about something. The other I called, Robert Dinero, because like the actor, she could pass for either Spanish, Italian, or Jewish. However, her smokin’ body was a lot more banging than her male counterpart. “Why? You think the junkie girl would want to give club life a go?” Bear asked, before telling me to “hang on a sec.” He didn’t bother covering the phone when he barked orders out to his men. I held my phone away from my head, in order to avoid permanent damage to my ear drum, as he yelled out for everyone to be ready to ride out in five. “Okay, so yeah. The girl,” he said when he came back on the line.

  “She’s got Daddy issues and a drug problem to boot. Think this one was actually born to be a BBB,” I pointed out.

  “All right, bring her over to the clubhouse when we get back.” There was a commotion in the background, rowdy voices and crunching metal. “Fuck me. Gotta head out, natives are getting restless.” Engines revved and became so loud I either A) didn’t hear him say “bye” or B) Bear hadn’t said it at all and just hung up on me. Knowing Bear and his stellar manners, plus the fact that the guy was allergic to shirts and all that went along with that, I went with B.

  Dre jerked her head down when I turned back around, like she hadn’t been caught staring at me.

  She might have been the one to try to kill herself, but I was the one on borrowed time. It was time to show Dre what else I needed out of this deal of ours, before she found out the truth about her dad and Conner.

  It wasn’t like she gave a fuck about her life, I told myself.

  So why should I give a fuck about ruining it?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  PREPPY

  “Samuel, would you like to join us?” Mirna asked, without opening her eyes.

  Dre shot me a narrow glare.

  “Sorry for the interruption,” I said, sitting down on the grass, “Mirna, but your granddaughter looks like a younger, less attractive version of yourself, so I couldn’t help but stare.”

  “Samuel!” Mirna scolded, but I could hear the hint of laughter in her words.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, feeling Dre’s stare on me.

  Her body heat.

  A hand touched my shoulder and my eyes shot open. I looked up to find Mirna hovering above me. “Samuel?”

  “Yeah?” I turned to get another look of Dre’s tits, but she wasn’t there. The sun wasn’t either. It had been early afternoon when I’d gotten there.

  Hadn’t it?

  “Did I fall asleep?”

  Mirna laughed. “You’ve been in the same position for three hours. I don’t think you were asleep.”

  Mirna helped me up off the grass by my elbow, and I tucked her arm under mine as we walked back to the house. “I believe they call it transcendence,” she said, extending her hand toward the sky and making the shape of a rainbow, like she was talking about something out of this world.

  “Transcendence?” I asked, scratching my beard. “Oh yeah, I know what that is.”

  “You do?” Mirna asked.

  “Yeah, I had it once after a bad batch of shrooms, had to get my stomach pumped.”

  “You’re a smart ass just like my Andrea,” she said, pinching my arm. I took a seat at the table while she opened the oven and used her finger to check on one of the cookies on the tray. The kitchen filled with the sweet smell of chocolate that made my mouth water. “Don’t let the state you found her in fool you, my granddaughter is a lot more than just a screwed up kid.” She pulled a photo album from the shelf above the table and tossed it onto the counter in front of me. “Look for yourself.”

  I opened it up and discovered that it was full of report cards. All with the name Andrea Capulet.

  “Wait, Capulet? Like Romeo and Juliet shit?”

  Mirna smiled and nodded. “Yup, exactly like that. When Becky married Andrea’s dad, Rick and I thought it was quite endearing, not realizing it would end almost as tragically.”

  Although the colors of the report cards, as well as the teachers names and the subjects changed, the letters of the grades remained the same on every page of every card.

  All A’s. Not a single B. Not even an A-.

  “Wow. My report card was a lot more diverse than this one,” I said, flipping pages.

  “Diverse?”

  “There was a lot more of the alphabet used.” I closed the album and slid it back across the desk.

  “Yet, you are the smartest young man I know.” She opened the cabinet and took out her favorite teacups.

  “Awe shucks, Mirna,” I said, dramatically batting my eyelashes. She swatted me with an oven mitt.

  “But if those grades don’t show you how smart she is, this should,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. She opened a drawer and pulled out a large envelope. She slid a thick stack of paper over to me.

  “Why are we whispering?” I asked.

  “She doesn’t know that I know this. Look.” It was pages upon pages of cancelled checks, stapled to reports. All the checks were made out to cash. A stamp over them read FRAUD in bold red.

  “I assume that these are the ones she forged?” I asked.

  “You would assume correctly.”

  “Forging signatures doesn’t prove she’s smart. It proves the opposite, actually,” I pointed out.

  “Samuel,” she said, sliding the papers back to me. “She didn’t just sign the checks. She MADE the checks. Security seals and all.” And, although Mirna should be pissed that Dre ripped h
er off, there was no mistaking the pride in her voice.

  I looked closer, ripping one out of its stapled hold and sure enough, security seal and all, watermarks, account code, it was a masterpiece. “Wow,” I said, impressed.

  “If you’re not pissed, why don’t you tell her that you know?” I asked.

  “The same reason I haven’t told her that I know she had a part in robbing your plants.” She breathed deeply. “Because I’m losing my mind, Samuel, and I refuse to lose my granddaughter again before it’s gone completely. There isn’t enough time for anger or alienation. Not anymore.”

  “You know, if Grace hadn’t already sort of adopted me as her own, I’d totally cheat on her with you,” I said.

  “Oh, no. Grace is one tough bird. She’s been dealing with you boys for a long time, and I’m not sure I could have done half as good of a job as she has.” Mirna checked on the cookies again, this time removing the tray and replacing it immediately with another uncooked batch. “Besides, I’m pretty sure she could kick my ass.”

  “Yeah, I don’t want to fuck with Grace either,” I said, reminding myself to call the cancer center when I left to check up on her.

  “Why are you telling me this? Why is it important that I know that she’s smart?” I asked.

  Mirna grabbed my hand in hers. “Because I want you to know that I’m losing my mind. I’m not stupid. I know the way business works. I know the way your business works. She’s around because you showed mercy.”

  “I wouldn’t call it mercy, exactly,” I said, although, I didn’t know what I actually would call it. “She gets a pass because she’s your granddaughter and that fucks with business on a different level. It’s not a big deal.”

  “What did you do to the person who did that to her?” Mirna asked, her forwardness taking me off guard.

  I sat back in the chair. “What do you think I did?”

  “You forget that I’m a perceptive old bird. Been around the block or two myself,” she paused and sighed. “From what she’s told me, I think you saved my granddaughter and did what you had to do to protect your business and her…and I thank you for it. You didn’t know she was my granddaughter when you did that and it is a big deal to me, even if it’s not to you. The reason I need you to know how smart she is, is because I need you to know who you’ve given a second chance to.” She nodded to the stack. “Look in the back.”