Repent (The Disciples 3)

Pushing off the wall, I reach into my jeans for my cigarettes, light one, and look at her. To say she’s beautiful is an injustice. She is stunning in a way that I can’t describe, and being around her gives me cravings I can’t seem to satisfy.

She’s my obsession.

“Nah, that’s a lie. Be honest. You hate being a Disciple’s kid. You hate that your old man is the VP and you hate that deep down you know this is where you belong.” She looks stunned, yet I snarl this at her anyway because it’s true. Nobody gets a fucking rose garden, but the Disciples are my family and I have no intention of leaving it.

She looks down at her shoes then up into my eyes and it’s just us. We may be young, but what we are is something that I can’t imagine most people having.

“I was worried.” Her cheeks, which were already flushed from me getting her off darken. “I was confused at how you can do”—she points to my hands—“what you do… so well.”

“What?” She’s not seriously asking me this, right?

“I…” She puts her hands up to cover her face and I feel like a dick.

“Come here.” I pull her into my arms. “Watch my cigarette.” I lift it up and take a deep drag.

“I shouldn’t have accused you.” She shakes her head against my chest, and for the first time in a long time, I have a twinge of guilt.

“Babe, you need to get out of here. Your dad is downstairs, and he knows that you’re here. If he finds us together…” I sigh because this is so fucked. “I’ll talk to him. I’ve been working hard to prove myself.”

She shakes her head, which is still buried in my chest.

“Look at me.” I lift her chin and almost reach for my heart because simply looking at her hurts.

“I love you. You’re my girl.” That prickling sensation hits me in the chest. It’s weird, almost like something is not right.

I kiss her forehead and watch as she reaches up and takes my cigarette. Dolly usually never smokes. She’s always saying it’s trashy.

“Easy.”

She smiles and again, I reach for my heart to rub it. Yeah, I’ve paid my dues. There is no way Shark could have anything to complain about.

“Let’s go.” I take her hand in mine and she slowly drags behind me.

“I don’t want to leave you.” She bites her lip.

“I’m gonna talk to your dad.”

“Okay, but I wish you didn’t care,” she whispers as we walk by a bunch of bikers in the corner who I’m sure are doing Jason and Doc’s drug.

That drug has seriously changed shit, and things that used to be casual are not anymore. Prez is getting rich and so are his officers. All but my dad who seems to stay locked up in the house with whatever woman wants to put up with him. He won’t admit anything’s wrong, but I’m not stupid. He’s sick, maybe even dying. There’s a loud scream and a bunch of my brothers laugh and throw bottles at a garbage can. Amy is gonna be pissed, but hey, that’s their problem. I need to get Dolly out of here. The clubhouse is wild and the darker it gets, the more out of control the night will become. It’s going to be one of those nights.

“Would you rather he puts a bullet in my head?” I say, glancing around for her dad or even Misty.

“Never say that, ever.”

I turn, and amid all the chaos around us, I stare at her. “Have you forgotten? Because I haven’t.” She remains silent.

“That’s what I thought,” I growl, getting pissed all over again. I maneuver us in and out of the clubhouse and into the front yard where the smoke from the bonfire is so thick we can barely breathe.

“Christ, where are you parked?”

“Over there.” She points and glances around, I guess for her mom.

“Get in. I’ll go find Misty. Lock the doors.” I smile at her.

“Edge…” She grabs my hand stopping me.

“Yeah?” I scan the debauchery that has already begun.

“I need to tell you something.” And my heart starts to pound. This is it. This is the dread, the unease, whatever I’ve been feeling.

“What?” I’m not sure I want to hear it.

“I was nominated Homecoming queen.” I stare at her and it all dawns on me. She wants me to be okay with this.

“Who’s the king?” I already know, but I want to hear it. And to think I was feeling guilty ten minutes ago.

She sits sideways in the seat and remains quiet, rubbing her forehead as if she’s the one who has blue balls, not the one who came on my fingers moments ago.

“Who?” I demand, causing her to shriek.

“Troy,” she squeaks out at last. “You know it’s gonna be him. But maybe I won’t get it.”