Page 36 of Southpaw Slots
“Ace, I don’t have any money. You know that.”
I start to look at Cass, but he cuts me off. “You know they won’t let you play, boss. But I got you at Trixie’s. Got, like, twenty.”
“Ya’ll are some broke ass motherfuckers, you know that?” Shaking my head, I yell a curse. No drugs. No money.
By the time we roll up to the strip club and head in the back door, I’m in a foul mood. Everything about today has been shit. This wasn’t the way I thought my life would go.
As soon as my ass hits the plush seat, one of the regular girls hands me a pint of Guinness, which helps take the edge off as I sip it. The feeling only lasts for a moment because, for some reason, it tastes off. I shove it in Hoss’s hands.
“You don’t want it?”
Leaning forward in the chair, I place my elbows on my thighs and run my fingers through my hair. It’s just not sitting right without my gel. “Nah, you can have it.”
One of the dancers eases between my legs and slides her ass onto my lap as I sit back. She smells of cheap perfume and desperation. Would be so fucking easy to get her to blow me.
“You need cheering up, Ace?” she asks as her cheeks grind hard on my crotch. It just feelswrong. I can’t do this.
What the fuck am I doing here? This isn’t what I want.
Everywhere I go now feels like I don’t belong. Likethere’s somethingmissing. Like I need to be somewhere else.
I snag her by the waist and lift her off me. “Sorry, doll. I’m a married man now.” Standing, I search out Cass, who’s making small talk with the ebony gal he likes. “Cass. Bro.” He greets me with a nod. “Can you take me home?”
Stealing a glance at his whore, he says, “We literally just got here.”
“Come on, man. Just take me home. I need to get out of here.”
“You’re the one who wanted to come!”
I narrow my eyes at him, throwing my hands on my hips. “Well, now I want to go.”
Tossing his head backward like I’m such aburdento him, you know, paying for everything, he grunts, “Fine.”
The other guys stay in their spots as Cass and me head back to the SUV. When we get in, he turns the music all the way up. “She’ll be waiting for you for that twenty when you get back there anyway,” I mutter. I know he didn’t hear me, but he doesn’t ask me to repeat it.
A few streets up and over at a red light, he sits up straight. “Oh, shit. Look, look, look. I think that’s a couple tanks from West Side, bro.” Slapping my chest with the back of his hand, I lean forward. Yeah, I recognize a few of their lackeys that come into the park for some shrooms.
I give him an unimpressed nod and sit back. “Yep.”
Cass slides down in his seat and pulls out his Ruger, flipping off the safety. “Hold the wheel.”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
His dark eyes flash to mine. “I thought you wanted to get back at the man who killed your sister.”
In a moment, I think about it. It is what Iwanted, but now? It just seems hollow. That’s not what I’m supposed to be doing, either. Fuck, nothingfitsanymore.
Before I can respond, Cass lowers his window and sticks the tip of the handgun out, popping off a few rounds at the other car. I see the driver’s head slump and his body leans forward until it hits the horn as the guy in the passenger seat jumps out and aims at us.
Cass shoves on the gas and I focus on the road to help him steer. He hands me the gun and floors it until we skip past lights to the sounds of some shots ringing through the air. Cass’s boisterous laugh is the only thing louder than the gunfire.
The car swerves dangerously toward a brick coffee shop on a corner about two blocks away as Cass loses control. “Fuck, he hit a tire.” Swiftly turning in my seat, I see the guy has abandoned his post, but he could easily catch up to us. “I’ll keep going for a few blocks.” Barely able to get the car rolling, we make it around a corner in case he’s still watching.
“You’re a fucking idiot. No backup. Just a randomdrive by?” Shaking my head, I realize we’re still about three miles from my house.
“Spoiled fucking rich kid, Ace. You’re a brat, you know that?God, being your friend is achore. You’re miserable no matter where you go. I’m done. I don’tneedyour shit, man. Try to do somethingfor youand this is the thanks I get,” he says as I get out of the car, tucking his gun into my waistband.
“Fuck you,” I mutter.