Club Princess - Nicole James Page 0,10
to explode.
He stands and limps to the window to look out, puffing on his smoke and looking shaky as hell.
“What are you on?” I ask.
His head swivels to me. “Nothing. Just some Lortabs I got off some girl. Why? You got something on you?”
“Fuck, no.”
“Can you get me something?”
I arch my brow. Is he serious? “Trez, you need to clean up your act. Get some help with the addiction.” Why I’m bothering to lecture him after what he’s done to me, I have no clue and mentally slap myself for letting myself care even that much.
“I don’t need help.”
“Whatever, do what you want. I’m leaving.”
“No, wait. I’ll get your money back. You can help me.”
“Help you? You’re nuts.”
“But first, I’m starving. You got enough to buy us a couple burgers?”
I huff out a sigh. He’s as thin as some strung-out rock star, which is sad, because Trez always had muscular arms and killer abs. Somehow, I can’t deprive him a meal. “I suppose. Where do you want to go?”
“I’ll run down the street and be right back.” He holds his palm out, and I dig a twenty out of my hip pocket. He goes to grab for it and I hang on, keeping him from pulling it free of my grip. “You bail on me, Trez, I’ll call Dad and tell him what you’ve done.”
“You haven’t already?”
“I thought I’d give you a chance to give the money back before he beats the hell out of you.”
“I’m gonna pay you back, Lola. I swear it. I’ve just got to work out some things first.”
I roll my eyes. I’ll never see that money again.
He slips a shirt on, grabs his car keys and opens the door, pausing to look back at me. “Whopper, no cheese, right?”
I nod, knowing he probably won’t be back.
He winks and limps out the door.
I move to the window and watch him move down the staircase to his beater pickup truck and pull out heading north. He had such a future, and it breaks my heart to see him reduced to this.
I close my eyes.
Don’t let yourself care, Lola. Don’t you dare let yourself care.
My phone rings and I pull it out, glancing at the screen wondering if it’s Darko looking for his money.
Katie.
I put it to my ear. “Hey.”
“Well?”
“He went to get us food, so he said.”
“You think he just said that to run out on you?”
“Most likely, but I don’t think he’s got the money for that. I had to give him the damn twenty to get the food. He looks bad, Katie.”
“You do care.”
“No, I don’t,” I lie, and pace around the room. “Are you heading here now?”
“Yeah, Josie is talking to some guy at the next table. Says he can get us into the House of Blues to see Iron Tribe tonight. I’ll move her along. The guy is probably bullshitting her anyway. That show’s been sold out for months.”
“Okay. See you in a few minutes.” I disconnect.
The room reeks of cigarette smoke and stale beer, so I decide to wait outside. I open the door and come face to face with an attractive man in a suit who looks just as surprised to see me, as I am him. My gaze skates down him. He looks like he could be a Wall Street tycoon except for the two men standing behind him. They look like goons from a mafia movie.
The man smiles and pulls his expensive sunglasses off. “I’m looking for Richard Rockingham. Is he here?”
“Um…” I stall not sure what to say. He moves forward, backing me into the room a step and a chill skitters up my spine. “No, he just went out.”
“Pity we missed him. And you are?”
Before I can answer, one of the goons grabs my purse and pulls my wallet out.
“Hey,” I try to snatch it, but Wall Street guy grabs my arm.
“No need to get excited.” He holds his other hand out, and his goon passes him my driver’s license. His gaze drops from me to it. “Lola Rockingham, Lakeside Drive, Durango, Colorado. You’re a long way from home.” He studies me. “The picture doesn’t do you any justice, my dear.”
“I’m not your dear.”
“So you’re a relation to Richard. Wife perhaps?” He arches a brow. “No? Sister then?”
Being the daughter of a biker has taught me a thing or two about people asking questions. Never tell them anything. So I answer with a question of my own. “And you are?”
“Mason Lockwood. Richard owes me money.”
“Get in line,”