Hollow (Heaven Hill Generations #4) - Laramie Briscoe Page 0,37
name isn’t ringing a bell, but something tells me it should.
“She’s a dancer at Wet Wanda’s.”
Immediately I know who he’s talking about. The one who came onto me. “Oh, you mean the stripper who basically offered to suck my dick since my wife’s out of town. That Laura?”
His face starts to turn red, and I get a feeling she didn’t tell him that part of the story. “She didn’t tell you that, did she?”
“You were rude to her.”
Now he’s starting to piss me off. “She was rude to me. She disrespected the ring I wear, and she disrespected not only my wife, but me, and you. How are you okay with this, my man?”
“I ain’t your man.”
“Well apparently you ain’t hers either, so I suggest you go on somewhere before your mouth writes some checks you can’t cash.”
He spits on the blacktop, a little too close to my boot for comfort.
“You think that patch makes you invincible?”
This? This makes me laugh. Gives me a really good chuckle.
“The patch I wear makes me a part of a group of men who do as I say and ask questions later. You might need help reading it, but it says VP. Which means second-in-command. Vice President. You don’t wanna fuck with me, little dude, you do not.”
He grinds his back teeth together. His face is redder, and he’s clenching his fists. “That piss you off? That I call you little dude? Or did the fact she offered to suck my dick piss you off? Or maybe it was all of the above.”
“You don’t know who you’re messing with.”
Done playing games with him, quick as I’ve ever been, I advance, pushing him up against his car, using my forearm against his neck. “You don’t know who you’re messing with. Not long from now, there’s gonna be some people coming up over that hill.” I point with my free hand to the east of us. “And they’re wearing the same patch as me, which means they will do exactly what I ask them to. The car you drive? It’ll be gone. Your cell phone? Gone. The girl? Chased outta Bowling Green so fast she’ll be making tracks darker than the ones on your ass. Don’t test me. I’ve got some anger that’s built up and I’m okay with taking it all out on you.”
He’s trying to swallow, the way his throat keeps moving but is blocked by my forearm is pissing him off. When I release the pressure slightly he inhales a deep breath. Enough to speak. “Fuck you.”
“Fuck me? Fuck me? Fuck you.”
His hand is quick, reaching for something in his pocket, but I’m quicker, I stomp on his foot, still holding him at the neck. He howls in pain. “Stop this,” I tell him. “Just stop it. She embarrassed you, that’s on you and her. I had nothing to do with it.”
‘You have everything to do with it,” he grounds out, trying to kick his feet. “Y’all think you run this town.”
“We do,” I interrupt him. “And if you think you wanna make a play for it, go right fuckin’ ahead, but know you’ll be in for the fight of your goddamn life. If you kick me one more time,” I warn him, “I’ll kick you in the balls. There’s no sense in you acting like a little kid who got in trouble for the first time. At least act like a man.”
That’s when I hear a couple of motorcycles in the background. My backup is finally here. They come to a stop, and I don’t have to bother to turn around to see who it is. I know the sounds of those bikes like I know my own body. The two I would want in this situation are the exact two who have shown up.
When the bikes cut off, I turn around, more for them, than for me.
“What’s going on?” Caelin asks as he gets off his bike. More and more, he’s looking like his father, making an intimidating picture as Drew stands right beside him.
“Just a little conversation. Seems he and whatever crew he might have are interested on why we run Bowling Green.”
“That right?” Caelin smiles, bending down, taking a picture of his license plate, before standing up and going to the passenger side door. I can hear him rifling through whatever the guy may have inside. There’s no telling what Caelin is finding. To most people a little piece of trash is just that - trash.