didn’t care where I stuck my dick as long as I got off.
These days, I don’t want Dione. Or the other sweet butts. They seem beneath me. I don’t care if that’s a fucked-up way of thinking. I might be scum, and they might be scum, but that don’t mean I can’t think I’m better scum. Besides, closing my eyes during a blowjob from Dione won’t convince me that she’s Shelby Campbell. I haven’t got that good of an imagination.
Tonight, like most nights, I’m at the Saloon, drinking too much. As usual, Dione lingers near my booth. Though she flirts with other guys, whenever I’m around, she wants me. Mostly because I don’t want her now. It’s personal, and she’s stubborn. I don’t give a damn how Dione feels. If I can’t muster up any heartfelt shit for Shelby, there’s no way I’m doing that for a sweet butt.
Finally, Dione sits across from me in my booth and smiles shyly. I fell for that look when I was first paroled. I often wondered why she was hanging around the Saloon if she was so innocent. Did the Reapers make her come here? Did she owe them? She seemed too naive to be choosing this lifestyle.
Now I know that’s just her face. Like how Shelby wears a mildly pissed expression most of the time, Dione looks innocent. I remember Becklyn always seemed scolded, and Jaymes looked tired. It’s just how their faces work. I wonder what mine is doing as I stare at Dione.
“So, you don’t like me anymore?” she asks in a pouty, obviously teasing voice as she fiddles with the rope bracelets that a lot of the sweet butts wear.
If a club guy likes a girl or wants to reward a chick for a blowjob well done, he’ll give her one of those colored bracelets. Each guy has a design. I never gave any away. The only sweet butt I considered throwing a bone to was one of Fuse’s side pieces. Rebekka was a messed-up chick. I liked it when she seemed relieved to see me as if I actually mattered to her. Maybe that was a con like with Dione’s innocence. I never found out. Giving her a bracelet was suicide, and I figured I was too smart to get fucked by Fuse. Turns out, I wasn’t smart at all.
Rebekka ain’t around anymore. I heard Fuse’s old lady offed the sweet butt after he died. Coterie ain’t around either. After Cum Shot got killed at her house and the place burned down, she took her bitch daughters to a town even smaller and shittier than Shasta. They’re living in a trailer park now, probably giving handjobs for a twenty spot.
That thought worsens my already shitty mood. Everything changed when I was gone. Even my mom started wearing a new wig while I was locked up. Nothing about Shasta is how I remember it. I lived in this place for most of my life, but I feel like a stranger.
“I guess I get why you don’t want me anymore,” Dione says, flashing her smile. “Things must be getting serious with Shelby. You know, with the baby and all.”
Her words don’t register. I’m too busy thinking about River Majors showing up in Shasta years ago. I heard he took on most of the club in the parking lot of this clubhouse. I can imagine Fuse lowering his guard. River looks like a pretty boy pussy. Fuse thought he had the younger man figured out.
But once the old man went down, the other guys knew shit was real. I’ve seen those men fight. They don’t pull their punches. There’s none of that one-at-a-time bullshit either. They’d have attacked the blond shithead from Ellsberg. It wasn’t enough, though.
I can’t help wondering if things would have gone different if Swamp Thing, Grabby, and I weren’t locked away. Fuse fucked himself setting us up. He wanted to stay in power, and we were threats. Fuse was always looking north to the Elko Executioners as his possible downfall. In the end, trouble came from the south with a hippie bitch who knew kung fu.
“What baby?” I finally ask after Dione doesn’t go away.
“Rumor has it that Shelby is pregnant.”
“Rumor, huh? Who told you this rumor?”
“I heard it from a girl who heard from Kelsi. She used to be a sweet butt and still talks to the girls.”
Dione clearly pulled that explanation out of her tight little ass. Kelsi is part of Shelby’s circle. I don’t