Page 21 of O'Mega's Revenge

“Sure, she does. That’s why she broke up with you. Yeah, ha-ha.” Sprout didn’t sound convinced.

“She does. See, she wants …” I trailed off. Meghan only wanted to be free.

“A big ass Wolf dick, yeah, you told me a million times. Still not buying it.”

“She wants to be free.” I rocked in place.

“That’s why she broke up with your dumb ass.”

He wasn’t being helpful.

“No, she won’t ask me to be something she doesn’t want to be. That’s why.”

“Dude, you are so fucked up right now. I wish I had a camera.”

“Did I ever tell you about the guy she killed?”

Sprout glanced around. “Wolf, situational awareness, bro.”

He had a point. But we were in the middle of fucking nowhere, and there was a lot of noise coming from the house.

“She was kidnapped at fifteen.”

“Aw fuck. We’re going there?” He blew out a puff of air and put on his dumb face. Eyes wide and a goofy-ass smile as vacant as you can get. But that was his act. I watched him assemble it right in front of Jackson. He was the court jester playing the fool while hearing every dirty secret.

“I know you’re not as dumb as you look.”

“Heh, tell that to my ma.”

I poked him in the chest. “You got your father’s brain.”

He sobered, the grin dropping and his eyes going cold. “Thanks, I think.”

His dad was a murderer. I had secrets of my own to keep for the club. Shit. That’s where I was fucking up tonight. Fuck.

“Find me an empty room, and get Tits, so I don’t choke on my puke, okay?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

He wrapped under my arms and half-carried me up the hill. A good brother, in every deed and word. But goddammit, one of these days he’d snap, and we’d see his father’s genetics take over. Lord help anyone in the cross hairs of that.

I landed on the mattress of the third guest room. The one with the good lock and the en suite bathroom attached. The room wound around me as he tugged off my shoes.

“When I leave, lock that.” He pointed to the door.

I saluted him, as if he were one of my drill sergeants back in the day. “Sir, yessir!”

“Fuck.”

“Meghan?”

His heavy sigh was the last thing I remembered.

Lights out.

My tongue was glued to the top of my mouth. There was eight-grit sandpaper under my eyelids and two hammers clanging away on my brain.

“Mother fuck.”