Page 5 of Wild Card (Royal Bastards MC: Cody, Wyoming #1)
FIVE
Ash
I ’ve been at this party a whole hour and still have nothing to go on.
I’m starting to get impatient, so I take a seat on a log around the fire pit where it’s a little more crowded, and pull out a cigarette.
I notice the two girls looking my way giggle at each other, so I tip my chin at 'em before I light up.
“You know, that cute little blonde ain’t as innocent as she looks.” Some kid takes a seat on the log beside me.
“You talkin’ from experience?” I snort a laugh at him.
“I wish! I could never get a girl like her.” Picking up a stick from the ground, he tosses it into the flames. “Ain’t seen you round here before; you new in town?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the girls.
“Just passing through. Heard this was the place to hang, but I gotta be honest, this party kinda blows.” I hope to get something outta this guy.
“It’s the best you're gonna get here in Cody.” He chuckles back at me. “You wanna beer?” he offers, leaning back and taking one outta the cool box behind him.
“Cheers.” I twist off the top and clang it against his.
“So, is beer all that's gettin’ passed out around here?” I push him for a little more.
“Stephan Michaels might have some green going,” he shrugs.
“Ain’t really green I’m lookin’ for.” I take a sip from my bottle and watch how the girls edge a little closer.
“Then you're asking the wrong guy.” The kid sighs. I figure he’s the type that never quite fits into a crowd. His clothes are too big for him and look faded, and no one around seems to be acknowledging him.
“Who should I ask?” I decide I’d like to wrap this up and get some action; sitting around and waiting for shit to happen ain’t ever been my style.
“You could try him.” I follow the kids' eyes to the guy on the other side of the fire pit. A typical fuckin’ jock, wearing a varsity jacket, who's telling some animated story that seems to have everyone surrounding him enthralled.
“Looks like a prick to me,” I say my thoughts out loud.
“He is a prick, but everyone in this town seems to worship him,” my new friend tells me, throwing another stick at the fire
“He’s a long way from college, ain’t he?” I spent some time in Idaho when I first got outta jail, and I recognize the emblem on the back of his jacket.
“His folks live here in town, guess he came home for the weekend.”
“And does he come home for the weekend often?” I ask, wondering if this could be where the problem is coming from. He wouldn’t be the first kid on campus to get caught up in dealing,
“Well, these usually happen around once a month, like a celebration that he’s home.” He sniggers at me and knocks back more of his beer.
“Take it you ain’t his biggest fan?”
“We were in the same year through school; he made my senior year hell,” the kid admits, looking like he wants to do the guy some real damage.
“Thanks for the beer.” I stand up and make my way over, joining the small crowd that's gathered around him and listening to what he’s got to say.
“Then Digby made the pass and I?—”
“That’s a cool story, bro,” I interrupt him mid-sentence, and suddenly all eyes are on me.
“Who the fuck are you?” he snarls at me.
“Me? I ain’t no one special. Just lookin’ to have a good time, is all. Know where I can find one?” I look the fucker straight in the eye to let him know that he ain’t no threat to me.
“Are you hearing this guy?” He huffs a laugh to the guy standing beside him.
“This is the best time you're gonna get. If it ain’t enough, maybe you should leave.”
“Just when the story was about to get good?” I frown sarcastically and
hear a little giggle come from those girls behind me. I can see it throws him off when his eyes shift awkwardly.
“Shut up, Daisy. Everyone here knows you're a slut,” he calls out to one of the girls.
“Hey, now, there’s no need for that kinda talk. Girl’s ain’t doin’ any harm.” I step up a little closer to him and dust off the shoulder of his jacket.
“You got some nerve showing up in my town, coming to my party and talking to me like–”
“Like what?” I interrupt him again.
“Whoa, you guys are gonna have to hold me back,” he tells his buddies, rolling his shoulders like he’s about to fuckin’ do somethin', and I shake my head at them and laugh.
“It’s cool, guys, you can let him at me. Some action might liven this party up a little,” I tell them, waiting for this guy to make the first move. Instead, he looks to his friends like he’s waiting for them to do something.
“Come on, don’t keep everyone waitin’.” I encourage him, and when he starts to laugh, he does a shit job at hiding the nerves behind it.
“Go on, Kaleb. Spark him.” Someone encourages him from the crowd that seems to have grown bigger around us.
“Yeah, Kaleb, don’t take his shit,” another voice calls out.
“Sounds like they wanna see some action, Kaleb .” I shrug, and the fucker jerks to make a lame-assed attempt at a punch.
Grabbing his wrist in the palm of my hand, I use it to twist his arm and put him straight on the ground; then, bending it back behind him, I hold him in position and climb on top of his back.
“I guess it would be hard to catch a ball with a broken arm,” I lower my head to his and whisper.
“Don’t, please don’t. I’m on a scholarship.” Everyone surrounding us must hear the fear in his voice as I use my free hand to tap over his pockets and eventually pull a plastic baggy from his jeans.
“Lookie, lookie, what we got here?” I dangle it over his head and wave it in front of his eyes.
“Give that back, shithead!” he snarls at me. All I got is three tiny pills, not enough for me to assume he’s a supplier.
“Where you get the shit from?” I start by asking him nicely.
“Go to hell,” he spits back at me.
“Not the answer I was lookin’ for.” I force his arm up his back a little higher until he wails in agony. “All I need is a name, Kaleb.”
“I don’t have a fucking name.” I tilt my head and smile when I notice the tears starting to spill from his eyes.
“You’re gonna have to give me somethin’,” I growl into his ear. “I got a friend who’s waitin’ with a truck in those woods; and I swear to god, if you don’t give me what I need, we will take you on the ride your fuckin’ life.”
“I…I got a number,” he stutters. “ I don’t know who the guy is, but I….I have his number; it’s in my phone, last number I dialed.” I immediately reach back to the front pocket of his jacket, where I remember feeling his phone, and pull it out.
“Good boy.” I tap his cheek before releasing him and standing up. Then notice the shock on his face when I slide his phone into my own pocket.
“Wait, you can’t take that…That’s my fucking phone!” he calls out to me.
“Come fuckin’ stop me,” I call back at him without turning around, stopping at the log to speak to the kid before I leave.
“Name’s Ash, I’m staying at the Watering Hole. If he ever gives you shit again, come find me.” I rough up his hair and start making my way back to Moby.
“You given up already?” Moby asks when I open the door and get inside.
“Already got a number, I figure you can give it to your geek guy to get a trace.” I lift out the phone and place it on the console.
“Good enough.” Moby looks impressed and starts up the engine.