“I don’t know. I guess it’s because I don’t have anyone to play with.”
Hap stood and walked past Reggie and me. He handed Braxton his empty bottle. After receiving a fresh one in return, he faced Reggie. He took a drink, giving a quick look-over in the process. “But you’re not opposed to it? If there were willing participants?”
“Playing games with others?” She laughed. “No. I’m not a snob, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Didn’t peg you for a snob.” He sipped his beer. “I was more concerned with your willingness to play games.”
She glanced in my direction.
I shrugged. “I have no idea where he’s going with this.”
She looked at Hap. “I’m willing.”
Hap lifted his chin slightly. “Ever heard of fuck, marry, kill?”
“Oh, yeah! This is going to be fun.” She rubbed her hands together feverishly. “Alex Rodriguez, Jake Gyllenhaal, and Tony Stark. Whatever that guy’s name is. I can’t ever remember it.”
“Robert Downey Junior,” Braxton said.
“Yeah, that’s him.” She glanced at each of us. “Who goes first?”
“I don’t fuck men,” Hap huffed.
“Well,” Reggie said. “I don’t fuck women.”
Hap rubbed his jaw. “Didn’t give this much thought.”
“I’d fuck Rodriguez, Kill Gyllenhaal, and marry Iron Man,” Braxton said dryly.
Reggie glanced to her left. “Why Iron Man?”
“He’s the oldest,” Braxton replied. “He’ll die sooner than the others, leaving me to inherit his fortune. And, after seeing Nightcrawler, Gyllenhaal gives me the creeps. I couldn’t fuck that guy or marry him. I think I’d toss him in the lion den at the San Diego Zoo. Process of elimination leaves Rodriguez and Iron Man. Iron Man’s the clear winner.”
“Rodriguez and Iron Man have comparable net worth,” Reggie said. “If that makes a difference.”
Braxton tilted his beer bottle toward Reggie and grinned. “I’ll stick with Iron Man.”
“I’m not playing this round,” Hap whined. “I can’t bring myself to fuck a man, and I’m damned sure not marrying one. I’d kill all three of those bastards, but we’ve deemed in previous games that such violent acts are unacceptable.”
Reggie looked at me. “Do you play this often?”
I nodded. “Hap enjoys it.”
“When you’re old and single.” Hap lowered himself into his seat. “Little things bring excitement to your life. This is one of them.”
“I guess we can play with women,” Reggie responded. “I could do that for the sake of your sanity.”
“I like her,” Hap said, directing his comment to me. “She’s a team player.”
“Be careful,” I said. “She’s got a mean streak.”
Hap shifted his eyes to Reggie. “What’s the kid talking about?”
“Probably about me burning my ex’s things.”
“Did you have a celebratory shit can fire?” Hap asked.
Her face contorted. “A what?”
“Did you toss his socks and skivvies in a shit-can and douse ‘em in lighter fluid?”
“Not exactly,” she responded. “A friend and I carried his couch, a lamp, an end table, his clothes, and some ridiculous slippers out to my back yard and burned them.”
“What was wrong with the couch?”
“It was stupid.”
“All couches are stupid,” Hap said. “What made that one dumb enough to burn? Mind explaining that to me?”
“Not at all.” She stood and patted her palms against the backs of her bare thighs. “This part of my legs stuck to it like glue. It was made of fake leather and it was lime green. If I wore shorts, when I stood up, it sounded like someone was ripping Velcro apart. I hated that thing with a passion.”
“Why’d he buy a green plastic couch? He couldn’t afford real leather?”
“It cost almost four grand,” she complained. “He thought it was awesome.”
Hap chuckled. “Probably didn’t sit on the thing bare-legged, did he?”
“Nope.”
“Can’t think for the life of me why anyone would need a lime green plastic sofa.” Hap rubbed his head with the tips of his fingers. “Was he a weirdo?”
Reggie took a gulp of beer and handed Braxton the empty bottle. Braxton twisted the cap from a fresh one and handed it to her.
“He preferred banana hammock underwear to boxers or briefs,” Reggie replied. “He wore furry slippers in public and fucked nasty strippers in the parking lot of the strip club—in his car. I’ll let you decide.”
“Was he hung like a mule?”
Reggie extended her index finger and gave it a thorough inspection. “His dick and my index finger had a lot in common.”
Midway through a drink, Braxton coughed out a laugh, spitting beer off the porch in the process.
“Son-of-a-bitch.” He pinched his nostrils closed. “That shit came out my nose.”
“If a man isn’t hung like a horse, he ought not be wearing a banana hammock,” Hap said. “And who in the hell wears fuzzy slippers in public?”
“Pffft.” Reggie scoffed. “They were Gucci’s and they cost a thousand dollars.”
“Jesus jumped up Christ,” Hap bellowed. “A grand for a pair of slippers? Did this guy shit money?”
Reggie shook her head. “They were a gift. I bought them.”
Hap scowled. “I’m beginning to wonder about your sanity, little girl.”
“I tried everything to make him happy.” She shrugged. “Nothing worked.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Hap said. “If he was fucking strippers while you were sitting at home on that green couch, my guess is he didn’t know what he wanted out of life. Some men are complacent on the outside but on the inside they’re angrier than a sack of wet cats.” He nodded at me. “If it’s any consolation, the Kid is pretty even-keeled.”
She grinned. “He seems to be.”
“Change of subject. Katy Perry, Miley Cyrus, and Taylor Swift,” Braxton said. “Go!”
“Fuck Katy, marry T-Swift, and kill Miley,” Reggie blurted.
“Care to explain?” Braxton asked.
“Sure.” Reggie leaned against the handrail of the porch and sipped her beer. “I’d kill Miley, because sooner or later she’d go off the deep end and do something stupid and unpredictable. Katy’s a bitch from time to time, so I couldn’t marry her. I’d fuck her just to see what her tits feel like. That leaves T-Swift for the marry. Pretty simple math. How about you?”
“I’m afraid I’d have to fuck Miley,” Braxton said. “She’s nuttier than a squirrel turd, and nutty girls are always good in the sack. I’d kill Perry because she irritates me. Afraid I’d have to marry Taylor, too. Probably end in a divorce fairly quickly. She’s far too strong-willed for me.”
“You prefer submissive types?” Reggie asked.
“Not so much,” he replied. “Doesn’t mean I want to spend my life arguing over petty things, though. I can see that girl being difficult to live with.”
“I’d hit Miley in the head with a wrecking ball, kill that skinny little Swift girl, and marry Perry,” Hap said.
Reggie laughed. “How do you know about Miley Cyrus and the wrecking ball?”
“I watch all the awards banquets. Get a huge kick out of seeing everyone. Except for that damned Cardi B. That woman’s voice grinds on my last nerve.”
“Me, too.” Reggie pointed at Hap. “And yuck on you for marrying Katy Perry. She’s—”
“She’s a preacher’s daughter. You know what they say about them.” Hap wagged his eyebrows. “She’d do anything just to spite her father.”
“I know a little about that,” Reggie said with a laugh.
Hap gave her a curious look. “Is your dad a preacher“?”
“Detective.”
“Never would have guessed it,” Hap replied. “You seem pretty normal, considering you’ve gone through what was u
ndoubtedly a strict upbringing. By the book, wasn’t he”
“He wasn’t too bad.”
“Did he lull you to sleep with gruesome stories about his homicide scenes?”
“He doesn’t work homicide. His specialty is organized crime.”
Hap laughed out loud. “Didn’t know we had a problem with the Italian mob in San Diego.”
“I don’t think we do,” Reggie admitted. “His focus is gangs, criminal enterprises, and things like that.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“What was your profession?” she asked.
“United States Marine,” Hap said proudly. “Thirty years. After that, I trained cops in hand-to-hand combat. Then, I retired for real.”
“That’s admirable.” She turned to face Braxton. “What about you?”
“Same thing,” he replied. “I retired from the Marine Corps.”
“What do you do now? You’re too young to be retired.”
“Solve problems,” he said dryly.
“You solve problems?”
“Amongst other things.”
“What kind of problems?”
Braxton leaned forward and studied her. After peering into her soul for a long moment, he relaxed into his seat and sighed. “If those who can afford my services do something, and they don’t want it being brought to light, I do what I can to make sure it stays out of the news, newspapers, and off social media. In short, I make problems disappear.”
“For the rich and famous?” she asked excitedly.
He nodded once. “Correct.”
“Like Ray Donovan?” she blurted.
“Correct.”
“Holy cow,” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe it. That’s…it’s…that’s the best job. Ever. Except for the well…yeah…never mind.”
“Who’s Ray Donovan?” I asked.
She spun around so fast it took her eyes two seconds to catch up with her. “Who’s Ray Donovan?” She looked at Braxton and then at me. “Who’s Ray Donovan? Only the best character ever written for a movie or TV show. Ever. You haven’t seen him?”
“I don’t watch television,” I said. “Not really. Jeopardy! that’s about it.”
“You have to watch Ray Donovan,” she said. “It’s the best show, ever.”
“Damned good show,” Hap said.
I glanced at Hap. “You’ve seen it.”
“All of ‘em,” he said. “Waiting on the new season. Ray’s in New York now. Season one started with him in Calabasas. You know, where those Kardashian twits live. Can’t believe Ray lived in the same town as those self-centered bitches.”
Reggie laughed. “You don’t like the Kardashians?”
“Can’t stand ‘em. Killed two of ‘em a couple of weeks ago. If I remember correctly, ran over them with a pickup truck.”
“Gangbanger hit them in a ’64 Impala,” Braxton said. “Dragged their bodies away with his lowrider. Plastered purses, jewelry, high heels and sweatpants from here to Encino.”
“That’s right,” Hap said. “Mexican gangbanger.”
“You guys are nuts,” she said with a laugh. She looked at each of us. “So this is your Sunday thing?”
“Every Sunday,” Hap said.
“I could get used to this,” she said. “It’s fun.”
“Heads up!” Hap tossed his empty beer bottle past me.
Reggie leaned back as it whooshed past her.
Braxton caught it mid-flight and set it aside. “I’m not throwing a full one.”
Hap walked to the door and paused. “Not asking you to.” He looked at Reggie. “You like those Kardashians sisters?”
“Not at all,” she said.
Hap grinned. “In that case, you’re welcome to come back any time you like, sweetheart.” He looked at me. “Be back in a minute, Kid. Gotta hit the head.”
It was important to me that my family by choice accepted Reggie just as she was. She held nothing back, and both men accepted her with open arms. The only thing standing between us and a long-lasting future together was the MC, and the men in it.
That was one obstacle I was sure to struggle with more than anything else.
23
Reggie
“Oh.” I lifted my head from the pillow. “I remember what it was I was thinking about earlier.”
“What?” he muttered.
“Ray Donovan,” I said. “That guy is so awesome. So, there will be some professional basketball player, and he’ll wake up with a dead whore in his bed, and Ray will drag the body to a bridge, pump it full of heroin, and toss it into the river. Then, he cleans up the original crime scene, erases all the security footage, and makes the whore in the river look like the crime scene, so nobody finds out about the girl really dying in the hotel. All for a cool five hundred grand, or whatever. The basketball player walks free, and no one is the wiser about the whore really dying in the hotel—they think she really jumped of the bridge. Ray sets people up on crimes, kills people, beats people up, and even rigs elections, all for money. Big money. It’s an awesome show.”
“Uhhm.”
“Uhhm, what?” I tilted my head to the side and gave him a look. “It’s an awesome show. You don’t want to watch it?”
“I didn’t.” He opened his eyes. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
He closed his eyes. “It’s hard to listen and focus at the same time.”
“What are you focusing on?”
He glanced at his crotch. “Did you forget what you’re doing?”
Naturally, my eyes followed his. My hand was wrapped around his half flaccid cock.
The past week had been a blur of late-night sexual acts. Going from not-so-interesting dick (every now and again) to dick I absolutely loved (on a nightly basis) had left my nether region aching. As a compromise, we agreed to forgo the sex for one night and perform orally on one another.
Still on cloud nine from Tito’s performance, I’d managed to completely forget about my commitment. I offered him a one-shouldered apologetic shrug with my free arm. “Sorry.”
I pulled my hair into a quick ponytail. “Give me just a minute, I’ll make it up to you.”
He began to harden in my hand. Eager to please him as much as he pleased me, I resituated myself into a comfortable position.
The sound of someone pounded on the door caused me to nearly jump from my skin. I released his dick and gasped. “Oh. My God.”
He shot up in bed. “Who the fuck is that?”
My heart pounded against my ribs. “I dunno.” I stared through my half-open bedroom door and into the dark living room. “Didn’t sound good, though.”
“Sounded like a cop-knock.”
I tensed as the person’s fist came crashing against the door once again.
Bang! Bang!
Bang!
Tito stepped off the edge of the bed and pulled on his jeans. “Who are the possibilities?”
“Uhhm. Jared. Dad. Mel.” My mind raced. I swallowed heavily. “The cops, I guess.”
He glanced at me. “Expecting the cops for any reason?”
“No.”
“Be back in a sec,” he said over his shoulder.
Nothing good ever came out of a post-midnight pounding of a person’s front door. Petrified, I scanned my mind for possibilities of who it could be. After coming up with nothing, I tip-toed to the bedroom door and peered into the living room. As Tito unlocked the front door, the knock came again. This time, my name was attached to it.
Bang!
Bang! Bang!
“Reggie!” Mel screamed. “It’s me! Open up. It’s an emergency!”
Relief washed over me. I flipped on the bedroom light. “It’s Mel!”
At the same instant, a shirtless Tito pulled open the door.
Mel shot past him, not giving him so much as a second look. She was covered in filth, and her hair was a disastrous mess. “Where are you?” she sputtered. Her eyes darted in every direction. “Re
ggie! Where are—”
“I’m right here.” Shocked at her appearance—and actions—I stared at her in disbelief. “What’s going on?”
Her hands were shaking. “We need to talk.”
I took a step in her direction. “Mel. What’s going—”
“Can we…” She darted toward my bedroom. “Talk in private?”
Worried about whatever was troubling her, I gave Tito an apologetic look. “Be right back,” I whispered.
Tito nodded, and then closed the front door. Filled with nervous curiosity, I turned to the bedroom. With bare feet that were just as filthy as her hands, Mel stood just inside the door, shaking.
“What’s going on?” I asked, looking her over. “You’re filthy, and it’s like…” I glanced at the clock. “After midnight on a Tuesday—”
“I hit him,” she muttered. “Hard.”
She was currently screwing a hot-tempered Italian bad boy she met online. It was only a matter of time before he did something that would require my father’s intervention.
“Who?” I asked. “Franky?”
Seeming disoriented with her surroundings, she wrung her hands together. “No.”
I’d seen Mel in a lot of bad situations, but I’d never seen her rattled. Not like she was, at least.
“Who?” I asked.
“I can’t remember.” She looked at her hands as if she’d never seen them before. “Some guy.”
She wasn’t simply shaken by whatever had happened to her. She was delirious.
“Some random guy?” I asked, taking a step in her direction.
Now wringing her hands frantically, she quickly stepped away from me. “I stopped…we had a few drinks. He said let’s go to your house, mine is too far away.” She looked up. “I think I killed him.”
“Killed him?!” I gasped. “Like? Dead?”
She swallowed hard. “Maybe.”
My heart raced. “What the fuck, Mel?”
“He came home with me. I was uhhm. We were…I was in the kitchen,” she stammered. “You know how I get when I’m drunk…I…I was uhhm. Grilled cheese. I felt this…” She raised her hands to her throat. “He had a knife. He pushed it...he said he was going to…” Her lip began to quiver. “I smacked him with the. I hit him in the face. With the skillet. Hard. Like. A bunch. There’s blood everywhere, Reg. Lots of blood.”
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