But the bitch is tied to one of the Hoodlums, which means I have to tread carefully.
At one time, I thought she was cool like Hollis. Hot as fuck too. She was kind of like Roux in the aspect that she was an honorary Hoodlum. We let her hang, but she was untouchable.
Not now.
She fucked that up when she decided to get behind the wheel blasted out of her mind. Charlotte carelessly took someone away from me who is my brother in every way but blood. I was happy as fuck to learn that her daddy picked up the medical bills for Terrence. If he’s not going to wake up, I hope he bleeds them dry. Maybe the rotten princess will learn from her terrible mistake.
I’m boiling over with anger toward the beautiful, spoiled blonde by the time I make my way to my truck. T and I were supposed to be having the time of our lives right now. Instead, I’ve been tied to his bed, praying like fuck for him to wake up. By the time I hop in my lifted black GMC Sierra truck and turn over the engine, I’m furious. I peel out of the hospital parking lot, not caring that I’m leaving burnout tire strips on the asphalt. Bypassing the stop sign, I blow out of there toward Roan’s, turning the music on loud to drown out all my inner noise.
Lights.
Red and blue.
Fuck.
Annoyed, I let out a growl and pull over. I’m no stranger to the cops of Hood River. Hell, my dad knows them probably better than me for how many shit storms he had to come to my rescue on. David Hutton’s used to bailing his only son out and is pretty damn good at it. I wonder which lucky bastard will have the pleasure of meeting Dad’s wrath today.
As soon as my eyes meet Michael Cunningham’s approaching form, I curse. Of course it’d have to be this asshole—the father of the motherfucker who is no doubt just as responsible for Terrence’s accident as Charlotte is. Michael is one of those older guys who thinks because he wears a badge and stays fit, the town fucking worships him like he’s a god. I hate him and Ryan. Tyler, his oldest son, is okay, but since he’s gay, their all-American douchebag family has pretty much excommunicated him anyway.
Just to be a dick, I wait until he has to tap on my window before I roll it down. I smirk down at him. My forty-inch tires have him looking up at me, pissed that I literally have the upper hand right now.
“Officer Cuntingham.”
Not rising to the bait, he steps on the running board to bring himself into my window so I can smell the onions he had at lunch.
“Calvin fucking Hutton.” He makes a chiding clucking sound with his tongue. “You ran a stop sign and were speeding. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“To see Tyler,” I taunt, running my tongue over my lower lip in a suggestive way. “We go way back.” I wink at him for good measure.
His face turns purple immediately. It’s good to know his gay son is still a thorn in his side. I’ve got nothing against gays—because Roan’s as gay as they come and I love him to death—but Officer Douchebag doesn’t know that. Tyler hit on me plenty of times, none of which I played back, so it’s not totally unheard of or farfetched.
“I ought to haul your smart ass in,” he growls.
“You could,” I throw back at him. “I’m sure Dad misses your ugly mug.”
His lip curls up. My dad’s good to those he loves, but to everyone else, he’s a big fucking nightmare of an asshole. Six and a half feet of pure dickhead material.
“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “I’d rather fuck you—”
“You’d rather fuck me?”
“With a big ass ticket,” he finishes on a growl.
“Oh,” I mutter, feigning disappointment. “And here I thought you were a dirty cop.”
He jumps off the running board, cursing before storming back to his cruiser. I text Roan while I wait for Officer Cuntface to write me a ticket.
Me: Tell your husband to tell his boyfriend to tell his dad to get off my nuts.
Roan: Fuck you. Tyler is not Hollis’s boyfriend.
Me: It’d be super convenient if he was though. Cuntingham pulled me over.
Roan: Do I need to bail you out?
Me: He’d rather metaphorically fuck me with a ticket. I think he secretly wants to suck my dick but I told him that was more your gig.
Roan: You’re such an asshole.
Before I can reply with some witty comeback, Officer Onion Breath is back. He tosses the crinkled ticket into my vehicle. Doesn’t ask for license or registration. Probably has that shit saved on his phone from all the other times he’s pulled me over.
“You fly through here again and I’ll bust your ass. I don’t care what your dad threatens,” he warns, his jaw clenching.
“I’ll be a perfect angel,” I deadpan.
He stalks away, not bothering to respond. I wait until he’s peeling away before I put the truck in drive. It’s tempting not to catch up to him and pass him just to be a dick, but I refrain. I’m not in the mood to get hauled in and then listen to Dad’s lecture later.
Within fifteen minutes, after a quick stop to grab milk, I arrive at Roan’s, parking next to Hollis’s purple Mustang that he’s had since high school. Hollis and Sebban are crouched beneath the stairs looking at something. I shut the truck door and walk over to them.
“If you’re playing hide and seek, I can see you,” I tell Hollis.
He discreetly flips me off. “We’re looking for worms.”
“Why?”
“Worm!” Sebban screeches, crawling forward. He picks up a worm, squeezing it until he severs the damn thing.
“Gross. Remind me never to have kids.”
Hollis
