3. Bellamy

THREE

bellamy

The screen door slammed closed behind me, doing little to silence my dad's angry shouts mixed with the ruckus of things breaking inside the house. I swiped a hand at my lip, catching a trickle of blood on my knuckle. I had tried to de-escalate the fight and gave the asshole just enough time to get one good swing in on me. And I hated that I'd let him.

Crickets silenced when I hopped over the chain-link fence separating my yard from the one behind us. I cut through the tall weeds to the back door.

"Hey! Nash." I pounded a fist on the rotting siding. "You in there?"

Footsteps came from inside before the click of the deadbolt sounded. Nash opened the door, and his gaze immediately landed on my lip. "Your old man being a dick again?"

"Yeah." I shouldered past him and went straight to the sink to rinse off my mouth.

"Where's Arlo?"

"At a friend's."

Nodding, he grabbed a tattered dish towel and passed it to me. Nash was one of the few people who actually knew how bad it was at home. Partly because he lived right behind me and couldn't ignore it. He glanced at my house, then back at me. "You should lay him out one good time."

The problem was, I had, and it hadn't made a difference. Dad was an angry drunk. And I'd been his whipping post for most of my life—until I could defend myself. Now, I was nothing but a rival. "I'm just pissed he got a hit in," I said.

Nash took a beer from the fridge. "Yeah, but girls dig scars, man." He headed toward his living room, fishing out his wallet before he dropped into the ratty recliner in the corner, then held up a crisp twenty. "You got any on you?"

I pulled a baggie from my pocket and launched it at him before taking the cash. Just like the money I made selling those history tests, this would go into the envelope I kept hidden in my top dresser drawer. An envelope that would eventually have an address scribbled across the front and a stamp placed onto the corner.

Nash grabbed his guitar from the side of the couch, strumming out a chord. "Me and some of the guys from the band are having a party tonight if you want to invite your friends over."

Nash and his friends were wannabe rock stars, and they partied just like they were practicing for fame. Having a night off sounded like a great idea.

Hours later, people crowded into Nash's small living room, bumping in beat with the music, spilling beer, and smoking.

Hendrix skirted around a group of girls in short skirts, his gaze going straight to their asses. "Man, this is awesome." He grabbed at his crotch. "If this is what being in a band is about, we need to start one."

"You can't play an instrument."

"I play pussy, Bell. What else do I need to do? I mean..." He dug his phone from his pocket. His brow knitted as he glanced down at the screen. "No way. Wolf said there's some dickhole named Drew selling weed through Frank's drive-thru." Hendrix cracked his neck to the side. "Oh, yeah. Getting into a fight tonight."

I snatched the phone from his hand, skimming over the text. "Through a drive-thru, really?"

Money had been tight since Hendrix's brother, Zepp, had gone to jail. This was not the crap any of us needed right now. We were already barely scraping by. "Come on," I said, digging into my pocket for my keys. "Let's go down to Frank's."

Hendrix fist-pumped the air. "I'm going on a trip, to beat some dumbass dick," he sang to the tune of the Little Einstein's theme song. "Soaring through the sky, he might die…"

"You know, your ability to take any children's song and make it messed up is almost impressive." I patted his back on my way to the door.

Ten minutes later, we idled in a line that wrapped around Frank's Famous Chicken. Hendrix sat in the passenger seat, throwing another practice punch. "Why are we in the drive-thru, anyway? We should just go inside and pummel the assdribble."

"Because for all we know, Drew's from the Northside."

That shut up Hendrix. We were high school kids pedaling a little pot to scrape by, and those guys... Those guys were full-time drug dealers, and I didn't really want a bullet in my head. I'd never heard of a guy named Drew in Dayton.

Static crackled over the speakers when I pulled up to the menu board, placed our order, and waited again.

Hendrix huffed, then snatched the boob-shaped stress ball from my dashboard. "You know, if Pepperoni Nips wasn't such a psycho, you could've asked her who the dickhead is."

"Yeah. Well..."

Asking Nikki anything would be a last resort, even if she did work here. That was for damn sure. One sideways glance from me and she thought I wanted her.

The truck in front of us spit out a black cloud of exhaust as it drove off, and we moved forward.

"I'm telling you, man, if old Salami Tits knew about this Drew thing and she didn't say anything, I'm gonna hate her even more, and I'm gonna—"

The drive-thru window cranked open with a creak of old hinges, and before I faced the window, the scent of perfume that reminded me of having my tongue on an expensive-tasting pussy wafted inside my car.

My dick was already at attention before Genevieve spun away from the register. "Two number ones and—" Her expression went blank before she released a heavy groan. "Really?"

"Two number ones, and you forgot the blowjob."

Hendrix punched my shoulder. "No way, man. She's hot. I called dibs in my head five seconds ago."

My gaze remained trained on Genevieve. "I've already had my tongue in her pussy, Hendrix." I cocked a brow. "So, she's mine." Sure, it was an asshole thing to say, but girls rarely ever went for a nice guy.

"Definitely not, asshole." If looks could kill...

I probably shouldn't have found that homicidal gleam in her eyes so hot, but I totally did.

"See!" Hendrix gave me another whack. "If you haven't pumped your dick in it, it doesn't count."

"Dibs, fuckwad."

Genevieve rolled her eyes. "That's fifteen seventy-five."

I passed over the cash. Then the window slammed. So, Miss Champagne and Caviar was about to start at Dayton and she was working a drive-thru? Daddy had most definitely lost the money.... No way some Barrington kid would be working a drive-thru in Dayton if he hadn't.

"Seriously, Bell. Why do you have to go licking all the hot pussy?" Hendrix slouched in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest like a sulking toddler. "Dick."

I was still staring at him when a grease-stained bag landed in my lap.

"You can go now. Have a nice night," she said, moving to close the window.

But before it swung shut, I grabbed it. "Come on now, baby girl, you..." My next words were lost when my gaze dropped to her tits, and more importantly, to the plastic name tag pinned to her shirt that read: Drew. No way. No fucking way! "Your name's Drew?" There was no way in hell that girl was a drug dealer. She was too—everything not Dayton.

She shrugged one shoulder. "What do you want me to say? I wasn't supposed to see you again." Then she slammed the drive-thru window.

Swiping a hand over my face, I pressed back against the seat. That girl may not be a true threat, but God, this was a problem. Hendrix snatched the bag from my lap. "Good job, asshole." Then chucked a fry at my face. "You had your sick tongue slurping over our competition like a Tootsie Pop!" He shook his head.

"She's not competition, Hendrix. Did you see her?"

"Yeah. She's hot. I'd buy weed off her."

I glared at him. "No way that girl is a drug dealer. She's probably got daddy issues and is trying to do something to get his attention, so she's selling a handful of dime bags."

But the problem was, regardless of how much of a threat I felt she posed, we had a reputation. If we let her get away with this little drive-thru stunt, other assholes would try. And eventually, an asshole who would pose a threat would get brave. I had to nip this shit in the bud come Monday morning.

A car horn blared behind us. Hendrix flipped them off, then lowered the window and stuck his head out, shouting, "Go suck a dick. We're having a crisis!"

"Get back in the car." I yanked his crazy ass back inside, then floored the accelerator, watching in my side mirror as Drew handed the next customer their mega gulp drink.

That girl was a liar and a con, and God, did I want to fuck her up, then fuck her for it.