Born Wrong(9)

I'm so confused.

“Why are we not fighting back?” The bassist kid asks, giving Turner a flesh melting glare. “Are you going to tell us what's going on? Why we're following after this ass weed?”

“Because if you don't, I'll drop your scum dog ass a split second before I cap your friends.”

Apparently I'm not the only one shocked as shit to hear this come out of Lola's mouth. Or to see that she has a gun. Where on earth was she packing that heat? I exchange a nervous glance with Jesse and get a slight shrug of the shoulders. Armed trench coat wearing weirdos, snipers with grudges against my brother, and a girlfriend for Turner. Weird things are happening around here, impossible things, and now I'm somehow caught up in the middle of it.

“Turner Dakota Campbell,” I hiss as Tyler pulls me aside and presses the button for the elevator with his pale knuckles. The black roses are still clutched in his fingers, a morbid stain against the white-white of the hospital walls. “You owe me an explanation, a big one.” Tyler jerks me hard against his side and speaks straight into my ear, his dry lips brushing my earrings and making me shake with the rush of adrenaline. This is a flight or fight situation if I've ever seen one, but I know how to control my instincts. I stay very calm and very still.

“This is not a conversation that we're having here. This is not a game. I don't find your doe-eyed innocence amusing.” Tyler smiles as the elevator pings down towards us. “Nor does Miss Saints here. Miss Saints would like to keep her sister alive, so she'd appreciate your cooperation.” He smacks his teeth together and there's this sound, like porcelain clinking, that makes my head hurt. Tyler has a nice, deep, Southern drawl that should be a guaranteed panty wetter, but the crazy laced in his words poisons the sound and keeps Lady Twat dry as the Sahara desert.

“You going to tell me what's what, or am I going to wallow around here like a fuckin' bastard at a buck's party?” Lola asks, gritting her teeth and staring hard at Tyler's face. She keeps her gaze pointedly away from Ronnie's.

“Oh, baby, we're just here to celebrate Treyjan's miraculous return.” Lola's muscles tense and her spine goes rigid as a man throws his arm around her shoulders and presses a sloppy kiss to her cheek. “And to talk about the killer show these guys just put on.” I have no idea who this guy is, but Ronnie does. The skin on his face tightens and his mouth goes flat. His eyes are sparkling with a hint of violence. It scares me because I've seen it before, when we were kids. You piss Ronnie McGuire off, you get wrecked.

“What in the flipping fuck are you doing here, Cohen?” Lola growls as Ronnie's eyes flutter shut and his fingers curl into tight fists at his sides. This whole situation smells like shit. We're all floating in a fucking toilet right now. I swear, I can hear the sound of a flush as the elevator doors open and out spills a bunch of screaming kids, breaking around us like rapids over rocks. Get Well balloons float around and slap me in the face as they scatter down the halls with a saggy-eyed woman trailing along behind them.

Cohen doesn't answer Lola, just shrugs and saunters up to me, raking his gaze down my body before letting his lips melt into a malformed grin. I pretend I don't notice him, always works best this way. He's got that rape-y look about him that makes me nervous. Best not to add any fodder to the cannon.

“Get in,” Tyler suggests lightly and our group shuffles through the metal doors, like a herd of tattooed sheep surrounded by wolves. I lick my lips and close my eyes, listening to the sounds of breathing around me. Since I don't have a flying fuck as to what's going on, I get to stand here and keep my mouth shut. Hopefully, my boys have something in mind. I've never seen them fail before. I let my lashes flicker open and examine my brother's friends. Turner, Ronnie, and Jesse have been around as long as I can remember. They all went to the same shit elementary school, all fucked up in the same high school. And they've always managed to claw their way out of the worst of the worst.

I squeeze my hands once, pierce my palms with my nails and try to breathe.

“This is fucking bullshit, dude,” Turner growls, keeping his gaze focused straight ahead. His brown eyes are lit up from within and his skin is peppered with dots of sweat, perfectly round balls of moisture clinging to his tattoos like raindrops. Beside him, Ronnie's as pale as a ghost, and still, too. Well, everything except for his right fist which twists in the fabric of his shirt. “I thought you were too grandiose for all of this. Where are your bitches now?”

“Oh, Mr. Campbell, you misunderstand,” Tyler says in that sultry Southern accent. I know a hundred women that would go crazy for that voice. Still, I think the guy's creep factor far outweighs a little sugar in his sound. I shift, uncomfortable with the way Cohen's gaze is stuck on my tits. Where the hell are the stupid bodyguards? Isn't this what they're supposed to be for? “I've never felt like I was above the action. I simply didn't have the luxury of revealing myself.” I feel him smile behind me. Imagine that, feeling somebody smile. Now you know how intense this motherfucker is. Woo wee. “But you see,” he begins and his voice rises an octave, like somebody's down there squeezin' his nuts. “This little stunt America decided to pull,” Tyler continues, grinding out the words between his teeth. A second later, I feel the metallic pinch of a gun barrel against my skull. There's a gun to my head. I swallow and keep my gaze focused on Jesse's new haircut. Short hair on Jesse. That's a new one. I don't think about the fact that I could die at any moment, in an elevator on the way to see my dying brother. “Forced my hand. Do you see, do you?” he says and his tone gets a little rougher. “This is America's fault. Blame her for this, not me. I'm simply reacting.”