Doll Face(45)
“What do you want, Cohen?” I ask, enjoying the twinge of venom in my words. At least I can still manage that. His shit brown eyes bore into me as he shifts and adjusts his right arm, trapped in a sling by his side. If that was my doing, I'm not sure. When I took that second shot at Cohen, I have no idea if I even hit gold. I hope so. I try to take pleasure in that. “Don't you have a plane to catch back to Arkansas or something? There must be a trailer park out there with your name written all over it.”
“Listen to me, you little bitch,” he growls and then pauses when Brayden's men shift next to him. This whole operation here stinks of subterfuge and underground politics. I don't like it. Scares the shit out of me. Blackness creeps in at the edges of my vision, and I start to wonder if our whole it's all over now motto might be a little premature. It doesn't feel over. No, the shit storm still seems to be raging, even if all the diarrhea is falling behind the scenes. “Listen to me, Lola. Whatever you think, whatever that Ronnie guy's made you believe, it's all a load of bullshit. This isn't over, so don't go riding off into the sunset just yet. I was promised my piece, and it hasn't been delivered. Joel is … ” Another uncomfortable shift from Brayden's men. “Dead. Honesty and Chris are damn close to it. We were promised fame. And money. I don't see any of that shit happening.”
“Oh, get stuffed, Cohen. I don't have time to sit here and listen to your maniacal cackling.” I shake my head and force my hands to sit still in my lap. I won't give this asshole the pleasure of seeing me squirm. His crap brown eyes are searching right now, gleefully seeking weakness to feed off of. That's his thing, you know. He's an insecure man looking for more, more, more. It's bloody terrifying. “I don't know why you're not sitting in jail somewhere. Hell, I don't know why I'm not sitting in jail somewhere.” I feel Brayden's guards looking very closely at me, so I keep it vague. “But what I do know is that it looks like I'm going to get a second chance. Sorry to burst your bubble, but if I can walk away from all of this and take it, I damn well will. Make your own destiny, Cohen, and stop relying on others to do it for you.” I smile and it feels like the expression is eating away at my face. “Your dick's not big enough to entice anyone to stay for the sex and you've got a few roos loose in the top paddock. If I could pass on any advice at this point, it would be to stop beating your girlfriends and act like a gentleman for a change.”
Cohen's hands curl into fists by his sides and his nostrils flare, but he doesn't take another step towards me. Instead he scrubs a hand through his dirty blonde hair and scowls.
“You can't be redeemed. You know that, right? A bitch that's done all the things you've done? Whatever fantasyland you're living in, you might want to dig yourself out and take a look around you. Just because Stephen's dead doesn't mean you're free to do as you please.” Cohen licks his lips and opens his mouth for a second tirade when something he sees behind me stops him in his tracks.
“Do I need to take my fucking shirt off again, Cohen?” Ronnie asks as I sit up suddenly and whip my head around to stare at him through fluttering strands of brunette that settle gently around my face as I stare at the best damn drummer that ever walked this earth. My mouth gets dry and my heartbeat picks up at the sight of him cracking his knuckles and frowning at my ex. Turner stands on his left, a smirk curling up the corners of his lips. The fluorescent lights make the piercing in his tongue gleam when he opens his mouth to speak.
“I hear last time this motherfucker went after you, you pissed yourself. Too bad I wasn't around to see it. Why don't you keep messing with his woman and let's see how far he lets you go before he smashes your face in.” Considering Cohen's still sporting some of the bruises that Ronnie left on his face in Wichita, I'm surprised he's got the balls to actually open his fat ass mouth again.
“So I insulted some dead Asian bitch. Big fucking deal.” Cohen points at me and lets a smirk move over his mouth, one that he modeled after his idol, Turner Campbell. Thing is, that look on Turner's face is legit. On Cohen's? Eh. Not so much. “And I've gotten my dick wet with this cunt enough times that I feel like I got the right to talk to her however I damn well please.” Ronnie takes a few steps forward, but Brayden's men bristle, like they're not about to let any shit go down here. Ah. I see. Cohen doesn't actually have any balls; he's just grandstanding because he thinks having two muscled men at his back makes him immune to getting his ass kicked.
I rise to my feet and give Ronnie a look, taking in his black T-shirt with the red rose, the cursive writing that says Bloom Big, Bleed Bright. The cotton fabric stretches across his muscles, reminding me yet again that I haven't been laid in way too fucking long. Closest thing I've had in the last ten or whatever days was that magical bit of tongue in the hotel room. My body makes sure I don't miss Ronnie's well-fitting jeans, the ones that are at least two sizes smaller than he normally wears, but also two sizes bigger than Turner's – at least.