Chapter 47 #3
“Buried any phones in your shit pile recently?” he retorts sardonically.
“Can’t say I have.” She shrugs her shoulders, looking nonplussed by the accusation.
My gaze ping-pongs between the two of them, trying to figure out how they met in the first place, and why they’re harboring so much animosity for one another.
“I reserve that treatment for inconsiderate assholes.” I swipe my hand over my mouth to conceal the smile her snark is eliciting.
Briggs shoots me a glare, not missing a beat as they trade insults back and forth.
I watch their verbal tennis match for several more seconds before finally stepping in to de-escalate the situation.
“Okay, that’s enough,” I state firmly, placing myself between them.
I turn to face the blue-haired girl, who can’t be more than sixteen, and quickly shift the topic to something more productive.
“Look, I don’t know the circumstances that led you here, but if you need a safe place to land, you’re welcome here.
Ask for Rita, and tell her Col sent you.
” I tug a business card for The Village out of my wallet and extend it toward her.
“I’m not looking for a pimp, you creep,” she spits, venom dripping from every word.
“First of all, gross,” I respond, a shiver of disgust working its way through my body.
There’s no amount of brain-bleach that will ever erase those words from being etched into my mind, but I contemplate banging my head against the closest brick wall in hopes a concussion might do the trick.
“It’s a shelter of sorts. We can help you find a job and a place to stay.
” I almost rescind the offer when she makes no move to take the card, but she finally accepts it.
She narrows her eyes and points an accusing finger at me while saying, “If this is some trick to force me into prostitution, I’ll hack your dick off with a butter knife. And his, too, just for funsies.” She gestures towards Briggs, who smartly covers his junk with both hands.
“Lovely,” I deadpan, trying not to take offense to her biting commentary, knowing it’s likely her first line of defense when it comes to creeps attempting to prey on her.
Before I can say anything else, my phone chimes, alerting me that I have a new voicemail.
It never even rang, but I’m not surprised, considering how little service I have.
I place it against my ear, keeping my eyes on Briggs and his nemesis, but Dayton’s words steal my attention a moment later.
My heart rate goes from resting to borderline stroke level when I’m finally able to decipher his panic-stricken babbling.
“Oh, holy fuck,” I swear, my wide-eyed stare meeting Briggs’.
“What’s wrong?” he questions.
“Andi’s in labor,” I answer, the disbelief in my voice unmissable.
“We have to go, Briggs. Right now.” I spin around, searching for anything that can get us across town faster than our feet will.
Spotting the ridiculously small bicycle the blue-haired menace likely commandeered through less-than-legal means, Briggs and I share a look of commiseration, realizing it’s our only option.
“We need your bike.” I rip a hundred-dollar bill from my wallet, wiggling it at her enticingly. “Please.”
“I worked very hard for this mode of transportation.” She folds her arms across her chest, lifting her nose in the air. “Lots of hours at the, um…the church. Yes, the church. Doing the Lord’s work.” Briggs guffaws, doing nothing to endear her to our plight. I nearly punch the dumbass in the face.
“Sure, if church is code for coven, you evil little witch,” he snarks, tugging a wad of cash from his own wallet.
Her eyes light up at the sight, which Briggs uses to his advantage.
“Hand over the bike, and all of this is yours,” he taunts, holding the money above his head when she attempts to reach for it.
“We’ll make the trade at the same time,” she counters.
“Deal,” I agree, happy to facilitate the exchange.
Once I’ve secured the bike, I ignore their bickering and check my phone once again, only to find it in SOS mode.
Fucking hell, everything about this scenario is complete and utter bullshit.
“Briggs,” I bark, straddling the tiny seat that’s going to be supremely uncomfortable for the nearly six-mile ride to the hospital.
He flips the girl off and strides towards me, grumbling about having to sit on the handlebars.
“Stop fucking complaining,” I gripe, wobbling as I try to balance the weight of two grown men.
“It has sparkly tassels, Col,” Briggs retorts unhappily, flicking the glittery streamers attached to the ends of the handles. Laughter fades behind us, but I pay the brat no mind. We’ve barely made it a mile when the sky opens, drenching us in a downpour.
“Just great,” Briggs pouts petulantly. “We’re going to meet our kid for the first time looking like drowned rats.” I huff out a laugh, genuinely concerned that my lungs are going to explode before we even make it there.