Dyson swept her eyes between me and Beauty, fidgeting with her hands, head twitching, waiting for a rescue. Ah. It then struck me the reason she was back made complete sense. She was desperate for her next fix, hoping some brother would slip her some cash for meth.
“I came to see Tiff and Jules,” Dyson answered unconvincingly, eyes shifty, trying to avoid our glares.
“Don’t give a shit! Get-the-fuck-out! No one wants to see your skanky sex show no more!” Beauty stood almost nose to nose with Dyson, the tension building too high for my liking.
Beauty— I signed, trying to calm her the f**k down. She thrust a palm in my face, the other hand gripping my fingers, silencing my voice.
“Don’t, Styx! Don’t let the temptation of f**kin’ her rancid pu**y again make you change your mind! Think of Mae. Get rid of the whoring bitch!”
You know what, Beauty? I signed. I’m getting beyond pissed at you trying to tell me how to live my f**kin’ life.
Beauty gasped. She was the only old lady I never had crossed words with. She was the only bitch I could tolerate for more than two minutes, and we were good. Hell, she even learned ASL for my sorry mute ass. But her letting her mouth go, to me, the Prez, needed to stop before she completely robbed me of my f**kin’ balls!
I saw Dyson smirk. Quite honestly, I felt like wiping the evil grin off her face myself, but I just wanted to drink a fifth of whiskey and not picture Lois dead on the sandy ground, blood pooling beneath her, or Mae curled up crying in my bed, covered in rape scars. Pit, like he was reading my f**kin’ mind, slid a fifth of whiskey my way from behind the bar.
Down went half and I could feel myself going numb. In my drunk-ass state, I noticed Beauty move to the end of the bar, keeping a close watch on Dyson.
Ten minutes later, I wasn’t noticing much else.
***
I could’ve sworn the five rivers of the underworld painted on the bar wall were on the move. They seemed to be swirling, but then again, the whole room had started to swim. Making an attempt to get up and off the barstool, I stumbled only for someone to prop me up by my arm: Dyson. Her eyelids hooded, lips frozen in a smirk and her hand reached for my cock.
My drunk-ass body lurched to life and Dyson gripped onto my shirt and began dragging me to the hallway. The look my favorite blonde shot me from her position at the bar would have incinerated a lesser man on the spot.
Dyson led me into the hallway, finding the darkest spot. Her smile was wide and she licked that f**kin’ talented tongue over her teeth. I needed this, needed to f**k all the rage outta my system—hard, rough f**kin’. Had to get Mae and her f**ked-up scars outta my head before I lost it and went hunting for people to rip apart for fun. Needed to get Lois’s hurt face outta my eyes before the guilt tore me apart.
Dyson reached up and ripped the top of her tank down to her waist. Her massive plastic tits popped out—no bra. Dyson’s eyes shone with arousal as she plucked and squeezed at her f**kin’ huge red ni**les, groaning loudly, getting herself off.
Dirty f**kin’ whore.
Dropping one of her hands, Dyson lifted her skirt and slipped her finger against her clit. This was why the brothers craved her—the f**kin’ pre-fuck floorshow.
The infamous Dyson special.
I watched her grinding on her hand, squeezing her tits, almost coming at my fixed attention, but I felt… nothing. Not one f**kin’ spark. Yeah, I was still hard as f**k, but that was all Mae, all Wolf-Eyes in my mind, and the feel of her perfect little body beneath me, her perfect face, and… Fuck, I couldn’t do this. For the first time in my bastard life desire for another bitch stopped me from f**kin’ a slut.
“Styx!”
Dyson let out a long, satisfied squeal as she came like a pro, her smug face showing she thought I was getting off on her p**n . She dropped to the floor, lunging forward, tearing aggressively at the zipper of my jeans. I reached down, gripping her wrists to push her away. Then I heard it; a whimper, a pain-filled f**kin’ whimper from my right.
Even through my whiskey-brain I sensed who it was without even looking up.
Turning slowly, I found Mae staring at me in shock, devastation written all over her face. She was dressed in a tight Hangmen tank, tight black jeans, with my cut swamping her tiny body. Fuck. She looked so damn hot.
Dyson threw her head back and laughed, pulling me from gawking at Mae, my mind catching up to what Mae was seeing.
“What, darlin’? You wanna a f**kin’ picture? Wanna watch us f**k?” The pink-haired bitch taunted Mae from her place on her knees, facing my—thankfully still covered—hard cock.