Page 81 of Under Kid’s Protection

But what about breathing on this planet wasn’t? Every decision people made carried some consequence. This choice would just be a little trickier with higher stakes. Hopefully, they’d come to the correct, and most profitable, verdict.

“Now, if we don’t have any other business,” Kevlar began as he clapped his hands together.

“One more thing,” Kid said as he returned to his spot.

The men around him paused their celebration and eyed him in confusion.

“I want to make Carrie my old lady,” he declared.

“Dammit,” Kevlar hissed.

Torch peered at him.

“What?” Frog asked. “You tapping that?”

Irrational rage flared within Kid’s chest. There was no way in hell his brother would mess with Carrie. First, Kelsey would shoot him in the dick. Second, he was infatuated with his blond lady.

Kevlar snorted. “No.” He sighed and dropped into his seat at the head of the table. “I gotta shave my beard now.”

Torch snickered. “Why?”

“Kelsey bet he’d do this tonight.” Kevlar ran a hand over his thick facial hair.

“You’re gonna look so weird,” Torch said as he lifted his beer to his lips. “Like a baby.”

“Do you even have a chin under there?” Pooter got in on the ribbing.

Kevlar rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Kid. “You couldn’t wait a week? She was going to let me…” he trailed off and shook his head. “Alright, put it to a vote. Any objections to Kid claiming Carrie?”

48

Carrie

If Carrie thought the trunk-or-treat portion of this event was chaos, she was not prepared for organizing the after-hours affair. The frantic rush of cleaning up one party while setting up the other was dizzying.

With four sleeves of Solo cups in her hand, Carrie paused in the middle of the room and glanced around. The bones were the same. The décor was completely different. Well, the place had adornments on the walls. Neon signs, framed posters, and even some pictures of fallen brothers. None of this was present the last time she’d been there.

That horrific night had terrorized her for months.

While physically, she stood in the same room where she’d been horrendously defiled, this was a different place. The people bustling about her weren’t there that night. The layout had changed, though the elements remained.

On the stage, a local cover band was busy setting up for their performance. The two pool tables were off to one side rather than in the middle of the room. High-top tables were scattered about. Four lower and larger round tables were mixed in with them. To the back and on the left were a series of lounging sofas. In a corner, an old jukebox was playing classic rock through the speakers.

Taking a deep breath, Carrie shook her head and rid herself of any doubt and worry about the evening. This place was different than it once was. The clubhouse was safe for her. Kid had kept his promise. She could be here without fear.

Another feather in her recovery cap.

With pep in her step, she kept her head high as she moved toward the bar closer to the front of the room. This would be a great day. Her return to social life, and her rebirth after trauma, had arrived.

“Why are there so many condoms here?” A brassy-haired woman in a Harley-Davidson crop top, whom she’d seen before at the Knucklehead, shouted to the room while holding up the value boxes of Trojans. “These were supposed to be put everywhere.”

“They’re in bowls in the bathroom,” Carrie said as she deposited the cups on the counter.

Bushie dipped his chin in thanks as he reached for them.

The woman behind the bar rolled her eyes. “They need to be everywhere.”

Carrie furrowed her brow. “Why?”