"Okay, so Buzz says that if we want to be accepted as sweet butts, we gotta do whatever the brothers ask of us," Candice tells me.
"Uh-huh," I tell her absentmindedly.
"You sure you want to do this?" she asks, mistaking my distraction for nervousness.
"Yeah, I'm sure," I tell her. I mean, sure, I'm nervous about being a sweet butt, especially with Taz around. But what I'm really thinking about is what happened with Drew. He's such a great guy, and so moral and upstanding, and I went and basically seduced him. He made it clear our relationship had to be professional. I'm always screwing things up. This is why I have to be so strict with myself, because if I don't, I wind up really going off the rails.
I just felt so confused. I think I'm starting to have real feelings for him, but was also all tied up in knots after what happened with Ford. Drew is the kind of guy I could actually imagine making a life with, though I'm not sure I could ever deserve someone like him.
I guess that's why I felt like I should become a sweet butt. I think it's some sort of masochistic tendency inside of me. I've done some terrible things, and this is my penance. I deserve what I get.
I pull the car onto the lawn of the Death Dealers' compound. There are a few other cars already here, all parked neatly in a row, unlike the party last week. Sun shines off the chrome on a long line of bikes closer to the building.
"You're sure I wasn't too bad around Buzz?" Candice asks me again as we get out of the car and head for the front door of the compound. I glance quickly toward the log where Ford had me straddling him.
"No, I don't think so. I think you left him inside before you got too drunk," I tell her. I still haven't mentioned how she puked in front of Ford and he had to carry her to the car. I don't think anything good will come of her knowing about that.
"Thank god," she says.
"Besides, he never would've told you that they were looking for more sweet butts if he thought you were a mess or something," I point out.
"I guess so," she replies, sounding a little doubtful. "And you think it's okay for you to come, too? He didn't specifically say to bring a friend or anything."
"If it's not okay, I'll leave, I promise. I don't want to mess up your chances," I tell her. I had to work on her a little bit for her to feel comfortable with me coming along at all.
"I mean, I'm sure they'll love you, it's just…" she says.
"Don't worry. I get it," I assure her, as we push open the front door. There are three other young women sitting on one of the couches in the main room, where all the dancing was at the party. Two of them smile at Candice at me, while the other picks at her cuticles.
Candice and I take another couch next to them, and an older woman carrying some papers walks out from a door near the back of the bar. She's probably in her late forties, and has long, platinum blonde hair and a deep tan. "Ladies," she says with a nod, looking us over. "There's one more of you than I expected."
"Sorry, that's me," I pipe up. "My friend Candice told me that the Death Dealers were looking for more sweet butts, and I know I didn't get a personal invitation, but I was really hoping you'd give me a shot. I understand if you want me to leave."
She pauses, looking over my body. "You can stay. For now." Candice squeezes my hand as the woman turns to the rest of the girls. "I'm Liz, Tank's old lady. Tank's the president here, which you should already know. To you, that means he's god. Being a sweet butt here is a privilege. If you prove yourself, you'll become part of the family, with everything that entails. Your job as a sweet butt is to obey. Do what the brothers want, when they want," she tells us, her sharp brown eyes boring into us. "You got any problems, you got any questions, you come to me. Think of me as mother hen. Don't go bothering any of the brothers with shit, got it?" We all nod. "Now, first things first: background checks." I swallow hard as she hands out blank pieces of paper. "Security's tight right now, so not just anyone can walk in here. Put down your full name, where you were born, and your social security number. Don't worry, I got no interest in taking your identity," she adds with a smirk.
I feel my palms sweat as Candice hands me a pen. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What are the last two numbers of Beth's social? Drew made me go over and over this. Is it three eight, or eight three? I stare at the paper, trying to picture it.
"What's the holdup?" Liz snaps. I look up, and realize everyone else has already handed her their papers.
"Sorry," I murmur, scribbling down eight three and handing her the paper.
"While I run these, you're gonna do some cleaning up. Start outside. Those two doors are off-limits," she says, pointing to the door that I know leads down the hallway, then to the meeting room and the cell, and another one, the one she initially came out of. "There are trash bags over there," she says with a nod. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she adds as we sit there staring at her.
We all jump up and head over to the trash bags. One of the other girls hands one out to each of us, and I glance over my shoulder at Liz as she leaves through the door. I can just see a computer on a desk behind her. Shit. That's where I should have gone at the party. That must be their offices.
"I'm Stacy," the girl who handed out the bags whispers to me as we head outside via the front door.
"Beth," I tell her with a smile. "And this is my friend Candice."
There's trash and litter everywhere, so we all spread out, taking different sections of the huge yard. I keep glancing toward the building as I robotically pick up trash from the ground. Should I just leave now? What if I got the social wrong? Or what if Drew couldn't get my fake information into all the right databases? I don't know how he was going to do it, he just said he'd take care of it. Or what if the Death Dealers have contacts in government agencies that go way above our police department, and they'll immediately know that I'm undercover?
I take two steps toward the car. Now's my chance to get out. I should just leave.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and almost jump out of my skin. "Beth, why am I getting an image of myself puking back here?" Candice asks me.
I smile, my spell of anxiety broken a little. "Um…"
"Oh, god. Was it bad?"
"No, no. Only I saw it. And Ford."
"Ford? Fuck, he's the hottest one!"
"Don't worry. He was really nice about it. He even carried you back to your car."
Beth groans. "Well, I guess it's too late now."
"Yep, guess so," I reply, glancing back toward the building.