The Roots of Drayton by Tony Bertauski

Author:Tony Bertauski [Bertauski, Tony]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DeadPixel Publications

Macon Leary

Freak.

She found a gospel channel and turned up Jesus till the speakers were bleeding. But when she started singing and clapping and that strap fell off her shoulder, that little titty popped out and almost knocked Macon off the road. He yanked the wheel, and she looked sideways at him and, swear to God, his cock moved like it was on a leash.

She was fucking radiant. Not a dash of makeup, as far as he could tell; had those eyes with bottomless pupils, big and round and wired.

“You like to party?” she said.

A wink and a smile and he was almost on the curb again. He leaned over and opened the glove box, drifting into the wrong lane as he dug deep. She pulled his arm out and retrieved a bag of weed then laughed hysterically.

“Fuck’s so funny?”

A coal of anger fired up his belly. The way she unrolled his stash sounded like she was laughing at a small dick. He wasn’t a fucking comedian, not down there. She was about to find out he was no laughing matter. Not down there.

Macon checked the rearview.

A gut check told him to keep an eye behind him, like someone might jump out of the backseat. This could be a setup, he thought.

Then the thought went away.

She laid her head on his shoulder, fingers dragging across his chest then crawling to his lips. She put two fingers in his mouth. They were musty and damp like a dead twig or dirty root, the taste hitting his brain like a gasoline trail.

He wanted more.

“Take the bridge.”

The tip of her tongue was in his ear. His balls tingled like nine-volt batteries. She cupped his package then went back to praising the Lord. Images of plowing her in the backseat while the church choir raised him higher flitted through his head. His jaws clenched. If his prayers were answered, then indeed he would give credit to the Lord and savior.

The rearview mirror was still clear.

While her groove rolled on, Macon dug his phone out. With one hand on the wheel, he snapped a shot of her bouncing, head down and shaking and a whole lot of mumbo jumbo coming out of her mouth. If she started speaking in tongues while he was six inches deep, he wasn’t going to last long. A dose of GBH might cool her down and put them both in the right head space, make this night last and last.

The Lord works in mysterious ways.

The tires galloped over the line as he thumbed a text. He had to send a pic of this crazy bitch to his boys. They had to know. Maybe he’d set up the phone and film a backseat party. His resumé had a long list of white chicks and one Hispanic.

First black.

He wrote that then deleted it. Imma smash, he thumbed. The tires rode the lane reflectors again with a steady rhythm before he hit send. He got the car straight—

Something isn’t right.

He was staring at the

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