He gives me the finger as he walks away, leaving me standing over the sidewalk, the wallet in my hand and my groceries strewn all over.
Fuck. How did I lose control like that? I thought I had it under wraps. And what am I gonna do about my asshole brother?
The red mist and the feeling of danger linger as I watch him go, watch as he kicks at a trash can and lurches drunkenly.
Just … fuck.
Another Friday night rolls around, and I'm out in the cold, waiting outside a warehouse together with Angel, keeping guard while Mav conducts his usual business inside.
"So who was the girl?" Angel asks with a smirk, taking a silver flask from inside his jacket and unscrewing the top.
"What girl?" I mutter, although I know perfectly well.
"Your sister. I dunno, are you fucking with me?" He passes me the flask, and I wipe the mouth on my sleeve before taking a swig. Vodka. "The girl that other night, the one who was so excited to see you."
"Nobody. Just a crazy chick. She thought she knew me, is all." I take one more swig and pass the flask back to him.
Jesus, it's colder than a witch's tit out here in the dead of night. Plus, I finished my shift at the bar more than an hour ago, and I'm famished. The alcohol sloshes in my stomach.
"Really?" Angel says, lifting the flask to his mouth, not even wiping it. "She knew your name. Maybe you know her after all?"
I fold my arms over my chest. "I said I don't know her. So fuck off."
"You don't get to mouth off like that to me, boy." Angel's smirk is dangerous, but I'm too tired to care tonight. Tired of everything. "Answer the question. We can't afford loose ends."
"She knows nothing. Forget about her."
He frowns, tugging at his short beard, but then just shrugs and screws the lid back on the flask. "Not my problem, dude. Just a friendly warning. If you let slip anything … "
Sweat trickles between my shoulder blades. "Got it, man. I won't. I'm not an idiot."
"Yeah, you're not. But I wouldn't say the same about your brother."
Wait … He thinks Seb would rat me out? Not that there's anything to rat me out for, but if there was …
Nah. Seb is a druggie, but when he isn't high, he's not that bad. And he's my brother. No matter what, he wouldn't. No way.
The door of the warehouse bangs open, and Mav walks out, followed by Jorge and Seb, then the gang they've been dealing with, one of the bigger ones controlling the city. Bunch of gorillas in suits and golden chains.
I don't know their names, and I'm keeping it that way. I've done my best not to get too involved in the gang's business.
The only reason I'm here is my brother, whether he fucking likes it or not.
Mav shakes hands with the other gang leader, and they split. Angel slips the flask back inside his jacket, zips up and follows our people. I fall into step with him, keeping behind them-close, but not too close. No way of knowing whether Seb is high right now or not, if paranoia hits him and he comes after me again.
It's already hard work, keeping my eyes on other gangs coming at us. I want to think I don't have to be scared of my own brother all the goddamn time.
Last night was a one-time thing, right? A random thing. Seb appreciates that I'm there for him, that I have his goddamn back.
I fucking know it.
"Wait here," Mav tells me, pointing at the alley mouth. "Don't move from the spot. Call me if you see anyone suspicious."
Like I'm his watchdog or something.
"Don't you worry, Mav," I drawl, shoving my hands into my pants pockets. "Got you on speed dial."
I guess I am his watchdog. Just another thing that pisses me off, even if it was my choice. Let's just say my choices have always been limited.
Sometimes I think I have no choices at all.
Sebastian glares daggers at me before he turns to follow Mav into the bar through the back door. Angel shakes his head, like he's worried about me, but I know better. Hell, after his veiled threats about Gigi, I doubt he gives a shit about anything to do with me, except maybe keep me on a tight leash.
Watchdog and leash. Makes perfect sense.
The metal door clangs closed behind them, and I'm finally alone in the cold. Nobody watching, nobody I need to appease and lie to. Despite the dark shadows crawling along the alley and the sense of danger that never quite goes away, in my dreams and in real life, my shoulders relax.
Leaning back against a wall, I brace one booted foot against the bare bricks and close my eyes. Just five seconds without the responsibility, without that weight on my chest.
Patting my back pocket blindly, I draw out my pack of smokes and my lighter. Between working at the bar, and for the gang, looking out for Sebastian and stopping him from stealing my money …
Shit.
Don't bitch about it, I tell myself. Suck it up. You're lucky and you fucking know it. Your life could have gone so much worse. If it hadn't been for the Lowes …
A shudder runs through me.
I pull out a smoke and light up. Yeah, without the Lowes I don't even want to imagine where I'd have ended up.
Opening my eyes, I scan the street, then glance back into the alley. No movement. All is quiet tonight. The Glock Mav gave me is heavy where it rests against the small of my back. It's a heavy piece, its serial numbers filed off, and God knows what he's used it for in the past.
The first time he presented the gun to me, Mav asked if I'd ever held one before.
Fucking funny.
And he still doesn't know anything much about me, well apart from the rumors. He thinks I'm like Sebastian, raised in the 'burbs by a nice, loving family, spent my childhood playing baseball and videogames.
He thinks having me as a watchdog is a joke, that when I say I'll look out for Sebastian I don't know what I'm talking about.
Better that way.
Knowledge is a dangerous, double-edged blade. I wouldn't want him knowing that I was once, even if for a few years, the son of a cop.
A couple of cars drive by as I stand there smoking, freezing my fucking balls off, but none of them stop. A couple stroll by, talking quietly to each other. I stare at their heads, bent together, fighting a strange twinge in my chest. It's like a lost memory, a flickering light just out of reach, a memory of something good, and warm, and important.
They vanish in the night, and I'm left staring after them.
The hell. Whatever. I throw my cigarette down and put it out with my boot, then rub a hand over my tight chest. You'd think my heart hurts. That it's cracked inside.
But I don't have a fucking heart.
Not anymore.
The back door of the bar whines as it opens, and I turn around, instantly on high alert, expecting Mav and everyone else to file out.
But it's not him, or any of the guys.
It's a girl, I realize as I squint in the darkness, the only light coming from the Exit sign over the door. A short, curvy girl with a head full of red curls, and she's somehow familiar.
A guy comes out after her, tall and muscular, and the moment he's outside, he withdraws something from inside his jacket and passes it on to her.
Uh-oh. I know who this is. I remember her in that back alley with the drug dealer.
Gigi's bestie.
What is she doing here? Fuck. And more drugs … This girl's big fucking trouble.
But that's none of my business, right? As long as she goes away before the gang returns, we're peachy. Angel's paranoia is getting out of hand, and I'd rather he didn't see her hanging around.
I watch as she exchanges a few words I can't hear with Mr. Muscles and then heads back inside.
Good. About time. I let out a breath. Fish in my back pocket for another smoke. Wish I had Angel's flask right now. My thoughts from before and this reminder of Gigi have rattled me more than I care to admit.
Just then the door opens again, and I almost roll my eyes. What's up with this back alley tonight and all the traffic? I stick a smoke into the corner of my mouth and lift my lighter.
And freeze.
No fucking way.
Well, she did say they're besties.
Gigi is standing at the open door, the loud rock music spilling out into the alley. She looks left, then right, as if searching for someone. No great leap of the imagination required to know she's looking for her friend.
And she sees me. Her gaze stops on me.
She steps all the way out and lets the door close behind her. "Rett?"
Fuck. This is fucking bad. I suck on my cigarette and wait. Maybe she'll take the hint and go away.
But Gigi never cared what I said or did, back then. She stuck by my side through my silences and snarky comments.
Obviously she hasn't changed.
She heads straight to me, plants herself in front of me and shakes back her white-blond hair. "Rett. What now, you'll pretend you can't see me?"
Damn, how could I ever pretend that? She's wearing a low-cut red sweater over a tiny skirt and those damn knee-length socks that drive me crazy. Girl likes wearing red. And damn if I can tear my eyes away from her cleavage.
I'm so fucking hard I'm about to bust a nut.
"What do you want?" I mutter, flicking ash from my cigarette, a thoughtless gesture, when it becomes clear she isn't budging.
"Did you see Sydney out here? I've lost her again."