Enforce(46)

“If things are bad…” I cleared my throat. “…you can talk to me, Phoenix. You know that, right?”

“Bullshit,” Phoenix spat. “You’ll run to Nixon. I’m fine. I’ve dealt with my father’s shit before, alright? It will blow over. I just need… I need to get out of Elite. I need to start my life, you know? My life with Nixon, with the Family. Too much bad blood with my own. I just want out.”

“You’ll get it, man,” I said encouragingly. “Look at it this way. Tex’s family is way worse than yours, and Nixon’s letting him sleep with his sister.”

Phoenix’s face cracked a smile. “You’re right.” He nodded and held out his fist. “Thanks.”

“Anytime. I’ll always be your friend. You know that, right? Regardless of what goes down, Phoenix. You’ll always be a part of us, a part of the Elect. We stick together, bond over blood, yeah?”

He nodded, his face going pale. “Yeah, bond over blood.”

We sat in silence the rest of the way to the store.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The necklace



Nixon

TRACE WAS PRETTY QUIET. Then again, I would be too if I’d just gotten in a car with me. I still wasn’t sure where we stood. I’d gone from bully to protector all within the course of a day, and I knew that the trust between us was shaky.

I also knew that I had to start small.

Thus the shopping trip.

Paranoid, I glanced at the SUV behind us. Chase flipped me the bird out the window. Awesome to know he was still irritated with me. He usually always rode with me, but I needed him as my lookout. He was one hell of an aim, and I wanted to make sure I kept Trace safe. And Mo? Shit. When had it shifted to protecting Trace above my own sister? Something was seriously wrong with that thought, and I felt like shit because of it.

I twisted in my seat. The car was too hot. I was going to sweat to death. But Trace looked cold, and for some reason I felt like being nice, even though I was still pissed. All I wanted to do was drive back to the school and pull off the fingernails of every single one of the students who dared touch what was mine.

I liked to start with fingers.

For some reason, when you threatened someone with a knife, they hesitated. When you put said knife on a finger and started slowly moving it from right to left, they apologized.

And then pissed their pants.

I wanted them to do more than piss their pants.

So maybe I’d go for the cement.

Or the brass knuckles.

I gripped the steering wheel and imagined punching some of those bastards over and over and over again. My knuckles turned white. I wasn’t paying much attention to Trace, just answering questions.

“Are we almost there?” She adjusted her sweater.

My eyes greedily fell to the expanse of flesh just above her breasts. Insanity poured through every inch of my body — and then a necklace fell out of her shirt.

I’d voted for something else to fall out.

But I wasn’t in a position to be picky.

Trying to concentrate on both the road and the necklace as it swayed back and forth, I answered, “Yup, in like ten— Holy shit!” I slammed on the brakes, nearly causing us to get in an accident. “What the hell, Trace?” Did she realize what she had on? What that meant to me? To my enemies? To Phoenix? She may as well have a big giant red X on her face. It had to be a joke. A sick joke. Phoenix had probably placed it under her door and said it was from me to make me shit my pants.

Or maybe Chase. He’d been pissed at me anyway — I wouldn’t put anything past him.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Forget sweating. I was going to murder whichever one of them had pulled that stunt.

“Where the hell did you get that?” I stopped at a red light and tried to grab the necklace.

She smacked my hand away.

“Stop.” I gritted my teeth as I examined the back of it. Alfero. As if I’d just gotten burnt, I jerked back, my heart slamming against my chest. Without realizing it, I’d started cursing in Sicilian.

“It’s not worth cursing over.” Trace shrugged. “It’s just a necklace.”

And I’m the bloody pope. Oh right, no big deal, not worth cursing over. Wait, how’d she know I was cursing? “You understood me?”

Trace’s eyes narrowed, and then she looked back at the road. Her jaw went slack, her eyes closed, and then she was yanking at her seatbelt like it was choking her.

“Crap,” Mo muttered. “I think she’s having a panic attack.”

Trace started pulling at the seatbelt harder. We were going at least fifty, and I couldn’t take the chance that she would open the door and jump out. I’d knock her out before I let her kill herself.