“You know, you can leave earlier today,” Suzie tells me as I wipe down the counter. “I’ll close up, and anyway it’s dead in here. Go on, study for your exams, or catch up on some sleep. I can’t look at you stumbling about like a frigging zombie any longer.”

“Don’t worry,” I say automatically. She’s right, I haven’t been sleeping. Bad dreams. Bad memories. “I’ve got this.”

She frowns at me. “Jarett…”

Suzie thinks I’m a college student. I lied to her—about this, about everything. The bar is close to the campus, as is my apartment, so it made good sense to take this job when I saw it advertised. It’s a twenty-minute walk from my apartment.

Well, the apartment I share with Sebastian—when he’s not sleeping around or is passed out in some back alley with a needle in his arm and I have to go looking for him.

I glance back at her. “I’m fine.”

“You’re fine, my ass. Those professors overwork you. There should be a committee looking into this.”

That makes me grin, cuz it’s sort of cute, but I don’t get it… Is she really upset, or playing a game? I mean, why should she give a damn? She barely knows me.

“What were you studying again?”

“Psychology,” I say without missing a beat, repeating my standard lie. “And sports.”

“Right, right. I knew that. Is this where you tell me to lie down on your sofa and tell you what troubles me?”

“You want to lie down on my sofa?” I wink at her.

She blushes furiously, a splash of red on her cheeks and nose. “Um, I dunno.”

Turning back to wiping the counter, I chuckle quietly to myself. Never thought she had a crush on me.

Then again, I rarely thought I stood a chance with chicks. It’s all in the mind, right? One of my foster dads used to say that. Of course, his point was that not only pain was in the mind, but also that nobody would believe me if I told them how he hit me when he was drunk.

Not that chicks don’t look at me. They do. An awful lot, these past few years. And whenever I catch one of them staring at me, I always wonder if she’s really looking at me, or someone inside her head.

Someone who looks like me, but isn’t me. Someone fucking nice. Someone good.

Not that I don’t fuck them if they let me. I’m not stupid. If they open their pretty legs for me, let me finger them, fill them up, dip my cock in their hot pussies, who am I to question them? It’s pleasure, quick and sharp, and then gone again.

Not that I have fucked any, recently.

I never feel anything. Am I supposed to feel anything? It’s like smoking—a taste of bitterness, a moment of bliss, then all that’s left is the yellow stains on your fingers.

I’ve always thought that something inside me is broken—but if it is, it’s too late for me to find out what it was, and wouldn’t miss it if I knew. You can’t miss something you’ve never had, right?

“Well, if you’re finished here, go back to the storeroom to organize our supplies,” Suzie says, clearing her throat, landing me with a crash back to the here and now. “If you’re sure you’re okay to stay longer.”

“Sure.”

She’s stroking the side of her neck. That means she likes me, right? I wasn’t wrong about that. I may not be a real psychology major, but I’ve observed chicks for years. Trying to understand them, see what makes them tick, what they like.

I may not feel, but I sure can give the impression I do, if needed. You learn to adapt, to pass as a human even if inside you feel like a trapped animal waiting to thrust out claws and fangs.

I studied Gigi a lot, back when we used to hang out. With her I learned to fake humanity, until it felt real, until I thought I was happy.

“Okay then,” Suzie says. “Fine.”

I could invite her to come with me to the back. Maybe that’s what she wants, why she suggested it.

Why the hell not?

A co-worker, I think. Bad move. But this job won’t last.

Nothing in my life ever does. I could drag her among the crates and boxes, lift her up on a stack and take her right there, for that brief moment of pleasure. Of relief.

Of forgetfulness.

It strikes me yet again how similar we are, Sebastian and me. I look for relief in sex, and he looks for it in drugs. I’m a junkie as much as he is.

The fucking drugs. Goddammit.

Maybe that’s why I shake my head to myself, and head to the back of the bar.

Without inviting Suzie to come with me.

Or maybe it’s the image of Gigi, the hurt in her eyes, her beautiful mouth tight, her curvy body tense as she turned and walked away from me. That look of disappointment.

In me.

Never thought it’d hit me so hard.

The image of Gigi as it has been playing in my fantasies, where I rip her clothes off and run my tongue all over her, where I fuck her and make her scream my name.

Either way, I’m an idiot. I should take what’s on offer, and kill the fantasies.

Because fantasies only get you killed.

* * *

Hands grab me by the shoulders as I turn the key to open the building door and slam me into the wall beside it.

Again, goddammit?

The breath leaves my lungs, and I shove at my assailant, my grocery bags crashing down somewhere to the ground. “Christ, Seb. The fuck’s your problem, man?”

“Just a fucking reminder,” he snarls, “of who’s in charge here.”

“Lay off this shit. You can’t ambush me whenever you’re in a mood. You can’t just—”

He catches me with a hook to the ribs. “Can’t I?”

I grab his wrist, wrestle him back. “Fuck off.”

He yanks his arm free and slams it against my windpipe, shutting off my air supply. “You think you’re the boss. Two nights ago, and before that, too. That night at the club.”

I try to pry his fingers off my neck. “I didn’t—”

“Shut the fuck up. Two nights ago, when you were supposed to be the look-out while the deal went down. But you pushed me around, instead. Fucked me over. Hauled me out of the bar like I was some kid that you could boss around.”

“Stop—”

“And at the club it was the same thing. Let this girl go, Seb. Go find another, Seb. Come on, let’s go Seb. But know what? You don’t call the shots, Fen-boy. You’re just a bystander, an onlooker. A hired bodyguard. You haven’t even gone through the full initiation yet.”

I kick at him and manage to shake him off me. I draw shuddering breaths. “And yet I keep saving your skinny ass. So fuck you.”

He grabs my shoulders and slams me into the wall again, the pain barely registering in the rush of adrenaline in my blood. I manage to land a punch to his jaw, but he kicks at me, and my knee says enough, buckles and lands me on my fucking ass.

He prepares to kick me, but I roll over on the dirty sidewalk, and I scrape my palms on the rough concrete as I make it back to my feet.

I launch myself back at him.

Red bathes everything—his face, his clothes, the concrete, my thoughts. Smell of urine, of danger. Sneering faces, teasing, prodding, daring me to hit them, to save myself. Chicken-shit, they cackle. Too chicken-shit to fight back.

A woman opens the building door cautiously, then closes it again as we elbow and push at each other, trying to land another punch.

Seb is taller than me, but lankier. I’m stronger than him, but it dawns on me as we grapple together that whatever he’s shot himself up with tonight has lent him a desperate strength. He puts his hands around my throat, and I push on his chin, kick at his shins and twist until I pin him against a wall.

“You motherfucker,” I spit out, panting, and with a last shove, get off him. “What the hell’s the matter with you? This ain’t funny.”

The red mist lingers even as I blink my eyes. Funny how the phantom stench remains even after my sight has cleared.

He wipes at his mouth. His lip is split, a thin trail of blood running down his chin, jagging its way through thick stubble. And he starts to laugh.

He lifts his hand, and I see my wallet dangling from his fingers. “How about you pay for what you did?”

Jesus fuck. “Gimme back my wallet, Seb.” I go after him, but he moves away, and he’s faster than me, because my knee is killing me even with the shot of adrenaline in my veins. “Don’t be such a fucking dick.”

He fishes out the bills and pockets them. “Payback.”

“What for?” I grab at my wallet, hissing when my knee almost folds. “You’re fucking high, Seb. When you crash back down, you’ll want someone to sweep up the fucking mess.”

“Piss off. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“That why you just stole my fucking money?”

He’s not laughing anymore. He wipes at his mouth and gets up, obviously none the worse for our scuffle. “You had that coming, Fen. You don’t get to order me around in front of the others.”

“You’re nuts.” The flashback isn’t over yet, the images, noises and smells from the group homes I passed through still coming and going, upsetting my sense of balance. The pain in my knee grounds me just as it pisses me off more. “Mav and Angel sent me to get you. I told you that.”

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.”

She smells of something sweet, like toffee. My mouth waters. My dick throbs. She smells like home, and like pleasure, and like danger all at once.

“Go away, Gigi,” I whisper. “Go back inside. That’s where your friend is.”

“So you saw her.”

Throwing my cigarette away, I take a step toward her. “Go now.” She’s wearing down all of my self-control. I have to send her back inside, send her away from me. Having her around is risky on a thousand different levels.

She takes a step back. “Not unless you tell me what you saw. Did she buy drugs? Tell me, Jarett.”

“And what will you do if I tell you?” I back her into the club’s fire escape ladder. “What the fuck can you do about it?”

“Not me. She won’t listen to me, or talk to me about this. But you could help me.”

I blink, not sure I heard her well. I’m looking down into her pretty eyes, at her full, red mouth, and shake my head. “What did you say?”

“For old times’ sake, Rett… I need your help.”