Mason
“Can I get you boys another round?” A red-headed waitress, who I assume is also a stripper, stands with a tray in one hand and the other hand placed on her cocked, lace-clad hip. She’s wearing a tight dress made completely of white lace that showcases a blood-red thong and nothing else.
“No, thanks. I’m—”
“Don’t listen to him.” Jayden whirls his hand, motioning around the table exaggeratedly with big eyes and an equally big grin. “Another round.”
She spins on a spiked heel, and we all watch her ass as she struts away to place our order. The music pounds and the glow from the black lights blurs my vision. Why do they insist on making everything in these places glow? The smell of old booze and perfume is so pungent I can taste it. I blink rapidly and check the time. This is miserable. Sooner I get out of here, the better.
I lean over to my brother, who is sitting closest to me. “Why are we here?” I have to practically yell over the throbbing music and don’t find it shocking at all that his eyes stay glued to the brunette who’s currently grinding against a pole on stage.
His eyes are wide and rimmed with dark circles. It’s not uncommon to pull all-nighters in Vegas, but Drake looks like he hasn’t slept in days. “Delivery. Figured we’d come early and enjoy the scenery.”
So he’s here dealing drugs for his piece-of-shit dad. “Makin’ the family proud,” I mumble.
He grins, quick and shaky, and his eyes dart around the room. “Here’s some tequila.” He slides a shot in front of me. “Should help dissolve that stick up your ass.”
“I’m in training. Can’t stay up getting lit all fuckin’ night.” Irritation flares as Rex’s words from today filter through my mind.
Give two hundred percent of yourself if you want a chance at winning.
“UFL turned you into a straight-up pussy, big brother.” He leans forward and tucks a twenty-dollar bill in the cleavage of the dancer, letting his fingers linger a little too long against her breasts before leaning back. “You always used to be down for whatever . . .” He grabs the shot, throwing it back and slamming it down hard. “Now you’re a big ole nerd.” His shoulders bounce as he laughs silently and pulls more money from his pocket.
“It’s called having a job, Drake. Some would consider that an accomplishment.” He wants to piss me off, get me worked up so he can see a glimmer of the old kid I used to be. The scruffy surf kid who would throw a punch if someone simply looked at my little brother wrong.
“Accomplishment.” He says the word like he’s testing it in his mouth and doesn’t like the taste. “Abandoning The Brotherhood is your biggest accomplishment.”
My blood fires and I ball my fists. “You’ve managed to drag every single one of our friends into whatever the fuck it is you’re working with your dad, and you think I’m the bad guy? Look at you? You’re fuckin’ spun out at twenty-one.” Such a fucking waste of potential.
The waitress returns with our drinks and just in time. I have to keep my cool. I have to.
“Dude, isn’t that the chick from Saturday night?” Harrison scrubs a hand over his head, squinting.
What? My head jerks to a small side stage where Angel is swiveling her hips and dropping articles of clothing piece by piece. I breathe through the throbbing in my chest. There was a tiny part of me that thought he was talking about Trix.
They work together. If Angel’s here, I’m assuming Trix should be around here too.
“That bitch owes me a private lap dance after the way she and her little blond friend bolted on Saturday.” Drake stands up and waves her over. “We’ve got a paid hour from Saturday night to make up for, boys.”
At seeing Drake, Angel’s face registers surprise before she nods in recognition and holds up a finger.
“What about Jess?” Fuck, my shoulders are up to my ears and my muscles so tense they feel like they’re going to snap.
“Put her on a plane back to Santa Snooze yesterday.” He flicks another look around the room. “Vegas ain’t her thing.”
I don’t know whether to feel good or bad that he sent Jess home. There’s no way the guy is faithful. At least with her gone, he can’t fuck someone else right under her nose. That poor girl had no clue what she was getting herself into with my brother.
He fidgets in his seat before tucking more money into a stripper’s G-string.
Birdman leans in, looking not all that different from Drake with bloodshot eyes. “That guy got beef?” He jerks his head toward a table of dudes who all seem to be minding their own business.
Jayden and Harrison puff out their chests, drilling holes into a harmless-looking guy with their glares. “That dude?”
Drake pulls up his tee to reveal a gun shoved in his waistband.
I punch his shoulder, catching him off guard and sending him back in his chair. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You can’t bring that shit in here!”
“Dude’s got problems, giving us looks like—”
“You can’t shoot someone for looking at you, dickhead!” I motion to the table of guys. “You’re all fucked up on whatever and seein’ shit that ain’t there.”
“Nah, man . . . dude was staring.” Charbroil flexes his fists, looking for a fight.
Harrison moves to stand. I grab his bicep and sit him back down just as he jerks free from my hold. “That’s it. Come clean right fuckin’ now. What the hell is going on with you guys?”
Paranoid. Sketchy. Clearly not sleeping.
“Nothin’, man. Just been partying.” Birdman wipes his nose almost as if subconsciously.
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Drake tilts his head, his eyes flicking over to the men at the table and back to me. “We’re dropping off some product and then we’ll be out—”
“What’s left of it.” Harrison dissolves into a fit of laughter.
Drake aims a glare at him that shuts him right up.
“Hold on.” My blood runs cold and my heart pounds heavy in my chest. “So you’re dipping into the product you’re here to deliver?”
“Shoulda’ kept your mouth shut.” Jayden shakes his head at his brother.
I lean into my brother. “Do you have a death wish? You think whoever you’re dealing to is going to be okay with you using his shit?”
“Why the hell do you care? It’s not like dude’s gonna show up with a scale!”
“I care because the last thing I need is to call Mom and tell her your ass got dead over . . . You know what? Forget it. I’m fuckin’ outta here.” I push to stand, but Drake grips my forearm.
“Run away, college boy.” His eyes are glossed over, wired and wide, his mouth curves into an unfriendly smirk. “Jess was right. You’re a fucking pussy. No wonder she swallowed my dick instead of yours.”
My head gets light. Vision blurs. Rage spikes through my veins at the mention of Jessica combined with the worry I have for my brother. How could he be so stupid? The people his dad runs with are hardened criminals, mafia, gangs, the worst of the worst. The kind of men who make people disappear, or worse, make them unrecognizable.
I push up from my seat and move away with staggered steps, hate and remorse battling away in my chest. My feet carry me through the crowd of bodies. Where? I don’t know, just . . . away. I push through people, shoving everyone who blocks my path.
“Watch it, asshole!”
I ignore the voices and search for the bathroom, somewhere to splash cold water on my face and calm my shit down. There’s a hallway, dark but lit with neon. Possibly the restrooms or, even better, a back exit I can get the hell out and into some fresh air.
My legs carry me back, but my head is stuck on the dilemma of how in the hell to save my brother from himself. Why can’t he—Omph!
A tiny body goes flying and lands hard. “Ouch!”
That voice. Anger rockets to the surface. I reach down and grab her by her upper arms, lifting her off the ground harder than I intend, mostly because she weighs next to nothing.
I focus on her big eyes and parted lips. Her hair is pulled tight into a sleek long ponytail, and she tilts her head back to glare up at me.
“What is it with you?” I roar in her face. “Why the fuck can’t you keep yourself safe?”
Trix
“What? You ran into me, jerk!” I try to shrug out of his hold, but he takes two steps forward until my back presses against the wall.
My ass burns, pain slicing through my left cheek. Why is he looking at me like he wants to kill me . . . or eat me?
Whatever softer side of Mason I saw at the Community Youth Center is a memory. The dickhead is back.
He leans in, his eyes on my lips, his angered breath in bursts against them. Silence builds between us, along with something else. Something alive ripples between his chest and mine. His glare, piercing blue fire, lights beneath a wavy mess of blond hair. I’m sucked in, falling helplessly into the draw of his gaze.
Without warning, he pushes closer and buries his nose into my neck, breathing in deep and running it from my shoulder to my ear. My head tilts, unable to resist the gentle touch: so innocent and yet heavy with promise of something more.
“Mmm, what is it about you?” The rumble of his deep voice races goose bumps down my arms. “You smell like heaven.”
No, I don’t want this. Not when he’s mad. His hands glide down my arms to my hips, and his long powerful fingers clench my flesh. My eyes fall shut on a moan.
I’m like clay, molding to his will, helpless in a way I can’t explain, but the power of his body and the sense that he’s hanging onto the last string of his control are a heady combination. His lips join in the exploration of my neck, not wet, just soft sweeps against my shoulder.
“Mason . . . wha—what are you doing?” I don’t want him to stop, but this isn’t right. Just seconds ago he looked like he wanted to rip my head off. Even still, I won’t push him away. I’m physically incapable of pushing him away, completely at his mercy.
“What are you doing to me, Trix?” He drops his forehead against my shoulder, and his breathing is heavy enough to match my own. He moves and pushes me back, holding my hips so that my backside presses into the wall.
A hiss shoots from my lips.
“Fuck!” He puts space between us, but remains with a firm hold on me. “Did I hurt you?”
I turn slightly so that the neon pink light shines on my bottom, which is on fire like a brutal case of road rash.
Mason squints. “Is it . . . you’re bleeding.”
Well crap. I am. I shrug and tap lightly against the broken skin. “I broke your phone; you broke my ass.” The stinging pain cools a little of the heat he’d electrified earlier with his touch.
“Damn.” He squats for a closer look and sucks air through his teeth. “I’m really sorry.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. The owner of this place just added this textured sandpaper floor because the girls kept slipping in their heels back here. I guess they never considered what would happen if one of us got slammed into it by a behemoth when we’re wearing nothing but lace cheekies.”
His eyes flare and study my panties. “Is that what these are?” His finger motions to my hip.
“Oh, uh, yeah.” This man is unnerving. His size, good looks, hot and cold demeanor . . . I’m fumbling over myself. And I never fumble, especially around men. “Should’ve worn my leather panties. They’re skid-proof.” Stop talking, you sound like an idiot.
He peers up at me. “I can fix this. Do you have a first aid kit?”
“Oh, psht.” I wave him off. “No worries, I’ll take care of—”
“No.” He shakes his head then rubs the back of his neck. “I feel bad. Let me fix it.”
“Oh, um . . .” I glimpse around, trying to figure out where we can go and doctor my ass while he talks. Rules are restricted to no guys backstage so that leaves . . . “Here.” I open the door to one of the private rooms. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
After a quick trip to my dressing table for a small first aid kit that I’ve only had to use for foot blisters, I go back to the private room to find Mason standing uncomfortably in the corner rather than sitting on the red velvet couch.
I close the door behind me and hit the “occupied” slider. His eyes widen. “Don’t worry, it’s just . . . These rooms are reserved for private dances. I get the feeling you wouldn’t want anyone walking in here and thinking the worst of you. ”
“Right, um . . .” He reaches out and grabs the kit from my hand then looks around. “Is it possible to get more light in here?”
I reach over and click on the overhead fluorescent bulbs that are usually only used at the end of the night for cleaning purposes. We both squint as our eyes adjust to the brightness.
“Better.” He pops open the kit and motions to me. “Go ahead and stand there.” He points to the armrest at the end of the couch.
I do as he instructs, but shake my head. “You really don’t have to do this.”
“No? You think you can bandage your own ass?” He chuckles, and the sound rolls through me like warm honey.
“I could have one of the girls help me out.” Why does my voice sound so weak?
I hear him move behind me before I feel the heat of his huge body close to my back.
“Really, it’s the least I can do.” He rips open a package. “Hmm . . . if you could, um . . .” His voice is lower, as if he’s crouched to put his eyes at ass level. “Just uh, lean forward and arch your back so I can, um, get underneath.”
I tuck a grin into my shoulder at the discomfort I hear in his voice, grateful that I’m finally making him as unsettled as I feel around him. I’m all too comfortable shoving my butt in a man’s face, clearly something Mason isn’t used to. I brace my weight on the chair, arch my back, and just for fun I walk my feet apart just a few inches.
Making a man squirm is one of my most favorite things to do. And considering how shaken up he made me, this transfer of power is one of the best feelings I’ve felt in a long time.
“How’s this?” I peek at him from over my shoulder, and his eyes are fixed, staring straight ahead and right between my legs.
He makes a sound in the back of his throat, like a moan but with more edge. “Good.”
His hot breath feathers against my skin, shooting straight between my legs. No, no, no, no, Trix. Rule number one, do not get turned on. Sure, Mason is big, gorgeous, and smells like sugar and earth mixed, but I’m in control.
“This might sting.”
Cold hits my wound and I flinch slightly.
He dabs at my raw ass and fire ignites across my skin. “Who knows what kind of shit is living on the floor out there.”
I suck in air through my teeth.
He keeps dabbing, but his touch is lighter. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I grit my teeth. A whimper falls from my lips.
“Shh . . . almost done.”
“Damn, that hurts.” I drop my chin and breathe deep.
“I know. I’m sorry. The only thing this kit has is alcohol.” He sounds pissed, but his touch is still gentle. “Hang in there.”
“Keep talking. It helps.”
He laughs low and sexy. “Okay.”
And we’re back to sweet. The way he is with me now is such a contrast to his loss of control after our accidental run in. Now, he reminds me of that man who gave Denny confidence he’d never had before, or comforted a very sad woman who burst into tears just from being on the receiving end of that kindness.
“That girl, Jess? Is she an ex or something?”
His hand stills for a few pregnant seconds. “Jessica?” The sting of alcohol is back. “She, um . . . She was a long time ago.” He stops and rips open more packages. “She and my brother have been together now for years.”
“Your brother? So the guy with the”—I pause, trying to think of a polite way to say—“big ole scar on his face”.
“Drake, yeah.” His finger swipes across my wound, this time warm and smooth like ointment.
“I didn’t think you guys were related. I guess there’s a little resemblance.” The burning begins to numb.
“He’s the darker, stockier, uglier version of me.” He sticks what feels like a Band-Aid on my backside. “There ya go. All set.”
He pushes up, and I turn to thank him, only to realize that he’s still just a few inches away, so close I can smell the whiskey and mint of his breath.
“Look, Trix. I feel like an ass. I’ve run into you twice, and both times I was a dick.”
“No biggie.” My eyes are locked on his, and I can’t look away. “I figured you weren’t yourself.”
His eyebrows pinch, but his lips curl. “You figured? You don’t even know me.”
“I know men.” I tilt my head and study him. “You don’t have it in you to be a full-time jerk. Part-time? Maybe. You’re a good guy at heart.”
“That’s me.” His jaw ticks, and I wonder if dickhead Mason is about to reappear. “Mr. Nice Guy.”
I cross my arms under my bustier-clad breasts, settling in for the playful argument I feel coming. “Your bandaging my ass only confirms it.”
He squints one eye. “It kinda does, doesn’t it?”
Silence builds between us, his blue eyes going from mirthful to something heated. My breath speeds along with my pulse, and his eyes track from my chest to my eyes and down to my lips.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, almost as if he didn’t mean to say it out loud.
“Thank you.” The urge to touch him is overwhelming. Tentatively, I reach out and fork my fingers into his hair. His lips part as I run my nails softly down his jawline. “You’re beautiful too.”
What am I doing? This is so far beyond professional flirting. This is . . . What is this? I’ve been in these rooms with more good-looking men than I can count, but none of them have brought out this urge in me: the desire to touch and to learn and to know someone without an end game, without a dollar amount flitting through my head. No calculations, just pure, raw, animalistic desire.
“Mason?”
“Hmm.” He steps closer, just one half step that brings his chest to mine.
Breath catches in my throat at the contact. My tongue moistens my lips while I stare unabashed at his full mouth. “May I kiss you?
His eyes flare, the blue turning into pure liquid fire. “Fuck yeah.” He grips my hips and tugs me to him.
I hook my arms around his neck, thankful for my stiletto heels that put me not much shorter than his six-foot-something height. My stomach tumbles, my heart throbbing in my chest as he lowers his mouth to mine.
Softly he brushes his lower lip against my upper as if he’s asking permission or waiting for me to beg: a simple act, so tiny and yet so hot. Most men I deal with, even the one’s I sleep with, are quick. Very little seduction’s involved with a sure thing. But this . . . This is something new, foreign, and unbelievably sexy.
I tilt my head and allow the very tip of my tongue a taste of his lips. We groan simultaneously at the touch, and his fingers dig deep into the flesh of my hips. Finally, after a few more light teases, we open to each other, allowing our tongues to finally meet in a slick friction I feel in my toes.
“Fuck,” he whispers against my lips. “I knew you’d taste like this.” He dives back into my mouth, this time deeper, sucking at my tongue.
My legs wobble beneath the mind-scrambling power of his kiss, and I fist my hands into his hair to keep upright. Alternating between nips of our teeth, pulls of suction on each other’s lips, and hands that grasp one another, I lose myself to his mouth.
“Hey!” There’s a pounding at the door. “Everything okay in there?”
I rip my lips from Mason’s, breathing heavy. “Yeah, Santos. Be out in a minute.”
“Time’s up, Trix. You know the rules.”
Mason’s glaring at the door, and his hands continue to hold me close to him.
“Shoot. I better go. I’m up next, and I need to find something to wear that’ll cover my injured booty.” Not to mention get my damn head together. I release him and take a step back only to have him follow me with a step forward.
“Up next . . .” The softness of his expression turns hard.
My eyes grow tight. “Yes.”
His grip tightens. “Why.”
The fire of irritation stirs in my belly at the judgment I hear in his voice.
“Because it’s my job.”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “To get naked for a room full of horny dickheads.”
And there it is. Judgment.
“Oh, and you’re so much better than I am? You beat the shit out of people for a living.”
“I can’t even believe you’d compare the two!” He steps close, his fingers digging into my skin. “I’m a mixed martial artist. What you do is visual foreplay. Give men something to jack off to.”
My breath catches in my throat at his cruelty. Maybe he’s not such a nice guy after all.
His eyes narrow. “Do you get off on it?” He sneers.
“Have you lost your damn mind?” I peel his fingers off my hips and move to the door.
“You do, don’t you?”
I shove him in the chest. “You have no idea why I do what I do.”
“It’s not rocket science, Trix.” His low and condescending chuckle freezes my blood. “You didn’t even fucking flirt with me at the club with those kids.”
The chill of his voice makes my skin prickle.
“Propping your ass in my face and suckin’ on my tongue is all part of the job, huh?” He moves past me, grabbing the door and flinging it open so hard I flinch. “I might be nice, but I’m not stupid.”
With long strides, he carries himself down the short hallway and disappears into the crowd, leaving nothing but the sear of his lips and an ache in my chest behind.
Mason
Being stuck in a tiny room with Trix, I found her presence all consuming. The delicate scent of her skin combined with her half-naked body overloaded my senses. Then her smile, that tiny curve of her lips, gave way to an innocence that contradicted her overly sexy appeal.
I felt something. Something beyond a simple stir in my pants. Yeah, I felt that too, but I also felt myself falling. The woman she is beneath the lingerie and makeup, behind her seductive looks and dance moves, she’s the one I want. But that’s not who she is, at least, not entirely. As much as her reminding me she’s a damn stripper was unwelcome, it’s exactly what I needed to hear to pull myself away.
The back door isn’t far from the room I’ve just stormed out of. I shove past a bouncer and out into the back lot. The place was packed when I got here, so I settled for a spot around the corner and on the street. The sooner I get free of this place, the sooner I can get my shit together.
My feet pound the pavement, and I flex and release my fists to burn off the urge to punch a fucking wall. The muffled sound of angry male voices calls my attention to an alley not far from where my truck is parked. Looks like someone’s having a worse night than I am. A pained whimper echoes off the brick buildings, and I move toward the dark corridor.
Slowly, I peek down the alley only lit by a single streetlight. A group of dudes huddles around something, fists swinging and legs kicking. I have only seconds to act, and I wonder if calling the cops would be the better idea. I’m outnumbered and pretty sure whatever’s going on here I want no part of. I reverse back out of the alley, pulling my phone out of my pocket when I hear him.
“Not so tough when your daddy’s not around, eh, Drake?”
I spring into action, my legs burning up the distance between them and me. “Hey! Get the fuck off him.”
They all whirl on me, and I see Drake curled up on the ground, bloody and not moving. One of the assholes grins seconds before I slam my fist into his jaw. Catching him off guard, he rocks back on his heels, cupping his face. Another advances and takes the brunt of my jab. One more, I swing. He grunts and falls back. Before I’m able to throw another punch, my arms are locked up behind me. I roll into it and toss the guy holding me to his back. I’m grabbed again. My left arm gets loose, and I swing hard at the man advancing. He goes down.
It takes three of the six of them to lock me down. “Leave him alone.” I’m breathing heavy and still struggling to get free; my shoulders burn as I try to rip from their hold.
The biggest of the group glares at me and wipes blood from his lip. “This ain’t your business, man. You should’ve walked away.” He kicks Drake in the back.
“Don’t fucking touch him!” I pull my arm free and lunge, but am quickly re-restrained.
“You know this kid?” His eyes move between my brother and me.
“You touch him again . . . I’ll break both your arms.” My teeth grind together.
He hauls off and kicks him again. Drake’s not making a sound. Is he dead?
“Stop!”
He places the sole of his boot on Drake’s head, resting it there like my little brother is a prized kill from a recent hunt. “Stop? This kid ripped me off.”
Drake moans, and I notice then that the guy is slowly putting pressure on Drake’s head.
“No, please don’t.” Fuck, he’s going to crack his skull!
“Don’t what?” He presses harder, making Drake squirm.
“Stop. Whatever he owes, I’ll pay it. Just fucking stop. Now!”
The guy lifts his eyebrows but doesn’t remove his foot. “You’re taking on his debt?”
“Yes.” Dammit! I’m so used to saving his ass I didn’t even consider what the debt is. Not that it matters. They’re going to kill him. “If you’ll leave him alone.”
He saunters over to me, eyes intent. It’s then I notice what he’s wearing. Leather vest, jeans, chain hanging from his hip, and big heavy black boots.
“You’ll deliver three times our original amount exactly one week from today.”
Fuck! If Drake survives this, I’m going to kill him.
“Same time, right here.” He tilts his head to study me. “If you’re late, if the weight is off by even a fraction of an ounce, you and this piece of shit are dead.”
I flick a gaze to Drake, who has rolled to his back, his face not showing even a hint of skin as it’s covered in blood.
“Fine. One week. Here.” I swallow hard and contemplate the predicament Drake’s sorry ass just put me in. “You give me your word. I follow through. You leave us alone.”
He holds his arms out wide. “On my word, brother.”
There’s coughed-up laughter by the men holding me back. I wrench free, and they step back to avoid me swinging. I don’t, but instead rush to my brother.
His face is swollen, puffy slits that don’t show even a hint of his eyes, and his nose and lips are busted. My hands hover over him, unsure where to touch him that won’t hurt.
“See you soon, sunshine.” The biker asshole chuckles through an overgrown mustache and goatee, and they move toward the mouth of the alley.
“Wait!”
They turn around.
“How much? You said three times the amount. I don’t know what it was or how much he owed.”
The big guy grins wide. “Ask him. Oh, and try to be smarter than your brother and come unarmed.” He holds up Drake’s gun, grinning, and then tucks it back into his waistband. “Thanks for the piece.” He laughs and disappears around the corner.
“Fuck, Drake!” I pull my shirt off and put it under his head. “What the fuck have you gotten us into now?”
It took me an hour to get Drake cleaned up enough to assess the damage those guys did. Figured dragging him through the casino and lobby of Caesars like a slab of raw meat wouldn’t be the best idea, so I brought him home to my place.
He’s banged up, probably could use a few stitches, and I’m pretty sure he has a broken rib, but he refuses to let me take him to the hospital. A few ace bandages around his torso and butterfly Band-Aids on his eye will have to do.
“He’s good. I loaded him up on pain meds, and he’s sound asleep on my couch.” I watch my brother’s chest rise and fall, making sure he’s not dead and that I’m not lying to Jayden.
“He didn’t even tell us he was going; fucker just disappeared. We should’ve been there. Had his back. I can’t believe this shit!”
“Pack your shit and get some fucking sleep. You guys are gone tomorrow, understand?”
“Mason—”
“Just fucking tell me you understand!”
A few beats of silence are followed by Jayden’s long exhale. “Yeah, man. We’ll be gone first thing.”
“Good. Pick Drake up on your way out of town. I’ll text you the address.”
I don’t wait to hear him confirm and press “end” before setting the alarm on my phone to go off every few hours.
This is going to be a long fuckin’ night.
I drop down into an overstuffed club chair and drop my head back, rubbing my forehead.
I knew their coming to town would end up biting me in the ass. I go from volunteer work at the Youth Community Center to drug dealer in less than a couple days.
My head spins, and I try to force myself to think clearly. Between Drake and his dad’s connections, they should be able to get what’s needed by the time I need to deliver it in a week. After that, I’m cutting ties with all this: my brother, his lifestyle, all of it. I’ve lived too many years of my life, saving Drake from himself, but now I have way too much to lose, and he’s going to have to start making healthier choices.
Or better yet, have his dad bail his ass out of trouble from now on.
After all, he’s the one who got him into this bullshit in the first place.