“Trouble? What’s that mean? Christopher!”

 

He doesn’t hear me, or doesn’t listen. Christopher is already out the door and on his way down the steps to confront the man in the driveway. I follow, pulling on my coat. As always, I can’t just have one person to worry about at a time.

 

“Amanda, stay back.” Christopher holds up a hand in my direction, willing me to stop.

 

Immediately, I rankle at his command, needing to bite back a retort. As much as I hate being spoken to like a child, I can’t miss the danger in his voice. He’s deadly serious. I hang back on the little porch, close enough to hear what’s being said.

 

The stranger is handsome in a rough sort of way. Christopher might come from a tough background, might be covered in ink, but there’s a nobility about him. He’s a born leader, I realize, charismatic without even trying to be. The other man looks like he could have been a football star in high school but let himself go in the years after that. There’s a nice body in there somewhere, hidden beneath an extra twenty pounds. He’s soft. Too much beer, I think.

 

The man runs a hand through his dark blond hair instead of shaking Christopher’s hand. So he’s not a friend. Fantastic. The last thing I need is a fight on my property. I look up and down the street, hoping my neighbors are already out for the day. It’s a working-class neighborhood, nothing fancy, but now that I’m seeing things through Christopher’s eyes, I realize the people here are a little on the exclusive side. Snobby, wary of “outsiders.” Even the ones on my street, the ones at the bottom of the economic scale.

 

For all my tough talk inside the house, I know I don’t need a scandal.

 

They’re arguing quietly. I strain to hear. Christopher is keeping his voice low, tight. He holds up a hand now and then to remind the other man to keep his voice down. Every once in a while, his head turns so he can get a look at me. The other man’s eyes shift toward me, too.

 

“So this is your new girl, huh? Cute. You always had good taste.” The way his watery eyes run up and down my body makes me feel extremely uncomfortable. I pull my coat tighter around myself, making him laugh.

 

“Man, seriously. Listen. This isn’t the time or place. If you wanna talk, meet me out at the house. I’ll be happy to talk about anything you want. We can go right now.”

 

He stares hard at Christopher. “You act like you don’t know what I want to talk to you about. That’s hilarious.”

 

Christopher sighs deeply. “Fine. We’ll talk about her. Just not here.”

 

“No, I think here is the perfect place, and this is the perfect time.” He turns back toward me. “I want her to hear this.”

 

“This is my property,” I point out, trying to sound stronger than I feel. “I think it might be best for you to leave.” In my head, all I see is visions of a brawl on my front lawn.

 

“Fair enough. But don’t you wanna know about your boy here? Don’t you wanna know what he’s really capable of doing?”

 

“Derrick, stop.” Christopher’s voice is so low, I can hardly hear him. I barely make out the other man’s name.

 

“Don’t tell me to stop. Don’t you ever tell me what to do.”

 

“I don’t mean any disrespect.”

 

“Bullshit! Since when do you care about respect or disrespect?” Derrick laughs bitterly, a little too loudly. “If you gave a shit about respect, you wouldn’t show your face in this town ever again. You made a deal, which you’re breaking right now.”

 

“I know how you feel, man. But she needed me.” Christopher motions toward me. I’m stunned. Has he been banished or something? Is that why people are so nasty toward him? How much did he risk by coming to me last night?

 

Another bitter laugh. “I’m sure she did, buddy. Lots of women have needed you, haven’t they? Especially since Michelle.”

 

“Don’t talk that way in front of her.” Christopher nods his head in my direction.

 

“Don’t tell me how to talk! You wanna settle this right now?” Derrick’s aching for a fight.

 

I grip the porch railing so hard in my hands that I can feel the splinters in the wood. “Please, don’t. Stop this!” I might as well be shouting into the wind, they’re paying so little attention to me.

 

Derrick tries to work his hooded sweatshirt over his head, but he’s off-balance, staggering. His shirt, and the tee beneath it, ride up on his abdomen. I can see ink on his torso…then I realize he has the same angel in flames I’ve seen on Christopher’s torso.

 

He’s one of them! I watch even more closely. There’s so much animosity here. What happened between Christopher and the club to cause this?

 

A glimmer of hope flickers in my brain. If Christopher is on the outs with the club, that would mean he’d have nothing to do with them. Maybe he’s not involved with them anymore. Maybe he did something to alienate himself. Better yet, maybe he left the club of his own accord. Oh, I can hope, can’t I?

 

“Derrick, stop this. I don’t want to fight you.” Christopher is relaxed, hands at his sides. I know he could easily tear this stumbling, flabby man apart. He probably knows it, too.

 

Derrick finally gives up trying to remove the sweatshirt. He’s out of breath. “Why do you keep showing your face around here? Why do you keep starting shit?”

 

“I told you before. I wasn’t trying to start anything.”

 

“Oh, right, right. This girl needed you. Does she know who she slept with last night?”

 

I pull my coat around me again. I don’t like his intimate tone, the way he talks like he knows me. I especially don’t like the implication that Christopher is a monster. I’ve already done enough second-guessing.

 

“I’m begging you, man. I don’t beg anybody, but I’m begging you. Don’t do this.”

 

Derrick stares daggers at Christopher. “You’re begging? Did she beg at the last minute, too? Did she ask you not to do it?”

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve never known.”

 

Derrick scoffs, then turns his head to me. I feel sick. “You’re pretty good friends with this guy, huh?”

 

I shrug. “I guess so. We’re friends, yes.” I glance desperately at Christopher.

 

“So you know everything about him, huh?”

 

I can tell from his tone of voice this isn’t going anywhere nice. “I know who he is. I know where he’s from. If that’s what you mean.” I’m becoming distinctly uncomfortable now.

 

“Did he tell you how he killed my sister?” My eyes widen, making him smirk. “Yeah. My sister. His wife.”