Hang in there, James. Everything will be okay.” The social worker, Susan, set her hand on my shoulder, giving an empathetic squeeze, before stepping past me with her cheap perfume trailing after her.

The slam of the door signaled her leave, but I didn’t bother to confirm. From my seat, I kept my eyes on the faded, wooden coffee table in front of me, the half-smoked cigar in an ashtray, and the stack of Michigan Hunter magazines set in a neat pile.

My Uncle Hank stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed. The guy was huge, built like Gymroids, as Eli and I had called the arrogant assholes who’d worked with my dad and spent more time on their muscles than their brains. Aside from the brown eyes, Hank looked nothing like my dad, with his arms covered in tattoos, the short-cropped military-style haircut, and his height that put him about six-five. About a half foot taller than his younger brother.

I couldn’t believe the social worker hadn’t picked up on the stench of whiskey on his breath.

“Sorry ‘bout your dad, JT.” Of all the variations of my name I’d heard over the years, Hank was the only one who ever called me that. “He was a good man.”

“You can’t keep me here. You know that, right?”

He rubbed his chin and pushed off the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets as he crossed the room toward me. “Yep, I am well aware of all the ways you can sneak out and take off, when I’m not looking. Hell, why d’you think I ended up in military school?” His snorted laugh grated on me, as if it was all a joke to him. “But let me tell you how this shit works. You leave? I come after you. And believe me when I say, you do not want my ass coming after you.” He plopped down on the armchair across from me and lit up his cigar. The sight of him, kicked back and relaxed, was enough to make me want to punch that cigar right out of his mouth. “I’m not your enemy, JT. I made a promise to your pop, and I’m damn well gonna keep it.”

I frowned. “What promise? My dad hasn’t talked to you in years.”

“Hadn’t. Why’nt you tell me what you know, and maybe I’ll tell you some things you don’t.” He puffed on his cigar, the plume of smoke reaching out toward me, as if enticing me into his little game of charades.

“Police told me some gang members burned our house down on Devil’s Night.”

“You believe that?”

Eyes on his, searching for the slightest twitch, or flicker, I shook my head.

“Neither do I.”

“So, what do you think happened?”

“You eat something yet?”

“No. Tell me.”

“I will. Eventually. But first, you’re gonna eat. Then you’re gonna shower, ‘cause you smell like a goddamn nursing home.”

“Tell me what the fuck you think happened!” I shot up from the couch, my hands balled to fists.

Hank didn’t so much as flinch. He just eased his face upward until he stared up at me. “Your pop ever tell you why him and I stopped talking?”

Nostrils still flaring, I breathed hard through my nose, my silence answering for me.

“He come asking me about your momma. Asked me if I’d ever had relations with her, in the time they were married. Believe me, he was as pissed as you are now. In my face. Wanting nothing more than to knock me out, I bet. I could’ve lied and said yes, and he would’ve hated me as much as he hated every other man she’d been with. Could’ve told the truth and said no. But I cared too damn much for you and your pop to let her keep doing what she was doing. Instead, I stared back at him without saying a goddamn word. Not a peep. Those were the longest two minutes of my life, and in the end, he formed his own conclusions. That was on him. But as I understand it, she left not long after. So que se-fuckin-ra.”

“Did you?” The garbled words felt like I had a mouthful of marbles. “With her?”

“Kid, only family I had was you and your pop, and I sure as hell didn’t plan to fuck things up over the likes of that woman. My point is, if you think your little tantrum is going to get me to say a goddamn thing before I’m good and ready, before you’re ready to hear it, remember that I’m the same man who kept silent for two minutes and thirty two seconds to keep my only brother from ruining his life.”

I slumped onto the couch, the defeat rolling through me, over me, crushing me. “I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be anywhere. I just want to be alone.”

“Well, you gotta be somewhere. Whether it’s here, the streets, or in the dirt.”

“Everything’s a fucking joke to you! You’ve got some … stupid ass phrase for everything. You do not want my ass coming after you. Whether it’s here, the streets. or in the dirt.” I wished more than anything I could add a nice solid punch across his smug jaw.

“Good likeness.”

“Good likeness,” I echoed in the same mocking tone. “Piss off! You don’t take anything seriously, do you?”

“You want to know what serious is? Serious is not hearing from your baby brother for a good seven years and suddenly having a nephew thrown in your lap. That’s some serious shit.”

“If I’m such an inconvenience for you, I’ll let Susan know you’re not up for the job.”

“Oh, I’m up for the job. Question is, are you? ‘Cause I ain’t nothin’ like your dad, JT. He was a better man than I’ll ever be. I drink too much. Smoke and cuss too much. And anybody comes after you?” He puffed his cigar again, blowing it off to the side. “I’ll kill ‘em dead and make sure no one finds ‘em.”

Realization dawned on me, and I narrowed my eyes. “You …. My dad told you?”

“Who do you think gave your dad the gun?”

“You believe me, then.”

“Yeah. I believe you. And if I didn’t have you to think about, I’d have gone after those little cocksuckers myself.”

“So, why don’t you?”

“’Cause this is bigger than a few white trash pedophiles. See, I looked into it a little deeper, JT. Those men? They’re connected. And their connections have connections. That’s how shit works on the streets. It’s bigger than you think, and your dad didn’t find that out until it was too late.”

“Why didn’t you go with him?” My fingers dug into the arm of the chair. “You could’ve had his back. You should’ve had his back, and maybe he wouldn’t be dead right now!”

“And you’d be left alone. I didn’t know what the hell he was doing, when he asked me for that gun. Told me he wanted it for protection. Didn’t find out the truth until I caught the six o’clock fuckin’ news and started piecing shit together on my own. Believe me, if I could make it the other way around, I’d have burned in that house, and you’d be here with your pop. But shit happened, and I’m damn well keeping my promise to your dad.” Cigar wedged between his fingers, he pointed toward the door. “So, you want to run? You want to hit the streets and hide away? Do what you gotta do.” He lowered his hand, pointing at me. “But I’m going to be right behind you. And I promise you, kid. Here on out, I’ll always have your back.”

My muscles tensed from trying to keep the anger locked in, to keep from crying in front of him. Bowing my head, I gave a slight nod, and my eyes found the stack of magazines on the coffee table. “You hunt?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He swiped at his nose and sniffed. “Your dad did, too.”

“What d’you hunt?”

“Deer, bear, rabbit, turkeys. Depends on the season.”

I rubbed the bruises across the back of my palm, where the needles Fox and Gideon had pushed into me left a harrowing memory. “Will you teach me?”

“Sure, kid. What’d you like to learn to hunt?”

I lifted my gaze to him, silently imagining Fox and Gideon’s brains and bits of skull scattered across the floor. “Prey.”