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“I’m not shitting my pants.”
“Then why’s your face all white?”
He scowled. “I’m cold, okay?”
“Stand up straight—don’t slouch.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. Own your height. You’re tall, and you’re going to get taller. Wear your height with pride.”
Paxton straightened and thrust his shoulders back, comically exaggerating every movement.
Darien laughed and shook his head. “Where do you live?” he asked.
“With my dad, where do you think?”
“Alright, that’s enough attitude for one day.”
“Sorry, but seriously? Dad would never let me go anywhere else! Soon as I turn eighteen, I’m moving out and changing my last name to ‘Devlin’.”
Devlin was Roman’s mom’s last name. Paxton had no connection to her, since she had died before he was born, but Darien understood that Pax’s connection to Roman was enough of an incentive to claim the last name as his own. Anything to get away from his tyrannical father and the name ‘Slade’.
If Randal and Don had succeeded at anything in life it was guaranteeing their kids would do anything in their power to get away from them, severing all ties in the process.
Darien said, “What about Roman? He live at the House of Black too?”
“Technically, yeah.”
“What do you mean ‘technically’?“
“I mean he technically lives at the House of Black, but he’s got his own place too. Dad’s not allowed to know about it, though.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have a key to that place, would you?”
“’Course, but it’s at home. There’s no way we’ll get in without being seen. ” He picked at the split in his lip; those bullies had really done a number on him. A splotch of purple and yellow was blooming by his eye too, and there was a ring of bruises around his throat that looked like fingerprints.
Should’ve killed them, Bandit hissed.
You can’t kill underage kids, Darien replied. Weren’t you listening?
Bandit grumbled. They’d make good chew toys.
“Wait,” Paxton said, snapping his fingers, “I got an idea.” He took out his phone again, found a name in the contacts, and hit call.
“Wait, wait, wait.” Darien stopped short, forcing the other people on the sidewalk to maneuver around them. “Who are you calling?”
“Relax. His name’s Eugene—he’s Kylar’s little brother.” Kylar ‘Ky’ Lavin was Roman’s Second and hacker. Darien had met him a handful of times, but he hadn’t seen him in years.
The line rang three times before a young male voice—slightly nasally—picked up. “Hello?”
“Eugene,” Paxton began, “meet me at the clubhouse in half an hour. And bring Kylar, ’kay?”
“What’s going on?” The kid had a thick lisp that made understanding him a little more difficult, especially at this volume.
“I’ll tell you when you get there. Make sure you bring your keys, I forgot mine.”
“Pax, what is—”
