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Jordan wanted this guy. That meant Jordan was going to get this guy. I looked right at my brother, because he wasn’t the only one who could choose. “There’s a panel in the fence that’s loose. Bren saw us come in. She can show you.”
Blaise swore under his breath, turning away.
I added into the phone, “Go the opposite way of the back door. We’ll be at a big bathroom window.”
“I could yell, you know.”
Both Blaise and I turned to him.
He seemed to lose all the blood from his face again, and he staggered a step. The back of his head hit against the wall, knocking a picture down. Blaise shut his eyes, sighing. “Seriously?”
We had to move.
I took Harper by the arm, moving him to the bathroom.
Again, I expected a fight. Again, there was no fight. If I were this guy, I would’ve been throwing punches. I would’ve had the door torn down by now, maybe have the window shattered. I’d be damned sure to wake the entire house up.
I would not be walking out. That’s what I wouldn’t be doing.
“Let’s go.” Blaise followed us into the bathroom, shutting the door.
Harper was now focused on me. “Shit. You guys do look alike. I didn’t believe the hype.”
Blaise laughed. “We’re all in psych together.”
Harper twisted his head around. “I’m not in your psych class.”
“You sure as shit are, when you bother to show up.”
Harper looked back at me. “Damn.”
Then we heard soft footsteps on the porch and two figures showed at the window.
Harper tensed, moving back into me. He started to resist me. “No. No way, dude.”
Now he came to his senses?
Jordan wasn’t having it. A hard glint in his eyes, he reached through the window, took hold of Harper’s polo and yanked the guy through the window. His head and torso cleared it. The tops of his legs banged into the window frame, but Zellman was there. He knelt, scooping the bottom half of Harper, and as I climbed out, the two of them were halfway across the yard.
Blaise hopped out after me. He grabbed my shirt at the same time he reached back inside, pulling the window shut again. He released me, moving around me. “Can’t be too trustful.” He was hurrying after the guys.
I darted after, both of us nearing them just as they got to the fence.
Bren was there, holding the loose board open. Her mouth was set, her eyes almost as hard as Jordan’s. She was not happy.
Blaise noted it, too, whistling under his breath. “Fight sex, brother. You’re going to have fun tonight.”
“Shut up.” Bren pinned him with a dark look.
Blaise still grinned, but he kept quiet. Then he stopped, because now he figured out his mistake.
Jordan and Zellman were carrying Harper to Jordan’s truck.
And guess where Bren and I were both going?
He had his keys out, but he paused in the middle of the alley. “Fuck.”
Bren moved around him, taunting him, “Can’t leave your Wagon here. People will see it.”
I moved around the other side. “And you know we won’t let you follow us.”
Yeah. He had messed up.
“Cross.” Jordan was digging into his pockets. He tossed me keys. He and Zellman put Harper in the back, climbing in right after him.
I asked Bren, “You want to drive?”
Her scowl was instant. “Don’t think that’s going to appease me.”
My brother laughed behind me. “Fight. Sex.”
Ignoring Blaise, I followed Bren’s cue. She went to the passenger side, so I got behind the wheel. Starting the engine, I kept the lights off, using the alley lights as I backed us up. Once I got to the road, I reversed, turned the lights on, and headed off.
Jordan opened the window so we could talk, but as I drove out of town, no one said a word.
Not even Harper.
BREN
We’d been here before.
Different night. Different town. Different guy.
Same situation.
A guy hurt someone Jordan loved. The last guy had hurt his sister. This guy touched his girl. It didn’t matter if Tabatha chose to do it. She felt put in a situation where she had to, or her mom was in danger. To Jordan that meant this guy took advantage of Tabatha, i.e., he hurt her.
The last time all the guys took hits. This time, at the end of an abandoned dead end, Jordan pushed the guy away and began circling him.
“What’s going on? Why’d you ditch DeVroe?” The guy was looking at us, edging backwards. He was skittish, jumping as Jordan kept moving around him.
“You touched Tabatha Sweets.”
Jordan’s head was down. He kept going, swinging his arms at his side, a gentle sway, as if he were slowly warming up. What he was doing was the opposite. He was fighting for control, but there was no mistaking the seriousness in his tone. The danger rippling from him, even as he towered over Harper by a few inches.
