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They’d loved playing pool as teenagers. It was one of the few times they’d appear in public together, though Dom was usually under a hat to hide his hair and partially shield his face from view. They’d joke and talk about their next score as they sent the balls flying across the table and into the various pockets. And then if they got truly bored, they’d hustle a few people, raking in several hundred dollars before leaving the hall. Those had been the good nights.
Now, James didn’t look up at Dom as he continued to play, but that was just James’s way of showing Dom that he wasn’t concerned with his brother’s presence. James loved playing with a person’s head, and Dom had years of experience being both his target and his accomplice. It was just whatever suited James’s mood.
Dom continued to glance around. It looked as if they were alone in the bar, but he knew that at least one or two of James’s crew were lurking around somewhere close by. James might be insane, but he also knew how to take calculated risks. He always had a plan, an escape route ready in hand.
Taking a step toward the pool table, Dom abruptly stopped as he caught a hint of something else in the air. Possibly blood. His heart skipped a beat. Had they already killed someone here to take control of the bar? Very likely. But there wasn’t much he could do about it until he was out of there.
With a frown, Dom walked over to the wall and selected a pool cue. He stood off to the side, watching as James lined up his next shot and pulled back the stick. James wore a plain black T-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and thick biceps as they flexed with each movement. His face was blank, green eyes coldly locked on the table. A queasy feeling shifted in his stomach. He couldn’t believe he was standing there with James again. There was a tiny chunk of his heart that was joyous to see him again. This was his brother. His own flesh and blood. They’d run the streets and hustled crowds up and down the coast of California for years. Together, they’d been unstoppable. Those early years had been free and fun because he always had James. And when he’d been young, he’d been sure that he’d always have James.
The balls on the table shot in different directions, and Dom followed the white cue ball around to where it came to rest at the far end of the table. Dom leaned down, lining up his shot. James’s last shot had put in a striped ball in the side pocket, so he aimed at a solid. He hadn’t played in years, but the stick felt surprisingly comfortable in his hands. With a semi-light tap, he sent the white ball smoothly across the table to just kiss the side of the dark-blue two ball, sending it into the top corner pocket.
“Dominic Walsh,” James murmured. “Not a bad name.”
Dom stepped back and rested the end of the cue on the floor while James circled the table, looking for his next shot. “It’s worked for the past decade.”
“Surprised you didn’t dye your hair.”
“Did for a few years in the beginning.”
James stopped in the middle of taking his shot and smirked, though he still didn’t look up at Dom. “People start to notice the carpet didn’t match the drapes?”
Dom fought the urge to roll his eyes. There might have been a few blowjobs he enjoyed in those first years when people commented on the differing hair colors. He hadn’t been ready to be remembered as a natural redhead. Someone of his stature was automatically recalled when he had flaming red hair to match, and he was trying to stay hidden. “Something like that.”
After a few years, when he’d settled in the Cincinnati area, Dom let his natural hair color through, confident that James truly believed he was dead. What were the odds that James would ever come to Cincinnati? Apparently, they were pretty damn good.
James took his shot, but for the first time, the ball bounced around outside the pocket and didn’t go in. The butt of the cue hit the ground with an angry thump and James straightened to glare at Dom from across the table. The overhead lights cast shadows across his face, carving in lines Dom hadn’t seen before, aging his brother more than his thirty-two years. Life had been hard for his brother, but Dom had to believe that he’d chosen for it to be that way.
“You look good for a dead man.”
A chill swept through Dom at his brother’s words. They held cold rage and betrayal. And he had betrayed his brother. Abandoned him. Turned his back and left him to the life he’d chosen. The thing that Dom kept telling himself was that it was the life that James had chosen. Dom had wanted something else entirely.
