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“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Anytime!”
With a hum in her voice and a pep in her step, she gathered her things. Her towel. Her toiletries. Her robe. A few minutes later, she was headed straight for the co-ed bathrooms. I still hadn’t gotten used to that. Showering with both boys and girls in the same massive space. I tried to slip into the shower during off times. Like early in the morning. Or really late at night, after I had finished studying.
“Yep. Shower late tonight,” I whispered to myself.
I opened my laptop and forced myself to close the internet search. There wasn’t anything on the Red Thorns at all, except for a couple of off-handed comments in a few local newspapers. Nothing that highlighted them or shed any light on them. Or Max. So my time was better spent listening to these lectures again and hoping I could pull my head out of my behind before midterms crept up on us.
I didn’t even get the first one pulled up, though, before I heard that sound.
The revving of the motorcycle engine pulled me from my chair. I walked over to the window and peeked out, wondering who was down there. How many of them were down there this time? Three? Four? The whole entire gang of guys on their bikes? I glanced across the road and didn’t see anything, which was odd. Because I heard the motorcycle engine, and I knew whoever owned it was close.
Then a shadow moved at the bottom of my eye.
Two figures emerged from beneath the awning of the first floor. And when they stepped out into the moonlight, I smiled. I saw Max down there, with his towering form and his bro
ad shoulders, preparing another cigarette to be lit. And standing with him? Benji. That absolute jerk-off I never wanted to come into contact with again. Max struck a match and lit his cigarette, pulling on it hard. Then he passed the bundle of firesticks off to Benji, who struggled to light one.
I watched the way the cigarette lit up with every puff. How it dwindled toward Max’s face before exploding from his lips in a cloud of smoke. I’d never been jealous of anything before. But as I stood there, watching his lips pucker, I realized I was jealous of that cigarette.
You’re losing it, Dani.
I saw Max place his hand on his shoulder and roll it gingerly. And it ripped me back to that night. How deep that graze had been. How much blood I’d cleaned up. How badly he’d hissed with every swipe of that alcohol against his skin. He must still be struggling with it. At the very least, it was probably still bruised and sore.
“You should go check on him,” I murmured to myself.
Yeah. Just to check on him. Just to make sure he was taking care of himself. Then I’d come right back up and continue on with my studies.
Right after I changed into something I hadn’t been wearing for the past ten hours.
20
Max
“So, that’s what I was saying. Things could’ve been handled a lot differently, that’s all. I think I should’ve stayed behind with you, too. I still don’t know why you had me follow that stupid limo. You know the kind of shot I am. I could’ve helped you! I would’ve put a bullet in that club owner’s--”
I shot Benji a look as I took the butt of my cigarette from between my lips. I squished it under the heel of my boot, watching as he shut up. He clamped his lips over his teeth and stared up at me with wide eyes. I made a decision as I pulled another cigarette from beyond the inside pocket of my leather jacket.
I’d start distancing Benji from this life.
It wouldn’t be hard, either. The kid was already in college. Despite his attitude toward shit, he came out with all Bs last year. I was proud as shit the day he told me that. My cousin was destined for more than this life. Hell, I couldn't even pay him for the risks he had taken that night to keep Mr. Dean safe. It was a life I had to lead because of my father. My boys did it because they had no other choice.
But Benji? The boy was smart. The boy had choices.
Even if he wanted this kind of a life for himself.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Benji asked.
I struck a match. “You talk too much.”
“Do I dare ask why we haven’t gotten paid?”
I lit my cigarette. “Depends. What kind of answer you looking for?”
“Dude, have you talked to your--”
“Don’t. Ask.”
