The backdoor of the mansion leads to an offshoot hallway near the kitchen, and I take a second to enjoy the scents of bread and meat and the spices that were used for dinner. It makes my mouth water so much that I spend the rest of my walk up to the room thinking about food.
Once I find our bedroom in this mausoleum of a home, I burst into our shared closet, then gulp. There is so much clothing.
Why did Kira bring enough to last a year?!
Not wanting to waste my time or keep her waiting, I go straight to my side of the closet where all of Tommy Claremont’s fancy clothes are hung up together. I rifle through them, feeling oddly like I’m stealing from myself, and pull out a jacket. It’s a soft, thick pullover with a University logo on it; meant to reinforce my fake life story, I suppose. It’s a little casual, but it’s good enough for a night on the lakeshore. And don’t girlfriends wear their boyfriend’s hoodies, anyway? It will be more realistic this way.
I whistle as I leave, but abruptly cut the noise off once I’m in the hallway–it’s not a good idea to pick up a habit that hinders my ability to hear if someone is sneaking up on me. I close the door and frown because it doesn’t have a lock, but maybe rich people don’t worry about locking their bedrooms. They’ve got no roommates to share the space with, obviously. No need to lock doors in an empty house.
As if I’ve jinxed myself, I realize only a few seconds later that the house isn’t empty, after all. I stop a few yards away from the top of the staircase, and sigh. Brian stands there, leaning against the wall. Unlike in the library last night, we aren’t in dim orange lighting, but rather in the bright hallway, facing each other down without any drunkenness to cloud his memories or slow his reaction time.
At most, he’s maybe a little buzzed because I saw him drinking earlier, but he isn’t swaying on his feet, and his eyes are sharp and alert.
“Claremont,” he greets coldly. “A word?”
I put the hoodie over my shoulder so my hands are free, just in case. “Go for it, Bri.”
His lip curls in disgust at the nickname, and the flash of rage I see in him confirms that he remembers at least most of what happened in the library. “You crossed a line last night. You had no business sticking your nose in my relationship with my girlfriend.”
“Whatever, man,” I shrug. “I don’t care. Get over it.”
He scoffs, loud and sharp. Then he steps forward to block my way–his chest out, jaw tight, trying to make himself look bigger than he is. His voice rises, getting angry now. “That’s bullshit, Claremont. You think just because you knocked me down when I was drunk as fuck, that makes you some kind of badass? You think you’d still be standing if I’d been sober? You wouldn’t be, I’d have fucked you up. You’re lucky I was too wasted to beat the shit out of you for overstepping.”
“Oh?” My Claremont mask slips as I close the distance–just far enough away to still dodge or block if he lunges at me, but close enough to make him sweat with nerves. “I’m not so sure about that, Bri. Because if you’d been sober, and I walked in to find you putting hands on her with a clear head?”
I ‘tsk’ my tongue at him, my smile cruel and cold. “I wouldn’t have stopped at threats. You wouldn’t be standing here, if you’d been sober last night. Not that being drunk is an excuse for what you tried to do to Janessa, but maybe I’m just a nice guy, Brian. Maybe I wanted to give you another chance.”
“Fucking bullshit, you freak–” He jumps forward, trying to get me to back up, bravado making him stupid.
“Or maybe,” I shove him hard, making him stumble backward into the wall with a thud, barely keeping himself from landing on the ground. “Maybe I just wanted to avoid the penalties that come with a body count. Maybe I didn’t kill you because it would be too much of a fucking hassle, Brian. Maybe your life is so worthless to me that I can’t even bebotheredto end it.”
“Y-you’re fucking crazy,” he grits through his teeth, his shoulders tense. His posture is becoming defensive, his pulse is pounding in his neck. I’ve got him on the ropes.
So, of course, that’s when his idiot friends decide to show up. They clamber up the stairs behind Brian, shoving each other, smelling so strongly of alcohol that my nose wrinkles. They look up at us, dumb and slow, and straighten, their brows furrowing.
“You good, Brian?” Gregory asks, a little slurred but clear enough that I start wondering if these boys hold alcohol better than Brian does, despite smelling like a distillery.
Brian smiles, not at me or at them, just at life. Like he’s genuinely thrilled at this turn of events.
Shit.My stomach drops, and my thoughts race as I weigh my options.
“Oh, not so tough now, are you?” Brian asks when I take a step backward. “What’s the matter? Don’t you want to keep running your mouth, Claremont? Don’t you want to keep talking bullshit? Keep threatening me?”
Gregory and Leonard are stupid, but they don’t take long to pick up the signals Brian is throwing to them. One cracks his knuckles, the other smirks at me, showing me his fist and kissing it, taunting me. They’re too drunk to be rational, and Brian’s too pissed to be reasoned with.
I take another step back, and Brian follows, cackling. “Come on, Claremont, I thought you were tough! I thought you were gonna bury me six feet under, huh? What was that you said about my worthless life?”
This isn’t looking good.I’ve been in fights plenty of times. I know the odds, and I know that if I took them on, I probably wouldn't lose. But, in order to fight more than one person effectively, you have to really beat the shit out of them. If any of them can get back up before you move on to the next one, thenthey just jump on your back when you aren’t ready. If I want to end this, I’ll have toendthis.
If I want to walk away the winner, I’ll have to fight like I’m trying to send them to the hospital.
And as satisfying as that would be for me, as justified as it would be to send Brian to the ER, I have a paycheck to think about. Is the satisfaction worth fifteen grand?
Hell to the no.
So I turn and run.
“Hey!” Brian’s indignant yelp chases me, followed by the pounding footsteps of three good-sized men. The brothers are laughing, drunk and excited by the adrenaline.
