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“I had a little money saved up. Decided to splurge.”
“Money from what?” he asked, and I figured that his short, incomplete sentences were just some sort of personality quirk.
“Jobs.”
“What kind?”
“What kind of jobs did you do before you got here?” I shot back.
“Fair enough,” he said, nodding, letting it drop. “Junkyard,” he said.
“What?” I asked, seeing Valen coming back from the clubhouse.
“Worked junkyard security,” Voss told me.
“Like… like a junkyard dog?” I asked, feeling a smile tug at my lips, totally able to see that.
“With a nastier bite,” Valen said, dropping the buckets stocked with soap and sponges down on the ground. “You two catching up.”
“She was,” Voss said, making Valen’s eyebrow quirk up.
“Seems like it isn’t very brotherly not to share shit,” Valen declared as I started to fill up the buckets.
“Seems like sharing is a two-way street. I answered Voss’s question.”
Voss clearly didn’t fully agree with that, but he didn’t say anything about it.
“Let me guess, now you want me to answer one before you will,” Valen said as I started to spray down the bikes.
“That’s how it works.”
“Fine. What do you want to know?”
“Where’d you get that scar on your neck?” I asked, having been curious about it since the moment I’d seen him again.
I knew enough about injuries to know that one could have easily been fatal.
“Got myself into trouble with four guys,” Valen said, turning away as he admitted it. “Would have died if Voss hadn’t shown up. My turn,” he said as bent forward to squeeze out a soapy sponge. “Where have you been if you haven’t been in Navesink Bank?”
“Europe.”
“Doing what?”
“Traveling. Working. But it wasn’t your turn,” I told him.
“Working doing what?” Valen asked.
To that, I just let my gaze cut to him, full of all the violence and darkness. And, damn if he didn’t know me well enough to be able to read the look.
Still, I felt like answering.
“Continuing the family legacy.” Sort of.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you do that shit?”
