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I imagine Lo is freaking the fuck out right now. “He’s not your nephew,” I say. “He’s Farrow and Maximoff’s son.”
“Whatever. You know what I mean.”
“He’s fine. Cute.”
My dad tries to smile. Remnants of joy are shattered in his eyes. Meth is a pleasure-killer. He thinks it’s the greatest euphoria, but all it really does is annihilate the ability to reach happiness after the high is gone.
I suck on the cigarette and blow smoke up in the air. “If things are so good, then why are you stealing Sullivan Meadows’ Jeep and junking it for parts?”
His face sobers. “I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“Beckett?” I wonder, an untampered rage brewing in my lungs. “You have anything to do with him?”
“With the mugging?”
“You know it wasn’t a mugging.” I look him dead in the eye.
He grips my gaze tighter than before. “I heard about it in passing. Like I said, stop talking to your cousin Colin. And his dad Roark. He’s a little bitch too.”
I lean back in the booth. “Who should I be talking to then?”
He gives me a deadpan look. “Who do you think?”
“You?”
“I’m the only one you should trust at the end of the day.” He tries to flash a warmer smile. “It’s nice. Talking to you. God, I remember when you were little and youlovedthis place. You’d spend thirty minutes flipping through the jukebox pages, and some old lady always came in and gave you a quarter.” He looks around. “Hasn’t changed much, has it?”
It’s different.
Older.
More dilapidated and worn.
I’m different.
Stronger.
“Maybe not,” I breathe.
He scrutinizes me. “You hard up for cash?”
“Scottie takes my whole paycheck, but I tattoo on the side,” I tell him. “It’s enough to eat.” It’s a lie, considering Akara gave me a raise and my uncle doesn’t know about it. “Are you?”
He laughs. “I bartend at the Rhino, what do you think?”
“Thought the Rhino closed down years ago.” It’s an old musty biker bar.
“It’s surviving. Barely.” He’s quiet. “You know, if you’re hurting, you should use what you have. It’s right there.”
My stomach lurches. “What do you mean?” I have to get him to saywords.Not just imply criminal acts and bad deeds, like using my connection to the Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts for profit.
“You know what I mean,” he says. “You’re not a stupid kid. Hell, you might be the smartest one out of all of us.” He pauses, skimming me. “The Ass-Kicker. You know people love the shit outta you online?” He grins like a proud dad. “You haven’t started an OnlyFans, have you? You’d make a killing.”
“Can’t,” I tell him. “It’d break my contract with private security.”
“Just create an anonymous account. They won’t know.”
“Then I wouldn’t be able to capitalize on my notoriety and whatnot.” I’m irritated, but I just snuff out the cigarette.
