The last few years have been filled with sacrifice, and it never bothered me. At least, it never bothered me until Mason.
He’s the only person who has ever made me wonder what it would be like to leave all this behind. To hang up my search for revenge and go after a life worth living. A life of honor and respect. One my parents could be proud of.
One Svetlana would be proud of.
On a heavy sigh, I power up my phone. I scroll to Mason’s number and punch out a quick text.
In bed. Missing you. Can’t wait for tomorrow.
I stare at my phone, waiting. Nothing.
I scroll through my social media sites, watch a few funny cat videos without sound, and then check my text messages again.
Huh, still nothing.
Maybe he’s out with his mom?
I type out one more text.
We’ll be at Cowell bright and early. G’night.
Rather than turn my phone off, I tuck it under my pillow so I’ll feel it vibrate when he texts me back.
Twenty
Mason
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” I spit through clenched teeth and an aching jaw at the back of Drake’s head.
I’d rather be in his face, but it’s impossible to do when he’s nose first in a pile of white powder.
“Dude, calm down, Mase.” Birdman’s eyes are practically slits as he pulls a heavy lungful of smoke from the bong wedged between his ankles. He holds the shit in until it makes him cough and then exhales. “It’s a fucking party, man.”
A party? Just last week my brother was hiding out, and now he’s snorting the shit that got him in trouble in the first place.
After dropping Trix off with her family, Drake took me to my mom’s place, where I unloaded my stuff. She wasn’t home, and according to Drake, she rarely is. A new boyfriend with a yacht is her latest diversion. We’ll see how long that lasts.
I avoided calling Trix all night, knowing she was catching up with her family, and finally accepted Drake’s invitation to go hang out with The Brotherhood to avoid staring at my phone like a love-sick pansy.
It took all of ten minutes to realize I would’ve been better off at my mom’s in front of the TV.
“Give me your keys.” I hold out my hand, and Drake glares at it like it’s dipped in dog shit.
“No way. Besides, I told Jessica I’d meet her here.” He gives the room a once over with glazed eyes.
I do the same, although I’m completely sober. The small beach-style bungalow is no more than a thousand square feet, and it’s filled with local surfers. I can spot them from a mile away. Trucker hat, surf brand tee, long shorts held to their hips by a belt, and flip-flops or skate shoes.
“Mase, man”—Jayden slaps me on the shoulder, his big grin showing off his gold tooth—“welcome home.”
Home. Yeah right. This is not home.
“As soon as Jessica gets here, we’re leaving.”
“Jessica’s here, man.” Harrison has a big grin on his face too. All of them are as high as airliners. “Saw her with J.P. when I came in.”
That asshole’s here? He graduated ten years before us, and even now that he’s in his thirties, he still hangs with Drake and his crew. From what I understand, he’s weaseled his way in with Drake’s dad, pushing my brother out of the way to get close to the criminals they run with. Fucking loser.
Drake’s jaw gets hard and he scowls. “With J.P.? Where?”
Harrison cackles with unrestrained laughter, sending Drake to his feet.
I hook my brother’s bicep. “Whoa . . . what’s going on?”
Drake jerks his arm out of my grip, his eyes bloodshot and crazed. “Nothin’. I’ll be right back.” He turns his trucker hat forward and storms from the room.
Shit. This isn’t good.
I follow behind Drake as he heads to the short hallway and starts pushing open doors. “Jessica, where the fuck are you?” He throws open another door and finally gets to one that’s locked. He bangs with a closed fist. “Jess, you in there? Jess!” He kicks the door, making it splinter.
I stand back, close enough to jump in if something happens, but far enough away so that I’m not breathing down my brother’s neck, only further pissing him off.
The lock clicks and the door opens.
J.P., over six feet of asshole and looking like he’s jacked up on ’roids, comes out of the bathroom, making a show of zipping up his fly. “Drake, you piece of shit. Way you were banging on this door I thought the cops were busting in.”
Drake pushes past him into the bathroom then comes out with a staggering Jess in his arms. Her hair is tangled around her face, and if it weren’t for my brother’s arms bracing her weight, she wouldn’t be standing. Her head lulls on her shoulders, and she mumbles something incoherent.
“What the fuck happened in there?” Drake’s question isn’t directed at anyone in particular, but the way he’s asking demands someone answer.
Jessica’s legs give out, and he hefts her up to his chest.
“We were just having a little fun. Don’t sweat it.” J.P. reaches to Jessica, but Drake knocks his hand away.
“Don’t fucking touch her, man.”
My mind spins with sick irony. Drake’s not ideal, but he’s better than this piece of shit.
Jessica was my girlfriend, but I knew Drake always had a thing for her. The second I wasn’t looking, he made his move. It sucked at first. I really thought we’d end up together, but I was wrong. Drake has never been faithful to Jess, and now that this J.P. guy is moving in on his girl, he’s decided to stake his claim? Fucking ridiculous.
What’s most disturbing about all this is the fact that Jess is clearly out of her mind either on booze or drugs or a combo of the two and neither of these guys has the right to lay a finger on her body when she’s this fucked up.
I step closer. “Drake. Give me your keys. I’m taking Jessica home.”
“No way. I’ve got her—”
“Now.”
J.P. steps up, his jaw hard. “Well look who we have here? College boy.”
“Always knew you were a fuckup, J.P. Never took you for a rapist.”
He shrugs, his lips curling back over his teeth. “I was just takin’ a piss. Not my fault she followed me in, beggin’ for my dick.”
Drake tries to lunge. “You motherfu—”
I hold my hand up to keep Drake back, noticing briefly that Jessica is completely slumped over in his arms. “Take her to the car, Drake. I’ll be right there. Don’t drive, understand?”
My brother’s eyes are buggin’ out of his head, clearly the high from all the coke he snorted in full force and intensified by adrenaline.
“Drake!” His eyes come to mine. “Now. Get her to the car.”
He shifts his gaze between J.P. and me, not moving.
Jessica sucks in a breath and coughs then vomits all over Drake’s leg.
He blinks down. “Shit.”
Her back arches with a dry heave.
“Take her outside, D.”
This time he doesn’t stall and guides her down the hallway to the front door. “Hang in there, baby. You’re okay.”
How he can be so damn sweet to her now and such an asshole at other times, I’ll never understand.
I turn my attention back to J.P. “We need to talk.”
“I’m listening.”
“What will it take to get my brother out of his dad’s business?”
His face registers nothing, and I wonder if he didn’t hear me, but when he throws his head back in booming laughter, I realize he most certainly did.
“I’m serious, J.P.”
“Oh, I know you’re serious.” He sniffs and wipes at his eye. “But there’s no fucking way Drake gets to walk away. Not after the shit he pulled.”
“He replaced that. He should be square.”
“He’s not.”
“You just fucked his girlfriend.” Sickness stirs my gut, managing to just piss me off more. �
��What more do you want?”
He scratches his jaw, which is covered in a week old beard. “Simple. They want what he promised them: his life.”
“His life? You can’t be fucking serious?”
“As a damn heart attack,” he growls.
“He’s twenty-one. You can’t expect him to run drugs for you guys until he’s an old man.”
“Who’re you kidding? No one in this business ever lives that long.”
“So that’s it? He takes orders until he’s dead.”
He shrugs. “It was his choice.”
“How much will it take to buy him back from you?”
He casts a glance over my shoulder and gives someone just beyond me a head nod. “I’ll be right there.” His eyes come back to mine, and he grins before pushing past me. “He’s not for sale.”
I grip his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. His narrowed eyes go to my hand and then to me.
“Everything has a price, J.P.”
The tension between us pulls tight, and I ball my fist prepared for his attack, but he doesn’t hit.
“Drake knows what it takes to get out. Blood for blood,” he says.
And with that, he delivers a blow more painful than any punch. In order for Drake to be free, someone needs to get hurt. Fuck, what will they do to him?
“You guys okay back there?” I dart my eyes to the rearview mirror to see Jess passed out against Drake’s chest, his arms holding her to him.
We pulled over twice so she could throw up, and each time I was surprised to see how gentle Drake was with her. He held her up with one hand, had her hair off her face with the other, and whispered soothing words to her while she tossed up God knows what.
“I fuckin’ hope so. I don’t think she has much left in her.” There’s unease in his voice.
“You get her to talk at all?”
“Yeah. She said she’s just drunk. Guess she got dropped off by some friends and felt sick, so she rushed to the bathroom. J.P., that fucking prick, followed her in there.”
I swallow past my urge to rip into my brother about how this is all his fault, about how exposing a woman like Jessica to this world was a huge fucking mistake, but I can tell by the worry and guilt in his voice that he’s suffering enough. “She tell you what happened back there?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Damn. That’s what I was afraid of. “Did he force her?”
“I told you I don’t want to fucking talk about it.”
“If he raped her, we go back and feed him his own dick.”
He shakes his head. “He didn’t, alright. She says she sucked him off, but she lies about shit like this just to piss me off.”
“It work?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Petty game to play, but if anyone deserves a little of what he dishes out, it’s Drake.
We pull up to my brother’s house. It’s bigger than my mom’s, and I’m sick at the thought of what he’s had to do to pay for his pad and the brand new Caddy ATS-V I’m driving. I pull into the long driveway that leads to a two-car garage and is bordered by a professionally manicured lawn.
I grip the passenger seat and twist my neck to see my brother. “I’m dropping you guys off and taking the car. You can come pick it up from Mom’s in the morning.”
“Fine. Whatever.” He pops open the back door. “Jess, baby . . . we’re home.” Maneuvering himself to the edge of the seat, he pulls her tiny body into the cradle of his arms and stands.
“Yo, Drake.”
He pauses at the open door, but doesn’t say shit.
“Nothing but water and some food tonight, yeah?”
His head drops. Whether he’s looking down at Jess or just staring at the ground, I don’t know.
“Drake, man—”
“Yeah, I know. I got it.” He knocks the door shut with his hip, and I wait until he’s inside before pulling out and heading to my mom’s.
Things are so much worse than I thought. Drake’s in deep and Jessica’s whoring—or pretending to whore—herself just to get my brother’s attention. They should be in college, filling their days with classes and stupid jokes with the occasional weekend debauchery. Instead, they’re tied up in God knows what, and the only way out is a life for a life. Blood for blood.
Confusion and frustration swirl behind my eyes, bringing on the beginnings of a massive headache. What a fucking mess.
I pull up to the curb in front of my mom’s house and think maybe I should’ve left his car at Drake’s and taken a cab home. The house we grew up in is one of the roughest parts of town, just outside of Garfield Park. I shrug and pop the keys from the ignition. If the thing gets fucked with, serves Drake right.
At this point, his world needs a little shaking up.
Headed to the front door, I hit the fob to engage the alarm on the car. The front light in the living room clicks on. Mom must be home. I pull out my house key and let myself in.
“Mom? It’s me. You home? Oh shit!” I turn around and throw my hand over my eyes for good measure because no amount of eye blocking can erase what I’ve just seen, but I wish like hell it would.
“Omigod, Mason!” My mom’s voice, laced with panic, mixes with the sound of frantic redressing. “What are you doing here?”
“Um . . . I’ll go. I . . . I’m in town, but I’ll give you guys a minute to get—”
“No, honey, it’s okay. Tom was just leaving.” Her hand grips my shoulder before she moves around to pull my hand from my eyes. “Hey, you can open your eyes now.”
I squint open one eye to see my mom, her face youthful and betraying her real age despite the lifestyle she’s subjected herself to. Her shoulder-length blond hair is tossed around like—ugh, my stomach roils at the thought. She blinks bright blue eyes up at me.
“Hey, Mom, I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be silly.” She swats me playfully on the shoulder. “We’re all adults.”
Maybe we’re all technically adults, but that doesn’t mean I should be okay with seeing my mom on her knees in front of—no, bleaching my brain of that memory ASAP.
“Tom, this is my son Mason. He’s the one I was telling you about. The fighter in Las Vegas.” The pride in her voice and the way she beams settles me a little after that terrifying entrance.
“Ah, right.” Tom, an older guy with dark hair and an athletic build, reaches out to shake my hand. His flashy gold watch catches my eye along with his not-so-flashy gold wedding band. “It’s nice to meet you. Your mom’s told me a lot about you.”
I shake his hand, but can’t take my eyes off his wedding ring. He must notice as he shifts uncomfortably before releasing my hand to pull my mom to his side.
“Tom’s in the middle of a divorce,” she says by way of explanation.
I turn my gaze to Tom and wonder why the fuck he’s still wearing his damn wedding ring if he’s going through a divorce. “Is that right?”
“I caught your fight a few months ago. You’re good. Really good.”
Avoiding my question by kissing ass? Not only is he pathetic, but he’s also a spineless douchebag. Fatigue washes over me at the thought of fighting my mom’s battles after I just got done saving my brother from being blown away by his own shit storm.
“It’s been a long day.” I set my eyes on Tom. “Would you like me to walk you out before I hit the sack?”
My mom’s uncomfortable giggle fills the room. “Don’t worry about him, Tom. He’s just overprotective.” She pinches my cheek like I’m still five years old. “Always has been.”
Tom grabs his sports coat off the back of the dining room chair. “No, I believe I can walk myself out. Good to meet you, Mason.”
Suuure, dude.
“Oh, I’ll come with you.” My mom wiggles her eyebrows, and I almost vomit in my throat.
Why did I think coming home would be a good idea?
Trix.
Shit. I check the glowing numbers on the digital DVD clock.
It’s after midnight. Motherfuck.
“Right, I’m off to bed.”
“Okay, honey.” My mom pushes up on her tiptoes and kisses me on the cheek, practically running after Tom who’s made it halfway to the door. “I’m glad you’re home.”
She chases after Tom, and I head for my old room, pulling out my phone before I close the bedroom door behind me.
Two texts from earlier tonight, both from Trix. I’m smiling before I even read them, and just seeing her name light up on my phone makes tonight feel like a distant memory.
I drop back on the bed and kick my shoes off, my feet hanging off the end. She was thinking about me before she went to bed. I contemplate calling her, but this was hours ago. Damn, I’d love to hear her voice right now, but it’d be a dick move to call and wake her up.
I head to the hall bathroom where I dumped my toothbrush earlier. After I take a leak and brush my teeth, I head back to bed with heavy steps. I’ve lived in this house since I was seven years old, and it’s never not felt like home. But something about it now feels foreign.
“Mason?” My mom strolls down the hall from the front door, chin high as if she’s not broke, living in a rundown house alone, and sleeping with a married man. She tilts her head and smiles. “Is everything okay back in Las Vegas?”
“Yeah.”
Her eyebrows pinch together. “You haven’t been home in a while, so . . . why now?”
I shrug, trying to make my reason for coming to Santa Cruz seem like a casual visit when it sure as fuck is not. “There’s a girl I’m—”
“A girl?” Her eyes grow as wide as her grin. “Here? Do I know her?”
“Mom, calm down. No, you don’t know her. She’s from San Jose, lives in Vegas now. She came home to visit family. I tagged along to spend some time with her.”
Her face contorts with disapproval. “You ‘tagged along’? No.” She wags a finger at me. “No, no, no. You don’t want to do that, honey. It makes you seem desperate. Women like a man who’s hard to get.”
And what man’s harder to get than the married kind. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “She’s not like most women.”
“All women like the chase.” She props a hand on her narrow hip. “Trust me. I know.”
Fighting for Forever Page 18
