by Aven Jayce
“Are you gonna be an ass all night?”
He lights a cigarette and cranks down his window, responding with a laugh.
Fast food wrappers are strewn all over the back seat, and a large hole in the floorboard reveals the blurry road. Ashes swirl and land on my clothes. My hair smells like smoke. Trent drives like shit. The car is shit... I must have a major crush to be sitting here right now.
I stare at Quinn. Yes, major crush. That’s why I’m here.
I’ve been distant and numb for days, longing to see him, walking around Nadine and Brian’s house like I was on another planet. I’ve done nothing but daydream.
And my heart and clit teamed up this week... one fluttering in quick bursts whenever I thought of him, the other following... back and forth, crazed over his face... his body... that devilish grin... and fuck, the size of his dick. I swear I must’ve masturbated fifty times in a matter of days, wishing he were in me.
“Sorry I haven’t discussed my family much. I guess I don’t want to scare you away,” he says.
“Why would telling me your brother’s at the university scare me away?”
“You talking about Dylan back there? You pussy. Always hiding him from people.”
“Shut up, that’s not true.”
“Why’d you leave the retreat? Did you get fired like Quinn?” I ask.
“Nah, Roxanne sent me to find that dick sitting next to you and bring him back. Her new massage boy is a total fuckup. You should’ve seen the kid the other night. The dumbass was wasted, and he puked all over a hot black chick while he was rubbing her down. Man, did Roxanne ever have a fit.”
“I’m not going back,” Quinn says.
“I don’t plan to either. Not ‘til winter... hold that thought.” He takes out his cell. “That you, Dylan? Yeah, we’re on our way.”
“How long have you known him?” I ask.
“He’s been friends with my brother since they were kids. He moved to Albany two years ago... he was with me on the streets until we left with Roxanne.”
“Your brother didn’t go to the retreat because he was in school?”
“Quinn?” Trent says with a grin, still on his cell. “He’s got some chick with him. No, I’m not shitting you.” He checks me out, top to bottom. “I guess, she’s hot... no, I haven’t asked him, hold on.” He looks in the rear-view mirror. “Your big bro’s wondering if you’re getting pussy.”
Quinn’s answer is a tight-lipped headshake.
“He’s blushing, I’d say so... yep, we’re about three minutes away. Head outside the building to that lot across the street, the one by the side yard... no, Quinn and I already talked about this, we’ll get you there... because he’s got a chick with him. I just said that... he doesn’t want... fuck no, we’re not picking you up from the front. Get your ass away from that fucking place... yeah, see ya in a few.”
“This is gonna be a wild night,” he says under his breath, sliding his arm around my lower back and placing a firm grip on my hip. “I might regret bringing you along.”
“No, don’t worry about it. Trent’s vulgar, like my friends back in Jersey. They use the word ‘pussy’ in every sentence. I can handle it.”
“It’s more than the swearing.”
“He’s talking about Dylan,” Trent says. “He’s testing you. He wants to see if you’ll run for the hills after meeting his brother... or worse, after meeting Wade.”
“Fuck you, I’m not testing her. And my dad’s at the bar on Friday nights... besides, we’re not going to his house, and she’s not meeting him.”
“Where the fuck do you think Dylan’s gonna want to go? I’ll bet ya twenty bucks he heads straight to the house for a beer and to get his dick wet.”
Quinn rubs the back of his neck, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. He wets his lips and leans in, giving me a soft kiss before whispering, “Don’t listen to him.”
“Tell this bitch the truth and get it over with, or I will.”
“I’ll kick your ass if you call her that again. Keep your fucking mouth shut.”
Trent reaches down by his foot, takes out a gun and points it over his shoulder. It bounces, hitting the seat when the car dips into a pothole.
Quinn freezes—not a movement, not a breath, not a sound.
“Is this a joke?” I whisper.
They gaze ahead with the gun pointed behind.
“What’s going on?”
“Shut my mouth? Is that what you said? Act like a good boy in that back seat or you’ll get your head blown off.” He lowers the gun to his lap, driving with one hand while the other runs through his spikey hair. “It’s been a long time, dipshit. You better think twice before acting out in front of Dylan. He asks you to be honest and you do it. Remember that. You better show him more respect than you’re showing me. It’s been three years. Three fucking long ass years without him.”
I look back and forth between them, trying to figure out what the hell’s going on.
He drives onto East University Drive and turns into a lot on the edge of campus, maneuvering slowly past the parked cars.
“Stop,” Quinn says in a harsh tone.
“For what?”
“I’m getting out. We’re getting out. Stop.”
“Fine, go find him. I’ll sit here and wait.”
He opens the door and I’m helped out then whisked swiftly away.
“What’s happening?”
He stops and grips the side of my tank, pulling me closer to his side. His sweaty palms on my wrists reveal his unease. “I’m sorry about the gun. He’s showing off, that’s all.”
“That was more than showing off. He sounded dead serious.”
“Everyone around me carries a weapon, it’s how we survive the streets. But he’s being an ass, pointing it at me like that. I’m not his fucking enemy.”
“What’s the truth he’s talking about? Just say it.”
He looks around for his brother. “This isn’t right. I didn’t think I’d feel this way, but I can tell now... I’m not ready to burden you with this bullshit. Being homeless is one thing; my family’s another. We’ll take a bus back to your neighborhood and I’ll walk you to your house so I can be sure that you’re safe. Let’s try this some other day. Just you and me, without Trent and Dylan.”
“No.” I stop him from walking away, pulling him back.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Trent shouts. “Yo! I’m talking to you. Get your ass over here!”
“Quinn, tell me. It can’t be any worse than what we’ve already discussed. Your dad’s abusive and an alcoholic... what about your brother?”
He draws in a deep breath when he sees a guy walking toward the campus. His brother’s not a student... he’s coming from across the street... from the direction of the prison.
“Dylan,” he says with a heavy breath.
I gawk at his size. Tall like Quinn, only much bigger—larger muscles, broader chest, thicker neck and arms—his tattooed knuckles being cracked as he approaches us.
I swallow hard, trying to fake a smile in his direction. “What’d he do?”
“He... he hit a guy in the face with his knife handle and beat the shit out of him. Got a second degree assault charge.”
“No shit?”
“We were at a party and I got jumped, Dylan pulled the guy off and went ballistic on his ass.”
“So he’s abusive like your dad?”
“Not to me. Not to women, at least not physically to women, he’s got a mouth on him though, worse than mine.”
“Why’d the guy jump you?”
“We were crashing a party... I tried walking off with a case of beer.”
“So you stole from him.”
“I didn’t think of it like that when I was a teen. We were having a fun Friday night. Guy stuff.”
“Do you still—”
“I was a troublemaker in high school, but chilled out when my
brother got that sentence. No more fooling around. And I grew up fast. Taking someone’s stuff in a homeless camp can get you stabbed.”
Trent gets out of the car and the two men lock in a shoulder-to-shoulder, back-patting embrace. Dylan steps away and crosses his arms, waiting, watching, demanding Quinn walk over to say hello.
“I’m not trying to play down what happened. He was wrong to use a weapon and not let up when the guy stopped fighting, but he is my brother, and it really sucked that he got three years for defending me.”
Quinn studies my face. I can tell he means well, wanting to conceal another part of his life from me, only that’s not fair... to him. He’s searching for an answer, wondering what direction we’re headed in tonight and whether this is a deal breaker.
I squeeze his hand and start toward his brother. “We’re not going to pick and choose what parts of our lives we share with each other. I’m not interested in that kind of relationship. It’s fake. And I’m here for you, not him.”
“Damn... that was nice.”
“I am nice, maybe not so bright considering I’m hanging out with a group of feral men tonight, but nice. And trust me, this is more interesting than watching ESPN with my Uncle Brian.” I slow down when I see the gun returning to Trent’s ankle holster. “I’m not happy about the gun, though.”
“I don’t blame you.”
Dylan opens his arms, hauling Quinn into a firm hug. His gigantic hand holds the back of his head, prohibiting Quinn from fleeing the embrace. They share many of the same features—Cupid’s bow upper lips, amber eyes, heart-shaped faces with sturdy jawlines and broad, rounded noses—handsome, brawny, and tough as nails.
“I was worried there for a second, thought some girl had you by the balls and you were choosing pussy over me.”
His voice is even lower and deeper than Quinn’s—the guy’s one hundred percent alpha male.
“This is Adlyn.” Quinn moves to my side.
“You don’t look like a street whore,” he says.
“She’s not.”
“Where ya from?” His chin rises as he peers down at me.
“She’s a rich girl.” Trent slaps Dylan’s arm. “Forget about her. Let’s go get drunk.”
Dylan steps back, giving me a look of distrust before nodding at us to get in the car.
“You okay?” Quinn whispers. “Still want to hang with us?”
“Are you kidding? You know how nosy I am.”
“True.” He grins. “Even if I insisted you go home, you’d probably try to track us down later.” His hand’s on my ass as we walk to the car. “Get in, my fetching huntress.”
“Oh good, I’m moving up from being an oddity.”
He gives me a kiss on the side of my head, putting his arm over my shoulder as Trent drives away from campus.
“Where’d you get this piece of shit car?” Dylan asks, tapping the plastic where the passenger side window should be. “No air? No stereo? And I can’t see. What the fuck? And it smells like grease and gasoline in here.”
“My cousin let me borrow it for a couple of hours. Don’t say jack about it. I picked you up, didn’t I?”
He rips the duct tape off the window frame and yanks the plastic down to reach his hand out the window. “Fuck, it’s good to be out of that hell hole. Freedom. Hey, you in the backseat, you ever been arrested?”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet.” He chuckles. “Well alright then, and you, cocksucker...” He turns to Quinn. “Trent told me about that Assglow place, said you’ve been back in town for a week. Why the fuck didn’t you come visit? Forget about me, or what?”
“No. I lost my main ID last year so I couldn’t get in.”
“Poor excuse. You’ve been too busy with pussy. Pussy’s always first... what about money? You working?”
“Landscaping.”
“You get paid in cash?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, keep it that way. Don’t give any to the IRS... fuckin’ hell, man, I need a beer. Who’s buying tonight? And give that bitch Janice a call. That one you told me about, the dark angel. I’m dying for pussy. My dick’s only been warmed by my hand and puny boys’ asses for the past few years.”
Trent takes out his cell and hands it to Dylan. “She’s on there. Keep the call short.”
He looks at the cell, turning it side to side. “What is this... an Alcatel? Is this even a cell or a goddamn walkie-talkie?”
“It’s ‘pay as you go.’ Call her and get off quick, don’t use up all my minutes, you bastard.”
Dylan laughs while he searches for the number. “I’ve missed you Trent... you too, Quinn. But I’m not sure that’s the right girl for you. She looks too wholesome. If you want, I can ask Janice to fuck you once I’m done with her.”
“I’m good,” Quinn says, gripping my leg below my short skirt. “I’m not into whores.”
“No, you just spent a year being one, that’s all.”
“I didn’t—”
“What’s up, this the dark angel? I’m one of Trent’s friends. You free to sit on my cock tonight?” He ignores Quinn, showing his dominance over everyone in the car. “Trent. Trent Byers. He said you’re a good fuck.”
“Oh my God.” I cover my mouth with both hands, suppressing an involuntary smile. “Is this actually happening?”
“It’s the norm with him,” Quinn says.
“This is crazy.”
“I know. They’re beasts.”
“What was that?” Dylan turns with the cell still to his ear. “Who’s a beast? I’ll shove that smile right up your ass if you’re talking about me behind my back.”
Quinn and Trent explode in laughter and I’m catching on that... well, at least I think I’m catching on that a lot of this is a show. The two in the front seat are a pair of apish alpha goons.
“How much? What?” He sounds shocked. “Don’t you have a ‘first day out of prison’ special?”
“You’re asking for a discount?”
“Shh. Quinn, shut your girl up... uh-huh, fresh out... three years... that’s what I thought. Half price? Deal. Head down to Swinton Street...”
Quinn covers his face, shaking his head with a grin, copying my actions.
“Is he really ordering a prostitute?”
“Did your family really pay for prostitutes last weekend?”
“Touché... so how old is he?”
“Twenty-three.”
I nod and glance at Dylan’s big head. He has a small mole that shows under his short hair and a thin scar that runs down the side of his neck.
“Are we going to your dad’s?” Trent asks.
“What the fuck do you think? You got an apartment?”
“Told ya, dipshit,” he says to Quinn, pulling into a liquor store. He parks then holds out his hand, waiting for money.
I open my handbag, but Quinn stops me from taking out any cash. “Don’t even think about it. I got this.”
“Give the man the money. Hurry up. I’ve got two whistles to wet tonight.” He slaps Trent. “Get either Busch or Old Milwaukee. Something good.”
I hold in my laughter at the thought of those beers tasting good. “No, wait,” I say, opening my bag again. “It’s on me. Here’s sixty bucks. Get me a bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey along with that case of beer you’re buying.”
Dylan turns in exaggerated excitement. “Fuck, I changed my mind. Don’t lose that woman. Bring her along wherever we go.”
His mouth slowly parts, speechless about my gift. Finally, he whispers, “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes I did. Jameson’s my favorite, and if you’re drinking tonight, so am I.”
“Listen to her and take the cash. Tomorrow, when you wake up hung over with a finger in her pussy, you’ll be thankful that you did. Get drunk and fuck.”
What a loser. Quinn’s so sweet compared to him. I can’t believe they’re brothers.
“O
pen the back door,” Trent says, carrying a case with a brown bag on top. He sets it next to Quinn’s foot, but a second later it falls through the rusted out floor, landing on the pavement. “Pick that shit up.” He gets in the front while the rest of us laugh. Quinn lifts the case onto the seat and I grab the whiskey, positioning it between my legs.
The three of them spend the short drive talking about people and events I’m unfamiliar with. I listen and watch the neighborhoods change from middle class, to lower class, to dirt-poor. The streets become hole-ridden with weeds growing out from the cracks. The sidewalks disappear. Broken fences line the streets—their boards missing, paint faded, and sections leaning—ready to tumble on the next windy day. Cars with missing windows and flat tires sit abandoned, paralleling the boarded windows and graffiti-ridden exteriors of the deserted homes. Painted brick garages are left to flake, yards are overgrown, and the poor are ignored.
Neglected communities. Neglected homes. Neglected people.
Quinn rubs my leg, looking out the window at the scene. “I won’t let anything happen to you, and we can leave anytime.”
“I’m okay.”
I kiss his hand, happy that we’re hanging out. His brother finishes a beer and opens a second as Trent slows the car, driving slightly off the road past two houses before coming to a stop in front of a white, two-story home. The second floor windows are broken, the first floor windows are covered in sheets, and the front step to the door is a chipped concrete block.
“Dad’s moving up in the world,” Dylan says, getting out and opening the back door to get the beer. “When’s he gonna be home?”
“Same as when we were teens. If he makes it home on a Friday night, it’ll be early morning, unless he picks up a woman. Then maybe midnight.”
“You have a key?”
“Not anymore.”
“You got a way in?”
“Around back,” Quinn says, checking who’s around. “There’s a gate on the left side between the house and the garage. I can get in through the basement window. I’ll open the back door for you guys.”
“We’re breaking in?” I ask.
“Hell no. This is my house,” Dylan says. “Bet my dad shits a brick when he sees me.”
“That’s actually... wrong expression,” I say, following them through a white picket gate, opening my whiskey as we walk into an unkempt backyard.
