I’m fighting for nothing more than a memory.
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.