I sighed, feeling the soft prickle of five o’clock shadow against my palm. Then the moment passed and he pulled away.
As I turned to walk out of the room, I paused by the door.
“Don’t forget to change your shirt.”
Ash glanced at the blood spattered across the white cotton and nodded.
Ash
I COULDN’T BELIEVE how badly that had gone.
Parents usually liked me once they met me: mothers loved that I danced, and fathers appreciated that I worked in construction—steady job, macho bullshit. Laney’s family must have hated me for putting her in danger before they even met me. God knows what they thought now. The prick was going to have some questions to answer when he sobered up.
But that wasn’t what bothered me the most. Twice tonight, I’d completely lost it. I used to be a nice guy. I was competitive, I wanted to win, but I’d never been violent. But all that had changed. I’d wanted to hurt those men in the street, really hurt them. End them.
I stared at my swollen knuckles, rubbing at a smear of blood. Christ, I nearly killed that one guy. If Laney hadn’t stopped me, I could have.
When he told me to suck his dick, I’d heard Sergei’s voice, seen Sergei’s face, and I couldn’t stop hitting him. In my mind, I was hitting Sergei—seeing his leering face as he pointed a gun at me, as he jerked off, as he fucked my mouth. I wanted to puke.
I tore off my coat and strode down the hallway until I found a small bathroom. I retched into the toilet, nearly turning my stomach inside out. I’d probably never stop feeling like that when I thought about the evil bastard still walking, still stealing air, ruining lives.
Wiping my face with my sleeve, I pulled my shirt over my head and used it as a towel. There had been a guest towel in our bedroom but I couldn’t be bothered to go back for it.
I looked around, giving my stomach time to stop trying to climb up my throat.
The bathroom was nice, homey, with an old fashioned claw-foot tub and pine cabinets. I didn’t belong here.
When I walked back out, a kid of 13 or 14 was waiting outside, leaning against the wall and playing on his phone.
He didn’t speak as he sidled past me into the bathroom, and in return I just nodded at him. But then he called after me.
“Dude! What happened to your back?”
I hung my shirt over my shoulder, covering up some of the scars.
“Accident.”
“Woah! That’s totally messed up. Cool!” He paused, squinting at me. “Kind of looks like you got stabbed like a hundred times.”
“Something like that.”
He nodded sagely. “Awesome. You’re Aunt Laney’s husband. Everyone’s talking about you.”
He closed the door and I heard the lock click.
“Awesome,” I agreed.
I found my way back to the tiny bedroom and pulled a clean t-shirt out of my gym bag. I only had one more button-up shirt to wear and I was saving that for tomorrow. Then I saw beer stains on my chinos, probably from the prick flailing around.
I changed into my jeans then went back to the empty bathroom to try and scrub the stain off of my pants. It reminded me of being away for the competition circuit and staying in cheap hotels—you managed with very little.
Taking a deep breath, I headed back down the stairs: showtime.
The house was crammed with people. It was hard to find Laney over the heads of all the tall red-haired men who were obviously related to her dad. It wasn’t just the hair that gave them away, but the way they watched me as if I was a suspect. Laney had said they were in the Fire Department, but they looked like cops to me. I wondered how much they’d been told—Christ, maybe they all knew everything.
I finally found Laney in a room next to the kitchen. She was chopping vegetables, but it looked more like an interrogation as the women sitting with her questioned her about me. I rested my hands on her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. It was more than just for show; it was an apology, too.
“Moj son?ek,” I whispered as she smiled up at me.
“Are you ever going to tell me what that means?”
“No.”
I realized that the room had gone silent and everyone was staring at us. Laney gave me a conspiratorial smile, then returned to chopping vegetables.
The kid I’d met earlier got yelled at for trying to steal one of the freshly-baked cookies. If I thought I could have gotten away with it, I’d have done the same.
“I’m bored,” the kid complained. “No one wants to play Black Ops III.”
“Nolan, no one wants to play those horrible games. Go watch TV or something.”
“I’ll play you.”
Laney gave me a look.
“What?”
“I just didn’t know you liked that nerdy stuff.”
Nolan huffed. “It’s not nerdy! It’s cool.”
I winked at her and stood up straight to follow the boy, who was staring at the cookies again.
Laney took pity on him, handing us two each and waving away the irritated huffing of the other women.
“Go shoot stuff,” she laughed.
For a moment, my thoughts darkened. If I’d had a gun around Sergei . . .