“Hey.” Luke glanced at me. His tone was cautious, but resigned.
Lovely. I was glad we were on the same page, at least.
He glanced at Crissy. She held up a hand. “Hey there.”
Luke narrowed his eyes and didn’t respond to her. He asked Braden, “Was he high or drunk?”
Braden answered Luke, “He’s both and Paul said there are some other guys there who will help us get him out.” If this became a bigger problem than a four—I doubted the girl would help—three-person job.
“We might need them.” Luke’s tone was ominous.
Crissy was looking among all of us. “Uh, should I be worried? Is this guy violent or something?”
Braden opened his mouth to answer. I beat him to it, saying, “Or something. He’s an asshole when he’s sober, so take a guess what he’s like when he’s drunk.”
“Oh.” She shrank back in her seat. “Not good.”
That was putting it lightly.
“Okay. Shut up.” Braden turned on the radio. “I know no one’s happy about this, but we have to. He’s—”
“—family,” I finished for him. “I know.”
He looked up and met Luke’s gaze in the mirror. An unspoken message passed between them. My jaw hardened. I didn’t want to guess what they were thinking. Falling silent, the rest of the ride was like that until we pulled up to Paul Montrose’s house. He was the lead singer of Shifter, a punk rock band with whom we were all friendly. We got out and headed up to the two-story home that looked like it belonged in the suburbs and not on the edge of Grant West. With a natural reserve behind it and a candy warehouse across the street, Paul hosted a lot of parties here because of the privacy. He had no neighbors, and a lot of his friends were in bands. A stage was set up in the backyard where we could hear someone playing. The music had blasted us as soon as we turned down the road.
Paul came out the front door, holding a beer. He was close to six feet, with a lean build like Luke’s, and dark blond tussled hair. I always liked Paul. Sometimes there was jealousy among the bands, especially if someone left one for another, but not with him. He was even-keel with everyone. As we crossed the yard, he waved. “Thanks for coming.”
I held back. Paul had called Braden, so I expected him to talk for us, but Luke moved forward. He asked, “Where is he?”
Paul gestured to the second floor. “Wessler and Nix got him to a bedroom up there, and we’re trying to keep people from going up there. He tried starting a couple fights. After the third one, we’d had enough. He was scaring a lot of the girls, too, and he’s got these friends here. I don’t know how to get them to leave, but I don’t want to call the cops. Because, you know.” He put his fingers together and pretended to smoke a joint. “Anyway. You can use this way to get him out.” He walked around the side of the house. There was a side porch and stairs that wound up to the second floor, leading to a door.
“How is he?” I asked. If Emerson had passed out, this would be much easier.
“He’s…” he hesitated, “…a handful.”
A handful for Paul was a nightmare for the rest of us. “That’s probably putting it nice.”
“Yeah. Well.” He shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. “I wanted to call Elijah, but Emerson kept saying in the bedroom we couldn’t call him, so sorry, guys. I know this must be a pain.” Stepping back, he took another drag from his beer and waved again. “I’ll let you guys deal with him, but I’m here if you need help.”
“Thanks for that, Paul, and thanks for calling us and not…” Luke grew quiet. There was no one else to call. Emerson didn’t want Elijah called, so we were it. Realizing that, Luke motioned to Braden instead. “Let’s go and get him.”
They started up the stairs. Braden told Crissy to wait for us, so she hung back while I followed them. Paul fell in step beside me. He said under his breath, “I do feel bad for calling you guys. I just didn’t know who else to call. He kept saying Eli couldn’t come, and I couldn’t call the cops, so it was you guys.”
“It’s no problem,” I reassured him. “For real—”
“Get out, you motherfuckers! Get out!”
Hearing Emerson’s roar, I corrected, “And I spoke too soon.” Stepping through the second-floor door, Emerson was hunched over with his back to a corner. His nostrils were flaring, and his hands were raised, ready to fight. Braden and Luke were standing in the doorway watching him.
I said, “We’re going to need weapons.”
Braden asked me over his shoulder, “You used to have a Taser when we were kids. Do you still?”
“You want me to tase him?” I just won the lottery.
He hesitated, “Well, we might need to.”
Luke wasn’t listening. He walked forward, his hand closing and opening in a fist. He stopped right before Emerson. His shoulders were tense. He was waiting for an attack, but it didn’t come. Emerson looked at him like a feral animal. His chest was heaving, and his eyes were fully dilated, almost pure black, but he still didn’t move. He was watching, waiting.
Luke glanced back at me, and with a jolt, I realized what he was going to do.
I nodded and started forward. He’d better protect me, or I swear to god…I stopped thinking and let out a ragged breath.
As I drew closer, Emerson straightened. The urge to say, “Here, kitty kitty,” was on the tip of my tongue, but I held back. Eyeing my cousin warily, I stopped when Luke held out his hand. Then I waited. I was here. My cousin hated me. He should’ve lunged by now.
Luke moved so he was standing to the side. He shifted back on his heel, ready for the attack. Oh fuck it, I thought. I looked into Emerson’s eyes and taunted, “What are you waiting for, Emerson? If you’re going to hit me, this is the best ti—”
It happened quickly.
Emerson sprang for me. His arms were outstretched, and his hands were open. He was going for my throat, but—Luke hit him. It was a good solid punch to the side of his face, and Emerson dropped to the floor.
I waited, holding my breath, but he didn’t move. Luke had knocked him out. I swung my gaze to his, my knees shaky. “Well, that’s one way of handling it…” I trailed off. Luke’s eyes darkened before he looked away from me. For a moment, we’d been the old best friends that we used to be. That moment was over, and it was back to him hating me.
Lovely. I was glad we were on the same page, at least.
He glanced at Crissy. She held up a hand. “Hey there.”
Luke narrowed his eyes and didn’t respond to her. He asked Braden, “Was he high or drunk?”
Braden answered Luke, “He’s both and Paul said there are some other guys there who will help us get him out.” If this became a bigger problem than a four—I doubted the girl would help—three-person job.
“We might need them.” Luke’s tone was ominous.
Crissy was looking among all of us. “Uh, should I be worried? Is this guy violent or something?”
Braden opened his mouth to answer. I beat him to it, saying, “Or something. He’s an asshole when he’s sober, so take a guess what he’s like when he’s drunk.”
“Oh.” She shrank back in her seat. “Not good.”
That was putting it lightly.
“Okay. Shut up.” Braden turned on the radio. “I know no one’s happy about this, but we have to. He’s—”
“—family,” I finished for him. “I know.”
He looked up and met Luke’s gaze in the mirror. An unspoken message passed between them. My jaw hardened. I didn’t want to guess what they were thinking. Falling silent, the rest of the ride was like that until we pulled up to Paul Montrose’s house. He was the lead singer of Shifter, a punk rock band with whom we were all friendly. We got out and headed up to the two-story home that looked like it belonged in the suburbs and not on the edge of Grant West. With a natural reserve behind it and a candy warehouse across the street, Paul hosted a lot of parties here because of the privacy. He had no neighbors, and a lot of his friends were in bands. A stage was set up in the backyard where we could hear someone playing. The music had blasted us as soon as we turned down the road.
Paul came out the front door, holding a beer. He was close to six feet, with a lean build like Luke’s, and dark blond tussled hair. I always liked Paul. Sometimes there was jealousy among the bands, especially if someone left one for another, but not with him. He was even-keel with everyone. As we crossed the yard, he waved. “Thanks for coming.”
I held back. Paul had called Braden, so I expected him to talk for us, but Luke moved forward. He asked, “Where is he?”
Paul gestured to the second floor. “Wessler and Nix got him to a bedroom up there, and we’re trying to keep people from going up there. He tried starting a couple fights. After the third one, we’d had enough. He was scaring a lot of the girls, too, and he’s got these friends here. I don’t know how to get them to leave, but I don’t want to call the cops. Because, you know.” He put his fingers together and pretended to smoke a joint. “Anyway. You can use this way to get him out.” He walked around the side of the house. There was a side porch and stairs that wound up to the second floor, leading to a door.
“How is he?” I asked. If Emerson had passed out, this would be much easier.
“He’s…” he hesitated, “…a handful.”
A handful for Paul was a nightmare for the rest of us. “That’s probably putting it nice.”
“Yeah. Well.” He shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. “I wanted to call Elijah, but Emerson kept saying in the bedroom we couldn’t call him, so sorry, guys. I know this must be a pain.” Stepping back, he took another drag from his beer and waved again. “I’ll let you guys deal with him, but I’m here if you need help.”
“Thanks for that, Paul, and thanks for calling us and not…” Luke grew quiet. There was no one else to call. Emerson didn’t want Elijah called, so we were it. Realizing that, Luke motioned to Braden instead. “Let’s go and get him.”
They started up the stairs. Braden told Crissy to wait for us, so she hung back while I followed them. Paul fell in step beside me. He said under his breath, “I do feel bad for calling you guys. I just didn’t know who else to call. He kept saying Eli couldn’t come, and I couldn’t call the cops, so it was you guys.”
“It’s no problem,” I reassured him. “For real—”
“Get out, you motherfuckers! Get out!”
Hearing Emerson’s roar, I corrected, “And I spoke too soon.” Stepping through the second-floor door, Emerson was hunched over with his back to a corner. His nostrils were flaring, and his hands were raised, ready to fight. Braden and Luke were standing in the doorway watching him.
I said, “We’re going to need weapons.”
Braden asked me over his shoulder, “You used to have a Taser when we were kids. Do you still?”
“You want me to tase him?” I just won the lottery.
He hesitated, “Well, we might need to.”
Luke wasn’t listening. He walked forward, his hand closing and opening in a fist. He stopped right before Emerson. His shoulders were tense. He was waiting for an attack, but it didn’t come. Emerson looked at him like a feral animal. His chest was heaving, and his eyes were fully dilated, almost pure black, but he still didn’t move. He was watching, waiting.
Luke glanced back at me, and with a jolt, I realized what he was going to do.
I nodded and started forward. He’d better protect me, or I swear to god…I stopped thinking and let out a ragged breath.
As I drew closer, Emerson straightened. The urge to say, “Here, kitty kitty,” was on the tip of my tongue, but I held back. Eyeing my cousin warily, I stopped when Luke held out his hand. Then I waited. I was here. My cousin hated me. He should’ve lunged by now.
Luke moved so he was standing to the side. He shifted back on his heel, ready for the attack. Oh fuck it, I thought. I looked into Emerson’s eyes and taunted, “What are you waiting for, Emerson? If you’re going to hit me, this is the best ti—”
It happened quickly.
Emerson sprang for me. His arms were outstretched, and his hands were open. He was going for my throat, but—Luke hit him. It was a good solid punch to the side of his face, and Emerson dropped to the floor.
I waited, holding my breath, but he didn’t move. Luke had knocked him out. I swung my gaze to his, my knees shaky. “Well, that’s one way of handling it…” I trailed off. Luke’s eyes darkened before he looked away from me. For a moment, we’d been the old best friends that we used to be. That moment was over, and it was back to him hating me.
