Fighting: Fighting for Forever Part 22

How he can be so d.a.m.n sweet to her now and such an a.s.shole 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 f.u.c.king way Drake gets to walk away. Not after the s.h.i.t he pulled."

"He replaced that. He should be square."

"He's not."

"You just f.u.c.ked his girlfriend." Sickness stirs my gut, managing to just p.i.s.s 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 f.u.c.king serious?"

"As a d.a.m.n 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. f.u.c.k, what will they do to him?

"You guys okay back there?" I dart my eyes to the rearview mirror to see Jess pa.s.sed 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 G.o.d knows what.

"I f.u.c.kin' 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 f.u.c.king p.r.i.c.k, 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 f.u.c.king 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."

d.a.m.n. That's what I was afraid of. "Did he force her?"

"I told you I don't want to f.u.c.king talk about it."

"If he raped her, we go back and feed him his own d.i.c.k."

He shakes his head. "He didn't, alright. She says she sucked him off, but she lies about s.h.i.t like this just to p.i.s.s me off."

"It work?"

"Shut the f.u.c.k 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 pa.s.senger 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 s.h.i.t.

"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 wh.o.r.e-herself just to get my brother's attention. They should be in college, filling their days with cla.s.ses and stupid jokes with the occasional weekend debauchery. Instead, they're tied up in G.o.d 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 ma.s.sive headache. What a f.u.c.king 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 f.u.c.ked 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 s.h.i.t!" 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 h.e.l.l it would.

"OmiG.o.d, 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 f.u.c.k he's still wearing his d.a.m.n 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 a.s.s? 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 s.h.i.t 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.

s.h.i.t. I check the glowing numbers on the digital DVD clock. It's after midnight. Motherf.u.c.k.

"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. d.a.m.n, I'd love to hear her voice right now, but it'd be a d.i.c.k 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 f.u.c.k 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."

I bite my tongue to avoid the outpouring of angry words that force their way to my lips. Taking relationship advice from a liar, cheater, and a woman who has always been looking for l.u.s.t in reprehensible places? No thanks.

"I'm serious. Make sure you hang out with your friends while you're here; see if your brother can take you out. You know he's made quite the turnaround." Her eyes flash with pride. "His car is worth more than my house!"

Bought with drug money, not that she'd care. If she only knew how close he came to being killed in that alley, and that's only one time that I know of.

"You still talk to D's dad?"

Her expression sobers. "I see him around town, hear his bike coming, and try to duck out of his way. I ran into him at a bar about six months ago, but I left right after he got there. He doesn't need me anymore. Ever since Drake turned eighteen, they have a relationship of their own."

"A relationship? Mom, Drake works for the guy."

She shrugs. "I figured he did. Makes sense, I guess. Keeping it in the family."

Keeping drug dealing, gun smuggling, and G.o.d knows what else in the family? Nothing has changed. Not a single f.u.c.kin' thing.

I throw my thumb over my shoulder, motioning to my room. "I'm gonna hit the sack." And I can't stand to hear another word of her cluelessness.

"Okay, sure. Sleep tight." She pats me on the arm. "I'm glad you're home."