Pike (The Pawn Duet #1) - T.M. Frazier Page 0,16

who didn’t want to listen, about all the shit he did. Someone was bound to snitch on the stupid fucker.”

“If someone ratted, then it makes sense why he was tried as an adult,” Nine muses. “I wonder who they got to do it? Maybe, that skinny kid with the glasses who pissed himself every night?”

I close the register with my hip. “Wasn’t that you?”

Nine frowns. “Hey, I…got contacts.”

I shove his feet from the counter again so I can pass. “All I know is they sent anyone within three cells to different detention centers after he was brought up on new charges. Probably so he couldn’t figure out who flipped on him.”

Nine twists his lips. “So that’s why you got transferred?”

I nod. Nine and I met in juvie and lost touch after they transferred me to a center in Tallahassee. He found me again when he left the system, and by then he was in rough fucking shape. The kid was about to fucking off himself. I took him under my wing, gave him a place to stay and taught him how to earn on the streets and turn nothing into something before he found his brother.

Nine has family now, but he’s still the closest thing to family I’ve got and the only person I trust.

Well, him and Thorne.

“What are you boys up to?” Thorne asks, walking in from the back room.

“Think of the fucking devil,” I sing.

She winks at me. “Good to know you boys were thinking of me.”

Which earns her a roll of my eyes.

Thorne removes an elastic band from her wrist and ties up her bright orange hair into a knot at the top of her head, making her look even taller than her already tall six feet. Her black Amy Winehouse t-shirt is small and tight, revealing her pale stomach. Her jeans are baggy in the legs, covering most of her flip-flop clad feet. If you look at all of the elements of Thorne’s look separately, the septum ring, the tattoos, the tight shirt with baggy jeans, the flip flops you can only see when she walks, the bright orange fucking hair, it looks like a train-wreck. But together, on Thorne, it works.

“Oh, you know, just sitting around talking about skinheads,” Nine answers dryly.

Thorne takes my beer from my hand and drains it. “Nice,” she says, without prying further, because she isn’t the type. I like to think it’s because she knows better than to ask too many questions ,but in reality it’s probably because she doesn’t fucking give a shit. “Pike, I did today’s numbers and posted the new inventory to the online store. I found a buyer for the Rolex on pawn that wasn’t picked up and Jordan left you another message. He’s picking up the painting in the morning.” She shrugs on her little button-covered backpack over her shoulders and heads for the door.

“See you in the morning,” I call after her.

Thorne answers without looking back and with a one-fingered salute. Her version of good-night.

I move from behind the counter and lock the door behind her, flipping the sign to closed.

“So, you and Thorne…you ever…” Nine starts, but he doesn’t need to finish for me to know what he’s getting at.

“Fuck no,” I spit. Not because Thorne isn’t attractive because she is. She just isn’t attractive to me. Probably because I want to keep her around, and women I fuck aren’t the kind I want to stick around and have a beer with. Orgasms and endings are my thing, but never with Thorne.

“What? She’s hot,” Nine probes.

“Yeah, but knowing she’s hot and thinking she’s hot are two different fucking things.”

“They are?” Nine asks, skeptically.

I sigh. “They are, brother. Besides, I trust her, and I like her, and I don’t fuck women I like.”

“That’s right. You prefer to fuck women you hate.”

“There’s a large selection that way. Besides, it keeps shit simple,” I reply, because it’s the truth. “Besides, Thorne already has someone in her life. Her girlfriend.”

“Ah, yeah, so there’s that.”

I chuckle, “Yeah, so there’s that.”

“So the real reason you haven’t gotten with her is because she’s repulsed by your penis,” Nine laughs, spraying beer on my glass fucking counter.

I toss him a roll of paper towels. “Shut the fuck up. And clean that up.”

Nine wipes his mouth and drains the rest of his beer. “You wanna head to the bar?” he asks, wiping the counter then reaching for another beer. “You know, for a beer?”

“Sure, why the fuck not,” I reply, looking around