She says she sucked him off, but she lies about shit like this just to piss me off.”
“It work?”
“Shut the fuck 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 passenger 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 shit.
“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 whore—herself just to get my brother’s attention. They should be in college, filling their days with classes and stupid jokes with the occasional weekend debauchery. Instead, they’re tied up in God 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 massive headache. What a fucking 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 fucked 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 shit!” 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 hell it would.
“Omigod, 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 fuck he’s still wearing his damn wedding