been watching the house. In spite of herself, the paranoia was still there, buzzing in her mind like a swarm of flies.
She sank down on the cushion of the sofa and propped her feet up on the coffee table. The images on the television screen flashed by, but all Ashley could see was the man in the dark clothes in the parkway staring at her.
11
Smokey watched his brother scarf down a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon.
“Fuck, dude. When’s the last time you ate?”
“Yesterday morning,” Ryan said between mouthfuls. “We didn’t have shit in the house.”
“I sent over a box of food a few days ago,” Smokey said as he picked up his coffee mug.
“I asked Mom about it, but she was in a mood.” Picking up a piece of toast, he slathered it in butter and jam. “You know how she is.”
“Yeah, I do.” Smokey thrummed his fingers on the table. “I gotta get going pretty soon. I have a meeting with”—he hesitated as the memory of his mouth on Ashley’s flashed through his mind—“someone at work.”
It irritated him that he was looking forward to seeing her, but what could he say? He was drawn to those mesmerizing blue eyes, the sheen of her hair, the way her curves moved when she walked. Just thinking about her made his pants grow tight.
“Is it about something you’re gonna build?”
“Nah.” Pushing his coffee mug aside, he leaned back in the booth. “I spoke to Cara last night, and she thinks Landon’s full of shit. She told me there’s no way you’re going on the registry.”
Ryan bunched up his napkin and tossed it onto his empty plate. “She’s nice. She believes me.”
“Yeah, Cara’s cool.”
“She’s married to Hawk, right?”
“Yeah—she’s his old lady. What I need from you is the name of the chick claiming she’s a victim.”
“Okay. I wrote down the name and address when Cara left the room for a minute.” Leaning back against the cushion, he shoved a hand into his pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it over to Smokey. “Here you go. What’re you gonna do with it?”
“You don’t need to know.” Slipping it into his wallet, he met his brother’s eyes. “Did Cara tell you that you need to get your fuckin’ act together and get your ass into rehab?”
He looked down at his water glass. “Yeah.”
“I’m cleaning up your damn mess, again. But this time, you owe me.”
His brother looked up then. “You want me to pay Cara? My disability check doesn’t go too far.”
“Especially since you drink it all up.” Placing his forearms on the table, Smokey leaned forward. “I don’t want your money, but your ass is gonna go to a treatment center. You need to get off the booze because you’re killing yourself. Do you wanna end up like the old bastard? Fuck, man.”
Ryan shook his head. “I’m nothing like him.”
Smokey sighed and took a drink of his water. “I didn’t say you were. You’re a good guy, but you drink too much.” He held up his hand when Ryan opened his mouth. “Let me finish. I know the lure of booze. It, and weed, were the only things that dulled my senses to the shitty life I had when I was living on the streets. If I’d stayed with it and turned out like the old asshole, my life would’ve been in the fuckin’ toilet. I don’t want to see that happen to you.”
“I know. You had it bad when you ran away. Why didn’t you come back home?”
“Living in doorways, cars, and under bridges was a million times better than being under the same roof with the old man. Anyway, we’re not here to go down memory lane. I want you to make a real effort to get sober.”
“Okay,” Ryan whispered.
“I mean it. I don’t want you ending up like Nick.”
Ryan’s jaw ticked. “I’d never beat a woman to death.”
“Yeah, that’s what he told Mom after he got arrested for killing his old lady. He was drunk as shit when it happened. Let’s face it, Ryan—the old man fucked us all up in different ways. We’ve got his blood running through our veins, as well as his anger.”
“I’m not angry.”
Smokey smiled. “No, you’re not. Out of the five of us, you’re the peaceful one. Maybe Keston’s okay too—I don’t know.”
“Keston and me were close when we were young, but now, I don’t even know where he is. Do you?”