Tank's glare could melt steel, but I keep going because apparently I've got a death wish today.
"Why do you think I'm so fucking obsessed with getting out of the park?" I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "A girl like that deserves better than what we can give her right now. Nice things, nice life, the whole fucking American dream package. And there's gonna be no shortage of assholes lining up to provide it."
The silence stretches between us, heavy as the humidity that makes everything in this place smell like shit. Tank's not looking at me, but I can see the wheels turning behind those dark eyes.
"If I have to lose her to anyone," I say quietly, words meant just for him, "I'd rather it be one of you. At least then she stays in the family, you know?"
Tank doesn't respond. His hands stay still at his sides, and something about the set of his shoulders makes me pause.
"What?"
He shakes his head.Nothing.
"Bullshit. Spit it out."
A long pause. Then his hands move, jerky and reluctant, like the signs are being dragged out of him.
Wouldn't be me anyway.
"Why the hell not?"
He just looks at me. Then his fingers brush the edge of his bandana, barely a touch, and I get it. The thing he never talks about. The thing he thinks makes him a monster.
"Tank—"
She deserves better.His hands cut me off, sharp and final.I just want her safe. Happy. That's enough.
"Then let's fucking do it." I sit up straighter and roll my shoulders, energy crackling through me like I've touched a live wire. "We make a pact. Right here, right now."
Tank raises an eyebrow skeptically.
"I'm serious. We get out of this place, then we get out of the park. All of us. We become somebody—realsomebodies, not just trailer park shitbags playing pretend." I look him dead inthe eye. "And whoever Ellie chooses, if she chooses any of us, so be it. No hard feelings, no Beatles breakup bullshit. We stay brothers."
Tank considers this, his face unreadable behind that bandana. Then, finally, he nods.
"Shake on it," I say, holding out my hand.
He signs,Really?
"What, we're too old for secret handshakes now? Even fucking politicians have secret handshakes. Skull and Bones and shit. Stop being such a hipster and shake my damn hand."
Tank rolls his eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't fall out of his skull, but he takes my hand. We do the elaborate shake we made up when we were kids—the one with the fist bump and finger snap that Cyrus always said looked like we were having synchronized seizures.
"There," I say, grinning. "It's official. We're gonna get out of here, make something of ourselves, and give our girl the life she deserves. Even if that means she picks one of us eventually."
Tank's eyes crinkle at the corners, his version of a smile.
The yard around us continues its usual chaos. Kids playing basketball with a half-deflated ball, others huddled in corners making deals or planning fights, guards pretending to give a shit while actually scrolling through their phones. But for a moment, sitting here with my brother in this concrete cage, I feel a tiny twinge of hope.
Because we may be locked in a cage, but we're still kings. And when we get out, we're gonna make sure our princess never has to settle for anything less than a proper throne.
Chapter 6
ELLIE
Age Fifteen
The cupcakes looklike a unicorn threw up on them, which is exactly the aesthetic I was going for. Blues and greens and a couple of pinks thrown in for me, too. Frosting swirls in aggressive peaks, rainbow sprinkles scattered chaotically.
