“I’m Brock.”
“Brock? Sarah.”
Sometimes, it was that easy. No stupid-ass lines. No cheesy pick-up shit. When you knew what the fuck you were doing and didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought, you needed nothing more than your name and a smile.
“Sarah? What brings you to a place as morbidly named as Reapers?”
She laughed and placed a hand on my arm. It felt good.
But not as good as Tara and me in the car…or when I’d defended Tara…or when I had touched her bouncing leg the last time I was here…
“Well, I was just looking for a fun night out, you know, stressful workweek. Oh my God, let me tell you about it. So…”
I hadn’t needed this Sarah girl to gossip about shit I didn’t care about nor would ever remember for me to lose interest. I had, once again, tried to suppress a feeling. It was time for me to stop acting so childish. I needed to face this and figure out a way through it, over it, past it—anything but denying it.
“…can you believe that?”
Sarah looked at me expectantly.
“I…”
I paused when I looked over her shoulder at the entrance. Four men had entered, and I recognized them immediately.Bandits.
Fuck.
I didn’t know their names, not that that mattered at all. What mattered was that at least two of them had been at the gas station robbery several days ago, and while I wasn’t the most distinct person in the world, they wouldn’t need to run me through a computer database to know it was me.
“I’ll get back with you in a second,” I said, peeling away as Sarah shouted for me to come back.I’ll get you Garrett. He’ll delight in you. For now, I got bigger shit to worry about.
I turned around. Steele and Tara continued to talk. I could not see Steele’s face, but I could Tara’s. She did not look thrilled talking to him.
In fact, she stole a glance at me as I walked back to the rest of the Bernard Boys. I recognized the face—she’d given it to me several times in their relationship.Rescue me.
But this wasn’t about them arguing over Steele’s drinking or how far apart they lived. Interrupting Steele right now was a great way to ensure the only fight here tonight took place between the two of us.
“Guys,” I said, walking up as Garrett finished some funny story. “We got a problem. Bandits are here.”
“Well, this should end well,” Mason said. “You want me to start the fight or be the first person to respond?”
I swore, sometimes Mason’s jadedness wore thin.
“If we can avoid a fight and instead enjoy our night, why don’t we fucking do that?” I said. “I’m just telling you all to be careful. Two of them robbed my store. If they get a good look at us, good chance some shit will go down.”
“So definite chance,” Connor said. “Give me a reason to kick some ass, Brock. It’s been too fucking long since I landed a good punch.”
I bit my lip. It was one thing to be tough and stand up for a fight; it was an entirely different one to start a fight for no reason other than pride and ego. One was the calling card of high school boys looking to be cool; the other was the mark of men.
“No,” I said.
I could feel the group deflate a little. But I could also feel them looking to me for guidance, their energy and their attitudes attuned to mine.
Perhaps Tara wasn’t wrong. Perhaps Cole wasn’t wrong. Perhaps I was a leader.
“If they start something, I expect everyone to fight,” I said. “But until that point, have some drinks, talk to some girls, have some fun. Speaking of, Garrett.”
“Sup?”
“That blonde over my shoulder? Her name’s—”
