“Because at some point, you don’t give a fuck about that?” Brock said. “And not like Tara and I don’t have a great fucking time together. And not like she isn’t hot.”
I couldn’t deny that. I’d never had an interest in her like Brock had, but she was quite hot.
“Who knows?” Brock said in a way that suggested he already knew. “Maybe you will find your someone. I’ve seen you at some of the parties. I’ve seen…”
His voice trailed off when he looked straight ahead. I followed his gaze and saw Mason approaching. He didn’t look any different than normal; nothing on his face or in his walk suggested that he’d found out anything about Hannah and me.
But someone did. And the fact that Brock trailed off told me that while I might have liked to pretend that I was the only person privy to what had happened that night, everyone—except for the person who would be most infuriated by it—pretty much knew the truth.
And boy, if that wasn’t a fucking ticking time bomb, nothing was.
“Garrett,” he said, standing at the foot of the porch. “You ready?”
“For?” I said, his tone putting me a little on edge.
“To kick some fucking ass,” he said, pulling out a cigarette. “We’re going to go kick Jason’s ass at Buckhead Saloon, remember? The guy that’s stalking my sister?”
“Oh, right!” I said with false enthusiasm. “Yeah, man, asshole needs a fucking beatdown.”
I pursed my lips as Mason nodded. I could sense Brock’s unease by my side, to say nothing of the feelings that I had.
“Before we go, though, may be worth considering other options?”
“Like what?” Mason said, his face so angry that it felt like he might kick my ass for the mere suggestion.
“I don’t know. Threats? Breaking shit at his bar? Maybe—”
“Garrett, this asshole is stalking my fucking sister,” Mason said, followed by a breath of his cigarette. “If someone fucks with my sister, they fuck with me.”
Oh, lovely, always nice to have it spelled out.
“I am more than willing to do this alone. I merely want you to come so we can increase the pain and suffering this motherfucker has to deal with.”
I bit my lip. If Mason was going to go anyway, he needed someone there to make sure he didn’t turn into the Hulk and just smash everything to dust and death. We could handle a Bandit getting his ass kicked; a Bandit getting murdered was the fastest way to ensure complete war in the middle of Santa Maria.
And as much as I loved fighting and fucking, I would have preferred to avoid a literal fight to the death until I had nothing left to fuck.
“All right,” I said. “Fair points.”
“No murders tonight,” Brock said. “We’re still growing our club. We can handle occasional hits, but last thing we need is for the wrath of the Bandits to come down in full on us.”
“I know,” Mason said, a little too dismissively.
“Do you?” Brock said. “Are you planning on killing him?”
Mason’s silence said it all.
“Knock him out cold, kick his ass, but don’t fucking start World War III,” Brock said. “Not like he knocked up your sister.”
Why, why, why, why, why the fuck did you have to say that, Brock? Why the fucking fuck did you have to put that idea in his head.
“Fine,” Mason said. “But if he does anything else after tonight, he is a dead man.”
Brock had no response. He didn’t look at me, but I could feel his attention on me all the same. It was like he was telling me, through silence, that I needed to broach this subject before Mason punched a full hornet’s nest.
The problem was, if I did that, then there would still be a murder. And it wasn’t going to be any of the Bandits that would see their life end.
“Let’s go, Garrett,” Mason said, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out with a boot.
