He shrugged. “Some bitch I picked up last night, I guess.”
I smacked his bare shoulder so hard he yelped.
“Ow, what’s that for?” he asked, rubbing his upper arm.
“Don’t be fucking disrespectful. Since when do you call women bitches?”
“She can’t hear me. She’s fucking sleeping.”
“Kenny…” I pinched the bridge of my nose as I tried to control my breathing.
“Oh my God, you’re so annoying.” He shrugged, then let out a loud belch. “I’ll get rid of her.”
I sighed as the muscles in my neck knotted until they practically cramped. Kenny hadn’t always been like this. A few years ago, he’d been the damn golden boy of Carson High School. Somehow, despite our mother’s neurological disease, no fatherly influence, and my complete inability to catch anything smaller than a beach ball, Kenny excelled at sports, baseball in particular. He’d made the varsity team in ninth grade, the first to do so in two decades, according to the athletic director, and ended up team MVP. College scouts were already talking about him during his sophomore year.
He’d been going places.
Then, one gorgeous, sunny, warm morning of his junior year, the kind of day Massachusetts rarely had in early spring, he flipped over his handlebars riding his bike to school. It was a freak accident that left him with a shattered tibia and ruined dreams. He’d been coasting downhill at a crazy rate of speed, the way only a cocky high schooler could, when a damn black cat ran out in front of him. On instinct, Kenny squeezed his brakes, bringing his bicycle to a jarring halt. Unfortunately, the momentum of the abrupt stop sent him sailing over the handlebars.
Since that day, Kenny had been on a downward trajectory full of apathy, self-pity, and drugs. His body healed, though not well enough for college-level baseball, but he’d never been able to pull himself out of the black hole of despair that losing baseball tossed him in.
“Can you get rid of that shit too?” I pointed to the table where he had his drug paraphernalia scattered around. “Then, whenyou’re done, you owe Mom an apology. She’s the one who found you, her, and this shit,” I said as I pointed to his paraphernalia.
Kenny paled, and instead of feeling guilty for rubbing his bad choices in his face, triumph surged through me. If the thought of disappointing our mom caused that reaction, some of the old Kenny must be hiding in the shell of my brother. It didn’t take more than a second, though. He sniffed and rolled his shoulders as his fuck-the-world mask fell back into place. “Screw you. Stop trying to be my fucking father. I’m an adult, Alex. I don’t gotta do shit you say.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “An adult. Right. An adult with no job, no education, and no prospects, who’s living in his mom’s house rent-free while disrespecting her every chance he gets. You’re one goddamn bump away from an arrest or a hospital stay. Good luck paying for that shit with no insurance.”
My voice rose to a shout. The girl on the couch groaned and shifted. “Too loud, baby. ’M tryna sleep.” A rat’s nest of dark hair covered her face, but I’d guess she was pretty. Kenny always reeled in beautiful girls with his charm and good looks. Apparently, willingness to share heroin didn’t hurt among his preferred crowd.
“Baby?” I mouthed.
Kenny shrugged.
This was not how I wanted to spend any part of my time. “Get rid of her,” I said in a harsh whisper. “And get rid of this shit. You’ve got five minutes.”
Kenny snorted.
“I’m serious, Ken.”
“Yeah, yeah, unwad your panties, bro.” He waved a hand in my direction without looking at me.
Enough of this shit. If I didn’t leave, I’d burst a blood vessel in my brain and stroke out. I threw my hands in the air andmarched out of the living room. What a shitty start to what was supposed to be my one day of quasi-freedom.
At least I still had one thing going for me. There was no way in hell Ryder would be getting a job at Top Shelf.
CHAPTER SIX
RYDER
The daytime vibe in a nightclub was strange, to say the least. While the décor hadn’t changed from Saturday night—the sexy, dark green velvet curtains draped the black walls, elegant gold light fixtures dangled from the ceiling, and the gorgeous bar gleamed with cleanliness—everything else felt off. The space was so quiet that my footsteps reverberated as I crossed the buffed wooden dance floor. Bright lights illuminated every inch of the space, eliminating the shadowed, sexy atmosphere from the other night. The club felt vast and lonely without bodies crammed in every corner, writhing to the beat.
I wanted to turn off the lights, crank up the speakers, and shed most of my clothing.
This was unnerving.
“Unnerving, isn’t it?” A deep, commanding voice had me whipping around to find a gorgeous man wearing a suit perfectly tailored to his medium frame. He had dark hair with a sprinkle of salt, giving him the distinguished look of a gracefully aging A-list Hollywood star.
“It is. Not gonna lie, I like it better dark, loud, and crowded.”
