Shade and I are cruising the streets. Step one in the plan to cause some noise is to make our presence known. Remind those fucking twits that we’re still around and won’t be stepping aside while they take ownership of the streets. As we pass the local hardware store, I notice the two punks in question come walking out. I rev my engine and signal to Shade that I’m pulling over. He grits his teeth back at me which is his version of a smile and nods his head.
We aren’t supposed to interact with the punk duo, which is disheartening, but orders are orders and technically, we won’t be doing anything wrong if we dog them as they walk along the sidewalk. We park in a spot in front of Marlup Lumber and let our bikes idle for a minute while Jerome and Patrick continue their reign of terror on the townsfolk.
We observe. We take mental notes. But it isn’t too long after we watch scene after scene unfold that we intervene. As Tatum McAllister comes charging out of her mother’s floral shop, Blossoming Daisie’s, practically walking on the heels of the assholes, her hands flailing through the air and her face tinged with red, cussing out the two, we step in.
Shade goes directly behind her, placing his hands on her hips as he drags her back into his chest, I quirk my eyebrow at him, he’s never been possessive over anything other than his bike and his stash of Mary Jane. He narrows his eyes at me and I hold back the chuckle that wants to break free—now’s not the time forany sort of teasing, especially since he doesn’t do well with the spotlight on him no matter what type it is.
Instead, I cross my arms across my chest and plaster a scowl on my face. “Is there a problem here?”
“No problem,” Jerome quickly inserts.
“No problem! Seriously, Jerome. You came in here and threatened my mother, throwing her into a panic attack and nearly causing her heart to give out,” Tatum accuses, her voice raising an octave with each allegation she tosses out there. “What the fuck is wrong with you! You were always a piece of shit in school, but this little game of gangster you’re playing is too damn much. It’s time for you to grow the fuck up!” Jerome grows a set of balls and steps up toward her in a threatening manner which has Shade shuffling her behind him with a warning growl.
And everyone says I’m non-verbal. I guess he’s a lot like me in that aspect—I don’t say shit unless shit needs saying. I don’t like to waste my breath on idle bullshit.
“You talking shit about me, Tatum?” Jerome asks. As if it’s not obvious that that’s exactly what she’s doing.
She whips her head over Shade’s shoulder and continues her rant. “I’m not talking shit, asshole. I’m giving you a reality check. Your dad’s badge isn’t going to save you from everything! One day, you’re going to take things too far and you’ll either be six-feet under or doing time in an eight-by-eight cell block.”
Patrick, who’s been happily sitting on the sidelines, chuckles. “That’ll never happen. Our parents rule this town and by proxy, so do we.”
“Oh, look! Patrick decided to follow the leader. No surprise there, you two share a brain cell after all,” Tatum says, taunting them.
“Tatum. Shut the fuck up,” Shade tells her. “You’re making things worse.”
“You’re still a bitch, Tatum,” Jerome snarls. “Careful, or you’ll be invited to one of our parties.” I donotlike that smug look on his face when he announces that. Their parties, from what I’ve heard through the grapevine, aren’t by invitation. They’re forced. If they want a woman there, she’s there whether it’s of her own volition or not.
Shade, having had enough, steps up and wraps his hand around Jerome’s throat. “Are you threatening her?”
I release a whistle. “Bold move. Especially since you did that in front of us,” I say, waving my pointer finger back and forth between me and Shade.
“We ain’t scared of you,” Patrick insists, stepping behind Jerome, lifting his shirt to show us the butt of a pistol that’s tucked into the band of his jeans.
“Watch out, you could shoot your dick off with that thing if you aren’t careful,” I counsel, my voice strong and steady. I have no fear running through my veins from his wannabe show of intimidation.
I’ve been threatened by men with bigger balls than this fuckwit and am still standing here loud and proud while my antagonizer became acquainted with an incinerator.
“Do you even have the safety on?” I inquire.
“He probably don’t give a shit,” Shade quips. “It’d make his gender switch easier. Yeah, Patrick, your pussy is showing. Only a man without a set would be sniffing another man’s ass like you are with Jerome.”
A laugh bubbles out of me when I notice how close Patrick has gotten to Jerome’s backside. They’re basically hip to hip. Time to take him down a peg or two. “Are you dry humping him? I thought only dogs proving their dominance do that shit. Are you the top dog in this race, Patrick?”
“What?” Patrick asks, stumbling back. “You’re delusional. I was having my brother’s back.”
“Literally,” Tatum giggles.
“Shut up,” Jerome wheezes, sounding out of breath from the amount of strength Shade is using to crush his trachea.
“Let him go, Shade,” I suggest. “This is your only warning. If we continue to hear about you going around and threatening the good folks of Canton again, we’re coming for you.”
Shade gives him one final squeeze before shoving him backward, issuing some last minute advice, “Scamper away and go lick your wounds.”
Once Jerome and Patrick are far enough away from us, Jerome points at us and says, “You’re going to pay for this.”
I take a menacing step forward which has them backpedaling and running off like the whimpering vermin they are. Good goddamn riddance. The thing about bullies is that once someone stands up to them, they lose their steam and become a laughingstock.
Shade turns around and narrows his eyes at Tatum. Not wanting to stick around for that shitshow, I make my way back to our bikes and sit on the saddle, minding my own fucking business when a shadow out of the corner of my eye catches my attention and I turn my body in that direction.
