Page 9 of Bred Hard

“Aren’t you though? Mentally fucked up and psychotic?”

“Ehh. Depends on who you ask. But from what Silas has told me, seems like you’re catching up to me. Sawyer….”

I never cared for Ryker or Warren, although they’ve been our neighbors for over twenty years. They both were careless, crass, and loved to show the fuck off. Ryker followed me to the court and pulled off his shirt the moment his shoes touched the pavement.

“Two against one?” Silas chimed from behind us.

“I only like those odds if it involves my cock and two tight holes,” Ryker said as he tossed a basketball between his hands and an arrogant grin spread across his lips.

“Or my cock and your tight holes,” a voice echoed from behindus.Fucking Warren.

He came strolling up like he lived here. He tossed his shirt off and joined Ryker’s side.

“Does the word ‘trespass’ mean anything to you?” I asked, walking up to him until our noses practically touched.

“I see you’ve kept that stick up your ass, Sawyer,” Ryker deadpanned as he dribbled.

Ignoring Ryker’s comment, I locked my gaze on Warren and slowly backed away. “Offense.”

“Fine, dickface,” Ryker said, shoving the ball in my direction.

The game started, and all I could think about was how much I hated Ryker’s psycho ass and the shit with Tabitha. Silas seemed unbothered, something I envied about him. Even in the worst situations, he remained cool. The soles of our shoes skipped against the pavement as we played in silence, and I was grateful until it ended.

“You wanna play or you wanna day dream?” Ryker called out as he scored once again.

“Don’t worry about her, bro,” Silas said, lifting his arm to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead.

Ryker stood on the side, his brow arched with curiosity. “Worry about who? Someone’s got Sawyer’s balls all in a bunch.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Don’t take your daddy issues out of me,” Ryker shouted back.

Silas scratched the edge of his chin. “More like sister issues.”

“Oh?” Warren asked with a grin.

“Suck my dick,” I deadpanned.

Warren let the ball spin on his middle finger, and let the left corner of his mouth inch up. “I tried, remember? You didn’t want it.”

“You muthafucking asshole—”

My words were cut short as I attempted to shove my fist into Warren’s face. Silas intervened, his arms like barricadespressing into both of our chests.

“You wanna fight me, asshole?” I asked, holding out my arms wide as I continued to shove myself in Warren’s direction, despite Silas sandwiched between us.

“Fuck, let’s fight. Let me ruin the other side of that Freddy Krueger face of yours,” Warren egged on.

Warren’s words had me gearing up for a fucking fight, but the actual deed was interrupted when his gaze shifted toward the house. I turned to find our mother approaching with a tray of freshly squeezed lemonade.

“Hello, boys,” she called, waving her long painted French nails as she slinked along the hot pavement.

Wearing a skimpy outfit that barely concealed her fake tits, she juggled a tray of glasses as she kept a wide grin plastered on her face. We all stood dumbfounded as she made her way to the small table on the left side of the wooden bench. I rolled my eyes and took a step back. Silas lowered his arms and Warren mirrored my actions, a fake peace coming over us at the expense of my whore mother.

She turned and flicked her amber-colored sunglasses on top of her blonde hair. “I thought you boys might be thirsty.”

“We’re not,” I said, my words icy.

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