Page 26 of Making Choices

This is going to be fun.

“Don’t fuckin’ ask,” Toker declares when I reach him.

“Ask what?” I feign ignorance. “It’s not like one of your brother’s wives just told me you two had a thing four years ago.”

“Real funny, Cherub.”

“I thought so.”

Thumb running down the spark wheel of his lighter, Toker brings the flame to the bowl of his bong and inhales until the water bubbles wildly. His cheeks hollow out and his eyes rapidly redden as he holds the smoke for as long as he can. When he empties his lungs and coughs, I hand him my weapon and take the bong from him. After packing a fresh bowl, I repeat his actions until my head is light and my chest is fizzing with the need to laugh.

“Let ‘er rip, cuz.”

“It’s been a day,” I admit. With a shake of my head, I continue. “Actually, it’s been a fucking decade.”

Sympathy fills his expression and the skin around his eyes crinkles when he grimaces. “More than eleven years since the bottom fell outta all our worlds.”

“I still miss her.”

Toker motions me over to him with his chin. He places my pistol on the ledge, extracts the bong out of my grip, then engulfs me in a tight hug. “We all do. Scarlett was a mum to us all, ’specially me and Venom. She stepped up when our own mothers hit the road. Between her and Mumma C.” We both laugh when he uses the nickname Crystal loathes. “If it wasn’t for those two, none of us would’ve survived the first eighteen years of our lives, let alone become the bomb as fuck adults we are.”

“We are pretty bomb, aren’t we?”

“Fuckin’ oath we are.” My cousin presses his lips to the top of my head, then he curls his fingers around my upper arms and holds me out from him. “You’re gonna get through this. We all will.”

Blinking fast so I don’t give into the burn that’s flickering behind my eyes, I mumble, “Even if Dad turns out to be a rat?”

“Even that. He’s not the club… we are. Venom’s VP now. Slash is SAA. The new gen is already steppin’ up.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right, just none of y’all ever listen to me.”

I roll my eyes and slap at his chest. “Jesus, love yourself much.”

He lets me go to huff on his nails and buff them on his chest. “Gotta love perfection.”

“We’ll see how perfect you feel when I’ve kicked your arse at the targets.”

“Like that’s possible.”

After retrieving my weapon, I march over to the closest lane and hit the button that sends the targets down the line. Once it’s in place, I square my stance, brace, and fire until the ten rounds in my magazine are expended. Using my elbow, I nudge the controller and wait for the target to come to me.

“See this?” I ask after I’ve unclipped the sheet. “Perfectly centred in the body mass.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Toker mocks me. He touches the circles I’ve punched through the second innermost ring. “So you stopped ’em, I kill ‘em.”

“I kill them, too.”

Ignoring me, Toker feeds his target onto the line and sends it about three metres further back than mine. He barely looks as he raises his arm and, with the worst posture ever, fires off round after round. I bite back a smile, not wanting to make his head any bigger than it already is because I know he just pulled off his favourite party trick.

The sheet jolts to a stop in front of my cousin once it’s brought back to the line. Toker tugs it free and thrusts it at me. In the middle of the forehead is one hole that all his shots entered through. “Perfect kill shot.”

“Beginner’s luck,” I crow. “Best out of five.”

“You’re on.”

We continue like this. Teasing each other. Mocking the other when they are slightly off target. Generally encouraging the other to be their most obnoxious self until the weed wears off and my ribs begin to ache too hard to ignore. I persevere until my busted face joins the party with a throb that matches my slow heartbeat, and I’m forced to call time.

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