Page 4 of The Good Girl

I see my brother’s bike and Acid’s, Knuckles’, and Khan’s, but that’s it.

I figured whatever the issue was, Khan would bring it to church for all of us to hear. But now, seeing my brother’s bike, I wonder if it’s personal.

I climb off my bike and head inside, nodding to Knuckles and Acid sitting at the bar. They nod back but continue talking as I head to Khan’s office.

As I get closer, I hear raised voices, but I can’t make out what’s being said. When I reach the door, I knock, and they go silent.

“Come in!” Khan yells, and I open the door.

Khan’s sitting behind his desk, running his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, making it stick up all over the place. Driller’s leaning against the window. His eye’s swollen and turning black, and his lip’s split and twice its size.

“What the fuck happened?”

“Sit down, Havoc,” Khan orders, sounding tired.

I grit my teeth and take a seat.

“Driller ran into some trouble at the tables.”

“For fuck’s sake.” I groan, rubbing my hand over my face. He might be my little brother, but I’m sick of bailing his ass out of trouble. “Don’t you ever learn?”

“Fuck you, Havoc. Not everyone can be as perfect as you.”

“Enough!” Khan shouts, shutting him up.

“It wasn’t the gambling that was the issue,” Khan tells me. I barely hold back my snort. I don’t know when Khan started burying his head in the sand when it comes to my brother, but it’s getting old.

“So he wasn’t caught counting cards?” My brother’s good with numbers but instead of doing something useful with it he prefers to try his luck at the card tables. He’s banned from most casinos, and the ones that let him back in do it because they have no problem breaking his kneecaps if he fucks them over.

“I wasn’t counting cards, no matter what that motherfucker said,” Driller yells.

Khan stares at me, ignoring Driller’s outburst. “The guy who accused him is currently on life support. Docs aren’t sure if he’ll ever wake up.”

“You stupid fuck. You’re already on your second strike. If the cops get a hold of you, that’s it, game over.”

“That’s why I need you to take the fall for him,” Khan drops quietly. So quietly, it takes me a second to realize what he just said.

“What the fuck, Khan? No way. I’m not going down for this. And what if the guy dies? I’m not risking a murder charge?—”

“The family assured me that no matter what happens, the original plea bargain will hold.”

“Plea bargain?” I look at Driller, who’s silent for a change, and realize his busted-up face has nothing to do with this, not if there’s already a plea bargain on the table.

“How long’s this been going on?”

“Five months.”

“Five fucking months! And this is the first I’m hearing of this!”

“We hoped to get it thrown out, but the guy in a coma was a candidate for senator, and his father is out for blood.”

“So make Driller man up. Sorry, bro, but you’re the one who fucked up.”

“Oh, and like you’re such a fucking saint?” he snaps back.

“Driller, I swear to fucking God, if you don’t keep your mouth shut, I’ll cut your fucking tongue out,” Khan roars before turning back to me. “The plea’s for a five-year sentence with the possibility of parole after two years.”

“Khan—”

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