Page 86 of Outcast

We should get out, but I just stared. It had been a long damn time since I came home. The place would be immaculate. It always was. The housekeepers made sure it always seemed more of a museum than a home.

It was a reminder of everything that had gone wrong in my life.

Shaking my head, I popped my door open. "Let's go."

The Dirty Dogs sat on their bikes behind us, their helmets already off. "What's going on?" Juan asked, his voice solemn.

"We need a place to get our shit together that's one-hundred-percent secured. Can you guard the property? The wall is the property line and some of my brothers' men will be here in a few minutes. You can stay or go, up to you."

Juan took off his sunglasses and stared me dead in the eye. "We'll stay. You're Dirty Dogs and we'll protect you over your brothers’ men." He cursed. "Fucking Rob. He was a lifer. What the fuck?" he said to himself.

The other men mumbled their agreement.

"Let me know if you need anything. I'll have to place an order for anything that's not dry goods or water." Hopefully Andre had the fridge cleaned out.

Juan nodded and climbed off his bike. He huddled with the others as they worked out a plan to walk the perimeter.

Rita and Esteban were just climbing out of the SUV. Both seemed shell shocked. Rita, I got. Esteban surprised me. Then again, it didn't.

"Come on." I led the way to the front door. Entering the code, after the beep and sound of the door unlocking, I pushed it open.

I stepped through first, because shit, I didn't trust that noone would be here. The alarm system blared loud and shrill. It took two tries to get it off and rearmed.

When I turned around, Esteban stared at me with a blank face and Rita glanced around, taking in every detail with unhidden curiosity. I followed her gaze, trying to see it as she did.

It was what my father expected of his son. Sleek, high-end opulence to show my status and wealth. Cold in decor and artwork.

Beautiful but lacking any kind of personality. I'd just grown used to it.

I laughed under my breath. I hadn't even needed to grow used to it. It was all I'd ever known until my teenage years, and then it was normal.

"This is just like the mansion," she said quietly, eerily. I wasn’t sure if she was bothered by it, or if she was concerned that I was.

Then she suddenly walked over to me. "Are you okay?"

So it was me she was worried about. I tried not to get emotional as I twisted my arm. Rivulets of blood had already dried on my skin. Esteban cursed.

"Where's the first aid kit? Do you have one?" He kicked off his shoes and I grinned. It was like he turned a complete one-eighty.

"Under the sink, bathroom down that hall, last door on the right." Twisting my arm even deeper, I examined the graze. It wasn't bad. More of a decent gash. It wouldn't even need stitches. Just some disinfectant and a bandage.

"Let's go sit down." Rita grabbed my hand on my good arm and led me through the house. For someone who'd never been here before, she seemed to know her way around.

She found the living room and maneuvered me to sit onthe couch. The shades were drawn with only cracks of light coming from the edges. The place was also hot and stuffy.

"Hand me that remote." I motioned to the remote on the wall. She grabbed it from the holder and handed it to me. Hitting a couple buttons, the system kicked on and air started moving through the room.

Esteban came back with the kit.

Taking it from his hands, Rita opened it on the couch next to me. Her thick, dark hair fell, covering her face from view as she rifled through it, picking out what she wanted.

"Let's take your shirt off." Her voice was thick with emotion as she tugged on the hem of my shirt.

I gently grabbed her hands. "It's okay," I whispered.

"It's not." She violently shook her head. "You got shot again–"

"Grazed. Hardly a shot."

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