Page 58 of The Opposite Effect

“Better late than never,” Ryan responds to my quiet musing. He sighs loudly. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but…” My gut twists from the cloud of worry brewing in his eyes. “The guys who mugged Clara are part of the Petretti crew.”

My brows stitch. “I thought that crew disbanded when Col was killed?”

Col Petretti was a notorious mob boss running the streets of Hopeton for as long as I’ve been breathing air. He was killed in a joint FBI and Ravenshoe police sting late last year.

“Rumors are his son, Dimitri, is trying to raise his legacy from the ashes.”

“By peddling petty crimes like mugging women in backalleys?” My voice is rough as the events of last night filter back through my mind. Although Clara should have never gone into the back alley unaccompanied, it shouldn’t be that way. Women should be able to walk wherever they want without fear of being harmed.

Before Ryan can answer, the creak of a door opening sounds through the room. My heart rate kicks up a gear when Clara saunters out of the bathroom with a dark gray towel twisted around her body and another wrapped around her drenched head. Her bare feet padding across the wooden floor as she makes her way from the bathroom to my bedroom can’t drown out me backhanding Ryan, warning him to move his bugged-out eyes off Clara.

“What? Couldn’t help but see what has your feathers ruffled,” he mumbles, his words barely heard over his breathless chuckle. “I can understand your fascination.”

His quiet chuckle turns to a full laugh when I whack him harder than I did the first time. Our little confrontation gains Clara’s attention. She stops walking and cranks her neck to the side. My chest puffs higher when her eyes connect with mine. Even looking like a woman who’s been taken to the brink and back, her eyes are still beaming with lust.

In a flash, the humorous expression on Ryan’s face changes to regretful when Clara shifts her optimistic gaze to him and asks, “Did you find my necklace?”

Ryan reluctantly shakes his head. “No, not yet. I’m sorry, Clara.”

The hope in her eyes vanishes. “That’s okay. Thank you.” With her shoulders sagging a little lower, she climbs the staircase to my bedroom and sinks deeper into the space.

I return my eyes to Ryan. “Do you have any leads on her jewelry?”

He once again shakes his head. “I don’t like her chances ofrecovering the tennis bracelet. It’s probably already on the black market.”

“She isn’t worried about the bracelet. She just wants her necklace back. Seems to have a lot of sentimental value to her.”

“She told you about the origin of the necklace?”

I shake my head. “No. I just have a feeling.”

Ryan rubs a kink in the back of his neck. That’s a sign he’s holding something back.

“Why? What did you find out about it?”

“Nothing,” he responds with a shake of his head.

I don’t even need to look into his eyes to know he’s lying. I can hear it in his voice.

I stare into his eyes, silently demanding him to spill the beans.

“I’m not saying anything, Brax. I learned the hard way to keep my mouth shut,” he responds to my silent interrogation.

“Chris’s death wasn’t your fault. No one could have predicted he would go down that road,” I reply, knowing him well enough to know what his brief statement is about.

Ryan connects his remorse-filled eyes with mine. “Do you think Noah would see it like that?”

I curtly nod. “If you’d ever give him a chance, yeah, I think he would. You’ve been carrying the burden of Chris’s death for years. Don’t you think it’s time to let it go?”

A thick, cumbersome silence greets my suggestion. It is always this way when the guilt of our younger years is brought to the surface. Ryan, Chris, and I were the equivalent of the three musketeers back in our high school days. Although we had uniquely distinct personalities, we were thicker than thieves, inseparable until our last days of high school.

Always knowing the path he was going to walk, Ryan joined the police academy. Chris and I… we walked down a very different road. Those bottom feeders Diesel mentioned earlier, that was Chris and me. I have no doubt my life would have mirrored Chris’s if I hadn’t gang-tagged the wrong man’s building.

Young and stupid, I spray-painted a tag on the side of Inked. Like every young gangbanger, I thought I was invincible. I was cocky and full of attitude until Ryder tracked me down. He not only made me paint over the tag I left on his wall with the permission of my grandma, he also forced me to work at Inked for six months without paying me a dime. He said it was my penance for the injustice I did to the art world with my hideous graffiti.

Unable to knock the massive chip off my shoulder, I set out to prove him wrong. I started learning the craft. At first, I just traced pictures directly out of comic books. As the weeks went on, my drawing technique improved, closely followed by my attitude.

Although I never admitted it to Ryder, Inked became my life. I arrived hours before anyone else just to get in some sketching time, and I left hours later. I ate, slept, and breathed Inked. As the countdown to the end of my six-month sentence loomed, my devastation about leaving the Inked family grew. So you can imagine my excitement when on the final day of my punishment, Ryder offered for me to join his crew.

---