Page 6 of Breaking You Open

This party is fucked.

By ten thirty, I’ve already thrown out four guys for brawling, two couples for trying to fuck on the downstairs couch, and one kid who was trying to steal the few trinkets of value that remain in this house. I’ve barely had time to catch my breath, and worse yet, I haven’t spotted that deer-in-the-headlights-looking youngster who arrived with that goth girl. Fuck it. As long as no one tries to feed him drugs, he should be fine. And as long as he doesn’t run into Eric Fletcher.

I know who else is here though.

I thought for sure Joshua would ban them, but no, they’re both here: the green-eyed, black-haired little vixen I tried to get under me not once but twiceandhis asshole boyfriend, who’s currently got his hands around his waist on the dance floor. As if he feels the weight of my glare, the black-haired guy flicks his gaze to me and sends me a smug, knowing smile, as if he knows he’s the hottest dude at this party and that no one will ever get him except for his freckled boyfriend—the very one who buried his fist into my gut.

My jaw tightens. I should go over there and return the favor. But they’re young and stupid and in love, I suppose. I’ve felt that type of love before, but it was long ago now. So long ago it feels like a different life.

Over by the couches, Joshua Tennyson—the party host and drug importer for the Black Claws MC—has his nose buried in a line of coke. After inhaling deeply, he wipes his nose with the back of his hand. When he spots me glaring, he grins at me and makes the “rock on” sign.

I turn away from him with a scoff. Idiot.

“No!” A whining voice catches my attention. Two figures are struggling by the end of the stairs, and I recognize them both.

Eric Fletcher has a grip on the skinny youngster with the long hair, pulling at him as if he’s trying to get him up the stairs.

No fucking way. I growl as I push past the crowd toward them. Eric seems busy upholding his reputation of getting people drunk and then sleeping with them. Getting themmorethan drunk. I’ve tried to get Joshua to ban the fucker, but for some reason, he’s still here, making this party even more of a safety hazard than it already is, and as usual, I’m left to pick up the scraps.

My chest bumps into Eric’s back. He turns to me with an annoyed scowl, but when he sees it’s me, his eyes widen.

Yeah, he should fucking fear me. I gave him a beating last week for a situation similar to this, and I wouldn’t hesitate two seconds to do it again.

“What’s going on here?” I ask.

The young boy stares at me, his eyes wide as saucers and his mouth slightly open. He’s cute and far too innocent-looking to survive in a place like this.

“Nothing,” Eric says, squaring his shoulders. “You should get back to your job, Louis.”

“Thisismy job.” A protective urge rises from some forgotten depth of me, and I wrench Eric’s hand away from the boy’s arm and hiss into Eric’s ear, “Want a repeat of last weekend?”

Eric’s hand flies to his side, and with one last look at the boy, he sneers and disappears into the crowd.

The boy stares up at me as if I’m some sort of alien. He sways on his feet and stumbles one step, two steps. Then he retches in a cascade all over the stairs.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. “All right, kid, come here.” I would take him into the bathroom and clean him up with some paper towels, but if Joshua sees him like this, he won’t be happy. As soon as anyone’s too drunk, they’re out. Those are the rules. I end up leading the poor boy outside, an arm clasped around his shoulders to steady his wobbling legs. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Sparrow. My-my name is Sparrow.”

Odd name. “Okay. And where do you live, Sparrow?”

Sparrow sways unsteadily on his feet, and I grasp onto him harder to not let him fall. He’s at least a head shorter than me, and he’s so light, his body thin and frail, almost underdeveloped. I can’t deny his face does something to me though. He’s got the same pronounced Cupid’s bow and the same high cheekbones as…as…

“I’m cold,” he whimpers, looking up at me with the biggest blue eyes I’ve seen in years.

What the hell do I do? I can’t just leave him here. I could try to find that goth girl he arrived with, but something tells me she wouldn’t be so keen to leave the party. I curse under my breath and call out, “Ravi! I need to borrow your car.”

Ravi turns away from the crowd he’s chatting and smoking with. “Say what, now? And how am I supposed to get home?”

“Borrow my ride,” I say, throwing him the keys. He catches them with a gleeful smile and throws me his car keys in exchange. “You’ll have to take over my shift too. Party’s almost over, anyway.” I should probably tell him about the vomit-covered stairs, but he’ll find out soon enough.

“All right, man,” Ravi says, a hand to his forehead in salute. “You owe me though.”

I lead Sparrow to Ravi’s truck and fetch a plastic bag from the ground so he can throw up in it if he needs to. “Come here, kid. I’m taking you home.”

This is not how my night was supposed to go. I was supposed to finish my shift, get home, into bed, and stare into the opposite wall like I do every night. Alone. It’s my job to make sure these parties pass without trouble, yeah, but I’m sure as hell not supposed to bring some drunken kid back to my apartment. So why am I doing it?

All I need to figure it out is to cast one glance at Sparrow in the passenger seat. He looks barely conscious: head leaning against the windowsill, eyelids drooping. I can’t bring myself to send him walking home in this state. He’ll get robbed, beat up, or worse.

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