Page 76 of Breaking You Open

Speaking of the job, Joshua comes to stand by my side, and I glance at him from my seat at the bar.

“What?” I grunt.

“So? How did it go?” He looks around. “Where’s Denver?”

I take a big sip of whiskey. “Wasn’t there.” I’m sure Sparrow didn’t tell me the whole truth, but for now, this is all the info I’ve got.

“What do you mean, he wasn’t there?” Joshua snaps.

“Someone else must’ve taken him.”

“But you went there, didn’t you? You went and confronted that little bitch boy Antler?”

“Of course I did.”

“And?”

I raise an eyebrow. “What do you want to know?”

Joshua glances to the side, a crease forming between his brows. “I just…I haven’t seen him in a while. How was he?”

“How should I know?”

Joshua flashes a sudden grin. “Shame you never got to fuck him, eh? I wouldn’t mind tapping that, to be honest, but then again, I’m not a fucking faggot, so—”

I turn to him fully and seize his jaw in a brutal grip. He startles, offering barely any resistance as I hiss into his ear, “What did I tell you about letting that word past your lips? If you’re not careful,youmight be the one who ends up getting fucked.”

I’ve had it up to my gills with homophobic assholes like him. My father was the same—always talking about gays like they’re the plague of the earth. I just stood there, deep in the closet, while he downed beer after beer and took his frustrations out on my mother. As a kid, I shivered with fear in the face of my father’s wrath, but I’m not shivering anymore; I’ve cultivated my strength and my fighting skills, and the Black Claws lets me solve problems in the ways I prefer, with fists rather than words.

Joshua gives a strained smirk. “I don’t think your little boy toy would like that.”

I follow his gaze toward Sparrow, who’s looking at me with wide, scared eyes, as if he doesn’t even know me. What the hell is wrong with him? It’s time to find out.

I let go of Joshua, shove him away, and grab Sparrow’s upper arm. “You’re coming with me.”

Sparrow strains against my hold. “Maybe I don’t want to.”

“Maybe not, but you’re coming anyway.”

“You can’t force me.”

I ignore him and keep pulling him toward the back room.

“Oh, that’s right,” he says. “You’re used to forcing people.”

That gives me pause. Without letting go of his arm, I turn around to face him. We’re standing in the middle of the bar, and although I feel people’s eyes on us, I couldn’t care less what they think. My tight-strung frustration is about to reach its boiling point.

“I’m not forcing you into anything,” I growl. “You’re the one who begged me to take care of you, for fuck’s sake!”

“Take care of me, yes!” His voice heightens, and he yanks away from my hold. “But not control my every step! You won’t let me try weed, you’ll barely even let me drink. You’re not my parent or anything; you just sleep with me. Someday you might even try to force me into it, won’t you?”

I narrow my eyes. “What?”

Now he’s really starting to piss me off. Why is he talking in riddles like this? And why won’t he come with me so I can explain, without all these people dipping their noses into our private matters?

My lips part, but I can’t get my words to obey. My brain is apparently too committed to my stubborn and terrible ways.

“You lied to me,” Sparrow says, gaze dropping to his shoes.

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