Page 37 of Of Heathens & Havoc

“It’s not an excuse,” Heath protests. “My head hurts like a bitch. It’ll distract me from the pain.”

“We’ll get you to the infirmary,” Saint says. “I’m sure the nurse can give you something for the pain—and set your fucking nose again. How many times have you broken it now?”

“What was that about?” I ask, turning to Angel. “Why is Bain threatening y’all?”

Angel opens his mouth, but Saint cuts him off with a scoff, scowling over his shoulder at us. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

Angel gives me an apologetic shrug, and I know he was going to tell me. My brother was always the leader of the group, though, even when they called us Cinco de Mercy, and it looks like nothing’s changed.

Except that now I’m not part of the group, not privy to whatever information they have, the secrets they share with each other.

“What businesses was he talking about?” I press.

“My family’s,” Angel says, turning his head away to spit blood while we walk, like he’s not bothered by the thought of his head on a stake in front of the Downtown Diner, the local greasy spoon that his parents own.

At the mention of the diner, a wave of nostalgia hits me, and I can hardly breathe. A thousand summer days flash through my mind, sweltering afternoons when we rode our bikes there to cool off in the air-conditioned interior. Angel’s mom would bring us pie and ice cream, saying we brightened up the place with our boisterous energy. We’d run back and forth to the soda fountain, filling their giant, translucent red plastic cups with soda from the tap and racing to see who could finish first. I’d stifle my burps, embarrassed by the unladylike effect of the carbonation, but the boys let them out with relish, loud and proud. And yet, Eternity beat them with the most bone-chilling belch every single time.

And then the sweet memories end like a record scratch, with alarms going off and my parents running into the living room to find the window shattered and a brick on the floor with a note wrapped around it. They wouldn’t let me read it, eventhough I knew it was for me. The next night, Mom took me to my aunt’s “for a few days.”

She never came back.

Saint glares at Angel for answering my question, but Angel just hugs me closer to his side and shrugs again. “What? She knows my dad’s a businessman.”

A businessman and, though I was too naïve to put it together when I was a kid, apparently a gang member.

“The Sinners,” I say. “Is that a gang?”

“It’s a family,” Angel says. “Julian Sincero’s kids.”

“Shut up,” Saint growls.

“If they’re going to fuck with her, shouldn’t she know?”

“No,” he snaps. “They won’t dare.”

For a few beats, we walk in silence, and even though I’m with the men who did such degrading things to me last night, for a moment, I’m comforted by their presence. Maybe it’s the memories, but for the first time in four years, I feel like I can relax and just be myself without looking over my shoulder every two steps.

But this isn’t the Quint. There’s no Eternity to fill that space, the unspoken, painful ache in the group. Without her, it’s all a sham.

“So, we’re heading to the infirmary?” Heath asks, a grin returning to his face. “The nurse did make me feel better last time.”

“Dude, she’s like twice your age,” Angel points out, turning away to snort some blood into the grass before continuing on.

“So?” Heath asks. “She’s hot. Plus, older women have all the moves. Maybe I’ll ask her to take my temperature rectally this time.”

“You got punched in the face,” Saint says. “You’re not sick.”

“She doesn’t have to know that,” Heath says with a wink.

Saint jerks his chin at Heath’s face. “Your nose is broken.”

“Sick people get broken noses,” Heath points out. “Do you think they put lube on those thermometers or just slide ‘em up in?”

“You’re disturbed,” Saint says, shaking his head at the gesture Heath makes to demonstrate.

“Don’t be jealous,” Heath says, laying his head on Saint’s shoulder. “You can tickle my prostate any time, big guy.”

“While you two are making eyes at each other, I’m going to walk Mercy to class,” Angel says. “Unless I’m needed to break up a fight over a certain heathen’s asshole.”

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