Page 70 of Black Sheep

“Tell you what. You want this back, you have to earn it.”

My face congeals with boiling rage. “Fuck you!”

“Ah…no. I believe the fuck delivery is now firmly in your court. Your move, sunshine.” He shakes the bag in front of the camera.

I grip the towel around my waist tighter, my gaze moving from the camera to the coke.

“What the hell do you want?” I hear the compliant tone of a burgeoning addict in my voice.

“Like I said when I got here ten minutes ago—ten minutes of my life I’m never going to get back, by the way—Pa has a job he wants you to take care off.”

“Hell, no. Tell him thanks, but no thanks.” I turn around and head back into the bathroom.

He follows. I grab my razor and look up into the vanity mirror. Our gazes clash.

“I’m not your fucking messenger boy.” For the first time, the jocularity drops from Troy’s voice. “I’m even less inclined to act as your carrier pigeon when the last time I tried I got this.” In the reflection of the mirror, he taps the inch-wide gash on his chin that is still healing. “You’re fucking coming or I’m going to tell your little girlfriend about your nasty new habit. Let’s see how hot Cleo Spitfire is for you when she realizes you’re snorting shit up your nose. You do know that two overdoses in her father’s clubs is one of the reasons they hightailed it over here, right? You’re not going to be her darling boy any longer when she finds out. In fact, I’m going to go out on a limb and predict that she’ll drop you like a fucking stone.”

Fresh rage spikes my body. “Go ahead and tell her. I fucking dare you.”

He shrugs. “Alrighty, then.” He pulls his phone from his pocket. Flips it open.

I drop the razor and lunge for the phone. “Jesus. Okay! I’ll run whatever the hell this errand is. Afterwards, I’m changing the fucking locks to this place.”

When Troy slides his phone back into his pocket, I return to the vanity. In the reflection, I catch a wave of bitterness cross his face. “You can’t. You may think you’ve escaped to your own personal paradise, but you’re very much a puppet on his string. Just like the rest of us. So man the fuck up and stop whining at every little thing.”

“I’m no one’s fucking puppet. And all this is going to be behind me. Very soon.”

Through the mirror, I watch the camera lower a touch, and Troy’s eyes narrow on me. “The fuck’s that mean?”

In the chair in the Punishment Club, I close my eyes for a moment, foolishly wishing I can go back in time and shut the fuck up. That my cocky, coked-up and hung-over nineteen-year old self can find a little bit of self-control and not give in to the need to gloat.

“Online gambling. My fucking ticket out of this slime hole.”

“You mean that poker crap you keep going on about?”

My smug eyes meet his. “I’ve made over thirty-seven thousand in five days doing ‘that poker crap.’ And tons of money doing other ‘crap.’ In one month, I can make a cool half mil. And you know the best thing? None of it requires breaking an old man’s arthritic fingers. Or putting a liquor store owner in the hospital.”

“You’re still breaking the law. You’re nineteen, Axe-hat. You can’t gamble in Connecticut until you’re twenty-one.”

I shrug and pick up my razor. “It’s a small technicality I can live with.”

His gaze stays on me, gray eyes, similar to mine, turning pensive. “Well…whatever. Hurry the fuck up before Pa sends Ronan. That dude’s ornerier than a box full of wasp-stung frogs.”

“Get the fuck out of my hair, and I will.”

“You better, or this cheerful bag of shit lands on Cleo Baby’s doorstep.” He starts to back up then stops. I know whatever’s coming will blow the top of my head off even before he speaks. “Hey, you know with her parents missing and Pa stepping up to adopt her, she’s going to be our sister, right? So technically, by messing around with her, you’re committing incest?”

I lose all interest in shaving. “Christ, were you born a full-fledged asshole or did you practice really, really hard?”

He shrugs. “Would rather be an asshole than a fucking perv.”

“Why don’t you go and do something useful then, asshole. Like find a fucking dictionary?”

“Nah, I’d rather go and tell the old man you’ll be there in three minutes and watch him time your ass.”

He leaves.

“And FYI, I haven’t done anything with her yet,” I call after him. He doesn’t respond.

---