Page 7 of Fight Or Flight

I swallow.

Sick.

She looks like she’s fucking dying.

“Looks that way,” I rasp.

“And the girl…that her daughter?”

I nod and he drops his hand away from my face, looking toward Uncle Pipe.

“Bones,” he says hoarsely before pausing to clear his throat.

“I’m gonna need more than that, Wolf,” Uncle Pipe urges, but he gets nothing else out of him because the front door swings open and my mom comes rushing through with her brother, Anthony—AKA Uncle Gangster, hot on her heels.

Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse enters the retired gangster whose fancy car is trashed courtesy of me.

Excellent!

“Shit,” I hiss.

“Oh my God! Are you okay?” Mom exclaims, reaching me. She grabs both of my cheeks and turns my head one way and then the other, inspecting my face for injuries. Satisfied that I appear to be in one piece, she makes her way to my brother and does the same.

“Oh, good, they’re fine,” Uncle Anthony growls, smacking me upside the head. “That’s for stealing my car.” He gives me another smack. “And that’s for crashing it.”

“Anthony,” my mother reprimands, stepping between us. “He’s just a kid. You want me to call mommy and have her recite the list of shit you did when you were his age? Never mind, I can name them myself.” She pauses to think, her blue eyes darting toward the ceiling. “Let’s see at seventeen, you were already working for Victor, so you were probably breaking kneecaps and taking bets.”

My uncle relents, but not without glaring and pointing a finger at me.

“There’s plenty more where that came from, kid,” he threatens.

Little does Uncle Gangster know he’d be doing me a fucking favor. Since getting drunk is off the table, I’d happily go a round or two with Mr. Boxer Man. Maybe he can beat the guilt out of me.

“Lauren, sweetheart,” Grandpa says gently. “You should sit.”

My mother’s eyes slice toward him and instantly narrow.

“Why?” her voice lowers. A moment later those blue orbs go wide as saucers. “Oh God,” she cries, lifting a hand to cover her mouth. “The people in the other car, are they hurt?” Drawing her hand away from her lips, she turns back to me and like her brother, slaps me upside the head too. “What did you do?” she hisses.

“Oh, good, we’re back to smacking him around,” Uncle Anthony sneers. “Let me at him.”

Ignoring him, I stare at my mom.

It’s not what I did, it’s what we did.

We lived.

But how do you tell your mom that? How do you force her to feel as miserable as you do?

“Your favorite cub didn’t crash into just anyone’s car. He crashed into some woman named Joss’ car,” Robert supplies. “Apparently dad knows her well. They were hugging like a bunch of long-lost friends. It was weird. She had a girl with her too…a very hot girl…”

My gaze shoots to my brother and I glare at him.

“You’re an asshole,” I spat.

“What? Don’t pretend like you didn’t notice.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” my mom mutters.

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