Page 90 of Prodigal Son

She found a hair tie in the en suite, and pulled her hair back in a low, tight bun. Washed her face with water and the dregs of hand soap, got rid of the last of her mascara disaster from earlier. The last thing was a black bandana from the dresser, which she tied around her neck, ready to pull up over her nose and mouth.

“What are you doing?”

Raven spun, hands lifting – to do something. Strike, block, who knew what. Her heartrate skyrocketed.

Tommy stood in the doorway, posture relaxed, truly curious.

Raven exhaled. “I’m…um…”

Tommy’s gaze narrowed. “Wait. Albie said you were passed out drunk.”

“Did he?” She chuckled. It was forced, and he could no doubt hear it; she couldtasteit.

“Why are you in Chelle’s old room? Are those her clothes you’ve got on?”

“Oh, well, you know, I just…oh, goddamn it, Tommy! If you breathe a word of this–”

“A word of what?” he asked innocently.

She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t bat your lashes as me, Thomas, I’m not one of your club girlies who think it’s cute.”

He batted his lashes extra hard.

“I’ll pluck them right out, I swear. You know bloody well what I’m doing – I’m leaving. All of you want to sit on your thumbs and wait on Charlie to come charging in and save the day. Well, guess what? Charlie isn’t bloody Jesus. I’m a part of this, and I’m doing something. If you try to stop me, I’ll – I’ll–” She didn’t know what she’d do, but at the moment she didn’t trust herself against physical violence.

He held up both hands, placating. “Okay, so I won’t stop you. But what if I at least come with you?”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do, actually.”

She studied him. “You…look serious.”

“I am. I’m tired of waiting around, too. I honestly don’t know what the hell we’re doing tonight.”

“Thomas…are you trying to become my favorite brother?”

He grinned. “It’d be a bonus. Come on, we can take my bike.”

“Oh no. No, I’m not riding bitch. This is my mission.”

“Your Rover’s still sitting in a valet lot across town.”

“Okay. I’ll ride.” She shrugged.

He started to protest – she could see it, the way he automatically frowned and took a breath to respond – but then he really thought about it, gaze going thoughtful. “You still know how?”

She snorted. “I don’t forget things, darling.”

A smile spread, slow, and he looked every inch the excited kid about to do something really wicked after curfew. “You wanna take Phil’s?”

“Godyes. Let’s go.”

~*~

Phil had a brand new, all-black Triumph Bonneville Bobber. Custom wheels, wrapped pipes, matte finish. It didn’t just sit, but crouched in the garage, vicious and ready to pounce.

The garage abutted Baskerville Hall, an old industrial building that had been gutted and converted; ambient light filtered in through the high windows, catching on the bike’s handlebars, a little flash of chrome in the engine block.

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