Page 2 of Feral Heart
The two women in line kept darting glances between Grant and Rowan. Jamie wondered what they saw. A desperate junkie shaking down his traumatized-for-life brother for drug money. Or maybe a pair of small-time criminals casing the joint for an after-hours score? The reality was less dramatic but equally soul-crushing.
“If you get me fired, there won’t be a twenty, or a job, or a couch for you to crash on,” Jamie whispered through barely parted lips. “You need to leave before Jerry sees you. He’s already told you twice not to come back.”
Being banned by Jerry was like getting scolded by Mr. Rogers. The guy even dressed like him. Not exactly intimidating, but for reasons that baffled Jamie, Grant actually listened to him. Because he doesn't want to go back to prison.
It wasn’t because he was afraid of Jamie’s boss. Jerry’s voice always cracked when he confronted Grant. The man needed to inject some authority into his tone, maybe grow a backbone, or Grant would eventually steamroll right over him.
Grant pressed a dramatic hand to his chest, bottom lip jutting out in mock wounded innocence.
“I see how it is,” he said, dropping the act as quickly as he’d started it. “You must’ve grown some balls since this morning, huh? Think that little name tag makes you king of this shithole?”
Please just leave. Jamie’s sweaty fingers fumbled with the bottle of hand sanitizer beside his register. It slipped free and hit the floor with a thump. After retrieving the bottle and straightening, Rowan materialized behind him, silent as a held breath. Jamie didn’t want to turn around, but the eyes boring into his back were impossible to ignore.
Rowan’s mouth twisted into something resembling a smile. “Hey, Jamie,” he said quietly, that nasal voice making Jamie’s skin crawl. “You gonna help your brother out, or what?”
If Grant was a spider trapped in a jar, Rowan was the hand that shook the jar just to watch it panic.
Jamie blinked rapidly then turned to help the next customer once Grant finally stepped aside. Middle-aged guy with a Bluetooth headset, clutching a box of condoms like his life depended on it. He seemed the type of person who’d rather die than be caught buying rubbers, especially during a tense situation.
“I’m broke,” Jamie mumbled, focusing on the transaction. After covering utilities, which had skyrocketed since Grant materialized at his door like a feral house guest, there was nothing left. “You can’t keep doing this. Mom’s not gonna bail you out again.”
Grant laughed, loud and sharp. “She’s why I’m broke, bro! Pretty sure she’s using again.” He pulled an exaggerated thinking face. “Fuck, what an idiot I was, right?” The act dropped instantly. “Nah, but she did say I ‘lacked initiative.’ Can you believe that bitch?” He gestured at the customer’s condoms with his thumb, waggling his eyebrows. “Someone’s getting laid tonight.”
Oh my god! Jamie wanted the earth to crack open and swallow him whole, or the poor customer probably wanted to disappear in the same way. The tips of the guy’s ears had gone bright red, his cheeks flaming as he paid in cash and fled, abandoning his receipt in his haste to escape. Jamie tried focusing on keeping the line moving, on the next customer, on literally anything except the unwanted attention of Grant and his parasitic sidekick.
Rowan leaned closer, his breath reeking of menthol cigarettes and bottom-shelf whiskey, the kind that came in brown paper bags. Jamie flinched, praying those cracked lips wouldn’t make contact. Grant really needed to give those stolen breath mints to his deranged friend.
“You’re not gonna help your own brother?” Rowan tsked softly. “That’s just cold, man.”
Jamie stayed quiet. Grant already knew what the answer would be before he’d even shown up. He just got some sick thrill from terrorizing his little brother. He’d been doing it since they were kids, and prison had only refined his cruelty.
Weren’t those places supposed to rehabilitate people, not sharpen their worst impulses?
Grant rolled his gray eyes, drumming his fingers on the counter. “Whatever, man. But check this out. Rowan got a line on some premium shit. You wanna party with us tonight?”
“Drugs are for losers.” Jamie fought to keep the tears from falling. He was never going to escape Grant, not as long as his brother lived there rent-free. Jamie desperately wanted to kick him out, but Grant was bigger, stronger, with a prison-built body that could pound Jamie into dust.
Grant went very still, staring at Jamie like he was calculating which torture method would hurt most. “Loser?”
Oh no! He hadn’t meant for that slip out, but Grant wouldn’t accept any excuse or apology. Being disrespected publicly wasn’t something he’d just forgive. Jamie really, really wished he could rewind time and clamp a hand over his past self’s mouth.
The look in Grant’s eyes made it clear he wasn’t going to forget this.
“Is there a reason you cabrones are holding up the line?”
Jamie’s head whipped to the right, his breath hitching, as everything else faded to background noise.
It was him. The customer who showed up every Sunday like clockwork, cart loaded to the brim, face breathtakingly gorgeous.
Oh crackers! Jamie stopped himself from checking his breath. Now he wanted one of Grant’s stolen Altoids.
It was the stranger who made Jamie’s tummy flutter every single week. The most he’d ever said was “thanks” to Jamie, but someday the guy would notice him. He was sure of it. Jamie would spread himself across that conveyor belt naked if the guy asked. Drop to his knees right here. Bend over with his pants around his ankles.
Jamie crossed his arms, then let them fall, then propped one on the counter and one on the register like he was posing for Cashier Monthly. Did that kind of magazine exist? Maybe Cashier Quarterly?
Grant’s jaw ticked with annoyance.
“Don’t,” Jamie whispered harshly, refusing to meet Mr. Made-for-Wet-Dreams’ incredible tropical-blue eyes. “You’re gonna get me fired.” Plus his brother’s voice was ruining Jamie’s whole fantasy.
