Page 21 of The Alpha: Part One
"Wrong," I bark. "Wrong. He can't take care of her now. If you don't find a third, which is stupid fucking rule by the way, then the council places her with a pack? Is that right?"
They look at each other again.
"Is that right?" I repeat.
The second twin nods. "Yeah, but that's why we're doing the fights. So we can get away. Some shit happened when we were young. It messed everything up, then we made some bad choices that we didn't know were bad at the time, and now we have to pay for them. We're almost paid up."
"How much more do you owe?"
"A couple thousand. We're almost done. Just a couple more fights and that's it."
I give each of them another hard look. Fuck it. I have the money. "I'll pay it."
"Then we'll owe you."
"No, you won't. I don't care about money. This is stupid. She deserves better. Do you have real jobs, or is this it?"
"Hotshots."
“What are those?” I’m not sure I want to know.
“We fight wildfires during the season and in our down time, we belong to Engine Twelve.”
You've got to be kidding me. Literally out of the frying pan and into the actual fire. "Y'all are just full of good news, aren't you. Firefighters on the East Coast don't make a lot of money, no wonder you do the fights. Who do we pay?"
"It doesn't work like that," one of them says. "It isn't just about the money. We know things. It's going to be hard to make a clean break. We have a plan."
"A plan." I repeat. Have I ever sounded that stupid? I'm sure I have, on multiple occasions, but I now have a firm understanding of why the vein in Devon's temple throbs all the time.
"Yes," one of them, probably Michael, says, starting to sound angry. Michael is the more serious one, quicker to anger, quicker to act on it. I think. I really need to find a way to tell them apart. "A plan."
"Well, what is it, then?"
"Why? Why does it matter to you? It doesn't have anything to do with you?" he fires off.
"You're Michael. Right?"
No answer.
"Right? Just fucking tell me. You're Michael because Michael is the bigger ass."
One of the twins fights back a smile. I point at him. "And you're Ben. You two, and Desir’ee, matter because I'm involved, regardless of how long I'll be here. I'm going to be here for weeks, and then I'm probably going to come back for weeks at a time every few weeks. What's your plan?"
Ben, it's definitely Ben, looks at his brother. "That changes things. It could work."
Michael's jaw ticks as he stares straight into my eye.
"What could work? You're bleeding. Do you need stitches? This doesn't seem like a go to the hospital for stitches situation. I can do stitches. Do you have a kit?" I can't believe I'm clucking at two grown-ass men like a mother hen, but it bothers me somewhere deep to watch Michael's blood dripping down his face from the gash on his brow. It wasn't that bad when he walked in here, but it's really starting to bleed now.
Ben comes over to dig around in one of the bags beside me on the bench. "He needs them, and he is an ass. I usually do it, but my eyes are starting to swell."
Yeah, no shit. The whole time we've been talking I've watched them grow puffier and darker. "I'll stitch him up real quick, then I'll take you home."
"I'll sew myself up," Michael clips. "And I'll drive us home."
Ben looks back at him, rolling his eyes. "Don't be a dick. This could work, Mikey. It really could. Just think for a second. Everything fits." He hands me the kit and goes to the sink to scrub off his hands and arms.
Michael weighs it for a minute, but eventually he stalks over to the bench. I stand up and motion for him to sit down, and Ben comes back with a damp cloth. I wipe away the excess blood to see how bad the cut is and hiss. "It's deep. Did he have something in his tape that would cut like this? A fist wouldn't make this kind of wound."
