Page 21 of Casual Felonies (Wildlings #1)

TRUETT

That was…something.

I just spent the morning walking around the square in Wimberley, Texas, getting my entire worldview gently rogered by a woman with freckles and a double-digit ass while shopping for plants.

I now own a massive pothos and a digital key to a black-ops site about five miles south of the Wimberley shopping district.

Everything I thought I knew about Anders and Omar Bash—specifically that their vigilantism is some combination of unchecked wealth and a nearly pathological sense of justice—is technically accurate but also just the tip of a very bloody iceberg.

Anders and Omar aren’t just thrill-seeking weirdos with a hero complex.

They were once part of the Guardians: a covert, gay-as-hell justice squad made up of basically the entire Bash family plus a few retired special-ops types who got tired of watching the powerful hurt the innocent and then walk away scot-free.

Their philosophy? Money might buy you a superyacht, your very own member of Congress, and a get-out-of-jail-free card—but that didn’t mean jack shit to the Guardians .

Due to overlapping goals and a few key retirements, the Guardians eventually got folded into the Wimberley operation under Hedy’s direction.

As for Wimberley… Hedy was cagey with the details, so I still don’t know what to call it.

A black-ops justice collective? A hyper-funded Robin Hood startup?

A murder co-op with biotech and a dental plan?

Whatever it is, it’s funded by Elijah Energy and Seth Wakefield, a man so rich he makes that dickhead Bez0s look like a guy who’s doing MLM from his garage.

To be clear, Wakefield isn’t some altruistic Batman-type.

He pays Hedy and her team to steal bleeding-edge tech from very bad people and then looks the other way when the team taps into their weapons-grade morality.

Wakefield does pay for restitution and victims’ services, but that’s more of a tax write-off-slash-PR move.

“What if the person who owns the bleeding-edge technology is good?”

“I’ll let you know when that happens.”

Instead of salaries, the Wimberley team splits whatever spoils—hidden overseas accounts, weapons, land—they find. Rinse and repeat for twenty years, and everyone involved is worth nine figures, minimum.

“What about Anders’ day job? Is “world-class experimental surgeon” a cover?”

“No, that’s very real.”

“So, he’s what? Walking out of surgeries and into violent operations?”

“Sometimes,” she says a bit too nonchalantly.

“Doesn’t sound like something your money guys would like.”

“Accurate, but they allow him to go on ops because he threatened to quit otherwise.”

“Something tells me that putting Anders in a lab and telling him to curb his murder instincts is the same as setting a teething German Shepherd puppy in a room with a fluffy new couch and telling it to sit quietly. Either way, something’s getting ripped to shreds.”

Hedy laughs for a solid minute at that. “You know him better than I thought you would.”

So, yeah. Vigilante capitalism with a body count. I’m horrified and impressed in equal measure. I’m also one hundred percent certain that’s not nearly all of it.

While the Guardians technically disbanded right before joining Hedy’s team, the original members all stayed close. Built houses near each other. Raised their kids together. And Rami is one of the few kids who have absolutely no idea that their entire existence is built on blood money.

Jesus.

That realization alone was enough to make me stare off into the middle distance for a solid hour. Then, just as I was reconsidering my life’s choices, Hedy offered me a job.

Apparently, Rami’s little crush flagged me for surveillance, and I’d had no idea I was being watched by their crew prior to my little confrontation with the Bashes and Uncle Hopper. I’m supposed to be flattered that they liked what they saw.

I guess flattered is better than dead.

When I asked Hedy what she thinks I can do for them, she noted that as a high-end barber with a minor in vigilante justice, I have a knack for getting powerful people comfortable enough to run their mouths.

That’s true enough.

For now, they’d like me to cozy up to influential assholes and let them talk about themselves in case they accidentally reveal something useful. A breadcrumb. A detail. A weak spot that the team in Wimberley can exploit.

I told her I’m not willing to kill.

“It’s Valentine’s, Hedy. Not Sweeney Todd’s Barbershop and Murder Emporium.”

“Fair. ”

I was also quick to warn her that, while my social media presence is respectable for Austin, it’s not exactly global. She said that isn’t an issue. It turns out, Rami’s method of working the algorithm is a form of lightning that the tech freaks in Wimberley have figured out how to bottle.

She said I’d be “platformed.”

“That sounds like something you do to a witness right before pushing them off the roof.”

“Not on your first mission.”

When I pointed out that Rami had no idea the team in Wimberley was using and profiting off his ideas, Hedy nodded thoughtfully.

She explained that some of the baby birding his dads had me do was meant to help the team figure out his strengths and weaknesses.

He was never meant to be good at stalking.

They just wanted to see if he’s comfortable with the morally gray Wimberley regularly operates in.

I finally confessed that I’d gone off on him and told him he was bad at stalking. I also informed her that he knows there’s something more to his dads than meets the eye.

Hedy wasn’t the least bit surprised by either of those revelations.

“Would he come if you called? Say, if you told him you wanted to start cutting his hair again?”

“Yes.”

In a heartbeat.

“Then maybe he can be your first mark,” Hedy says, considering a row of dark purple succulents.

“No. Absolutely not.”

She smiles like maybe I’ve accidentally said the right thing, then asks, “And why is that?”

“Because I’m terrified of Anders and Omar Bash. Not to mention his Uncle Hopper…” I shudder.

She laughs and pats my shoulder. “Any other reason?”

I don’t answer her, but I think she has my number all the same .

“He likes you, right?”

I nod.

“And the feeling’s mutual?”

I stoop to check out a tiny string of pearls plant, fingering the delicate, round leaves.

Hedy stands next to me, waiting.

“Yeah.” I let out a breath. “Yes. Probably.”

We’ve only spent a few hours together at this point, but there’s an energy about her, a flow. Hedy feels like someone I can trust. Like an aunt. Or a friend.

She suggests I set up a hair appointment with Rami, but not for intel.

“Just see what comes up for both of you.”

“He might ask about his fathers.”

“That he might.” She grimaces. “Just make sure to leave Wimberley out of it. For now.”

I can’t tell if she’s playing matchmaker or setting me up to be the bad guy.

So, now I’m waiting in my empty shop, wondering if Rami got my message, and if he did, wondering if he’ll show up.

Anders and Omar still scare the shit out of me, but Hedy made me laugh, which is why I’m even willing to consider her offer. Do I feel obligated under pain of death to accept this new position? Not…entirely? But I am grimly fascinated.

Catching a glimpse of my reflection in the mirrors that surround the shop, I shake my head. Tumbled world view aside, a barber who can’t keep his style fresh is a sad thing, indeed.

I make my way to the washing station and stand while washing my hair upside down in the bowl.

When that doesn’t reset my brain the way I hoped it would, I dry it off and then go after it with a combination of my favorite shears and my newest trimmer.

Feeling a little feisty, I add a series of hearts down the side of my undercut, along with a bit more texture to the hair on top, giving me that messy, ne’er-do-well look my followers seem to enjoy.

“Uh, True?”

I curse myself for not filming it, but maybe?—

“Truett?”

I twist and find Rami Fucking Bash in my shop.

“I was trying to get your attention, but you didn’t see me.”

There goes whatever scrap of chill I’ve assembled.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

He runs a hand through his overgrown hair. “I like your haircut.”

“Do you want something like this?”

“Just the usual.” He considers me for a second. “Though…maybe you can update it a little.”

I direct him to the washbowl, and he settles in, then huffs out a laugh. “This feels like déjà vu.”

I chuckle. “I promise to actually cut your hair this time.”

“Thanks. I’ve been a mess.”

His happy expression reminds me that I didn’t handle things properly. “I do owe you an apology for how I handled myself that day.”

Rami wrinkles his nose. “You don’t have to apologize for telling me to go. It’s your shop.”

Shaking my head, I run my fingers through his thick, overgrown hair. “What we did… Uh, it was really intense, and?—”

“Good intense though, right?”

I smile. “Yes. Good intense. But it was also the kind of intense that requires some care afterward, and I didn’t do that. I should’ve, but I had to get you out of here before… That doesn’t matter. I should’ve treated you with more kindness than I did.”

His cheeks flush and I want to pull him in for a kiss.

Easy, tiger.

“It wasn’t like a scene. You didn’t beat me with pain sticks. I liked it,” he says with a shy expression. “I didn’t love being told to leave right after, but I was okay.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but the apology remains.”

His shrug is small, as if to dismiss my concern. “Apology accepted.”

“Thank you.”

I go silent as I wash his hair, the energy between us quiet and intensifying.

In the middle of the conditioning treatment, he says, “I agreed to this appointment because I have questions for you, but I don’t know if you have answers.”

I bury my fingers in his soft hair, massaging his scalp. “I might.”

Questions and calculations go on behind Rami’s pretty eyes for a few moments.

“You were right about my fathers. They were bugging our common areas. How did you know that? What else do you know?” He stares up at me. “But maybe I should wait until after you’re finished.”

I tighten my grip on his hair, just a little, and his small inhale makes my low belly go tight.

“Nah, you’re safe.”

“I just… I know they’re hiding something from me. From all of us. What do you know?”

“Quite a bit.” I turn on the warm water and rinse his hair. “Not gonna lie, I resent having to be the one to tell you. This is something your dads absolutely should have come clean about years ago.”

“Oh.” Rami’s eyes drop to his hands. “If you don’t want to be the one to tell me, then I won’t push.”

I stay quiet until he returns my gaze. “I think you’ve been kept in the dark long enough.”

“That sounds…ominous. ”

“Not ominous, not really, but serious. Some of this information has been rolling around the Hell_AI app for a long time.”

His eyes widen. “That’s a scary fucking app.”

I nod, then explain as best I can how, after his dad and Uncle Odd served in the Navy, they returned stateside and couldn’t stomach watching the powerful harm the powerless after all they’d seen. How they’d connected with others who felt the same.

“They killed people?”

“Yes. All of the people were bad, but they definitely killed a lot of them.”

“Do…?” Rami hesitates, then plows forward. “Do you kill people?”

“No. That’s a pretty hard line for me. Though I will put a hurting on some motherfucker who goes after the vulnerable.”

Rami flushes, dipping his chin as he rubs the back of his neck. He definitely likes that.

Rather than pursuing that line of questioning, he asks, “Do my grandparents know?”

“The rumor in Hell is that your grandparents knew their boys had certain proclivities, so they steered them toward murder for good.”

Rami’s eyes nearly fall out of his head.

“Those are just rumors though. You should talk to your dad and uncle about that.”

“And Baba?”

Omar’s records were a hell of a lot easier to find.

“He was gay in a family where it was very dangerous to be gay.”

“I know that much.” Rami’s eyes are sad. “But he refuses to talk about his family.”

“There’s a good reason for that.”

“Maybe when I was a kid, but I’m not that anymore.”

No, he is not .

I try to ease him in. “The thing he probably didn’t want you to know was that, when he was very young, he was forced into a kind of military service.”

Rami sits with this for a minute, his expression unreadable. Finally, he looks up.

“Are you saying my baba was a child soldier?”

“Yes.”

“He had to kill people as a child ?” he asks, his voice cracking on the last word.

I nod, knowing this next part will hurt, but it is necessary for him to understand his father.

“Right before your father left for the United States, he was forced to kill his English tutor, a POW from Austin, Texas, who’d been kidnapped from his unit.”

Tears well and spill down Rami’s face.

“Oh no.”

His chest starts to rise and fall rapidly.

“Oh God, no.”

He curls forward, his shoulders shaking. I run my hand up and down his spine until he settles.

“I don’t know if this helps,” I say quietly. “But after that, your baba killed his father’s general, the man who taught him to kill. Gutted him and left him for the vultures before fleeing to the United States.”

Rami nods at this bit of intel, like he’s really starting to put it together. Like he might even agree with the choices his father made.

“And he came to Austin because that’s where his tutor was from?”

“Yes. I believe he originally planned to bring his tutor with him.”

Rami folds forward again, saddened by this detail.

Finally, he shakes his head, wiping his eyes. “So many parts of my family story make so much sense now. ”

I finally ask the question I’ve been pondering since meeting Hedy at the plant shop. “Why do you think no one’s told you this?”

His smile is sad. “This is going to sound weird, what with everything you just told me, but I’m guessing they kept this from me to give me the childhood Baba never had.”

“I can see that.” I let out an annoyed huff. “But why not tell you now?”

His laugh is dry. “I don’t know about before, but I ripped them a new one when I found out about the surveillance tech. Told them I’d bar them from the building if they ever do that again, and I think they believe me.”

I shake my head. “Definitely not the experience I had with my family. They do not care if they never see me again.”

Rami’s expression saddens as he reaches for my arm. “You deserve better than that.”

“Thanks.” I scruff his wet hair. “Any other questions?”