Page 35 of Freaks Of Nature

My hackles raise, and my fingers slowly unclench from the backpack’s strap as I straighten. “What do you mean with ‘you think’?”

I don’t like the sound of that. “You didn’t ask, did you?” I deduce.

He pokes his head around the slim metal door and grimaces. “Kinda.”

“Kinda?”My eyebrowsshoot up with my volume. “How do you ‘kinda’ suggest a threesome to someone?”

“I told her she’d look better with your dick in her mouth as I was railing her, and she didn’t disagree.”

My expression falls. “You didn’t,” I mutter.

Mason’s face lights up, and I don’t miss the proud edge in his tone on his nod. “I did.”

A bold grin stretching his lips, he has the nerve to wink at me before he slams his locker shut and rounds me to walk away.

I don’t know what comes over me. I’m still wearing my leather jacket when I wrench him around by the front of his shirt and slam his back into the locker wall.

“You son of a bitch!” I growl, my breaths heaving as my chest swells with rage.

My fingers clench his shirt in my fist, but he just smiles back coldly, unruffled. His voice is dead calm. “Relax, man. I didn’t do anything she didn’t want me to. She wasverywilling.”

The smug edge in his tone and sadistic glimmer in his eyes remain. I’m not the slightest bit relieved by his words. I’m familiar with his manner of persuasion.

My fists twist at his front, and a soft snicker ripples from him. “Is that what you’re pissed about?” he probes. “That I had her all to myself… and she liked it.”

I shake my head in disbelief at his tactics… his brazenness. I knew I’d regret letting him do the talking. I should’ve handled it myself.

Mason isn’t like me. He had it worse and never got over what we’ve been through as kids. He’s a hidden time bomb in my basement. “You’re really fucked up, you know that?”

A flare ignites in his eyes. “I know what I am,” he sneers. “I’m not hiding it.”

Grinding my anger between my teeth, I give him another shove against the lockers, making the metal groan, then release my grip to let him walk.

—

I avoid my brother for the rest of the day. I have a drop to make after work for Mr. DeMarco, one of the bosses who control Castle’s underground businesses.

Mason and I ran away from home at 16. We had already been through hell, and living on the street, surviving on scraps wasn’t new to us. But we were older now, and new opportunities presented themselves through connections we made.

Before we had bikes, we made deliveries for Mr. DeMarco on foot. We quickly developed our free running skills and memorized shortcuts; no one could match us. We gained a reputation. Respect. Trust. We made a name for ourselves. For the first time in our lives, we felt invincible.

It became addictive.

We would chase each other, betting on who’d be the one to make the drop. More often than not, we’d show up with a busted lip or a black eye. We were always competing.

After putting the code into the keypad, I enter the gentlemen’s club through the back.

The bouncer there gives me a nod, already expecting me, I assume. He doesn’t bother with patting me down, either, and lets me go about my way.

I don’t see much of the club itself as I take the narrow and dimly lit hallway to the back where the boss has his office.

Two burly guys stand guard, one on either side of the door, their hands clasped in front. Mr. DeMarco’s men all wear pressed suits and com pieces visible in their ears; unlike the guns they hide under their jackets.

I stop, facing them, and wait, but neither of them moves, their expressions stoic.

My eyes flick from one to the other. Pulling my hands from my pockets, I gesture lazily between them. “So, which one of you ordered the lap dance?”

Neither of them cracks a laugh, but the one on the left finally gives the door a sharp knock—probably afraid I might actually hump him.