Page 55 of Reasons We Break

Rajan shakes his head vigorously. Not this again. The cravings have been getting steadily worse. What did the shrink in juvie always say? Make a plan to deal with your problems, not run away from them?

He settles back on his perch and calls Nick. It goes to voicemail. Rajan calls again, then again. On the fourth attempt Nick picks up. “I’m blocking you—”

“I have a proposal.” That shuts Nick up. If there’s one thing that prick loves, it’s a good deal. Rajan just has to make it sound like one. “You have my Hillway mentor tied up in illegal shit. I can’t have that on my conscience, okay? So listen. You’re only taking her help because you can’t find a real accountant. If I find you one, you won’t need her anymore. Right?”

“Isthatwhat you took away from that conversation?”

Rajan takes that as a yes. “That dude Oliver was an insurance broker. There’s got to be other people like him who buy from the Lions. People who have the skills to run the books.”

“Of course there are.” Nick sounds irritated. “But finding the right person takes time, and I’m starting from scratch. Rory wasn’t exactly looking for an accountant before I got here.”

“Then let me help.”

He can practically hear Nick’s raised eyebrows. “Nowyou wanna come back to the Lions? Simran’s only with us because you were too chicken to do that in the first place—”

“This isn’t mecoming back,” Rajan snaps. “This is me getting you a bookkeeper to clear my debt. That’s the exchange she made, right? You’re losing nothing. You’re actually gaining someone better qualified.”

A pause, where Rajan can practically feel Nick pondering that. Then:

“We’ll see.” Nick hangs up. Rajan, unfazed, lowers the phone and picks up his hammer again. The fact that Nick’s even considering it means the Lions’ financial situation is serious. They reallyaredesperate. And that, he can work with.

Hours later, Rajan heads home with the intention of icing his shoulder and taking as much Tylenol as possible without overdosing. Hopefully it’ll stop hurting by the time he wakes. That damn fallen tree’s still in the yard, after all, and nobody else is gonna move it. But when he rounds the corner from the bus stop, he stops short.

In front of the house is a police cruiser.

No. This can’t be happening. He can’t be caughtalready. Technically, yes, he’s been breaching probation, butbarely. How is Snake Tattoo getting away with it and he isn’t?

He debates turning around, but he knows from experience they’ll wait until he shows. And they’ll spook Yash—Yash always hated when they came, before. Rajan takes a deep breath. He’ll just suck it up, then. And stay calm. They can’t pin him for shit yet.

As he enters the house, a stranger’s low murmur floats from the living room. Slowly, he removes his shoes and rounds the corner. His dad’s there, arms folded. And two white cops stand in the middle of the room, boots sinking into the carpet. One glances at Rajan, and Rajan’s breath catches. He recognizes him. This guy arrested him in high school...more than once.

There’s a flash of recognition in the officer’s expression, too. His eyes flick down a little, and Rajan realizes his hood has gone lopsided, exposing his tattoo.

From the smirk curling the officer’s lip, Rajan knows he’s recognized it. And when he meets his eyes again, it’s like he’s analyzing prey.

Rajan’s skin crawls. Back in the day, cops always treated him like an animal. The majority of Vancouver’s Most Wanted list were brown, and therefore Rajan was automatically suspicious. It didn’t matter that by sheer numbers, white people in the gangs far outstripped them. People only saw what was different.

The cop turns back to the couch where—Rajan realizes with a start—Sukha is sitting sullenly. “Following in your brother’s footsteps, are we? Thought you looked familiar.”

It takes Rajan a second to understand: The officer’s there forSukha, not him.

He strides forward. “Wait—what happened?”

“Your brother was vandalizing public property,” the cop says. “He and his friends thought it’d be funny.”

What. The. Hell? Rajan glances at Sukha, who’s avoiding his eyes.

The cop goes on. “We’re choosing not to pursue an investigation or charges, considering it’s your first offense.” His tone makes it clear he thinks it won’t be the last.

“Thank you, Officers. I’ll talk to him,” their father says. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this.”

The cops file out. One has the audacity to pause next to Rajan and say, “See you later.”

Rajan doesn’t trust himself to speak. There’s silence as the door shuts behind them. Silence as their boots crunch over gravel to their cruiser, car doors close behind them, and they pull out.

It’s only once the engine noise fades that Rajan wheels on Sukha. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Those cops should be thanking me.” Sukha lounges on the couch with an insolent smile. “That statue has a lot more personality now.”