Scum (Wrong Side of the Tracks 1)

And the worst fucking thing was that with Jag gone, Shane was uneasy about not knowing where the beast was. Logic told him the weirdo wasn’t a threat, but no man was truly predictable, and crazies even less so.

Cursing under his breath, Shane climbed onto the bike and crossed the remaining distance at the highest speed he could achieve on the winding road. After all, Jag was proficient at shooting from a bow of his own making, and Shane had the sudden urge to deprive him of a possible moving target.

Frank’s home, a bungalow covered with brown siding, was surrounded by all kinds of junk and a little white fence the man’s ex had put up as a gag gift two years back. The end result was a surreal picture of normalcy with piles of garbage in place of rolling hills and stacks of damaged cars towering over the driveway like a parody of poplar trees.

Shane had no idea how late it was, but his body was still buzzing with energy after the most amazing sex he’d had in ages, and he grinned at the sight of a yellow glow peeking out from behind the living room curtain. He left his bike under a sheet metal roof attached to the house on one side and stormed straight in.

Frank looked up at him from the large table in the middle of the kitchen. He was a bear of a man, six-foot-five, with hands that could be called skull-crushers, and a stern expression on his wide face. It was always funny to see him tinkering with some tiny gadget under the pendant lamp hung over the dining area, especially when he chose to wear thick glasses on his big-ass nose.

Frank harrumphed with a frown. “You look cheerful.”

Shane had no idea that he’d been waiting for that opener. The truth was like a piece of candy melting on his tongue, so he chose to savor it on his own for that bit longer and approached the cupboards made of wood and junk Frank had found in his yard. Sometimes, Shane wondered whether the man enjoyed DIY so much or was just too stingy to pay for stuff from a store. Not that Shane cared as long as it didn’t affect his own pocket.

“Take a guess,” Shane said, pouring himself a glass of cool orange juice from the fridge.

Frank eyed Shane from head to toe. “You got laid.”

Shane spread his arms in triumph so fast some of his drink spilled down his fingers, but he ignored it and made a little bow. “Had the time of my life, man.”

This time, Frank shook his head and actually cracked a smile. “Did you finally learn how to use Grindr?”

In Shane’s time, Craigslist had been the preferred method of hooking up with randos, and he hadn’t yet gotten used to the new reality of having men at the touch of his thumb. Real-life chemistry couldn’t be beaten anyway. “No.”

“Gay bar? Hooker? Wait. You met someone at that frat. Spill.” Frank’s dark eyes widened, and he pulled off his glasses, forgetting his new unnamed project.

This was the level of attention Shane’s story deserved.

“Beck’s son,” he said, following it with a long, meaningful pause that would let the information sink in.

Frank got up. “What? I need a drink for this. Weren’t you supposed to plant the drugs on him and all that?”

“Change of plans,” Shane said, watching Frank pull a beer out of the fridge. “Boy’s fresh, hot, and sweet as fancy chocolate. Couldn’t keep my hands off.”

Frank seemed thoughtful when he leaned against the kitchen counter and took a swig of beer. He wore his work T-shirt, stained with paint marks, and without the glasses adding a certain dorky charm, even Shane considered Frank a dangerous-looking man. The tiger tattoos on his bulging arms seemed to bristle at Shane’s words.

“How old?”

“In college,” Shane answered and downed the sweet juice before reaching past his friend to get himself a can of beer of his own. The air around Frank vibrated with wariness, but Shane chose to ignore it and met his friend’s gaze. “I’m gonna ruin this boy. I’m gonna make him a total sex pest. Old Beck won’t know what hit him when his son confesses how much he loves my dick!”

Frank shook his head so abruptly, his long braid slapped the salt shaker on the counter, throwing it to the floor. “That’s your plan? What’s the kid done to you?”

That wasn’t the reaction Shane had been anticipating, but he dug in his heels and took a sip of beer. “Why are you worried about some privileged shit? He must have done something if he’s his father’s son. He literally deals drugs for his frat.”

Frank drank some more beer, pondering that with a scowl. “True. You know I’m on your side for life. Just make sure you don’t get in trouble because of it.”