Scum (Wrong Side of the Tracks 1)

“I’d have fucking put that bastard in acid and watched him melt alive if it wouldn’t have led the cops directly to my door. But fucking young sons of conservative politicians? Controversial but not illegal. I’ll make that bastard’s life crumble for what he did to me,” Shane barked and rolled into an empty chair by the table. The can creaked when he squeezed it a bit too hard, and he put it down with an annoyed grunt. “I’m a no-good bastard, but I’ve not earned those ten years in the can!”

Frank sat at the table opposite him and nodded with a grim expression. “You took the fall that night, and I owe you for that. I regret taking Beck’s call, you know? I should have left him to deal with his own shit, but I thought a guy like him could pay a lot for a body disappearing. We got greedy.”

“It was stupid of me to go while drunk,” Shane said, shaking his head. “Who were the cops gonna believe? A conservative family man who donated money to the local police each year, or a punk who’d already been arrested many times. I made it almost too easy for Beck to lie that he’d hired me to drive him that night.”

Frank clinked his bottle against Shane’s can. “Yeah, people like him always get away with shit. And the fucking audacity of him to claim that he did you a favor by getting your sentence down.”

A cold sensation drizzled down Shane’s chest, like water from a melting icicle. “So many fucking years wasted. I’m gonna destroy him, Frank, and I don’t care who pays the price.”

Rosen’s face flashed through his head, with eyes pinned to Shane in silent desperation, but he shook the image off and met Frank’s gaze across the table.

“What’s his son like then? Frat boy footballer?”

It was past one a.m., but Frank always stayed up until morning on Halloween, because he claimed the kids got rowdy on a night like this and sometimes sneaked into the junkyard. Shane dreaded to think how Jag would have dealt with a bunch of high-schoolers if he found them in his den, but it was none of his business.

“Nah. He’s more of an artistic type. With really long hair. Prettier than any I’ve had,” Shane mused, remembering the way Ros bit his lips while Shane was inside him.

Frank smirked. “Good. You deserve a nice piece of ass after all that time behind bars. Revenge is best served cold anyway.”

A scream outside made both of them jump to their feet in alarm.

Dex, Frank’s nephew, stumbled out of his room with a groggy expression, blond hair in disarray and colorful boxers clinging to his dick. “The fuck was that?” he asked as if any of them would know.

“Jag howling at the moon?” Shane suggested, not bothering to move, but Frank had already pulled a shotgun from under the sink.

“Might be intruders. Jag?” he called out, running for the door.

“I’ve got one here!” Jag yelled back, and that put even Shane in motion.

Still only in his underwear, Dex grabbed a metal baseball bat from the corner and followed Frank.

“I’m not an intruder! I’m Dexter’s friend!” a man yelled in a shaky voice.

Shane’s gait became sluggish as he shot a heavy glance the boy’s way. Because Dex, while of age, was definitely not mature enough to be considered a man. Frank made a gruff noise, clearly sharing the sentiment, but instead of outright berating Dex for the company he kept, he ran off the porch, toward Jag’s trim form propped over something that lay at his feet.

Only then did Shane see that there was a man lying on his stomach, and Jag had that idiotic spear poking into his back as he stood with one foot on the poor bastard’s ass.

“Why would a friend sneak up like you did?” Jag asked with a snarl, but Dex rubbed his eyes, approaching barefoot.

“Arnie?” he asked and lowered his baseball bat.

Frank groaned. “You do know him?”

The stranger looked up, showing a streak of mud that marred his averagely handsome face. He was closer to Shane’s own age than Dex’s, but as Shane had already noticed since coming back to live here, Dex did not discriminate.

“What is this, Dex? I just wanted to see you again!”

“I told you I can’t have people over!” Dex spread his arms with a groan.

He was just twenty-one, but in the two weeks since Shane’s release from prison, he’d already gathered that Frank’s nephew had an insatiable appetite for men, and more luck than brains. On the other hand, while short, he had a trim, muscular body covered in stupid tats, and a playful smile that had almost tempted Shane when he’d first arrived at Frank’s. The only reason nothing happened was Frank sternly telling Shane his nephew was off-limits. Shane respected the man too much to go against him, especially in a family matter.