Scum (Wrong Side of the Tracks 1)

“If I catch you hanging out with this man, we’ll have a different kind of conversation!”

“We’re not ‘hanging out’! Jesus!” Ros raised his voice and pulled away as if he’d been smacked.

Shane’s first instinct had been to step in, to punch Ed Beck for daring to put his hands on Ros, but who would he be doing that for? A boy who was ashamed to admit they knew each other?

Shane’s life was only a rock under Ed Beck’s shoe, even if he finally recognized the unusual pattern setting him apart from thousands of others the man had stepped over to get where he was.

Shane spun around and walked back toward the frat house, because he’d left his bike on the other side. He was pretty sure he’d heard the word “scum” somewhere in the loud conversation he was leaving behind, but it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing fucking mattered. His gamble hadn’t paid off. For all his promises and sweet words, Ros only wanted him when it was convenient, and worse yet—Ed Beck was now aware of Shane hanging out around his precious son—a bullet Shane had shot into his own foot by appearing in front of the bastard.

He wanted to set fire to that expensive fucking limo!

A part of him expected for Ros to follow him, apologize, at least fucking lie that this wouldn’t happen again, but there were no footsteps echoing behind him.

It rained a lot lately, so he liked to leave his ride under an awning at the side of the building, by a door that led to the communal kitchen.

He’d hoped to just get going, and sulk on his own, but if this day hadn’t been unbearable already, fucking Brad emerged by his bike with his arms crossed on his chest and tut-tutting with a frown.

“Hey, man. I told you not to park here.”

Shane huffed, the energy that he’d so far restrained bubbling to the surface and prickling at his skin. “Or what?”

“I don’t wanna fight you about this. Just don’t.”

Shane slammed his fist into Brad’s abs, and as the bastard bent in half, he smashed him in the chin so hard the muscular body arched right back, only stopping once it hit the wall. Blood bubbled at Brad’s lips as he opened his eyes, staring at Shane in disbelief, but he chose not to act out. After a tense moment, Shane returned to his bike and switched it on without a word.

He tried to clear his mind and will his throat to relax, but as sweat beaded under his clothes. The uncertainty on Rosen’s face kept creeping back into his mind, like a fucking brain tapeworm refusing to leave his skull yet sucking all life out.

Shane’s pretty boy was ashamed of him.

Brad didn’t even say a word, just fled like the cockroach he was, and Shane drove off with a screech of tyres, desperately trying to outrun his own thoughts.

He was supposed to ruin Ros and bring down Ed Beck in the process. Instead, he’d gotten mushy on the inside like a fucking schoolboy enamoured with the first hole he fucked. He should have known better than to hope for the affections of a guy so far out of his league.

Enough was enough. And if Shane couldn’t get his way by being nice, he’d get it by force.

Chapter 11 – Ros

Ros glanced at the photo he’d taken of Shane and Cerberus on the day the injured dog had been released into Shane’s care. He’d managed to catch the exact moment the beast decided to turn and lick its new master’s face, and the look of dread in Shane’s green eyes never failed to make Ros chuckle.

Until today.

Ros hung his head and exhaled, staring at the handsome man who added so much color and excitement to his life yet who’d acted so out of character yesterday. Their argument had been a shitshow, but while Ros was ready to forgive Shane, his messages and calls kept being met with silence.

On edge and constantly checking his phone in hopes of seeing the familiar flashing light of a new message, he’d hardly slept. It didn’t help that each toss and turn reminded him that while he laid on the comfiest mattress in his dad’s grand countryside home, Shane shared his tiny room with a boiler, which growled every time someone needed to use hot water.

A part of him regretted not taking Shane’s offer of spending Thanksgiving at Frank’s. That small room was far from comfortable, but still pretty cozy when they’d slept in it together in Shane’s narrow bed. And as contrarian as Shane had acted yesterday, Ros still felt guilty over pretending they weren’t even friends and had been pondering a surprise visit since they’d parted. That moment when Shane had cut him with his green gaze before averting his eyes and disappearing from sight remained a thorn in Ros’s chest—a constant reminder of how shallow his rebellion against Dad was if he feared to call Shane a friend.