Scum (Wrong Side of the Tracks 1)

Shane stalled and pulled away from Frank until he filled the corner, which, annoyingly trapped him with his escape route cut off by both the men. “It’s nothing.”

Jag cocked his head, draping a waterproof poncho on his shoulders. “I would have protected you if you called for help,” he said, presenting Shane a whistle that he never took off his neck

Frank sniggered, and Shane shook his head, uttering a guttural scream. “Jesus fuck! I need a drink. And for the record, your protection is the last thing I want, Jag!”

Frank pointed to the corridor. “Okay, okay, let’s get a drink and you can tell us what happened.”

“I’m not gonna tell you a fucking thing,” Shane grunted but followed him into the kitchen that smelled of coffee and the leftovers that hadn’t been cleared after last night’s festivities. The pies were resting in the middle, like a silent invitation, and while they’d both been butchered by someone who had cut bits from the middle, Shane still salivated.

Frank groaned and put two beers on the edge of the table. “Fine, but I need to know if there’s more trouble to follow up whatever happened.” He pointed in the general direction of Shane’s face.

Shane sank into the seat, glaring at the plate in front of him. There were crumbs on the opaque glass, and some melted ice cream that had long dried-up, but when his stomach let out a meaningful grumble, he reached for the pecan pie and took the whole remaining chunk just as Frank put the open beer in front of him.

“Shane. Does the person who did this have buddies who will show up on my doorstep with baseball bats, or can I have my breakfast in peace?” Frank took out a piece of store-bought bread and walked up to the fridge

Shane shook his head. “If someone comes here, it’s gonna be the cops. And they’d only be here for me. Maybe,” he muttered before breaking off a piece of the pie and stuffing it into his mouth.

Frank’s wide shoulders tensed, and he spun around so fast his braid twirled behind him like a whip. “Fuck. Shane. You’ve barely been out a month. You really that desperate to get back to prison grub?” He opened the fridge with a jerk of his arm before glaring over the shoulder, past Shane. “Jag! Where’s the turkey?”

Silence.

Shane remained still, just chewing the pie while his head crackled with static. He couldn’t even think properly, as if his mind refused to go back to what happened last night. He lost appetite every time he remembered Ros’s tears.

Frank rose, shouting Jag’s name as he looked behind each door, increasingly agitated. Shane flinched when his friend’s bulky form stormed past him to the fridge again. He slammed it shut so loudly all the jars inside clattered. “Fucker took all the meat!”

“Next time, he’ll take the hand you feed him with,” mumbled Shane.

Frank leaned against the fridge with a deep sigh. “I bet he has a fridge in his lair somewhere, I just haven’t found it yet. He’s being good at the table, but once the meal is done, it’s like he can’t get it in his head that he shouldn’t just take shit without asking.”

Shane welcomed the distraction. “Or he just doesn’t want to.”

Frank shook his head. “Anyway, weren’t you out with your boy last night?”

Shane’s back tensed so rapidly he scowled at the pain it caused. He didn’t want to talk about it, but as the silence went on, and Frank refused to change the topic, his resolve melted away. Maybe someone else’s perspective could shed a new light on everything that had happened, so he finally spoke.

“I fucked up, Frank.”

His friend sighed and sat down next to him, settling for plain bread and beer drank alternately with coffee. “How so?”

Shane closed his eyes, not ready for the judgment he’d surely receive, but if he’d already said A, he needed to say B as well. “I… locked us in the container and tried to make him do the sex tape.”

Frank took a long swig of beer. The man was thirty-eight and had seen shit in his life so wasn’t easily shocked, but this time, he did shake his head. “I’m guessing that didn’t work out as planned.”

Shane shrugged. Revealing the truth hadn’t made him feel any better. “I don’t know what I was fucking thinking. I got angry and… it was a mistake. He will never want to see me again.”

Frank nodded. “You said ‘tried’ so I’m guessing the filming didn’t work out? Maybe that’s for the better.”

Shane scowled. “He started crying. I didn’t… didn’t know what to do.”

Frank lowered his eyes to the table but eventually patted Shane’s shoulder. “You did the right thing letting him go. You’ll get to Beck another way.”

“But it’s over,” Shane exploded, dashing to his feet. Blood drummed in his head so loudly he could barely hear his own thoughts, but movement relieved some of the tension in his muscles at least. “Over between me and him.”