Scum (Wrong Side of the Tracks 1)

“It’s fine.” Ros rolled his eyes, but when he tried to step away, Bill held onto his arm, as if their deal had already been sealed.

Shane’s head filled with steam as he stepped into the fucker’s personal space. “Am I not being clear?”

“What is your problem, huh?” Bill turned to him, still not letting go of Ros.

“Maybe everyone should calm down,” Ros said, but Shane could barely hear his voice as he jabbed his head, headbutting Bill so hard stars exploded right back at him, shimmering at the edges of his vision.

“The fuck?” Bill yelled and grabbed the front of Shane’s T-shirt, but at least that meant his slimy paw let go of Ros. Just the thought of Ros going anywhere with this fucker had Shane’s brain burning up with enough jealousy to cook the world.

When Bill pulled, Shane was ready for him, but he was also aware of the rapid squeak of chair legs. Someone would soon try to intervene, but he didn’t care, and spun around, smashing his elbow into the side of Bill’s face and sending it at the counter. The hollow thud of his skull hitting the edge would have made most men cringe. But not Shane. He’d given the fucker a chance to get away, but he hadn’t taken it. Bill would be at fault when it came to whatever misery befell him.

It didn’t take a genius to see that despite being a big guy, Bill didn’t know the first thing about fighting. He grabbed his beer and tossed it at Shane. Some of it splashed him, but Shane ducked fast enough to avoid the glass.

Just as he was about to return the favor, Ros jumped over the counter and stood between them, one hand pressed to Shane’s chest.

“Stop it or I’ll call the cops!” A bluff obvious to Shane, but maybe not to Bill.

Whether Ros was all talk or not, the warmth of his palm calmed the beast raging inside Shane, and time stood still as Shane met the brilliantly blue eyes. They were so clear. Like a tropical ocean, and just as warm.

Bill moved so fast Shane didn’t see him coming, but when the meaty guy pushed Rosen his way, Shane focused on catching the boy before he fell, and didn’t see the punch coming at his eye. Bill’s fist struck Shane’s cheek so hard he would have dropped even without Ros’s weight toppling him.

The bright lights above the bar counter spun, but Shane had good enough reflexes to stiffen his neck before hitting the floor. The back of his head did meet the tiles, but much less violently than it would have otherwise. When Ros landed on him a split second later and knocked the air out of his lungs, the pain radiating all over Shane’s chest suggested he might have cracked a rib.

Cushioning Ros’s fall would have been worth it though.

Shane was ready to act, to get up and fight Bill, but the guy was being pulled away by several other patrons despite his angry yelling.

A woman scooted next to Shane and touched his head with a cool hand. Her mini dress was made of distressed leather and showed a sliver of underwear. Was it wrong that she reminded Shane of his mother when she was in one of her better moods? “Are you okay? I don’t see any blood. Oh, never mind, now I do,” she added when Shane felt a hot dribble from his nose.

“Fuck! What an asshole!” Ros rolled off, his gaze soft as he took in Shane.

Despite the pain, Shane couldn’t help feeling giddy that the boy had taken his side even though Shane had been the one to start the confrontation. Just like when he’d burned Mitch and Ros thanked him for it. Jag was right about one thing. Protecting felt better than attacking. And now that he had blood to show for his chivalrous behavior, Ros’s confrontational attitude toward him had dispersed. He did care.

“Was right for you to step in. Some men can’t distinguish young boys from girls when they’re drunk,” the woman said, adjusting her fluffy blonde locks.

Bill was still yelling something in the street, but Ros leaned over Shane, panting as if he were expecting to see missing teeth. But all was well with Shane.

Ros cleared his throat. “Yeah. Thanks for that. Come on, you’re already swelling. Let’s put some ice on that.”

Shane scowled and rolled his shoulders. The instincts he’d learned from a young age told him to wipe off the dust clinging to his clothes and get up, as if nothing happened, because weakness was what lured predators. But if he did that, Ros would no longer have an excuse to touch him, so he made a little groan and rubbed his head instead.

“What happened here?” asked another woman when the blonde lady was lured away by her two friends. This one was Ros’s age and dressed in all black, with an extremely short fringe and old-timey makeup with red lips as its main feature.