Bad Wolf (Wild Men 4)

I turn back around, startled. “It’s okay.” Blood. Pain. Darkness. My stomach churns. “I had a nightmare. I’m fucking glad you woke me up.”

“Was it about your parents again? That sucks, man. I thought you were past that.”

“Yeah, me too.”

And having this conversation with him in the middle of the night, when the last time we talked we beat the shit out of each other, is so fucking weird.

But this is the other side of Seb, one I never get to see anymore. He’ll never qualify for sainthood, but he can be decent when he isn’t trying too hard to be an asshole. When he forgets how important and awesome he is and acts like a human being.

By the time I make him the coffee, he’s fast asleep on the couch, fully dressed and in his heavy jacket, and I stare at him for a long time, after I place the mug on the low table.

I’m trying to see his mom in him. Does he have her eyes, her face, her hair, her colors?

Her kindness?

Is he the son I can never be? Is he worth my promise to her? Is he worth staying in the gang, pushing Gigi away, putting myself on the line?

Is he worth my life?

But then I think, what worth is my life anyway? Not much, that’s for sure. Nobody will miss me if I’m gone. I’ve lost those who mattered to me, those who cared for me.

I might as well make sure he stays alive.

Chapter Twenty-One

Gigi

“Here, listen to this one,” Merc says. “It’s a good song.”

He passes me his huge over-ear Bose headphones, a gift from all of us to him for his eighteenth birthday. I swear the guy studies, meets his friends, eats and sleeps and takes a dump without taking them off.

Curled up in a kitchen chair, my mug of tea steaming in front of me, with my brother and new music to check out, I’m in my happy place. No classes today, as we’re supposed to be studying for midterms, and I’m chilling out.

Note the “supposed.” I should be studying, but I need this time. I need to collect my thoughts. Because I don’t know what to do.

Finding out why Jarett joined the gang, getting a glimpse inside his head and way of thinking, isn’t enough to redeem him. Or to rescue him. It’s obvious he believes he’s doing the right thing. How do you rescue someone who can’t see the sinkhole opening under his feet?

The moment I put on the headphones, the beat thumps through me, echoing in my skull and every bone in my body. Whoa. Nice one.

“Good for when you can’t sleep,” Merc says, smiling.

“You mean you can’t sleep because you get such a mega headache from this song.”

“Oh suck it up, Ginger. You’ll love this song. Listen to it first, and then pass judgment.”

“We shall see about that, Mercurius. And I’ve never been a ginger. Not about to start now.”

“Pardon me, missus,” he says with a terrible British accent. At least I think it’s British. “I see now ye’re a propah blond.”

“God, please tell me this isn’t how you come on to girls.”

He looks offended. “I don’t need to fucking come on to girls. I’ll let you know, girls flock to me.”

“That so.”

“Ah-huh. All the time. They go on their knees, begging to go out with me.”

“Why am I not convinced?”