Scum (Wrong Side of the Tracks 1)

With the shirt Ros had left behind tucked under his hoodie, Shane dragged his feet forward until Frank’s home came into view, complete with a single inflatable turkey in the drab garden full of mud and rocks. Shane could only hope everyone was still asleep.

Maybe if he stayed in bed for a week, last night could become a bad dream that had never happened. Still, he glanced at his phone with the kind of hope only the least introspective men had, but there were no new messages from Ros. Even after the argument they’d had at the frat, Ros had still been desperate to reach him. Not anymore.

Cerberus crawled out of his doghouse the moment he sensed Shane’s presence, but he didn’t bark and instead just welcomed his master with a wagging tail and many kisses. The warmth of his tongue felt so soothing Shane needed to get away from it, fearing what might happen if his walls crumbled. So he left Cer some jerky and approached the front of the house.

He attempted to move as quietly as possible, but he could hear Frank grinding coffee for his morning brew the moment he stepped inside. Shane could swear that man didn’t know the meaning of the word rest, though maybe that wasn’t a fair assessment, considering that the table was still overflowing with dirty plates and cake that hadn’t been put away after last night’s dinner.

Unwilling to speak to anyone, he made step after careful step, rolling his feet from the heels to the toes. Some bits of the floor were more stable than others, and he chose them on the way to the corridor that led to all the bedrooms. Frank emerged from the pantry, making Shane freeze with blood frantically pulsing in his throat, but his friend was focused on the item he was holding and approached the window to see the fine print at the back of the packaging. With relief blooming in his chest, Shane made the final two leaps as discreetly as possible and let the partition wall hide him from view.

He was sweaty by the time Frank hummed some country song, but his door was within reach, and he placed both hands on the handle before very gently applying pressure.

Shane didn’t bother to turn the light on. He dropped to the bed like a stone thrown in the river—

And jumped right up with a scream, because instead of feeling the springs give under his weight, he’d fallen on a bag of meat, blood, and bones. It took two more seconds, and a familiar growl before Shane realized what happened.

“Did you sleep in my bed?” he yelled and pulled on the curtain to get a better look at the offender.

Jag pushed some of the messy brown hair off his face, but his eyes were slits when he met Shane’s gaze. “Hn… Frank was supposed to wake me.”

Loud footsteps echoed in the corridor, and Frank burst in, his chest filling with air like a balloon Shane wanted to pierce and send all the way to hell.

“What the fuck?” Shane roared, stepping all the way to the wall to see both the men in the tiny, elongated interior furnished only with a single bed and a dresser that held all of Shane’s belongings.

“How did you—? I’ve been in the kitchen this whole time,” Frank said with a frown, but all Shane could think of was Jag rolling around in his sheets like some Sasquatch.

And to make matters worse, Cerberus started barking outside.

Jag dashed out of bed, and when the comforter slid off his body, it revealed that he was naked too! “You weren’t there. We all thought you had a good night, but now I’m thinking maybe you didn’t?”

Frank did a double take at Shane. “What happened to you?”

Fuck.

“I don’t wanna fucking talk about it. Why is he rubbing off his filth into my sheets?” Shane roared, gesturing at Jag, who pulled up the pants he’d crafted out of some brown fabric scraps straight onto his skin, without bothering with any underwear.

Frank sighed. “Stop giving him such a hard time. You know I make him shower.”

Jag stretched, as if he wanted to show off the scars on his muscular chest. There was barely any fat on him, but the strength held by his wiry form was still obvious. “If you hadn’t sat on me, you wouldn’t have known I was here, that’s how useless your sense of smell is.”

Shane tried to punch him in the stomach, but Jag leapt back and landed on the bed with both feet, his eyes darting to the sides, as if he were looking for his spear. Shane was about to go after him when Frank grabbed him around the waist. “Calm the fuck down!”

“No! Why is he here?”

“Why would he sleep on the couch when you were somewhere out there fucking your boy all night long?” Frank groaned and passed Jag an old sweater the wild man must have decorated with beads himself, because their position at the front made no sense. “I would really rather find out why your face is bruised and scratched as if someone threw you into the trash disposal.”