The Land of Rabbits (Long Shot Love Duet #1) (15 page)

“Not to me. Not to women, at least not physically to women, he’s got a mouth on him though, worse than mine.”

“Why’d the guy jump you?”

“We were crashing a party... I tried walking off with a case of beer.”

“So you stole from him.”

“I didn’t think of it like that when I was a teen. We were having a fun Friday night. Guy stuff.”

“Do you still—”

“I was a troublemaker in high school, but chilled out when my brother got that sentence. No more fooling around. And I grew up fast. Taking someone’s stuff in a homeless camp can get you stabbed.”

Trent gets out of the car and the two men lock in a shoulder-to-shoulder, back-patting embrace. Dylan steps away and crosses his arms, waiting, watching, demanding Quinn walk over to say hello.

“I’m not trying to play down what happened. He was wrong to use a weapon and not let up when the guy stopped fighting, but he
is
my brother, and it really sucked that he got three years for defending me.”

Quinn studies my face. I can tell he means well, wanting to conceal another part of his life from me, only that’s not fair... to him. He’s searching for an answer, wondering what direction we’re headed in tonight and whether this is a deal breaker.

I squeeze his hand and start toward his brother. “We’re not going to pick and choose what parts of our lives we share with each other. I’m not interested in that kind of relationship. It’s fake. And I’m here for you, not him.”

“Damn... that was nice.”

“I
am
nice, maybe not so bright considering I’m hanging out with a group of feral men tonight, but nice. And trust me, this is more interesting than watching ESPN with my Uncle Brian.” I slow down when I see the gun returning to Trent’s ankle holster. “I’m not happy about the gun, though.”

“I don’t blame you.”

Dylan opens his arms, hauling Quinn into a firm hug. His gigantic hand holds the back of his head, prohibiting Quinn from fleeing the embrace. They share many of the same features—Cupid’s bow upper lips, amber eyes, heart-shaped faces with sturdy jawlines and broad, rounded noses—handsome, brawny, and tough as nails.

“I was worried there for a second, thought some girl had you by the balls and you were choosing pussy over me.”

His voice is even lower and deeper than Quinn’s—the guy’s one hundred percent alpha male.

“This is Adlyn.” Quinn moves to my side.

“You don’t look like a street whore,” he says.

“She’s not.”

“Where ya from?” His chin rises as he peers down at me.

“She’s a rich girl.” Trent slaps Dylan’s arm. “Forget about her. Let’s go get drunk.”

Dylan steps back, giving me a look of distrust before nodding at us to get in the car.

“You okay?” Quinn whispers. “Still want to hang with us?”

“Are you kidding? You know how nosy I am.”

“True.” He grins. “Even if I insisted you go home, you’d probably try to track us down later.” His hand’s on my ass as we walk to the car. “Get in, my fetching huntress.”

“Oh good, I’m moving up from being an oddity.”

He gives me a kiss on the side of my head, putting his arm over my shoulder as Trent drives away from campus.

“Where’d you get this piece of shit car?” Dylan asks, tapping the plastic where the passenger side window should be. “No air? No stereo? And I can’t see. What the fuck? And it smells like grease and gasoline in here.”

“My cousin let me borrow it for a couple of hours. Don’t say jack about it. I picked you up, didn’t I?”

He rips the duct tape off the window frame and yanks the plastic down to reach his hand out the window. “Fuck, it’s good to be out of that hell hole. Freedom. Hey, you in the backseat, you ever been arrested?”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet.” He chuckles. “Well alright then, and you, cocksucker...” He turns to Quinn. “Trent told me about that Assglow place, said you’ve been back in town for a week. Why the fuck didn’t you come visit? Forget about me, or what?”

“No. I lost my main ID last year so I couldn’t get in.”

“Poor excuse. You’ve been too busy with pussy. Pussy’s always first... what about money? You working?”

“Landscaping.”

“You get paid in cash?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, keep it that way. Don’t give any to the IRS... fuckin’ hell, man, I need a beer. Who’s buying tonight? And give that bitch Janice a call. That one you told me about, the dark angel. I’m dying for pussy. My dick’s only been warmed by my hand and puny boys’ asses for the past few years.”

Trent takes out his cell and hands it to Dylan. “She’s on there. Keep the call short.”

He looks at the cell, turning it side to side. “What is this... an Alcatel? Is this even a cell or a goddamn walkie-talkie?”

“It’s ‘pay as you go.’ Call her and get off quick, don’t use up all my minutes, you bastard.”

Dylan laughs while he searches for the number. “I’ve missed you Trent... you too, Quinn. But I’m not sure that’s the right girl for you. She looks too wholesome. If you want, I can ask Janice to fuck you once I’m done with her.”

“I’m good,” Quinn says, gripping my leg below my short skirt. “I’m not into whores.”

“No, you just spent a year being one, that’s all.”

“I didn’t—”

“What’s up, this the dark angel? I’m one of Trent’s friends. You free to sit on my cock tonight?” He ignores Quinn, showing his dominance over everyone in the car. “Trent. Trent Byers. He said you’re a good fuck.”

“Oh my God.” I cover my mouth with both hands, suppressing an involuntary smile. “Is this actually happening?”

“It’s the norm with him,” Quinn says.

“This is crazy.”

“I know. They’re beasts.”

“What was that?” Dylan turns with the cell still to his ear. “Who’s a beast? I’ll shove that smile right up your ass if you’re talking about me behind my back.”

Quinn and Trent explode in laughter and I’m catching on that... well, at least I think I’m catching on that a lot of this is a show. The two in the front seat are a pair of apish alpha goons.

“How much? What?” He sounds shocked. “Don’t you have a ‘first day out of prison’ special?”

“You’re asking for a discount?”

“Shh. Quinn, shut your girl up... uh-huh, fresh out... three years... that’s what I thought. Half price? Deal. Head down to Swinton Street...”

Quinn covers his face, shaking his head with a grin, copying my actions.

“Is he really ordering a prostitute?”

“Did your family
really
pay for prostitutes last weekend?”

“Touché... so how old is he?”

“Twenty-three.”

I nod and glance at Dylan’s big head. He has a small mole that shows under his short hair and a thin scar that runs down the side of his neck.

“Are we going to your dad’s?” Trent asks.

“What the fuck do you think? You got an apartment?”

“Told ya, dipshit,” he says to Quinn, pulling into a liquor store. He parks then holds out his hand, waiting for money.

I open my handbag, but Quinn stops me from taking out any cash. “Don’t even think about it. I got this.”

“Give the man the money. Hurry up. I’ve got two whistles to wet tonight.” He slaps Trent. “Get either Busch or Old Milwaukee. Something good.”

I hold in my laughter at the thought of those beers tasting
good
. “No, wait,” I say, opening my bag again. “It’s on me. Here’s sixty bucks. Get me a bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey along with that case of beer you’re buying.”

Dylan turns in exaggerated excitement. “Fuck, I changed my mind. Don’t lose that woman. Bring her along wherever we go.”

His mouth slowly parts, speechless about my gift. Finally, he whispers, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes I did. Jameson’s my favorite, and if you’re drinking tonight, so am I.”

“Listen to her and take the cash. Tomorrow, when you wake up hung over with a finger in her pussy, you’ll be thankful that you did. Get drunk and fuck.”

What a loser. Quinn’s so sweet compared to him. I can’t believe they’re brothers.

“Open the back door,” Trent says, carrying a case with a brown bag on top. He sets it next to Quinn’s foot, but a second later it falls through the rusted out floor, landing on the pavement. “Pick that shit up.” He gets in the front while the rest of us laugh. Quinn lifts the case onto the seat and I grab the whiskey, positioning it between my legs.

The three of them spend the short drive talking about people and events I’m unfamiliar with. I listen and watch the neighborhoods change from middle class, to lower class, to dirt-poor. The streets become hole-ridden with weeds growing out from the cracks. The sidewalks disappear. Broken fences line the streets—their boards missing, paint faded, and sections leaning—ready to tumble on the next windy day. Cars with missing windows and flat tires sit abandoned, paralleling the boarded windows and graffiti-ridden exteriors of the deserted homes. Painted brick garages are left to flake, yards are overgrown, and the poor are ignored.

Neglected communities. Neglected homes. Neglected people.

Quinn rubs my leg, looking out the window at the scene. “I won’t let anything happen to you, and we can leave anytime.”

“I’m okay.”

I kiss his hand, happy that we’re hanging out. His brother finishes a beer and opens a second as Trent slows the car, driving slightly off the road past two houses before coming to a stop in front of a white, two-story home. The second floor windows are broken, the first floor windows are covered in sheets, and the front step to the door is a chipped concrete block.

“Dad’s moving up in the world,” Dylan says, getting out and opening the back door to get the beer. “When’s he gonna be home?”

“Same as when we were teens. If he makes it home on a Friday night, it’ll be early morning, unless he picks up a woman. Then maybe midnight.”

“You have a key?”

“Not anymore.”

“You got a way in?”

“Around back,” Quinn says, checking who’s around. “There’s a gate on the left side between the house and the garage. I can get in through the basement window. I’ll open the back door for you guys.”

“We’re breaking in?” I ask.

“Hell no. This is
my
house,” Dylan says. “Bet my dad shits a brick when he sees me.”

“That’s actually... wrong expression,” I say, following them through a white picket gate, opening my whiskey as we walk into an unkempt backyard.

I look up at the small house, a plain Jane. It reminds me of the Lego houses I built as a kid with my mom. One square brick put on top of another. We’d create entire cities together, two bricks snapped together and repeated until we had a procession of square homes. To a child, those squares become magical lands, but when adult imaginations wane and we’re faced with reality, the enchanted play from childhood is replaced with unsettling truths. People struggle to survive, like the people who live here, in this little square house, the home with no detailing or ornamentation, just four sides and a flat roof in the middle of a depressed area.

Quinn lowers himself into a window well, crouching down and reaching through a missing pane to unlock the window and crawl through. He disappears... a minute later opening the back door.

I take a quick drink, watching Dylan and Trent walk inside, hesitant to tag along. I start picking at the label, looking down before taking another swig. Quinn’s feet appear in front of mine, toe-to-toe. He waits for me to speak, I wait for me to speak... another sip... a bite of my bottom lip... then another sip.

“I’m not sure what I’m doing,” I say, being honest. “I don’t want you to... I don’t think...” I drink more and lick my lips. “I’m normally not this confused, but I’m starting to feel misplaced.”

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I’ll see if Trent can drive you home.”

“No. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Hey, look at me.” His fingers touch my cheek, sliding toward my ear before slipping through my hair. “It’s okay to leave. I’ll hang out with my brother tonight and tomorrow we’ll spend the day together, just you and me. I have a little money if you want to get lunch somewhere. A real date.” He shares a delicate smile.

I take another drink, bigger this time, and pass him the bottle. “That’s not it. I’m talking about the future. My mom’s planned life for me and her idealistic ways had nothing to do with all of this.” I look over and see Dylan drinking a beer, listening to our conversation with the door cracked open, not trying to hide his meddling. Quinn repositions himself between us, offering some privacy, at least visually.

“She led me in a direction with
her
goals, not my own, and they were all safe bets. It was a phony life. I wasn’t allowed to experience anything real, like what’s around me now, what I’m curious about now.”

“Sounds like she wanted to keep you safe.”

“But...” I look at Dylan, thinking that his crude behavior and sleaziness will loom over us the entire night. People with his personality can make me edgy and defensive. But liquor helps. It should relax me enough to deal with his shit.

I sigh, taking the bottle back for another sip.

“But what?” Quinn asks.

“But I’m no longer following her path.”

“Maybe that’s good.”

“Maybe.” I walk toward the door, bypassing a broken stair on my way inside. “We’ll see.”

The kitchen I enter is small, hot, and smells like mothballs. Trent opens the front living room windows, trying to cool the place down. Besides the newspapers piled on the floor and the cigarette burns in the carpet, the house is clean. A stairwell to the second floor is opposite the front door and another leading to the basement is to the right.

“Dad sleeps upstairs. It’s one big room and a bath. Your stuff from Schenectady is in the basement, along with our old furniture.” He turns on the basement light and we follow him down the wooden stairs. “It’s cooler down here.”

“Much cooler.” Dylan smacks Quinn’s back then takes a seat in a stuffed green chair. Trent sits in the matching chair next to him, leaving Quinn and me to a vintage gold-flowered couch. “It’s a step up from a tiny cell. I thought I was going mad this past year. No fucking visitors after you two disappeared.” He rubs his dick through his jeans, staring fixedly at my body. “So, Madlyn.”