“Yeah.” Her gaze was downcast, her fingers absentmindedly tracing up her inner arm. “I’m serious.”
“Jesus Christ,” I blurted. “That’s insane.”
When she looked up and right at me, I saw it. I saw the pain. I saw the agony. I saw the rawness of suffering and torment, a haunting of every bad emotion ever experienced by humankind. It resembled my own. It was like looking into a fucking mirror right that very second, and it was terrifying. Disarming. Leaving me unable to take a goddamn breath.
“Jesus. Who the fuck would do something like that?”
Neon sighed then got up from her seat, Alyx following suit. That was when I saw her leg in a cast. Neon settled on her crutches, leaning forward. She didn’t look at me. She didn’t look at anyone. She just stared down to her feet. “The devil.”
Two words. It was only two words, but I could feel the weight of it bearing down on all of us like a fucking curse. I didn’t have to be a part of their crew to know Neon had been broken. Shattered into million pieces. I recognized it, because that was exactly what happened to me.
“Neon.” I turned in my seat to face her, and she stilled. “The devil is only as powerful as you allow him to be.”
There wasn’t a hint of a smile on her face, but I was certain I saw a glimmer of light in her eyes. A sliver of hope.
Ink emptied his beer, slammed it on the table, and stood. But Neon stopped him by holding out her hand. “Don’t, okay? I just need to take one goddamn breath without you hovering over me all the time.”
Ink froze, and I immediately saw the regret in her eyes. The hurt.
“Just,” she moved back, “give me some space.”
Ink nodded, and it was hard not to feel sorry for the man. For a mean-ass motherfucker, he might as well have been completely naked right then—transparent in his feelings for this woman. Even with the heart of thorns I carried, I could see how much he cared for her. It was sad. For me, anyway, because I knew if Neon was half as broken as I thought she was, she’d never be able to give him what he so desperately wanted. Her heart.
Alyx followed Neon, and I turned back in my seat. “What happened to her?” I whispered to Onyx.
He let go of my hand and grabbed his beer. “We fucked up, that’s what happened to her.”
“What do you—”
“Where’s all the whores at?” Manic chimed in with a slur. “There was a time this place was filled from wall to wall with pussy and floor to ceiling with tits. Fun times.”
“Jesus, Manic.” Onyx glared at him. “I swear to God, your ability to be an asshole just gets better and better.”
“Yo, Ink,” Granite called. “You okay over there?”
He wiped his nose with the back of his hand before downing his beer. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “No. Fuck, I don’t know.”
“Give her time, man.”
He simply nodded, eyes fixed on the empty bottle of beer in front of him, yet it was clear he was merely staring into nothingness. Granite gazed at him with pity, a certain empathy shining from his irises as he regarded his SAA. And I could practically feel the tension roll off Onyx and onto me. I had only been in their presence for twenty minutes, and already I felt the bond between all of them, a comradery that went so much deeper than a simple patch. They weren’t just crew members, they were brothers. Just by sitting here, around this table and in their presence, I was starting to realize the American Street Kings wasn’t at all how I imagined. The way Granite hovered over Alyx, the way he stared at her—it would have taken a special kind of idiot not to see how fucking dedicated he was to her. And Ink? I’d known the man for mere minutes, and I already knew Neon was engraved on his goddamn soul.
This wasn’t something I was used to, this feeling of true loyalty—not because of fear, but because of respect.
Where I was from, respect wasn’t earned. It was taken. Demanded.
Dutch got up, grabbed his beer, and slapped Manic on the head. “You should get your drunk ass to bed.”
“Fuck off. You’re not my mother.”
“Dude, you don’t even know what your mother looks like. For all you know, I might be.” Dutch shot him a cocky grin, and Manic just narrowed his eyes.
“Fucker.”
“Cocksucker.”
A chuckle vibrated in the back of my throat, and Onyx laughed. The way he smiled, how it reached his eyes, it was mesmerizing. I couldn’t look away, and I wondered how he did it. How he—actually, how all of them could look so happy when their world was cast in shadows and painted with blood. The only person who seemed detached from it all was Ink.
Dutch headed up the stairs, with Manic stumbling not far behind him. Granite got up from his seat and placed his hand on Ink’s shoulder. “Get some rest, man.”