So Loser Guy did have a partner. He must have been hiding. Another door ding, indicating someone else coming in, spelled trouble. I was too low to see who it was, but the reflection in the corner mirror showed only one person.
Wait, he looked familiar…
Loser Guy reached for me, and I clocked him with my elbow. He was out of the equation now that I sent him stumbling into unconsciousness. A slicing pain tore down my left arm, starting at the shoulder. So I struck with my right fist, connecting with the second guy’s groin.
He bellowed, and I caught him again in the chin as he fell forward. The guy had purple hair with spikes.
Now I could appreciate spikes for hair because I had them, but purple? These kids had no taste.
“So, what gang are you vying for? Oh wait, maybe you’re a frat boy. You look kinda soft.”
Second Guy coughed, and I got a whiff of alcohol laced with sugar. Yeah, he was a posh.
“Not. On. My. Watch,” I said between punches to his gut. The jerk fell forward. I rammed my elbow to the back of his skull, and he fell to the shiny floor, limp.
“Shit,” someone yelled.
Wait a minute, I recognized that voice, too. I shot to my feet and made for the front of the store like a bat out of hell.
Just in time to see my little brother blasting through the doors.
“Damon!” My brother just fucking robbed me.
Damon bolted around the side of the store. He knew better than anyone there was a trash container back there he could jump onto to clear the brick wall. I’d been working here a couple of years and he used to hang out with me.
Before the jerk got mixed up with The Southies. So hell yeah, he knew how to get away from me.
I turned on the speed and rounded the corner. If I got my hands on that little shit… He was younger, faster, but I outweighed him by a good eighty pounds and had at least three inches on him.
I’d teach him good.
Like Bill had taught me. My boss at the bar, and good friend, pounded the ever-loving hell out of me when I got messed up in this gang life. Made me see the light, eventually. But my stupid brother was dumber than a box of rocks.
“Damon, stop!” I yelled.
“Like hell!” He hopped onto the dumpster then hurdled the wall.
Gone.
I skidded to a stop, out of breath, and hunched over. So much for the not-getting-robbed streak.
But by my own brother?
He must be in deep to have hit his own brother’s store, and considering I hadn’t seen him in weeks explained a lot. Not that we hung out all the time, but still. We usually texted or he stopped by the bar or here to check in.
I had only myself to blame, though. With a cracked-out whore for a mother, an absent father in prison for life without chance of parole, I didn’t do great when it came to role-modeling for him. I was groomed all through high school to join The Southies, so how could I expect anything less with him?
“Shit!” I cracked my fist against the dumpster, then turned around to head back to the store. It was then I noticed my shirt. I’d sworn I’d put on a white one this morning… at that moment the pain registered.
Damn loser stabbed me!
I craned my neck a little more to see, and sure as shit my shirt was sliced open with a matching opening in my skin.
One more scar to match the many others on my body.
I slid out my phone from my back pocket and dialed Bill. Hopefully he was around so he could take me to the ER. He picked up on the first ring, and my stomach clenched.
“What’s up, Drey?”