Chapter 20
CLANK.
Sweat drips into Rajan’s eyes as he hammers a particularly stubborn nail into place.
Today, the roofing crew is working on a house, and while the other guys are having a smoke break in the backyard below, he remains on the roof, only half listening to them complain about their allegedly bitchy wives and annoying kids. The other half is thinking about her.
Clank.
The image of Simran at the table, surrounded by Lions.
Clank.
It’s amazing, really, how he somehow sucked her into this mess without trying. It just happened because he was there. He raises his hammer higher.
Clank. Clank. Cl—
Pain lances through his left shoulder. He drops the hammer, cursing, and it topples down the side of the roof before coming to a stop in the gutter.
He lets his arm dangle until the pain ebbs to a dull throb.
Fantastic. The foreman yells from below to watch it with the hammer, while Trevor adds a cheery You got this, brother!
Rajan curses them both inwardly as he retrieves the hammer. This job seriously sucks. His coworkers are on the LS payroll, the foreman’s a dick, and his shoulder’s about had it with roofing. Too bad he doesn’t have the qualifications or temperament for anything else.
Your shoulder wouldn’t bother you if you had a line of coke, some voice in the back of his head singsongs. Nothing would bother you.
Rajan shakes his head vigorously. Not this again. The cravings have been getting steadily worse. What did the shrink in juvie always say? Make a plan to deal with your problems, not run away from them?
He settles back on his perch and calls Nick. It goes to voicemail. Rajan calls again, then again. On the fourth attempt Nick picks up. “I’m blocking you—”
“I have a proposal.” That shuts Nick up.
If there’s one thing that prick loves, it’s a good deal.
Rajan just has to make it sound like one.
“You have my Hillway mentor tied up in illegal shit. I can’t have that on my conscience, okay?
So listen. You’re only taking her help because you can’t find a real accountant.
If I find you one, you won’t need her anymore. Right?”
“Is that what you took away from that conversation?”
Rajan takes that as a yes. “That dude Oliver was an insurance broker. There’s got to be other people like him who buy from the Lions. People who have the skills to run the books.”
“Of course there are.” Nick sounds irritated. “But finding the right person takes time, and I’m starting from scratch. Rory wasn’t exactly looking for an accountant before I got here.”
“Then let me help.”
He can practically hear Nick’s raised eyebrows. “Now you wanna come back to the Lions? Simran’s only with us because you were too chicken to do that in the first place—”
“This isn’t me coming back,” Rajan snaps. “This is me getting you a bookkeeper to clear my debt. That’s the exchange she made, right? You’re losing nothing. You’re actually gaining someone better qualified.”
A pause, where Rajan can practically feel Nick pondering that. Then:
“We’ll see.” Nick hangs up. Rajan, unfazed, lowers the phone and picks up his hammer again. The fact that Nick’s even considering it means the Lions’ financial situation is serious. They really are desperate. And that, he can work with.
Hours later, Rajan heads home with the intention of icing his shoulder and taking as much Tylenol as possible without overdosing.
Hopefully it’ll stop hurting by the time he wakes.
That damn fallen tree’s still in the yard, after all, and nobody else is gonna move it.
But when he rounds the corner from the bus stop, he stops short.
In front of the house is a police cruiser.
No. This can’t be happening. He can’t be caught already. Technically, yes, he’s been breaching probation, but barely. How is Snake Tattoo getting away with it and he isn’t?
He debates turning around, but he knows from experience they’ll wait until he shows. And they’ll spook Yash—Yash always hated when they came, before. Rajan takes a deep breath. He’ll just suck it up, then. And stay calm. They can’t pin him for shit yet.
As he enters the house, a stranger’s low murmur floats from the living room.
Slowly, he removes his shoes and rounds the corner.
His dad’s there, arms folded. And two white cops stand in the middle of the room, boots sinking into the carpet.
One glances at Rajan, and Rajan’s breath catches.
He recognizes him. This guy arrested him in high school. ..more than once.
There’s a flash of recognition in the officer’s expression, too. His eyes flick down a little, and Rajan realizes his hood has gone lopsided, exposing his tattoo.
From the smirk curling the officer’s lip, Rajan knows he’s recognized it. And when he meets his eyes again, it’s like he’s analyzing prey.
Rajan’s skin crawls. Back in the day, cops always treated him like an animal.
The majority of Vancouver’s Most Wanted list were brown, and therefore Rajan was automatically suspicious.
It didn’t matter that by sheer numbers, white people in the gangs far outstripped them. People only saw what was different.
The cop turns back to the couch where—Rajan realizes with a start—Sukha is sitting sullenly. “Following in your brother’s footsteps, are we? Thought you looked familiar.”
It takes Rajan a second to understand: The officer’s there for Sukha, not him.
He strides forward. “Wait—what happened?”
“Your brother was vandalizing public property,” the cop says. “He and his friends thought it’d be funny.”
What. The. Hell? Rajan glances at Sukha, who’s avoiding his eyes.
The cop goes on. “We’re choosing not to pursue an investigation or charges, considering it’s your first offense.” His tone makes it clear he thinks it won’t be the last.
“Thank you, Officers. I’ll talk to him,” their father says. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this.”
The cops file out. One has the audacity to pause next to Rajan and say, “See you later.”
Rajan doesn’t trust himself to speak. There’s silence as the door shuts behind them. Silence as their boots crunch over gravel to their cruiser, car doors close behind them, and they pull out.
It’s only once the engine noise fades that Rajan wheels on Sukha. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Those cops should be thanking me.” Sukha lounges on the couch with an insolent smile. “That statue has a lot more personality now.”
“They could’ve charged you. You’re lucky Officer Dipshit let you off.”
“Never seemed to occur to you,” Sukha fires back. “Then or now. Aren’t you still running with the Lions?”
His words hang in the air. No one’s ever spoken the name in their house before. Also, they’re called the Lion’s Share. The only people who shorten the name are people who are in the Lions.
Rajan steps closer. “What do you know about the Lions?”
“Just that you’re clearly still with them.”
“Yeah? How would you know?” Rajan stares him down. “Don’t tell me you’ve been running with them, too.”
His voice is deadly quiet, and for a second, Sukha pales. Then he raises his chin. “None of your business—”
Rajan explodes. “Don’t fucking tell me you’ve been running with them too!”
Sukha’s eyes widen. Rajan knows he’s lost it, but he can’t get himself together right now. First the weed, now this? The thought of his brother getting into the same mess he’s in has him completely scattered—
“Enough,” thunders their father. He wrenches Rajan away by his hoodie, but it’s more out of shock that Rajan stumbles back. His father so rarely talks to him directly.
But now he even looks at him. “Leave. You’re not helping.”
“Oh, because you are?” Rajan shakes him off. “You can’t even stay sober for them for one day.”
He kicks the crate of empty bottles for emphasis.
No one speaks. Sukha’s eyes dart between Rajan and their father.
From the end of the hall, Yash’s door opens a hair as if to listen better.
Rajan knows he took it too far, mentioning the drinking.
But it pisses him off that his dad acts like he’s better than him.
As if Rajan’s the only one with a problem—at least Rajan quit.
His father finally speaks, voice gravelly. “I was completely sober when you were younger, Rajan, and that didn’t do shit, as we all know.”
It takes everything in Rajan not to flinch. But his dad’s not done.
“You want to play the blame game? Fine. If Sukha is involved in a gang, it’s because he learned it from somewhere.
The same place he got his little drug habit and his habit of disobeying everything I ask him to do for his own good.
” He turns away. “Your mother would be heartbroken if she saw you now.”
This time Rajan does flinch. “She—”
“I’m talking to Sukha. You already broke her heart, before she died.
” His father looks back, eyes suspiciously bright.
“Remember how she got clots in her lungs at the end? It happened because she laid in bed all day. She was tired, sure. She was sick, sure. But I bet she could’ve gotten up. If you ever just gave her a reason to.”
His voice has lost its usual apathetic undertone by the end. Now it’s downright vicious.
And effective.
“Dad,” Sukha says quietly. “Dad, that’s not—”
But Rajan doesn’t hear the rest. He can’t look at his father or brother any longer. Instead, he strides out without another word. Out of the room and then out of the house, slamming the door behind him.
The night air is chilly, but he barely notices.
He just has to get away. He walks and walks until he’s met with the chain-link fence of a ballpark several blocks from home.
He grabs onto it, bending over, trying to breathe.
It feels like there’s a band wrapped around his rib cage, squeezing the air out of his lungs.
He sinks to his knees, still clutching the fence.
Gasping for air. Black spots appear in his vision.
What’s wrong with him? What is wrong with him?