23
The Bear
I hear the distant sound of Austin’s motorbike, two blocks over, at a guess, just as the sun goes down. Weird shit went down today, so we decided to move our stuff to one of my parents’ houses in the suburb of Cliffton, which has been sitting empty for the past month after the tenant moved out and Dad’s property management team.
Earlier today, I bought a brand-new SUV, a black BMW, the latest model, and Austin came down to meet Xave and me for a second opinion. Not that his opinion is worth anything because our tastes are vastly different, but I wanted him to be in on it. While we were there, a black Mercedes arrived, looking as shifty as fuck. It’s not a vehicle we’ve seen before, but it made us realize they put a GPS tracker on his car. We took it off, but they were still familiar with his vehicle and registration number. At least it was easier to see a car trailing us.
When I asked our father for the key, using the excuse that our apartment was being fumigated, he didn’t bat an eye. If it was Austin asking, it might be a different story, but I, the oldest son and college football star, get whatever I ask for, and the only request is that we keep it tidy.
Cliffton is a fully furnished, five-bedroom, three-bathroom, two-story, white house on manicured lawns, surrounded by homes that look the same. This is where rich people who want to keep up appearances live yet aren’t quite wealthy enough to buy a mansion behind high-security fences, like our parents” mansion. Speaking from experience, mansions are overrated.
Austin rides up the drive with Emaline on the back, and my cock lurches at the sight of her wind-blown hair and the way she hugs Austin like a man stuck up a tree would hug the trunk. The trunk and Austin are the only things stopping them from dying.
Amused, I watch Austin brake his motocross bike, and almost immediately, Emaline awkwardly slides off, landing on the driveway. A snigger floats down the hallway, and I step to the study doorway to find Xave on the couch, watching Emaline in the living room, cracking up at her comedic performance. She’s a bundle of social awkwardness that’s damn entertaining without her even trying to be funny.
Like a good man, Austin helps Emaline to her feet. She brushes dirt from her clothes and then takes her helmet off.
“Did he bring dinner?” Xave asks me once he notices me standing there.
“Always thinking about your stomach,” I tease, even though the thought had crossed my mind, too.
“Don’t want burgers with glass in them, though,” he adds. Austin briefed us on what happened earlier at Dante’s burger joint, so we know the Viches mean business, and our heads are marked.
Emaline hunts around for her glasses in her coat pocket and nervously fits them on her sweet face. She’s so fucking cute, and I could watch her all day.
I open the door for them to enter and gaze past Austin’s shoulder at the road to see if he’s being followed. The road is clear, but we can’t be too sure that they’re not around the bend waiting with loaded guns.
Reading my mind, he states, “I’m certain we lost them.”
Emaline is hunched over, hugging her stomach, and on closer inspection, looks ill. “Are you okay, Em?” I ask her.
“She’s got travel sickness,” Austin answers for her as Em shakes her head, going pale by the second.
“I need the bathroom, like, now,” she states, close to tears, and I loom to Xave to comfort her since he’s better than us at that sort of thing.
“I’ll take you,” Xave steps up as I hoped.
Once they’ve disappeared into the downstairs bathroom, I address my brother. “So, what the fuck?” I lower my voice and signal to head inside the living room. “They fucking shot at you…or do you think they were aiming for Emaline?”
Austin puffs his cheeks out as he ponders on my question. “I’m thinking they were aiming for me. After meeting you at the car yard and spotting the heavies parked nearby, it had crossed my mind that they would follow me back to Dante’s. I’d fucking be cut up if they hit her.” A distraught expression washes across his face. “I shouldn’t have gone straight back to Dante’s because it’s too risky that they might follow.”
I pat him on the shoulder to comfort him because I can tell he’s bothered by it. “It’s not your fault.”
He shrugs and glances out the front window to his bike parked on the driveway. “Best to hide that in the garage. I’d need to fill it with gas as I didn’t have time to stop at the service station.”
“How’s she taking it?” I ask, pointing my thumb behind me in the direction Em and Xave went in.
He screws his face up. “Not well. She doesn’t have a stomach for adventure, that one. Then she accused me of trying to kill her when I was trying to save her. The fuckwits in the black Mercedes showed up when I was riding through town toward the hospital, and I had to fucking pull my best tricks to drop them. Unfortunately, Emaline freaked her shit.”
I snort. “Women are hard to please, bro. But you did your best and achieved your objective, so I’m proud of you.”
“Her friend got hit,” he mumbles solemnly.
“Really? Is she alright?” I ask, worried for her. Maybe we should’ve brought her here too.
“The bullet hit that fat dinosaur costume,” he adds evenly, stepping to the front door to put his bike away in the undercover of the garage.
I chuckle at his flat tone as if he’s talking about an everyday event. A drive-by shooting where the bullets hit a girl in a dinosaur costume and the thick plush saves her life is a macabre fate of fortune.
Xave appears behind me as I watch a car drive by slowly, then turn up the driveway of a house across the road. “We’re going to have to take turns keeping watch all night,” I tell Xave as he combed his fingers through his hair. Is Velma alright?”
“Yeah, she’s just puking her guts up and crying and shit. She keeps muttering about her friend Rosie and her sister and something to do with an overdue invoice that Austin paid,” he speaks slowly, sounding half-baked, and I wonder if he took too many painkillers or too many puffs of the green.
“You sound spaced out, Bro,” I point out.
“Yeah, well, I wrenched my fucking side and it hurt like fuck. I thought the stitches came loose, but it’s okay. I just hurt it badly. Who takes the first shift?” he murmurs, barely opening his mouth.
“You,” I order him. “I need someone wide awake for when it gets darker, and I don’t think you can survive the night.”
“True,” he agrees as Austin returns and finds us in the living room.
“I’m gonna have to say the inevitable,” he proclaims, rubbing his neck, looking grim and uncomfortable.
“Hiring a hitman?” I suggest. “Do you know one?”
“Why would I know one?” he barks, pretending to be offended.
“Because you spent time in the klink where they breed potential hitmen,” Xavier mumbles and slurs, and Austin shoots me a look that says, ‘What the fuck is he on?’
“Weapons,” Austin clarifies. “I meant weapons. I know a guy-”
“No fuck? I’m stunned,” Xave interrupts, sounding slightly more animated than five seconds ago.
Ignoring Xave, “How much money will you need?”
He opens his mouth to answer, but something catches his eyes over my shoulder and stalls.
Emaline. “Buy weapons? You’re going to weapons. What sort of weapons?” she’s freaking out again. This is not her scene, mind you, it’s not my scene either, and I don’t want shit to go down that will affect my position on the team. My life is football and training for football, but lately, my mind has been dragged elsewhere, and part of me is a little resentful about that.
“We’re like sitting ducks,” Austin argues with her. “How do you suggest we should respond if they turn up in the middle of the night with shooting at this house with you inside.” He swallows, and I can tell the thought of her getting hurt scares him, hence why he did what he could to protect her from the Viches.
She stands there with a furrowed brow, wringing her hands together.
“Did you think sitting around reading poetry books would help ease their temper and stop them from squeezing the trigger,” Austin hisses rudely at her, and I slap him with the back of my hand to cool his jets.
“Poetry can open the mind and heart” is her comeback, and I can’t help but chuckle. Color rises into her cheeks from being humiliated. I laughed, and Austin spoke down to her. She doesn’t identify sarcasm when hanging from a stick before her nose. Fascinating. “But you’re probably right,” she adds. I’m just going to get a glass of water,” and she touches her throat, which is probably dry and raspy after vomiting.
“This place is insured, right?” Xave asks, following behind Emaline to guide her to the kitchen at the back of the house that opens up onto a deck and lawn.
I exchange glances at Austin, who shrugs. “I assume so,” I answer Xave, knowing he imagines bullet holes and smashed windows, maybe a fire. “So, when are you going to get some weapons?”
“I’ll organize it now if you want,” he states, holding up his phone. “We just have to decide what we want, and I’ll call the guy.”
“Alright. Do it,” I order, gazing out the window at the empty, quiet street with evergreen trees. I can feel Austin’s stare drilling holes into my skull as if waiting for me to say something. “What?”
“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” he exclaims. “What exactly do you want? Handguns, rifles…what?”
“One of each. A handgun and a long-range rifle, each with cartridges,” I answer, then ponder for a few seconds. “Maybe a machete as well.”
“What do you need a machete for? Fuck, I’ll just get the guns and cartridges, and we’ll leave it at that,” he grumbles, swiping through the contacts on his phone, then pressing send.
He walks out of the room to make the call in private while I reflect on the past few days. Pursuing the van, discovering the missing person Brielle Applegate, relieved it wasn’t Emaline, the shit that went down in the hospital with Xave, and the shit that went down today.
Yep, I’m looking forward to good sleep tonight, except I won’t get one if I’m on watch most of the night.
I find Xave and Emaline whispering in the kitchen at the back of the house. Xave has his sweatshirt pulled up and is examining the dressing over his stab wound, which has spots of brown blood on it.
“Have you ruptured a stitch?” I ask him as he peels the tape from his skin to inspect the wound underneath.
“Yeah, it kinda feels like it. The nurse gave me a pile of clean pads to change every day, and I’m booked in to see her tomorrow for a checkup so that she can take a closer look at it,” he says slowly, still whacked out on whatever substance he took to ease the pain, although sharper than he was a few minutes ago.
The wound looks clean, and the stitches are still intact, but a small quantity of blood has seeped out. It doesn’t look as bad as it seems, going by the patch of blood on the dressing, but the color drains from Emaline’s cheeks, prompting her to distance herself from it. Jeez, fuck, she’ll be useless if one of us got hurt badly.
“Hey, Em,” I start, “I need to borrow Xave for a sec to have a private word with him.”
“Oh, sure,” she says politely and heads quickly for the door, pleased to leave.
“We’ll have to head out and pick up some clothes for her if she’s going to be hanging out here with us,” Xave explains, covering his wound with the unclean dressing.
“Sure, we”ll do that later,” I tell him, then check the door to make sure Emaline is out of hearing distance.
“So, what’s up?” Xave asks, opening a cupboard to search for food, disappointed that there is none. What does he expect? The previous tenants moved out a month ago and likely took all their food. “We need to go food shopping.”
“Yeah, we’ll do that on the way to Emaline’s house-”
“Bro, do you reckon her grandparents will be okay?” he asks, which has crossed my mind too. All they have is Gainor to watch over the house, so maybe I should pay to increase security, install cameras, fix better locks, etc.
“I’ll sort it,” I tell him. “Anyway, Austin is sorting the weapons.”
“Illegal?” he questions, as if he doesn’t already know.
“I don’t want to ask,” I state, as my stomach twists in hunger. I’ll need a feed soon, or it’ll put me in a foul mood for the rest of the night.
“Is the plan to barricade ourselves in here?” he enquires, opening another cupboard, then the pantry doors, and swearing under his breath.
“Nah, we still live our lives as normal, go to class, pick up food, go to practice, but we’ll have to be more vigilant and carry a piece in the glovebox,” I explain. “You know how to shoot a gun, Xave. We’ve shot cans off the fence and pigeons and shit.”
“Yeah,” he nods, looking worried. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen or anyone else to get hurt.”
“That’s why we’re packing, bro, to protect ourselves,” I explain, realizing that his confidence was knocked out of him when he was stabbed.
“All sorted,” Austin announces as she enters the kitchen. “But he won’t be able to supply until tomorrow afternoon, so we’ll have to be on our guard tonight.”
“Yep,” Xave answers morosely. Maybe a good feed will cheer him up.