Page 78 of Bad Boy Next Door
“Tell me more about your brothers. Who do they work for?” This apartment complex was full of organized-crime types. “Do you work for the Nick who did my dad’s deal?”
He shook his head. “The Downey brothers don’t work for anyone but themselves. Never have. And we—they, my brothers—” He took a deep breath. “Theynever get into anything too big, or anything that might end up on the cops’ radar. It’s all small stuff. Just enough to live on. Look at us. We’re not rich.”
“Ever done any time?”
“Juvie.”
“What for?”
“Lifting car parts from the Toyota dealership in Oakland. Got caught trying to sell the stuff to a mechanic in Fremont.”
“Were your brothers arrested, too?”
He leaned onto the table. “Mac and Dillon almost did, but they were over eighteen, so I told them to run. I tossed tire rims at the cops to give my brothers time to get away, then pretty much let the cops catch me. The judge said he’d let me off if I snitched, but I didn’t.”
“Very admirable,” I said flatly, and he looked away. I could see the pain in his posture, his eyes, the set of his jaw.
“My brothers,” he said. “We stick together. That’s what families do. I thought you’d understand that.”
I did understand. And that’s what scared me about Nick. “You’re the youngest, right? You got drawn into this by your brothers.”
He turned toward me. “I guess. But it’s not like you’re making it sound. No one forced me.”
“Hard to imagine anyone forcing you into anything.”
“I wasn’t born this big, you know.”
“Thank god—for your mother’s sake, anyway.”
His eyes teared up.
I leaned toward him. “Shit. What did I say?”
He blinked back the tears. “Mom died giving birth to me.”
“Oh, Nick.” I reached for his hand and our fingers entwined.
“It was preeclampsia. Nothing to do with me. But that didn’t stop my brothers from jabbing me about it.”
“Jabbing you?”
He shook his head. “Just kid stuff. Called me a mom killer. Beat me up. Like you said. I was the youngest. I got picked on a lot.” Letting go of my hand, he stood and then dropped down onto the sofa, sideways, leaving one foot on the ground and stretching the other leg out.
He took the last sip of his beer, and I got us both another from the fridge. When I handed his to him, he lifted his other hand to my waist.
I sat between his open legs and leaned against his chest.
“What kinds of things did your brothers do when you were little?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Come on. You must remember some things.”
He drained about half his beer. “I dunno. I was the smallest. They made me do their chores. They could pretty much make me do whatever they wanted. Not that I really minded. I looked up to them, especially Keagan.”
“Sounds like you still look up to Keagan.”
“Guess I do. He’s my big brother.” He set his beer on the floor.
