Page 61 of Enemy
I smirk, because this is something I practice on a regular basis. With knives, of course, but it still should make a difference, and my dart manages to strike the target. I offer Clyde a smug smile. “What will it be this time, Blue Eyes?” I ask, resisting the urge to trace the scar cutting across his brow.
Clyde rolls his eyes. “Go on. Truth.”
Yes.
I’m almost embarrassed of the way my heart skips, but my voice is even when I speak. “Why did you join the Butchers? What’s the history there?” I ask, leaning against the bar.
I need to know if I’m to ever have a chance of disentangling him from their clutches.
Clyde groans. “Oh, fuuuck… Dare?”
I shake my head. Looks like this story needs a beer, because he orders another drink, and only with his hand full, Clyde leans against the wall next to the dart board.
“Because of my dad I was prepared for it, or at least the idea that it could be my future. I wasn’t as big as Roy, and didn’t know if I’d prospect, so it was all up in the air as my time in high school was ending. I’ll have you know I actually graduated at seventeen.” He wags his finger at me, but it’s a digression, so I nod and don’t let him change the topic. “But then…” Clyde stares down into his beer as if he’s counting all the bubbles in it. “I got beat up real bad around that time. My dad was furious that I wouldn’t tell him who did it, but it was winter, the guy’s face was half-covered, and I didn’t see shit, just some ink on his hands. My dad thought I was covering for the fucker, that I didn’t want him dead, or was afraid or something, and I was sick of being seen as weak.Beingweak. What that fuck did to me…” He takes a swig of beer. “It made me realize I need to be tough. That if I have people like the Butchers at my back, no shithead will dare fuck with me. So I stopped being weak, and joined as a prospect.” Clyde glances up at me with a cocky glint in his blue eyes. “And a month later, I broke your finger.”
I remember. We had a run-in, and he broke my finger with an emergency window breaker. Good, innocent times. Back then, he seemed vicious, like a rabid dog finally allowed to run free. It’s enlightening to find out he joined the Butchers because he wanted safety in numbers.
“Didn’t expect that,” I tell him, opening the top button of my Henley, because the collar feels oppressive.
Clyde drinks more, stiffening his shoulders. “What did you expect? That I wanted to please Daddy? That all I ever dreamed of was to follow in my big brother’s footsteps, like in some fucking Disney movie?”
I shrug, surprised that he’s so defensive. “No. I just figured you wanted a piece of the pie, that’s all.” But it’s not all, and I sigh, meeting his gaze again. “It pissed me off that you had it easy, joining because you were the prez’s son.”
“While you… what? Had to make a human sacrifice for Prophet to let you join? Drink your witch’s blood?” he asks, but stands closer, curiosity in his eyes, not malice.
A chuckle tears from my throat, and I shake my head. “And meditate under an icy waterfall.” His eyes widen, and when I’m pretty certain he believes me, I poke him in the ribs. “I’m messing with you. No. I’m from… far away. After I ran away from home, I just roamed the country, hitchhiking, or catching rides on cargo trains. That ended when this guy who gave me a lift and I had a scuffle”—he beat me unconscious—“and he threw me out of his car, at the side of the road. That’s how Prophet found me. Just a stray. Roadkill,” I tell him and wink, because I’m not sure if he knows the root of my nickname.
Clyde’s hand hovers over mine for a moment, but then he pulls back when a new group of people entering makes the bell over the door chime. “And he just took you in?” He cocks his head, seeming to disbelieve Prophet’s good heart.
I shrug. “He only just started the club, they were all teens, playing grown-ups, but they were serious about it. Made me do all of the nastiest work, but I got food, and clothes, and a bed. It was fairer than anything I ever got before that. I was scared shitless of Brigidthough until I realized she’s not actually a witch. Felt like finding out Santa’s not real all over again.” I chuckle at the memory.
Clyde punches my shoulder. “I’m… glad they found you. Even if you ended up in the shittier club.” His eyes spark with that mischief I like so much.
“You wish you were one of us! You get your fortune read at least once a month,” I tell him, because there’s no point arguing whose club is better. It’s the Vultures, of course, but that conversation would take us nowhere.
Clyde finishes his beer and puts away the bottle. “And what’s your future? You think you can win three rounds in a row?”
My gums itch. He’s so damn beautiful like this, with eyes focused only on me, open mouth, and hair still messy from the handstand. I want him.
“I always do when it matters.”
Clyde steps closer and leans in to speak straight into my ear. “Win three rounds, and you can top me tonight.”
He might as well have poured gasoline over me and set me on fire.
Chapter 25
Road
Myheadissolight, I feel as if I’m no longer occupying my body but standing next to it while Clyde’s fresh, masculine scent makes me drunk on his presence.
I’ve wanted this for a long time, of course I have, and I always carry the necessities on me, just in case, but the offer seems to come from nowhere, and I worry it’s a joke. I clear my throat and ask, “Are you serious?”
He won’t look into my eyes, but smiles. “Yeah.”
“And if I lose? Do… you top?” I ask, because it seems the logical conclusion, but I haven’t given that much thought before. It’s been suggested to me in the past, and I declined. I never fantasized about it either.
Clyde raises his eyebrows. “Do youwantme to?”
