Grace

Twelve

Reece

Two Months Later

"Grace." I hit my knuckles against her door again, and sigh when I hear no movement whatsoever.

She should be happy, in theory. She got what she wanted. Leigh's in rehab.

I took her there myself. She didn't even fight it. I mean she really couldn't, she's so weak.

Grace wouldn't see her at the hospital before she left. I wanted her to, just so finding her in an overdosed state wouldn't be the most recent memory of her mother.

Not like sending her off to rehab was much better.

"Grace, come on." I pound the door, frustrated. "Please talk to me."

Silence.

I clench my jaw and walk away, grabbing my keys and jacket in my fist before heading out the door.

From the front seat of my car, my breath leaves my lungs in a hard sigh. My head pressed to the headrest when my fist hit the wheel as many times as it takes to dull the ache.

But it doesn't kill the stress. Not at all.

I'm anxious, I'm worried, I'm fucking furious.

I hate her illness. Her addiction. Sometimes I hate her, but I never let the thought linger in my head long enough to take up permanent residence.

My thoughts are about as toxic as the substances she puts into her body. Weakening me from the inside out, but I can't stop it. Especially my most poisonous memories.

The door chimed as I stepped in, removing a hand from my pocket as I headed straight toward the snack aisle. I didn't need it. Junk food.

Hell, I couldn't even afford it. I came here for something else. For just that reason, potentially.

"Can I get two of those scratchers."

The man nodded, reaching under the glass counter.

"And a pack of Marlboro reds—short," I added.

The door chimed again when the man turned his back, and I looked that way.

I didn't mean to, but frowned at the man coming toward me right when another two walked in shortly after him. I didn't let the look linger long and cleaned up my appearance before it had a chance to be questioned.

"Cobra?"

My palms started to sweat.

That name triggered my adrenaline, or maybe it was his face. Maybe it was the connection it had to the last night I'd seen them.

"Hey, man."

"Hey man?" Tenth looked back at the others with a big grin before slapping my hand. "Hey, man? The fuck, bro we haven't heard from you in months and that's how you're gonna act?"

"Been rough. You know."

"So have these streets, but we're not complaining, G."

The gleam in his eye told me more than his words did. It was weird. It was like a silent language I wish I wasn't fluent in. Another thing I wish I didn't know, that dealing with these men never came without consequence.

They were like family to me, but I didn't trust them. Not fully.

"Where you been hiding, Cobra?" Risk's deep voice could barely be heard above a mutter. He still looked the same. Short, kind of stocky and a dazed look in his eye.