Strays

Something To Hold Onto

Chapter Five

It smells like sleep and old coffee in here. Curtains half-drawn, filtered light casting bars across the hardwood floor. The air's still, like it's holding its breath.

Today's the day. Aunt Gemma's taking Juice up to her father's house—dragging him out of town whether he likes it or not. I had to see him first. Had to lay eyes on him, remind myself he's still flesh and blood, not just a ghost in my head.

I kill the engine out front and swing off my bike. The second I step through the door, I see him slouched in the kitchen nook like he's trying to blend into the shadows.

"Why haven't you called me?!" I snap, striding over and punching him in the arm hard enough to make him wince.

He exhales like the hit knocked more guilt loose than pain. "I'm sorry. I know I fucked up."

"Beyond fucked up." I wrap my arms around him before he can even recover. "But I'm glad you're okay."

He doesn't look okay. His skin is grey around the edges, like he's been living off stress and tap water. But he's breathing. I'll take it.

Aunt Gemma's heels click across the floor behind us. "You set?" she asks, already halfway checked out.

"Yeah." His voice is thin.

Then her phone starts shrieking. "Shit," she mutters, glancing at the screen. "It's Happy. Third time."

While she steps out to take the call, I check my burner. Ten missed calls. All Chibs.

Fuck. Something's wrong.

I step outside and call him back. The sun's bright against the dull paint of the porch. The wood creaks under my boots.

"Jaycee, where the hell are ye?" Chibs barks the second he picks up.

"I'm... enjoying some alone time," I say, only half lying. "What's wrong?"

His voice dips low. "Something's happened. Lin's crew hit Diosa. Massacre. There're bodies everywhere."

My stomach plummets. "Fuck."

"I'm just glad ye weren't there," he adds. "If we'd walked in and seen..."

"You didn't," I cut in. "I'm fine."

He's quiet for a beat. "Stay low. I don't wanna know where ye are, just promise me."

"I promise. Tell Jax I'll call him later."

"Stay safe, mo chridhe."

"You too, Filip." I hang up.

Back inside, the air smells like menthol and weed. Juice looks up from the couch, eyes red-rimmed and weary.

"What happened?" he asks.

Gemma shrugs, tossing her keys in the dish. "Drama at Diosa. Whores will be whores."

I shoot her a glare. "It was a slaughter, Gemma. Chibs filled me in."

Her jaw clenches, but she doesn't argue. "He know where you're at?"

"I told him I'm lying low."

"Good. You stay here." She turns to Juice. "You sit tight. We leave at first light."

He nods, looking like he wants to throw up.

She digs into her purse and pulls out a pill bottle full of joints. "Smoke and sleep, baby."

The door shuts behind her a moment later. Silence settles like dust.

I pluck a joint from the bottle and light it. The smoke is warm, grassy, and sharp in my lungs.