About Us (all of us #2)

T H I R T Y T W O

G I O

Three Weeks Later

"Ready?" Trenton asks between pops of his gum.

I nod, pulling my hood over my head. He takes the lead, the three of us lurking beneath the trees down Milton Street.

We'd thought long and hard about this night. Diesel and I really had to keep an eye on Trent, promising him we'd strike back in a way that didn't result in any of us being thrown in jail. We discussed the worst thing, we discussed the most inconspicuous. Trenton's ideas always involved breaking something—whether that be a car window, a bone, the law, or straight up killing the guy—but mine never sounded like they'd hit hard enough to hurt.

Yet none of those were as satisfying as the scheme Diesel came up with. That vandal.

Trent seems to walk faster the closer we come to the Range Rover. In his hand, a sharp pocket knife releases from its handle with a pop, and his lips purse tight right before he punches the blade into the back tire.

Diesel runs around to the other side. I can't see him from where I'm standing, but I can hear the spray can shaking in his hand.

What's my job tonight? To get into Lyssa's car without setting off the alarm.

My dad taught me how to do this so many times when I helped at the shop. I was his on-call assistant during high school. I'd help someone change their tire, change their oil, or get into their locked car.

I hold my breath, glancing up at the dark windows of the home from across the yard. The drivers door unlocks easily with a click and I crawl in, only shutting the door to a crack just in case someone were to look out.

Reaching back for my pocket, I pull out a thick stack of folded papers. And although I don't want to, I flip through the pages, letting the words fuel my anger one last time and remind me again why I'm here.

For my family. For my sister. For Joselyn.

Two years worth of text conversations, picture exchanges, locations, and call logs between him and my girlfriend.

Reading through it, the lies and things he said to her, it was textbook predator shit. Joselyn only ate it up because she needed that kind of attention, apparently whatever way it'd be served to her.

He took advantage of her, just like he did Luz, and now we we're taking advantage of this night.

I'll admit, I feel bad for doing this while Mrs. Benson's pregnant, but it's not like she doesn't need to know. She does. And once she does know, it's up to her to choose what she wants to do about it. If she wants to do anything about it.

It can't be all that surprising. I mean, living with the same man for over twenty years, she had to have some type of inkling that he's a creep.

And him? He doesn't get to just go on with life like he never did anything wrong. Like he didn't send my sister into a crippling depression. Like he didn't wreck her life before it even got started. Like he didn't try to use Joselyn the same way. Like he didn't fuck over his entire family for two years while smiling at them every damn day, pretending he was a faithful husband and dedicated father.

He doesn't get to do that.

Not if we have anything to do with it.

I set the stack of proof facedown in the passenger's seat, and when I get out of the car, careful to close the door only hard enough that it's good and shut, I see Trenton going ballistic on the car's front tire.

Diesel's bent over in the most silent laughter he can manage as I grip Trenton by the fabric of his hoodie and haul him off before he goes for another one.

The ninety-thousand dollar vehicle has the word CHEATER splayed in big red letters across the white paint and it's now leaning to the side, thanks to Trenton slashing three tires.

I really wish I could stay to see how it all unfolds in the morning. To see the asshole get what he deserves—or just a small portion of it because honestly, I feel like what we did was was still going easy on him.

We all swiftly back away, making rapid glances at the house as we leave, but the coast seems clear.

We don't start running until we can see Trenton's car, and the wild laughter ensues the moment we're all in. I won't lie and say it wasn't fun, because it was, and it gave me a rush that I hadn't had in years.

Trenton howls from the driver's seat, taking off with a lead foot. Fast and in a hurry.

"Fuck that guy, man," I say, feeling loads better now that it's done.

Joselyn's right. We should forgive those who've wronged us, but it's so much easier to do when you give them hell first.