Takedown Teague (Caged #1)(80)

“I suppose I should be impressed that you hit people for a living.” Brandon sneered. “Like hanging out in some crappy bar pummeling people is something you can consider a long-term goal. You gonna support a wife on that? You gonna tell your kids ‘It’s okay, it’s the good sort of beating people up—and they’re asking for it’?”

“Kiss my ass! You don’t know a f*cking thing about what you are saying, so shut your goddamn mouth.”

He laughed.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” he said. “You don’t know anything about us, but you think you can stand there and judge me. I don’t know why I should be shocked that doing the same to you pisses you off.”

There was something deeply flawed in his logic, I was sure, but I couldn’t come up with exactly what it was. It did make me wonder what it was like to be in his shoes. I was certainly familiar enough with the idea of family expectations weighing on your conscience. The main difference was that when push came to shove—I got the f*ck out. He was going to stay here and put up with it.

“If you don’t like this shit, why do you stay?” I asked.

“A lot of reasons,” Brandon replied. “My family has been here for generations, just like almost everyone else around here. We’ve been brought up to listen to the council leader and do as he says.”

“Who’s that?”

“Leo Harrison,” Brandon said. “He’s Keith’s father. Keith will take over for him when he retires.”

“Oh, that will make thing so much better!” I didn’t try to hide the sarcasm.

“If you think Keith is f*cked up, wait until you meet his father.”

“Will I want to hit him?”

“Maybe.” Brandon laughed. “He’s only got one leg though, so it wouldn’t go over well.”

“What happened to the other one?”

“Fishing accident,” Brandon said with a shrug. He didn’t give me any more details. “He pretty much runs this community with an iron crutch.”

He finished the last of the cigarette, stubbed it out on the bottom of his shoe, and tossed it into a metal bucket at the edge of the porch. There were a couple of cigar nubs in there, too. I did the same with mine and then followed him back inside the house.

Tria looked at us as soon as we walked in together. She took one glance at me and then quickly appraised Brandon’s condition, likely looking for bruises or busted lips. I gave her a look, and she blushed as she looked away.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who was ready to call it a day. Nikki excused herself to go collect blankets, and Brandon poked around in the kitchen, claiming he had something to do. As far as I could tell, he was rearranging the silverware drawer.

I might have felt bad for them both if it wasn’t for…

Nah—I did feel bad for them.

Nikki brought over some blankets and pillows and then danced back and forth on her feet before speaking.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I wasn’t expecting two. Even if I was, I’m not sure where I’d put you.”

“I’m fine on the floor.” Before Tria could protest, I placed a couple fingers over her lips. “Don’t argue; just take the couch.”

She nodded. I removed my fingers, and Nikki placed worn sheets, blankets, and pillows on the couch for Tria. She gave me a thick blanket for more padding, and I arranged it on the floor next to the couch. Nikki and Tria said their goodnights, and the couple headed to the second RV and what I assumed to be their bedroom.

There was a nosy little part of me that wondered if they were going to have sex tonight. Maybe that “one last hurrah” before she gets passed around.

I shuddered.

“So, you didn’t talk her out of it?” I asked.

“No,” Tria said. “She doesn’t want to be talked out of it. She wants a baby. This is the way she plans to get it, and I have to respect that.”

“Respect the unrespectable?”

Tria dropped down onto the floor near the edge of the couch and crossed her legs.

“It’s no different than if she were doing the opposite.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“I mean,” Tria continued, “if she wanted to not have a baby instead of wanting to have one. I don’t approve of abortion, but if my friend decided she needed one…well, I would help however I could. It wouldn’t be something I would choose for myself, but it’s her decision. I have to honor what she chooses to do. That’s what friends are for.”

“Fucked up,” I muttered for the hundredth time.

I moved the plastic chair, newspapers, and various other crap on the floor and sat down next to Tria with my back leaning against the edge of the couch. My ass hit the floor with a bit of a twinge, and I was reminded again of how uncomfortable I had been on the motorcycle. I stretched my legs out and flexed my ankles until my backside loosened up a little.

“Did you and Brandon have a nice talk?” Tria asked. There was a little table next to the couch that must have been intended as a nightstand because there were two good-sized drawers in it. Tria was taking stuff out of the bag and putting it in the drawers. “You were out there a long time with him.”

“What the f*ck are you doing?” I asked, ignoring her question. I pointed my finger back and forth between the bag and the nightstand drawer.