drag him.
But then he stopped resisting me. Instead, tucking me behind him, he jogged down the gray-painted, peeling concrete steps to the front walk.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”
A man snickered, drawing my attention over Beau’s shoulder to the driveway. A short, stocky guy — dressed in a white wifebeater replete with beer and ketchup stains — slammed the driver’s-side door shut on an old Mustang parked in the driveway.
The guy was balding, or about to be. His thin, dark-blond hair covered the top of his head so sparsely that the next breeze was liable to blow it off. His prison tats looked seriously cheap and cheesy.
“Just can’t stay away? Can you?” The guy snickered again, glancing over his shoulder at the Brave as he sauntered across the dead lawn to place himself on the front path between the RV and us.
I hadn’t ever heard a man snicker like that. It was seriously creepy.
“What do you want? Money? Tricks ain’t paying like they used to? Or did Byron send you?”
“No,” Beau spat.
“Heard sweet Cy was in the green, did you?”
“Again, no.”
So this was Cy. Ettie’s dad. Beau’s stepdad. I had assumed he was the reason Beau didn’t want to come back to Southaven, but after meeting Ada, I’d reconsidered that.
“No?” Cy echoed mockingly. “Who’s the slag?” He jutted his chin in my direction.
I was exceedingly aware that the door to the house was still open behind me, only a quick dash up the stairs away. Apparently, Beau’s training was having an effect. Though with Ada in the living room, I wasn’t sure that was the best escape route.
Beau stepped threateningly toward his stepfather. Cy’s smile widened in response. The guy was seriously stupid or insane. Only a moron goaded a shifter like —
Cy was close enough to me now that I could see his eyes. They were beyond bloodshot. The inside edge of his eyelids were a step away from full-on bleeding.
I threw my weight forward on my toes, clapping my hand to Beau’s shoulder as a warning.
“Beau,” I whispered.
“I see,” Beau said, stepping back to me. “I smell.”
Cy’s smile turned rabid.
“Crystal meth?”
“Probably. Plus he’s just an inbred asshole.”
Cy laughed at the insult, then flexed his hands.
“Let’s go,” I whispered.
Beau nodded. Never taking his gaze off Cy, he reached around and tucked me against his right side — as far away as he could keep me from Cy while crossing to the Brave.
Two short strides along the well-worn concrete path brought us within grappling distance of Beau’s stepdad. Cy didn’t move to the side.
“But you just got here,” Cy said. His voice was now high and whiney, mocking but laced with a creepy neediness. “Come on, pretty boy Beau. Stay. Be useful.”
“I’m not interested in your line of work.”
Cy snickered again. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. There was something seriously wrong with the guy, beyond the rampant meth use. I’d known addicts who were good, kind people just looking for a way to escape the shit of their lives. I’d chosen the Brave instead of drugs. Habitual meth user or not, Cy was not a typical addict.
“Listen, man,” Beau said, attempting his soothing tone. “We’re just here to see Ettie. She’s in trouble. We’re going to help her.”
Cy narrowed his eyes, all traces of the creepy smile and snicker suddenly wiped from his face. That wasn’t a good sign.
Unfortunately, Beau missed it. He was probably just desperate to get me out of the situation, but instead of stepping away from Cy, he stepped in and past him.
Cy pivoted, seemingly to let us by.
Beau took another step.
Cy closed the space behind us, grabbed my free arm, and yanked me away from Beau. He was slyer than I thought, going for me — the weaker link — rather than his shapeshifter stepson.
I attempted to spin away, to disrupt Cy’s footing, and slip out of his grasp as Beau had taught me. But I wasn’t
But then he stopped resisting me. Instead, tucking me behind him, he jogged down the gray-painted, peeling concrete steps to the front walk.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”
A man snickered, drawing my attention over Beau’s shoulder to the driveway. A short, stocky guy — dressed in a white wifebeater replete with beer and ketchup stains — slammed the driver’s-side door shut on an old Mustang parked in the driveway.
The guy was balding, or about to be. His thin, dark-blond hair covered the top of his head so sparsely that the next breeze was liable to blow it off. His prison tats looked seriously cheap and cheesy.
“Just can’t stay away? Can you?” The guy snickered again, glancing over his shoulder at the Brave as he sauntered across the dead lawn to place himself on the front path between the RV and us.
I hadn’t ever heard a man snicker like that. It was seriously creepy.
“What do you want? Money? Tricks ain’t paying like they used to? Or did Byron send you?”
“No,” Beau spat.
“Heard sweet Cy was in the green, did you?”
“Again, no.”
So this was Cy. Ettie’s dad. Beau’s stepdad. I had assumed he was the reason Beau didn’t want to come back to Southaven, but after meeting Ada, I’d reconsidered that.
“No?” Cy echoed mockingly. “Who’s the slag?” He jutted his chin in my direction.
I was exceedingly aware that the door to the house was still open behind me, only a quick dash up the stairs away. Apparently, Beau’s training was having an effect. Though with Ada in the living room, I wasn’t sure that was the best escape route.
Beau stepped threateningly toward his stepfather. Cy’s smile widened in response. The guy was seriously stupid or insane. Only a moron goaded a shifter like —
Cy was close enough to me now that I could see his eyes. They were beyond bloodshot. The inside edge of his eyelids were a step away from full-on bleeding.
I threw my weight forward on my toes, clapping my hand to Beau’s shoulder as a warning.
“Beau,” I whispered.
“I see,” Beau said, stepping back to me. “I smell.”
Cy’s smile turned rabid.
“Crystal meth?”
“Probably. Plus he’s just an inbred asshole.”
Cy laughed at the insult, then flexed his hands.
“Let’s go,” I whispered.
Beau nodded. Never taking his gaze off Cy, he reached around and tucked me against his right side — as far away as he could keep me from Cy while crossing to the Brave.
Two short strides along the well-worn concrete path brought us within grappling distance of Beau’s stepdad. Cy didn’t move to the side.
“But you just got here,” Cy said. His voice was now high and whiney, mocking but laced with a creepy neediness. “Come on, pretty boy Beau. Stay. Be useful.”
“I’m not interested in your line of work.”
Cy snickered again. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. There was something seriously wrong with the guy, beyond the rampant meth use. I’d known addicts who were good, kind people just looking for a way to escape the shit of their lives. I’d chosen the Brave instead of drugs. Habitual meth user or not, Cy was not a typical addict.
“Listen, man,” Beau said, attempting his soothing tone. “We’re just here to see Ettie. She’s in trouble. We’re going to help her.”
Cy narrowed his eyes, all traces of the creepy smile and snicker suddenly wiped from his face. That wasn’t a good sign.
Unfortunately, Beau missed it. He was probably just desperate to get me out of the situation, but instead of stepping away from Cy, he stepped in and past him.
Cy pivoted, seemingly to let us by.
Beau took another step.
Cy closed the space behind us, grabbed my free arm, and yanked me away from Beau. He was slyer than I thought, going for me — the weaker link — rather than his shapeshifter stepson.
I attempted to spin away, to disrupt Cy’s footing, and slip out of his grasp as Beau had taught me. But I wasn’t
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