sort of son of a bitch our father allegedly was. There is no excuse under any fucking code of ethics to take anyone out like that. Everyone’s redeemable.”
Ford was shaking his head resolutely. “No. No. Just ask anyone. There was no fucking redemption going on around there. No way, shape, or form of redemption.”
Madison, although still trembling like a bridal veil, even spoke up. “No. No way of redemption, Lytton.”
Turk murmured, “I can vouch for that. There was no option.”
Slushy stepped back into play. “Nothing you’ve heard today is admissible in a court of law, Mr. Driving Hawk.”
Lytton’s eyes were narrowed at his brother. Pure hatred oozed through the slits. There was darkness in that gaze, like the surface of an oil slick. “I’m not going anywhere near any court of law, Mr. McGill. Just like I’m never going anywhere near The Bare Bones ever fucking again. You guys can burn in hell for all eternity for what you’ve done.”
“Lytton!” I cried out as he turned on his heel and whisked out the door.
“Let him go!” bellowed Ford, understandably tired of his short-lived attempt at brotherly love.
Maddy gripped Ford’s arm. “I wonder who he’s going to tell now.”
I shouted, “I’ll go get him. Don’t worry. He’s not telling anyone about Cropper.”
Ford stabbed the air with his forefinger. “ Or about being my fucking brother either! I held out the olive branch and he stomped on it!”
I sped from Slushy’s office. Out on Bargain Boulevard, Lytton’s bike wasn’t where I’d seen him leave it when he’d let me off. Panic gripped me.
I jogged pointlessly up and down the street. Suddenly he was there, his mouth a thin line as he rode his Harley slowly behind a cager, wearing his World War One helmet. He saw me—of course, since I was waving my arms madly—and he made his mouth a thin line, but pulled to the curb. He did not get off, and didn’t cut his engine.
I tugged on his plaid sleeve. My heart was being wrenched to think that these two brothers who had so much in common were being torn apart by something so stupid. Well, okay, fratricide wasn’t exactly a pleasant topic one could easily dismiss like an annoying YouTube channel. But they simply had to get over this. Ford must have a completely, thoroughly excellent explanation for the whole thing.
“Lytton,” I pleaded. “You can’t just storm away. You need to give Ford a chance to explain.”
“I don’t want any explanation, June. He did what he did and there’s nothing going to whitewash that. He took away my only fucking chance at getting to know my real father.”
“But a week ago you didn’t even know Cropper was your father.” I wanted to say, it’s not like Cropper ever came breaking down your front door looking for you either, taking responsibility for being your damned father. I knew he’d never acknowledged that brother of Ford’s that had died of some rare disease in childhood. June had told me that poor handicapped child had died deaf and blind never having been in the same room as Cropper—although Cropper knew he existed. His existence was why Cropper had dumped Ford’s mother. Cropper was too afraid of having more deformed kids.
So yeah, likely there were other creepy or otherwise facets to Cropper that I’d been blissfully unaware of. I had every conviction of my opinion when I added, “Come back to the table. Hear Ford out. He’s offering you a place in the club, which is his family, Lytton. There are no more of you guys left. His mother is dead. You told me your mother might as well be. Don’t you want to get to know Maddy, Fidelia, the other club patch holders? I promise you, they’re all a bunch of really nice guys, even Turk, the asshole who labels his product all wrong. Especially Turk.”
Lytton’s mouth was firmly set. “No. No. My mind’s made up, June. There’s no coming back from that. People don’t always have to be close to their blood relatives. You
Ford was shaking his head resolutely. “No. No. Just ask anyone. There was no fucking redemption going on around there. No way, shape, or form of redemption.”
Madison, although still trembling like a bridal veil, even spoke up. “No. No way of redemption, Lytton.”
Turk murmured, “I can vouch for that. There was no option.”
Slushy stepped back into play. “Nothing you’ve heard today is admissible in a court of law, Mr. Driving Hawk.”
Lytton’s eyes were narrowed at his brother. Pure hatred oozed through the slits. There was darkness in that gaze, like the surface of an oil slick. “I’m not going anywhere near any court of law, Mr. McGill. Just like I’m never going anywhere near The Bare Bones ever fucking again. You guys can burn in hell for all eternity for what you’ve done.”
“Lytton!” I cried out as he turned on his heel and whisked out the door.
“Let him go!” bellowed Ford, understandably tired of his short-lived attempt at brotherly love.
Maddy gripped Ford’s arm. “I wonder who he’s going to tell now.”
I shouted, “I’ll go get him. Don’t worry. He’s not telling anyone about Cropper.”
Ford stabbed the air with his forefinger. “ Or about being my fucking brother either! I held out the olive branch and he stomped on it!”
I sped from Slushy’s office. Out on Bargain Boulevard, Lytton’s bike wasn’t where I’d seen him leave it when he’d let me off. Panic gripped me.
I jogged pointlessly up and down the street. Suddenly he was there, his mouth a thin line as he rode his Harley slowly behind a cager, wearing his World War One helmet. He saw me—of course, since I was waving my arms madly—and he made his mouth a thin line, but pulled to the curb. He did not get off, and didn’t cut his engine.
I tugged on his plaid sleeve. My heart was being wrenched to think that these two brothers who had so much in common were being torn apart by something so stupid. Well, okay, fratricide wasn’t exactly a pleasant topic one could easily dismiss like an annoying YouTube channel. But they simply had to get over this. Ford must have a completely, thoroughly excellent explanation for the whole thing.
“Lytton,” I pleaded. “You can’t just storm away. You need to give Ford a chance to explain.”
“I don’t want any explanation, June. He did what he did and there’s nothing going to whitewash that. He took away my only fucking chance at getting to know my real father.”
“But a week ago you didn’t even know Cropper was your father.” I wanted to say, it’s not like Cropper ever came breaking down your front door looking for you either, taking responsibility for being your damned father. I knew he’d never acknowledged that brother of Ford’s that had died of some rare disease in childhood. June had told me that poor handicapped child had died deaf and blind never having been in the same room as Cropper—although Cropper knew he existed. His existence was why Cropper had dumped Ford’s mother. Cropper was too afraid of having more deformed kids.
So yeah, likely there were other creepy or otherwise facets to Cropper that I’d been blissfully unaware of. I had every conviction of my opinion when I added, “Come back to the table. Hear Ford out. He’s offering you a place in the club, which is his family, Lytton. There are no more of you guys left. His mother is dead. You told me your mother might as well be. Don’t you want to get to know Maddy, Fidelia, the other club patch holders? I promise you, they’re all a bunch of really nice guys, even Turk, the asshole who labels his product all wrong. Especially Turk.”
Lytton’s mouth was firmly set. “No. No. My mind’s made up, June. There’s no coming back from that. People don’t always have to be close to their blood relatives. You
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