Ré resisted whistling under his breath. He looked from Sunny to Alex and back again, swallowing hard. If she dished out much more of this, he’d have a lot more fight on his hands.
Alex straightened slowly. “Yeah? Is screwing Dufresne behind my back a big joke too?” he asked.
A shimmer of surprise went through the crowd. Gettin’ more show than they paid for, Ré thought. And also, Fuck.
Alex raised his voice another notch. “Is that why I find his T-shirts under your bed? His damn car parked outside your house?” He was pacing again, working up his violence, letting the steam rise. “I’m tired of you yanking me around like a dog on a leash,” he snapped. “Tired of you acting like I’m not even here. Like I’m too dumb to notice you screwing my friends.”
Sunny’s hand left Evie’s shoulder, and Ré saw Evie wobble, fingers splayed for balance. More worry fled through him. Is she okay?
Then Sunny said, loud and clear, shoulders squared, “The only person I’ve ever screwed is too wasted to even get it up anymore.”
A snicker and an ohh slid through the crowd. And then someone else was in the circle with them. He was tallish and had dark hair flipping over the collar of his black leather jacket. On the back of the jacket was a large woven patch: a white skull with red horns, a swirling, forked red tail, and the letters SOMC. Satan’s Own Motorcycle Club.
He said, “You gonna let that little rice rocket sass you, young Alex Janes?”
Alex looked at him, red flames in his eyes, forked tail twitching. Ré could see his gears working, even in the semidarkness.
But before anyone could say anything, Sunny stepped up to the stranger, all jaw and jabbing fingers. “Rice rocket?” she said, head weaving like a cobra’s.
He turned, unperturbed, and looked down on her. “Well, he rides your Jap ass, don’t he?” He made a throttle motion with his fists and leered at her neon-green boobs.
“Alex!” She turned, daring him to stand up for her. But Alex was closed, his face shut, eyes dead. The gears had turned, and the brotherhood had won.
Sunny turned back to the big biker. “I’m fucking Korean, you sausage-eating monkey fart.” She spat at his feet and turned, and the crowd parted for her like a holy sea. “Come on, Ev,” she muttered, grabbing Evie’s wrist. The smaller girl whirled with Sunny’s momentum.
Ostie d’crisse, Ré thought. That girl is fearless. But the big biker only laughed.
Moments later, Sunny’s pearl sedan sprayed gravel over the lawn, and the girls were gone. In a strange way, Ré was relieved. Even though he now stood here facing Alex alone, it was better that way. He didn’t want Evie to see him so low as this.
He turned his attention back to Alex. Through all of this, Ré still had not said a word. Kept his cards close.
Alex jutted his chin, eyes blazing. “You gonna tell the same story, Dufresne?”
Ré tipped his jaw down and looked Alex straight in the eye. “No,” he said. “I am not telling the same story.”
Alex was visibly surprised. “So she’s a liar? You really slept with her?” His pitch rose up and bounced over the crowd.
“No,” Ré said again. “I did not sleep with your girlfriend, Alex. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to. If I told you I never touched her.”
The big biker had stepped back into the crowd, arms crossed. This was between Ré and Alex now, nobody else. The boys began to sidestep within the circle, a slow, wary dance. Réal knew what was coming next. He held his abdomen tight, waiting for the lunge, the first strike. “You got every right to do this, buddy,” he said. “I don’t blame you one bit.”
“I’m not your buddy, Réal,” Alex spat, and the words hurt more than a fist. “You’re nothing to me. You’ve always been nothing. Background noise.” Alex was still circling, but he was starting to jump, fists ready. “You think you’re so damn cool,” he continued. “Shaun’s little lieutenant.”
Ré’s ears pricked at Shaun’s name. His eyes shifted from Alex in sharp flicks. He saw more dark shadows closing in around the crowd. Those guys who’d been drinking on the back deck. Maybe more than just them. Maybe even the whole club—or at least the ones tight with the Janes clan. Réal started to get a bad feeling that this wasn’t about Sunny at all.
“I don’t think I’m cool, Alex,” Ré said warily. “And I’m nobody’s lieutenant. Shaun and me were old buddies, that’s all.”
“He was gonna prospect for the club,” Alex said bitterly. “Did you know that, old buddy?” Réal kept one eye on the shadows, listening very carefully now to Alex’s words. “This summer. Me and him together. We were gonna be brothers.”
Brothers. How many times had Ré used that word to describe him and Shaun? They were practically blood. Raised together, in each other’s homes as constantly as if they were family. They knew each other better than anybody. Didn’t they?
Réal felt the ground go a little soft under his feet. He had been the first and only one Shaun had told about the baby, but this…Why hadn’t Shaun told him? Prospecting? For Satan’s Own? Sunny was right—it was a joke. A surreal, messed-up joke. And Réal felt a little bit like a punch line. “I didn’t know that,” he breathed quietly.
It all made sense now, this stupid party. It had nothing to do with graduation. It was an initiation. Alex proving himself to the brotherhood. And Ré had been carted out like an ox on a rope, his neck stretched out long for the machete. It wasn’t about Sunny. It had never been about her.
All the fight went out of him at once. Letting Alex win a battle over a girl, letting him win back his sullied pride—that was something Ré could nobly do. He’d take those punches—even throw a few
