Chapter 1.3
1223 Words
“Let me—” Ryan went for the crumbled leaf the same time Taylor searched once more for another piece.
Taylor knocked Ryan’s hand away. “He’s picking fights he shouldn’t be picking. If he had any brains, he’d leave you alone.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. His hand poised in the air, stunned from when Taylor had hit him, but he moved it to rest on the roof. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. How many guys have throw bullshit your way because you’re tiny?”
Taylor flicked the last piece, that he knew of, onto the ground.
“I’m not tiny.” He aggressively sucked down his cigarette. His eyes narrowed at a flashing light on the horizon. God—he didn’t know what f*****g time it was. It was probably close to sunrise.
Ryan watched him with a smile, the blue cracking at the center of his lips.
“Yeah, I’ll pretend you’re 5’9”. It’ll be our little secret.”
Taylor glared at him from the corner of his eye.
“We don’t have to pretend. It’s the truth.”
He wasn’t tiny. He was shorter than the f*****g giants in this town.
“He’s going to get it.”
Cleo was stirring s**t up and Ryan was acting like it was no big deal.
Ryan pursed his blue lips to the side. His eyes narrowed, staring off into the sparse woods.
“Just drop it,” he said, his voice barely heard. He ran his hand through his black curly hair, smoothing it away from his face. A red flush crept up his throat and across his face. Against his tan skin, the color looked like faded makeup. If Taylor didn’t know any better, he would’ve said it was. The color contrasted against the blue painted on his lips, sharply so. Everything stood out against his skin.
Taylor licked his lips, looking away. He wouldn’t drop it, not when Cleo was bent on starting a war. He was crossing territory and targeting the gang.
He wondered if Ryan understood. He was far from dumb. He’d been around long enough to know how the streets got, especially when the situation involved the Eastcliffs. This wasn’t ever going to be just about him getting picked on. Whatever happened to Taylor’s boys, it would come back to him. He was responsible for it all.
Ryan would rather put this all in the past, Taylor could see that now. He knew it was because of who Ryan used to be. He wasn’t dumb either. Ryan turned into a different person when Ryan’s past was brought up, how’d he’d changed in body and in mind from when he was found on the street. The outgoing and joking spirit changed introverted the moment anyone brought up his name change or anything related. He would let them walk over him just to save himself from remembering.
It wasn’t just sad; it was insulting. To think Taylor hung around someone so weak made him furious, but at the same time, he couldn’t hurt Ryan. He only felt sorry he was never able to break through to him.
This was Ryan though. Taylor knew the real Ryan deep inside. He was all fire and didn’t give a f**k about anybody’s opinion. He would skin Taylor if he said anything he didn’t like, even if Taylor fought back harder each time. The things they said about Ryan weren’t true, not in the slightest. He fought as hard as the born men, sometimes better. Raised on the street, on his own, he’d become the type of man who could form his own gang if he wanted. He had that air about him.
It’s why Taylor never held back when they fought. Ryan could take it, but he needed to be knocked down from time to time. The last thing Taylor needed at this point was Ryan thinking he could take over the Wolves.
It shouldn’t have been the type of thing to come to mind. Ryan wasn’t and shouldn’t ever be viewed as competition. Well, he shouldn’t in Taylor’s eyes. While he could see how he could be overtaken by Ryan’s ability to win over people, with his humor, strength, and will, Ryan didn’t have the unattachment Taylor had. He wasn’t innocent, but he had more compassion than Taylor ever had.
Compassion. It was the worst thing to harbor in this world. He wasn’t jealous in the least. It only made it harder for him to fake being interested in a conversation, besides the laughs he got with Ryan. He could beat, kill, verbally bash anyone, but it took all of him to start a f*****g conversation.
It made him wary about his stance in the industry. The Wolves handled drugs and firearms. Most of the business they conducted relied on communication and outsmarting anyone who could be a threat. He didn’t want to believe his dad was right. If Taylor wasn’t cut out for this, what could he do? Life without the Wolves was no life for him.
He winced and handed his cigarette back to Ryan. He was done sitting around thinking about s**t that made his stomach churn. Cleo would get it. Ryan didn’t even need to know.
He laughed under his breath.
He’d find out. The things he was going to do to Cleo weren’t things he would be able to hide. It would teach the fucker a lesson about messing with Taylor’s friends.
He froze.
Friends.
The word tasted like dirt. It didn’t seem right and he couldn’t understand why.
He stood up before he could dwell on it and began to climb down the shack.
Ryan watched him. “Where are you going?”
“Tike’s.”
He landed with a thud. Mud splattered up his boots and pants, leaves crushed under his weight. He looked up, catching Ryan’s eyes for a split second. Then, he walked toward the broken road heading into town. Ryan would try to talk him out of his plan. He was the only person that tried to keep Taylor from starting fires he couldn’t control, but he wouldn’t be able this time.
He glanced once more when he was treading along the curved road, dodging large splits in the cement as he went. Ryan stared after him, but he didn’t look like he was going to move. His eyes, something Taylor couldn’t place, almost had Taylor turning back to tell him it would be alright. He didn’t need that. He was grown, older than Taylor even. They weren’t children anymore. Hadn’t been in a long time.
- Writer
