Focusing was getting more and more difficult with each passing day that she was traipsing around the apartment. Damn place was so small that even a fucking ant scrambling through the kitchen made him start feeling suffocated. Some shawty dancing from Toby’s room and into the kitchen in hot pants and a tube top wasn’t helping things a damn bit.

Vic scowled at his ceiling as he flipped onto his back and sent his sneakers flying across the room. Toby’d been glaring at him for a week now, Jazzy’d been grinning like a fool, and Vic’d been spending all his time grabbing a smoke with his friends or hiding out in his room like a damn animal. Wasn’t right. He paid for half of this apartment himself.

There was a soft knock at his door and he cocked his brow as he grabbed his hat and sat up. “Yeah?” When Toby poked his head through the door, Vic snorted. “Man, since when do you knock?”

“Since you got something on your mind making you tense.” Toby smirked as he nudged his dreads out of his face. “Ain’t looking to walk in on you relieving it.”

“You’re sick.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Toby leaned against the doorframe. “Look, Jazzy coming over, but I gotta run out and grab some shit. You gonna be here to let her in?”

He held back the urge to curse. “Yeah, man. Not a problem.”

“Aight, cool. Kinda surprised you ain’t tried to scare her away yet.”

Vic chuckled as Jazzy danced past his mind’s eye in that rose-colored underwear of hers. You got no idea. But instead he drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, don’t got nowhere else to be.”

“Aight. Thanks.” And he disappeared again, leaving the door wide open.

Something on his mind. Something getting him tense. Vic rolled his eyes and fell back on his bed again. If only Toby knew. If only Toby knew Jazzy was just using him, that he wasn’t even her type and that Vic was…man, he’d shit bricks. He’d see that Vic got something over him, and he’d hate it. Wouldn’t even be able to stand it.

She’d come about as close to propositioning him as she could without pulling up her skirt and commanding him to fuck her.

His ego swelling, however, was interrupted by the sound of a knock at the door. He nearly teleported to it in his haste.

“Well, well,” Jazzy said with a grin as she sauntered into the apartment like she owned the place. “Lookie here, Mr. Vic Ortiz. And where’d my host for tonight run off to?”

“Out to the store or something. How’d you know?”

She tossed her hair and let that grin spread farther. “Boy ain’t gonna let anyone near me if he get the chance, you know that. Not unless he gotta.”

“You speak the truth.” Vic locked the door behind her out of habit and nudged his legs to carry him to the hallway instead of the couch the little minx was currently sprawling on. “Anyway, he be back soon, so you don’t gotta wait very long.”

“Now, hold up a minute.” And, Jah help him, he did. He stopped right in his tracks and looked at her. “You don’t wanna keep me company?”

Hell yes. Vic stared at her for a long moment before looking back toward the hallway. “I mean, I got shit to do, and-”

“Bullshit. Vic, if you don’t sit right here, I swear to God I’ma smack you.”

Jazzy meant business. Always did. ‘Specially when she had that little gleam in her eye. Vic crossed his arms over his chest as he narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think you get how important this shit is.”

“Yeah?” She perched on the edge of the couch and quirked an eyebrow challengingly. “Show me.”

The air conditioner kicked off and left them sitting in a chilly silence, both standing on the edge of their territories with no-man’s-land stretching between them. His fingers itched. He gently rubbed his calluses together. “…well, it ain’t happening in this damn sauna.” Vic jerked his head toward the hallway as he peeled off. “C’mon.”

The room was silent behind him as he disappeared. It was only when he sat on his bed and began adjusting his fan that he heard the faint squeaking of the sofa. When she appeared in the doorframe, he studied her. She looked strong, confident, like she knew exactly what she was doing, even though she’d just charged headfirst into his territory. “So what’s this?”

“Doing some writing.” He snagged his acoustic guitar, the one pristine thing in the whole damn apartment, and smirked at the way her eyebrows shot skyward. “What?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Just forgot you played. You any good?”

Vic snorted. “Does a fat kid love cake?”

“Aight, Mr. Hot Shot,” she drawled as she kicked off her shoes and crawled onto the bed beside him. “If you wanna drop that ego for a hot minute, then you gonna play something for me, right?”

“Man, I don’t gotta impress you.” But he strummed along the strings anyway, twisting his other fingers into familiar positions against the bridge. The reverberation of the strings was the absolute epitome of home. “What you wanna hear?”

“Something good. You got any of that?”

He smirked at her over the guitar. “You tryin’a start something?”

“Maybe.” Jazzy tousled her curled as she crossed her legs, one curled over the other. “You think you can handle what I’m bringing?”

The familiar thrum of adrenaline slid through his veins, hot and thick and bubbling like a poison. “Girl, I can handle anything.” It was when she leaned toward him coyly that he slid the guitar pick down the strings again. “You still wanna hear that song?”

“I’unno. Maybe I wanna make some music of my own.”

Ignoring the smooth trail of her tongue across her lips, Vic leaned back a foot. “You gonna have to get your own damn guitar, then. I don’t share mine.”

“Toby’ll share his.” He drew in a slow, deep breath and held the bridge of the guitar a little tighter. “Good brothers always share their toys, right?”

Vic flew to his feet and made a long, elaborate show of putting his guitar back on its stand. “Jazzy…girl, you gotta stop this. Toby’ll skin me alive, you know that.”

“Boy, I ain’t his to claim. I do what I want.” She arched those thinly plucked eyebrows at him. When he didn’t say another word, she slid the spaghetti straps down her arms and shocked his heart into skipping a beat. “I always thought musicians were fine.”

As dry as his mouth suddenly was, he had to try. “That’s damn good, ‘cuz Toby’s one t-”

“Can you fucking stop talking about that son of a bitch for just five minutes?” The shirt hit the floor and his back hit the wall. “Shit, you’d think he was the one with the tits here with how much you talk about him.”

“Jazzmine, I-”

“No, you gonna shut up now.” The lioness stalked him, more stunning and sensual in her bra and shorts than anything he’d ever seen in the world. “I been eyeing you up since I moved into this shithole. You the only thing that make Southtown bearable when I get here. Gave me some scenery to look at, you know?”

Part of him wasn’t even sure she was speaking. All he knew, TRULY knew, was that jacked-up-pheromone smell of her sweat on the air and how his tongue was desperate to taste it. But when she pressed against him and he felt the swell of her breasts against his chest, everything that wasn’t tactile fell away. His breath hitched as she grabbed his hands and pressed them against her waist, sticky and shining in the heat of the sun.

“Vic,” she murmured, tilting her head back and staring up at him languidly beneath those long, thick eyelashes. “I swear to God, if you don’t kiss me-”

He pressed his lips against hers in aggressive abandon and pulled her so close he wasn’t even sure she could breathe. She tasted like honeysuckle, fresh and warm in the Summer. He was barely aware of the groan she dragged from his lips as she pushed him against the wall and plundered every inch of his mouth with that intoxicatingly sweet tongue of hers.

Every piece of clothing she freed him from was a relief in the oppressive heat around them. Hell, with the heat that every stroke of her fingers stoked within him, he didn’t think he’d ever know what Winter felt like again. “Holy shit,” he breathed, thudding his head back against the wall as spots suddenly flew before his eyes and Jazzy drove him straight up a rollercoaster. “Jazzy, shit, you gotta stop that, girl.”

“And why’s that?” she murmured coyly, sending a shiver up his spine and turning his sweat ice cold just before he grabbed her arm and tugged her back to her feet in one rough, fluid motion.

“Because,” he whispered, pressing a possessive kiss to her neck. “We ain’t finished here yet. Hell, we ain‘t even started.” He dove into her collarbone and lapped up all the sweat he could taste, dizzy and delirious with desire, and guided that nymph back toward his bed as she clung to him like a child.

Drowning in her was the sweetest thing he’d ever felt in his entire fucking life and it clouded his mind until every thought was gone. He was only aware of the feel of her jagged hips under his hands, of the way she locked her legs so tight around him that he didn’t think she’d ever let him go, of the thudding of his cheap floor fan and the air conditioner almost drowning out her sharp and animalistic groans as she threw her head back and sent every curl flying. Every sense was accounted for. Everything was one long sensual ride, drawing something primal out of him, something he’d never known before in his long eighteen years.

She pulled him down close and latched onto his neck like she was a damn vampire or something. “Shit. Fuck. Jazzy, I…FUCK.”

“Shut up,” she breathed, scraping her nails down his back as he arched it and hissed. “Shut up and fuck me harder.”

When a breeze shot by his head, whistling like a missile, Vic lurched away from a suddenly shrieking Jazzy and stared at it. A very familiar switchblade was implanted in the wall, like it’d been there its whole life. “I ain’t gonna miss again.” The familiar low and dangerous timbre of his brother’s voice made him feel sick inside. “You get your fucking hands off my girl, you sumbitch, or I’ma snuff you. And I’ma like it.”

Vic stared into Toby’s cold eyes as his chest heaved, his favored switchblade now open and ready in his palm. He was barely aware of Jazzy wrapping herself up in his sheet and stumbling across the room. “Toby, you just gotta calm down.”

“I’ma deal with you in a minute. You go sit in the living room. I got some business to take care of.”


“I ain’t gonna tell you again!” Even Vic flinched at the unfamiliar feeling of Toby raising his voice so loud that the entire apartment felt like it was gonna just give in. “Get yourself cleaned up! I’ma deal with you in a minute!”

Jazzmine stared at him for just a moment more before she grabbed her clothing and scurried out of the room, not even looking back.

The entire room went frigid and cold as Toby slowly turned his head to look at Vic again, his eyes gone from freezing to red hot. Vic’d never felt so exposed in his life, trying to catch his breath and naked as a jaybird under the watchful eye of his brother. The man didn’t say anything for a long minute. When he did, however, he lifted his switchblade and pointed it straight at Vic. “What the fuck was that?”

“I thought Health was the only class you didn‘t skip.”

“Don’t you fucking play with me, Vic. I ain’t fooling.” He took a few steps closer and Vic flinched again, his fingers tightening their hold on his blanket. “I will fucking gut you like the spineless coward you always been. What. The fuck. Was that.”

Vic met his eyes with all the teenaged entitlement he had in the world and scowled. “That was me fucking your girl.” Maybe Toby wasn’t expecting him to say it so succinctly, but the older man stayed silent and tensed his jaw. “That was me making her scream my name. Making her forget you even fucking existed. Only took, what, ten minutes since you left?”

It was Toby’s turn to flinch, and if anything it looked like it just made him angrier. He leaned in and held the blade an inch away from Vic’s neck, gritting his teeth. “You selfish bastard. Why…why would you…do you know how many fucking women are in this shithole around here?!”

“Yeah, I might, if they weren’t all fucking falling all over themselves to talk to you!” Vic shouted back, his desperation making him lean forward even though it drove him closer to the blade.

“What the hell are you talking about? You just running your mouth, ain’t you? Just love to hear yourself talk. What the hell?”

“I ain’t lying! Ain’t my fault if you too damn blind to see it!” He sucked in a deep, shaky breath, grabbing Toby’s wrist with such strength that he knew in an instant they were in a stalemate. “Every day, that’s all I hear! Vic, where’s Toby? Toby coming out today? He done with that damn snow bunny yet?” He was vaguely aware of his hand shaking and the blade quivering dangerously because of it. “Do you think I like hearing all that shit all the fucking time, Toby?!”

“Shut up.”

“No, I ain’t gonna shut up! You gonna listen, for the first fucking time in your life!” Vic shoved Toby back a step and pointed straight at him as he got to his feet. “I’m sick of your fucking bullshit! I’m sick of it! You being the perfect one, you getting those fucking dreads from Ma, you dancing around like you ain’t got a care in the world when shit’s hitting the fan and I’m the one taking it. You got any idea what the hell I‘m talking about?” But Toby didn’t deserve a chance to speak. Vic swiped his hand through the air, a violent slash cutting the air. “No! No, you don’t got a fucking clue, but you gonna pretend you do. Aw, yeah, you gonna pretend you get it, that you was there. Bull-fucking-shit.”

“The hell are you-”

“Shut the hell up!” Vic’s voice cracked, and he jerked open his top drawer to pull out his own switchblade. Home, that’s what it felt like when everything was turning red, when all he wanted was to draw fucking blood all over again and get another notch on his belt. He glared at Toby and snarled, flicking the blade open. “I’m tired of it, Toby. I’m fucking tired of it! Living in your damn shadow? Getting second best all the damn time?”

Toby flicked his eyes to the blade only once before he looked back at Vic, peering through his curtains of dreadlocks. The beads on every dread mocked him, reminded him of the mother that blew the first of them all, who didn’t have a damn thing left for her baby son. “You talking crazy.”

“I’m talking crazy.” Vic laughed, harsh and unamused, and drew his thumb down the smooth handle of the blade. “I’m talking fucking crazy. Listen to him. I’m crazy!”

“Hell yeah, you damn crazy if you think I ever wanted that!”

“Shut up.” He was getting closer to Toby, talking small steps he wasn’t even that aware of. “You ain’t never tried to change it. You ain’t never try to make it better. You ain’t never-”

“Are you drunk? Are you fucking drunk?” Toby peered at Vic even as he took a single step backward, unknowingly fueling the rage pumping through his veins.

Vic thought of the beer bottles lined up by the trashcan, giving the spiders a home for a few more days, and felt his tongue cry out for the taste of anything that was gonna make his head spin, make him shove this shit to the back of his mind all over again. “Do I look drunk?”

Toby’s nostrils flared as he shook his head. “Vic, I swear to Jah, if you even think about it…”

The mental picture drew back from the beer bottles by the trashcan to a large, open living room, a flickering TV illuminating an empty shell laying back in the recliner, four more bottles scattered around the floor, blood staining the shell’s knuckles, a kid standing in the doorframe and being ignored, “When’d it be any of your damn business?”

He moved like a shot, and by the time Vic’s blade was on the ground and his wrist twisted painfully in Toby’s grip he wondered why he hadn’t seen that coming from his fucking perfect brother before this shit even happened. “You made it my business,” he hissed, leaning so close his dreads touched Vic’s face and made the younger man flinch. “When you fucked my girl.”

“When you gonna see it?” Vic sneered at Toby and leaned even closer, until the dreads blocked out every piece of light in the air. “She ain’t your girl.” Toby shoved him away so violently that Vic almost fell back on the bed again and caught himself at the last second. He glared over his shoulder. “And you know what’s real funny? That girl you say you love so much? She came in here to get me to fuck her.”

“You are a fucking liar.”

Vic rolled his eyes as he grabbed his boxers and pulled them on. “Toby, when the hell’d I ever lie to you? I ain’t ever done that, you know it.”

“Then it’s about time you started.” The blade was still open, still shiny and craving blood to stain it in Toby’s hand, and Vic looked over his shoulder again with the most challenging expression he could muster. But his brother looked blind, distracted, focused far elsewhere. “Jazzy wouldn’t do that. She-”

“Will you open your damn eyes for just one minute? Just one?” Vic turned his head to the side, outlined an erotically painful mark he still felt against his neck, exposed it to the sunlight. “This look like it from someone unwilling?” Toby wasn’t even listening. He was shaking his head, shaking his hand, and Vic wondered if the blade’d go clear through his brother’s foot if he dropped it. Vic opened his mouth to say something sharper, but he heard the door close loud and clear just as the air conditioner shut off.

“What the hell?” Even though Toby spoke first, Vic led the way to the door, cocking his brow as he shoved his head out.

The living room was empty.

“Shit,” Vic whispered as he flew through the living room and opened the door. “Jazzy?” He was faintly aware of Toby in the bathroom, in his own bedroom, looking like Jazzmine was smart enough to hide from the brothers in the fucking shower or something. Her curly head was missing from sight, and a gust of wind nearly knocked him over the edge of the rickety railing. “Shit!”

“Where is she?” The door flew open again and Toby joined him outside, his feet only pausing for a moment before he began to run down the stairs.

Vic was hot on his heels. “She ain’t here, that’s for sure.”

“Don’t get smart with me,” Toby snarled, glaring over his shoulder at his brother as he jumped the last three steps and caught himself with a feline sort of grace. “I ain’t finished with you yet, you son of a bitch.”

“She was your momma too. And she fucking liked you bet-”

“This ain’t the damn time!” He peeled around the edge of the building and froze, staring everywhere with a heavy brow. But when Vic got behind him and slid up on his tiptoes, looked all over the place, he knew in a second that she was gone.

“…bastard. You scared her off.”

Toby froze, affronted, before he slowly turned his head and stared at Vic. “You just want me to kill you, don’t you.”

Sometimes he felt like he already had. Vic narrowed his eyes up at Toby before he walked across the hot pavement toward the stairs again, subconsciously dodging the broken glass and cigarette butts here and there on bare feet. “Whatever. You just call her, sweet talk a little, it’ll be like it never happened.”

“What, I’m supposed to just forget the slut fucked you?” But Vic didn’t stop walking. He’d lived enough of his life out on the fucking street like it was a movie just to entertain the damn neighbors. Didn’t need everyone to see this too. He took the stairs two at a time, feeling an uncomfortable churn in the base of his stomach. “Pretend she ain’t gonna do something like this again? Use me?”

The churn grew more acidic as a thought occurred to him. …shawty was using me to get to him, right? Or was…shit. Vic tore the door open and ran into the kitchen on impulse, skidding across the floor on bare feet for a moment before he opened a cabinet door. It was a hell of a lot emptier than it should have been. “…shit! Toby! Get your ass in here!”

“The fuck are you yelling about now? Just love to fucking hear yourself talk.”

“I ain’t joking around! What’d you do with the can?”

“Man, I ain’t touched the can.” Toby came around the corner of the kitchen, saw Vic throwing everything out of the cabinet, and froze. “…Vic, what the hell did you do?” He stumbled forward, nearly tripping over a can of beans, and shoved Vic out of the way to take over.

Vic caught himself against the counter and got the wind knocked out of him. He glared at the surface before he curled his fingers over the edge and turned to look at Toby. “I didn’t do a damn thing.”

“Then where the hell’s our money?!”

“It ain’t there, is it?!” He started flinging other cabinets open, cursing every time one came up missing that giant coffee can.

Toby slammed the door shut and grabbed Vic’s shoulder, twisting him around to look him in the eye. “Vic, Jah help me, if you took it and bought you some fucking cigarettes and booze…”

He’d been stabbed. That was all there was to it. Vic leaned back against the counter, felt it dig into his back with a vengeance, and thought that still didn’t have anything on the sting in his chest. “You…serious?”

Toby stared down at him, peering past the ballcap that somehow’d never left his head even when he was tangled up with Jazzy, for a long and silent minute. When he shook his head and backed away, dragging his hands through the ends of his dreads, Vic felt that pressure lift off his chest all over again. “No, I ain’t, you wouldn’t have done that. You ain’t Pops.”

“Damn right I ain’t.” His voice shook a little when he said it, and he hated himself for it.

His older brother hung his head with a heavy sigh and rubbed his face. “You know what this means, then.”

“Means we gotta hunt us down a fucking ho?”

“Tempting as that is…” Toby threw his dreads back, hanging down at the base of his angel bones now, and looked over his shoulder. “She gone, man. She ain’t coming back.”

“Yeah, but if we find her-”

“We ain’t gonna find her.” His voice was sharp and final, and Vic knew there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Vic rubbed his stubbly chin as he huffed out a sigh and sulked past Toby. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He wanted to lift his hand and flick Toby off with eighteen years of rage pent up in his body. But he stopped in his tracks instead and pressed his hands against his bare waist, staring down at the stained carpet. “My room?”

A snort was his first response, and when Toby touched his shoulder Vic flinched. “You ain’t going anywhere. We gotta talk.”

“Shit, you sound like Ma.”

Silence. Toby took his hand back and sauntered toward the couch, all baggy clothes and broad shoulders, and Vic felt a twinge of envy all over again as he watched him walk. His brother was tough. He didn’t even need that fucking switchblade to make Vic and everyone else in the hood want to be him. “C’mere. You got a lot of shit to say to me.”

Vic stiffened, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t got a damn thing to say, not anymore.”

“How long you been wanting to fuck her?”

Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. He actually turned the question over in his head a few times before he remembered he was supposed to be a pain in the ass. “How long she been in town?”

Toby blew out a long sigh, leaning back into the couch cushions and kicking off his shoes. “…couple of months, maybe?”

“Couple of months, then.”

His brother snorted as he propped his feet up on the coffee table. “I hear that.” Another long bit of silence, and Vic leaned back against the wall to try to get a little more comfy. “Why the hell’d you just…stay all shut up about it?”

It was Vic’s turn to snort. “How often you tell me who you want?”

“You could’ve had her.” Toby quirked his brow and looked over at him, smoothing dreads out of his eyes. “All you had to do was just fucking say something.”

“Say something to the Golden Boy, take away what he wanted? You shitting me?” His feet carried him toward the couch before he even knew what was happening, and soon he was plopped down right beside his brother, trying to leave a cushion between them. “You honestly telling me you was just gonna lay down and let me have her if I wanted?”

“Hell yeah.”


“Aight, look,” he started, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he thudded his head back against the wall. “Maybe I’d be pissed off, sure, whatever, but if you told me you wanted her to be your girl, I’d get over it and step off.”

“You ain’t never bullshitted me like this before.”

“Vic, what the hell do you think I am?” It was silent for a long time as they stared at each other, four eyes as brown as milk chocolate. Toby shifted to face him, crossing his legs on the couch cushion as he furrowed his brows in sheer confusion. Vic felt his skin start to crawl in discomfort. “When’d this fucking happen to us?”

“What do you mean?” He shifted like he was eight again, staring at the floor.

“We used to be close, real fucking close, and now you just…” The air conditioner kicked on, and Toby shook his head, the beads clanging together just audible enough. “You’re my brother, Vic.” There it was again, that acid churning at the base of his stomach. “And you know what, I don’t even care that you fucked Jazzy, ‘cuz she just a ho. She gonna get all fugly and shit soon, spend our money on fucking cigs and scotch, but you…” He touched Vic’s shoulder again, was unsurprised by his flinching. “You my brother. And you always gonna be my brother.”

Vic cursed under his breath and shoved Toby’s hand off his shoulder. “Man, this ain’t no daytime talk show.” He shoved himself back until he hit the couch’s arm, but Toby came right after him, grabbed his shoulders. “Get the hell away from me,” Vic snarled. But Toby’d never listened to him in his life. Why would he start now?

Toby wrapped his arms around Vic, tight like a solitary confinement cell, and held on like a bear even as his brother thrashed in his hold. “ I ain’t gonna let you go.”

“I’ma rip your throat out if you don’t fucking let me go right now.”

“Aight, that’s what you want?” Toby growled, digging his fingers bruisingly into Vic’s back. “Do it. I don’t give a shit. I ain’t letting you go.”

Vic shoved his hands against Toby’s chest desperately and grabbed fistfuls of his t-shirt when he still didn’t give. “Man, you ain’t Ma.”

“And you ain’t Pops.”

He gave Toby a solid punch in the ribs and heard him curse, but he was still stuck, and now his eyes were starting to burn. “Fuck you!”

“You ain’t. You ain’t Pops.” Toby pressed his head against the side of Vic’s and growled his words directly into Vic’s ear, where he could hear Toby gasp when he landed yet another sharp punch. “You ain’t gonna be a damn thing like him either.”

“And how the hell do you know?” Vic grabbed his shirt again, threw his weight to the side, and just barely missed the coffee table as they both came tumbling down hard on the floor. But even as Toby’s grasp loosened just enough so he could breathe, he didn’t let go.

“’Cuz that fucking booze ain’t you! Those cigs ain’t either, and the joints ain’t, and-” He choked when Vic dug his thumbs into his throat, but pulled Vic so close he couldn’t get the leverage to keep pushing enough to keep the words cut off. “Fuck it all, Vic, you ain’t Pops. You Victor Ortiz, and you gonna reach the stars if you just get on your fucking tiptoes.”

His breathing was erratic now, his movements clumsy, and Vic grabbed the front of Toby’s shirt and leaned down until they were nose to nose. “I hate you, you son of a bitch.”

“I know,” Toby whispered, never once breaking eye contact. “And that’s my own damn fault. And if you give me the chance, I’ma make it up to you, I promise.”

“You can’t do that.”

“You right, we can’t go back. But dammit, we can go forward.”

Vic crumpled and clung to Toby, burying his face in his shirt as he sucked in a wet, shaky breath. “Fuck it. Fuck it all.”

Toby reached up, grabbed the hat, and threw it behind him. It landed right on top of the empty beer bottles. “I ain’t ever gonna let go.”