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PROLOGUE
Rock
The Past
17 years old
I stare at my twin brother Jett.
We’ve always been close, even when we share a difference of opinions. But people say my brother is sweeter than me, that I’m the harder nut to crack.
“What you think?” I give him a chin lift as I hold the punk up against the wall. “We leave him breathin’, or we fuck him up?”
Jett gives me a look. He’s always been the calmer between the two of us. If I had completed high school and had a picture in the yearbook, it’d say something like: Most likely to fuck up.
Jett, on the other hand, he’d be most likely to be able to talk himself out of any situation. Calmly.
I scoff at the idea. Talking is overrated. I hit first, talk after.
“Fucked him up enough,” Jett replies, rolling his eyes.
“You think?”
“Since he’s barely conscious, I’d say yeah.”
I check his pockets and relieve him of all the cash in his wallet, plus a nice-looking pocket knife.
“Had it comin’,” I mutter.
“Who is he, anyway?”
“Punk owed me money.”
“You dealin’ again?”
I ignore him. Sometimes my brother’s ‘holier than thou’ attitude drives me crazy.
“Rock?” he presses.
Since when did he become a saint?
Our eyes meet. “Dealin’ ain’t takin’, brother. Don’t tell me you don’t know the difference.”
“Don’t want you endin’ up like Lazy Pete.”
I snort. “Lazy Pete did needles. I don’t do that shit.” I shudder at the thought.
“You know what I mean. In the end, he crossed everyone in this city until there was nobody left. Now he’s six feet under.”
I frown. “Who am I crossin’?”
My brother has always had this moral dilemma. Even when he knows justice has to be served for those who cross us. It’s the only way they’ll learn.
“Just sayin’.”
I grip the back of his neck and press my forehead to his. “Thought we were in this together?”
“We are.”
