Chapter 2

The apartment door groans open when they push in.

Nine hundred square feet of stained linoleum greets them, split into three rooms and a miniscule bathroom. Rome sits at the table, muscled frame casting a large shadow on the floor. He holds a bag of frozen peas to his face. “Hey. Package for you, Newport.”

Nick looks to the counter. “Earlier than expected.”

“You're telling me. Apparently I took too long getting out of the shower to answer the door - delivery guy was a real ass about it.” He runs a broad hand over his buzzcut.

There's the padding of bare feet as Louis shuffles into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, tanned torso on full display. His sweatpants are too big. He mumbles a greeting.

“Looks like you stuck your fingers in a socket,” Eurion comments, gesturing to his hair. Even lookers can't win against bedhead, especially with caramel waves like that.

There's no reply.

“Where's Salem?” Eurion turns to Rome, grimacing at the sight of the black eye he's nursing.

“Out. Said she needs new clothes, the old ones are too loose.”

Nick rummages through the package. “Marriage did a number on her.”

Sputtering, Rome drops the bag of peas. “Excuse me, we're very happy together. We're just -”

“Broke,” Eurion nods. He pushes past Louis, who's standing dazedly in the open door of the fridge, and grabs a beer. “Low on food. Spending all your money on birth control.”

Rome reddens as Nick snickers.

“They have to,” Louis says. He's still staring into the fridge, baritone voice thick with sleep. “Don't wanna bring kids into this dump.”

Silence falls.

Eurion toasts Louis. “Morning, sunshine.”

“Anyway, she'll be back soon.” Rome lifts the peas to his eye again. “You guys get your pay?”

There's a rattling noise. Nick empties the box onto the counter, catching a few packs of cigarettes before they slide off the edge.

“No.” Eurion runs his tongue over the backs of his teeth. The sight of the target's blood on the wall is still fresh in his mind. “Someone beat us to the target. We can't go to Hosea empty-handed.”

“It was a clean shot,” Nick says.

“Mine would've been cleaner.” The beer tastes bland on his tongue.

Emerging from his stupor, Louis pulls a half-emptied can of peaches from the fridge, along with a tub of sour cream and some sandwich meat.

“That's disgusting,” Eurion says.

Louis cracks the tub open. “It's also expired. Life is an adventure when you can't scrape two nickels together.” He dunks a peach slice in the sour cream, then tosses it in his mouth.

“Didn’t you have a client two nights ago?”

There's a knocking on the door.

“That'll be her,” Rome says, smoothing a hand over his tank top. There's a stain on the white cotton.

“You still trying to look good for her? That's cute,” Eurion says.

Louis’s words are muffled through a mouthful of ham. “She sheen all yer shit, man.”

The door bangs open against the wall, revealing a tall woman with long, russet hair and a gleam in her eyes. A black tracksuit, once fitted and snug, hangs loosely on her figure. She holds two bags on her arm and another in her teeth.

“Babe, what -” Rome moves to help her. “Where did you get all this?”

Salem hands him a bag. When her mouth is free, she pulls him in for a kiss, then tosses her tresses back over her shoulder.

“Where did you get that?” She quips, poking his cheek.

Louis' voice is thick with sour cream. “Observant.”

“Shut up, Louis.” Rome grabs Salem’s hand in his. “It's nothing. Gift from the postman.”

Nick lets out a grunt, stacking his packs and putting them back in the box. “I hope you returned it. Delivery’s short.”

“Again?” Eurion trots over to the counter. “That's the third time now.”

“Why do you care?” Salem glares at him. “You're not smoking. You better not be smoking.”

Only two a day, but there's no way he's telling her that. Last time she caught him, she broke a wooden spoon on his kneecap, a birthday gift their mother had given her.

“Poor service means someone's snubbing Nick.” Eurion takes a swig of beer. “I don't like when people snub us.”

“Nice save."

“Shut up, Louis.”

Peeking into the bag, Rome raises a brow. “What’s this?”

Salem sets the other pair on the table, ignoring Louis’ squawk as his can of peaches tips over. “These two are clothes. That,” she points to Rome’s, “is classified. Put it in the closet, I'll explain later.”

Rome lumbers off, disappearing into the master.

“Classified?” Eurion echoes.

“Never you mind.” Salem hands a bag of clothes to Nick. “These are for you and Eurion. All black, as requested.”

“Nothing for me?” Louis asks.

Salem tousles his hair. “Not today, pretty boy. Couldn’t find anything stylish.” The tone in her voice makes it clear she’s irritated to have lucked out.

Louis chews his lip, thinking. “I’ll have to re-use a few pieces. Maybe Ms. Corvette will take pity and give me an allowance.”

“Oh, to be young and beautiful,” Nick says dryly. “Tell me, how young were you when you started working as professional arm candy?”

“If you mean, ‘how long have I been an emotional escort’, eight years.”

Eurion dumps his empty beer bottle in the trash. “Isn’t sixteen a little young to start in the socialite scene?”

“Takes a while to work your way up,” Louis shrugs. “Plus, business these past three years has sucked. Half my regulars have left the area or been killed.”

Sorting through the last bag, Salem sighs. “Not that I actually like the thought of this, but have you thought of extending your services? You’d double your profits.”

The sound of Louis’ chair scraping on the linoleum gives Eurion goosebumps.

“I’d rather be broke than a full-on prostitute, thanks.” Louis aims his empty peach can for the trash and shoots, using Eurion’s leg as a backboard. The can clatters to the ground.

Eurion scoops it up and tosses it in the bin.

“Speaking of profit,” Rome says, having re-entered the room, “I’ve got sales to make.” He’s wearing faded slacks and a blue dress shirt now. “I think I know someone who can help us with those investments we talked about earlier, Babe; I’ll look in on them on my way back.” He kisses Salem, then heads out the apartment door, slamming it shut behind him.

“What investments?” Eurion demands.

Salem pushes him into a chair. She pulls open a kitchen drawer, withdrawing Dad’s old electric razor.

“Haircut time.”

He rolls his eyes, then pulls his black bomber jacket off. Salem hands him a dish towel to wrap around his shoulders.

“Any requests?”

“Not too short.”

“You're gonna have to give me more than that, kid.”

Louis snaps the lid back onto the sour cream, then returns it to the fridge. “Eurion doesn't understand style, Salem. You got all the good genetics.”

Eurion glares.

“An undercut,” Salem decides. “Side parting, no more of this bowl cut nonsense.”

“It's not a bowl cut.”

“Shut up and sit still.”

The razor makes a whirring sound. Black hair starts falling to the floor.

“Have you heard what they're saying about the new restrictions?” Nick folds his arms and leans back against the counter. “Government’s trying to implement a nine o'clock curfew now.”

“Will anyone follow it?” Salem tilts Eurion’s head sideways, then removes the razor's plastic safeguard.

“Some. The paranoid and brown-nosers always do. Anyone who cares about surviving won't, though… The best money always gets made after dark.”

“What a sick, sick world we live in,” Salem sighs.

Nick lights a smoke. “Don't I know it.”

When he was a kid, Eurion always figured Nick and Salem would end up together. Best friends since childhood; they had to. But when Rome showed up and Nick had no problems with him, Eurion realised those old Hollywood movies were full of shit. Sure, Nick threatened to kill Rome if he hurt Salem. But Eurion had done the same.

“I was thinking, today…” Salem trails off.

“Not too hard, I hope,” Eurion says.

She smacks his head lightly. “I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

“No, I - I was thinking what it would be like if you could get into an online college.”

It’s quiet again.

Eurion doesn't dare look at Nick. “I'm twenty-two. Little bit late, don't you think?”

The razor crawls up his neck, slow and steady. “It's never too late.”

“Salem… We can't afford that.” Eurion stares at the wall. He imagines the target's blood on it, wishes he could scrub the wallpaper. “And even if we could -”

“I just wish you didn't have to do the work you're doing.”

Nick’s eyes are on him. He's sure of it.

“Look, I don't love it either. But we don't accept all the offers. We've never hunted without doing a background check, making sure they deserve the penalty they're getting.”

“There’s a proven process,” Nick says. His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the kitchen. “A few good kills improves your reputation among clients. You start getting higher-profile assignments. High profile equals high pay. If you’re making more money per kill, you don’t have to kill as often.”

“Unless you’re a bill chaser,” Louis points out.

“Which I’m not,” Eurion responds hotly. The razor glides by his ear.

“Exactly.” Nick takes another drag. “He just has to get through the rough patch, Salem. Nobody knows who he is yet.”

The floor is littered in black strands of hair now, Eurion’s knees speckled with them.

Salem’s voice comes out low and shaky. “I’d rather it stayed that way.” The razor shuts off.

“Salem-”

“Wishful thinking, right?” She moves to stand in front of him now, holding a small pair of shears. “I just - Mom and Dad didn’t leave much for me to do, you know? But looking out for you - that’s my responsibility.”

“What do you want me to do?” Eurion clenches a fist, careful to avoid her gaze as well as Nick’s. “I don’t have the personality for sales. Smuggling would mean bringing shit into our home, which endangers everyone. Work for the government? Not a chance.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Louis says, digging through the fridge again, “But you could totally make it in my line of work.”

Eurion scoffs. “Thanks.”

“What? You’ve got a face, kid. Ladies would love those big brown eyes.”

“Not everyone has the ability to smile and listen to people complain about how lonely they are, Louis.”

“Bodyguard.”

Everyone looks at Nick.

“That’s the end goal. Was for me, at least, before I got into the black market. I didn’t have the build for it, anyway, but it’s a profitable position, and usually involves minor violence rather than killing.”

Salem swivels back to Eurion.

“I’ve built up my endurance pretty well,” Eurion says, considering.

Nick nods. “Start working out with Rome and you’ll bulk up a bit. You’re lean, but you’ve got good shoulders. Women pay better for pretty bodyguards, so if you get too big you’ll have less of a market there, but men like their security beefy.”

It's quiet. Florescent light blinks erratic off the shears in Salem's grip. For a moment, Eurion wonders if Rome couldn't make the hydro bill again, but one glance up and he knows it's not the electricity. Salem's hands are trembling.

He reaches out, catches her wrists. Willing himself to meet her gaze, he sees it all: the shadows under her eyes, the tears threatening to spill, the fear that lives in her very irises now.

It sends his gut curling. If he could, he'd never look her in the eye like this, never acknowledge the change in her face, never have to watch his sister turn into this shell of her former self. But she needs him now. More than she did before. He can't be the same selfish kid he used to be.

Forcing a small laugh, he says,

"Seems a long time ago I wanted to be a professional gamer, huh?"