Because shewasdifferent.
"You're Lawton Fuckin' Rastor," Bishop continued. "Everyone looks."
He was right, but I'd never admit it. After five years of fame, I was tired of being gawked at, and even more tired of people knocking on my door. It was half the reason I'd moved out here to the suburbs, this one in particular.
This place? It was a world away from my usual crowd. The way I saw it, that was a good thing.
Yeah, I didn't fit in, but that was the whole point. I almost smiled. Maybe I'd pretend to be civilized. Just one of the neighbors. A regular Joe. Who knows, it might be nice.
Bishop's voice broke into my thoughts. "You know, I've seen you when she goes by."
"So?"
"So whatever you're doing – inside, outside, whatever – you stop and watch." His eyebrows furrowed. "But she never watches you back."
I gave him a look. "So?"
"So there's something off about it."
I should be used to this. The guy was suspicious of everyone and everything. For the past week, he'd been staying at my house, planning one of our secret side ventures. If this kept up, it would be a week too long.
"Maybe she's too nice to stare," I told him. It wasn't like I'd known a lot of nice girls, but it made sense. Right?
"I didn't say 'stare.' I said 'look.'"
"Either way," I said, "it's not a bad thing to be polite."
I'd been raised by my grandmother, so I knew a thing or two about politeness. I didn't curse in front of girls or forget to say thanks when someone did me a favor, which, come to think of it, wasn't all too often. "Besides," I added, "it's not like she knows me."
Not that she knew of, anyway.
Bishop glanced down at my arms, covered in tattoos. "Maybe."
Then there was the thing he didn't say. Money or not, I was infamous, and not only for fighting. Thanks to that godawful sex tape and a reality show disaster, none of my parts were exactly private, and neither was my past. Some might call me a household name. Sometimes, that wasn't a plus.
Cash and fame, they couldn’t buy respectability. And they sure as hell couldn't buy a girl like that, not that I wanted to win her that way. I'd learned some things along the way. Groupies were over-rated, and so were friends of the paid variety.
That girl, she was something different. Iknewher, even if she didn't know me.
But she would.
The next time she walked by, it was time to ditch the pretense and just go after her. I'd walk up to her and say, "Hey, remember me, the bleeding idiot you found on the sidewalk?"
Shehadto remember. I mean, it's not every day you find someone that messed up. And if she didn't remember? Well, I sure as hell did.
And it all started in the back of some white SUV.
Chapter 3
It was five years earlier. The music was pulsing, and the vehicle was moving. I was lying on the floor of the back seat, trying to decide if I should ride it out, or make a break for it.
"He don't look so good," Trick said from the other side of the seat.
As usual, Sammy was driving. "He's not supposed to look good," he said. "It's called a beat-down, not a barbecue."
That's where Sammy was wrong. My arms still burned from their cigarettes. So technically, there had beensomebarbecuing. It was almost funny in a screwed up kind of way.
"Yeah, I know," Trick said, "but we weren't supposed to kill him."
