There was shouting as chairs scraped against the laminate floor. Someone yelled for the teachers. But Maro wasn’t hearing any of it.
He grabbed Horace by the collar, shoved him against the vending unit again, cracking the glass. His voice, when it came, was low, dangerous. “Say that again. Say it again, you festering sack of sewer rot.”
Just for good measure, he punched the little twat like he was trying to rearrange his ancestry. Noone dared to get close. Maro was a big lad for his age and everyone knew he had an anger management problem.
Horace tried to spit something out—maybe a protest, maybe a tooth—but all that came was a garbled wheeze and a thin trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.
Lirian was on his feet now, not touching Maro, just cautiously watching
“Get him off!” someone shrieked.
“Stop it, you daft bastard! You’ll kill him!” Zel shouted as he came charging in.
A guard shoved into the crowd surrounding the three boys. This was not the first fight the school had seen. Then another guard jumped into the fray. Maro didn’t fight them; he let them haul him back, breathing hard, a red mist still clinging to his eyes like warpaint.
As they dragged him away, he twisted his head, eyes locking with Lirian’s. “Next time,” he growled, “I’ll tear his jaw clean off.”
Lirian gave him a slow nod, a quiet, unspoken thank-you in the storm’s wake.
Chapter 13
Maro got suspended. It was only for a week as Horace tested positive for multiple substances which shouldn’t have been in his bloodstream and Maro had documented PTSD from his past.
Obviously!
The principal tried to ‘connect’ with him in a closed-door chat, but whatever he said didn’t work.
When Maro came out, Zel was waiting. No words were exchanged, just a tight hand holding the back of his neck as he was dragged, struggling to the bleachers.
They all met there more than once. Thane had one more year in junior school, so this was where they could talk without their parents hovering.
Zel lit a cigarette. “You can’t go smashing in heads every time someone opens their gob.”
Maro spat on the grass. “You didn’t hear what the dickhead said.”
“Aye, but if you don’t play smart, you’ll end up banged up…or worse.”
Then Thane, quiet as a whisper, said, “People think it’s just blokes that did it. But they don’t know about those bitches.”
No one else would understand. No teacher, no therapist, no bleeding-heart do-gooder could possibly understand what went on behind those close doors. The nightmares that lived in their sleep. Just the four of them who had lived through it.
They made a pact that day: anyone who comes for one, they get all four. But served cold. Strategic, so no one ever traced it back or pointed fingers.
They got older. Broader. Meaner, in the right ways.
Thane shot up as tall as his dad, eyes freakier by the year. One eye the colour of a clear sky, the other like an old coin. Girls flocked to him—drawn in by the brooding, ‘don’t touch me’ vibe like moths to a flame. He didn’t give them the time of day, just that slow death-stare. Half of ‘em liked it even more, especially since he looked like Death had a Tinder profile. But the girls loved him and wouldn’t leave him alone. He didn’t love anyone back. Just gave them the “fuck off” stare and they came crawling harder.
Calm, blond, and built like a boxer, Zel was second in size. He didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was gospel to the rest.
Maro? Thicker and taller than both. Built like a battering ram, muscle stacked on fury. No one touched him.Ever. Boy or girl didn’t matter. Ink was his poison and most of his body was covered, leaving only a harsh face which had its own kind of rugged beauty.
Lirian was the quiet, wiry, tech wizard. He moved like a runner, lean and quick, the type who was underestimated till it was too late. His mum was Japanese, and his dad was Glaswegian with pale blue eyes and a mouth like a sailor. Lirian took after his mother—sharp as a blade, and just as quiet. He started doing martial arts when he was twelve and neverstopped. MMA fights were his outlet for the longest time until he tore a tendon and had to give it up.
He also saw the crypto boom coming before it hit and bought up Bitcoin when it was worth piss-all, then sat on it like a dragon with gold.
He didn’t sell it all when it spiked; no, he waited and sold bits at the top. He set up blind wallets and diversified. By twenty-eight, he had enough stashed to retire the whole crew. Buy a villa or two and walk away clean.
They could’ve walked.
