Stolen Justice

Gunpowder and smoke in the air. Hands numb. All sound gone after the blast.

Mouth dry, Pike O’Rourke rolled, cheek sticking to his white pillowcase. Memories warped into nightmares clung to him, but he shoved them aside. Peeling the damp cotton away from his face, he sighed as he looked down at the red and blue stains. Not the first time he’d taken a ‘nap’ and made one hell of a mess, but it was shitty to have his roommate cleaning up after him. Again.

There had to be a way to figure out how to use bleach without putting holes in half the stuff. Or ruining another pair of jeans. Pike raked his fingers through his freshly dyed blue hair, then sat up to yank off the pillowcase. The throb around his eye, along his jaw, made his stomach turn. Maybe asking the starting quarterback of —what the fuck is our school’s football team called?—if his mom knew what an asshole he was, then looking at his girlfriend with a ‘Well, do you?’ hadn’t been the brightest idea.

But for the look on the dude’s face?

“So worth it.” Pike chuckled to himself to cut through the silence as he made his way across the off-campus apartment, missing the low, heavy metal beat that always filled the space when his roommate was around.

They’d lived together for about ten months now, clicking from the start. Ezran not being home was weird, but also, kinda expected. Whenever the dude was stressed, he’d take off without warning. He’d been stressed a lot lately. But somehow still managed to keep up with his classes and ace fucking everything.

His disappearing acts meant Pike got real used to being alone, real fast. Wasn’t like he could bring a whole staff with him to school, as much as he’d have preferred that to learning how to use a stove, or a dishwasher, or a…

“Damn it.”

The stench as Pike opened the washing machine made him gag. Ez was going to kick his fucking ass for forgetting the whole drying part of doing laundry. Groaning, Pike tossed the pillowcase on top of the bunched-up mess, dumping a laundry pod and what looked like enough bleach in with it.

Turning it on, he slapped his hands together with satisfaction. “Look at me go. See, I’m not fucking helpless, you bossy bastard.”

Of course, he got no answer, but Ezran would definitely be impressed. Pike grinned, instantly regretted it, then skulked into the kitchen to see if there were any leftovers he could scrounge for...whatever meal fit with whatever time it was. Not full dark out, so he hadn’t slept another Friday night away.

Though ‘slept’ probably wasn’t the right word for it. His driver had likely carried him up to put him in bed because he was awesome like that. Pike might’ve decided not to bring along his valet, Stuart, or sweet old Macy—who’d made sure he hadn’t even known what a laundry room looked like until he’d moved here—or the cook, Sophie, who’d been worried he’d starve on his own, but without his license, how the hell was he going to get anywhere without Santis?

The man lived local and was paid well to get Pike to and from school five days a week. Extra when he drove Pike places on the weekend. Sure, Ez thought he was spoiled rotten, but didn’t seem to mind when it was pouring out and he couldn’t use his motorcycle.

Opening the fridge, Pike gave a little first pump. “You fucking rock, Ez.”

Apparently, his buddy had been grateful enough over getting lifts recently to leave Pike a few pre-made meals in the fridge. Thank fucking god, because hitting his favorite restaurants with his face messed up would suck.

See, this was why they got along so well. Sure, Ez was more independent and knew how to do pretty much everything, but Pike did his share. Sometimes it was just sucking the guy’s dick when he wasn’t in the mood to hunt down a sweet piece of ass—which cancelled out the whole ‘We’re not going there’ rule Ez set when Pike came onto him after living here almost eight hours—but Pike contributed where he could.

Hey, what are friends for?

Helped that the man was hot as fucking sin. And controlling in some ways, which shouldn’t have been as appealing as it was. Pike snorted at the thought, resting his hip against the counter as he plunked the container of chicken stir fry in the microwave, zapping it for three minutes just like the note Ez had left him on the lid instructed. As the ‘O’Rourke Heir’, Pike was supposed to take over the reins of the family business. Be the big man in charge.

Yeah...so not my thing.

His father’s—God rest his soul—goons weren’t too impressed when he’d fucked off to college, but too fucking bad. The only drugs he wanted any part of was a bag of weed or some E the odd time he and Ez crashed some weak-ass party, hoping to get laid. Besides, the woman who’d raised him for the past ten years—ever since his mom had been...murdered—Karliene McGill, handled shit just fine. When Pike told her he wanted to go into animation, she’d encouraged him, pulling some strings to make sure he got in at Berkeley.

Ez was into art too, one of the other reasons they got along so well, but he was studying to be an architect or some shit. Waste of some serious talent, though, because the guy’s oil paintings belonged in a museum. Pike glanced at one on the kitchen wall, a lake with an overturned boat on the shore and a pier in disrepair that still somehow looked welcoming. Like a little bit of love and it could be what it had been in a memory of better times. Both somber and beautiful, real enough sometimes he was sure he saw the water moving.

All stuff he could say to Ez without weirding him out. But it might make him get that look in his eyes. Sad...not the haunted one he’d gotten once before destroying a painting of a table.

They hadn’t discussed that one at all.

Finished with his meal, Pike took a cigarette out to the balcony, breathing in the smoke as he watched the sun set. Shirtless, black jeans riding low, he soaked in the damp breeze, idly rubbing a bruise on his side. The one he’d gotten from Ez when they’d sparred, the last time the man was home. The logic was, if Pike was gonna mouth off so much, he’d better keep up his fighting skills.

He had a feeling Ez just liked smacking him around, but he didn’t mind. Wasn’t like when he was a kid and his older cousins used to do it. Fucking assholes. Dad always said it was to toughen him up, laughing with his brothers when their kids shoved his face in the dirt.

That was a long time ago, back when there’d be family trips to Ireland to see Gran. Mom never went, it was supposed to be a ‘guy thing’—which was weird since one of the girl cousins always showed up. Pike couldn’t even remember her name. Lacy?

Ugh, who cares, she was nasty to me too.

He did his best not to think of any of them.

They’re all dead.

His hand shook as he took another puff from his cigarette. Recalled the funerals he couldn’t go to, the confusion of being suddenly an orphan at fifteen, living alone in a huge fucking mansion near Fort Worth, told he not only inherited a bunch of hotels from his mom, but all of his father’s criminal enterprises. At least Karliene being his legal guardian meant he didn’t actually have to do too much. Sit in on some stupid meetings now and then. Sign stuff. Pretend he knew what the hell was going on when they talked about shipments and territories.

Dad had wanted him in the business, or at least learning about it, a lot younger. The only reason he hadn’t been entrenched like all his cousins was because of Karliene. His mom’s childhood friend had a wicked tongue, and she’d known how to handle his dad whenever a father-son fishing trip ended with Pike sporting a brand-new gun and talking about being ‘ready’. Karliene reminding his dad he’d sworn to Pike’s mom that he’d at least wait until Pike was eighteen, and he owed her that much after getting her killed, ended the trips.

And the bond he’d thought they’d had.

Growing up, Pike had it pretty good, mostly isolated from the rest of the family. He’d been a proud mama’s boy, sharing her love of art, delighting all her friends when she dressed him up in little suits to attend art exhibits and other functions. Everything changed the day one of his father’s rivals broke into their house. Only nine, Pike had grabbed his father’s gun. Shot the fucker.

Too late. Much too fucking late.

If I’d been faster, Mom would still be here.

Karliene got annoyed when he talked like that, so he tried really hard not to let his mind go there. When he was alone, when he slept, sometimes he couldn’t help flashes of that night from hitting him hard. Or getting trapped in how life had been once it was just him, Karliene, and his dad.

There were some good times back then, and he missed his father sometimes, but it was hard to think of him when the last time he’d seen the man was in the morgue. While he was still sporting a fat lip from Dad backhanding him for bringing up art school. Kinda twisted up all the emotions. Padraig O’Rourke had never been gentle with him, but things got a lot worse after his uncles were taken out, one after another.

Almost as if his old man knew how it would end. Considered it his last chance to spare Pike. Or, that’s what Pike told himself, anyway. If his father thought the family business might somehow protect him, the violence had a point. Maybe he’d been a little shit, turning on him, siding with Karliene as he got older. That’s what his Dad’s right hand man, Lorcan O'Leary, always said.

No one was sure if Pike’d been spared because he was so much younger, but he still had to be careful. Every week, he sent Karliene a postcard, a signal he was all right since she didn’t trust him to check that his phone was secure. He’d gotten in the habit of sending postcards to some of his old friends—well, the people he’d kinda hung out with in school, anyway. Anti-social fuckers never wrote him back. But they’d ping him now and then on his socials before dropping off the map again.

What is it with you and people like that?

Finishing his cigarette, Pike tipped his head back. Didn’t bug him, really, except nights like tonight when shit was...lonely. He’d always hung on the edges, avoiding the popular kids, sports, group activities, never needing to pay attention when teachers called on him in class, but he liked the noise of being there. Liked the movement, the colors, being part of everything and yet not quite. Sometimes, he wanted to take it all in to recreate, exaggerated with ink and markers, picking out the special moments to play out as part of a bigger story woven with an edge of fantasy.

Other times, he just wanted to see how people would react. Press all the buttons at once because it was fucking fun. Even if he ended up getting punched in the face.

What could he say? At least now he could draw a realistic fist in motion.

Close up.

From several different angles.

He got in the most trouble when he was bored.

Ez not being here had made him really bored.

You promised him you’d behave.

True, but what did that mean, exactly?

A little smirk on his lips, Pike took out his phone. Maybe there was a party going on or something. He usually waited for Ez to get in that kind of trouble, but the dude had been gone for days. And he’d been grumpy as fuck since Christmas, refusing to tell Pike what was going on. That he’d been willing to spar seemed like maybe things were getting better.

Pike hoped so, anyway. Last time Ez was in a really bad place, he wound up coming home with a fucking knife wound. Bruises everywhere. Some hardcore streetfighting or something.

The man could handle himself, but still, that shit was brutal. Aside from Karliene, Ez was the only person Pike had let himself get close to in a long time. He cared about the guy. Maybe Ez wouldn’t let him care too much—he totally understood—but the idea of losing anyone else…

Don’t go there. Ez. Is. Fine.

Giving his head a hard shake, Pike spun, slamming into a broad chest.

Much too big to be his roommate’s.

Tripping backward, Pike went for the knife he kept strapped to his ankle, crying out as a massive hand closed around his wrist. Dragged inside, Pike twisted, swinging his fist, kicking, brilliant blue hair falling into his eyes as he was lifted off his feet. Released over the sofa, which might go well with the whole gothic art deco style of the apartment, but the stiff leather made for a hard landing.

Pike hissed through his teeth as his knife was jerked from his hand and tossed over the guy’s shoulder, breaking some kind of glass. “You’re gonna pay for that, asshole. Not sure what it was, but nothing around here’s cheap.”

The tall, muscular man with close-shaved hair and some really sweet tats raised his brow. “That’s what you’re worried about?”