Brazen Mistakes (Brazen Boys #3)

51. RJ

Chapter 51

RJ

T rips was game to come spar with me at the dojo, and even though our styles are totally incompatible, it helps to burn off some of the anger we’re both carrying. I’ve dodged, rolled, and blocked enough that sweat trickles down my spine, and Trips is tired enough to attempt a few sloppy kicks to give his arms a break. But when I pull a practice sword and set up the dummy, he picks one up too, gripping it like a baseball bat.

“Dude, that thing isn’t for knocking people’s heads in.”

His grin is vicious. “It could be. With bonus points.”

I try not to roll my eyes, then go over and correct his grip, showing him a few basic swings on the dummy, and then I leave him to it, pulling out my own dummy.

It’s nice having the dojo to myself, but classes start again next week, so I won’t be able to bring Trips or Clara after that. There’d be waivers and safety lessons, and all sorts of limitations. Maybe I’ll take on Jansen’s sleep schedule and just bring them after midnight.

After a glance to make sure Trips won’t hurt himself or destroy the dummy, I drop into my forms, cycling through, the motions stiff after not working for a while. But like a bicycle, it comes back, and it’s sometime later when I realize Trips has stopped, panting, just watching me as I spin and strike, first one way, then the other. Finishing my series, I turn to him.

He tilts his chin. “You’re good at that.”

“I should be. I’ve been doing this or something like it since I was four.”

“Seems young.”

I hold out my hand, and he hands me his practice sword, then I clean everything up, both of us calm enough to talk. Even if it’s not about what brought us here to begin with.

The swords go back to the rack as I gather my story. “I was so shy then, and my dad wanted me to gain some confidence. I was really into superheroes when I was little, and he got me to believe that martial arts would teach me to be Batman. By the time I grew out of that phase, I decided I liked it. It was orderly, I knew what was expected of me, and the other kids didn’t make fun of me.”

Trips picks up one dummy and follows me to the storage room as I continue. “When I started high school, I ended up at all the dojos by our house, trying to find classes to fill up every day of the week so I wouldn’t have to think about how shit I was at being around other kids my age. School, Taekwondo, Ninjutsu, Karate, Kendo, whatever I could find, then I’d play video games. Every day on repeat, just with the school time taken over by the video games and wandering the internet for trouble on weekends.”

“Dude. We should have been friends.”

I can’t help the harsh bark of laughter that comes from me. “Would you really have been my friend in high school, Trips? You barely tolerated me that first semester. If I remember, your glowing praise was, ‘Well, at least you’re fucking quiet, but your shit is leaching onto my side of the room.’“

He grimaces before taking a sip from his water bottle. “Okay. I was an asshole.”

“Was? What’s changed?”

He chucks the bottle at me a second before his brain seems to click on, and I duck out of the way, just like I did for most of his swings when we sparred. The ones that hit, though, will bruise—no heads was a smart rule. The bottle clatters into the practice sword stand with a crash and he sputters out a laugh. “Okay. You’re right. Nothing’s changed. I’m still an asshole.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

I finish cleaning things up, while Trips fixes the mess he made. Once we’re in Trips’ SUV, he turns it on without putting it in drive, the snow that fell last night already muddy on the edges of the gutters, charcoal teeth in the half dark. “I’m still pissed,” he announces.

The burn still aches in my chest, too. “Same.”

“Good.” He squeezes the wheel, nostrils flaring. “If, or probably when, the time comes to deal with this fucker, do you have my back?”

“One hundred percent. You might have to get in line, man.”

“I was thinking permanent. ”

“Then we agree.”

He turns to me, confusion and surprise mixing with the fury. “I don’t have to talk you into it?”

“Shit, man. The things I’ve seen, he’s not the only one who should be removed. Not by a long shot. At least we can get to him. And I don’t know that Clara will ever be safe if he’s still free as a fucking bird. Which means none of us are safe. I’m not risking any of us for that bastard.”

He nods, switching into drive. “Then we agree.”

Winding through the streets, night closing in, I can’t help but ask one more question. “Do you think you can do it?”

His hand pushes through his hair, giving him a moment before he answers. “I’ve gotten close before.”

“But you’ve never killed anyone.”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

I stare out the window, wondering in what ways I’d change if I killed a man. After a few minutes, I realize I don’t think I would change if it were justified. The cool, logical side of me would weigh the value of a man’s soul against the harm he’d caused. And if the harm were great enough? I don’t think I’d feel any remorse.

Which is a truly terrifying thought.

“I’ll be able to do it,” Trips says, eyes locked on the darkness.

His face every time he loses control tells another story. I don’t know that he could kill someone, no matter how well deserved, not without guilt eating him up. It’s why the way he was raised fucked him up so much. He cares more than he lets on. I decide to give him an out, should it come to that. “Me too. I guess we’ll race for it. ”

He laughs, a brittle cough more than anything. “We’ll see about that.”

“We both know I’m faster.”

He rolls his eyes. “And I’m stronger.”

We drive home in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts.