Page 24
“No, but you never know. It’s less about the shower and more about what I can’t see. I’m sure the ‘ologies would have something to say about that. Fear of the unknown. Paranoia. Caution. Analyze it however you want; closed shower curtains are creepy.”
Shane chuckles. “Never thought about them like that.”
“Not surprising. You strike me as someone who isn’t worried about things hiding around the corner.” I shrug, my gaze dropping to his tattoo. “You said that’s for your brother?”
“Yeah, Grant always liked snakes. He had a few as pets over the years. Every time our mom would come through town, she’d make him get rid of them.”
“Did she travel a lot?”
“You could say that.” His gaze moves anywhere but at me. “She wasn’t around much when we were growing up.”
“That must have been hard.”
Shane pulls his fingers through his hair. “We got through it.”
As if that’s the goal of childhood—getting through it.
I can’t imagine my parents not being there for me growing up, but I know better than to dig into Shane’s past when his hands dip into his pockets, physically shutting down from the conversation.
“Does your brother still have any pet snakes?” I try to veer the conversation, but when Shane’s jaw clenches, I sense all I’ve done is strike another nerve.
Way to go, Harloe.
Shane shakes his head. “He died a few years ago. Overdose. We hadn’t talked for a while before that, so I have no idea about the snakes. I didn’t even know he was using or where he was living at the time. We just… lost track of each other, I guess. Last I heard, he joined up with a club somewhere in the Southwest, but they’re not around anymore either.”
“A motorcycle club?”
Shane nods. “They were absorbed by another club not long after Grant died.”
“Do you have any other siblings?”
“No. It was just me and Grant.”
“At least you had him,” I say, getting the sense I’m not the only one standing here with regrets. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The words come out thick. And even if he nods, I wonder if he’s thinking what I always think when people say that to me after they find out my mother is dead. Sorry doesn’t really mean anything. It’s not their fault, and it doesn’t bring her back.
Shane clears his throat, changing the subject. “Venom’s a name I got from the club. When you’re new—prospecting, as we call it—the guys try out a lot of nicknames before one sticks.”
“And Venom stuck,” I guess, staring at his patch.
“If the bite doesn’t kill you, the venom will.” He shoves his hands into his pockets again. “I earned a reputation for taking care of problems one way or another.”
“Efficient.” And terrifying.
I’m under no illusion Shane isn’t dangerous, but for him to admit it in such clear terms catches me off guard. Maybe I should think twice about the fact that I’m standing in the alley alone with him. But as I look up into his dark eyes, I’m not the least bit scared.
He might have done terrible things, but I can’t imagine him ever hurting me. Not like Zander did when he grabbed me earlier.
My scalp aches where he gripped my hair. At first, I told myself it must have been an accident. That he didn’t notice how tight his grip was. But he had to have. Which makes me wonder how things would have escalated if we had continued our relationship.
“You all right?” Shane’s eyebrows furrow, and I realize I’m absentmindedly rubbing the back of my head with my fingers.
“Just a headache.” I force a smile, dropping my hands to my sides. “So, this reputation you earned with the club. Is that how you got all those scars?”
Buried beneath the tattoo ink are a scattering of marks. Some more obvious than others.
“Some.” He turns his arm over, the streetlight illuminating the twisting snake. “But that one there is from the stovetop. Fucked myself up trying to cook ramen when I was wasted.”
