“Oh shit!” The car jolts, my seat belt locking, as my bumper plays kiss the cat with something.

Someone.

As quickly as I freeze, I snap out of it, unbuckle and stumble from the car, my parents’ shouts ignored.

I rush around the hood, my arms nervously bent at my sides.

On the ground is a male figure, curled up and unmoving.

“Holy shit.” I drop, scraping my knees on the asphalt. “Oh shit. Oh no. Sir—”

I break off in a scream when I’m lifted from behind and swung in a circle, a loud laugh echoing in my ears.

As I’m lowered, the person playing dead rolls over, serving me a puckish grin.

Whipping around, I find Beretta taking slow, backward steps. He bends, grabbing an old football from the gutter, and my hands fall to my sides as my head tips back.

I release a long exhale, and then dart forward, kicking Arsen in the ribs with last night’s heels. He catches my foot, of course, and tugs me down on top of him with a low chuckle.

“Ugh!” I smack at his biceps but knowing I didn’t run someone over is such a relief, my forehead falls to his chest.

My car is on, parked in the middle of the street with the door wide open, but all I can manage to do is take a deep breath and push into a sitting position. I shake my head at the quiet, quizzical-eyed boy. “You’re a dick.”

Beretta’s shoes slip into view, and I look up at him. “One that works well, Trouble.”

He sticks out his hand.

With a low scowl, I slap my palm into it, allowing him to pull me to my feet.

“And you know this for a fact, do you?” I taunt.

Beretta’s smirk is dark and devious and has my mind swimming into murky waters I have no business being in.

He helps Arsen up next and tosses him the ball behind his back, right as three younger boys, the oldest appearing maybe fifteen or so, rush from the house.

The boys run out into the grass, and he sends the thing sailing.

The kids hop up, attempting to catch it, and each of them falls to the grass in theatrics when they miss.

A small smile finds my lips, but Beretta steps up beside me, so I wipe it away.

“His foster brothers,” he offers when I didn’t ask. “The couple in this house are damn near seniors, couldn’t have kids, so they foster. Arsen’s the oldest they’ve ever taken. He helps them out a lot, so they leave him to do as he pleases.”

Cali had said they moved here not long after I left.

Has he been in the foster system that entire time or is this new?

“JAMESON JOLE!” booms through my speakers.

“Oh shit!” I rush around the car, leaning inside. “I’m here!”