“Sure, Pa.” Clay grabs me by the arm and hauls me upright. “Let’s take a walk.” His voice is ice cold.

With his hand around my bicep, Clay pulls me forward and I struggle against him. His hand tightens. “One move, you motherless bastard, and I blow your ever-lovin’ brains out your ear.” If he’s pretended to hate me, he’s sure doing a good job.

Clay pulls me out of the house and down the porch. My eyes flick to his face, a mask of disgust. I keep waiting for him to smile, wink, but nothing. I’m about to give up hope when he yanks me into a dark alley. In the dirty crevice, his grip loosens from my arm.

“Jesus, we’re in a hot mess.” He leans against he building and rubs his hand over his face. “Goddamn. So much for plan A.”

I pull away from him and step back until there’s a good five-foot gap between us. I glare at his shadowed figure. “You never said he was your pa.”

“Yeah, well, he is. Didn’t think you’d be too keen on going with me if you knew.”

“Well, yeah,” I say, my voice too loud.

Holds a finger up to silence me. Then he nervously scratches his chin stubble. “Listen,” he says, gazing back at the house, “just because the Sheriff’s my pa don’t mean our deal’s off.” He sighs deeply. “I … I’m still in.”

“In for what?” I ask, flapping my hands. “Our master plan failed. We’re done.”

He glances back toward the house. In the glinting windows, I can make out the shadow of his father clomping up the stairs. Clay sighs heavily. “We don’t got a choice now. We’ll have to head out. He’s seen you.”

“We?”

He looks back toward the pristine house and grinds his teeth. Finally, he nods. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

I search his face. His eyes look tired, his jaw tense. The stubble on his cheeks and chin make him look twenty-five instead of eighteen. “Why?”

He blinks and looks up at me as if coming out of a dream. “What? Get you out?”

I shake my head. “Risk your life for strangers. That,” I say, pointing to the house, “is your flesh and blood.”

Clay’s eyes search the night sky as if the stars contain some answer. He laces his fingers behind his head. His answer is slow in coming. “I don’t know. My pa … he’s been good to me.” He swallows hard. “But, he’s not a good man. He wants me to be his second. I can’t. Not after last month …”

I frown. “What happened last month?”

Even in the shadows I can see the sorrow running through his expression. “Nothing,” he says sharply. “I’m just not as tough-minded as my pa. That’s all.”

“Not as psycho, you mean.”

His brow darkens. “He’s still my family.” His eyes flick to the little squares of light at the front of his house. “I’ll disappoint him if I stay.”