Rpt Bronx Novels & Stories

Bronx looks like he just watched someone kick a puppy and now he wants revenge. “Unless you have another idea.” I shake my head. “Come on. Let’s go home. I have to figure out how to tell Leni that I didn’t know I was stopping a prostitute from hitting the sidewalk after I was running through an alley outside a strip club.” “Good luck with that.” James opens his eyes wide. “Get a shower at my place.” Bronx claps me on the shoulder. “You can sleep on my sofa.”

“The truth is, Bronx isn’t here because he went away to be admitted to a rehab facility.” “Knock it off, Milo.” Now Milo is covering for Bronx? He doesn’t know about the image I saw of Bronx with the beautiful dark-haired woman, but rehab? Really? Bronx doesn’t have a drug problem, and he doesn’t drink very often. I purse my lips and turn my head away, looking around the room.

He shook his head. Uh-huh, I've got your game, you old fake. "Say gramps, it's been a while, but I seem to remember there used to be this nice neighborhood down by the water." What he remembered is that that's where all the big shots lived. Millionaire row it was called if he recalled. "Well, now that place has been all the rage with the out-of-towners here lately. Last I heard, some hotshot bought the biggest place down there and built him a mansion. A right beauty I heard tell. Sitting on a prime forty acres overlooking the water on a hill."

"I was the one to convince Bronx he needed help. So he started seeing one of the pack therapists and it helped a lot. I think he still sees her once a month. He still has his problems, Kas, but we all do to some degree. There's a reason he has the reputation he does. He walked away just now because he doesn't always know how to deal with his temper. That's the only way he knows how to not hurt you. He's never had someone in his life he has been protective over the way he is with you." Just then, Bronx comes up the stairs with a lit cigarette in his mouth, a small grunt with each step. He is covered head to toe in mud, except for the gym shorts he picked up, but those are basically trash now.

The Bronx did not look like the cradle of a new world; it looked like a city losing a war it didn't know it was fighting. When Avery stepped out of the black SUV in front of St. Jude’s of the Asphalt, the air was thick with the smell of wet pavement and the ozone of a thousand idling police cruisers. The global "Blood Debt" had officially defaulted an hour ago, and the shockwaves were hitting the street in the form of "Red-Out" riots.