Somebody Else ✔

Here's to brother Cole.

Alex.

Edited.

It would have been logical to call the cops, or at the very least tell Deepika St Michael her ex husband was back. We didn't do either of those things. In our defense, the cops in Eastwood were fanatically loyal to their own, and Cole said he didn't want to worry his mother so close to her wedding.

I agreed to go with Cole, on his ridiculous scheme, because I loved when I got to fang around in his car. As well as wanting to keep an eye on him. It wasn't until we actually got to the Crooked Saints bar that I realized he was being serious. Jace was sitting in the back seat, and though my nose was purple thanks to him, we shared a frantic look.

I had told dad that I had to take the day off school to help out Cole. "I told the school you were sick, so please look like shit tomorrow Alex," he had replied. If he knew where I was and what I was doing, he'd slap me so hard across the face I would be spitting teeth for days.

I was chewing on my nails, tapping my foot. Cole had parked in front of the Crooked Saints ages ago, but still he had his hands braced on the steering wheel.

The Crooked Saints was owned and operated by the Seven Sins. It was on one of the main roads which cut through Eastwood, and next to the bridge over the river which divided the town in two. It was two story, the outside covered in red brick and once an industrial building. On both sides of the bar was murals - the side on the little run off street that led to other bars and the one nightclub in town, was covered in an angel with her hands pressed together against her chest, her black hair flowing out behind her as the light shined on her, her white feathered wings outstretched. A halo floated above her head. On the side that led to the alleyway was the insignia of the Seven Sins, the scales of justice with the snake curling around the base.

The air hummed between the three of us. Jace squirmed, and the leather seats creaked. "Cole - " He ignored Jace's pleading voice, and opened the car door. We had no choice but to follow him.

The heavy, wooden door was shut, but through the glass panels we could see the inside was swarming with activity. Cole exhaled and pushed the door open with his palms. The inside of the Crooked Saint was red brick as well, with black steel beams crisscrossing over the ceiling and wires exposed over the bricks. It smelt of whiskey, bleach, mold and ginger, oddly enough. Music was playing, old shit my dad listened to.

The slight ginger behind the bar laughed as we walked in, his voice thick with an Irish accent, "You boys got ID?"

"It's fine, Johnny. They're with me." Said a voice from the corner booth. I followed the voice and found Landon huddled over a table, his face pinched in concentration. The other patrons of the bar spared us only a seconds glance, before rolling their eyes and muttering about fucking children.

Everyone in the bar was wearing their colours, even the bartender. There wasn't any girls, or anyone younger than us. The majority were old, grizzled men with grey beards glaring at us. They raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Years ago, there had been televised territory wars between the Seven Sins, the Italians and Eastern European gangs in Eastwood. I felt like they could smell the Russian blood in my body, and I shuddered away from them. These were no glamourized bikie princes or protégées.

We went over to Landon and as we did, I caught the sight of four men leaning over the pool table, all with the same large, hazel eyes Izzy had, along with her square jaw and full lips.

"Do you know who those guys are, Cole?" Landon questioned when we sat down, He was pointing to the tall, thick men playing pool. We pressed close together on the old, frayed red seat, opposite him.