A knock sounded on his front door, but Leyton ignored it. It was probably his neighbor, needing him to come fix something. Why she didn’t call the maintenance man, he didn’t know.

Picking up the glass of water he’d set on the floor beside his bed, he picked at the pills. If he took them now, he’d go to sleep and hopefully be dead before his father came home. Then he’d never have to see the bastard again, never have to endure another physical or emotional blow from him.

As he held the glass in his hand, he noticed the scars that dotted his arm. Those weren’t even the half of it. Most of the cigarette burns were on his back, some on his chest. The scars on his arms were mostly from the end of the lighter after his father would heat it with the flame, then hold it to Leyton’s skin as though it were a branding iron. He never went without a shirt, most of the time preferring long sleeves so that no one would notice and ask questions.

The knock sounded again, and Leyton closed his eyes briefly. Couldn’t the woman find someone else to take care of her shit? Didn’t she know he hated having to unclog her toilet or dig hair out of her drain? That wasn’t his job.

Taking a sip of the water, he stared down at the pills. It was now or never.

“Why are you ignor— Holy shit! What the fuck happened to your face?”

Leyton jumped, spilling water down his shirt. His eyes flew up to see a very concerned—possibly even angry—Max standing in the doorway to his bedroom. “What are you doing here?”

“Answer my question first,” Max demanded, crossing the room in three steps, his gaze sliding down to the bed, to the pills lying there. “What the hell are those?”

Leyton was embarrassed. “Nothing,” he snapped, reaching down to grab the pills, but Max beat him to it, sweeping them up, dropping a couple on the floor in the process.

“Are these…?” Max stared at the pills, then looked around the floor. Leyton saw the bottle at the same time Max did.

Once again, Max reacted more quickly, grabbing the bottle and reading the label. His eyes lifted, concern etched on his face as he stared back at Leyton. “What were you gonna do?”

Leyton didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Emotion bubbled deep inside him. Anger, fear, desperation. It coalesced into a churning, fiery pain that exploded in his chest. If Max would’ve waited just a few minutes longer…

Max stuffed the pills back in the bottle, grabbed the couple he’d dropped, and added them, as well, then set them on the windowsill beside the glass Leyton had deposited there before dropping onto the mattress beside Leyton.

“It’s time we talk,” Max said firmly. “And by talk, I mean it’s time you tell me what the fuck is going on.” Max pointed at Leyton’s face. “And you can start by tellin’ me who did that.”

It was dark by the time Leyton finished telling Max everything. The words had spewed forth, and he’d been unable to stop them. He’d told Max about his mother leaving when he was little, having to leave his friends in Fort Worth, about his father’s drinking, his drunken rages, the burns from lighters and cigarettes, his repeated abuse. He didn’t stop until he was too tired to talk anymore, and at that point, Max informed him that if Leyton wasn’t going with him, then he wasn’t leaving. Then, Max had taken the bottle of sleeping pills, poured them into the toilet, and flushed them right out of existence.

So now, as Leyton lay on his lumpy mattress in the dark room, staring up at the ceiling, Max was doing the same on the dirty-carpeted floor on the far side of the room. Leyton didn’t have a television, no radio, nothing to pass the time, so after they’d finished their conversation, Leyton had told Max he just wanted to go to sleep.

Easier said than done.

Sleep had evaded him for the longest time, but he must’ve dozed off, because he awakened to the sound of his bedroom door slamming into the wall and his father yelling his name. Leyton sat up just in time to connect with something hard as it smashed against his cheek with a sickening crunch. Leyton yelled, the excruciating pain in his head making him dizzy.

“Who broke the fucking front door? And where’s my goddamn beer?” Carl hollered. “I know I had two left. Did you steal it, you little fucking prick?”

Leyton tried to roll away, but whatever object his father was using made impact again, this time with his shoulder, sending shards of pain through his neck and down his arm. He heard the sound again, lifted his arms to cover his head, but before the object hit its intended mark, Max was there, shoving Carl backward.

“What the fuck?” Carl stumbled into the wall, his speech slurred as he rambled. Carl flipped the light switch, and the single yellow bulb flickered on. “Who the fuck are you?” Carl didn’t wait for an answer; he merely continued to babble incoherently. “I have the right to defend myself in my own goddamn house. I’ll kill you, too.”

“Put the bat down,” Max commanded, his voice harder than Leyton had ever heard it. The next thing Leyton heard was the telltale sound of a gun being cocked, followed by, “Now.”

“Fuck you” Carl spat. “Get outta my goddamn house!”

“Put. It. Down,” Max insisted, stepping backward to get closer to Leyton.

As he got to his feet, unable to use his arm because the pain was too intense, Leyton glared at his father. Carl’s face was ruddy, spittle trailed from his lower lip, and his greying hair was greasy and standing on end. But there was something else, something Leyton had never seen on his father’s face before.

Pure, unadulterated fear.

Leyton looked at Max, and then he understood why his father was cowering. Max had a lethal-looking gun—equipped with a silencer—aimed at Carl, his face cold and hard.

“Put the bat down,” Max said calmly, his eyes on Carl. “Leyton?”

“Yeah?” he rasped, his head pounding.

“You okay?” Max asked.

He wasn’t sure what the answer to that was. The shards of pain in his head had caused his vision to dim. His arm and shoulder throbbed. He stumbled but managed to use the wall to steady himself.

“I’ll kill you,” Carl said, hatred flashing in his red-rimmed eyes as he glared at Leyton. “Don’t think I won’t. You won’t have him to save you next time, I promise you that.”

It was in that moment that Leyton realized what Max’s destiny truly was. Leyton was aware of what the Southern Boy Mafia was, what it entailed, thanks to his friendship with Max, but part of him had always thought it was a myth. Mafia. Sure, Leyton admired the structure and the lack of fear they had, was even envious of the way people treated them, as though they should be feared. Looking at Max as he steadily held the gun on Leyton’s father, he understood everything clearly. He knew that this moment, depending on what happened next, would forever change his life. And yes, possibly Max’s as well.

“Leyton,” Max said, drawing his attention once again.

“Yeah?”

“I’m offerin’ you another way out. Right here. Right now.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Carl asked, drooling as he stumbled and grabbed the wall.

“Say the word,” Max intoned, ignoring Carl. “That’s all you have to do. You’ll never have to worry about this piece of shit again.”

“I’m the only family the shithead has,” Carl snapped.

Max’s hardened gaze slid back to Carl once again. “Not true,” Max stated, the words enhanced by his deadly calm demeanor. “You’re not his family. I am.” Max cocked his head slightly toward Leyton. “What do you want, Leyton? Because taking your own life isn’t the only way out. Not anymore.”