Series of Death, Draft 02, CH 08 (Patreon)

The scent of warming meat spread through the kitchen as Trembor roasted the vegetables, adding spices to them before sipping his drink. Drinking at home was becoming a habit, but tonight was not the time to try and break it; not after dealing with Marlot.

The nice thing about cutting his blood with alcohol was that it stretched how long it lasted. He grinned as he took another sip; of course, he was drinking more of it as a result, so it wasn’t as helpful. He should move on to the premixed stuff.

He turned the carrots as his pad buzzed; Bo. Setting the roasting pan aside, he answered. “Bo, how is it going?”

“I need your help, Trem.” His brother sounded tired.

“Figured, that’s about the only time you call. Is Herelex okay?”

“He’s fine; this isn’t about him.”

Trembor sighed. “Then it’s about you and dad, isn’t it? I’m not getting between the two of you again.”

“That’s not it,” Bo replied sharply. “Well, only partially, and you can’t tell him about this. He’s going to gut me if he finds out.”

Trembor straightened. Keeping the cubs’ confidence was an old habit for him, but to have one of the adults ask? “Why would dad gut you?” He finished his drink while waiting for the answer. The silence stretched long enough he began worrying.

Bo sighed. “I might have something of a debt problem.”

That, Trembor hadn’t expected. Bo was one of the best in the family about managing his money. “Tried a new hunting ground and ended paying more than you’d planned for your kill?” he tried to make light of the situation, but something like this shouldn’t have been enough to get his brother to call him, let alone not was their father to know.

Bo sighed again and hesitated. “I… I had a losing streak.”

Losing? Streak? What— “Bo, you told dad you were just playing a little.”

“What did you expect me to say? He was shouting at me. You know how unreasonable he can be about this stuff. It’s not a big deal, I just need a bit to cover this week’s payment. I’ll pay you back when I get paid.”

“No.” The decision was easy. He didn’t need the stories about his father’s history with gambling, or how little—how much—Bo owed. He wasn’t enabling anyone with a gambling problem, certainly not a relative.

“Come on, Trem, don’t be like that. It’s not that much, I told you, I’ll pay you back.”

“Bo, I’m not an idiot. If you’ve reached the point where you’re saying, ‘this week’s payment,’ you’re dealing with more than a little money. I don’t want to know how much, Bo; I don’t care. Call a gambling help center. Better yet, call mother.”

“Are you insane?” Bo demanded. “Serene’s going to make me suffer before gutting me.”

“Can you blame her? After what the three of them went through because of dad’s addiction? What she had to do to get him out of it?”

“I’m not addicted,” Bo Protested.

“Talk to the helpline,” Trembor continued, “they’ll set you up with a counselor to deal with your addiction, and—”

“I told you, I’m not—”

“So long as you show progress controlling your addiction,” Trembor emphasized the word again, “they’ll keep the gambling house off your back.”

“I am not addicted,” Bo repeated.

“Dam nit, Bo! When you can’t stop once you’re out of money, it’s an addiction!”

“Oh, and you’re such an expert on the subject, are you?” Bo asked with audible snark.

“It was covered in enforcer training,” Trembor answered, doing his best to regain some control of his temper. Bo didn’t need him yelling. “As first responders when someone is at the end of their line, we need to be able to talk them down. You have no idea how many people get to the point where they won’t even arrange to be killed in a hunt. Suicide is such a waste. Just call them, okay? See the counselor, go through the steps they have you go through, then stay away from the gambling houses because if I find out you’ve gone back, I am telling dad and Serene.”

Bo didn’t respond, and Trembor figured the threat worked. The combination of her and their father had been used to scare everyone in his family at some point.

“It won’t help.”

Trembor groaned. Why did Bo have to be so stubborn? “Bo, no one is so deep in debt with a gambling house they won’t work with the helplines. They want to get their money, so—”

“It’s not that.”

Trembor waited for him to explain. “What is it, then?” he prodded when his brother didn’t.

“The gambling house I went to might not exactly have been legal.”

“What the fuck?” Trembor snapped his muzzle shut, felt his tail slat against his leg. “Bo, why would you ever go to one of those? There’s plenty of legal ones in the city.”

Bo sounded like he was verbally treading around sharp bones as he spoke. “It might be because none of them will let me in anymore.”

Trembor had trouble finding words. “Why wouldn’t they let you in?” in his few dealings with them while being an enforcer, people banned had always come about because of violence. Bo wasn’t like that.

His brother sighed. “I had a bad streak a while back, and when I got behind, they stopped letting me in, so I went to another one. I had a really bad streak there, and they kicked me out, after the third house—”

“A third?”

“After that, none of the others would let me in. I didn’t know they talked to one another.”

“You got banned from all gambling houses in the city because of how much you owed and—”

“I paid them back.”

Trembor wanted to glare at his brother.

“Well, I will,” Bo said, “I just need some time and a bit of luck.”

“You don’t count on luck when you owe so much the houses won’t let you in. Talk to the helpline, Bo.” Trembor rubbed his temple and tried to get his ears to lift. “Just how long have you been gambling, Bo?”

“A while.”

“How much is a while, Bo? I’m having trouble with the idea the houses would ban you without some sort of history to base your behavior on and what to expect going forward.”

“I don’t know, a few years?”

Years? And his brother had the gall to say he didn’t have a problem? “Tell dad, tell Mom.”

“Are you insane?”

“Me?” Trembor snapped. “I’m not the one who got himself in a situation so bad he had to lie about it!”

“Oh no, of course not,” Bo’s tone turned mocking, “because the mighty Trembor would never make that kind of mistake, would he? Never at all, right?”

Trembor growled a warning, knowing where his brother was taking this.

“I mean,” he continued, “it’s not like you spend years being some guy’s prey, telling us you’d gotten hurt in one hunt or another. Oh, and it’s not like you went and did it a second time, is it? How long did you lie to us about what that wolf was putting you through? Did you really get hurt by some guy with a protector weapon when you ended up in the hospital?”

“Fuck you,” Trembor growled. “I was a kid! I was barely out of cubhood when Gorrek got his claws into me, and unlike you, I didn’t have anyone warning me those kinds of males existed. You had dad’s example as to what not to do. You heard the stories like the rest of us. And don’t you fucking dare being Marlot into this. He never touched me with intent to hurt, I didn’t give him that chance. I walked away the moment I realized what he was. You went and not only did you walk into another gambling house, but an illegal one?” how had his brother even found one of those? The legal ones did everything they could to ensure they didn’t last, so they were well hidden. “Just how fucking stupid for that make you Bo?”

“I don’t have a problem?” his brother yelled. “Gambling isn’t a problem, it’s just something I like, and yeah, I have the occasional run of bad luck, that’s part of the game.”

“Then deal with your fucking game by yourself.” Trembor disconnected and fought the impulse to throw the pad against the wall.

He glared at his empty glass. How dare it be empty when what he needed was to down its content? Feel the alcohol burn down his throat, have the buzz chase away the taste of the argument.

He dumped the content of the bottle in the glass, filling it halfway with alcohol, then grabbed the blood from the cooler. Having to walk there and back let him cool enough that as he stared at his glass, he realized the stupidity of drinking more right now.

But how dare Bo mention Marlot? Thought of Gorrek hurt, but he’d been young. Marlot had fooled him so completely. So much that it was as if he’d gotten pointers from the lion himself.

Trembor shuddered at that idea, but it hadn’t happened. It couldn’t have; Gorrek would never share with someone else. If he’d play a part in someone getting their claws into Trembor, they would be Gorrek’s claws.

Trembor cursed and did so loudly. He cursed his brother. He cursed Gorrek. And he cursed Marlot. He especially cursed the wolf. He had loved him. He’d given him his heart.

That mating contract should have been a sign. No one did that on a whim. A lifetime contract without any cancellation clause? How stupid had he been not to see the trap?

Trembor cursed himself more than any of the others.

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