"How's America, my friend?"

Brendon has flown to the U.S the night he told Josh about to marriage. He said he has to take care of some "arrangements". Josh wanted to think he was talking about the apartment or something like that, but he knew differently. He also knew, though, that Brendon didn't have much of a choice. They were in the same position; forced into a life of crime that they didn't want to be a part of.

Brendon was a few years older than Josh. He was also more of an employee than a member, too- he did all the dirty work. Josh's father did the bad stuff, but Brendon carried it out. He had to.

The first time Brendon had to kill someone, he showed up at Josh's window, sobbing. They spent the entire night in his en-suite, with Brendon bent over the toilet, heaving, and Josh rubbing his back. That happened a few times, until Brendon started to hide his emotions. Josh hated to say it, but it was scarier to see his best friend cold than to see him crying.

"You'll love it here," Brendon said, interrupting Josh's thoughts. "The food is huge!"

Josh laughed. "What have you been doing there, anyway?"

Brendon paused. Josh could imagine that he was shrugging, like he had forgotten that they were on a phone call.

"Business," Brendon finally replied.

"I thought there wasn't supposed to be any 'business' there."

"This is the last of it," Brendon promised. "We just had to... make some assurances."

Josh frowned. "I don't know what you're implying, but I don't like it."

Brendon chuckled nervously. "Don't worry about it. Everything will be cleared up when you come down. And you'll have a hot husband."

"A hot husband that's being forced into this," Josh muttered.

Brendon sighed. "You don't know that."

"Uh, yeah, I do."

"Well, when you turn eighteen, it won't matter," Brendon said. "You'll be able to come back and officially join the family."

Josh hesitated before speaking again. "What if I don't want that?"

Before Brendon could say anything, a voice interrupted. Josh could faintly hear it through his phone, but he didn't understand what they were saying.

"I'm sorry, Josh. I have to go."

And, with, that, the phone call ended. Josh stared at the device in his hand, slightly alarmed but more curious than anything. He wondered what Brendon was doing, and why he seemed so secretive about it. While Josh hadn't exactly joined in on many crimes, he was told about them. He was also told about how his "time would come"- on the 18th of June, to be exact. Josh's eighteenth birthday.

He had never wanted to be like his father, but what choice did he have? Both of his sisters had been forced into it (in the mafia's sexist, married-off way, of course), and when Jordan had tried to escape, it had resulted in his death. Josh had come to terms with the fact that he would be miserable for the rest of his life, but that didn't mean it was easy to accept.

Josh turned his head. His suitcase was on his bed, half packed. He walked over to his closet and began pulling everything out. He could buy new clothes in America, but he wanted his own stuff. That would give him a sense home, at least. Of course, the Dun Mansion wasn't a great home, considering the annual shootouts and constant danger, but it was home.

Josh exhaled heavily as he messily folded his clothes and threw them into his suitcase. His flight wasn't for another two days, but he wanted to be prepared. That's what he told himself as he packed away his whole life.

That night, as Josh fell asleep, he thought about what Brendon had said on the phone. It obviously had something to do with Josh's arrangements, but he didn't know what. It sounded like he was doing something dangerous- not dangerous for him, perhaps, but dangerous for the other parties involved. He could hear the slight shake in Brendon's voice. It was something that skipped through his exterior; something only Josh could notice.

Josh didn't sleep that night. He couldn't.