“You think that got his attention?” I ask loudly, wanting to be heard as I turn to my brother’s big, gaudy house. He had no windows in the front of his place, because the sun rose on that side—just another reason to make a loud noise. Adjusting my grip on my baseball bat, I move toward Michael as he lifts his nose at me.

  “Is killing the car really necessary? It’s a gorgeous car. Look at it, Owen, it’s whispering ‘please don’t trash my paint job. Don’t ruin my headlights. I cost almost a hundred grand’ . . . I seriously wish I wasn’t here for this.” Sadness infects Michael’s voice, and I bite my bottom lip hard as I tremble with the urge to beat the absolute fuck out of the car. Turning back to the truly gorgeous, silver paint job and somehow cute, circular headlights, I rock back on my heels to sigh heavily.

  “Fine, I guess I won’t ruin the headlights,” A sharp spike of fury in my blood sends shivers up my spine, and goosebumps blanket my arms as I rear back my body to swing. Michael squeaks, but the sound fades quickly under the blood drumming furiously in my ears. Red seeps into the corners of my vision as I grunt with the effort of smashing the car to pieces. “Fuckin’ fuck! Fuck!”

  I slam the metal bat on the door frame, and the barrier swings open sharply as the mechanism inside shatters. Throwing the bat away, I grab the door to yank it off the car with a tremendous surge of adrenaline. The wife-beater clinging to my shoulders grows heavy with sweat, and I drop the door face down onto the gravel driveway to pant viciously. My wheezes resonate loudly in the wretched silence, and my lip twitches in a snarl as I look towards the sound of pounding feet.

  Oh-h oh . . . Rowlan is mad, but that’s the point of this little display. He had waged war. He came at me in front of Kaitlyn, threatened me and had the fucking audacity to act like I’d wronged him. Clenching my hands into tight fists, my nails dig into my palms as my brother’s face twists with realization and rage.

  “Yeah, you son of a bitch.” Mumbling along a thick, dry tongue, I lick my lips heavily and brace myself when Rowlan rushes me. I toss my glasses off and dig my heels in, and he slams into me with all the force of a freight train. Gasping as he knocks the wind from my body, I wrap my arms around him to twist and shove him face first into the dirt. He stumbles before catching himself, and my knuckles itch eagerly when he glares at me with all the hatred and venom he can muster. “You wanted to start somethin’, Rowlan. Well, you fucking started somethin’.”

  My brother straightens as I rasp my warning, and the hairs on the back of my neck bristle when he pulls out a gun. I couldn’t stop now; if I did, he really would kill me, and it wouldn’t be as merciful as a bullet wound. Rolling my eyes even as a cold sweat breaks out under my tank top, I take a step and hold my breath. My heart rampages against my ribs, staring down the barrel of Rowlan’s gun, and he flexes his fingers around the hilt. Hilt? No that’s for knives. What’s a gun holder part called again?

  But my mind goes blank with terror that numbs my hands, and I clench my jaw hard as I cautiously close the distance between us. Reaching into my pocket, I can’t feel the switchblade against my slippery, sweaty palm, but hey, at least my hand doesn’t shake. Flipping open the blade expertly, my brother is only five feet away, now, and my heart squeezes to bursting with anxiety and apprehension.

  Not taking my eyes off Rowlan, I lick the sweat from my upper lip before he jerks the gun at me. “Don’t take another step.”

  “What’re you gonna do, huh? Shoot me? Like you haven’t done that before,” I taunt him weakly, but don’t push; I’m not sure how far Rowlan could be tipped until he fell over. His beet red features tighten in irritation, and I take another step before he suddenly lurches forward and presses the gun against my chest. The cold steel burns just over my heart, and my eyelid twitches at the agitation reverberating through him, making the gun shudder. “I came here to prove a point, Rowlan. Come at me, and I’ll come at you, and you don’t want that. The only reason I haven’t killed you yet is because you’re not a good enough reason.”

  Rowlan’s eyes boggle out of his head when those four tiny words escape my lips, and the gun falters against my chest. It’s just a fraction of a second, just the slightest waver when the barrel isn’t pressed so tightly to my skin. I make my move, wresting the gun from him to let it fall to the ground, and then shove my palm against his sternum. He hits his ass hard, falling onto his back with a dazed look replacing his rage. Quickly kneeling on his dominant hand, I plunge my switch blade through his entire hand and twist violently.

  I wince as Rowlan’s high-pitched shriek pierces my ears, and he throws a punch at my face with his left hand. Rolling off him, the world spins around me, and I stumble to my feet as he stands up to clutch his ruined hand to his chest. Panting harshly, I wipe the blood from my nose and spit a glob of snot and blood on his shoes. A wild craze sparkles in his eyes, and my blood runs cold as I lift my fists in preparation.

  For once, I’m glad he lives on the outskirts of town on a big chunk of land so no one would interrupt us. Rowlan throws himself at me, and I tense when he jabs the knife I left in his hand awkwardly. Warm steel slices open my shoulder, and I hiss as I jerk back to throw a nasty kidney shot. He doubles over, dropping the knife onto the thick, lush grass now slickening with his blood. Snatching the weapon, I jump back when he rushes at me again. His punch is soft and off center to my gut, but still strong enough to knock the wind out of me.

  Grabbing his hand, I twist it around and sidestep to hold the knife to his throat when he crashes to his knees. Suddenly, even the world stops turning, and only my vicious wheezing could be heard as he holds his breath in threat and anticipation. His harsh gulp ripples up the knife, up my arm, and I take this moment to catch my breath before tangling my hand in his hair and yanking his head back.

  Don’t look so mean now, do you? His eyes sparkle brilliantly with hatred, but he knows he lost, and Rowlan scowls nastily at me. “If you ever approach me or anyone I’m with again, I won’t be so generous. Understand?”

  I wait for this motherfucker to nod, his expression morphing into a disgusted grimace before I let him go and stumble back. Sniffling, I spit on his back just because he fucking deserved it. Leaving Rowlan gasping and shuddering from adrenaline and pain on the lawn of his beautiful house, I walk over to Michael to wipe my nose and mouth jerkily. Reaching into my jean pocket, I toss him my keys before scanning the assaulted car in contempt.

  A clapping cuts into my scope of comprehension, and I look over as Ryan Harmon saunters down the front steps of the house. Briefly, I debate just ignoring him, but . . . I can’t. He is the more powerful person here, both physically and monetarily. And he is no Rowlan; I don’t know him, but Ryan could and would fuck me up if I gave him the choice.

  “What’re you doin’ here?” I mutter hoarsely, hacking back another glob that threatens to suffocate me. Ryan’s calm, cool, completely capable, and I flick my knife closed to slip it into my pocket.

  “I came to have a discussion, but I got a show instead. Are you seriously going to leave him alive?” He asks the question like he would ask if it were supposed to rain, and my eyelid twitches in agitation as I stare hard at him. Ryan rubs his chin thoughtfully, and I hate that I can’t read his impenetrable poker face. Closing the short distance between us, he walks leisurely even as my adrenaline ramps up volatile in my veins. My panting breaths become harsher and shorten, grow hotter, and I clench my hands into tight fists when he very softly, almost soothingly, puts a hand on my uninjured shoulder. Graveness darkens his blue eyes, and the pounding in my ears goes silent. “I get not wanting to kill someone, especially someone as undeserving of your sacrifice as Rowlan. But I don’t have that kind of reservation. He’s got a timer on him already.”

  “If I wanted your help, I would’ve asked for it. Thanks, though,” I mumble smally, a strange sensation beating against the back of my eyes when Ryan’s own narrow on me. “I came here to make a point, and I think I proved it . . . above and beyond.”

  “You did, yeah. Before you leave, though . . . can I have the car?” Twisting when Ryan nods at the vintage Chevy, I scoff lightly and roll my eyes with a nod. His eyes light up with excitement, and his palm drags off my shoulder to rub his hands together greedily. “Awesome.”

  “Consider it a gift. Welcome to the family, Ryan.” He freezes, his eyes darken with storm clouds as a hint of his viciousness and hard-heartedness flashes on his face. I take my turn to punch him lightly in the shoulder before wandering off towards my car, and Michael stares longingly at the Chevy, clutching my keys to his face. “Let’s get the fuck outta here. Kaitlyn’s supposed to come by the bar with her boss. She said he wants to talk to you about an event. That’ll make you happy.”

  “Nothing will make me happy ever again,” Michael says, but his voice is soft and not at all sad. No, it’s something else. Or nothing at all. Damn, I had underestimated that punch to the face.

  Chapter Ten

  Kaitlyn

  Holding the door open for Dan and a few of my coworkers, I smile at the thanks thrown at me before stepping into Owen’s bar. The lights are all on, brighter than a bar legally should be, and I cover my eyes from the glare. Propped over a chair a little way away from the nearest table, Owen’s head snaps up, and his bloodshot eyeball widens in surprise.

  Only I’m the one caught as I scan his scarred chest, and my mouth dries harshly. A huge gash tears down his side, light pink and fresh, and older globs of tissue pockmark his torso. The silence is deafening and I jump when Owen clears his throat roughly.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.” His voice is high, and he hastily kicks a small bin under the chair only for Michael to snatch it back. They glare at each other hotly for a second, and I set down my purse on a table to break the match. “I thought you were just comin’ with your boss, not your whole team . . . and you know, I kinda wish you had told me you’d be early.”

  “D-do you want us to come back?” I ask cautiously, but Owen immediately shakes his head, earning him another glare from Michael. Wandering deeper into the bar, I cover my mouth in horror as Michael expertly stitches up a huge slice along his shoulder and down his pectoral. “Oh, my God . . . Are you okay? What happened?”

  “You guys can serve yourself,” Michael calls out suddenly, and I pull out a chair of my own as Owen blushes lightly, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand. Tugging a thread and needle tight, but not too tight, his little, crossing stitches are perfect and well-practiced. “This idiot got into a fight with Rowlan over what happened Friday—”

  “You did not!” I gasp, but the guilt in Owen’s eyes tells me he did indeed. “Why’d you go pick a fight with him, Owen?”

  “I didn’t pick the fight, I just . . . escalated it . . . just a little, though. He’ll be fine. And look, it’s not that deep.” Alarm widens my eyes as he just brushes off his wound, waving his free hand in dismissal and wincing when Michael stabs him with the needle. “Ow.”

  “You’re so dumb. Why didn’t you go to an Urgent Care or somethin’? Michael’s not your nurse.”

  “I’m too pretty to be a nurse, but . . .” Turning to me with earnest eyes, Michael’s joke draws some laughs from behind me, but they flow around me. “I’ve patched him up every time he gets hurt. It’s totally fine, Kaitlyn, but I appreciate your concern. I’m very experienced.”

  “Every time? How often does this happen?” My lips tremble at the simple fact that I’d actually asked such a question. I frown and point an accusatory finger at Owen. “You shouldn’t start stuff with your brother if you’re gonna get hurt.”

  “Kaitlyn.” Deep and grave, Owen’s voice slithers into my ears almost threatening, and his eyes blaze with appreciation and something darker I can’t make out. “I appreciate it, but I got it handled. And for the record, all of these are from my brother. I don’t need or want your opinion on this, so please . . . if you don’t mind, have a drink and take a load off.”

  “Kaitlyn.” Twisting when Dan calls me, I walk over when he gestures with a wave of his hand. He thrusts a cold, dark brown bottle into my hands. His eyes twinkle knowingly, and I lick my lips heavily in expectation. “I’m gonna step out of the realm of professionalism and remind you that not everyone has a good childhood. You’d do well to remember that this is an inner city with all the inner-city problems and people. It’s not a ranch in Arizona.”

  “So, what can I do you for? Dan, right? We talked on the phone,” Michael speaks up loudly in the ensuing, terse silence, and he arches a brow before taking a swift gulp of his beer. “I promise the place is usually clean. What good bar doesn’t have a few blood stories?”

  Casting me a pointed look, Dan wanders across the bar to Michael to make business talk, and I glance over my shoulder warily. Owen’s eyes glaze over, staring at nothing, his face expressionless. He didn’t even twitch when Michael jabbed the needle into him.

  Not everyone has a good childhood. Why did it seem like that was an understatement of epic proportions? Owen had faded scars, years and years old, all the way up to something very recent. Even I could tell it hadn’t even finished healing, the scar tissue is raised and bright pink as it carves down his side.

  Glancing around the room, no one seems bothered by this scene, either. Over the initial shock of walking in on it, my coworkers are all making small talk with each other like nothing out of the ordinary is happening.

  “Hey.” Jumping, my breath catches even while Owen wraps his hands around mine, and I manage a small, weak smile. His t-shirt is crisp, not a speck of blood, and he rolls up the short sleeve to reveal the gauze taped to his shoulder. “All better, yeah?”

  “I-I never . . . I didn’t think.” Trailing off when my excuses pile up on my dry tongue, I roll my lips between my teeth guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I think it’s a fantastic thing, not knowing. Speaking of . . .” Releasing my hands, Owen props his elbow on the bar to hold his cheek on his hand. Lifting my beer to my lips, I hum softly before washing down the disgusting taste from my mouth. “You said your parents are comin’ to town over the weekend. Just them, or a few extra taggin’ along?”

  “Well . . .” Faltering slightly at the sudden change in conversation, I take another gulp of my beer and lick my lips heavily. Interest sparks in Owen’s eyes, and I set the bottle down to rub my palms together. “My mom says it’s just her and my dad, but usually someone ends up tagging along, too. I hope not, though. I don’t even remember the last time I did something with just my parents.”

  “Are you gonna show them around Seattle? There’s a couple places not on the tourist maps that are really worth going to. I can write some down for you—some that you can do in a day,” I nod at Owen’s generous offer, and he nods in satisfaction before an awkward silence settles between us. Tentatively, he reaches for my hand, and I rub his reddened knuckles with my thumb. “I didn’t mean for you to see that. I didn’t wanna put you in that position.”

  “What position?” I’m almost afraid to ask the question, but somewhere deep in me, I know that whatever the answer, it’d be gentle. Owen had spent a lot of time and effort to not scare me off, but I can see it in his face that he thought I should run and not look back. Maybe he’s right.

  “Confronting the fact that sometimes, there’s no good in something or someone. That sometimes, there’s no right answer, but avoiding dealing with the problem is worse than going with the wrong answer. You’re pretty sheltered, you know? I know you’ve had brief, but intense experiences. I’m not trying to degrade that, not in the least. But, in a way, I want that to be the worst you know, because it gets worse . . . a lot worse.” Owen says gravely, and I inhale deeply and hold my breath for a brief moment. He doesn’t speak up again, scratching his swollen nose uncomfortably before reaching over the back of the bar to grope blindly. He sucks his teeth in irritation before standing to round the bar.

  “I’m here! Sorry I’m late!” Glancing up as goosebumps sweep up my arm, I grip my beer bottle while Aleesha whirls into the bar in a flurry. She pants lightly, her face flushed from running, and a sour taste masks my tongue and slithers up my nose. “The bus was late, I’m sorry. What’d I miss?”

  “Nothing exciting, but didn’t you spend a whole hour on the phone a couple weeks ago talkin’ to your friend about how you’d never come here?” The brazen declaration didn’t come from me, but I wish it had as my skin crawls with uncomfortable memories. Aleesha pauses setting her purse next to mine, a faux confusion scrunching up her nose.

  “No? You mean Franny? We’re not really friends.” Yeah, I bet not since she nearly got you kicked out of the group. Faint bitterness clings to the back of my throat, but I keep my mouth shut. Sitting towards the end of the bar on the other side of our coworkers, she flips her hair back to wave at Owen hastily. “Can I get a margarita? Thanks.”

  “I’ll take one, too,” I pipe up, and Owen casts me a quizzical glance as I slump slightly over the bar. “A really strong one, please.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Kaitlyn

  “Can I see?” My numbed, tipsy mind doesn’t see anything wrong with my question, and Owen takes my hand wordlessly to lead me towards the back of the bar. Shouldering through a door, he starts up the stairs lit only by a single bulb in the middle of the stairwell. Anxiety grips me in a vice, and my knees weaken with each step I take. Pushing open another door, we emerge in a smallish living room, sparsely decorated, but nicely furnished.

  “Sit down.” Pointing at the sofa, Owen holds my hand to guide me, and I drop heavily to grip my knees tightly. He flicks on the lights, and I blink hard from the sudden brightness before he positions himself in front of me. Gingerly pulling his t-shirt up, Owen hisses when he has to move his left arm. “Do you just wanna look, or do you want the stories behind them?”

 

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