THE BOY I GREW UP WITH Page 4

  But this guy…this fucker… I had a sinking feeling all those productive plans were about to go up in smoke.

  His biting laugh confirmed it as he walked around to my truck, putting a foot on the back end and resting his arms over the corner, his hands dangling. His entire stance was casual, as if we were friends.

  We weren’t friends.

  “You don’t sound too thrilled to see me. What’s the problem, Monroe? My guys are some of your regular patrons.”

  They were, but that was at my bar where there were rules they had to follow. You enter Tuesday Tits, you’re in my world. You play by my rules. No violence. No MC politics.

  “I appreciate their business. I do.” I flashed him a grin. “Speaking of Fallen Crest, this isn’t your usual stomping grounds. What are you doing over here?”

  Richter and his guys, along with about fifteen others, made up a local chapter of the Red Demons. They were based out of Frisco, a neighboring town thirty miles northwest of Roussou and northeast of Fallen Crest. While they stopped in Roussou regularly, I knew they didn’t mix it with the elite in Fallen Crest.

  “You’re not the only one with relations here.”

  “Yeah?” I reached for the pump.

  “I have a cousin who got married today.” He indicated his guys. “We were just at the service.”

  “Really?” I skimmed them over. They wore their usual jeans, boots, and leather cuts. “You guys dressed up, huh?”

  Richter narrowed his eyes.

  I couldn’t stop myself, though I needed to. I had no backup if something went down, and I doubted the gas clerk could help. I was a good fighter, but there were five of them, and two looked over three hundred pounds. If they got a hit in, it’d stun me. And that was if, a big if, they didn’t just pull out a gun.

  “Saw your little sister at a party recently.”

  He said that so casually, like we were discussing the weather.

  I hadn’t known how much I hated the word sister coming out of his mouth until he said it.

  “Really?” I cooled my tone.

  He nodded, a grin flaring for a second. “Oh yeah. I was surprised, but she and her guys rolled right in. They partied for a while. She’s tight with that Shaw kid, huh?”

  “They’re in the same crew.” Why is this asshole talking about my sister? “What’s the angle here, Richter? What are you doing? You’ve got kid sisters. You want me to start telling you about them?”

  There it was.

  The smugness faded. His jaw tightened, and he straightened up from my truck.

  “I can do that, if that’s the game you’re playing,” I added.

  He swallowed, and his pasted-on smile came back. He held his hands up and made a point about stepping back.

  “I’m not intending anything. I swear. I was just mentioning them because they remind me of you and Jax. I remember how you two were back in the day.”

  The gas finished, and I turned to take the nozzle out.

  I finished and glanced back. “You don’t need to be talking about her either.”

  A forced laugh. “Holy fuck, Monroe. You’re testy. I’m not angling for anything.”

  “You’re not over here to shoot the shit with me. I know that much. You’re bringing up my sister, then Heather. You’re talking like she and I are done, and you know that’s not the case.”

  My eyebrows went up. “Is this about your woman?” I shot back. “Lynna was in Tuesday Tits last week, but I didn’t notice her going home with anyone.” I paused. “That night.”

  He’d tensed up at her name.

  A second later, he shook his head, moving back another step. “I came over to start a conversation. That’s all.”

  I studied him.

  “You’re probing.” I spoke clearly. “Why are you probing?”

  His eyes narrowed. Just then, the bell on Quickie’s door jingled, and one of his guys came out from inside.

  Our “conversation” was done almost as quickly as it had started up.

  His guy grunted his name as he walked past us, and all of them got on their bikes. They paused, but Richter waved them on. One by one, they pulled out of the lot.

  Richter held back, staring at me, but he was edging toward his bike now. And like other times, a different look came over him once his MC was gone. The sliminess faded, and he sounded genuine when he said, “I know you and I don’t…” He hesitated. “…work well together.”

  Work wasn’t the word I would’ve used.

  He was smart. He was connected. That made him dangerous.

  He’d been circling the waters for a long time now. This was just the first time outside of Tuesday Tits that we’d talked in years. The last time had been across battle lines a few years ago when I told him his MC could drive through Roussou. They could eat in Roussou. They could drink in Roussou, but they couldn’t claim Roussou as one of their territories.

  It wasn’t anyone’s, but if it had been, I’d have had to step up and claim it. I just hadn’t because I didn’t want to. That road would be violent. People would die.

  “Look, Channing.” His hand gripped the back of his neck. A frustrated vein stuck out from his forehead. “I’m not the enemy you seem to think I am—my guys too. We like Roussou. I have family in Fallen Crest. I don’t understand why there’s this rub between us.” He shrugged, a small smile appearing as he put on his sunglasses. “Who knows. Maybe one day we could become friends?”

  Friends.

  “Your MC beat up one of my crew two years ago,” I pointed out.

  He shrugged. “You guys got us back. You beat up one of my guys.”

  I flashed him a hard grin. “I’m thinking that’s why we can’t be friends—and the whole thing where you want to run drugs through Roussou. There’s that too.”

  He got on his bike. “Yeah. That too. But other than that, I think we should grab tea one day.” He laughed, starting it up and held up two fingers in a salute, heading out.

  Watching him go, an uneasy feeling settled in my chest. That war might be coming sooner than I’d realized.

  He’d just given me a warning, in his way. He knew my weaknesses: Heather and Bren. He was letting me know he knew.

  I was still standing there when I heard Quickie’s greeting bell again.

  “You need me to call the cops?” It was the gas clerk, standing outside the door, holding it open.

  I almost laughed. Even if I’d had a bullet in me, I wouldn’t have wanted that. I started for him. “Nah. They went to 10. They don’t know the cops started ticketing there last week.”

  The clerk laughed, easing up as I got to him.

  He went inside first and moved behind the counter. “Lots of speeding tourists around these parts.”

  Yes. Yes, there were. I went to grab a Red Bull before I paid. As I was returning to the front, a black truck roared into the lot, and two idiots jumped out from the back. I say idiots because normal, rational, thinking people wouldn’t be back there, not when the truck was going so fast it had to careen to a stop.

  Actual smoke lingered over the tire tracks.

  The guy was ringing me up when the door pushed open, and the kids who entered saw me. They braked suddenly.

  “Channing!”

  Her eyes were wide, but they weren’t scared.

  They should’ve been scared.

  Inside I cursed, but outwardly, I just sighed and said, “Bren.”

  My sister had just entered the building.

  “Hey.”

  Her three crew guys came in after her. She stopped in front of me, and they all traipsed around her. Each gave me a different head nod. The taller one moved his head down, “Channing.” A note of awe was in his voice, but he kept it going.

  The shorter one looked up at me, his eyes widening, but he lifted a finger to his forehead in a small salute. He followed the taller one. Finally Bren’s best friend paused next to her. Cross Shaw looked between the two of us.

  She shook her head, just slightly
, and he nodded to me too. “Hey, Channing.”

  He moved along, but Bren’s eyes lingered over my shoulder a second before looking back up. I had a feeling Shaw was standing a short distance behind me, making sure she didn’t need his backup.

  Her mouth pressed together before she cleared her throat. “Hey.” She was wearing a leather coat, jeans way too fucking tight, and a tank way, way too fucking tight.

  She was Heather, but with a bigger chip on her shoulder and darker hair. And she didn’t smoke. Thank God.

  I wanted to give her my jacket so it’d be like a straitjacket around her, but instead I offered her a closed-mouth smile.

  “Were you in Frisco last weekend? At a party?”

  She didn’t move. She barely blinked.

  She showed no emotion, but I’d surprised her. I knew my sister. She was stone cold, but she wasn’t a big partier, and if she’d gone to Frisco, I needed more information. That wasn’t normal for her.

  I waited.

  A few seconds passed. She wasn’t going to answer.

  “Bren.”

  She shrugged. “Not as far as I remember. Why?”

  Her crew had gotten their drinks and food. They came back, standing around us. Shaw stood the closest to her. The shortest one went to the register, with the taller one behind him, but both were paying attention to our conversation.

  “Did you guys party in Frisco last weekend?” I asked them.

  I wasn’t paying Shaw any attention. He was like Bren. He wouldn’t give anything away, but the others shared a look.

  The taller one narrowed his eyes, his tone confused. “Yeah. Just Zellman and me.” He nodded to Bren. “B didn’t. She hung back with Cross.”

  “Why are you asking?”

  Cross was the one who’d asked, but I spoke to Bren. “Richter said he saw you there.”

  At the name, all of them straightened up. They were more alert now.

  They were well aware who Richter was, and what it meant if he or any other Demon brought up their name. It was a challenge and a threat rolled into one.

  I sighed internally, because there wasn’t much else I could do.

  Bren did her own thing. She wasn’t a kid I could put structure on. If I did, she’d bolt. She knew it. I knew it. Everyone in her crew and this town knew it. She wasn’t a smart-mouthed teen, or a sarcastic brat. She’d just seen way too much for her age, and I knew I’d contributed to that.

  Love her, I reminded myself that again. Just love her. She needed all the unconditional support I could give her, and I hoped to hell I could pull her back into being my kid sister, because as it was—I glanced at her crew. She was more theirs than mine, and the reason was pretty damn simple. They were there for her. I hadn’t been.

  But I would be now. Fucking hell, I would be now. I had been.

  “Be safe.” I waited until they nodded their response before I moved around to the register. I gestured to them. “I got their stuff.”

  The first two whooped. The taller one, Jordan, lifted his fist to pound my shoulder, realized who he was about to touch, and moved his fist up in a half-salute. “Thanks, Channing. You’re the best.”

  “Hells to the yee-ah.” Zellman, the shorter one, pumped his energy drink at me, backing out of the store with Jordan following. They had bags of food in hand too.

  Shaw held back. He did the same thing as before, glancing to Bren before holding up his coffee. “Thank you.” He followed his friends out to their truck.

  Bren was the only one who hadn’t grabbed food or anything to drink. Her hands slid into her pockets and she murmured, “Thank you.”

  She started edging back out the door.

  “Bren.” I stopped her. “Get something to eat.”

  Without meeting my eyes, she snagged whatever was closest to her and tossed it to the clerk. He scanned in the candy bar, and she took it back.

  Without a backward look, she joined her crew outside.

  “That’ll be $85.63.”

  I cursed, but handed over the credit card. I forgot they’d filled up with gas.

  Shaw and Bren jumped into the back of the truck, with the other two in the cab, and after a second wave to me, they tore out of there.

  For the Roussou badass I was known to be, I felt like the biggest pansy at that moment.

  7

  Heather

  Third grade

  “Pssst, Heather.”

  Channing leaned over to poke my arm during class.

  I frowned at him, rubbing my arm. “Stop.”

  I was seriously so tired of getting in trouble. Every time. It had been Mrs. Buxton two years ago. Then Mrs. Landish. Now it was Mr. Graves. As soon as school started, Channing started making jokes about his name. He said one of his dad’s friends had died and he was a metal worker. He asked our teacher if he knew what would be on his tombstone.

  Mr. Graves didn’t respond, so Channing declared, “Rust in peace!” Then he laughed some more and looked at me. “And his name was Rusty too.”

  Trouble.

  That was Channing.

  I wasn’t getting in trouble again. No way.

  He poked me a second time, ducking his head and giving me that shy-but-cute grin.

  I tried to ignore his sparkly, twinkling eyes. Whenever he wanted to pick on me, his eyes got that look—like the light danced in them.

  I fixed a scowl on my face and poked Channing back.

  “Ouch! Stop harassing me, woman!”

  I could’ve smacked him. He had that wicked look on his face, and he’d purposely raised his voice.

  I leaned over and hissed, “You’re so dead, Channing Monroe.”

  “Dead?” His grin went up a notch. “Like dead as in I need to go the GRAVE dead?!”

  “Channing! Heather!” the teacher said sharply. Then he just sighed. He was tired. “Don’t make me write your names on the board.”

  I shrank in my seat and looked at the two names already written there. Norm Mire and Matthew Shephardson. They were both friends of Channing’s, and I knew whatever they’d done to get in trouble was because of him.

  Channing shot his arm in the air. He didn’t wait to be called on. “If you’re going to put my name on the board, can you make it cool? Something different. Like Ben?”

  I closed my eyes. There was more coming. There always was.

  Mr. Graves didn’t say anything for a moment, then I heard the squeak of the marker on the board. He was actually writing BEN on it.

  Channing waited till he was done and added, “And my last name is Dover. Like a dove. The bird.”

  Mr. Graves finished, adding the last name.

  Why he did it, I had no idea. Channing’s name was always up there. Our teacher was probably bored that day. He added my name and stepped back. He stared at the names.

  Channing, Norm, and Matthew were the only ones laughing.

  I didn’t get it.

  But Mr. Graves expelled a curse word, one of the bad ones, and quickly erased Channing’s made-up name.

  “Channing Monroe, I am calling your parents at the end of the day.”

  Channing just snickered, slumping down in his chair. Shooting me a look, he muttered, “Like they care.”

  I shook my head. “I would care,” I said.

  He gave me that weird look again. He blinked a few times. “You’re my best friend.”

  And then I felt that weird look, on my insides.

  It was…

  ...different.

  8

  Heather

  Present day

  Security was preparing to drag a drunk out of Manny’s two days later.

  He was kicking and screaming. The cops had just arrived, their blue and red lights circling through the window. Brandon was arguing with the guy, trying to talk sense into him, ignoring the bottle of whiskey he’d brought in. But that wasn’t all.

  A couple had started fighting at table three.

  We all saw it happening. They came in every Saturday, but even I
didn’t know why. The girl was pissed every single time, her arms crossed over her chest. The guy looked beaten down, his shoulders hunched. And though they were the same height, he seemed bent over, permanently.

  Tonight, it seemed she’d had enough. She flung her breadstick to her plate, shoving away from the table. As she got up, her chair fell into the back of a child. The kid started crying. His mother got upset, while the woman went storming outside.

  And we can’t forget the breadstick, because it didn’t stay on the plate. That woman flung it with such force that it bounced off and landed in a guy’s hand as he walked past her table.

  He blinked, shocked to find a breadstick in his hand, and stopped watching where he was going for a second—long enough to walk into one of my servers, who then dumped the tray of food she was carrying onto the back of the angered woman who’d started the entire chain of events.

  I saw it all, and without blinking an eye, I grabbed the woman’s arm and urged her in the direction of the bathroom, murmuring, “We’re so sorry about that.”

  She was writhing with anger, so I patted her arm and added, “And don’t worry, that kid you hit? I won’t tell his mother you’re back here, or the guy your breadstick hit. Accidents happen, right? I’m sure a gift certificate will smooth it over.”

  She tensed. I felt her getting ready to argue.

  I hushed her, soothingly. “I’ll talk to the mother on your behalf. I’m sure no damage was done. I’ll make her nice and happy, get her out the door before she can think about a lawsuit.”

  Cruz, the night manager, saw us coming. He took in her messy attire and opened the bathroom door. I steered her in, patted her arm, and offered one more reassuring smile.

  “I have your back, sweetie. No worries.” A wink, a little click of the tongue, and I watched as the anger began to fade and the corners of her eyes pinched in worry.

  I closed the door as she turned on the water.