by Marie Harte
“You don’t have to say that.” So empty inside…
Reid shocked him into awareness with a punch to his gut that had him bending over to catch his breath. “Stop it right now. You get out of that everyone-hates-me mentality. Because I need you. The guys at work need you. Jordan needs you. You—not Charles’s, Allen’s, or Angela’s son. They don’t matter. You matter. Now quit being a pussy and hit me back.”
Reid, that idiot, stood over him, shaking, ready to take a punch.
Cash felt the rage in him, the need to lash out at someone to make the pain go away. But not Reid. “I’d kill you with my mighty fists,” he said, trying to sound lighthearted. Except his voice sounded gravelly, and that last part broke on a sob.
So he reached for Reid and gave him a bear hug, needing that support, that honest acceptance from someone who knew him and yet loved him anyway.
“Yep, you’re a big pussy,” Reid said, clutching him back as tightly. “My big brother. I love you, Cash. You’re all I’ve got. Evan and Aunt Jane don’t count. They’re too nice.”
After some time, they gradually broke apart. Both of them had tears, and Cash felt shaky and light-headed.
“Fuck. Is she even my aunt?”
“What? Who?”
“Aunt Jane was married to Charles’s brother. Technically, I’m not related to him or Evan. And, hell, I like Evan.”
“Shut up.” Reid gave him a watery smile. “Evan is a smart guy. He and I have talked about you for a long time. He looks up to you too, you know.”
“Wait. Talked about me?” Cash wiped his eyes, still shaky but now bolstered knowing he still had Reid.
“He’s smarter than you and me combined. And you know, there’s something about the new guy at work that reminds us of you.”
Cash groaned.
“I know, I know. But Friday night, Smith showed up. And, Brother, he really does look an awful lot like you. And he’s angry at the world.” Reid paused. “That could be you if you didn’t have me.”
“Shit. You think he’s Allen’s son too, huh?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Although we just read about someone named Meg being Mom’s sister, and a woman named Margaret was Mom’s only friend before she died. You know the name Meg is short for Margaret.”
“Damn.”
Reid nodded. “And it’s too huge a coincidence that your angrier twin just happens to hate us and works at Vets on the Go!”
“Is that why you hired him?”
“Partly. And partly because he’s a big strong Marine and we needed people. He works hard. Jordan likes him.” At Cash’s scowl, Reid said, “But not that much. She did put him down when he insulted you. She put him down hard.”
Cash nodded. “She did, didn’t she?”
“Yeah. Cash, you love her, right?”
“I guess.” What would she think if she knew he was some bastard’s love child? Wait. No. He was a bastard and his mother’s love child.
“Does she love you?”
It was on the tip of Cash’s tongue to ask, “How could she?” But that would be selling Jordan short. One thing he’d learned about the woman. She knew her own mind. “I don’t know. I hope so.”
“I like her. She’s solid and cute, and she says the funniest things. Like how great the Army is.” Reid grinned, and Cash found himself smiling with him. “Talk to Jordan. She’s not a part of our fucked-up family. See what she thinks about this whole mess. And, Brother, whatever you do, don’t screw up your future because Angela screwed up your past.”
Chapter 22
Hours later, Cash kept thinking about what Reid had said as he waited at a seedy bar downtown for the punk, Juan, to show up. He hadn’t answered Jordan’s texts except to tell her not to expect him back until later.
He wanted to talk to her, yet he didn’t. For the same reason he refused to allow her to tell him how she felt about him. If she told him she loved him, he’d talk himself out of believing her. Because how could a woman as amazing as Jordan love a loser like him? What did that say about her?
And if she didn’t love him, that would just break him.
So, yeah, he was mental and unable to deal with much more than hurting someone. This meeting with Juan could not have come at a better time.
He held the baggie of drugs in his pocket. He hadn’t brought his pistol, though he’d thought about it. The gun would only provide a temptation to use it. More of a mess he didn’t need.
Since Ritter’s info had insisted Juan Williams had no connection to WSW, Cash figured the kid either wanted to get noticed and invited to join the gang, or he’d been talking out his ass to impress his buddies at school. Either way, pressuring Rafi to join him wasn’t happening.
A glance around the bar, also not a WSW hangout, showed some older guys, four around Cash’s age and a half dozen more much older, keeping to themselves. Some of them played pool, while three of them sat at the bar, flirting with the tough chick behind the bar and the barfly who looked like she needed a shower, stat.
But her sly smiles and slight belly exposed by her barely there top didn’t seem to bother the guys ogling her. Hell, if her skirt was any shorter, they’d call it a thong.
He shuddered, wanting out of this place. He needed to feel clean, to see Jordan’s smirk and hear her laughter, grounding him. Instead, he sat at a booth in the corner and toyed with his beer, his eyes scoping the place for danger.
Three of the guys near the pool tables kept him in their sights, so he subtly did the same.
A cocky little bastard having Juan’s description strutted into the bar with four friends, all looking like rich high school dropouts. Cash recognized the pricey haircuts and shoes. He knew all about wearing hand-me-downs. He also knew castoffs never looked that good, so the used-looking clothes these kids wore no doubt came from some designer trying to make a statement.
Cash stood and met the kid and his friends halfway. “You Juan Williams?”
“Yeah.” Juan sneered at him. “Who wants to know?”
After a cautious glance around, which showed him pretty much the bar pretending not to pay them any attention, Cash held out the baggie to Juan. “These are yours. Rafael Younger belongs to me.”
Juan raised his brows. “Oh? You muscling in on the West Side Wolves, fuckhead?”
A few guys near the back turned their full attention to them.
Cash bit back a sigh. “Try again, you little punk. First of all, no one here is messing with WSW. You’re not a player, and you’re sad trying to be one. My advice to you is to leave before the Wolves hear you’re using their name to sell product. Rafi is out. He never wanted in, and if your buddies were smart, they’d get the hell out too. From what I hear, Toto and crew are no one to mess with.”
The big guys by the back settled down at that. Cash would have to tell Ritter that his intel might not be the best. Seemed like WSW had ears in a lot of places.
“I never said I was WSW,” Juan said quickly, glancing around. “I’m not dumb enough to deal with them. I know Lasko’s brother. I’m just helping Rafi out.”
“By trying to force him to sell drugs? Kid, go back to school, take that payout from your rich mommy and daddy, and stick your nose in a book. Selling drugs is asking for trouble. And you sure as shit don’t want to get into a gang. Watch the news. The cops are all over those guys. It’s only a matter of time before WSW gets dragged to jail or shot by a rival gang. It’s too high for your pay grade, son. So take your fancy stash and blow.”
“Fuck you.” Juan nodded to his friends. “I’m friends with WSW. And you just made a big mistake.”
Before his closest buddy could bring out the item from behind him, Cash pounced. He had the kid jacked up and the kid’s gun in hand in seconds. So not what he’d intended by trying to get Rafi out of trouble.
“Look, Juan. Guns are trouble.” He shov
ed the boy he’d taken the gun from, ejected the magazine, and emptied the chambered round in seconds. Then he tossed the gun to the floor. “With one punch I can dislocate your jaw before your second boy there grabs his gun. And when he tries to shoot me, I’ll be using you as a shield, so he’ll end up shooting through you first. Dead is dead. Don’t be stupid. Get lost and quit selling drugs. It’s not often in life you get a second chance.”
Three of the boys with Juan bolted for the door. No one stopped them. But the boy he’d disarmed backed up with Juan, who pulled a gun of his own. His arm shook as he sighted in on Cash.
But the little bastard hadn’t released the safety.
Cash walked right up to him as the kid kept trying to shoot, aware that they now had everyone’s attention. The kid next to him tried to punch him, but Cash deflected the punch easily and shoved the boy away. He grabbed the gun out of Juan’s hand. Then he bitch-slapped him.
“That’s for pulling the trigger.” He looked to the bartender. “I don’t suppose you could call the cops on these little assholes?”
She popped her gum. “Nope.”
Cash sighed. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Uh, not a great idea,” she said and nodded to the group by the pool table, who looked tense and not at all happy at the idea of police.
“Fuck. Okay. No cops.” Everyone settled down. “I don’t suppose you could refuse the kids service if they showed up again?”
She nodded. “Oh, that we can do. We don’t like guns in the bar, you little assholes. That brings trouble.” A large bald man appeared from a room behind the bartender. “Lane will show you out.”
Cash frowned. “He’s not gonna hurt them, is he? I mean, they’re stupid, but they’re teenagers.”
She sighed. “Lane, don’t hurt them. But we will be keeping the guns and the baggie as collateral, should you idiots ever come here again.”
Cash couldn’t be sure she wasn’t including him in her warning. “I’m leaving too, no worries.”
She winked at him. “Nah, you can stay, sweetheart. I like ’em big.”
The guys at the bar laughed. The barfly whistled. “Me too.”
Lane hauled the kids by their collars outside. Someone collected the guns. And then the bar returned to normal.
Before Cash could leave, one of the big guys from the pool tables neared him. Just great.
“Hey, we want to talk to you in the alley.”
“Why?”
“Please.” The man who smiled showed a gold tooth.
Cash realized he wouldn’t be leaving without a fight. But not wanting to involve more people than he had to, he sighed and reached into his pocket. He’d left his phone ready should he need help. And it looked like he’d be needing that after all. He hit a button before turning his phone silent, alerting Ritter to send help, ASAP.
“Fine.” Cash followed Gold Tooth, aware the guy’s two large friends walked at his back. They pushed through the doorway, and he found himself shoved up against the wall getting patted down. They turned him around, each thug pinning one of his arms to the brick wall. A workingman’s crucifixion, he thought with ill humor.
At least he’d been smart enough not to bring his wallet. But he had his phone. Or he’d had his phone. Now Gold Tooth tried to scroll through it but got stuck at the authentication.
“Hey, what’s your password?”
The other two men had height and muscle, but nothing Cash couldn’t handle unless they turned out to be ninjas or MMA types. One was bald and wore a red shirt. The other had a cap of dirty brown hair and wore blue.
The alley was empty and dark, barely lit by an overhead streetlight. There was a dumpster to the right, and trash littered the tarmac; the scent of stale beer and vomit made the place altogether unpleasant.
“What is this about?”
Gold Tooth scowled. “I said I need your password.”
“No. I’m not a cop. Not gang-affiliated. I just came to deliver a message to some wannabes. So what’s the problem?”
Gold Tooth shook his head. “The problem, cowboy, is that this is our bar. And we like WSW. We didn’t like what you said about them being in jail or shot up. We want you to say you’re sorry.” He smiled.
Red Shirt. “Yeah, say you’re sorry.”
He had horrible breath. Cash cringed, and Blue Shirt laughed as well. “Scared?”
“Of his breath,” Cash muttered, to which Blue Shirt laughed again.
“I like this guy.”
“I don’t.” Red Shirt frowned.
Blue Shirt hit Cash in the gut. A love tap. “Better, Jim?”
“A little.” Jim—Red Shirt—grinned.
“Look, I’m sorry.” Cash sighed. “There. We good now?”
The thugs holding him froze and looked back at Gold Tooth, apparently not having expected him to cooperate.
Gold Tooth blinked. “What? Oh, ah, yeah. That’s right, you’re sorry. Fucker.”
Cash was really tired of all this. His mother’s revelation, worries about Jordan, Rafi, now this? He’d had too much to handle all day. And he needed the fight. “You know what? I am sorry. Sorry Jim here smells he like blew a zombie and swallowed some bad jizz. Sorry that gold tooth in your watermelon-sized head is fucking with the tiny signals trying to get to your brain. Sorry that Blue Shirt can’t hit worth a damn. No doubt he can’t swing more than that tiny dick—”
Cash lunged out of their holds before a metal pipe made contact with his head. Jesus. He didn’t think his brain could take another bashing so soon. Gold Tooth swung again and managed to hit Jim in the back.
It would have been comical if he’d seen Blue Shirt’s punch to his ribs. Or if he could have avoided that kick to his knee…
* * *
After his visit to the bar Sunday evening, Cash realized his arm had to be broken, the pain super intense and not getting any better. So Monday he’d spent several hours at the hospital getting his arm taken care of—the splint and sling were such a bitch—then hung out at Ritter’s place after debriefing the guy.
By noon Tuesday, Cash knew he’d put it off as long as he could. He’d already texted an apology to Jordan, explaining he’d gotten some bad news at his mom’s and was trying to deal with it. He’d also texted Reid because his little brother could be such a pain in the ass with all the worrying.
And then he’d texted Evan because with Cash’s injuries, he’d be out a few weeks and wouldn’t be able to help anyone move anything—according to the doctor. But Cash figured after a few days managing the pain and finally getting a damn cast, he’d get back to packing and moving small boxes at least.
He’d intended to avoid work, but Reid had threatened to sic Naomi, Aunt Jane, and Evan on him if Cash didn’t show his face sooner than later. That little fink Rafi had told Reid a few things he should have kept to himself.
Cash knew the crew would be mostly out on the job, but he still did his best to scout around before parking his car and entering the Vets on the Go! building. It probably hadn’t been too smart to arrive at noon, during lunch, but most of the gang ate when working, so he figured lunch to be as safe as it could get. With any luck, Reid would be out too and Cash could leave a message with Dan, face to face. Then Dan could tell Reid that Cash had nothing more than a busted arm, softening the news before Cash delivered it in person.
At the top of the stairs, he took a moment, as his bruised ribs protested. He held his left arm closer to his body, hating the necessary immobility, and walked quietly down the hallway.
Unfortunately, one of the geeky computer repair guys standing outside his repair shop saw Cash and gasped. “Hell, man. What truck ran you over?”
“Yeah, right? Can you believe it was a fight over an apology? Some women don’t like it unless you’re on your knees then unconscious.”
The guy’s eyes widened. “A wom
an did that to you?”
“You know the short, pretty one with the dark hair who works with us?”
The guy nodded, still gaping at Cash’s cast and black eye.
“Well, I still love her, but I won’t ever piss her off again. All I’m saying.”
The guy nodded. “Good idea.” He swallowed loudly then darted back into his shop.
His mood restored, Cash continued to the end of the hallway. Inside the office, he found it empty except for Dan working the front desk. Fortunately, Cash wouldn’t be upsetting any customers with his injuries.
“Damn, son. What the hell ran you over?” Gunny Dan Thompson, their octogenarian admin expert, who they couldn’t do without, shook his head. “Marines, always in the thick of things. Don’t suppose we’ll be seeing more calls because of this, will we?”
The last time Cash had been in a violent altercation, he’d been filmed saving a kid from a burglary. The business had gotten substantial PR from it, and they’d been busy ever since. Although, come to think of it, Cash had beaten a few assholes since then. Namely, a few guys at Jameson’s Gym, right before he’d gone at it with Reid. And then, sure, Elliot’s assholes. Hmm. Maybe he did have a tendency to fight a lot…
“And a head wound? You’re not answering me.” Dan sighed. “Your brother’s gonna have a field day with you.”
Cash grinned. “I’m sure.”
“You want something to eat, kid? I just ordered some sandwiches for us. I can add one for you.”
“Could you? Some meat would be good.”
“I have you covered.”
“Thanks, Gunny.”
Dan smiled. He loved when the guys called him Gunny. Like Cash and Reid, he’d cherished his time in the service and missed it since he retired. But around everyone at Vets on the Go!, it felt like a special branch of the military still existed. A bunch of veterans who loved their country and their respective services. It felt like…home.