“Mmmm…” Elaine murmured noncommittedly. Her eyes had glazed over as I waxed on about romance and not Leo. Finally, she shook her head and gave me a piercing look. “Anyhow, did you see the news about the upcoming budget cuts?”
Just the words budget cuts had my stomach aching. Libraries were constantly on the chopping block. We were operating on a paper-thin budget as it was. “No, what did they say?”
Elaine grinned, her piranha-like teeth sparking. Or maybe that was my imagination. “I guess because of the economy, they’re proposing at least a ten-percent cut in all areas. Maybe more. And you know what that means…”
My free hand clutched my now roiling stomach. I was the last hired.
Which meant I’d be the first fired.
I had student loans hanging over my head. Graduate school hadn’t exactly been cheap.
Oh god.
It would only be a matter of time before I was living back at home with my parents. Listening to my mom drone on and on about how I should’ve majored in accounting like her cousin’s daughter did. Moaning about how I’d wasted myself on a dead-end career.
I think I’d rather be shot.
“But all that’s weeks, if not months away.” Elaine smiled that toothy grin at me. “Plenty of time to make other arrangements.”
“Other arrangements,” I repeated weakly. “Right.”
“Hey, don’t look all doom and gloom. It’s Friday. Have any fun plans for the weekend?”
You mean aside from panic-searching for an opening somewhere in the narrowing library field? Not that I would ever say as much to Elaine. By lunchtime she’d have everyone convinced that I’d clutched her blouse and cried about the upcoming cuts.
Instead, I tried to smile, but I was pretty sure it looked just as wan as I felt. “Oh, you know, the usual. Maybe sunning by the pool, if the weather holds up.”
“Honey, it’s California—the weather always holds up.” She couldn’t have tried to sound more condescending if she’d tried.
I turned to shelve the copy of Romeo and Juliet in my hand, so I could hide my eye roll. “Do you have plans for the weekend?”
Only silence met my question, followed by the distant sound of the stairwell door closing.
I turned and found myself all alone again.
Apparently, Elaine had hightailed it out of here once she’d delivered her awesome news.
I gave into the urge and slumped down to the ground, holding my knees to my chest. Tears welled in my eyes as a sense of helplessness swept over me. I was homeless. In a couple of weeks, I’d probably be jobless as well.
Jeez Louise, this shit better not travel in threes.
Because the next blow might be the one to do me in for good.
* * *
It was suspiciously silent when I got “home” from work. Usually, Dylan was sprawled on the couch watching some annoying documentary. Today the tv was off. The living room was empty.
But it didn’t take Sherlock to figure out that Dylan was here, or had been here recently—he’d left the kitchen faucet running, for crying out loud.
“Dylan!” I shouted as I hung up my purse next to the door. “I know you’re home. Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
Silence.
Aside from the gurgling water coming from the sink.
With an annoyed huff, I crossed the room and turned off the faucet. We were in a drought after all.
I hated confrontation. Hated it. But that didn’t mean I was going to let Dylan off the hook. A freaking biker had shoved a gun in my back last night. I’d done Dylan a solid and hadn’t told his brother about the situation—mostly because I didn’t know what it was yet. But I was determined to find out.
Resolved, I whirled around. Someone was standing less than a foot away from me.
I screamed.
A beat later, I clutched my chest. It was only Dylan.
Then I slapped his chest. “Do not do that! You freaked me out!”
His lips quirked as he fought the grin threatening to spread across his lips. With eyes still laughing at me, he leaned around me to turn the faucet on again. “I’m trying to defrost some steaks. I need to run water over them.”
“Oh sorry. I just saw the running water.” I shook my head. There I was, apologizing again! Not this time. “What happened yesterday? And what the heck is going on, Dyl? A freaking biker showed up and stuck a gun in my back. I was scared to death. Nathan said he was a West Coast King.”
“Right, Nathan. How much did you tell him about what’s going on?”
“I didn’t tell him anything. Because I don’t know what the hell is going on. But you’re gonna start telling me everything. Right now.”
“I know, I know. I totally owe you an explanation. I was going to cook you a steak dinner tonight to try to make up for what happened, but I got busy with a new project and forgot to get the steaks out of the freezer.”
Because that was Dylan. Lost in some project that was probably cluttering up what was supposed to be my room. But I couldn’t be too annoyed seeing how I wasn’t even paying rent.
I sighed. “I don’t need a steak dinner.” Even though after the day I’d had, that sounded amazing. “What I need is to know what is going on. What are you doing running around with Kings? They almost beat your brother to death!”
My stomach roiled as I remembered seeing Ryan in the ICU all bloody and bruised.
All the levity left Dylan, and I swore I could see tears shimmering in his hazel eyes. “It’s a long story. And I know I owe you an explanation, but please just let me do it over dinner. I’ll cook for you, and then I’ll tell you everything. I just…please?”
He did that pleading thing with his eyes that always got me. “Fine.” I bit out. “You can tell me after dinner. I have a feeling that I won’t be able to eat once you get going. I’ll go take a shower.”
“Thank you.” Dylan shouted at my back as I walked out of the room.
Somehow, I felt like I’d lost the battle. No matter how much I tried, I always turned into a doormat—letting anyone and everyone get their way.
Which was how I ended up homeless, living on my friend’s couch with no answers about what the heck happened last night.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to enroll in accounting school. Sure, I’d probably hate my life, but at least I’d have a roof over my head and money in my pocket.
When I opened the door to the spare room, the sight that met me had me sighing in exhaustion. Three easels took up any space my suitcases had left. Despite the drop cloth on the floor, I could see splotches of paint on the carpet. Dylan was never going to turn this into a bedroom for me. I’d be sleeping on the couch forever. Or maybe that was the turpentine fumes.
Gagging, I grabbed some clean-ish clothes that no doubt smelled the same as the bedroom and hightailed it for the shower.
Life had to get better soon, right? It had to stop kicking me in the teeth at some point.
* * *
Dylan had gone all out. Cleaned off the table—although judging by the pile on the coffee table, I had a suspicion where it’d all ended up. Lit some candles. Got out placemats—I didn’t even know he had those. It was all so pretty.
And it made my stomach burn. It had to be bad if he’d gone to all this trouble.
“Sit, sit.” Dylan ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just waiting on the potatoes in the microwave. How about a glass of wine? Red okay?”
“Sure.” I smiled uncertainly. Dylan was more of a beer guy, so I had my doubts about the wine, but he was trying.
“So how was work?” He asked as he popped the cork.
The pseudo-date atmosphere had me unnerved. Or maybe that was the reminder of work. Swallowing hard, I crossed over to the table, and pulled a chair out. “Work was work.”
I didn’t want to get into my precarious position at the library. Because given half a chance, Dylan would draw the conversation out until I forgot what we were here for. And I wanted answers.
> I gave him a slightly bitter smile. “I reshelved books while Elaine played Candy Craze on her phone and Neil hid in his office. Typical Friday. What’s with the easels in your spare room? Slow day at the shop?”
Dylan worked with his brothers at Badass Builds making custom motorcycles, while filming a reality show about their dysfunctional relationship. The guys would argue, occasionally fight while the cameras recorded it all. Unlike most shows, theirs was unscripted because their lives were so crazy, they didn’t need to make anything up. Dylan was one of the more level-headed brothers, partly because he worked by himself doing the paint jobs, but also because that was Dylan.
Which made his behavior and unlikely alliance with the Kings so bizarre. This wasn’t the Dylan I knew.
Dylan avoided my eyes as he set the potatoes, salad, and steaks down. “I took the day off. Had to think some things through.”
“Which you usually do with a paintbrush in your hand. Right.” The turpentine smell lingered in the air. Or maybe it lingered on my clothes. Either way, it didn’t pair well with the steak or the wine. I felt kinda nauseous. I watched in silence as Dylan loaded my plate with food.
“Also, I didn’t want to run into Nathan and answer awkward questions about your love life.” He laughed down at his plate like it was a freaking joke.
I didn’t know if he found the thought of my love life funny or me with a biker hilarious, but I was annoyed. And more than a little hurt.
“So, you got my texts.” But hadn’t bothered to reply to a single one. I dropped my fork with a clank. “I can’t do this, Dyl. You gotta tell me what the hell is going on. Now.”
“Fine.” Dylan heaved a huge sigh and pushed his plate away like he couldn’t stomach the thought of eating either. “It’s kinda long though, so let me get through it before you ask any questions.”
Because I owed him in this situation. I shook my head and contradicted it with a quiet, “Sure.”
“Back in high school—”
“High school?” How far did this crap go? Did I ever really know Dylan?
“Yeah. High school.” A muscle flexed in Dylan’s jaw. “You gonna let me tell the story or what?”
My eyes went wide at his terse tone, and I jerked my head in a quick nod.
“As I was saying. Back in high school, money was kinda tight, and Austin and Nathan were trying to set up their own shop. I wanted to help out, so I got a little side job. While you and Sabby were at volleyball practice, I started delivering packages for the West Coast Kings.”
Delivering packages? I knew what that meant. Everyone knew the West Coast Kings were deep in the drug trade. It was the main reason the network wouldn’t let the guys show who their clients were in the first season of the show. Before the Kings beat the crap outta Ryan. “How’d you even get in with them? It’s not like we hung out with bikers in high school.”
“Well, you didn’t. Nathan wouldn’t let any of that touch you. Still won’t.” He said the last under his breath then shook his head. “But the guys built a bike for one of them, and I did some detail paint work—one of my first jobs really—and we got to talking. One thing led to another and the next thing I knew…”
He trailed off like it was nothing.
But it wasn’t. It was huge. I couldn’t even imagine. This wasn’t the Dylan I knew. While I’d been writing essays for English class, he’d been delivering drugs for the scariest motorcycle club on the west coast. Holy crap.
“Wait, I thought you guys started the shop with the money Wendy got from her wrongful death lawsuit? Why’d you run drugs when you guys had all that money?”
Dylan blew out a hard breath and looked kinda sheepish. “I didn’t know. I was only sixteen at the time, and since I was the little brother, they didn’t bring me in on all the money conversations. Or any of them really. I’d overheard them talking about how much it’d take to open a shop in town, so when Rags offered me a job, I took it. And the half dozen or so that came up after that.”
“God, Dylan.” I shook my head. “So that’s what they have over you? They’re blackmailing you about some drug runs you did ten years ago?”
“No. I was just giving you the background. I’m pretty sure the statute of limitations is up on that. What they’re holding over my head is more recent. And if it comes out, I’ll lose everything. My freedom. My job. My brothers’ respect—if I have any of that left after I took Dad’s side in his parole hearing. I’m fucked, Maddie.”
Chapter Four
Nathan
Two hours earlier
I fucking hated Fridays. And working with family. And tv producers. Why the hell did I do any of this again?
“Dylan still MIA?” Austin asked as he pulled out the chair next to me in our tiny conference room. We only used it to meet with clients—and producer assholes apparently.
“He’s still ducking my texts. Moron hasn’t turned off his read receipts, so I know he’s read them. Hasn’t replied though.”
Austin laughed. “He does it because he knows it pisses you off.”
“It’s not that hard to reply to a simple text. It’d be nice to know he’s still alive.” I’d just pin him down when I got home later. If this endless production meeting ever finished. We had to take a break after three hours, and that was only because I’d thrown a fit.
What? I was hangry. James, the bastard, tried to talk through lunch. Ha! I would’ve thought he knew who we were after working with us for two years. Apparently not.
Not knowing who someone was made me think of Maddie. And that damn biker last night.
I leaned toward Austin. “Hey, have you heard anything about Maddie dating someone new?”
“Why?” Ryan interrupted as he dropped his cell phone on the table on my other side, pulling out his chair. “You finally got your head outta your ass and gonna make your move?”
I jumped. I hadn’t even noticed him come in the room. “What do you mean get my head out my ass? Maddie’s like a little sister. I don’t think about her like that.”
“Sure,” Ryan mocked. “Like how you stalked Maddie’s date at our wrap party last year, following him around, peppering him with questions, and letting her know she could do better. That’s totally normal.”
I blinked. “How’s that any different than the shit we give Sabby about any of the guys she’s dated? Same difference.”
“You’re so fucking blind, bro.” Austin laughed and twirled the piece of paper production had set in front of his chair. “It’s fun to watch though.”
Blind? I didn’t know what the hell they were talking about. I really did think of Maddie like a little sister. Which was why I got so bent outta shape when I saw that biker with her last night. Holding her close. Touching her. What the fuck was that anyway? I was just getting ready to ask Ryan about it when our producer, James, finally entered the room.
“Anyone manage to get ahold of Dylan?” James asked as he pulled out his chair.
We all shook our heads.
Ryan lifted a shoulder. “I stopped by his place over lunch, but he didn’t answer the door. I don’t know what’s going on with him lately.”
That was the fucking truth. Ever since he’d sided with the sperm donor in that last parole hearing, it was like a pod person had taken Dylan over. I thought maybe we’d finally get our little brother back after the bastard went back to prison, but no.
Dylan was more withdrawn than he’d ever been.
“Well, you guys will have to fill him in next time you see him.” James folded his hands on the table and looked at us, lined up opposite him. “The last item on our agenda—that I wanted to get through before Nathan had his little temper tantrum—is the vacancy at the front desk.”
I barely restrained the urge to leap across the table and deck James. He always had to get those little jabs in, like we were children. Like we weren’t the sole reason he had a job at the Urban Channel. Judging by the way Austin shoved his hands in his pockets, he didn’t appreciate it, either. O
nly the anger management classes we’d all taken kept my ass in the chair.
Although I wondered why James hadn’t been required to take them too. He was such a fucking tool.
After not getting a rise out of any of us, James raised his eyebrows and continued. “Since Sabrina won’t be as much of a personality on the show going forward—not that she has been up to now—the network thinks it’d be good if we get an injection of estrogen on the show. Someone pretty to sit at the front desk, flirt with clients and with you guys. Or at least with the single ones anyhow.” He paused to gesture at Ryan and Austin. “Since you two are all but married at this point.”
“Whoa.” Austin raised his hand. “This was and always has been a family shop—we’re not bringing in an outsider.”
“And I’m sure as hell not hiring someone to date them.” I snorted. “That’s pretty fucking creepy.”
“And illegal or something, right?” Ryan jabbed an elbow in my side.
James sighed heavily, like he was annoyed. He wasn’t the only one. “I’m not saying you have to sleep with whoever you hire. Just that the network would like to see more sparks. The few shows we’ve filmed since production started up again are boring, quite frankly.”
His words were like a slap in the face. “Boring?”
“You guys don’t fight anymore.” James leaned forward and jabbed a finger at me. “You get along. It’s so healthy, it’s fucking annoying. Where’s the crew we filmed that special with two years ago? The hothead we had to cart off to the E.R. because you all couldn’t agree on—fuck, I can’t even remember what that first fight was about, fenders or some shit—but it was spectacular. Raw. Real. If you guys can’t drum up that same level of passion, then we’ll either arrange for some new energy, or we’ll be forced to cancel your show outright.”
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