by Raven Scott
The Handyman
Bratva Dark Allegiance
Raven Scott
Contents
1. Reece
2. Reece
3. Riley
4. Reece
5. Riley
6. Riley
7. Reece
8. Riley
9. Reece
10. Reece
11. Riley
12. Reece
13. Riley
14. Riley
15. Riley
16. Reece
17. Riley
18. Reece
19. Reece
20. Riley
21. Riley
22. Reece
23. Riley
24. Reece
25. Riley
26. Riley
27. Reece
28. Riley
29. Riley
30. Reece
31. Riley
32. Riley
33. Reece
1
Reece
“What’s up, kid? You look good…it’s been a long time, huh? Five? Six years, now?”
If there was any way to approach someone at a funeral, it wasn’t with what’s up, kid. Glancing over at my Uncle Ron, I pursed my lips thinly and nodded as I scanned him through narrowed eyes.
He was rail thin, but at least he had the decency to wear a long-sleeved shirt. The smell of meth wafted off him when he reached to rub his nose, and neither his pants nor his belt fit.
Probably because he stole them. “It’s been twelve years, Ron. I suppose your inability to keep track of time was hampered by all the meth you’ve been smoking.”
His eyelids widened in surprise. Apparently, his pupils were too blown to restrict.
I frowned at the dumb look on his unkempt face. “Go away. I’m here to mourn my mom, not be talked to while you work up the courage to ask me for $20 bucks.”
This was why I’d stayed away for over a decade. I loved my mom, but her family was toxic in the extreme.
Her brother rubbed his head, shuffling off into the small crowd of people exactly like him.
Turning to my mom’s casket, lowered into the ground to be crushed and flooded with worms, I crossed my arms over my chest to inhale sharply. She’d had a closed casket wake, but I’d arrived early to see her. Now, her beautiful face was all I could see when I blinked.
The mortuary artist had done a very good job of making my mother look not dead. I appreciated that.
“What did you say that for, Reece? Now he’s gonna be an asshole.” My sister sidled up to me.
Tearing my eyes off the casket, I tapped my sides under my jacket and rocked back on my heels. “Are you going to stay a while?”
“No. I came here because a lawyer told me that’s what mom wanted. I left a very important business meeting to be here. I’m alive and capable of grieving on my own time.” True, Mary wasn’t a drug addict anymore, but she struggled hard. She worked a shit grocery store job in our hometown and had two kids by two different guys. Her platinum blonde hair looked frayed and she reeked of pot.
The disdain in her tone bristled up my neck, and I exhaled slowly. Why would I want to stay around people who considered her a ‘good one’? “So, you only came because a lawyer told you.”
“Mom said she hasn’t spoken to you in years.”
“Mom lied because the whole family are losers who suck you dry of your money, your self-esteem…your sanity. Fuck you, Mary. You’re not qualified to judge me.”
She gasped, lifting her hand to cover her mouth.
I stared at Mom being covered in dirt. The earth almost filled the hole around the casket, and I reached to scratch my bare jaw roughly. “I’m going home once this is over, and we’re never going to say another word to each other again, Mary. Fuck you— fuck your problems— fuck your opinions. Go away.”
“You think you’re so high and mighty—”
“Oh, shut the fuck up!” My sharp snap echoed across the quiet graveyard, and I turned to Mary as she went wide eyed with surprise. “Even at Mom’s funeral you can’t help but make it about you and how you’re the fucking victim, Mary. You know why I know I’m better than you? Because you’re still here, in the same Podunk dinky fucking town in Nowhere Arkansas, in the same shitty apartment, with the same piece of shit on-again-off-again boyfriend who’s not the father of either of your kids. You’re still wallowing in your piss and mistakes you made 15 fucking years ago. That’s why I know I’m better than you.”
I didn’t come here expecting to peacefully watch my mother be buried, but this drama was more than I bargained for. Turning my back on my sister and the overly nosy eyes of other people I unfortunately shared DNA with, I scoffed lightly. Maybe, I went a little overboard with the insults, but what could I do? Mary brought it out of me so easily.
Leaving my mother where she belonged ‒ behind me ‒ I stuffed my hands into my suit pants’ pockets and ducked my head to frown at the perfect, lush grass. Anger roiled in my veins, and the disgusting smell of the country curled my nostril hairs. My mom loved her farmhouse and big, wrap around porch, but I was content to let my hatred get eaten away by time. I couldn’t love this place, and she wouldn’t want me to force myself to pretend.
“God… I’m gonna miss our monthly phone calls.” My lip quirked at my own murmur as I rubbed my jaw and mouth roughly. Reaching the smooth road to walk down to my car well, Carlyle’s car… my smile widened as I thought back. Every first Saturday of the month, my mom would call me at exactly 12:45 in the afternoon. She would never talk about family, only all the things family wouldn’t let her say.
And I would listen. I could listen forever, but forever was over the moment I left home for New York City. When I became an adult, I told my mother I didn’t want to end up like her, trapped in this shitty town that barely had a name. I didn’t want to get sucked down by family who used and abused then threw me out when I got tired of giving. She was a saint, my mom, but that had been the problem and I’d spent my childhood watching her get stepped on over and over again.
I climbed into the driver’s seat to grip the wheel, staring at the small gathering up on the hill. The motley, flea-infested crew of cousins, uncles and aunts, and my sisters all started to disperse, and my heart ached. My mom was dead now, but the utter disrespect that they’d shown all damn day was appalling. It didn’t matter to her that no one stood over her, quiet and somber, respecting and remembering what a beautiful person she was.
No— they hung around because I was there, and they hoped to ask me to stay, as my sister had. To exploit me. Fuck that.
Sticking the keys into the ignition, I inhaled a deep breath into my tight lungs and shook my head viciously. My mom had done one thing ‘right’, at least, and gotten a lawyer to help her keep her secrets when she died. Pulling out to roll through the cemetery towards the rundown church, I rolled down the window to hang my arm out of the car. The one good thing about this trip was the fact that the weather was gorgeous, the bitter wind of late January replaced with a warm, gentle breeze.
I had a 19-hour drive after I hit up the lawyer in Conway. I pulled up to the street to glance either way out of habit, but the truth was— this particular road was only ever used on Sundays and for funerals. Technically speaking, the place I’d grown up was a village. . . That’s right. I’m a humble villager. There were no lawyers in this village, just a grocery store and one gas station that usually didn’t have any gas. “I’m so glad to leave this place. No offense, Mom.”
My mother had been her beautiful, kind self when she gave her hous
e to my sisters, at least, so I wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of selling it. Living wills were a bitch to get out of. She always worried that it wouldn’t be old age that got her, and she was right. Getting jack-knifed by a semi was a horrible way to die, but it was better than being neglected while being too senile to stand up for herself.
To be honest, I wouldn’t have been surprised if my mom had intentionally stayed in the path of that out of control 18-wheeler. Every call for the past few months, she’d sounded more haggard and stressed. I could practically smell the anxiety through the receiver— but it could’ve been just my mind playing tricks on me.
“It’ll all hit me when I get back to New York.” My grumble drew down my mouth in a hard frown and I flexed my hands on the wheel stiffly. Being in my hometown made me so angry for so many reasons. Being forced to take a day during the aftermath of the Makovich disaster only made it worse. I’d played patron to his gaggling entourage for an entire month, and I still hadn’t recovered.
Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I crawled down the road as I tapped around to find that lawyer woman’s number. The trill of the call connecting to the car speakers rang loudly, and I set my phone in the cupholder and stuck the gas.
“Francine Macello Estate Planning. Who’s calling, and who are you calling for, please?”
“I’m Reece Brandt— I have an appointment with Francine at 4. I was wondering if she had an earlier opening?” I got put on hold, but the call was just a formality. Weeks ago, Francine had called me to let me know that I was the sole proprietor of my mom’s estate, and blah. . . blah. . . blah. I hadn’t been paying attention to most of what she said, but I knew that my mom’s assets were being shipped to a storage facility in New York City. Incredibly well-maintained, expensive, solid wood furniture her father had made for her, family heirlooms she didn’t want in the hands of people that would sell them as soon as they could— even the ‘good’ china that, according to legend, my mother’s grandmother brought over from Scotland.
“Hello— Mr. Brandt? It’s Francine. I’m open after 2:30. I have all your paperwork ready and waiting.”
My thoughts scattered at the sound of her voice pumping through my car and flying out the open window, and I nodded absently. “Yes, I appreciate it. I’ll be there earlier, but I don’t mind waiting. Honestly, anywhere is better than my hometown.” There wasn’t much more to say. Francine said her goodbyes and hung up as I breached the speed limit.
Glancing at the time, I rolled my lips between my teeth and sighed through my nose in irritation. I wouldn’t get back to New York City until tomorrow morning, but at least it gave me an excuse to get trashed in the daytime.
2
Reece
Rifling through the pages of my mom’s will, I rolled my jaw thoughtfully. That Francine woman was good at her job, meticulously cataloguing everything my mother had bequeathed me. Somehow, she’d convinced my mom to have proper serial numbers put on the furniture my grandfather had hand carved, and there was a whole page dedicated to each individual piece of china.
Flipping through all those numbers, my chest tightened at the obvious care taken. My mom loved her stuff; she was a very sentimental person, and I felt honored that she’d trusted me. I knew she was very aware of what would happen to her beloved house once she died.
It’d be falling down before the year was out. Either that or it’d be such a point of contention of my sisters that they’d destroy it outright. Mary would want to live in it, and Rebecca would want to sell it for oodles of cash.
My cell phone vibrated insistently on the kitchen table. I laid the packet flat to grab the device. Grunting my name, I reached for the glass of whiskey waiting patiently to be drained and lifted it to my lips.
“Hey, Reece.”
Surprise rippled down my neck and twitched my cheek, and I took a hasty gulp of my drink.
“I don’t know if you remember me… um, we met at Black Cat a while ago.”
“Riley. How could I forget you, huh?” Memories blossomed in my mind’s eye as I sat back in the stiff chair and stretched my legs. “How have you been? It’s been a couple weeks since I’ve seen you there.”
“I’m here now…can you come in? You said to call you if I was ever in trouble, and—I’m in trouble.” Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, and
The hairs on the back of my neck bristled as I listened.
“I feel bad for only calling because I need something, but—I don’t know who else to turn to, Reece.”
“Did something happen with your dom?” Standing up, I was suddenly glad I’d decided to stave off getting blackout drunk until after I went through my mom’s paperwork. Worry tightened my chest at Riley’s ominous silence, and my mouth dried as those memories popping behind my lids became more intense. “I’m on my way— I’ll be there in half an hour, tops. Are you safe?”
“Yeah, I’m safe. It’s just. . . a couple days ago, my partner beat me. He knows I’m not into pain, but he did it anyway. I went to the police, but they said he said it was consensual and we were a BDSM relationship, so they didn’t do anything about it.” Riley’s voice wobbled dangerously, her sniffle sharp enough to cut my cheek through the line. “I went to my parents’ house, but they’re not taking me seriously, either.”
“Does Black Cat know what he did?” I could picture Riley nodding her head, her cherry red hair flinging all over the place as the line rustled loudly. We’d hooked up a few times at Black Cat before she went under contract with her partner. At the time, I’d wanted to talk her out of it because I could feel the guy was a dickwad. He was new to this scene, introduced by a friend of a friend or something. Ever since that fucking book series came out, the community had gone to shit, and even Black Cat was being infected. “I’m leaving my place now. What happened? Did you meet up outside Black Cat or something?”
Snatching my keys off the hook by the door, I twirled them against my palm before grabbing the doorknob. I honestly didn’t know Riley very well. We had three sessions together, which were fantastic, and I’d been considering contracting her. Heading for the elevator, I thought back to the night she told me she was contracting with someone newer. Her rationalization was that she was also new, and maybe it’d be easier?
BDSM was not something that ‘just wing it!’ applied to, though. A lot of damage could be done so easily, and I wasn’t surprised that Riley had been burned. Horrified, yes. Surprised? Not at all.
“No. It was here. I told the manager, and he told me to go to the hospital and police, which I did and it didn’t get me anywhere. So, I came back, and they asked if I had anyone I could call. And that’s— that’s the situation.” She sounded so sad and troubled, but at least Riley didn’t sound ashamed or guilty. “I’m okay— physically. My mom told me that if I didn’t want to get hurt, I shouldn’t be doing something so disgusting in the first place.”
Stepping onto the elevator, I reached to rub my jaw absently as I grunted in acknowledgment. Riley was easily the sexiest woman I’d ever laid eyes on, but I didn’t know her. Our sessions were based on sex, and she’d cut me out before we’d gotten any farther.
“I’m sorry, Reece. I feel really awful that—”
“Riley, you’re perfectly okay. I apologize, too. This is actually…my mom died, and I just got back from my hometown. I hate to say it this way, but this is a great distraction from an absolute disaster of a day.” Running my hand up my cheek and through my hair, I inhaled deeply to try to dislodge the tense ball in my chest. “I do appreciate that you feel bad, but I told you to call if you ever needed anything… that includes help.”
“Um— okay. I’m sure you’re tired of condolences. Were— were you and your mom close?”
The elevator jostled to a stop, and I stepped off on the ground floor as Riley and I became distractions for each other. For a second, I debated whether or not it’d be faster to walk to Black Cat, but traffic wasn’t bad at all for once. Maybe because it’s the sweet spot between
lunch and leaving.
“Not really, but she was my mom. I went to her funeral yesterday even though I’m struggling to wrap up this job my boss had me on before Christmas. Everything went to shit, and nothing was accomplished, but Jesus fuck is there a lot of paperwork.” I walked towards the parking garage as I spoke, and the heat against my ear noticeably lessened. “It was a huge clusterfuck. The Russian guy was a complete asshole the entire time and ignored everyone telling him to bend a little on the conditions. He ended up going back home with nothing but an appointment to come back.”
“He sounds like an ass. I’m so glad I’m my own boss. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to try to make deals with people like that. “Is that why you’re into BDSM? Because you’re an underling?”
Interest twitched my brows, and my car unlocking echoed through the parking garage. “Ah, no. It’s nothing like that reverse psychology shit. It’s just my kink. I’m not into the really disgusting stuff, but. . . Sadism has many forms. Mine just happens to be the bondage part, not the pain part.” Riley hummed, and I switched my phone to my other ear as I climbed into my car. I liked this old car with its worn comforts and familiar handle. “I’m sure you’re wondering, too, Riley. But no, growing up, I had a normal life. . . as close to normal as someone growing up in Bumfuck Nowhere can get. My mom died in a car crash last week, but I only went to the funeral yesterday. I wouldn’t have if I didn’t have to pick up some paperwork from her lawyer in person, though, I don’t think. It’s a difficult situation to explain. My mom knew how much I hated pretty much everyone in the family but her and she wasn’t upset about it anymore. I guess ten years is a long time to come to terms with the idea of me making my own choices.”