Seeking Sanctuary (Hometown Heroes Book 2)

by J. P. Oliver

  10

  Adrian

  “Knock, knock, boss.”

  Looming in his doorway, I had the pleasure of seeing Victor Savage caught off-guard. He looked up from his laptop, smiling as his eyes met mine across his office. I liked seeing him like this: in his element, confident, familiar. It was a different side of him I was happy to see.

  “You don’t have to call me ‘boss,’ you know.”

  I poked my tongue out. “You hungry?”

  “Starved,” he said, shutting his laptop. “Got any place in mind?”

  “Speakeasy?”

  He wrinkled his nose.

  “Okay, Mr. Picky. How about the diner?”

  Apparently that was just fine for him. He called quickly down to the receptionist’s desk to let her know he’d be taking his break and to direct any calls—wherever they were supposed to be directed. Jacket slung over his arm, he followed me out to his car; he walked slow to keep next to me, matched my stride, our shoulders brushing as we swayed with every other step. It was a kind of contentedness I hadn’t felt in a long time, just like I hadn’t had a consistent, reliable—whatever we were. Friends with benefits; working partners with benefits, maybe. I wasn’t in any rush to label it.

  At noon, the local diner was being crushed by the lunch rush. It was the only one in North Creek—an original relic from the fifties—and made some of the best sandwiches in the area. We took two free spots at the counter on the red vinyl stools. The whole place was chrome and checkered floors and old but tasteful food-related pinups. They even went all out with the doo-wop fifties jams.

  “Beth’s a sweetheart,” I said, once we’d ordered.

  Victor snorted. “That’s because you don’t know her.”

  “What’s it like having a younger sister?” I propped an elbow on the counter, undoing the top two buttons of my shirt—relaxation time.

  “Right. I forget only children exist.”

  “You seem like you get along now,” I said, thinking back to high school, “but I remember her being a total pain in the ass.”

  “Try she’s still a pain in the ass,” he said, voice loaded with affection. “I’d kill for her, obviously, but sometimes I want to straight up kill her. She’s nosy—”

  “Oh, that was clear within our first five minutes together,” I laughed.

  “She tried asking about us?”

  “She didn’t try. She did.”

  “And?”

  I shrugged, recalling the conversation. It was brief: she asked if we came in together and I wasn’t about to lie, so I told her “yes.” From there, she inferred whatever she wanted to infer, and we moved on, straight to business.

  But Victor didn’t need to know that.

  “She asked which one of us topped,” I said, flashing a toothy grin. “I told her I did.”

  Victor blanched. “I hate you.”

  “Kidding.” I tugged at his ear but quit it once the waitress came rushing up the counter with our drinks. When I took a sip, I noticed Victor doing the same with a very pink face, “Don’t worry, Savage, I didn’t tell her anything she didn’t need to know.”

  “I’m…” He huffed a laugh, looking at me curiously. “I’m not upset about it or anything.”

  “Good.” I wrinkled my nose, twirling the straw in the ice. “‘Cause I told her some pretty nasty shit.”

  Victor sighed and shook his head but smiled despite himself.

  My phone buzzed in my back pocket, just once: a text.

  As Victor mumbled something about me being the worst and a tease, I drew it out, the relief evaporating once more when I saw who it was from and what it said: Chaz Nielsen.

  Mr. Cole, hope this finds you well. I think it’d be in your best interest for us to meet soon, preferably within the next few days. We have much to discuss. Let me know your availability.

  I read it. Reread it. And then a third time.

  “Hey.”

  I glanced up from the screen, turning the display off. “Yeah?”

  Victor arched a brow, eyes bouncing between me and my phone. “You all right?”

  “Yeah, just something from my lawyer,” I told him, shrugging; I pocketed it, figuring I could answer when I had a minute alone. “No big. Just stuff with the tattoo shops. But I won’t be able to work that day. It’s a bit of a trip to meet up with him—”

  “That’s fine.” Victor grinned, sitting back as the waitress wheeled around with two plates heaped high with sandwiches and fries. “You do what you have to. I’m not paying you, remember?”

  I popped a fry into my mouth. “Not with money, anyway.”

  “Shut up,” he groaned.

  “Make me, tough guy.”

  A glint in his brown eyes; a challenge.

  “Be careful,” he warned. “I just might take you up on that.”

  The rest of the afternoon was occupied with working with Beth.

  Admittedly, it was nice to have a reason to flex my skills again. Once the shops were set up, my time was pretty unevenly split; I was the tattoo artist and my business partner, having no artistic talent whatsoever, stuck to the books. That was fine with me. But, damn, I missed working this side of things: the numbers, the crunching, the problem-solving. Really, I didn’t give a shit that I wasn’t getting paid, because it was something to do with my time.

  And it helped that Beth Savage was such a good partner. I remembered her the same way I remembered Victor: from school and from running around the Savage household with Zach. She was four years younger than me, so my fondest memories of her were from when she was in middle school—a.k.a. Nerdy Beth.

  Not that she wasn’t nerdy now. She still totally was, but there was a big difference between middle school and adulthood. She’d traded her sweater vests in for slim, designer business shirts; she didn’t chew on the ends of her brown locks anymore; hell, she even had a pretty good-looking fiancé.

  There was plenty of time to kill, and killing it was easy. There was plenty to keep us busy, and before I knew it, I heard Beth sigh and stretch over the back of her chair and groan loud and uninhibited.

  I scoffed, grinning at my sheets. “Cute.”

  “I know.” She smirked.

  “Time to clock out?”

  “Happy hour,” she laughed, slumping back over her books. “I’ve got a bit more to do here, but you go on ahead. Technically, it’s closing time.”

  “I don’t mind staying—”

  “I insist.” Beth folded her arms and fixed me with a pointed grin. “Make sure you take Victor with you. He’s turned into a real workaholic lately, and this is around the time when he tries checking in on me, so please, you’d be doing me a massive favor.”

  I chuckled. “Okay. Okay. I get it. I’m gone.”

  “Leave the books there,” she said, pointing to a long table beneath the wide window. I did so, admiring the absolute mess sprawled there: it looked like every file and slip of paper had been gutted from the filing cabinets and vomited here.

  “Where?”

  “Wherever there’s space,” she said, already back scribbling notes.

  “A place for everything, right?”

  “And everything in its place.” Beth dropped her pen and shot me a wry grin. “I’m not messy, I’m just… very particular about organization.”

  “Right,” I drew.

  “Get out,” she laughed, “before I have you escorted out by security.”

  I didn’t need to be vaguely threatened any more than that. I grabbed my jacket and wandered my way down the hall to Victor’s office, pausing. The frosted glass window on the door was still printed with his father’s name—Markus Savage—under the title of CEO. It was strangely… bittersweet.

  Shaking the feeling away, I tapped the glass before poking my head in.

  “Hey,” I called—cutting myself off when I found that Victor wasn’t at his desk.

  Instead he was sprawled on the old, worn green chaise along the bookcase, arms crossed over his chest, fast
asleep. He was even snoring a little, totally peaceful, face all soft and unburdened.

  He’s turned into a real workaholic lately.

  Shutting the door gingerly behind me, I crossed carefully over to him, wincing as the boards of this old place creaked under my feet. He didn’t budge. I fumbled for my phone, adrenaline pumping through me as I tried not to laugh. Open the camera, and…

  The flash went off, adrenaline turning to dread.

  “Shit,” I hissed, fumbling with it.

  The intense, sudden brightness of it had him rousing, mumbling sleepily as I pocketed the phone, playing at innocent. His eyes opened.

  “Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” I hummed.

  Victor squinted up at me. “What time is it?”

  “Closing time,” I said. “And I know who I want to take me home.”

  “No,” he groaned quietly, snuggling deeper into the chaise, eyes shutting. “I hate that song…”

  Cute.

  I rolled my eyes and tugged at his wrist.

  “I sleep here all the time,” he murmured. “Not that weird.”

  “Victor,” I warned.

  With a monumental sigh, he forced his sleepy eyes to look at me.

  “You can sleep here with me,” he proposed quietly, fingers brushing into mine.

  “This thing is barely big enough for you, Savage,” I snorted. “Plus I know a much bigger couch at your place we can both easily fit on. One where your sister won’t try to toss us out herself.”

  “Mm,” he hummed, allowing me to help him sit up with a tug. “You know, that doesn’t sound half bad…”

  Going to Victor’s in the evening was becoming a common occurrence.

  It felt weirdly natural—about as natural as being back at my folks’ place or being in North Creek in general—which was a strange feeling. He woke up on the drive over, the nap giving him a bit of energy, but the cozy feeling I’d felt seeing him fast asleep in his office stuck around. The idea of cuddling on the sofa, keeping the cold at bay together, wasn’t half bad, especially with the sky all gray and the night coming in quicker each day. I took a breath and let myself look forward to it; to having him to myself.

  Unfortunately, the universe had other ideas.

  “Oh, fuck.”

  I looked up from my phone as we pulled into Victor’s driveway. It wasn’t empty. There was a car already parked there—some fancy, expensive piece, foreign and sporty. Before I could put two and two together, Victor was already parking and stepping out of the car.

  “You can stay here,” he murmured, tone all different than how he’d been at the distillery.

  Like hell I was gonna stay back.

  I stepped out, rounding the car in time to see someone stand and traipse down Victor’s front steps. Victor looked pissed, muscles all tight, hands in loose fists at his side as he approached—Winston.

  Every alarm was going off. Winston was a creep; after knowing so many, my gut could parse that out easily.

  “You’ve brought a guest,” I heard him say.

  Victor tensed as I came up beside him, tipping my chin up at Winston. I wasn’t afraid of this prick and his money and manipulations. He was clearly uncomfortable with me being there, his eyes darting between me and Victor, and that felt like its own small triumph.

  Good, I thought. Fuck him. Let him be uncomfortable.

  “Yeah,” I said, arms crossing. “Got a problem with that?”

  “Believe it or not,” Winston huffed, lips curling, snakelike, “I do take interest with the company my baby brother keeps, when it calls for it.”

  Why the fuck does he talk like that? He’s so annoying, I thought, jaw tightening. You’re from North Creek, you hoity prick, just talk like a regular person—

  “I’ve come to discuss personal matters with you,” Winston said, gaze flickering between us. “Private matters.”

  If it was up to Winston—if I gave two shits about what he wanted or thought—I would have told him to fuck himself, I wasn’t going anywhere, but Victor seemed just as uncomfortable with Winston and I being in the same space. A clash; a conflict of two extremely different personalities.

  If it made Victor uncomfortable, I’d respect that and back down.

  “I can wait inside,” I proposed to Victor.

  “Sure.” I felt his fingers brush mine before he slipped me the key. “Make yourself at home. I’ll just be a minute.”

  I nodded—and pressed a kiss to his cheek, just to annoy Winston—before breezing by the prick. I let myself inside to give them privacy—but I was from North Creek, the gossip capital of America. My curiosity won out. Plus, I wanted to know if Winston was going to spew anything particularly shitty or toxic, like he did at the Speakeasy.

  I left the door halfway open, lingered around the foyer as Victor met Winston on the porch. It was sort of faraway, but clear enough for me to hear.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Victor asked, tension breaking into irritation. “I told you to stop coming around—”

  “Well, what do you want me to do?” Winston asked, much calmer. “You’ve stopped answering my texts and calls. How am I supposed to reach you if you’ve blocked my number—”

  “You’re not supposed to,” Victor said. “That’s kind of the point.”

  I unbuttoned my jacket slowly, craning to listen in.

  “Anyway,” Winston huffed. “It’s about Dad, if you’d just give me a chance—”

  “You’ve had plenty of chances.”

  “Will you just shut up for a moment, please.”

  “Nice. Real nice.”

  “I suppose you’re not interested then. Not where it concerns Dad,” Winston said.

  Victor went silent.

  I felt like I was intruding, so I paced into the living room to just make myself busy perusing the video collection Victor had stashed on the bookcase, but it wasn’t long before their muffled voices rose in volume. It wasn’t just stupid bickering, it was arguing, loud and over each other.

  Not good.

  I went to the front door, the voices clearer through the cracked door.

  “—you’re fucked otherwise.” Winston.

  “I don’t care,” Victor said, steadfast.

  “You’re just as stubborn as he is.” Winston sounded exhausted and disgusted. “What the hell are you not understanding about this, Victor? Dad’s fucked you and the family over. You won’t get a loan from the bank—any bank—because Dad’s defaulted on the loan he has. You’re up the fucking creek without a paddle, and yet you insist on being blind and refusing—”

  “I’m not blindly refusing,” Victor argued. “I know you. I know this isn’t just about helping the family, so whatever you’re after—”

  “You’ve always been so paranoid.” Winston laughed, the sound mean. “Always. It’s pathetic, honestly. You’ve let it hold you back, just like Dad—”

  “You don’t know what you’re—”

  “I don’t know what I’m talking about? What a fucking joke—”

  I was close to the crack in the door. My hand brushed the fine oak entrance lightly, but it was just enough to nudge it, to make it creak, cutting their voices off at the intrusion. Faced with being caught, I tried to play it off, pushing the door open enough to reveal myself, hand on my hip as I surveyed Winston.

  “Everything all right out here?” I asked.

  Victor turned away, lips pursed.

  But Winston didn’t shy away from the opportunity to exploit.

  “What? You’ve got your little biker friend eavesdropping? Isn’t that a bit rude?” And then Winston turned to me, grin sharp; the kill. “Since you’re so interested in what I have to say, I’ll tell you—I know all about you, Adrian, and I don’t approve of my brother hanging around a slut who doesn’t have any sense of privacy—”

  “That’s enough.”

  The power behind Victor’s voice rattled Winston and I both. I felt myself freeze; I was always primed for a fight, a biting remark already loa
ded on my tongue—I had a few choice words for Winston myself—but I’d never heard Victor upset. Like, truly upset.

  “Did I strike a nerve?” Winston asked, grin returning.

  “Get off my property, Winston. Now.”

  Winston looked at me, pleased with himself. “I did. You must be very special—”

  Crack!

  Everything happened quicker than I could anticipate. The sound of skin and bone impacting, a flash of bodies springing to action as Victor’s fist shot out, connecting roughly with Winston’s jaw.

  I gasped, stepping onto the porch.

  Winston stumbled back hard, catching himself on the porch railing. Even he seemed shaken, still processing, wide-eyed, what had just happened. He touched his red chin. I’d seen guys take hits like that; it was a hard one. It’d bruise, for sure.

  Good, I thought, looking at Victor, who was breathing heavily.

  “You’re a fucking idiot,” Winston huffed.

  “Get. Out. Now.”

  Winston didn’t need to be warned again. Even he knew when it was time to back off, as stupid as he was. Cradling his jaw, he shot us one more nasty look—that mask of easy control cracked by his brother’s fist—before stalking towards his car.

  “Victor,” I breathed.

  When I touched his shoulder, he shook his head. “Shit.”

  “Are you okay?” I took him gently by the wrist and examined his shaking hand as it uncurled from its fist. His knuckles were red; only people who didn’t get into fights knew you don’t go knuckle first. It’s too easy to break them. You go in with the heel of your hand. “They look sort of swollen.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “You sure you don’t wanna go get them X-rayed?”

  Victor flexed his fingers experimentally. He huffed—clearly it hurt—but decisively, he shook his head, insisting quietly, “No. No I’m fine.”

  I nodded, bent my head, and brushed my fingers over the back of his hand.

  I don’t know why I did it. It was tender and just seemed… right.

  “Sorry,” Victor huffed.

  “What?”

  “I just… he’s such a dick. You didn’t deserve that. You’re not a… a slut, Adrian—”

  “Hey. It’s whatever.” It wasn’t whatever. “Honestly, he got what he fucking deserved, the prick. No offense.”