To 1997 Me
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Thanks for ditching the bad stuff when you did.
Book five in the Vigilante Justice series brings chaos to the orderly life of one of Justice’s favorite sons.
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I always thought going to prison for a crime I didn’t commit would be the most disruptive thing that could ever happen to me, but I was wrong. So wrong. Because my brother has brought a woman to town…one with eyes that set my entire world spinning and scars that bring out a protective side of me I never knew I had. She’s caught up in the motorcycle gang gunning for my friends and family, needing help, but I’m not some tough, former military guy like my brothers. Not that I’ll let any of that stop me.
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Prison life taught me a thing or two, and I’m going to use all that knowledge to keep my girl safe. Even if the person she needs saving from is someone on our side of the fight.
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Chapter One
FINN
I knew my day would be shit the moment I saw my razor. Not because I needed a new one—I had twelve shaves left before the blades would lose their optimum cutting edge. Not because I feared nicks or burns along my jaw either. My sense of dread didn’t blossom because of the act of shaving itself. Instead, it flooded me the second I saw that the razor wasn’t where it should have been.
Wrong spot.
I didn’t believe in ghosts or poltergeists and doubted someone had broken in to the little house my dad had left me just to move my toiletries around. Out of all the worries swirling in my head, those would be dead last. No, that razor sitting on the right side of the sink instead of hanging in the wood holder I’d carved specifically for it told me my nighttime routine had gotten off track somewhere the day before. Not surprising—I’d come back from my brother’s house that afternoon too wired to sleep and too tired not to. My entire weekend had been flipped upside down because he’d needed to go out of town and had asked me to stay at his house with his girl. To keep her safe. I’d sat with his girl for three days, always on edge. Guarding. That level of energy and wariness didn’t just disappear, so I’d spent the night pacing and reading and trying to burn off the stink of the past few days. And now…this.
I picked up the razor, looking it over, focusing on the details of it so I didn’t give in to the pressure building inside of my chest. Wrong spot, indeed. I could fix that, though. I could make it better. So I did—I set the razor in the nook of the stand where it belonged, making sure the overpriced piece of plastic stayed put. Not wanting to disturb it again.
“So, we skip shaving today,” I murmured to no one but myself as I tilted my head at the reflection in the mirror. Yeah, I could go another day or so before the scruff got to me. I wasn’t a beard-wearing sort of guy—not like my brother’s friend Gage. That man was covered in hair. My brothers had all worn beards as well. My older brothers, Bishop and Alder, said they stopped shaving in the winter to help keep their faces warm while working outside for the family logging company. My twin brother, Elijah, claimed the women liked him with a beard, so he’d sported some short, neat facial hair. I had a feeling it was more one woman who liked him with a beard. I also had a feeling that woman might have left, as he’d been clean-shaven the last time I’d been out to his place.
Details. The details gave someone away every time.
Whatever—shave or not, it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of the day. Shouldn’t, at least, but the placement of the razor did. Rituals, habits, structure—I needed those more than I needed just about anything else. Had to have them and follow the steps to keep any sort of balance in my life. At least that’s what I told myself. That’s how I got through the endless days of holding back and trying my damnedest to make up for my past mistakes. I couldn’t let little things slip, or they’d snowball and turn into big things. And big things ruined lives.
Focus, Finn. Face, hair, teeth—my morning routine needed to be solid after the razor incident.
I considered it a step in the right direction when I only checked to make sure the razor was still there five times as I finished getting ready for the day, figured it was damn near a breakthrough when I only went back to the bathroom twice while making breakfast to verify I hadn’t imagined the whole thing. Not too bad.
Five years ago, I would have locked myself in the house for the day, too afraid of the rest of the world coming down on my head for my forgetfulness. Two years ago, I would have checked at least ten times. Three months ago, I might have—
Shit. Three months ago, a motorcycle club had moved into town and started causing trouble. Big trouble. The sort that ended in a woman I’d known my entire life dead and her husband—one of my best friends—too distraught to stay in Justice. My rituals had gotten me through each day, each moment, every painful second of the past three months, but not easily. Not without a lot of missteps. I didn’t need to think about three months ago—I couldn’t risk my balance to those memories. Not today.
As I did every morning, I called my twin brother while I scrambled my eggs. Another ritual I simply couldn’t break. One I actually enjoyed. Thankfully, Elijah had gotten used to my need for structure.
“Having a good morning so far?” He never said hello when I called—simply started the conversation as if we’d never stopped it. The man had his own rituals.
“Last night, I left my razor on the counter instead of putting it back in the holder.”
His pause said more than his words would—gave away his need to work out why something so trivial would be a big deal to me. He could leave a razor in a totally different spot than usual and not think twice about it, while I’d think about that mistake a thousand times.
“Okay. How do you feel about that?”
The man had gone to way too many Al-Anon meetings. “Not bad. It shook me a little, but I dealt with it.”
“How many times have you checked to make sure it’s in the right spot since you put it away?”
“Enough to be sure it is, not enough that I’m worried about it.”
“That’s good. I’m sure tonight you’ll go through your nightly routine and that razor will be exactly where it’s supposed to be tomorrow.”
One could only hope. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
“So, what’s on your agenda for today?”
And so we went—comparing schedules as if my working at a bar called The Jury Room and his being a lawyer and dealing with actual juries was somehow comparable. He never acted as if my life was in any way less than his, though. Never stopped asking about my tasks and my day, about the details that made my life mine. Neither did our sister. Speaking of which…
“Lainie have fun on her weekend away with that douchebag?” Because my sister had terrible taste in men.
“I’m not touching that one.” Elijah laughed before yelling, “Hey Lainie, Finn’s got a question for you.”
I heard a soft mumble and a little static before Lainie’s voice came through the speaker. “What’s up, Finn?”
I hadn’t talked to her in three days, and I’d missed it. Missed knowing she was safe. “How was your weekend away with the douchebag?”
I swear, if my sister could have growled, she would have. As it was, she gave an awfully loud groan. “It was utter shit. Did Elijah tell you what he did?”
“Oh no,” Elijah said in the background, sounding way too pleased. “I left that for you.”
“He left me in the
motel room to go down to the bar and chat with another woman. Can you believe that? He set up this whole weekend trip to Vail as if time with me was something so damn important to him, then…”
And on she went. I couldn’t blame her for being pissed, but at the same time, I almost assumed it was her fault. My sister, the lone Kennard female, could be a bit…difficult. She hadn’t even spoken to the oldest two of our brothers in about a year without throwing some sort of fit. I still had no idea why she hated them so much, but I also never asked. Her business. I was just glad not to be on the receiving end of one of her rages.
“What about you?” Lainie asked when she was finished telling me exactly what kind of asshole this guy had been. “You dating anyone?”
Ha. I didn’t even have a plant. And she knew that. “Not yet.”
“Finn, you know—”
“I’ll get there,” I said. Because I did know. I knew all about how much they wanted to see me settled. But I had to deal with the shit in my head and my past on a daily basis. No woman needed to be pulled into my mess, and I had no space for the sort of upheaval the females of the species brought with them. Order and control—those were the words I focused on. Love and sex…well, those would likely come in time. I’d sat in a cage for seven years—I had patience.
I kept up a conversation with my siblings in Denver while I ate my breakfast—two eggs scrambled and a piece of toast with strawberry jam. Coffee with lots of cream and sugar to wash it down. Same thing every day, but I didn’t complain. I liked the comfort of the routine.
An incoming text message alert pinged in the background as I washed the breakfast dishes and Elijah told me about some new computer system he’d been researching for his office. The only time anyone other than Elijah and Lainie texted me was when something went wrong, so the alert was definitely not normal. I stared at the device for a solid minute before moving toward it, before stretching to pluck it off the counter. I brought the phone to life and tapped to its home screen, letting my brother and sister keep chatting on the speaker as I switched to my messaging app. As I opened the message and read over the words on the screen.
The fact that Alder, my oldest brother and the man who basically ran this town, the one who had asked me to stay at his house with his girl this past weekend while he’d been away, had sent me a note saying nothing more than “We need to chat—I’ll meet you at the bar this morning” only reminded me I’d forgotten to put the razor back. Only brought back all the dread I’d felt when I’d noticed. Those twelve words stole every bit of my balance and left me with nothing but what felt like a steel band around my chest.
“Shit.”
“What?” Elijah asked, suddenly sounding nervous. “Everything okay?”
I headed down the hall, unable to stop myself. Not even trying. “Alder texted. He wants to meet at the bar for a chat.”
“Tell the all-powerful Alder to kiss your ass,” Lainie said. I shook my head, knowing she couldn’t see it but too focused on the bathroom door to say anything. I couldn’t have forgotten. I remembered putting the razor in the right spot, but what if I was wrong? What if my brain had decided to fill in a gap and make me think I’d put the razor away when I really hadn’t? It used to happen all the time with my wallet—I’d swear I had put it in my pocket but not be able to find it when I needed it. What if I’d left that razor on the counter and only thought I’d hung it on the stand? What if I only thought I’d turned off the stove or used soap on the plates? I remembered, but what if…
I nearly sighed when I turned on the bathroom light and saw my razor exactly where it should have been. Sitting inside the wooden holder. The one that had taken about twelve hours to make out of a piece of beetle kill pine far too damaged by the insects plaguing the mountain for any other use.
Right spot. All good.
“It’s no big deal,” I said, whether comforting my siblings or myself, I couldn’t have said. “It’s fine, really. He just got back from Vegas yesterday, so I’m sure he wants to go over plans for the mill and town. I’ll talk with him and see what’s up.”
“Vegas?” Lainie asked, sounding just as shocked as I’d been when Alder had told me his plans. “Why the hell was he in Vegas? Did he elope with that woman?”
Shye. And definitely not, seeing as how I’d been the one guarding her while he was gone. “No, just took a few days away with Deacon. He said he needed to recharge.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire. Alder didn’t recharge in places like Vegas. If he’d needed a break, he would have taken Shye up into the mountains for a few days of quiet. I couldn’t even picture Alder on the Strip.
Apparently, neither could Lainie. “Well, that’s one big steaming pile of bullshit.”
Probably.
Ever the calm and steady force in our lives, Elijah didn’t comment on the absurdity of Alder vacationing in a place like Las Vegas. He simply said, “Whatever he needs, be careful. I know you guys have a lot going on out there.”
Understatement. What we had was a motorcycle club trying to kill us all and take over the town so they could manufacture meth in our woods. Talk about not normal.
A quick glance at the clock on the stove had me moving a little faster. “I will, but I have to go or I’ll be late to work. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Okay. Text me later.”
“Me too,” Lainie hollered just before I tapped the screen to disconnect the call. And then I stood in the hallway, and I tried to catch my breath.
Normal.
Totally normal.
Everything was utterly normal.
So why did it feel as if the earth was about to go through a major shift?
After a handful of days living out at Alder’s place to guard his girlfriend while he went out and did…whatever it was he’d done, I needed to go back to work. Back to the bar where I made sure shit ran smoothly. Where order and structure could be found in liquor bottles and glassware. I needed to go back to work where I belonged, and I would. This day would not go off the rails unless I let it.
I still checked on that damned razor three times before I walked out the front door and headed for my truck.
The Jury Room sat on the edge of town, right off the highway that cut Justice in half. There was a small roadside motel attached—the kind of place you could rent for an hour or a month. Your choice. Deacon Manns, former Army Special Forces officer and best friend of my oldest brother Alder, owned the place. He ran a tight ship, demanding a lot of his employees but giving just as much as he asked from us.
Deacon had hired me at a point when no one else in town would even look at me. Good folk didn’t really want to support a drug-dealing ex-con, after all. Deacon had, though. He’d helped me figure out the rituals I needed to work through every day as a free man with a mental cage, too. He’d dragged my ass to NA meetings when I’d felt too weak to force myself to go and patted me on the back when I’d made the right decisions and stayed strong. He was another brother to me, and I owed him everything.
But it wasn’t Deacon who caught my attention when I walked into the bar. It was my brother Alder. And his smile. His huge grin. What the hell?
“You see this shit?” Deacon asked, pointing at a grinning Alder. “What the fuck is wrong with his face?”
Those two might as well have been an old married couple—stuck together forever but not letting the other get away with anything.
“I don’t know, boss. I’ve never seen the man so… Are you happy?”
“No, you jackasses. I’m engaged.”
Well, shit. My own grin couldn’t have been stopped. Smart man to lock down a girl like Shye, and smart girl to see how much my brother loved her and not want to let that go. “Congratulations to you both.”
Deacon grabbed a bottle from the cabinet below the bar. The one where he kept the good stuff we never actually sold. “Well hell, man. I just figured you’d gotten a good slap and tickle or something. Engaged…tied down…locked up with the old ball and chain.”
He shook his head in an almost solemn sort of way. “This calls for a memorial toast.”
Deacon poured two glasses of scotch then grabbed a rocks glass and filled it with ginger ale. For me. I’d never been a drinker, but there was no sense in tempting the beast within me. I accepted the drink with a nod of thanks.
My boss held up his glass. “To my best friend, the brother I never wanted, and the latest victim of a good woman with big enough blinders on not to notice all your ugly bits. May your marriage be a happy one.”
We all sipped our drinks, Alder still grinning around the rim of his glass. I couldn’t blame him. Shye, his new fiancée, was a good woman. A great one, really. Pretty and kind, she’d been a waitress at the truck stop in Rock Falls since she’d moved to town. At least until trouble had come calling for her in the form of that murderous motorcycle club. Same one that wanted to turn Justice into the meth-making capital of Colorado. They’d burned down her trailer before we’d even known they’d hit town. Luckily for Shye, Alder’d been in love with her since the first time he’d met her. He’d taken her in, protected her, and now he would be marrying her.
Smart, smart man.
“So, how soon until this shindig happens?” I asked.
Alder’s grin grew impossibly wider. “One month.”
“A month?” Deacon said, nearly choking on his scotch. “Fuck, man. She saving the pussy until you put a ring on it or something?”
Alder threw a coaster at the man. “Don’t be a jackass, jackass. My girl said she wanted this to happen quickly, and I’m good with that. I’d marry her tonight if she’d let me.”
“You’re locking that down.”
“Completely.”
“Smart man,” I said. “So, what do you need from me?” Because he needed something. This wasn’t a social call or a chance to share the good news. He could have done that over the phone. Making sure I’d be at the bar meant there was more to his visit.
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