by Staci Hart
Dillon picked up a bell pepper, sliced the top off, and reached in and pulled out the seeds. “You are desperate.”
“I am not. You saw her. How could you not go after that?”
He sliced the pepper into long strips. “Easy. You just don’t.”
“What about the other bartender? I thought you were into her, but then you verbally clubbed her and dragged her back to your testosterone cave. It was all very Neanderthal.” One corner of Owen’s mouth pulled up as Dillon’s brow dropped.
“Talking to her was like licking a sheet of sandpaper. I didn’t get a great impression.”
“Seems to me she made one. You should have seen the look on your face when you saw her. Like a bug caught in a zapper’s tractor beam.”
Dillon cut the pepper with more force than was entirely necessary, and the blade clicked down on the wooden cutting board. “Yeah, well you should have seen the look on your face when Kiki stuck her tongue down your throat.”
“Don’t change the subject. Why’d you snap on her?”
Dillon huffed and eyeballed his brother again. “Owen, Kiki’s a bad idea. I know you, and I know her type. Have you met Jessica? You can’t get attached to girls like that. They’ll bleed you dry.”
“You don’t know Kiki. And anyway, what does that have to do with your conversation with Kat?”
“She implied that you made her sister go all Coyote Ugly.”
Owen rolled his eyes. “I was sitting right there, and that’s not what she said. She was joking, and you’re presumptuous.”
“Whatever, Owen. Kiki’s bad for you. I don’t get why you can’t see it.”
“Wait.” Owen leaned forward, his tone colored with challenge. “Did you freak out on her because I said I was interested in Kiki?”
Dillon lied. “No. I flew off the handle, and so did she.” He tossed the vegetables into the pan, not liking the turn that their conversation had taken.
“You are so full of shit.” Owen shook his head. “Jesus, Dillon. That has nothing to do with Kat. Why would you take that out on her?”
“I’m trying to help you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I never asked for help.”
The brothers sat in silence, Owen’s eyes on Dillon and Dillon’s eyes on the pan as he realized that Owen was right. Not only had Dillon been unreasonably controlling, but he was a huge ass to someone who had nothing to do with it. He was wrong, as much as he hated it. He shouldn’t have bulldogged Kat.
Owen finally broke the silence. “Can you get over yourself enough to come with me tonight?”
“Take Brian,” Dillon answered, not ready to concede. He pushed the simmering vegetables around in the skillet, still holding out hope that Owen would back off.
“Brian’s busy. And anyway, I think you need to come. You owe Kat an apology.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Come on, Dillon. Grow up. You’re better than that.”
Dillon thought about it for a moment to the sound of the sizzling.
Owen broke the near silence. “Do I have to beg?”
“I thought that was what you were doing?” He nudged the vegetables again, feigning indifference.
Owen finally bought it. He slumped in his chair and looked down at his hands with sad eyes.
Dillon’s mouth turned down in a frown. He wasn’t great at telling Owen no, no matter how much he wanted to, and no matter how much he played like he could. He didn’t think Owen and Kiki were a good idea, but Owen clearly wanted to see her very badly. A big part of Dillon hoped that Kiki would blow him off, and guilt slipped in at the thought. He sighed.
“All right. I’ll go.”
Owen shot up straight, and his smile threatened to split his face open. Dillon caught a flash of Owen as a child, and smiled back.
“Thanks, Dillon. I mean it.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dillon waved him off. Seeing Owen happy was worth the sacrifice.
Kat pushed her towel across the glossy surface of the bar for the zillionth time that night. The bar was empty, and the shift had already been long. She looked at her watch again. It had been three minutes since she checked it last. She sighed and resumed her task, glancing at Kiki, who sat at the end of the bar reading a gossip magazine, head on her hand while she lazily flipped the pages.
The door opened, and Kat straightened up until she saw that it was Dillon and Owen stepping through. Kat’s hand stopped dead as she looked Dillon over. He stood under the lamp in the entrance, blond hair mussed, strong jaw set, the collar of his coat flipped up against the winter night. He scanned the empty bar until he met her eyes and held her there through a heartbeat. She blinked and dropped her eyes back to the bar, scrubbing a little harder.
Kiki perked up and flipped her magazine closed. “Well, hello, boys.”
Owen unwound his scarf and shrugged off his jacket. “Hello, Kiki. How are you?” He asked with a crooked smile.
“So busy.” She batted her eyes and giggled before glancing down, suddenly bashful. “I didn’t know if I’d see you again. You left last night before I got the chance to give you this.” She pulled a scrap of paper out of her pocket and handed it to him.
“This just happens to be what I came here tonight to get,” he said, and Kiki blushed.
Dillon sat down right in front of Kat, and she laid her towel down, forcing a smile. “You drinking?”
“How about a glass of water?”
She didn’t answer, just grabbed a glass and tossed a scoop of ice into it, cursing him as she pushed the big water button on the soda gun and waited in awkward silence for the glass to fill.
“Hey, Kat.” Dillon propped his elbows on the bar. “I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot last night. I didn’t mean to be an asshole … it’s just that I’m a little protective of Owen.”
She didn’t look up. “I’m not sure what that has to do with me.”
He shook his head. “Nothing. Sometimes when I get pissed I take it out on the wrong person.”
Kat relaxed a hair and his almost-apology and handed him his water. “Yeah, I get that. I’m the same way.”
“I just … look. I don’t want him to get hurt. Don’t take this wrong, but your sister seems like a … free spirit?”
She snorted. “That’s the understatement of the century.”
“That doesn’t really make me feel any better, you know.” He rubbed the back of his neck with a ghost of a smile.
Of course that wouldn’t make him feel better, though she didn’t think Kiki should be with anyone, either. At least they could agree on that. “Sorry. I don’t know. She doesn’t usually have great taste in men, but she’s got a kind heart. And Owen … well he doesn’t seem like a creep, so I’m encouraged.” She looked at Dillon sideways. “Wait, is he a creep?”
“No, he’s pretty much the exact opposite of a creep.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
Dillon raised an eyebrow as he looked over to their siblings. “Not like we could stop them anyway, I suppose.”
Kat followed his gaze and smiled when she saw the two leaning forward with the bar and a pint between them and grins plastered all over their faces. Kiki had only dated big, muscly douches, so to see her with Owen, who had a charming, easy way about him, gave her hope. In that moment, Kat hoped that things would work out for the two.
She turned back to Dillon, feeling a smidge lighter. “So, what do you do besides beat the shit out of people?”
He laughed, and her smile widened instinctively. “Well, nothing. Can we at least say that I beat the shit out of willing people?”
“Sure, I’ll give you that one.”
They sat in silence again, the break less awkward than the one before. Dillon spoke first. “So what do you do besides sling drinks and watch your sister get licked by strangers?”
Kat paused, mildly offended and a little suspicious as to why he’d ask what she did. Could he know who she was? Did he know Eric, somehow? Her eyes swept ov
er Dillon’s relaxed shoulders and open face and figured he wasn’t a threat, so she told him. “I drag race.”
He gave her an approving look. “Well, well. What do you drive?”
“A ‘69 Camaro.”
“I have a ‘71 GTO. What’s the horsepower?”
“Nine hundred horses.”
“Holy shit.” He gaped.
She laughed and stood up a little straighter. “Yeah, I have a twin turbo 572 cubic-inch crate engine, a 10.5 inch dual disc clutch, and a modded Viper transmission.”
“Wow. I’ve got a ‘Judge’ with a 400 cubic inch small block V-8.”
“Is it modded?”
“A little, nothing crazy.” He looked across the bar at her. “I’m curious, how does a girl like you get into drag racing?”
Her eyes narrowed. She was so used to guys judging her that she went straight into defense. “What’s that supposed to mean? A ‘girl like me?’”
Dillon tensed instinctively, and he snapped. “Jesus. I wasn’t trying to pick a fight with you.”
Him popping off only pissed her off more, and she propped her hands on her hips. “Well, Dillon, I’m curious. Exactly what kind of a girl do you think I am?”
The anger and suspicion rolled off of her, and it fed his own. He had been thinking that she was the kind that seemed too beautiful to get mixed up with the thugs and douchebags who frequented illegal racing, but he bristled at her tone and body language, turning up the heat on his anger until it bubbled up and over. “Actually, the more I get to know you, the more apparent it is. I’m sure bitches do great in the racing circuit.”
Her jaw dropped, and he immediately regretted saying it — until she volleyed back. “Oh-HO. Wow. You go from zero to cocksucker in about 3.2 seconds, you know that?”
He leaned forward, and his voice rose. “Well, I’m pretty sure your natural state is bitch gear, redlined.”
She dropped her hands and balled them into fists. “What the fuck, man? You have a serious fucking problem. I haven’t done shit to you, but now twice in two days you’ve come in here being a dick.”
“I don’t know, Kat. But it doesn’t seem like we’re going to get along.” He took a sip of his drink, pretending he didn’t care as guilt and rage tangled through him.
“Well, that’s your fault, not mine. Get the fuck over yourself.” She spat the words at him and turned to go, but he couldn’t just let her walk away. No, he had to say more, his mouth was on autopilot while he fought to control himself.
“You know, Kat, you think you’re such hot shit.” He cocked his head and glared at her. “You want to put your money where your mouth is? Because I’m pretty sure I could take you on a quarter mile.” The minute it left his mouth, he knew not only was that a mistake, but it was a lie.
Kat laughed, the sound bitter in his hot ears as she leaned across the bar and into his face. “Oh, you think so? Let me guess. You’re thinking, ‘Surely this little girl couldn’t beat me with my great big dick and my big bad car.’ Well, guess what, fuckface? You’re on.”
She threw her towel in a bus bin and turned to Kiki. “I’m going to go take inventory. You can handle all of this, right?” She motioned at Dillon. “I’ll see you on the track. Get ready to have your shit handed to you.” And with those parting words, she turned on her heel and stormed into the back room.
Kiki raised an eyebrow at Kat as she stormed past and turned to Owen, shocked. Dillon hunched over the bar, staring into his glass of water with his mouth in a tight line.
“Well, then,” Owen said. “That seems to have gone really well.”
Kiki looked over her shoulder at the door, still swinging on the hinge from the force. “Kat doesn’t generally get along with guys, but she doesn’t usually go straight into honey badger mode.” Kiki turned back to Owen and sighed. “Dillon was all over her. What was that all about?”
Owen shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him do that to a chick before.” He ran his fingers through his dark waves. “I’m really sorry. I can’t believe he acted like that.”
“It’s not your fault. It doesn’t help that Kat has trust issues. Comes with the racing territory, though, I guess.”
“Yeah, racing, huh? What’s that all about?”
Kiki tucked her long hair behind her ear and rested her chin in her palm, close enough that she could be quiet. “Kat’s been racing since she was eighteen. Most guys don’t take her seriously, which is stupid because she’s pretty amazing. A few have tried to rip her off after races. Let’s just say that she doesn’t take that real well.”
“I can imagine.”
“A small part of why she’s pissy might also be because … well, she’s a little protective of me.” She paused. “Okay, a lot protective of me. I don’t really have the best track record. After the last guy I dated, she doesn’t think that I should be seeing anyone.”
He glanced at Dillon, who was still brooding. “I get the overprotective thing. Dillon wasn’t thrilled about coming tonight. I think he sensed that you didn’t have the best track record.” The corner of his mouth pulled into a small smile.
She looked into his big, brown eyes. “I wonder what their deal is?”
Owen picked at the napkin under his beer. “Sounds like we may be their deal.”
“Did you see the way they looked at each other before their big mouths ruined it all?”
“I did. The phrase ‘deer in headlights’ comes to mind. It was strange … I’ve never seen him react to a woman that way. I mean, he’s not a total loner. He gets laid and all that. He’s got groupies, for God’s sake, but none of them were what one would consider a girlfriend, and he never looked at any of them that way.”
She raised an eyebrow. “He’s never had a girlfriend? That’s kind of weird, Owen.”
He chuckled. “Kind of, except there’s a good reason. Our dad … well, let’s put it like this. Dillon learned to fight at a very young age.”
“Why is that a reason to not have a girlfriend?” Kiki folded her arms in front of her on the bar, her head tilted in question.
“Because our mom got our dad’s drunken Irish rage before Dillon did. Like, ‘Ye steal me lucky charms, and I’ll box yer ears, ye feck.’” Owen’s voice lilted musically when he impersonated his father, but his face was sad. “Between Dillon’s own anger issues, and what our dad did to our mom, I think he’s afraid of himself. He fights to keep himself in check. It’s his job, and it’s his medicine.”
“Worst medicine ever — getting punched in the face.”
Owen laughed, and Kiki smiled wistfully. He has such a nice laugh, she thought as she watched him.
“Kiki, let me take you out.”
“What did you have in mind?”
He looked into her eyes, smiling. “Does it matter?”
She leaned toward him and smiled back. “Not really.”
The door to the stock room hit the wall with a smack when Kat pushed it open, and she blew into the narrow room lined with shelves of paper towels and liquor bottles and paced, fuming.
Fucking jerk. She couldn’t believe Dillon’s nerve. Or she could, and that made her even more angry.
Kat was so sick of men and their egos. Their big, stupid, jerkface egos. She had proven herself over and again, but it was never enough for the universe. She had to keep on fighting.
Dillon challenged her to a race.
A string of expletives ran through her head as she walked the room, wishing she could throw something.
Why did that fucker even come back? And then she remembered Kiki and Owen and wondered what she was going to do about them.
She sat down on a stack of cases of beer. Next to her sat a bucket full of bottle caps, and she shoved her hand into it. They gave a gratifying rattle when she wiggled her fingers, and she pulled one out and flipped it over in her hand.
Her momentary acceptance of Dillon’s pseudo-apology had passed, and she was pissed all over again. With everything she and Kiki had just b
een through, how could Kiki even consider dating someone? It was completely irrational. Irresponsible. Because Kat never, ever wanted to go through anything like that again. Eric’s face crept its way out of her memory and into her mind as her eyes slipped out of focus.
The night that they left Vegas, Kat had pulled into her driveway late, ready for her bed. She killed the engine and sighed, but the moment the rumble died, she heard the scream. Kat’s heart stopped.
Kiki.
She reached under her seat and pulled out her gun, threw open her door and ran for the house. Kat threw the front door open, and every muscle in her body flexed when she saw her sister.
Kiki lay twisted on the ground, her clothes torn and shirt gaping with her arm over her face in an attempt to protect herself. When the door opened, she turned to the sound, and a piece of Kat died. Kiki’s eye was swollen shut, a sick shade of purple ringing the socket. Bruises colored her face, streaked and smeared with mascara, quivering lip cut and bleeding.
Eric loomed over her, his muscles straining under his skin as he flexed his massive fist that was pulled back and ready to release. He turned to Kat, his eyes wild, possessed. But it didn’t stop her from taking control. She stood in the doorway with her legs apart, head cocked, and the sight of her gun trained on his forehead.
“Back the fuck up, Eric.” Her voice held a calm she didn’t feel.
His fist slowly dropped. “She doesn’t get to leave me, Kat.”
“That’s not really up to you to decide, now, is it?”
His nostrils flared, but his even tone sent a chill through her. “She can’t leave me.”
“Looks like she already did. Now, you have about ten seconds to get the fuck out of my house before I blow your fucking brains out.” Her heart hammered in her ears, nerves threatening to take over, but her hand was stock-still and her breath slow. Just like she’d been taught.
Eric stood straight and stared her down, his dark eyes cutting through her, his black hair in disarray. She could practically see his neurons firing as he worked through his options, but instead of walking away like he should, he turned back to Kiki, his face sinister, eyes burning with obsession. He bent over her and hissed, “You’re mine.”