The Love You Hate: A Charge Man Novel (The Charge Men Series Book 1)

by Rachel Robinson

  Shaking my head, I say, “No. She’s not psycho. I’m allowed to have female friends. She’s a very self-assured woman.”

  Presley rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say.” I’m offended she assumes I’m lying. “Sure, we can hang out and formulate a plan on how to get these people to love us.”

  “I don’t want anyone to love me,” I counter. “I’d be happy if everyone was… immune to me. One order of fading into the background please.”

  Presley sniffs the air and then her eyes go wide. “Oh, shit, I burned the bread! Damn it!”

  Yanking on the door, she nearly flies, hair spinning as she screams. “I can’t believe I did it again.” I follow her in. Now that we’ve met there’s no need to hover by the shaky window. I can be in here with her and no one will ask questions. At least not the questions I don’t want them to ask. It’s going to be cold in Colorado soon, and the thought of slinking around in the bitter temperatures and thick mountain snow factored into my decision to befriend the woman.

  “I’m sorry, Ryan,” she wails as she sees him fanning a tray of black loaves. “I lost track of time.” Presley turns to scowl at me before rounding the counter to help him fan the smoke.

  “That can’t be good for business,” I say, sliding my hands in my pockets. “The bakery smokestack filling the town with the scent of failure.”

  Presley’s eyes go wide, and Ryan flashes a small grin. “Oh, you’re a real peach, aren’t you?” She turns to Ryan. “This is Nate. He’s new in town.”

  Ryan’s smile widens. “Nice to meet you, man. Where are you living?”

  I go through the speech I gave Presley except I leave out the sarcasm. He seems nice enough and I’m glad I don’t hate him because allies are something I need. “Let me know if you need help.”

  Presley scoffs so loud the noise actually confuses me. “Here? You want to work here? In the bakery?” It’s a perfect cover and fucking ideal. I’ll have to endure her jokes, but people share things with coworkers they don’t share with friends. “Why?”

  Ryan looks confused, no doubt wondering how his aunt’s bakery became an employment hotspot for transients. “Who should I talk to about employment?” I direct the question to Ryan because anyone with a brain would have been able to figure out Presley isn’t in charge here.

  “You can’t work here,” Presley throws a rock-hard loaf of bread in the trash can behind her with dramatic flair. The echo fills the room. There’s the spoiled rich princess coming out to play. “He calls strangers crazy and he has… bad, bedside manner.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “I’m not a doctor, Presley.”

  “What are you then?” she volleys back.

  “I’m a baker. Obviously.”

  She sneers. “Oh, you are not.”

  When you join The Charge Men, they put you through rigorous training on the field with weapons and hand to hand combat, but also in a multitude of other areas. With a bit of refreshing, I could work in a kitchen. It will be easier than the time I had to pretend I was a car mechanic. How hard can it be to merely be better than Presley? “I am.” Presley looks mollified.

  Ryan seems to like how irritated she is because one look at his face tells me the wheels of retribution are turning. She hasn’t spoken one fucking joke since I’ve been in the building.

  “You’re hired,” Ryan says, turning to look at me. “I’ll let my aunt know. It will give me more time to rock climb. It’s perfect timing.” I’m his fucking savior. Ryan rattles off the documents I need to bring so he can make copies and is telling me about my duties, and how I’ll be able to work as much or as little as I want.

  My smile brightens as Presley stomps her foot like a toddler. Then she lets out a shrill, annoying scream that just might be worse than her jokes.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Nate

  I left her to duke it out with Ryan after he offered me employment. I mean, I’m still here, lingering by the window, but at least now I know nothing of substance will likely come up while she’s rallying against hiring another employee. She’s so against the idea of working with me, it’s surprising. “You don’t know anything about him! How can you hire people off the street like that? What if he’s… dangerous?” Ah, so she didn’t buy my story. Good for her. She has more intuition than I gave her credit for.

  “He won’t start working until I’ve vetted him. Don’t worry, my aunt is thorough with the background checks.” I chuckle. Not true. “It will be good to get new blood in here. Training both of you at the same time will be easier than doing it again in six months.”

  Presley sighs. She sounds utterly defeated. “Do you even have the budget to hire someone else?” Digging deep, I see.

  “The budget isn’t your concern, Presley.”

  “Whatever,” she says back. “He is just weird.” So much for our newcomer alliance.

  Ryan laughs. “You think he’s hot and don’t want to work with him,” he says.

  Grinning, I listen to the abhorrent noises coming out of her mouth. “You could not be more wrong!” Finally, the English language appears in the form of a coherent sentence. “I’ll just wait for the background check. He appeared out of thin air handing me mail today. Why do you think I think he’s hot?”

  “He’s basically the reason for global warming,” Ryan says, trying and failing not to laugh. “Get it? He’s hot? Ba-dum-tiss!”

  For someone who loves jokes, Presley isn’t impressed. At all. She groans. “Why do you have to grow a sense of humor now? When I don’t feel happy or funny or jovial at all.”

  “Just take care of the bread, Presley. We need more. Let me worry about new employees.”

  “You really think he’s hot?”

  “No,” Ryan says. “I’m straight, you know that, but you looked at him like you thought he was. Good perception is all that was. I didn’t think you were looking, though.”

  Presley doesn’t have a rebuttal to Ryan’s argument, I hear pans banging around and nothing but bake talk for the rest of the afternoon. She announces she’s leaving to head to Jake’s Junkyard. I gather my bag, and put a piece of black tape over the bug so it’s not noticeable, thinking how convenient it will be to plant permanent ones inside the building when I begin working there. I rush across the street and enter the general store. I’ll come out when I see Presley leave.

  I put up a hand when the crotchety old lady eyes me. “Just grabbing a snack,” I say, feeling the need to explain myself when I shouldn’t. Chips are the first thing I stumble into and grab a small bag, and a protein bar on the shelf next to it and slide a five-dollar bill on the counter.

  I see Presley from my peripheral and try to leave. “I’ve got my eye on you, boy.” Her voice is raspy from disuse and if I had to guess, years of chain-smoking cigarettes with wild abandon.

  Winking, I play dumb. “That’s flattering. Hope you like what you see.” I let my gaze drop to her name tag. “Rayleen. It was nice to meet you, ma’am. I’ll be seeing you around.”

  She grunts, a noise that sounds like a cross between a farm animal and my uncle Phil after he eats Thanksgiving dinner. The rusted bell clamors against the glass as I exit into the sunshine. Presley speed walks on the other side of the road, oblivious to the fact I’m walking at the same clip. Crossing to her side, I fall into sync, stepping right next to her. Startled, she jerks away and pulls her ball cap down. “What are you doing here?” She slows her pace.

  I look around, arms wide. “There aren’t too many places to go around here. Where are you headed?” I know already.

  “Jake’s,” she says, exasperated. “Jake’s Junkyard. I need to find a car.”

  I narrow my eyes at the side of her face. “You don’t have a vehicle already?” Again, I know the answer, but I need to ask standard questions. It takes skill and a sharp memory to function in this gray area.

  “No. I, ah, had to sell it when I moved here. For money.” Ah, she’s trying to play her part. Her Range R
over and Lambo were taken before she was placed here. But I’m still not sure why she needs a car in this small-ass dusty town. She’s not allowed to leave. Not yet anyway. These first months she has to be careful, lay low, and hide out within reason.

  “And you think the junkyard is the only place to find a vehicle? I could help you find something. Maybe something that doesn’t come from a dump.”

  She halts, spins to face me, and glares daggers. “What’s your deal? You come out of nowhere, decide you want to work where I work, follow me when I leave work, and now you’re an expert at car purchasing? What are you playing at, Nate? Do you really have a girlfriend, or were you just saying that, so I didn’t see you as a threat and I’d let my guard down?” The cat has claws. Interesting. No jokes either. “I love to bake, and ironically so do you. Are you now also telling me you’re an expert with cars?” She tosses her hands up in the air and then balls her fists by her sides. She smells sweet, like Sunday morning breakfast. I clear my throat as I check the random thought.

  I lick my teeth and tilt my head. “You’re right. I’m being far too forward. I saw you as a friend with the same interests as me, and thought you might want a friend, too. Fine if you don’t.” She folds her arms and presses her lips into a firm line. “I do have a girlfriend, and do you love to bake or do you love to burn? Loaves of bread. Get it?”

  She would exhale smoke from her ears if it were a possibility. “Not funny. You’re the reason they burned.”

  I start walking in the direction of the clanking and clanging noises of someone tossing shit around. “I am pretty damn hot if I do say so myself. Come then, let’s get you a beater.”

  Presley clears her throat. “I’m only letting you tag along in case they try to mansplain something and try to take advantage of a woman.”

  This place is sketchy as fuck. It’s hidden behind a tall metal fence that stretches back against a craggy low mountain. My eyes widen as I turn from the dangling Jake’s Junkyard sign, and let my gaze find hers. She’s as horrified as any person born into extreme wealth would be, I’d imagine. “Take advantage of you. Now why would they do that?”

  Presley doesn’t dignify me with a response as she pushes past me and opens the door to what must be an office of sorts. It’s just as hot inside here as it was outside. There is a huge Coca-Cola sign hung crookedly on one wall and an old Playboy poster that looks to be tinged yellow by time above the desk. A man with a missing front tooth smiles. “Well I’ll be, you are the prettiest thing I ever did see.”

  She hits me with a raised brow and I literally hear the words, I told you so from the small gesture. “I need a car. A vehicle of any sort really,” she says, ignoring his misguided compliment. “Is Jake around?”

  “I am Jake, honey,” he replies in a drawn-out tone. “How can I help you?”

  “The young Jake, please stop with this nonsense,” she slings back.

  Then a younger guy blows in, literally, because the back door doesn’t have any springs and the mountain winds are insane here.

  “Pretty little thing is looking for you, son.”

  Presley’s eyes light up as he straightens his hair, their gazes locked. Oh, for fuck’s sake. This soon?

  “I didn’t know you were coming in today.” He looks down at the grease stains streaking his olive-green mechanic’s suit. “Who is your friend?” Jake’s gaze changes as he looks at me.

  Presley scoffs. “My new coworker. He’s no one.” She has brushed me off with three quite cutting words. It’s shocking just because I’m never sure what to expect in these situations. “You said yesterday you might have something for me. Just wanted to stop by on my way home and see ya.”

  Ya? Nice, small-town touch, Presley. It works. Jake’s completely enamored with her, and why wouldn’t he be? The new girl in town, who is way out of his league, seems to be interested in him. “If you don’t have time right now, I can come back another time.” She looks at Jake’s dad who is leering, his dirty boots slicked with mud perched on a beat-up desk. “I could make an appointment for another day.” Her gaze flits back to Jake. He leans against a glass counter that looks like it should house jewelry, but now houses a carburetor, some used spark plugs, and an empty cigarette carton. His fingernails are rimmed in black, and his hands are calloused from hard work.

  “You never have to make an appointment here,” Jake drawls. “Let’s go out back. Does your friend want to come too, or would he rather hang with Pop?”

  I put a finger in the air. “Yes please, I’ll come. Need to make sure she’s getting a good deal.”

  “I’d never give her a bad deal,” Jake counters, brows knit together.

  Oh, he may be a good man, after all. I never considered the spawn of the leering father to be anything except a product of the environment he was raised in. But then again, my childhood doesn’t reflect on the man I’ve become, so that’s an unfair assessment. I’ll do more research.

  “I’m as fair as air to everyone in Gold Hawke.”

  I don’t retort that he has to be because he is the only person selling vehicles in Gold Hawke, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. The door slams as I follow them out. Presley is doing her best to ignore me completely, gaze scanning the junkyard, but Jake glances over his shoulder. “Where are you from?”

  Sighing, I give him the same story as Presley. Unlike her, he seems to buy it. “And then you decided you wanted to work with Presley here at the bakery?”

  “No, not with Presley,” I explain. She turns to glare at me. “I like to bake so I wanted to work at a bakery, and seeing as there aren’t many options around here, it looks like I’m stuck working with Presley.” If she wants to sling mud, I’ll mix it with acid. “Just tagging along today to see if you have anything that catches my eye. A fixer-upper, something four-wheel drive, a truck maybe.”

  Jake’s eyes light up, and Presley’s turn to slits. “You need a vehicle, too?” she hisses, shaking her head. “That’s rich.”

  You’re not anymore, I think. A joke she wouldn’t find funny anyway.

  “Oh yeah, sure. Let me show Presley the Jeep I was thinking of for her first. The trucks are over to the left. Something will fit what you’re looking for, I’m sure of it.”

  For all of the shit and scrap he has in heaping piles, there are also decent looking cars. Decent might be a strong word for the kind of luxury Presley is used to, but this is not her old life. Her posture changes as Jake shows her the faded green Jeep, and I hide a laugh by heading to the corner with the trucks. There’s an old beater with a rusted side panel and a missing tire. I stoop down to check out the wheel well when I hear a dog growl. Standing slowly, I put my hands out to the sides, palms facing up.

  In my former life as a Navy SEAL, I worked with trained dogs all the time. I recognize the subtleties of growls and barks. Turning, I see a Rottweiler. A big fucking mad Rottweiler with a spiked pink collar and foam dangling from a corner of her mouth. Why wouldn’t Jake tell us there were dogs in here? This isn’t safe. I let my gaze skirt over to where Presley just was and can’t see her next to the Jeep. The dog in front of me snarls. “Your dog over here. A little help?” I call out, loudly.

  Seconds pass with no response. Then a scream, loud, shrill, and unfortunately recognizable as belonging to my Principal, echoes off the high metal walls surrounding us. There’s really only one rule that matters in the array of laws I follow, and that’s to keep our Principal’s safe at all costs. The scream got the dogs’ attention too, unfortunately, and it runs in the direction of Presley, who is crouched down, cowering, another fucking dog in front of her. Junkyard Jake is nowhere to be found.

  “Don’t make any sudden movements,” I tell Presley. I think this might be the only time she’s thankful I’m around. The dogs turn to look at me, but then refocus on Presley because she makes a tiny, weak noise of protest. I’m the threat, but she’s the easy target. “Down. Off. Back. Leave it!” I try all of the normal command
s, in multiple languages, and they don’t stop stalking toward her. Approaching from the side, I angrily call out for Jake once more in a Hail Mary. If anything happens to my last chance redemption Principal, I will tear the piece of shit limb from limb.

  “Oh my gosh, are you going to tell me that you’re a dog trainer, too?” Presley hisses under her breath while standing from a crouch.

  I shake my head. “I grew up with dogs like this,” I say, taking a step forward. “Where the fuck is Junkyard Jake?”

  “He was going to get the info on the Jeep for me. He should be back by now.” Presley gulps. “I hate dogs,” she whispers, eyeing the snarling guard dogs.

  “Don’t make eye contact,” I snap, her head whips in my direction. “It’s threatening. They’ll think you’re challenging them. I’m surprised the damn things haven’t attacked yet. It’s their only job in life. This trash pile is their kingdom.”

  “You really are getting on my nerves,” she says.

  I chuckle. “Fine. I’ll leave.”

  She holds out one hand. “No. No. Don’t leave.”

  I grin, and she scowls back. “Are we just going to wait until ole’ Jake the Snake comes back, or what’s the plan?”

  “I’ll call the front office and get the old goat out here,” she says. “Why is it taking Jake so long?” Presley reaches into the bag slung across her chest and the dog’s stance shifts minutely. There’s only time to react, and I throw my body forward to shield her from both dogs as they leap toward her, teeth bared, ears back. They both latch onto my left arm the one that I held out in front, anticipating the bite. Their teeth easily pierce my sweatshirt and slice down to my skin. The growls take a back seat as I press my thumb into the dog’s eye that’s closest and wrap my legs around his thick torso to pin him to the ground.