Two days had passed since the water tower with Stella, and he hadn’t even talked to her. Darlene neither. His brother was running interference should either one of them call, but they hadn’t.
He didn’t blame them. He was no good at this. Stella was especially keen on getting out of this town, moving on to something bigger. He might hold her back.
Or not. He didn’t have anything special to offer. Plus, there was Darlene. He shook his head. Damn.
“The loser knows his game.” The voice seemed a little drunk, and more than a little belligerent.
Dane didn’t turn around. Not talking to him.
Another voice. “Deaf, too, apparently.”
He sipped his beer, keeping his eyes on the bottles opposite him, but he noticed the bartender’s jaw tensing, the rag wiping down the counter going still.
Someone shoved him from behind, and beer spilled over the edge of his glass and onto his hand. Dane leapt up, knocking the stool backward. “What the hell?” He turned around. Some punk he’d seen around town a time or two—Allen or something—laughed into his curled-up fingers. Bobby Ray, Darlene’s brother, skulked beside him, arms crossed. He turned his fist against his bicep, revealing a set of brass knuckles.
Dane had survived a fight or two. And he should have seen this one coming. “What’s your problem?”
Allen cocked his head. “You need a little attitude adjustment?”
Dane laughed. “What is this? The Italian mob?” He returned to his stool, back to them, but angled just enough to catch any sudden movements in his peripheral vision. “Another Guinness?” He raised his eyebrows at the bartender, wishing she was someone he’d built a camaraderie with, so he could count on her if the punks got out of line.
Not that she couldn’t tell they were no good. But he looked the same. It’s as though the punk losers always found each other and fought it out, a community feeding on itself.
He sensed them moving behind him, but they passed by and sat at a table at the other end of the room. Bobby Ray must not have heard about Stella, or he wouldn’t have let it go. Boys like that, even if they thought their sisters were full-blown skanks, would still use the girl’s honor as an excuse to pound someone’s face. Their entrance was probably just how they greeted everyone.
The barkeep brought him a fresh glass. “Watch yourself.”
He couldn’t tell if this was a warning about his behavior or theirs. Probably both. She seemed like an equal opportunity hardass. Didn’t matter who was right or wrong, just don’t come to blows in her bar.
But then he felt a breath on his neck. “Darlene tells me you came down the tower with Stella two nights ago.” Bobby Ray. So he did know.
Dane lifted the beer to his lips. It was 2 a.m. when they’d descended that tower. This town was too damn small.
Bobby Ray seemed to know the direction his thoughts had gone. “Old Lady Springer lives across the street. She’s friends with our mother.”
“You always settle scores for your sister?”
The back of his arm pricked, like a needle, then burned with an unholy fire. He jerked it forward. “What the hell?”
“There’s more where that came from.” Bobby Ray headed back to sit with Allen. “If you mess with her head.”
A rag landed in front of him. “You’re bleeding on my bar.”
Dane lifted his arm. A clean cut ran from the sleeve of his T-shirt to just above his elbow.
He jumped from the stool, upsetting it again, and raced across the room, snatching Bobby Ray from his table. Before the man could react, Dane landed a bone-crunching uppercut to his jaw, knocking him to the floor.
Bobby Ray had not even fully landed when the bartender rounded the counter and grabbed Dane by the shirt. “Out of my bar,” she growled.
“Why are you throwing ME out?”
She pushed him toward the door. “You ain’t the regular.”
“He fucking cut me!”
“You probably had it coming.” She opened the door.
Shit. Only one bar in Holly, and he’d be walking trouble from here on out. How had Ryker managed in this town?
The air cooled his flaming face and sent a roar of pain up his arm from the cut. Screw Darlene. He didn’t want to have anything to do with that family.
He jumped on his Harley, aware of each throb of his arm, the wet stickiness. Damn it to hell. He roared out of the parking lot and down to Main. He’d better just get this over with. Now was as good a time as any.
He held the throttle wide open, ignoring the single stoplight. No one was sitting there anyway. Darlene worked at the car dealership on the outskirts of Holly, a questionable job where she did light office work in short skirts and low-cut tops. No doubt her manner of dress was attractive to the sales guys, all men, and she was tucked away and hidden from the disapproving public.
He parked the bike and strode into the showroom, dimly aware of the crust forming down his arm.
A poor sucker in a tie, flashing a shit-eating grin, approached him as if to expound on the qualities of a two-door sedan. Dane waved him off, darting to the back offices through the cars parked at haphazard angles.
He brushed past the manager, a fat man named Ted or Tim or something, who apparently regularly tried to make the moves on Darlene. The man stopped, so Dane shoved him hard enough that a stack of sales receipts in his arms cascaded to the floor.
“What the hell?” the manager said, then, “God, what happened to your arm?”
Darlene sat at her crappy little desk, her chair so high that she had to lean over it, cleavage hanging over a giant calendar with scribbles across its face. She glanced up from her phone pad, face registering surprise as he stalked forward and swept the entire contents of the surface onto the floor.
She rolled backward. “Dane! What’s gotten into you?”
“Your brother.”
Darlene bit her lip. “Yeah, he was pretty pissed.”
“You got something to say to me?”
She stood up from behind the table and tugged on her short skirt, taking care with her fake nails. “Yeah. You wanna explain why you were up on the water tower with that little slut?”
“Fucking her senseless.” Damn. He hadn’t meant to say it. He pressed his palms into the desktop, trying to bring himself down.
Darlene dropped back into her chair, her breath rushing out. “Did I do something wrong?”
Dane stepped back to the doorway, legs spread, arms crossing over his chest. Too many bad scenes like this in his life. He forced himself calm. “I thought you were cool with whatever.”
She bent down, picking up the calendar and a mug she used for pens. He noticed now the doodles, hearts and bubbles. His name, written all over it, like in high school. Damn.
But she surprised him. “You’re right,” she said. “Nothing big here. Move right on along.” She wouldn’t look at him, flipping through the loose pages.
“We had a good time.”
“Yeah. Roll in the hay.” She tapped the papers on the desk to straighten them. Then she noticed his arm. “Oh, Jesus.” She stood for a second, then sat back down. “It was Bobby Ray.”
“At the bar. Just now. Nice family.”
She set the stack carefully on the desk, lining up the corners. “He’s got a temper, that one.”
“So do I.”
She pinched her lips, staring at the bloodstained section of his shirt. “You need me to tend to that?”
“Nah.”
“We done then? We through here? My job, you know.” She fixed her gaze behind him.
Dane sensed someone in the hall. “Yeah. All done. See ya ’round town.”
She bent down to reclaim more of the stuff on the floor, and he turned. Dickhead manager lurked in the hall.
“You all right, Darlene? Need me to throw this fucktard out on his head?”
Darlene didn’t answer, and Dane pushed past the man for a second time. His arm stung like a mother, and another trickle along his elbow warned him that t
he wound wasn’t closing up. At least Darlene hadn’t been trouble. A respectable reaction. No wailing.
Once outside, he slammed his foot on the kick-starter and backed out, not sure where to go next. Clean up this arm, for sure. See what was going on. Maybe drive up to the sorry excuse of a clinic they called a hospital to see if it had to be sewn up.
Dane mentally calculated how much money he had on him, and how much was in his account. No telling what stitches would cost him. He’d tapped out quite a bit of his cash moving to Holly, losing his deposits in Texas for breaking his lease, not to mention closing out stuff on his mom. Ryker had helped out some on that, but still. She’d had to be buried, the rent house cleaned out. He hadn’t even known what to do with all her stuff, so he shoved it in a storage shed.
He pulled up to a curb before he realized where he’d gone. The perfume shop was closed, but only just. He could see the figures of Stella and her boss moving inside. He shouldn’t involve her. Bobby Ray was bad news. There could be a backlash. And he hadn’t even talked to her since the tower. Maybe she hated him too.
But she’d seen him and rushed to the door, bells jingling as she struggled with the lock. He swung his leg over his bike, again feeling the bite of the cut. He’d been through a fight or two, banged up, teeth knocked loose, nose broken, bleeding in a hundred places. But never knifed. Dane guessed he should count himself lucky that Bobby Ray hadn’t stuck it between his shoulder blades.
Stella saw the blood right away. “Oh my God, what happened?” She grabbed his good arm and dragged him inside. “Should I take you to the hospital?”
“Maybe I can wash wounds to pay for it.”
Stella didn’t crack a smile. “Beatrice! Come quick!”
Dane tried to stay casual, but truth be told, he was feeling a little woozy. He sat on a satin bench as Stella fussed over him, lifting his arm. He felt wetness again.
“It’s still bleeding,” Stella said. “But I can’t see anything.”
Beatrice closed in behind her, enveloping him in a dozen scents. Rose water. Vanilla. She must have been trying on every perfume in the shop.
“Let’s wet it down,” she said, and disappeared behind the curtain again.
“You going to tell me what happened?” Stella asked.
“Switchblade got up on the wrong side of the bed.”
Stella punched his shoulder, sending a wave of pain cascading from elbow to wrist. He didn’t flinch.
“I’m serious. Accident or intentional?”
Beatrice returned with dripping white hand towels. “This is going to sting.”
The pressure of the cold cotton against his arm made everything go black for a second. He leaned forward, and Stella caught him. “Dane?” she asked. “You with us?” She sat him up again. “Bea, we have to take him in. I think it’s bad.”
“Hold on a sec,” Beatrice said. “Let’s take a look.”
The cloth pulled away, and Dane breathed a bit easier. “Not pretty,” Beatrice said, “but most of it is crusting over. Looks like the bottom of the cut is the deepest. Where someone stuck it in and went up.”
“WHO?” Stella demanded. “Who did this?”
Dane shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s over.”
“Darlene? Did that bitch cut you?” She’d gone red all over, cheeks, neck, and chest bright with color. He bet if he could have seen it, she’d been the same on the tower.
“Not Darlene.”
“Then her asshole brother. Bobby Ray.”
“I get in lots of fights,” Dane insisted.
Beatrice applied a clean cloth, causing him to suck in another breath. “This’ll teach you to change your ways.”
Dane shrugged. “Nah.”
Stella began pacing the shop, grasping at the ends of her hair. “I knew they’d found out about the other night. I knew a fight was coming.” She halted. “But this is uncalled for. He could have killed you.”
“He just wanted to be an ass,” Dane said. He looked back at Beatrice. “Verdict? Will I live to fight another day?”
Beatrice opened a first-aid kit and unfurled a roll of gauze. “I’ve got some butterfly bandages in here. I think that’ll hold the wound. Just don’t lift anything heavy for a couple days.”
She sprayed him with something cold and acrid. He forced himself not to flinch, keeping a smile for Stella. God, she was riled. He tried not to love it.
“Tell me EXACTLY what happened,” Stella insisted. “Every detail.”
“It’s not important.”
“Dane. By God, you will say it.”
He shrugged. “Bobby Ray came into the Watering Hole with a chip on his shoulder. We came to a couple blows, nothing major.”
“This wasn’t a blow,” Beatrice said, applying the first bandage. “Nice clean cut.”
“He came up behind me. I guess he had a small blade on him.”
Stella clenched her fists, eyes sparking like a welder’s torch. “He knifed you from BEHIND?”
“Stell, it’s fine. I know to watch my back. I probably deserved it. Small towns are, well, small.”
Beatrice wrapped the gauze around his arm. “Gotta keep that dick in line, mister. Everybody sees everything in Holly.”
Stella bloomed scarlet yet again. He could watch that all day. She whirled around and stalked through the curtain.
“It was bad, I know,” Dane said.
Beatrice tore off a bit of medical tape with her teeth. “Stella’s taken a shine to you. Make sure you deserve her.”
“I’ll try,” he said.
“More than try.” She flattened the tape on his arm. “I’ll go fetch Stella. Roll your bike in here for the night. You shouldn’t ride until tomorrow. It’ll tear open the wound. She’ll drive you home.”
Dane nodded. Probably not a bad idea to have his Harley hidden away somewhere anyhow. He didn’t need syrup in his carburetor.
12
Brothers
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HEADLIGHTS flashed over Stella as she and Dane sat in her grandmother’s car in front of the perfume shop. She had no idea what to do, so they’d stayed there right through sunset, mostly silent. Stella occasionally asked him about his arm. She was worried. And mad. And not sure how to react to the town’s newfound dislike of him, which was partly her fault.
She’d been the one to prance over to Joe’s garage with her fake nails and screw-the-bitch attitude. “I’m to blame here,” she said. “I knew Darlene’s family history.”
“She lives with her brother too?” he asked.
“He stays in a travel trailer parked in the back.”
“That rotten thing? It doesn’t look safe to sneeze on.”
Stella drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Yeah.” She’d been in it, once. Bobby Ray had been on her list. They’d gone out for a spell, and one night she decided to let him lead her there. But he wasn’t worth the things he had in mind. He had a mean streak, and that went all the way to the bedroom. She got the hell out of there.
He’d been pretty ugly about it for weeks. As if calling her a tease and a prude and a Pollyanna had any effect. She’d known not to rile him, though, and kept her distance. That’d been two years ago. He seemed cool about it now.
Dane stared out the window at the blinking “OPEN” sign reflected in the shop’s window from the opposite side of the street. The diner. “You hungry?” he asked.
“Maybe we should lay low for a bit,” Stella said. “Let everyone find a new topic for gossip.”
He exhaled in a rush, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “Okay.”
“I should probably take you home.” She’d wanted to just sit there, to be with him. He hadn’t asked why she never put the key in the ignition. But people were driving by, and eventually someone would notice. They had to go.
The car started with a quiet hum.
“Joe sure tuned that engine pretty,” Dane said.
“He always took a shine to Grandma Angie. Everyone thou
ght they’d get together, being so many years since my grandpa died.”
“Why didn’t they?”
Stella backed out of the spot. “My mother disapproved.”
“And your grandmother just let it go?”
“She did.”
Dane jingled the chain on his hip. “How is she?”
“We got a good visit in yesterday. Made some bracelets.” She cut herself off. No need to tell him she’d made the triple-strand for him. She hadn’t worn it on the job. It felt too new, too precious yet to be scrutinized by others. Lots of people knew she made them—Janine, her mother, a handful of boys who had lasted long enough to tell. A new one would be very revealing about how she felt.
“I’m sorry you’re going to lose her.”
“I am too.”
She drove the back streets to the line of duplexes where most all the transplants lived. People rarely sold a house in Holly, only when someone died. New ones never seemed to get built. And the occupants of Renters’ Row never stayed around for long either. A “For Lease” sign always seemed to hang somewhere along the road.
“Which one?” she asked. “I’ve never been to Ryker’s place.” For that she was grateful. No way to seduce a man if you’ve already done his brother.
“Third one down.”
“You going to get your own eventually?”
“Might. See how Holly fits.”
“Not great so far.”
He turned to her, gray eyes just visible in the streetlight. “Depends on how you look at it.”
Stella turned back to the windshield, staring at Duplex C. She’d been around a number of sweet talkers. Real slick ways. Opening doors. Acting all gracious. Compliments flowing like melted cheese. Most of them were doing it without an ounce of sincerity. And to more than one girl.
And here she was. Another one. Not quite as smooth, maybe. But obviously he’d gotten Darlene on a string. Maybe she should stay far away.
Dane unbuckled his seat belt. “You want to come in? Looks like Ryker’s out.”
“Yes.”
Stupid. She’d meant to say no.
Dane opened his door, letting in the buzz of cicadas and the crisp night air. Someone should bottle the smell. Night Breeze. Dark-purple bottle with etched letters.
Tangled: A New Adult Romance Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle of Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Royalty) Page 120