I prided myself in being able to walk away from girls. Melinda, for example, who I could tell, by the angle of her eyebrows, did not appreciate my making out with Rena. I’d struck a careful balance with Melinda in the storeroom moments before. Why had I let Rena claim me in front of her?
Because Rena needed it, came the automatic answer.
And because I got her into this mess, part of my psyche added.
Great. I’d sprouted a fucking conscience. Normally, my only worries would revolve around what she’d say to someone else or the trouble she could cause for Sonny and me. But my concern now revolved around the cute brunette who pouted in my passenger seat.
I’d gotten her into this, and really, her being my “mule” wasn’t as far off the mark as I would have liked. I winced. I didn’t like feeling doubt. Not even a little.
I blew by Melinda, who was giving me the evil eye from across the kitchen. Let her be pissed. I didn’t really give a shit. What I cared about, I realized as an uncomfortable chill skated down my spine, was Rena.
“Remember when you used to be smart?” I muttered to myself as I unlocked the office. What good had ever come from attachment? Save for Sonny, who, let’s be honest, could turn on me for a dime at any moment.
I spun the dial on the safe and pulled out my wallet and stuffed it into my pocket. Had I had it with me in the car, with access to the protection jammed into the inside flap, I’d have taken Rena right there on my seat. Despite her promise to “punish me” by stopping, I could have had her undressed and riding me. That she would have let me go further made me smile. She wanted me still.
You want her, too.
My smile erased. I did. She made me not think things through. Seeing the hurt on her face when she caught me in the storeroom made me chase after her and abandon Melinda, who in all reality could get me arrested. Could collapse the careful balance existing between Sonny and me. And for what? The thrill of pressing Rena’s sweet body against the SUV and claiming her as mine.
But that was more than just thrill. That was need and I was drowning in it.
Whenever she was around it became harder and harder for me to hold on to my resolve. I told myself I was the one with the control, but when she was close, when she smashed her soft breasts against me and her voice tumbled through my brain…
Man.
I forgot about control. Forgot about the rules. All I wanted to hear was the hitch in her breath as she moaned my name. Because I wanted her to claim me.
Shutting myself out of the office, I trailed my gaze over to Melinda, who sent me a sharp look before disappearing into the walk-in. I could go to her now, wedge myself into her good graces. It wouldn’t be hard. She had been coming on to me for months. I’d resisted her because I had a rule about not bedding the staff, but also because she was cocky in a way that rubbed me, and not in the fun way.
Now I resisted for a different reason. Before I’d met Rena, I wouldn’t have hesitated to go to Melinda, insert her firmly into the “circle of trust” again. Muddle her mind with a few kisses and the promise of more later.
I pulled my coat on and headed for the back door, my movements jerky. Angry. I didn’t want Melinda. I never had. I wanted only one girl: Rena. Which made my skin itch, because it was rare for good to ever come of attachment. And there was zero good to come out of her getting attached to me.
Stay away from her, my newly formed conscience suggested.
I mentally gagged it and stuffed it into a trunk. I could stay away but I didn’t want to. I could protect her from my actions. My inner white knight puffed his chest at the idea of being hers. Which was fucking ridiculous.
But it put a smile on my face nonetheless.
—
Paul wouldn’t have let me in if I hadn’t surprised him, which was exactly why I hadn’t called. I waited until Tuesday to see him, when all three games I’d helped him bet on (the “last” ones, he’d told me—sure, okay) were done.
He’d won a chunk of change. I wanted to make sure he paid Sonny before Sonny started sniffing around and learned that Paul was not out of town but very much in town. And very much rerouting Sonny’s payout to Tex.
Paul let me in, walked to the living room, and sat on his couch. He rested his elbows on his knees and studied the laptop screen. On it, a spreadsheet listing the bets—and man, there were a lot of bets—and the takes and losses for each one.
“You keep a spreadsheet,” I said in disbelief. Everyone knew you shouldn’t keep a trail of proof for your illegal gambling.
“It says Fantasy Bets.” He pointed at the large title at the top of the page.
I pulled my palms over my face. This guy never used to be so careless.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, closing the laptop and standing. “As soon as Tex and I are square, I’m dumping the computer. I’ll…I’ll burn it. I’ll run it over with the car.”
Hands frozen in prayer pose over my lips, I watched him dumbfounded for a moment before saying, “And Sonny.”
“What?”
“As soon as you and Tex and Sonny are square.”
He offered a twitchy shrug. “Of course.”
“Five hundred before I leave. Don’t make me call Nat.” I stood over him, using my height to my advantage.
His smile shook. He knew Nat. All three hundred pounds of him. “Dev—”
“No more free passes, Paul.” I inserted an edge into my voice. I wasn’t yelling; I didn’t need to. One step closer to him had him lifting his palms in defense. “Five hundred in the next sixty seconds,” I said, “or I leave, tell Sonny what really happened to my face, and return for a thousand.”
“A thousand! Now listen—”
“No, you listen!” I stuck a finger in his face. “Don’t even think of trying to pull this bullshit again. You know as well as I do—”
“What the fuck, Devlin?”
I snapped my head to the side to see Paul’s son, Caden, barreling through the house, a gym bag over one shoulder.
He didn’t slow when he saw me, practically dropping the bag on my shoes.
“Cade,” Paul said. “Everything’s fine.”
Cade narrowed his eyes at me, pushing his arms out to the side to make himself look bigger. “Like hell,” he told Paul but kept his eyes on me. “After all we’ve done for you, Dev, you threaten my dad?”
He shoved two strong hands against my chest. I balled my fists at my sides to keep from tussling with him. He was two years younger than I was—not a kid by any stretch of the imagination—but out of respect for Paul, I didn’t want to hit him. He was also about my size, and I knew we’d go a few rounds before I finally kicked his ass. I didn’t care to spend any more time in the back of my restaurant than I had to. If he got a hit or two in and busted up my face, and I had to admit, that was a possibility, I’d be stuck in that kitchen.
Control, I said to myself. Beating the shit out of Paul’s bratty son wouldn’t serve me in the long run. I had to focus on the goal: Sonny’s cash.
“After the life we provided you?” Cade continued indignantly.
“We?” I sniffed. “Like you were footing any of those bills and not draining your father’s savings yourself?”
“Boys…” Paul warned.
I ignored him. Cade didn’t.
“No, Dad.” Cade pushed me again. I held my ground. “Devlin owes you for letting him off the hook back when he stole Mom’s jewelry.”
I ground my teeth together. Every part of me wanted to deny it, but I couldn’t. Because it was true. I’d taken a necklace and three rings and gambled them. I was able to win back one of the rings, but the others were lost in a risky all-or-nothing.
“Cade, this isn’t about that,” Paul said.
“Bullshit it’s not.” Cade stood almost nose to nose with me, dark brown hair falling over his light brown eyes—eyes that almost burned orange they were so filled with fury. I understood. If he’d been the one who’d ripped off my mom, I’d have beaten the hell o
ut of him a long time ago. But my mom had taken off when I was a toddler. Who knew where she was now?
“How much do you think her jewelry was worth, Dev?” Cade asked, too close. My fists tightened. “How much do you think you not living on the street was worth, Dev?”
He shoved me a third time and I jerked my shoulders forward, straightening my jacket. “Do it again, kid, and I won’t hold back.”
From behind him, Paul called our names again. Cade didn’t heed his father’s warning, and I’d stopped listening years ago. By the time Cade lifted his hands to shove me again, I dodged to the side, palmed the back of his neck, and slammed his face against the living room wall. Family pictures rattled. Paul’s voice—saying my name—rose in warning.
Cade squirmed, swearing at me at the same time. I let him turn around but pushed my forearm against his windpipe to keep him still.
“This isn’t your fight,” I said.
Wisely, he stilled. But he was pissed, teeth bared, eyes wild. If I let him loose, he’d clock me. I could feel his entire body humming like a downed power line.
“The money,” I called over my shoulder to Paul. “And I’ll leave.”
“You’ve been taking advantage of him for years,” Cade squeaked out.
“Devlin, please. I’ll get it.” Paul sounded near tears.
“All of it. Two thousand for Sonny, and then I’m gone for good.”
Paul appeared at my side. “Five hundred.”
Cade’s eyes strayed to Paul. “Dad!”
I shrugged with my mouth and studied Cade. “Looks like Dad’s bartering for you. Not a good sign.”
“You bast—” I cut his words short by tightening my arm over his neck and watched his eyes widen. Paul reached for my arm. I sent him a glare. “Tell him the truth, Paul, or I’ll give him brain damage, I swear it.”
Cade’s bulging eyes darted to his father. I loosened my hold so he’d stay conscious long enough to hear the confession. I already knew, but I’d bet he didn’t. Paul didn’t want his son to know.
“Paul…” I warned, wedging my knee into Cade’s thigh. He grunted, pained, and Paul’s face paled.
“I haven’t dipped into Cade’s money yet,” Paul said.
“My money?” Cade croaked.
Paul fell silent.
“Dad?”
“I can pay Devlin the two grand, but if…” His eyes cut to me, then Cade. He pointed at me in accusation. “If I do, I can’t pay for the Audi this month.”
Cade looked betrayed.
“Poor boy. No more free ride,” I bit out. Over it, I drew back and socked him in the stomach. He oofed and tried to kick me.
Paul scrambled for my arm and I elbowed him, catching the underside of his chin. He rolled to the ground, moaning and holding his hands over his face.
“Don’t hurt him!” Cade yelled at me.
“You have five seconds, Paul,” I said, my arm again on Cade’s throat. “Then I cut off his air supply.”
“Hang on, hang on!” Paul, lying on his back on the floor, reached out an arm. His lip was bleeding. I’d gotten him good.
“The truth!” I shouted.
“Okay! Okay! I’m behind on your car payment two months!” He swallowed thickly and I felt Cade stop fighting. “I borrowed from your college fund to bet on the last game.”
Cade’s mouth dropped open as he looked at Paul with nothing short of betrayal. With his attention on his father, I let him go. He held his stomach—where I’d hit him—absently, like he didn’t know he was doing it. His face twisted into an expression of disgust, but he was focused on one man in the room. And that man wasn’t me.
I raised a smug brow at Paul. Because pride always came before the fall, I didn’t know Cade had thrown a punch until his fist collided with my kidney.
I crashed to one knee and gasped for breath, internally pooling my strength before I killed Caden Wilson with my bare hands. But as I stood and started to lunge, I heard five words that stopped me cold.
Five words I was sure I’d hallucinated.
Paul, shouting, “Devlin, don’t hurt your brother!”
Chapter 13
Devlin
Oak & Sage was in the wind-down of a Wednesday night. I sat at the bar, slipped my new-hire bartender Matt a hundred dollars, and ordered him to leave the bottle of bourbon unattended. That was an hour ago.
Not the best plan as far as plans went, but Wednesday nights were always dead, so it wasn’t like there was anyone here to set an example for. I didn’t get the money from Paul, but I did get a call from Sonny, which I ignored. Then I got one from Nat, likely asking where Paul was so he could rough him up. I didn’t answer. I responded by snapping my phone in half and tossing it into the glass of water Matt brought that I hadn’t ordered.
I silently thanked God for bourbon and drank down a swallow.
I’d left Caden Wilson as confused and angry as I was. After hearing we were related—literally; Paul hadn’t meant in the theoretical sense that we’d shared a house together and he was a father figure to me—Cade leapt on Paul and got in a few good hits. I had to pull him off and toss him onto the floor, despite the temptation to leave Cade swinging and let him kick the crap out of his old man.
His old man, not mine. We were brothers not by a shared father, but by a shared mother.
“How could you do that to Mom?” Cade had yelled at Paul. I watched his eyes dawn with realization as he put two and two together and realized that Joyce, the woman who had raised Cade, the woman whose jewelry I’d swiped, was not, in fact, his actual mother. I could also see in his eyes that he wanted to pull me into it, maybe accuse my mom of being a whore who slept with his dad. But he couldn’t. Because my mom was now his mom. And Joyce was just the woman who had taken care of him.
I hadn’t stayed for a family powwow afterward. I had no family. My father was dead and gone. My mom had split when I was really small, having slunk off to hide her pregnancy and resurface again only to leave Cade with Paul. Technically, my only living family was Cade, the spoiled brat college kid with whom I shared a mother.
Cade. My half brother. God. I couldn’t get my head all the way around that.
Why Joyce put up with that shit from Paul, and then raised a baby that wasn’t her own as her own was anyone’s guess. I didn’t get it. And it wouldn’t surprise me if Cade was living in the bottle tonight—in similar fashion to me—trying to figure out why as well.
I downed the final inch of bourbon, and though I was tempted to smash the empty glass on the floor of the bar just to hear the break, I refilled it instead. Mom had left us when she’d gotten pregnant with Cade, but I found myself wondering if she and Paul had carried on behind Dad’s and Joyce’s backs before then. I followed my thoughts to the photo album my father kept in his closet. I used to dig it out every once in a while when he was out on a bender.
I didn’t know what became of that album, but I could picture it now, clear as if it was open on the bar in front of me. Cellophane-covered, yellowed, sticky pages holding photos faded with age. My father and mother clutched each other in a few of the photos, and in others were alone but smiling. Mom in hideous, high-waisted jeans, sweeping the floor of the restaurant I sat in now—when it’d been just a shell and the fancy wooden booths were only metal tables and chairs. And Dad, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he washed a giant stockpot in the back.
My parents had bought and refurbished this restaurant, had poured blood, sweat, and tears into it. The album documented up until I was born and then stopped, but throughout, my parents looked happy. What happened? What had eroded away at them? What had driven Mom to sleep with Paul, and Dad to gamble hard-core? Which came first—the adultery or the gambling?
I flipped a cardboard coaster end over end, coming to a conclusion. At no point had my parents planned on purchasing a restaurant and then letting everything—including each other and me—go to shit.
Whether it was the bourbon or…no, it was definitely the bourbon,
I thought as I took another drink. I was now thinking of what I wanted. Of how I’d lived. Of what I was involved in. The same life-draining business that propelled my father into an icy river and had me treating Rena like a mule. All because my face had been busted up by a pair of rival bookie’s bodyguards.
Maybe I deserved a shot at a life of my own. What my father tried to have before he chucked everything aside. Maybe Sonny wasn’t as integral a part of my future as I’d once assumed.
These thoughts were awfully mature for my taste…and indirectly connected to Rena. That’s probably why I scowled as I lifted my glass to my mouth again.
I caught a glimpse of Melinda in the server’s well, sticking fruit into whatever concoction Matt had just shaken and poured into a martini glass for one of her tables.
“Hard night?” she asked, spearing a chunk of pineapple on a small plastic pick shaped like a sword. Her lips curled into a flirtatious smile. “Girl trouble?”
I glared at her. Seriously? She was coming on to me?
“Desperation isn’t flattering,” I grumbled, drinking.
She tipped her head, but instead of passing by she stopped in front of me. My eyes went to the very full glass in her hand, liquid wobbling close to the edge. Somehow, I related.
“What happens when she falls for you, Devlin? Because she will. She’ll blurt out that she loves you and then you’ll suffocate. You’ll have to move away. Change your name.”
I sipped my drink, keeping my face utterly expressionless. Was she for real? I could see she was by the grave set of her mouth. But Melinda didn’t know me. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.
Then she walked away and an evil voice at the back of my alcohol-soaked brain asked a pertinent question.
Then why is she right?
Rena
My wrist throbbed and I massaged it before lifting the dinners for my last table. Wednesdays were slow, so to make up for fewer tips I worked a double. Going on twelve hours running around this place, with only one ten-minute break to gobble down dinner, I was about ready to collapse. Days like this, I missed the lazy hours I used to spend at Craft Palace stocking paintbrushes and scrap paper and listening to canned music over the ceiling speakers.
Fighting for Devlin (Lost Boys #1) Page 12