by J. L. McCoy
Table of Contents
Blood of the Son
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
About the Author
Blood of the Son
BY J.L. McCoy
Blood of the Son
Kindle Edition
Copyright © 2012 J.L. McCoy
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Format: Ebook
Cover Art: Benjamin Short
Author Photo: Benjamin Short Photography
Interior Layout: Rising Sign Books
Acknowledgements
This book could not have been written without the support of my dear family and friends. I’d like to thank the two very special women in my life named Eva for always encouraging me to write. Your unwavering faith, kind words, and wisdom mean the world to me.
Special thanks go out to my hubby Kenny for his love, patience, and Route 44 deliveries, my sister Kellie for the character inspiration and for being the perfect cover model, Kelly V., Angel H., Nicole ‘Nikki’ C., ‘Smelly’ Kellie, and Lee P. for critiquing the book, Ric D. and Erik ‘Ducky’ G. for the awesome music/name/character suggestions, Katie S. over at www.RisingSignBooks.net for the formatting, the cool people over at http://www.irishgaelictranslator.com forums for the translations (You guys rock!), that “bahhhhhschtard” Benjamin Short for the stellar photographs/book cover and for always making me laugh with his Sean Connery impressions, the city of Austin, Texas for helping me “Keep It Weird” m/ , and to my entire Facebook “family” for the support and helpful comments.
I especially want to thank YOU, the reader, for buying this book! It is my first and I really hope you like it. If I’ve left anyone out, I sincerely apologize.
CHAPTER ONE
“Hey, handsome!” I exclaimed as I walked into Dan’s office and hung up my messenger bag. “Are we busy tonight?”
Dan turned around and gave me one of his famous smiles. “Hey, Skye. Yeah, pretty busy,” he said as he walked up to me and gave me a hearty hug. “You’re early…what gives?”
“I wanted to catch up with Nikki before my shift started. Is she still out on the floor?” I asked as I sat down in the office chair to take off my Converse sneakers and put on my 3-inch black caged heels.
“She’s taking inventory behind the bar. Do me a favor and tell her she can cut out after she’s done.”
“Sure thing, D.,” I said as I finished zipping up my last shoe. I stood and retrieved the bottle opener from my designated cubby and put it in the back pocket of my short black skirt.
“Jesse was in here earlier looking for you,” Dan said. “I figured he would have given up on you by now.”
I turned around and faced my boss. Dan Kennedy was, by all accounts, handsome as hell. He stood over six feet tall, had thick, artfully messy brown hair, long eyelashes, and gorgeous hazel eyes. At 33, his jaw line was strong and he had the cutest dimple on his right cheek that only showed up when he laughed. If he hadn’t been my boss for the last four years, I would have had a go at him by now. But, he was my boss, the coolest boss I’d ever had, and he was my good friend.
“Me too,” I sighed and shook my head. “Once a cheater, always a cheater, right? I don’t have time for his drama. I’ve moved on and he really needs to do the same. I don’t understand why he hasn’t already. After all, it sure looked like he was well on his way after I found his tongue knee-deep down that tourist’s throat.”
Dan came over and put a comforting hand on my back. “Jesse is an idiot, doll. You’re gold. Why he ever cheated on you is a complete mystery.” He gave my back a pat then crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll tell him he’s no longer welcome here next time I see him, okay?”
“Don’t sweat it, D. He’s not worth the time and attention it would take. We’ll worry about it if he ever actually bothers me while I’m working.” I turned around and started out the door. “See you on the floor, hon!” I called from over my shoulder.
I walked down the hall and up the few steps to the floor door. I pushed through and walked onto the bar’s main floor. Drop Kick Dan’s, located in downtown Austin, Texas, was in the throws of it’s usual Friday fanfare. The small dance floor was a mass of bobbing heads and moving bodies, the booths were packed, and the pool tables were full of rowdy college kids celebrating yesterday’s graduation. I walked over to the long, sleek wooden bar that was off to the left side and instantly spotted Nikki.
“Hey, girlfriend!” I smiled as I lifted up the hinged bar entrance. I walked over to her and gave her a hug. “How’s everything?”
“Great!” Nikki said as she tucked her long black hair behind one heavily pierced ear. “Just got done with inventory. I’ve been at this for over an hour. How many different bottles of vodka does one bar really need?” She said, exasperated.
I laughed. “Too damn many, if you ask me. That shit is gross.”
Nikki laughed and put her clipboard down. She grabbed my hand and pulled me off to the side, through the bar stockroom door. “So what’s up, girl? You’re here a little early,” she observed as we sat down on two overturned black crates.
“I wanted to catch you before you left,” I said, crossing my legs. I took a deep breath. “I need to talk to you about something.”
One pierced eyebrow rose in surprise as she leaned forward. “It must be serious…you look a little tense.”
I nodded my head. “As you know, I just graduated and my student loans are coming up. Last I checked, I owe over $70,000.” I sighed and leaned my head back against the storeroom wall. “Nik, Dan’s just isn’t going to cut it. I’m freaking out here. I’m 23 and in huge debt. I’ve got to look for something else…something that pays more.” I turned and looked at her.
Nikki St. James was my best friend and next door neighbor. There wasn’t a person on this earth who I trusted more than her. I met her on the day I moved into the Austin, Texas town home my mother purchased for me when I got accepted into the University of Texas. She lived in the adjoining town home unit and accidentally ran over my misplaced high school derby skates with her old brown Volvo wagon. I remember she got out of the car and fished my skates out from under it. She held them up
in front of her as she walked over to me. “Bitchin’ derby skates, Red. We’ll have to tear up the track together some time.” I knew from that moment on we would be fast friends.
Nikki was not your average 27 year old girl-next-door. She towered over me at 5 foot 11 inches and she had long, dyed black hair and electric blue bangs. Her teal green eyes were beautifully unique, and she had tattoo covered fair skin. I loved the way she dressed. It was so free, so whatever, so completely…Nikki. Today she had on an excessively ripped black crop top over a bright yellow tank, Drop Kick Dan’s employee required “anything short goes” black skirt uniform, fishnet tights and plat formed, lace-up knee high boots.
She shook her head and said “You worry too damn much, Skye. You just graduated. You have plenty of time to pay it off. Besides, you’ll be able to get a good job someday with the degree you just got, right?”
I shrugged my shoulders and started playing with the numerous black rubber bracelets on my right wrist. “I majored in Ancient History and Classical Civilization. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?” I stood up and paced the small room. “I took the courses because I like history and they sounded fun. I wasn’t really thinking long term four years ago. What am I going to do, Nikki?” I asked, exasperated, dramatically throwing my hands up in the air.
Nikki covered her mouth and laughed. “You can do plenty of stuff with that,” she said.
I pursed my lips and looked down at her. “Like what?”
She held up a finger, jumped up from the overturned black crate and walked out.
I sighed as I pondered my future. This is going to work out. I will make it work. Surely they must be hiring at the city’s history museum. They have to be because I don’t want to move. My whole life is here. I have a great house and kick-ass friends, not to mention that I live in the most beautiful city in the entire state. I loved it here and didn’t want to have to find work outside of Austin. Forget moving out of state. I was a Texan, born and raised. I may have grown up in Houston, but my real home is here.
“You are Skye Everleigh Morrison, Strong Independent Woman. You can do anything!” I recalled my feminist mother saying to me whenever I was having a bad day. My mother, Grace Morrison, is a single parent and raised me by herself. She got her Ph.D. in Neuroscience at Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Boston where she met my sperm donor/father during her fourth year there. They had a brief fling and he disappeared when she told him she was pregnant with me. Nice, huh? She never allowed herself to get close to another man after that. The occasional one night stand, sure, but she never had another relationship. I once asked her details about how she and my father met, and she shut me down pretty fast. “You don’t need to know the boring details, Skye,” she sighed. “He was just a boy who obviously didn’t care as much as I thought he did. We don’t need a man to be happy, young lady, and I’ll have no more talk of it.” I never asked about him again because I could tell that talking about him made her sad.
My mother was a wonderful parent, though. She was all I ever needed. I didn’t really give too much thought to the missing father figure in my life. Grace came to all of my ballet recitals, softball games, high school plays, and she nurtured my love of the arts and sciences by taking me to galleries and museums a couple of times each month. She is amazingly smart and taught me so much growing up. She instilled in me from an early age that I could not depend on anyone to do stuff for me; that I had to go out there and grab life by the grapes.
I worked hard to make her proud. I got a 3.9 GPA in high school and was accepted into the University of Texas when I graduated. I was so excited when I received my acceptance letter. I couldn’t wait to show it to my mother. She was proud, of course. When she told me a few months later that she was buying me my own town home, I almost died. I wouldn’t have to worry about sharing a room and paying rent in some tiny Central Austin apartment complex. I had a place of my own and it felt great.
“Everything will be okay,” I whispered to myself as I crossed the room and sat back down on the crate. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall.
“Alright, Skye,” Nikki said as she walked back into the storage room and tossed something into my lap. I opened my eyes and picked up the paper. “Here’s today’s job classifieds. I stole it from Dan’s newspaper. There is bound to be something in there that uses that fancy degree you have.”
I looked up at her and smiled. “Thanks, Nik. Want to help me look this weekend?” I asked.
“Sure thing, Cupcake,” she said as she bent down to retie her boot. “I’ve got a huge side piece to finish at noon on Saturday, but then I’m all yours.”
“When did you start tattooing again?” I asked, surprised and a little excited.
“Shit,” she said, cringing. “I totally meant to tell you. I started moonlighting at Cherry Bomb last weekend. They needed a part-time artist to fill in for Laser while he ‘finds himself’,” she said, rolling her eyes, holding her hands up in the air, and using them as quotation marks. She walked over and sat down beside me. “I hope you don’t mind putting off our next project,” she said. “It’s only for a few weeks, I’m guessing. The classes are in four week intervals anyway, so it’ll be easy to catch the next one.”
I reached over and smacked her playfully on the arm. “Girl, do what you have to do. No worries, Nikki. I’m glad you are back tattooing again. Save an appointment for me, though. I’ve been itching to get my half sleeve finished.” I stood up and pulled her into a side hug. “Pottery class will always be there.”
“Thanks, Cupcake,” she said ruffling my hair.
“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you,” I said, suddenly remembering. “Dan said it was cool for you to split once you finished up with inventory.”
“Cool beans! It’s been a damn long day. Well, hey, I’d better run,” she said while I stacked the overturned crates back up. “I’ve got to get some supplies before tomorrow’s session. Call me, ‘kay?” She flashed her signature peace sign and walked out of the storage room.
“You got it, Nik,” I called after her. “See you tomorrow.” I walked out of the storage room and closed the door behind me. I looked out at the bustling bar and decided that I had better get to work.
I checked in with Angel, whom I was relieving, and got updated on all of my section’s current customers.
“Watch out for booth 12,” Angel said, rolling her eyes. “Someone likes playing Grab Ass.”
“Thanks for the warning,” I said, giving her a pat on the back. “See you next week.”
“Take it easy,” she said as she pulled out her bottle opener and headed for the door that lead to the back office.
I threw my long red hair over my shoulder and got to work refilling pitchers and taking orders. Table 12 did indeed have an occupant who had sticky hands. He grabbed my ass as I was bent over clearing empties from the far side of their table.
“Well looky what we have here,” he said once he had a hand full.
I stood up in a flash and flushed a light shade of furious. “Keep your hands to yourself, sir, or I will have you dropkicked right out of Dan’s.”
“Aw, honey, he didn’t mean nuthin’ by it,” chuckled his friend and fellow table occupant. “Floyd here just thinks you’re pretty, that’s all.”
“Well, that’s all fine and well, but Floyd had better keep his hands to himself for the rest of your visit.” I turned and looked at the two other men. “Can I get you fellas another Shiner?”
“No, ma’am,” said the one with the sandy colored hair in a deep Texas drawl. “We’re gonna settle up now, if that’s alright. Floyd here has just about had his fill tonight, I think.”
I closed out their tab and was happy for the big tip. I’d be sure to share it with Angel since Floyd had played Grab Ass with her, too.
I took a few more orders, popped a lot more tops, and started enjoying the night. It was around 9pm and the live Irish hardcore punk band that Dan hired for the night started playi
ng their set. I loved the Manky Langer. This was the third time they had been here this month. They were working on their first album now and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on it when it came out. Their song “Knackered Jacks” had been stuck in my head for days following their last visit…not that I minded at all, of course.
I was singing along to the band and checking on my tables when Dan caught my eye. He motioned for me to come over to the bar.
“You like them, huh?” he asked with a sly smile on his face.
“Hell yes,” I leaned in and replied over the music. “Thanks for inviting them back. I can’t get enough of these guys.”
“I thought you looked like you were enjoying the show last time they were here,” he said, chuckling, while pouring a shot of Jack for a fellow waitress’s order.
I blushed a little and shrugged, “Well, shit, Dan…they rock, I can’t help it. I did manage to keep my tables up AND watch the show.”
Dan laughed at my mock coyness. “I’ve got something for you,” he said as he rummaged around behind the bar. He handed me a half a pint of Guinness in a glass and a half a shot whiskey with a Bailey’s floater. “Give the Car Bomb to Jameson. He always gets one on the house from me.”
I looked confused. “Who’s Jameson?” I asked. He pointed to the right of me, towards the stage. I turned and looked to where he was pointing. All I could see was a mass of dancing bodies and the band. I turned back to him with a questioning look.
“Would you like to buy a vowel?” Dan said and laughed. “Jameson is the Manky Langer’s lead singer.”
I rolled my eyes and reached over to smack him in the arm. “Don’t be mean,” I playfully pouted. “Hell, for all I knew it could have been a customer,” I said. “And, anyway, I thought the lead singer’s name was Micky.”
Dan threw his head back and roared with laughter. I frowned. “Micky is just some silly Irish slang, doll,” he said once he regained his composure. He wiped at his eyes and handed me the glasses. “Take it over and say hello, Skye. He doesn’t bite.”