by Lynn Hagen
Even though Nash and Layne were in the house with Stevie, Quinn’s gut wouldn’t settle.
Hayward gave him a look that said he wasn’t going to tell him.
“What’ve you been doing for the past ten years?” Quinn hated that he hadn’t asked sooner. It was as though he was getting to know his brothers all over again. Then again, Hayward had always been the strong silent type.
“A little bit of this and that,” Hayward said. “What about you?”
Quinn knew deflection when he saw it. Hayward was trying to shift the focus to him, but Quinn wasn’t so inclined to discuss his decade-long absence, either.
“Same.” Not that Quinn was ashamed of what he’d done to get by. He just felt as though he’d drifted through life, not really making anything of himself. Keller was a damn doctor, and Nash owned his own business.
What did Quinn have going for himself? Not a damn thing. If he didn’t want to blow through his money in a few years, Quinn needed to think of how he wanted to invest it.
He looked up when Hayward began to slow. There was a dirt road to their left, and his brother took it.
“Where exactly are we going?”
“I got ahold of Bodega’s information and made a phone call,” Hayward said. “The guy agreed to meet us at his cabin. I don’t know if he’ll have his men there, so keep your head on a swivel.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means look all around you and even above you,” Hayward said. “We could be walking into a trap. I just wish I could’ve gotten a lay of the land and the cabin before this meeting, but Bodega insisted we meet now.”
“Weapons?”
“I’m armed,” Hayward said. “Look in the glove box. Do you know how to handle a gun?”
Quinn had never gone anywhere without one when he worked in Nevada. Everyone in that state was armed, even the women. “Once or twice.”
Hayward nodded. “If you hear me clear my throat, we’re in deep shit and we need to haul ass back to my Jeep.”
His brother brought the Jeep to a stop and got out. Quinn followed his lead. It seemed Hayward, also known as Nomad, was a little too good at this.
What exactly had he done while away? Quinn was dying to know but kept his mouth shut as he looked around, noticing men with rifles by trees.
They climbed the porch, and before Hayward could knock, the door opened. A guy Quinn had never seen before stood there in a crisp suit, his hair styled.
“You must be the O’Brien men.” He looked them over. “I am Mr. Bodega. Now what is this business about Cliff Tucker owing me money?”
Bodega didn’t invite them in. He moved to a set of wooden chairs to the right and sat. Someone brought him a glass of what looked to be lemonade.
“You sent Neal to collect,” Quinn said. “But I don’t think the debt should fall to Cliff’s son’s shoulders.”
Bodega took a sip of his drink. “As much as I would love to take your money, though you never said what amount, I’m afraid there has been a mistake.”
Quinn glanced at Hayward, who seemed calm and collected, and wondered what the fuck was going on. Was Bodega talking about the amount? Did Stevie’s dad owe more than Neal said he did? “Cliff Tucker doesn’t owe you a gambling debt?”
Please let that be the case because I’m not paying a dime more than fifty-grand.
Bodega stood. “I’ve never heard of Cliff Tucker or Neal. Someone is fucking with you, and it is not me. Now if you two don’t mind, I have real business to conduct.”
Quinn was left speechless as Bodega walked back inside.
“Let’s go.” Hayward started down the steps as the men guarding the cabin kept a watchful eye on them.
When they got back into the Jeep, Quinn turned to Hayward. “What the fuck is going on?”
Hayward pulled away, leaving the cabin in their rearview. “A scam,” he said. “The Tuckers thought of a way to get money from you. They probably promised that Neal guy some good money if he pulled this off.” Hayward narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure Stevie isn’t in on this?”
“No,” Quinn said without hesitation. It also pissed him off that Hayward would even ask. He refused to believe his mate was a part of this scam. Stevie’s feelings were too real, his grief too raw.
“I bet Lara is there to keep an eye on things,” Hayward said. “Make sure you’re gonna pay and trying to steal anything valuable while she’s there.”
Quinn felt sick to his stomach. He’d allowed her to stay there, had even felt a bit sorry for her.
“You’re not going home and confronting her,” Hayward said.
“Why not? She played me for a fucking fool, had me worried my mate’s life was at stake. I’m going to choke the life out of her and then track Cliff and Neal down and do the same.”
Hayward smirked. “No, brother. I have a different plan, and it’ll satisfy your need for revenge.”
Chapter Ten
“A scam?” Stevie wanted to throw up. His parents had pulled some doozies before, but this had been the lowest they’d ever sunk. They’d even had Stevie threatened by Neal. His parents had made Stevie think he was gonna die in two weeks if he didn’t come up with the money. His dad made him think his mom had been taken.
Worst. Parents. Ever.
Stevie stomped toward the bedroom door, but Horace grabbed his arm. “What’re you going?”
“To confront my mom.” Stevie was so angry that tears sprang to his eyes. “She didn’t leave him, Quinn. She came here to spy on us.”
“You figured that out?”
“Why else would she be here?” he asked. “She wanted to make sure their plan was working.”
Stevie hated the fact that he was related to them. The thought never occurred to him that his mom and dad could’ve been behind this. He’d stupidly believed the story about his dad’s gambling debt, that Neal was a real henchman for Bodega.
He’d been so blind and an idiot. No wonder he’d never seen the signs that his dad was a gambler. Because he wasn’t. Although he’d taken a gamble with this scam, and now it would fall apart right in his stupid face.
“Hayward has a plan.” Quinn tucked Stevie into his arms. “We’re gonna end this and then put this entire mess behind us.”
A part of Stevie was thankful the Bodega thing wasn’t true. Now Quinn didn’t have to give up his money. Stevie would’ve forever felt as low as rat turd if Quinn had given up fifty thousand dollars just to save him. He was also glad the O’Briens were smart. They’d figured this out before Quinn had given up any money.
It felt as if a huge weight had lifted off of Stevie’s shoulders.
“What plan?” Stevie asked. “It was my parents who tried to con you. I want to be in on whatever you guys are going to do.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “No. No way am I letting you put yourself in harm’s way. I’m not sure what my brother plans on doing, but it could be dangerous, and you’re gonna stay right here where I know you’re safe.”
From the resolute look in Quinn’s gray eyes, Stevie knew arguing would be useless. Fine, he would pretend to give in, but he had a car, and he would follow his mate and Nomad when they left.
Stevie deserved to confront his parents, deserved to let them know he was no longer their son and to never contact him again. What pissed him off the most was the fact that he’d thought he and his mother could finally have a decent relationship, that she’d kick the booze habit and could be the mom he’d always wanted.
That, more than anything, hurt the most.
“I’ll just go see what Layne is up to.” Stevie pulled away. Once again Quinn caught his arm.
“I’ve gotten to know you pretty well. The one thing I’ve learned is that you never concede so easily.”
Quinn studied him, as if trying to read Stevie’s mind or figure out what was really hidden behind his neutral expression. Stevie concentrated hard on not revealing his true intentions. Quinn deserved to be there for the takedown because it was his
money the Tuckers tried to steal. But Stevie wasn’t going to be left behind.
Hopefully part of Nomad’s plans was to have Cliff arrested. Quinn didn’t know just how badly Stevie wanted them out of his life for good.
If he had his way, Stevie would ship them to another country where he never had to see or hear from them again. His entire life they’d been doing dumb shit like this, and maybe they had sunk this low before. But they’d involved the O’Brien men, and in Stevie’s book, that was not okay.
Far from it.
Aunt Beatrice had been a sweet and loving soul. She’d raised her nephews right, and they didn’t deserve to be taken advantage of.
Stevie kissed Quinn’s jaw and finally his mate let him go. He walked out and went downstairs, hoping to hear Nomad talking to Nash about his “plan.”
Unfortunately, Nomad wasn’t in the kitchen.
But Stevie’s mother was. Lara was seated at the table, eating a piece of buttered toast. It took everything in him not to open his mouth, not to rail at her and kick her out. If that made him a bad son, so be it.
“Hello, Steven.” She smiled at him, which made him gnash his teeth. “Is everything okay? You look a bit flushed.”
“It’s hot outside.” He grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and left the kitchen before he blew Quinn and Nomad’s plans by reading her the riot act.
Keeping his anger in check was harder than he thought. The words were right there at his lips, caught in his throat, ready to spew forward with all the pain and misery he’d felt his entire life, for Cliff and Lara not being the parents they should’ve been.
Stevie kept his head held high, fighting back the angry tears as he walked into the living room just as the front door opened.
Keller O’Brien. What on earth was he doing there? Wasn’t he supposed to be in California, living his life as a doctor?
“Stevie.” Keller smiled. “Just the person I wanted to see.”
“Why?” Stevie looked back toward the kitchen. He didn’t want Lara coming out and hearing whatever Keller had to say.
“Let’s talk in the kitchen.” Keller moved toward him, but Stevie shook his head.
“My room,” Stevie said. “That would be better.”
He had no idea why Keller wanted to talk to him, but the less his mother knew, the better. He noticed a bag slung over Keller’s shoulder. Surely he’d brought more with him than that. How long did he plan on staying? A day?
When they reached the steps, Stevie saw Quinn and Nomad coming down. Damn it. Talk about piss-poor timing. Why couldn’t Keller have arrived ten minutes later?
The brothers hugged and said their hellos. A look passed between Quinn and Keller, and Stevie hadn’t the first clue what it was about. Something was going on, but no one had bothered to tell Stevie.
“We’ll be back,” Quinn said to Keller.
“Nash is in his room,” Nomad said. “He’ll be out in just a second.”
To keep an eye on Lara. Those were the unspoken words lingering in the air between them. Because if Stevie knew his mother, and he did, to a point, she was trying to sneak into everyone’s room to see what she could steal.
His stomach curdled again, but Stevie ignored the queasiness as he led Keller to his bedroom. Nash was there within minutes, knocking on the door. Stevie looked over his shoulder, frowning at the thunderous expression Nash wore.
“Where’s your mother?”
“In the kitchen,” Stevie said.
Nash shook his head. “She’s not in there, and the back door is open.”
Stevie didn’t know why his mother would up and leave, but something told him shit was going south.
* * * *
Quinn was nervous as they climbed into Hayward’s Jeep and drove to Cliff’s house. Calling Mr. Bodega to meet them there might’ve been the worst plan possible. Hayward looked calm, and that grated on Quinn’s nerves. They were about to meet with a powerful guy to take down a lowlife. Two lowlifes.
“Do you ever get rattled?”
Hayward glanced at him then looked back at the road. “Would you feel better if I was scared?”
That wasn’t an answer, and they were too close to Cliff’s to get into a debate. Both were armed, and while Quinn was used to carrying a gun, he didn’t want to have to use it. Cliff might be a piece of shit, but he was still Stevie’s father.
Even so, he really wanted payback for Cliff leaving that bruise on Stevie’s cheek, for all the times he’d knocked his son around for the simple fact of Stevie being gay.
Quinn’s patience was on a short fuse as they pulled to the curb and sat there. He was a bundle of nerves, ready to get this over with. Not only were they dealing with Cliff and Neal but Quinn wanted to get home so he could find out if Stevie was pregnant.
They got out and walked up the driveway, passing what Quinn assumed was Cliff’s rusted black pickup. The chain-link fence was gnarled and falling apart in some places, and the weed-infested yard looked as if it hadn’t mowed in ages.
Quinn wasn’t one to judge. Never had been. But he was a firm believer that, even if a person didn’t have much, they should take care of what they did have. Hell, Quinn had stayed broke most of his life, but he’d never been lazy or a slob.
Stevie had grown up in this house. He tried to imagine his mate on the front porch, sitting on one of the plastic green lawn chairs. How much pain and anguish had the inside of this house seen? The more he thought about what Cliff had done to Stevie, the more Quinn wanted to wrap his hands around the bastard’s throat and choke the very life out of him.
Before either of them could knock, the door flew open. Cliff stood there in a dirty white T-shirt, smelled like he’d fallen into a vat of booze, and he had a shotgun aimed at Hayward.
Hayward didn’t even flinch. “We’re here to pay off Neal,” he said. “Lower your weapon or I’ll shove it up your ass.”
Cliff had an untamed look in his eyes until Hayward had spoken. The thought of getting paid must’ve cleared his haze, because he lowered his shotgun and looked past them, as if Quinn and Hayward had brought company.
“Can we come in?” Quinn asked. “I don’t like conducting this kind of business outside.”
Cliff’s gaze swung to Quinn, as if just noticing he was there. “Yeah, yeah. Sure.” He licked his lips and backed up, allowing them inside.
Quinn was repulsed by the stench inside the house. It not only smelled like alcohol but trash, too. The foyer was free of filth, but Quinn couldn't say that for the rest of the place.
The living room had a hemorrhaging floral couch. The side looked as though cats had used it for a scratching post. The coffee table was cluttered with empty beer cans, bowls of dried-up food, and an ashtray filled with cigarette butts.
“You guys can have a seat.” Cliff went to a recliner Quinn hadn’t even seen. Probably because it was piled high with clothes. Cliff threw the pile onto the floor and sat.
Quinn couldn’t be paid to sit on the couch. There were strange stains that almost blended in with the floral print, and he didn’t want to imagine what those stains were from.
“We need you to call Neal,” Quinn said as he stood by the living room entryway. “I want to get this over with.”
Cliff shifted his gaze, staring at something on the floor. He scratched his chest and shook his head. “Neal is…uh…ain’t here. You can deal with me directly, and I’ll make sure Mr. Bodega gets his money.”
Quinn started forward. “Are you fucking insane? You want me to give you—”
Hayward pressed his hand into Quinn’s chest, stopping him from advancing. “I just want to be clear,” Hayward said. “We’re paying you fifty grand for a debt you owe Mr. Bodega. Correct?”
Cliff glanced their way. He flinched and nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“And Neal is Mr. Bodega’s collection man. Am I right?”
“What’s with all the questions?” Cliff snapped. “You guys already know all this. Just pay me the money so
I can get rid of my debt.”
Quinn heard the floorboard behind him creak. He looked toward the hallway that led to the back of the house and grimaced when he saw Mr. Bodega walking his way. The guy looked out of place in such a filthy house. His suit was pristine, his hair still as stylish as ever, and his shoes were so polished that Quinn bet he would be able to see his reflection in them.
Quinn moved aside to allow Bodega into the living room. Cliff jumped to his feet and grabbed the shotgun he’d propped against the coffee table. “Who the fuck’re you?”
Mr. Bodega pursed his lips. “You don’t know me?”
The guy appeared regal, unfazed by the weapon pointed directly at him.
“If I knew who you were, I wouldn’t have asked,” Cliff snapped.
Two more guys entered the room. One dropped a dead body at Cliff’s feet. Cliff paled as he backed away. Quinn had no idea who the dead guy was.
“Do you recognize him?” Mr. Bodega nodded toward the floor.
“Neal,” Cliff whispered.
Neal had dirt all over him, like he’d already been buried but had been dug up.
“I have a real problem with anyone who uses my name for their gain,” Mr. Bodega said. “My men saw you bury Neal in your clusterfuck of a backyard. They dug him up just for you.”
Cliff had killed Neal? Quinn wasn’t sure what to think. Just that the body smelled horrendous.
“He shot at my son,” Cliff argued. “He had to be dealt with.”
So Stevie had been right. It had been Neal who’d shot at them that day.
“Because you decided not to pay him for his services?” Mr. Bodega asked.
“That’s irrelevant,” Cliff argued, still clutching the shotgun, but it was now lowered.
Mr. Bodega stepped forward, shoving the weapon from Cliff’s hands. The gun clattered to the floor as Mr. Bodega got right in Cliff’s face. “Neal has never been employed by me. You never owed me a debt. Since you were so adamant about it, now you do owe me. You’ll be in my services until the fifty grand is paid.”
Quinn was stunned. They’d never mentioned how much Cliff was trying to get from them. How did Mr. Bodega know? The guy was one scary son of a bitch.
