Phoebe: Book One of Broken Girls Series

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  At Marty’s behavior, though, maybe it was time to find out.

  He had the resources and, even if he didn’t, he could ask Max or Cruz for help.

  *.*.*.*.*

  Ryker stormed into the BI building, only giving a sharp nod to DB Milkins behind the sleek black desk across from the elevators on the first floor. A desk adorned with nothing more than a monitor, keyboard and phone. And one lone hot-pink daisy kind of thing shoved into a delicate vase.

  That day she’d done herself up in a gray and pink, the theme of gray jacket, pink top, topped with a scarf combining both colors that hitting his eyes in such a way, Ryker squinted. It might have been because the pattern on the scarf was (there was no mistaking it), camouflage. And to his knowledge, there was no place on earth colored in shades of pink and gray.

  She was the first person he greeted at the start of every work-day and was usually the last person he saw at the end of his shift.

  “Morning.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Ryker,” came the professional reply, as she reached for the handset of the phone, milliseconds after it rang. “Black Ice Investigations, how can I help you?”

  Ryker willed the elevator to come and take him away from DB’s dubious verbal charms, all given in nothing more than the velvet of her voice. A voice more suited to an 877 number than the receptionist for a security company. More than one customer had complained since she’d been hired, that they’d been seduced in selecting BI as their protection and security firm of choice because of Daisybelle’s more than adequate (read: hot) phone skills. Only to find their sexual fantasy of the person behind the voice a far cry from the reality of DB in the flesh.

  Which wasn’t to slam the fifty-something, former marine’s physique or her skills in the workplace, ones Ryker knew were more than adequate. As Max stated on many occasions, “Dunno what we did to deserve her, but our DB was a god-send.” Neither Ryker nor Cruz disagreed, knowing the grandmotherly woman of the sultry voice was the oil of the machine behind all things Black Ice.

  But after his run-in with his former bud, Marty, his ‘tude was foul. There’d just been the edge of something in what the other man said, or not disclosed but alluded to, that kept the brief conversation repeating itself again and again in his head. That slyly given rim of info needled Ryker like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

  What had Marty meant about Keith screwing the both of them over?

  In the short time it took for the elevator to glide between floors, Ryker again considered what Marty had said. Words that chaffed, rubbing him the wrong way as he stormed toward his office, the black leather backpack slung over one shoulder bumping against his hip.

  Another item that pissed him right the fuck off because it held nothing more than the lunch his mom prepared for him.

  His mom.

  Prepared for him.

  Not files to take home he could review and notate on after searching the internet, using his skills to uncover what needed to be uncovered and within a contractually enforced timeline.

  All because his ma’s place didn’t have internet.

  Or Wi-Fi.

  Not even a motherfucking laptop, much less the kind of gear he needed to work in the quiet of where he found himself at the end of his day until Phoebe got off work. A location that needed to change at the first available moment.

  He had the green to afford to move out. It was just he didn’t have the time to look—not between work and being with his girl every moment he possibly could.

  It was unfortunate Cruz was just leaving Max’s office when Ryker stomped across the large area of carpet in front of their offices. The ones now holding a handful of partially constructed cubicles which Max said were for their ‘admin staff’.

  “Yo’ bro’,” Cruz called and Ryker directed his narrowed gaze to his middle brother while never losing a step in the aim of the door to his office. The one marked, ‘Ryker Santiago-Adams, Head of Investigations and Systems’.

  It was a good title, a kick-ass, awesome one if he was being honest. But that morning, Ryker wasn’t feeling good.

  Or honest.

  He was raw.

  “Why the fuck doesn’t Ma have the internet?” His bellowed question in the cavernous, but luckily, empty space, devoid of any other bodies except for his and Cruz’s could’ve been counted as cool, except for the harshness of his tone. But Ryker could’ve cared less if the space was filled with outsiders, those hired to simply complete a job. “And why the hell doesn’t she fucking have any computers in the house?”

  Cruz jerked to a stop and stared at him, his mouth moving into a thin line as his hands went to the pockets of his trousers. “Ry…”

  Peripherally, he noted Max quickly made his presence known, filling the doorway of the corner office in CEO territory, but Ryker didn’t give a fuck. If an audience was needed for this, then so be it.

  His eyes remained on Cruz, who swiveled to look at Max before bringing his gaze back to Ryker. “Bro’…”

  Since Cruz didn’t immediately answer, providing the information Ryker wanted, no, fucking required, his eyes went to his oldest brother only to see the other man’s face creased in a frown. “Talk to me, Max. Why doesn’t Ma have the internet at her house?”

  Truth be told, the shadow in Max’s eyes gave it away, exposing a darkness that caused Ryker’s fervent stride to thunder into a knee-locked stop, ripping him up from the inside out, before his brother ever opened his mouth. “Because we didn’t know if you could keep the genie in the bottle.”

  Seconds passed, although it might have been an hour with all the thoughts beating within Ryker as he struggled to process the lone sentence, the finality of his oldest brother’s edict. An utterance that didn’t mean diddly-squat in the whole of everything churning within him. “What fucking genie?

  Max’s sharp gaze, trained to his younger brother softened. “We didn’t know how you would react. What you would do.”

  “By having access to the internet, you mean?” Ryker hoped his voice held all conflicting emotions he was feeling—both the rage, guilt and the sorrow. To not have either of his brother’s trust, wrenched his mood from ‘angry’ to ‘furious’.

  Max didn’t pretend to misunderstand, but only nodded in reply.

  “Because we only have a sliver of an idea of what you can do, esse.” It was Cruz who answered him and Ryker swung his gaze to search his brother’s face, dropping his head in acceptance, in acknowledgement, knowing the man spoke the truth.

  Neither Cruz nor Max understood or even wanted to know the intricacies of the internet, of how far a man could delve in order to glean the info and bring another person, a group or even a department of the fucking government, low. Although, through it all, Ryker never thought of himself as the bad guy, one to be afraid of, since what he did while online came so easily to him. “I did stuff, true—“

  But Cruz shut him down. “And exposed our family to the Feds.”

  Ryker’s mouth shut with an audible click at his brother’s rebuke in the empty space of room.

  He’d never been privy to what everyone went through after he’d been exposed, arrested and incarcerated. He’d been young, caught up in his own fears, of what was gonna happen to him never once thinking of what anyone else was experiencing.

  Maybe it was time his brothers revealed all it, since they knew more than he did. Especially when it came to his mother. “What went down? With Mom.”

  It felt weird, watching Cruz’s eyes slink away, drifting to a corner of the huge space instead of looking at him directly. Shifting his look to his older brother, Ryker saw Max’s eyes were looking everywhere but at him. Their avoidance, their hesitancy in answering told him more than he needed to know.

  So he gripped the strap across his chest tighter as he forced his legs towards the office he’d been assigned. “Right.”

  “Ry…” Max called after him, but Ryker was done and said so by throwing the door to his office closed with a satisfying slam that not only ec
hoed within the room but also echoed in the vastness of the unoccupied space of the outer office.

  He only wished the fucking door had a lock.

  Unslinging the bag from over his chest, he threw it to the side, grateful for the sound the satchel made as it slammed against the mini-blinds covering the large window leading to the outside world. He rounded the desk, one not as large as Max’s but still big, his finger hitting the power button of the computer as he dropped into his chair.

  “Goddamn, motherfucking hell,” he whispered through clenched teeth, trying to ignore all shit screaming in his brain as he angled his elbows onto the desktop, fingers covering his eyes.

  But he only got a few moments before a sharp double-tap on the door heralded Max’s entry. One he felt but didn’t see, keeping his hands to his face as he heard his large brother drop into one of the hither-to unused chairs across from his desk. At the whoosh of the other seat, Ryker figured Cruz had joined Max in the invasion of his office.

  “What brought this on?”

  He didn’t remove the hands from his face. “I wanna know what went down after I was arrested, what happened at my trial and the all that happened to Ma, Marty and Keith.”

  “Fuck,” Cruz whispered, the seat he sat in signaled a soft creak as he shifted his position.

  A body disconnected from one of his chairs, but Ryker still didn’t uncover his eyes, preferring to remain sightless, hopefully hidden from all the emotional drama that filled the room. Drama he’d started.

  More than a few seconds later, the desktop his elbows were propped against jumped as something heavy hit the top.

  “Here’s the files,” Max started. “The notes of your arrest, your meetings with your attorney and the court records, including all the depositions.”

  Peeling his hands from his face, Ryker blinked in order to focus on the thick manila folders resting there. Files that were a fucking lot more than just three but each of them was more than two inches thick.

  “Ma didn’t want you to have to fight temptation when you were released,” Max murmured, his eyes on the thick manila folders. “So she made sure the house had no computer or internet before you came home.”

  Fuck, seriously?

  “She has it on her new phone, though,” Cruz continued into the silence Ryker allowed as his eyes continued to take in the slew of legal folders on his desk. “So she doesn’t miss out communicating with her girls. She just goes to Buxby’s or any of the other places in town that offer free Wi-Fi in order to stay in touch.”

  Ryker felt the burn of his brother’s words tear through him taking him to a whole new level of guilt over how his mother had rearranged her life, her contacts in order to protect him from the demons she thought had destroyed his young life. Of the siren-like lure the internet provided to a man like him, of its disclosures, its truths and worst of all, it’s easily found secrets.

  “You wanna summation or just read through every line of this shit?” Max’s hard tone disclosed a myriad of emotions; exposing his brother held a similar vulnerability Ryker felt inside. “I’ll give it to you, no matter what form you need.”

  The youngest of them looked to the man who’d always be his brother, but who had stepped up to take on another role in his life, a significant place probably much too large despite the four years separating them. Ryker swallowed, never letting go of Max’s eyes as he thought, then determined his choice. “Summation.”

  “Fuck me,” Cruz muttered, shifting his ass lower in his chair, and dragged a hand through his hair, unsettling it’s carefully coiffed layers.

  Max sat down, crossing his arms over his chest as he raised an ankle to drape over his other knee. “There was a Fed-based, fifty thousand dollar reward for any intel leading to info in order to arrest you and your buddies.”

  Ryker blinked deeply. The younger side of him was overjoyed at the huge amount, but the man he’d grown to be wasn’t at all surprised someone availed themselves of the temptation of it.

  “Keith was the one who turned you and Marty in.”

  Da fuck?

  Ryker dropped his eyes to the file folders littering his desktop trying to make sense of what Max said. How could a guy so embroiled in the three-some’s vigilante efforts to enact justice within the Welfare system, turn them in for a fucking reward?

  “And they played him, bro’. Fed him stuff, kept him on the line knowing full well he was one of the players even when he was mentally counting on the cash that never came.”

  Ryker’s mind reeled.

  Keith.

  His best friend since fourth grade. The guy he’d considered a ‘brother’ growing up, their similar interests and outlook creating a bond he didn’t have with Cruz or Max.

  Keith was the one who turned him in. Had fingered both Marty and Ryker even as the red-haired, scare-crow of a boy thought to obtain fifty-thousand in cash the government offered just by ratting out his buds.

  “Marty got four years,” Cruz growled. “Did his time in Oregon, then Nevada.”

  Marty had only been sixteen, a year behind both Ryker and Keith in school.

  Silence reigned as Ryker remembered certain portions of his trial, the horrifying drone of the district attorney’s questions blending with the old man his mother hired to protect him. A memory of their voices only a faded noise in light of what Max disclosed.

  Fucking Keith.

  “You got seven years, but only because Keith made them believe the code to freeze the system was all your idea,” Max continued in a voice devoid of any emotion.

  “And Marty only got four?”

  “Yep,” came the flat reply. “His attorney, some young, hot-shot dude from New Mexico who knew the score was able to successfully argue the code was in your signature.”

  Of course it was, since Marty didn’t have Ryker’s skills.

  He swallowed hard, pushing back the bile that filled his mouth. “What did Keith get?”

  “Dude, you don’t wanna go there,” Cruz announced quickly, cutting into the vibe rolling off Max in waves.

  More than a few seconds passed.

  “What about Keith?” Ryker repeated his voice harsh, so fucking harsh it hurt his throat.

  “Two,” Max admitted. “Only two in a minimum juvenile facility.”

  Ryker closed his eyes and allowed the information to sink in.

  While he’d been in a hard-core juvenile facility, made up of under-aged rapists, boys who tortured animals or assaulted family members due to all the shit in their heads, Keith had skated away. Glided into a sweeter deal where he had eight hours of camaraderie with his fellow inmates while Ryker had been afforded just one. Better food, a single room when Ryker’d dealt with two other crazy motherfuckers sharing his cell and guards who wanted to claim his ass as their bitch even more than his cellmates did.

  “You said he didn’t get the reward?”

  When Max didn’t answer, Ryker chanced a glance up never knowing the hurt of Keith’s betrayal shone out in his face. “Fuck, no.”

  It was Cruz who supplied the rest of it. “The Feds were on it. Knew who did what, and when, by working the different angles. It didn’t take them long to figure out he was a part of it, the greedy fuck.” His voice was only a whisper as he went on. “But because he turned, took the deal, he got the lightest sentence of you three.”

  Ryker nodded as his eyes dropped to the files on his desk as he added the new intel to his old memories. “And Ma?”

  His eyes rose to shift between the two men opposite his desk, but when both their gazes shot away, looking to the corners of his unadorned office, he got it.

  Completely understood before either of them spoke.

  “Got a second mortgage to pay the court fees and the attorney,” Max confessed something Ryker already knew.

  “BI makes those payments.” Cruz, unlike the oldest of the three, wouldn’t meet Ryker’s eyes. “Due to talk, of the crap the women in the barrio delighted in saying to Ma’s face on what went down, she to
ok an early retirement from tia Maricella’s salon.”

  “She didn’t take shit, Cruz! Maricella made her leave. Said having Mom at the shop was causing her to lose business.” Max growled and shoved himself upward, hands so heavy on the arms of chair, the wood protested. He stomped to the large window that overlooked the parking lot and the back of another warehouse. “It was bullshit then and it’s bullshit now!”

  Ryker and Cruz shared a stare across the stacks of folders.

  Max’s explanation helped more than a few puzzle pieces fall into place regarding the way his madre studiously avoided Maricella while they were in New Mexico.

  “What about Angelina?”

  Max and Cruz exchanged a look as they both grinned.

  “She thinks BI is a fucking cartel, some kind of a Mexican-American mafia or some such,” Cruz drawled on a chuckle. “You joining the company only helped cement her opinion.”

  Christ!

  He needed to do something to make everything right, to put everything back to the way it was before he’d been arrested, put on trial and incarcerated. “Would it help if I moved out?”

  Both of his brother’s faces swung to him wearing identical frowns so fierce, he raced to clarify his intentions.

  “I mean, I’ve been thinking about it anyway since I can finally afford it,” he began. “That way, Ma won’t think I’m being tempted by the Diablo of the internet and can reconnect—”

  “Oh fuck to the no,” Max ground out between clenched teeth.

  Cruz shook his head and sighed. “Whether you’re there or someplace else ain’t gonna repair shit within the family, bro’. Not to be harsh or anything, but that fucking ship already sailed.”

  “But if I had my own place, I could work on the backlog from home in my time off,” Ryker argued. “You’ve both been on my ass to catch up on all the contracts, but I can only spend so many hours stuck in this office. Having my own place and equipment would allow me to—”

  “Get into trouble.” The fury in Max’s voice was hard to miss.

  “Seriously? Didn’t we already discuss this? Or was all that shit about me paying my fucking debt to society nothing but you blowing sunshine up my pinche culo?”