Slashes in the Snow : A Baum Squad novel

by M. Never

  He protests with an irritated groan, hugging the pillow tighter to his face.

  “Ky, I’m going to be late.” I shake his leg harder this time.

  “Then leave. No one is stopping you.”

  I jerk my head back. Is he being fucking serious right now?

  “Ky.” I use all my might to roll him off the couch and onto the floor. He falls with a thud, then a “What the fuck!”

  “I said get up. I’m going to be late.”

  He glares up at me from the floor, his blue irises shining in the bright sunlight, and his scar pronounced across his left eye. Even with the bedhead and ticked-off expression, he’s gloriously sexy, not to mention dangerously intimidating.

  “You better watch it, Snow. I’m not some fucking boytoy you can boss around.” He pushes himself up onto his feet, clearly in no rush to go anywhere. He yawns, stretching his arms over his head like a lazy housecat. I try not to, but I sneak a peek of his inked abs.

  “You can look.” Ky catches me. “You can even touch if you want.” He pulls his T-shirt all the way up, exposing his ripped, tattooed torso. He’s obnoxiously proud of his midsection. Spare me.

  I just roll my eyes and walk away, grabbing my book bag from one of the bar stools at the kitchen island.

  “No touching, then?” he calls.

  “Nope,” I confirm and walk straight out of the front door. I am seriously second-guessing my decision to ask for his help. My wellbeing seems to be the last thing on his mind — fucking me the first. I keep trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. The person inside acts nothing like the way Gerard described him. Don’t misunderstand, I wasn’t banking on a knight in shining armor or anything, but I was at least expecting a civilized human being. No such luck. Maybe that’s what I get for enlisting the help of a man I know nothing about who lives in a world completely foreign to me.

  I know what he sees — poor, entitled, little rich girl who can’t fend for herself. Who’s a damsel in distress. I must look so pathetic to him, but little does he know how much my mother and I have suffered through to get where we are. More money does not mean less problems. It does not erase emotional suffering, and it does not magically heal the past.

  Trust me, I wish it did. I would throw cargo loads away if it could fix all the damage done from my childhood.

  No, I’m not a damsel, but I am in distress. And as much as I hate to admit it, I need Ky. Bad attitude and all. If I could survive my abusive father and live through my parents’ nasty divorce, I can tolerate Gerard’s surly son. My stepbrother. The one who hates me and wants to fuck me all at the same time. As if life could get any stranger.

  Of course, Ky keeps me waiting. I’m going to be late. I hate being late.

  I pace the front yard, awaiting his . . . appearance. One more minute and I am going to rip him out of the house by his blond, bedhead hair.

  The black motorcycle parked on the pebbly drive distracts me. I want to knock it over. I remember all the lessons Gerard taught me about bikes. Number one rule, don’t mess with the kickstand. I nudge it a bit with my toe. How pissed would Ky be if I just . . .?

  “Snow, back away from the bike,” he bites from behind me.

  So pissed.

  “I needed to do something to occupy my time.”

  “I can give you a laundry list of things to occupy your time. Messing with my bike is definitely not one of them.”

  “I don’t like to be late.” I cross my arms hotly.

  “I don’t really care.” He throws his leg over the seat. “Get on.”

  “I need a helmet.” I’m obstinate just because I can be.

  Ky picks up the one dangling on his handlebar. “Problem solved.”

  I take it reluctantly. “What about your helmet?”

  “I don’t need one.” He starts the bike, pulls out a pair of dark black sunglasses from a little secret compartment, and waits.

  I’m no stranger to motorcycles. Gerard has a freakin’ collection in the garage, and I’ve ridden every one of them with him. I hop on the back and slide my hands around Ky’s waist. I instantly feel the heat of his body as soon my chest presses against his back. I won’t lie; I don’t hate it.

  “Not your first time, huh?” Ky talks trash.

  “Nope.” I hug him tighter, completely confident. When Gerard came into our lives, so did the motorcycle way. I lost count how many times we’ve ridden up and down the coast.

  “There’s a coffee shop on the way. Do you mind if we stop?” I chirp.

  “Yes,” Ky is blunt.

  “C’mon, I need caffeine to be on my A-game.” I rub my body against his, sweet and seductively all at the same time. I play dirty, I know.

  I can feel the tension in Ky’s muscles as he responds to my request. Glancing back at me, he sneers, “Fine. We wouldn’t want you flunking out of school on account of caffeine withdrawal.”

  “That would be bad,” I agree.

  Ky pops the clutch, and we pull away.

  The drive to Pepperdine is a peaceful, scenic drive down the Pacific Coast Highway. The line at Bradlee’s, not so much. There is a monster of a wait.

  “Are you fucking serious?” Ky rips off his sunglasses. “It’s going to take you an hour to get coffee.”

  “I know.” I slide off the bike. “That’s why I wanted to leave early, so there was enough time before class.” I smile condescendingly.

  Ky is not amused. “I can get you the same fucking shit at Starbucks and not lose a year of my life.”

  “No way. This is one of only three places in all of LA that I can get a lavender latte. A year of your life is worth it.”

  “Fucking Christ,” Ky gripes.

  “Not so much a morning person, huh?”

  “No. Not when I have to go traipsing all over Cali for a fucking lavender latte.” He makes a puke face.

  “It’s delicious, I promise. I’ll get you one.”

  “Please don’t.”

  I shake my ass all the way into Bradlee’s just because I know Ky is watching. I swear, our relationship would be so much more amicable if he wasn’t such an ornery prick.

  It does take forever to get coffee, and I can spy Ky through the front window becoming more frustrated by the second. He sticks out like a sore thumb, trapped on the curb as hordes of young college students come and go.

  When I finally emerge from the coffee shop, Ky looks like he’s about to bust a blood vessel. Malibu is so not the biker’s scene.

  “How exactly are you going to manage that?” he asks as I clutch my coffee and climb back onto the bike.

  “I can hold on with one hand. My building is just up the hill. I got skills like that.”

  Ky snorts. “Dear Jesus, save me. The girl has skills. If you spill one drop of that on me, I’ll make you walk.”

  “No, you won’t.” I click the helmet back into place one-handed. “See? Skills.”

  “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a cocky little shit?”

  “But I’m hot, right?” I echo his earlier statement.

  Ky thins his eyes at me but doesn’t humor me with a response. I totally get under his skin. He slides his dark Oakleys back onto his face, and we take off.

  When we pull up to the entrance of the Graziadio Business School, all eyes are on us. The Harley is flashy and loud, just like the man who’s driving it. I don’t mind the attention, though. Secretly, I think it’s kind of cool, and hopefully it sends a message if anyone is watching. I’m not alone anymore. And this guy is kind of a badass. Beware.

  “What time do I need to be back?” Ky asks, crossing his arms aloofly, the bike idle.

  “I have a four-hour class, then lunch, then another study group this afternoon,” I rattle off my schedule as I slide off the bike, hand him the helmet, and sip my latte. All in that order. “So around 5?”

  “Around 5?” Ky drawls.

  “4:30ish? I’m not exactly sure how long study group will run.” I wince cutely, hoping that a little sugar will sweeten
his mood.

  Ky slips his sunglasses down his nose so only a fraction of his scar and icy-blue eyes peek out. I can’t tell if my tactic worked.

  “Just give me a half-hour warning, and I’ll be here.”

  “Done.” I nod. That seems fair. “I gotta go.” I take a step back, but Ky reaches for my arm. “Text me all your dad’s info, too. And the names of anyone else you think I should look into.”

  “I will,” I answer, slightly distracted from Ky’s touch. It’s firm, but not awkward or unwanted. It’s almost nice. He doesn’t seem to be inclined to pull away either. Instead, he rubs his thumb across my forearm gently. It's a bizarre encounter. One I find myself liking. One that makes my heart beat a little faster and makes my knees feel a little weaker.

  “Have a good class.” He finally removes his hand.

  “I will.” I grin subtly, placing my palm right over the place he was touching me. My skin left tingling and warm.

  “Later, Snow.” Ky twists the throttle, and the bike roars. Then he pulls away, making as loud and flashy of an exit as he did an entrance.

  On a scale of one to ten, how wrong is it to crush on your stepbrother?

  6

  Ky

  I TEXT: My place. One hour.

  Hawk responds: B there prez.

  I DRY my hair as I walk around my apartment buck naked. I needed a shower, and I needed to jerk off. Both needs have been satisfied. Spending all goddamn night at Kira’s with her wearing those tight little shorts, then having her purposely rub up against me all sexy-like on the back of my bike? She was driving me right to the verge of insanity. I have never been more hard up for a woman than I am for her. It’s a fucking disease, I tell ya.

  I find a pair of clean boxer briefs just as my doorbell rings. Hawk, right on time. The man is never late.

  “It’s open,” I yell and he lets himself in. We greet in my living room him with a hand clasp.

  “What’s up, Prez? You rang, I’m here.”

  “Nice to see a friendly face.” I drop down onto the leather couch. My place is nowhere near as fancy, or spacious, or sterile as Kira’s, but it’s home.

  “Where’d you disappear to last night? We were all lookin’ for you.” Hawk claims his own piece of the couch. I’ve known Hunter “Hawkeye” Smith for nearly twelve years. Back then, he had a hard-on to get into the police academy, but a debilitating knee injury kept him from passing the physical. He stumbled into The Lion’s Den one night depressed, thirsty, and hungry for a fight. He definitely found one, too. He got the shit kicked out of him by my father and half his crew, me included. But Hawk had fire. He didn’t go down that easily. And after he was all bloodied up and out of gas, my father offered him a beer and a chance to run with the Squad. He liked his spirit. One thing about my father, he’s an excellent judge of character. He can tell within five minutes of meeting someone if they’re worth your time or not. Hawk was definitely worth our time. He’s proven himself loyal over and over again. I would trust him with my life.

  He also has some special skills that come in very, very handy.

  “I went to see the girl,” I divulge.

  “The high-priced pussy? The one who came into the club yesterday?” He pushes his glasses up his nose. Don’t let the thick, black rims mislead you. Hawk is no nerd, geek, or fool. Crossing him would be like crossing Matt Murdock. Unassuming, but dangerous.

  “That’d be the one,” I confirm.

  “You hit that?”

  “No, not exactly. Not like I wouldn’t, though.”

  “You’d be a fucking fool not to.”

  “She’s a little more complicated.”

  “Complicated how? You catch feelings or something?”

  “No. Nothing like that.” I blow out a hot breath. “She’s Gerard’s stepdaughter.”

  It takes Hawk a second to connect the pieces. “You mean, she's your stepsister?” he quickly realizes.

  “Yeah, that. Stepsister.” Not my favorite label.

  “Well, what’d she want? A family reunion or somethin’?”

  “Not exactly. She’s convinced someone is watching her. She’s totally freaked out, and apparently my father and his new wife are living it up in Paris for some new makeup launch or some shit, and she doesn’t want to be alone.”

  “So she came to you? A man she doesn’t even know?” He sounds suspicious.

  “Says my father talks highly of me. And that she trusts me.” Sounds just as crazy when I say it out loud.

  “You sure she is who she says she is?” Good ol’ Hawk, always lookin’ out.

  “Positive,” I reply sourly. My feelings are a mixed bag of shit when it comes to Kira.

  “So, you’re tellin’ me all this why? As a confidant?”

  “Not so much. I don’t care who knows. I’m just gonna be away from the club for a little while, and I need someone to run things in my absence.”

  “How long is a little while?”

  “A month. She’ll be done with school, then she’ll meet up with her parents” — the word stings like ten-thousand needles stabbing my tongue — “in Paris. Then goodbye, good riddance.” I dust my hands clean.

  “So, what I’m hearing is you’re gonna be spending a lot of time with the high-priced pussy.”

  “It’s lookin’ that way.”

  Hawk considers. “There could be worse ways to spend your time.”

  “Ya think so, huh? You haven't met her.”

  “Maybe one day I’ll get the pleasure.”

  “I highly doubt it.” The last person I want to bring around my guys is Kira. That combo sounds like a bad deal just waiting to go down. We barely get along, Lord knows what’ll happen if we add the six of them to the mix. “I need one more thing.” This is where Hawk’s very special skills come in. “I need you to look into a guy named Dex Kendrick, current address Beverly Hills.”

  “Fancy. Who’s the douche?”

  “Kira’s father. And that’s a very accurate way to describe him, according to her.”

  “On it.”

  Hawk may have never made it to the LAPD, but he is a computer whiz. He works for the city’s IT department now and can hack just about anything on a data network. He’s an invaluable asset to have in your pocket.

  “Anything else, Prez?”

  “That’s it for now.” I drop my head back, resting it on the couch.

  “You look wiped, Slash.”

  “Bro, I am.”

  “Girl giving you a run for your money?”

  “Understatement of the century. She may be hot, but damn, she is a frickin’ pain in the ass.”

  “Ahhh . . .” Hawk punches me in the thigh. “Isn’t that how all great love stories begin?”

  I gaze at him vacantly. “God, I fucking hope not.”

  7

  Kira

  KY SMELLS SO DAMN GOOD.

  He was just as excited to pick me up from school as he was to drop me off, but as soon as I climbed on the back of his bike and wrapped my arms around him, this woodsy, masculine scent overwhelmed me. I shouldn't like sniffing my stepbrother so much, but I do.

  Back at home, all is quiet. Even the alarm is behaving. I checked it all day. I can basically control the entire house from an app on my phone. It’s like having a cockpit in the palm of my hand. Honestly, though, I don’t even know what half these buttons do. Arm, disarm, lock, and unlock is about as far as my knowledgebase can take me.

  My nose has been buried in economics books since we got back. I didn’t even realize the sun had set until Ky made a ruckus in the kitchen around me.

  “I’m makin’ a beer run.” He jingles his keys in his hand.

  Internally, I panic. “Now?”

  “Yeah, now. We’re out, and the game is going to start soon.”

  “Well, can I come?”

  “Snow, I’m going to be gone for ten minutes. You’ll survive.”

  I want to argue, but he’s right. I can handle ten minutes by myself. I’m a big girl, and
what can possibly happen in ten minutes?

  Ky leaves, and my stomach sinks a bit. I’m trying not to be dramatic, but night is always the worst. I hate the spookiness of the dark, and the shadows outside hiding the unknown.

  Since the house is so offset from the highway, and close to the water, only the floodlights and the moon provide any decent kind of light, and trust me when I tell you, it’s not all that much. You can’t see a thing past the pool. It’s just a black abyss rolled out right in front of you.

  I go back to studying. Distraction is good. I try to concentrate on the words in front of me, but they’re blurry. I’m stressing myself out for no good reason. I take a breath. Ten minutes. Ten stupid minutes by myself. Kira, don’t be such a wimp.

  Back to studying.

  I’ve finally calmed myself down enough to comprehend the words in the book. Sentences and paragraphs are finally making sense. Ah, there, not so bad.

  A few quiet moments tick by before a flash of bright light illuminates the room, followed by a sharp, loud crack. I scream. I scream bloody murder and hit the deck, barricading myself behind an island stool.

  Not so calm, not so calm. My heart feels like it's going to punch right out of my chest, and I’m having difficulty catching my breath.

  Then the rain starts pouring down. It just falls right out of the heavens in heavy sheets.

  It barely ever rains in southern California, and thunder and lightning is even more of a phenomenon. A few tears fall from my eyes, induced by the fright. I’m okay; it’s okay, I talk myself off the ledge. I listen to the sound of the rain showering on the roof. It’s such an unusual percussion to me, but beautiful all the same. Lightning flashes once more, brightening the room. I’m surrounded by windows, so it radiates in every direction. The thunder claps loudly again, but I only jump slightly this time. I was prepared. I crawl out from behind the stool and stand. My fear being gradually replaced with curiosity. I’ve never seen lightning so close to the coast before. The lights flicker as I walk across the kitchen to stand by the windows. A blackout would totally suck, but I’m mesmerized by the rain hitting the glass and the bursts of lightning flitting through the house moment by moment.