Cabin 1

by Amanda McKinney

  I was scared.

  Out of my mind scared.

  My heart thundered, the realization that I was out in the middle of freaking nowhere hit me like a metal bat. I heard the snapping of twigs behind me.

  The bastard was chasing me.

  I pushed harder, faster, gasping for breath as I navigated the uneven terrain, running deeper into the mountains.

  I’d kept running, running, running, switching directions, weaving in and out of the trees like a gazelle attempting to throw off the lion behind her. I’d changed directions, even switched back a few times. Kept running, running, even when the heavy footsteps behind me had faded.

  That lasted for hours—hours—until I finally let myself stop.

  I was left lost, bruised, broken, covered in blood and disgust somewhere in the vast mountains of Berry Springs.

  2

  Gage

  They say the only easy day is yesterday. Fuck that. It had been a year since I’d left the Marines, MARSOC to be exact. One year of late mornings, booze, women, and more women. The life of waking up in the middle of bumfuck nowhere with a seven-inch centipede nibbling on my ball sack moments before a welcoming committee of bullets rained down on me were long gone. One year ago, my life was the mission—I was taught to eat, sleep, drink the mission. Ask questions later. On second thought, don’t ask questions at all. See, I never was good at following orders. That medal of conformity went to my twin brother, Axel. The star Steele. The perfect one. He was always the good twin, the top of his class, the leader of the mission. Me? Nope, I was the screw up. Always pushing the boundaries, never settling for the status quo. Always asking too many questions. Call me crazy—and believe me, some have—but I liked to know who’s eyes I was putting a bullet between. I liked to know why I assassinated the leader of one of the many shitholes in the desert. I liked to know why I bombed a house-full of children, then woke up the next morning to the spin on the news blaming the explosion on the latest and greatest radical group. Missions go right, missions go wrong. Lives saved; lives lost. Hell of a way to live. A mix of chaos and order sure to screw with any man’s head. But all that bullshit was behind me now. All I needed now was a bottle of Jack, a few rounds in the ring with whichever of my brothers dared to go up against K.O.—that was my nickname in the military. Never lost a fight, never let the other asshole remember it. Yep, all I needed now was a good fight followed by a few rounds at the range with my HK416.

  Well, that and a willing blonde with a tight ass and solid southern accent.

  They say the only easy day is yesterday… that night, my plan was to be carried to my bed on the cushion of a nice pair of fake titties and lay like a limp fish while she had her way with me, while I drifted off into oblivion. A place I’d become very familiar with over the last year.

  That night, I drank to forget.

  The universe had other plans for me.

  I flicked my wrist to the bartender, Suzie, who was wearing a low-cut tank-top, that may, or may not, have had a tiny hole at the bottom of her left breast. One-hundred percent cotton rarely held up against a stretch like that. Double D’s if I had to guess, although I’d found myself surprised over the last year. Damn padded bras take the fun out of everything.

  She smiled, a blush coloring her cheeks. I fought the grin back—always nice to know my skills were appreciated. I watched her as she got waylaid by a trio of rough-and-tumble cowboys, a walking cliché in Frank’s Bar, a tavern located on the outskirts of town. I can still remember the first time I snuck through the back door of Frank’s, stole his only bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue, then drank the entire thing while wandering the vast mountains of Berry Springs. Ax found me the next day passed out under a pine tree in a puddle of my own vomit, with a smile on my face. Twin ESP, he called it. I called him my guardian angel. Claimed my pants were down, with a mysterious slime snaking around my body and claw marks on the tree trunk. Don’t take everything Ax says at face value, there’s your advice of the day. Anyway, it was months before I could look at a bottle of anything with pure grain alcohol.

  And months before the rash went away.

  Still don’t know what the fuck got me that night, but I’d sure like to find it again.

  I sat back and watched the cowboys, listened to the boisterous laughter as they ordered another round. PBR, I’d bet my life on it. Based on their Stetsons and cologne to match, I guessed they were out looking to round up some fine country ass. Not much different than I, but based on the empty pitchers in front of them, whoever they conned to take home was in for a jarring disappointment of whiskey dick.

  Whiskey dick never was a problem with me. If anything, the amber liquid gave me powers second only to Zeus. Fuck that, I’d measure against the Greek God any day of the week.

  They ordered a round of tequila shots—shocker—then Suzie settled her attention back on me. My head tilted as she walked over, keeping my eye on that potential peep show. I felt her eyes boring into me, felt that feline smile spreading across her face. She didn’t care that I was staring. She sure as hell didn’t the other night.

  “I’d say ‘take a picture, it’ll last longer’, but this isn’t a nineties rom com.”

  Yep. Tiny hole. Red lace bra.

  Nice.

  I shifted in my seat, feeling a zing of primal lust. My goal that night was to drink to forget… only after a roll in the sack with that red bra. I tore my eyes away from the watermelons in front of me, and met her chocolate brown ones with a wink. “Rom com, huh? I was thinking about another kind of film…”

  Those eyes sparkled as she leaned in on her forearms, her breasts plumping up like hot air balloons. “Was thinking the same thing, sugar. I get off in two hours—”

  “Ah, Suz, good to see you.”

  My impending boner was crushed by the bear-claw squeeze on my shoulder. I turned to see my older brother, Phoenix—Feen for short—and his icy expression lacing into my temptation of the evening. Stay the hell away from my brother, he might as well have said out loud.

  Suzie recoiled like a whipped dog. Phoenix tended to have that effect on women. Then again, we all did if the mood struck us. Six-foot-three former special-ops Marines trained in lethal combat had that tendency on people.

  She straightened, turned back to me, her boobs falling back in place—dammit. “Another whiskey?” The sparkle in those eyes long gone.

  “Yep, and Hulk here will take one too.” I slid Feen the side-eye. “Make his a double.” My attention was pulled to another ring of drunken laughter from the end of the bar. “Who are those guys?”

  Suzie rolled her eyes. “Don’t know two of them, but the big one’s Butch. Regular here. Big hunter. Rowdy, rude, with the temper of a rattlesnake. Asshole.”

  “So you’re saying you two dated.” I winked.

  She snorted. “Not on your life. I’ll get those drinks.”

  Suzie walked away and Feen shifted his fuck-you expression to the trucker next to me. Six feet, solid muscle, with a Ruger hidden under his oversized flannel shirt. I couldn’t fight the small grin that crossed my lips when the redneck grabbed his beer and slid out of his seat—as if he was about to leave anyway. Yeah right. Like I said, Feen had that effect on people.

  Feen settled in next to me. I focused on the mirrored back wall lined with liquor bottles.

  “How long you been here?” He asked.

  I glanced at my watch, fighting the angel-devil thing. It was already nine o’clock… or was it ten?

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  Angel it is, then. “Since seven.”

  Suzie delivered the drinks ice-cold, and ice-cold, confirming that my brother blew any chance I had of swinging from that red lace bra later that night.

  I threw back my drink.

  Feen wrapped his hands around his, focusing on the amber liquid as if it were a crystal ball. Similarly, I settled my gaze on the sparkling liquor bottles as if they were my savior.

  A heavy minute passed with each of us avoiding
the elephant in the room, as we all had done so exquisitely the last year.

  The over-protective oldest Steele brother caved first.

  “How you doin’?” He sipped.

  I kept my eyes on the whiskey bottle with the blue label, willing it to magically refill my shot glass. No luck.

  “Fine,” I said, knowing he didn’t believe it.

  “Heard you out at the range this afternoon.”

  I cocked my brow and looked at him, waiting for…

  “Then, I picked up the empty beer cans and whiskey bottle in your room.”

  There it was.

  I shook my head. Feen was predictable if nothing else.

  “Listen, give me a break, alright? I don’t have a client right now…” And it was the one fucking year anniversary of Dad’s death, you asswipe.

  Feen sipped his drink, knowing he’d ruffled my feathers, and that was his intention. Nag me enough to where I’d finally bend over and say, ‘fine, I’ll quit drinking.’

  I waited for him to go in hard, instead, he switched subjects on me.

  “Jagg sent us a mother and kid today. The dad beat them up. Beat them both up. Guy got out on bail, and Jagg brought them to us.”

  Jagg was the nickname we’d given our buddy and military brother, Max Jagger, a former Navy SEAL turned detective for the state criminal investigations division. A good friend to have when you ran a private security business.

  Feen continued, “I’m having Celeste set them up with fake identities, the whole nine yards. They’ll be with us at least a few days.”

  “Are you giving them to me?” A flicker of excitement sent my spine straightening. Finally something to do. It hadn’t been lost on me that the unofficial CEO of our family business had been tossing me a bunch of busy work the last few weeks.

  Feen slowly turned his sweating glass around in his hands. My stomach got that nervous twinge as I searched his face, awaiting whatever the hell he was about to lay down on me. I knew that look. I knew it well.

  “It’s been a year, brother,” he said. “You’ve had your time to process. It’s enough.”

  “What’s enough, exactly?”

  “The drinking. The girls. Shit, Gage, we run a private security firm for Christ’s sake. You’ve got Celeste working overtime vetting every woman you bring through the back door—”

  “Back door’s the best—”

  “Quit it, Gage, I’m serious. And I’m sick of wanting a drink at the end of the day, and all the fucking booze has been lapped up. It’s enough, Gage.”

  The heat rose to my neck. You’re too defensive, Gage, too hotheaded for your own good, my Dad’s words echoed in my ear. Dad might’ve been right, and hell, Phoenix might have been right, but I decide. I made the decisions in my life. I decided my own missions.

  So what did I do then? Raised my hand and ordered another round. In his face.

  “I might need to lay off the booze, Feen, but you need to relax the fuck up. Maybe a few nights with a few women is what you need. A few at the same time, even. Ever tried that? Forget the back door…” Suzie delivered my drink and I took a sip. “When was the last time you even talked to what’s-her-name? That red-haired waitress from Donny’s.”

  “Amber.”

  “Of course.”

  “Eleven months.”

  I spit my whiskey on the table, earning a few glances from across the room. Like I gave a shit.

  “Don’t tell me it’s been that long since you’ve had sex.”

  “We all deal with shit differently. Besides, you’ve been having enough sex for all of us, Gage.”

  Anger, defensiveness, whatever, grabbed me around the neck. I snapped back. “I’m the first one up at the compound, doing a perimeter check. Drunk or not. I handle my business, Feen. It’s not like I’m out blowing our billion dollar inheritance. Like I’d like to be, honestly. So what if I like booze and women?” I lifted my open palms. “Just trying to spread some love in the fucking shadow of darkness that lingers around the place.”

  “You writing a poem?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You’re going to be spreading a lot more if you’re not careful.”

  “I’m always careful.”

  Feen nodded, a grin cracking his face. “True, I guess. Celeste has started recycling your condom wrappers.”

  I laughed.

  Feen blew out a breath and took another sip, a deep sip, and I watched his shoulders start to relax. He continued, “Anyway, you’re not getting the family with the abusive dad. I’m giving them to Gunner. You’re going to clean your shit up before you get another client, got it?”

  “That’s bullshit, Feen.”

  “Listen, Gage, I have no doubt in my mind you could take the family on, and we wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. We handle our business, that’s what we do. Always have. Something else we do? Call each other out. Watch out for each other. That’s what families do. I’ll be damned if I watch you drink your life away because of something we can’t control. There, I’m calling you out. And I’m going to make sure it’s taken care of.”

  “Fine. Less women.”

  “Less booze, Gage.”

  “Now, that’s just asking too much.” I smiled in an attempt to lighten the damn mood. Feen wasn’t entertained, so I continued, “I’ve handled Dad’s death with booze. You? You’ve turned into a neurotic, paranoid shitshow, you know that?”

  “Someone has to run the business.”

  “I’ve told you… hell, we’ve all told you, you don’t have to carry it all. You have three other brothers, Feen. We can split up the workload. Just because you’re the first born doesn’t mean you have to take over everything.”

  He lifted his hand and wagged his fingers. “Well, let’s see, then… which of my brothers can handle it? Let’s see how we’ve all changed since we got that damn call…” He lifted one finger, “You? You’re a womanizing drunk. Ax? Guy’s pretty much disappeared. Become a freaking hermit. And Gunner? That ball of pent up rage spends every second down at the range target shooting.”

  All true. All four of us had left the military to pick up the pieces when our Dad died. In an instant, we had more money than we could spend in ten lifetimes and also became owners of one of the top private security firms in the country, with employees and clients all over the world. In an instant, four guys who could handle anything on the battlefield, turned into a cluster fuck of messes, trying to adapt to their new lives.

  Running a damn business.

  I sighed. “What about Dallas?”

  “She does her part. Hell, she’s running the estates, handling the personnel… she’s doing more than her part. I’m not going to ask her to take on more with the business. You know Dad, anyway, he always let her do her own thing.”

  “She wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Feen snorted. Dallas, our stepmom of fifteen years, once the wife of a billionaire, now a grieving widow.

  Suzie sauntered back by. We watched her coolly. I was no longer interested in that hole in her shirt. Feen was a buzz kill like no other. After she left, Feen leaned in.

  “You’re always after the damsel in distress, Gage.”

  “What about that,” I nodded to the soaring peaks under Suzie’s shirt, “says damsel in distress?”

  “I mean, you’re always after the girls who need something, who’re looking for someone, or someone to take care of them. You need to meet someone who challenges you. Someone who has their own life, their own thing.”

  I watched our bartender counting her tips before stuffing them into her ripped pocket. Once word had gotten out that we’d inherited our Dad’s money, getting ass became as easy as taking a piss. Not that it was difficult before, but, overnight, the Steele brothers became the hottest thing to hit the South since sweet tea and Aquanet.

  Yet again, Feen was right, but I didn’t give a damn. Or maybe I just didn’t want to hear it. Truth was, I’d never found a woman that truly challenged me. I’m a tou
gh guy to challenge. I’m demanding, brash, self-centered, and impatient. Hell, I hate myself ninety percent of the time.

  “You’re just like Dad.” Feen said, knocking me from my self-loathing. “He married Mom when she was sick. Took care of her until the day she died.”

  A lump caught my throat. Our Mom died when I was a toddler, but even then, my memories of her were so vivid that, at times, I felt like I could reach out and touch her. Hold her, ask her to take care of me. To change me.

  I changed the subject.

  “Anyway, I’m just saying… you could handle shit better if you tried to relax. Take some time off or something.”

  A moment ticked by. “Fine. I’ll work on relaxing, as long as you suck less on the bottle—”

  Just then… “I’d like to suck on that bottle.”

  I recognized the voice, because it sounded exactly like my own. Feen and I turned to see Ax striding through the bar, eyeing the headlining entertainment—Suzie’s breasts. A witty comment to distract from the pain of the evening. It was in his eyes, it was in Feen’s. And mine, too… before the whiskey kicked in, of course. I came to the bar to forget… and where one went, all went.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Work?”

  “If by work you mean sitting outside Remy’s cabin until the old bastard fell asleep, yeah. Work.”

  Remy Cotter, a retired Lieutenant Colonel with the Marines, was certain the ghosts of his Desert Storm days had jumped ship to the US to come back and kill him. Slit his throat, to be exact. So, he’d called us up one night and within six hours he’d lugged four boxes of canned sardines, three cases of Busch heavy, and three Ziplock bags of pills to the compound. Ten minutes later, we’d called in the local psychiatrist, Dr. Murray, who, to no one’s surprise diagnosed Remy with a mild case of schizophrenia. The pills went down the can, and two new bottles were brought in. According to the doctor, Remy should be straightened out in a week. Axel caught the case, unaware that part of it would be providing a security blanket every night until Remy fell asleep.