Harder (Stark Ink Book 1)

by Dahlia West

  There was a scrape on the other end of the phone then Dalton’s voice, louder, asked, “What? When? Did they get anything? You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. They didn’t get anything. But they broke the front door. It’s totaled. I need to replace it.” He paused and glanced at the back door as he approached it. “And I’m thinking a stronger deadbolt for the back door, too. Just in case.”

  There was a pause as Dalton took it all in. Adam waited, preparing himself to be brushed off but still hoping for the best. Then Dalton said, “I’m off in an hour. I’ll head to the store, then to your place.”

  Adam gave a silent sigh of relief. Dalton may have a few problems, but he obviously hadn’t forgotten what family was for. Their beef could wait a few days until this shit was sorted out. “Thanks,” he replied, and really, truly meant it.

  “No problem,” Dalton replied. “They break anything inside?”

  “Nah. Nothing that really needs fixing, anyway.” The frames could be replaced easily. Dalton didn’t need to worry about such shit like that.

  They hung up and Adam headed inside. He ignored the temptation to look at the ruined lobby again. Instead, he trudged straight upstairs and into the shower as though he could wash away all the bullshit that had been slung at him recently. The tightness in his shoulders was stubborn, though, and refused to give way to the hot water. He emerged still stiff—not to mention tired—and took his time drying his hair. He redressed in jeans and an old T-shirt, perfect for construction work. He headed back downstairs to wait for Dalton.

  In the interim, he dialed his phone again and this time Stark Brother the Youngest answered. “Everything okay?” Adam asked Jonah. He considered actually crossing his fingers as he waited for an answer.

  “Yeah,” Jonah replied. “Nothing exciting.”

  Adam could hear the TV in the background. He pictured Pop crashed out on the recliner, staring at the idiot box. Then he surveyed the broken glass on the black and white tile floor of the shop’s lobby and frowned. “Probably a good thing,” he told Jonah.

  “Yeah.”

  “Listen,” Adam said. “I’ll be over to check on you guys in a little bit. Just got a few things to take care of over here.” He paused and considered what to say. “Don’t… don’t open the door for anyone.”

  Jonah snorted. “Am I a latchkey kid now?”

  “Seriously. Just don’t. I don’t want Pop to get agitated.”

  “Okay.”

  Adam felt bad about lying, but the truth would only lead to a lot of questions. Jonah didn’t need to know he’d hit up a biker gang for a loan. His youngest brother appeared to have a good head on his shoulders; well, at least he did now, anyway. Protecting him from the shadier side of Rapid City made the most sense. Jonah wasn’t stupid; he wasn’t likely to open the door to a group of bikers standing on the front porch. But Adam felt better having at least given him some kind of warning.

  He lowered himself to the bottom step, facing the back door of the shop. There would be time to sleep later, he supposed. When I’m dead, he supposed humorlessly. But a break couldn’t hurt. He leaned his head against the banister and closed his eyes. Shop, home, sleep, in that order. All he had to do was get through today and it was all downhill from here. For the most part, anyway.

  His eyes remained closed until he heard the crunch of gravel in the lot. Adam rose and unlocked the door as Dalton pulled up in his heavy-duty Ford and backed it in. It dwarfed the Charger as he parked next to it. The driver’s side door swung open and he hauled himself out. Adam was ashamed to admit he was checking to make sure his younger brother was sober. Dalton lurched out of the truck and his heavy boots hit the gravel. He looked for all the world like a man who had his head on straight. Adam was grateful for that, at least. Dalton moved to the bed and grabbed the latch. “Found a replacement,” he told Adam, opening the gate.

  Adam stepped closer and spied a large rectangle, taped up in cardboard and secured to the truck bed.

  “You sure the other one’s not salvageable?” Dalton asked as he reached instead for a leather tool belt tucked to the side.

  “I’m sure,” Adam replied darkly.

  “Okay, then. Let’s take a look.” Dalton grabbed the tool belt and turned, but stopped suddenly and looked around the parking lot. “Where’s your bike?”

  Adam sighed. “Gone.”

  Dalton’s jaw dropped. “They got your bike, too?”

  “Not exactly,” Adam muttered and held the back door open for his brother.

  Dalton hefted the belt over his shoulder again and shuffled inside. “What do you mean not exactly?” he asked as he followed Adam down the hall. He paused once more as he took in the state of the lobby. “Holy shit.” The glass still sprinkled the floor and the battered frames leaned haphazardly against the wall.

  “Adam,” Dalton said. The single word was a demand for information.

  Adam grimaced. “I had some trouble.”

  “This goes beyond ‘some trouble’,” said Dalton as he eyed the broken front door.

  “Some Buzzards showed up while I was gone.” He gestured to the broken door. “They busted in, tossed the place.”

  Dalton’s eyebrows shot up. “Buzzards? The MC?”

  Adam nodded.

  “What the fuck?”

  “They said I owed them. Still owed them. From before.”

  Dalton frowned. “I thought you paid.”

  “I did,” Adam insisted. “I tried to tell them that, but they had Prior’s ledger and there was ‘Stark’ clear as day. It said I owed another twenty grand.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, D. I don’t know if Prior was going to try and shake me down for more, or if he got it all fucked up or what. All I know is I thought I was free and clear, but then there were four assholes here when I showed up last night, claiming I owed them more cash. I had some saved. Sold the bike for the rest. I’m clear now,” he added darkly. “Supposedly.”

  A heavy silence hung between them until Dalton said, “Adam.”

  Adam sighed. “I just don’t know what happened. He picked up his own hammer off the lobby desk and stalked to the front door. After aligning the claw with one of the nails, he began to pull it free.

  “Adam.”

  The second time, the hitch in Adam’s slightly-younger brother’s voice drew his attention. Adam’s hand tightened reflexively on the hammer. He turned and saw the drawn look on Dalton’s face. A long moment of silence hung between them.

  “No,” Adam said quietly.

  “Adam… I am so sorry.”

  “No,” Adam repeated, louder this time.

  Dalton rubbed his hand along his scruffy face. “I missed some work.”

  Adam gaped at him. “Missed some work? Missed some work? More like ditched some work!”

  Dalton retreated as Adam stepped forward.

  “A shitload of work!”

  Dalton took another step back. “I asked Prior to spot me some cash. For my truck payment.”

  “Fucking hell!”

  “He was cool about it!” Dalton held up his hands. “He said I had time to pay him. I’m not all that close to the deadline. I don’t… I don’t know why they want the money now. Or why they asked you for it. All I said was I knew you’d gone to him for some cash. I never said anything like you’d vouch for me or guarantee my loan. I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Money laundering!” Adam spat.

  Dalton’s brow knitted. “What?”

  “Look around!” Adam shouted. “It’s a cash business and a perfect front. The Buzzards want to set up shop here for laundering their drug money, or whatever it is they do to get flush in this town, which we don’t want to know about or have anything to fucking do with!”

  Dalton stood frozen as Adam’s rage boiled over.

  Hours ago Adam was just like his younger brother, shocked to learn about the Buzzards plan for his place, and feeling equally stupid that he hadn’t foreseen it.

  “Prior said—�
��

  “Prior’s dead!” Adam bellowed.

  Dalton started. “What do you mean dead? What the fuck?”

  “I mean his buddies probably took him to the Badlands and snuffed him! And they found his book and thought your loan was mine! They probably didn’t expect me to pay, Dalton! They probably expected me to say I couldn’t come up with it. They for goddamn sure didn’t expect me to withdraw every fucking dime I have and sell my bike to cover it! They expected me to come crawling, begging for more time, and then they’d smile and say, “Sure, Stark, in the meantime you can help us out with a little something. And the whole fucking time it was you. Your loan! Your bullshit!”

  “I’m sorry!”

  “Yeah, you said that. What the fuck were you thinking?!”

  Dalton’s apologetic look faded as quickly as it had appeared. “Hey! You got into this shit with Prior first!”

  “And I paid it back! I worked my ass off, showed up every day to run this place, busted my balls to pay it back. I didn’t piss it away getting wasted every night.”

  “So, I’m not perfect!” Dalton shot back.

  “Not perfect? Not perfect? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Fuck you! You have everything!” Dalton cried. “Talent, this place!”

  “I built this place!”

  “No I built this place!” Dalton screamed. “With my two hands! When I had two hands!”

  “Stop making excuses!”

  “Stop looking down on me!”

  Adam glared at him. “I’m always going to look down on you. Especially after you’re on the fucking floor!” Adam dropped the hammer and lunged.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Adam looked around the lobby, which was still in shambles, and cursed as he nursed a set of bruised ribs. Dalton was bigger, but Adam was generally meaner, and every fight they’d ever had (Adam could count them all on one hand) had always ended in a draw. He had managed to bruise not only Dalton’s face, but also his ego. Adam still had a broken front door, though. Dalton’s troubles had managed to bring Adam down with him. Adam shuddered to guess who might be next. If he hadn’t cleared the debt, would the Buzzards have gone to the house? Would they have shaken down Pop? What if Ava had been there? He tried not to think about it too hard.

  The sun had set now and Adam was dead on his feet. He surveyed the mess and decided he’d deal with it in daylight. He’d cancel his appointments, hire a contractor for the door, and ignore the fact that money was now headed entirely in the wrong direction at this point. As much as he wanted to trudge upstairs and crawl into bed, he instead locked the back door and drove to the house. The living room lights were on and the place wasn’t on fire. Adam put that in the “win” column tonight, because it was looking pretty sparse these days and he’d take any small victory he could get.

  He pulled up to the curb, killed the Charger’s engine, and hauled himself out of the car. He hadn’t even closed the driver’s side door when he heard shouting. Startled, he looked up at the house. He couldn’t make out the words, but he recognized Pop’s voice. Somewhere a neighbor’s dog barked. As Adam’s boots took to the front lawn, his cellphone started to ring in his pocket. He ignored it and darted up the steps of the porch. He threw himself into the front door and it crashed open. In the living room, Pop had Jonah by the shirt, arm raised, finger jabbing at the kid. It didn’t take a genius to see that the finger was going to turn into a fist at any moment.

  “Get out of here!” Pop shouted.

  “I live here!” Jonah insisted.

  Jonah didn’t appear angry. Adam could tell he was doing his level best to talk the old man down. The kid’s voice was low and reasonable and he was keeping his distance.

  “Adam,” Ava cried as she clutched the cordless house phone. She jabbed at it and his cellphone stopped ringing.

  “Pop?” Adam said loudly.

  The old man turned to him, but didn’t let go of Jonah. “Who is this?” he demanded. “Your friend? Well, he won’t leave! It’s past supper time.”

  “I’m your son,” Jonah argued, startling everyone in the room. Pop because he obviously didn’t recognize the kid and Adam because he’d never actually heard Jonah refer to himself as part of the family before.

  Pop glared at Jonah. “That’s my boy!” he countered, pointing at Adam with his free hand. “And Dalton! Where’s Dalton?”

  No one replied. Pop looked at Ava. “Miriam, where’s Dalton?”

  Ava burst into tears.

  “Dalton’s out, Pop,” Adam answered calmly.

  Pop scowled. “Getting late.”

  “Football,” Adam replied, scrambling for an explanation. “Away game.”

  Pop considered this then nodded to himself.

  “Let go of Jonah, Pop.”

  Pop looked from Adam to Jonah, then let go of his shirt. “Oughta be home!” He stood, glaring at Jonah, waiting for the kid to leave.

  Thinking fast, Adam said, “Let’s go out. You and me, Pop. Huh? I’m starving.”

  Pop’s jaw clenched repeatedly then he finally gave in. “Yeah, okay,” he muttered. He shot Jonah a final dirty look and walked toward the front door. “Your friend—”

  “Dalton’ll take care of it,” Adam assured his father as he closed the front door behind them.

  Pop looked dubious but thankfully didn’t argue.

  Adam led him to the Charger and opened the passenger door. “Where’d you get this?” Pop asked.

  “Borrowed it from a friend.”

  Pop frowned. “Fancy friend.”

  Adam didn’t reply. He shut the door and jogged around to the other side of the car. He slid behind the wheel, cranked the engine, and pulled away from the curb before Pop could change his mind. As Adam headed to the end of the street, he asked, “You want anything, Pop?”

  Pop stared out the tinted window. “I could eat.” They drove in silence for a while before the old man said, “Breaking your mother’s heart.”

  “What’s that?”

  Pop’s tired eyes met Adam’s from across the car’s interior. “She’s worried about you. Worried you won’t be anything.”

  Adam’s jaw twitched and he turned back to the road. “I got my art,” he said quietly.

  Pop snorted. “Art. What good’s that? What’ll that get you?”

  “I’ll open up a shop, maybe,” Adam replied. “A tattoo shop.”

  Pop shook his head. “You should enlist. Grow up. Be a man. Art’s not real work. Won’t put food on the table.”

  Adam’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I want the shop.” He said it not so much to Pop, but to the universe in general, he supposed. Like a prayer, which in light of how things were going, might not be such a terrible idea.

  Pop stared out the window. “Boy, you don’t take anything serious. A tattoo shop is a shit idea.”

  “I don’t think so,” Adam said, reminding himself that Pop was having a bad night. He didn’t mean any of it. He thought Adam was still in high school, for fuck’s sake.

  “You’re not disciplined enough,” Pop warned him. “You’d just lose it.”

  As Pop tucked in to his burger and fries, Adam excused himself and stepped away from the table. Careful to keep the old man in his line of sight, Adam reached into his pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled piece of paper. Calla’s handwriting was a perfect representation of the woman herself, smooth and curvaceous but not too flowery. Looking at it made him miss having her around. His thumb swept over the face of his phone. He wished it were her he was calling.

  It wasn’t until the second ring that he realized it was a bit late in the day to make a call like this. He was about to hang up and wait until tomorrow when he heard a male voice on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry,” Adam said. I wasn’t thinking about how late it was. I got your number from Calla Winslow. She’s my younger sister’s guidance counselor. My name’s Adam Stark.”

  Adam realized he was rambling a bit. He was in unfamiliar territory,
though. Asking for help wasn’t exactly his forte and caring for an aging parent was completely beyond his experience. It felt a bit like being lost at sea. He prepared himself for a lecture on manners, like one his mother used to give, but no lecture came.

  “Mr. Stark. It’s good that you’ve called. Things like this can be a bit… overwhelming. Especially in the beginning.”

  Adam frowned at his father, who was well out of earshot. He dropped his voice all the same. “We had an incident this evening.”

  “Are they getting more frequent? More severe?”

  “I don’t know,” Adam admitted. “I don’t think so.” Then again Adam hadn’t exactly been around that much lately. “I haven’t seen that many. I thought my siblings and I could share the responsibility of keeping an eye on him. But now I’m not sure. At least not all day, every day.”

  Adam wasn’t quite ready to resign himself to a nursing home. Surely Pop had a few more years left before they had to resort to that.

  “I understand,” said Mr. Dennis, gently.

  Adam didn’t know what the man looked like or how old he was, but he had the impression of an older man, one who’d maybe spent years helping others through their hardest times.

  “I have a list of resources,” Mr. Dennis assured Adam. “Programs, facilities, covered all or in part by insurance.”

  Adam hated to admit money was a serious issue. He’d give every dime he had for his family, in fact he already had. That was the problem. As he glanced again at his father a few feet away, Adam figured if he was in for a penny…

  “Do you only coordinate services for the elderly?” he asked quietly. He gripped the phone tighter.

  “Why?” Mr. Dennis asked. “Are you in need of other services, as well?”

  Adam hesitated, but only for a moment. “As a matter of fact,” he replied. “I think we do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Adam rose early the next morning and dressed in the dark, which was to say that he’d barely slept at all. He had not so much woken up as given up on the idea of sleeping altogether. He’d heard once that lack of sleep for an extended period of time drove you crazy. He was probably more than halfway there. His boots were propped up in the corner. He tugged them on and swiped his car keys off the counter. Coffee sounded like a good idea, but he was too tired to make it. He headed down the wooden stairs and out the back door. The sun’s first rays fell across the parking lot and glinted of the Charger’s windshield. He paid little attention. He couldn’t have taken the bike for this trip anyway, so it wasn’t like he missed it. He slid into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine.