by Mandy Harbin
She’d met her life quota of jerks already.
“Yeah, you’re right.” Heather dropped her phone back into her bag and leaned against the tree. “But I’m calling him tomorrow.” Was Maya that transparent?
She sighed, knowing she probably wouldn’t be able to come up with an alternative before they had to hit the road. She would try, though. She glanced at her car again. Ugh. No ideas were coming to her yet. “He’s not going to like this.” She didn’t know the man, but something told her it was true.
Heather pinched the bridge of her nose. “No. He’s gonna be pissed.”
Great. Just great.
Chapter Two
The haunting scent of exotically roasted kernels suffocated Hunter while he slept. An aroma pleasing to others—especially the scores of women eager to run their hands through Rudolph’s hair, his Argan-oil infused, pomade-coated hair—triggered Hunter’s gag reflex more often than not. No high-end styling product in the El Paso area was good enough for Rudolph. He ordered that stinky shit from his home country of Brazil. If Hunter had first smelled it on a sexy woman, the now-offending scent probably wouldn’t have even registered. He wasn’t one to pick up on things like that under normal circumstances.
Alonzo Rudolph was anything but normal, and Hunter would never forget the smell he associated with his former boss.
No matter how many years had passed.
He kicked a leg free as he turned in his bed. He knew he was dreaming about his time in El Paso. A time he fought to forget. He usually succeeded during the day, but nightmares were harder to beat.
“You owe me money,” Alonzo said, using the tip of a knife to clean under one of his fingernails. Hunter didn’t understand how the man could be so cool while another sat helplessly tied to a chair. Hunter didn’t even know the man’s name who sat bruised and dirty in his own piss. It made it easier.
Less personal.
“Please,” the man choked.
Alonzo gave Hunter a bored glance. “You know what I want, criado.”
He did. As a criado, a servant, he knew his orders. He took out the wire cutters from his pocket and grabbed the man’s pointer finger.
“Maybe next time you’ll learn to pay your bets,” Alonzo said before giving Hunter a slight nod, the signal to cut off the man’s finger.
Hunter muttered in his sleep, shaking his head, but in his dream, he was as calm as he’d been expected to be. With a quick snip, the man screamed, and still he heard Rudolph mumble, “That’s a good criado,” giving praise he did not want.
The suffering man’s blood-curdling cries grew louder, but Hunter soon realized the sound had morphed into his own roar as he jolted up, awake, in a cold sweat.
He grabbed his heaving chest.
“Jesus Christ,” he panted as the dream disintegrated and reality slowly returned.
But it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory. One of many he’d be forced to live with since fleeing from Rudolph.
Alonzo Rudolph, the Columbian gang enforcer who’d tried recruiting Hunter into his drug-trafficking crime family.
He’d very nearly succeeded.
The alarm sounded beside him, and he cursed as he hit the snooze button and fell back. He needed a minute before he showered and headed to the garage.
With his poor upbringing, the never-ending cash and women had been too great of a temptation for him when he’d been in his early twenties. Hunter hadn’t been a Boy Scout by any stretch of the imagination, but he’d had morals, and it was ultimately his good core that had stopped him from turning to a life of seriously-fucked-up crime—no matter how much he’d needed the money. The taste he’d been given those few short months had been too much for him. He’d wanted out before ever getting in, quickly seeing it would lead to more harm than any good the cash could bring. Cutting ties and moving back home had been easy since he’d been smart enough to hide his real name and life outside of El Paso, wanting to keep his sister safe at least until he’d found his way and could ensure her protection in that life.
Unfortunately, Rudolph wasn’t one to take no for an answer. He had means, and Hunter knew there was a time when he’d come to collect. It didn’t matter that as the years went by and Hunter got even more entrenched with the Bang Shift, fighting on the sort of right side of the law, he was stronger and smarter than he was at nineteen. There was still a small part of him that hoped Alonzo Rudolph would forget about him and not waste any energy on disciplining a boy who no longer existed.
But beneath Hunter’s jokester attitude and life at the shop was a man who knew the price of breaking loyalties, and when that debt was due to a man hell-bent on collecting anything owed to him—especially from a criado—Hunter knew it would never expire.
He just didn’t know when the man from his past would come to collect, busting his life wide open and exposing a part of him Hunter wished more than anything would stay buried forever.
He didn’t have time to worry about that right now, though. He was already late for work. By the time he’d shaken off the last remnants of the dream and dragged his ass out of bed, it was already time he should’ve been pulling into the garage. He’d planned on tying his hair back, tugging a ball cap on, and foregoing the shower to make up time, but after one long look at the straggly mess on his head, he decided he’d had enough of it. He’d dug out his clippers and started shaving some of the crap off. His hair was still messy, but at least it was off his neck. He’d cleaned up his bathroom and showered to get the loose hairs off him. He was forty-five minutes late by the time he walked through the opened overhead door into the one of the bays.
“Dude.”
He wasn’t sure which one of the guys called out.
“I know I’m late,” he said over his shoulder.
“No. The hair.”
Hunter chuckled when he finally recognized Blade’s voice. “Needed a change,” he called out as he looked at the board that listed all the cars scheduled to be worked on and their issues. A couple of oil changes, a realignment, Toby needed new rotors and brakes, Mrs. Bell needed a new transmission… He stopped reading the rest, deciding he’d check on that.
“Tranny in?” he asked as he turned.
Blade wasn’t the only one gaping at him. Brutus—Brody. He’d dropped the nickname Colonel had given him, but Hunter still had a hard time remembering not to use it—held an impact drill poised at a lug nut. Gauge stood in a well underneath one of the oil changes. Roc, the little shit, sneered at him as he twirled a wrench. Bear stood in his office, hands on his hips, staring at him through the window of walls that separated the executive staff from the grease monkeys.
Yeah, all gazes on him.
“What?” he asked them, but he kept his focus locked on Bear. He was their boss, after all. Well, he was now.
Once Colonel’s double-crossing deeds had been exposed, the garage he’d bought and used as a cover for his team’s activities had been seized by the government. The feds decided to orchestrate a sale of Shepard’s Garage to Bear. On paper, the big bald man was the new owner and they were all his employees.
As part of the deal, the garage got a facelift, some new equipment, and after very little debate, a shiny new name. They figured the townspeople would feel awkward using a business that was in any way linked to a criminal, and branding it something different would help solidify the change of ownership.
Bang Shift.
Naming it that was a nod to the guys’ little inside joke, which they all thought was pretty fucking awesome.
It’d been the right move. Business was definitely booming, with regular jobs coming in from as far as White County. They still worked on everyday cars, but they were also becoming known throughout the state as specializing in hotrods. Working on those antique muscle cars was a wet dream, but none of the men would forget the shop’s real purpose—a working front for their other job.
Yeah, there’d been much discussion about that, too. Colonel, a.k.a. Jeff Coleman, had started it, but truth was
, they’d been doing this for years, and they could still serve a vital purpose. Besides, they all liked kicking ass and taking money. Being a hired special ops team definitely had its perks, and whether he worked on American muscle or squeezed his nine on the government’s dime, Hunter loved both jobs equally.
They all did.
Bear stormed out of the office. “Everybody to the meeting room.”
Okay, maybe there were some parts of the job Hunter hated. Like meetings. Bear might be pretending to own the shop, but he was their real boss. Team lead appointed by the feds, and voted in by the guys for all other jobs. The man did have the most experience, even if Brody had pointed out he was now the oldest in the group. The guys knew he’d just been ragging on Bear and didn’t really want the responsibility that came with the job. Hunter hated all the bureaucracy, but he understood the need for a point man, someone to oversee their options, both in the garage and out. Bear really was the perfect man for the job.
“Glad you decided to join us today,” Bear muttered as Hunter walked by. “Head get stuck up your ass?”
“Yep, had to cut my way out,” he said, pointing at his newly cut hair.
Bear cracked a smile but quickly suppressed it as the guys filed in and took their seats. “Now that pretty boy is here—”
“Hey, I was ten minutes early,” Blade said, patting his boyish face. “And I fix my hair everyday,” he added with a shrug. His spiky blond hair looked as if it could cut someone if he rammed the person just right, a far cry from his brown mop.
“No one’s taking your pretty boy status, man,” Brody said, clapping Blade on the back.
“Good ’cause I’d be all hurt and shit.”
“He shaved his head,” Gauge said, cutting his gaze to Blade. “Let the man have a moment.”
“I shaved my balls. Does that mean we get to focus on me again?” Blade asked.
“Can you see your pussy better now?” Roc asked with a smirk.
“Fuck you.”
“Not even on a Tuesday, my brother.” Roc crossed his arms, his stare daring.
Roc, Jesus, Hunter wished the man would just quit and leave the country. If he wasn’t so good at what he did, Hunter would be the one screaming the loudest to drop his ass. Dude thought he was better than everyone, and he had a serious problem with authority.
Hell, even people in general.
“Enough. I didn’t call y’all in here to trash talk.” Everyone stopped joking and focused on their boss. Roc even gave the superior his undivided attention. “Thankfully, we don’t have any external contracts right now, because we have mechanical work out the ass. I have two big deliveries coming next week, both classic restores. We need to knock out what we have going on so we can focus on those.”
“What’s coming?” Gauge asked.
“’62 Porsche and ’55 Chevy wagon.”
“Nomad?” Roc asked, real interest in his eyes.
“Yep—”
“I want it,” he said, cutting off Bear.
“The fuck you say. What makes you think you get to tinker with the Nomad?” Gauge asked. “I’ve wanted to work on one of those for years.”
“Dude, you didn’t know what a fucking wrench was a few years ago,” Brody said, calling out the man who’d come to the shop as an undercover FBI agent.
“And I fucking called it,” Roc said.
“This isn’t the playground. Why don’t you act your age?” Hunter asked. Damn juvenile asshat.
“Your momma thought I acted my age real good last night,” Roc muttered.
Hunter saw red. It was one thing to insult a man’s mother. It was something else entirely when that mother was dead. He leapt out of his chair and lunged for Roc.
“Whoa.” Gauge moved lightning fast, wrapping himself around Hunter to stop him from attacking. Brody and Blade reacted almost as quickly by jumping between the two men, creating an even bigger obstacle for Hunter.
“C’mon, asshole,” Hunter taunted as he struggled to break free from Gauge’s steel-like arms.
“Dude, not cool,” Blade said toward Roc. “You know his parents are dead.”
“Mine too. So what?” Roc said before looking at Hunter. “Any time. You name it.”
A loud crash sounded, causing Hunter’s attention to shift. Bear stood by his desk with a broken laptop barely hanging onto the edge. “Sit—the fuck—down.”
Roc was first to relax his stance and take his seat, either not caring about the threat Hunter presented or trusting he’d follow orders too. Hunter wasn’t sure which way he wanted to go.
“Now,” Bear said, clipped.
“It’s all good,” Blade whispered, nudging Hunter to sit. Once he did, the others followed suit.
“Roc, you and I are having words after this,” Bear announced, though Roc didn’t seem fazed by it.
After a few seconds of the men staring each other down, Bear turned toward the rest of the guys.
“We’ll handle those assignments when they come in. We have too much other stuff to work on in the meantime.” Bear went through all the current work, who’d be doing what, and even touched on the jobs they had on the calendar for the next several weeks. When he finished discussing the shop’s duties, he turned to Brody. “How’s Xan doing?”
Brody smiled and Hunter felt gut punched. He’d never known what that feeling was like—to love someone so completely—except when it came to his sister, Heather, but she didn’t count. As much as he loved her—and he did completely—she almost equally pissed him off. Why wouldn’t she grow up already? The girl was away in college, barely getting passing grades, and partying all the damn time. Despite his frustration with her…he envied her. Envied the youth that had been stolen from him.
“Good. She’s ready for summer, and I don’t have the heart to remind her how hot it got last year. Scott’s ready for summer too, but just because he’s itchin’ for school to be out. He and Chad got accepted into some elite football camp. Don’t know how she’ll cope with her baby boy gone. Roxie, either, for that matter.” He chuckled.
“Look at you, all domestic and shit,” Blade said, grinning from ear-to-ear.
Hunter didn’t miss the slight widening of Bear’s eyes at the mention of Roxie. He had no idea what was going on between the two of them, if anything. Hunter was the only one of the group who’d grown up around here. He’d known Roxie since they were little. She’d had a bad go of it with Chad’s dad, but she seemed to be doing okay now. Sweet lady. If he hadn’t remembered her in pigtails, and if Bear hadn’t been sniffing around her the moment he moved here, Hunter might’ve considered hooking up with her once or twice after seeing her out at the bars. He knew better, though. Men didn’t poach, even if Hunter wasn’t sure Bear had staked any claim on the woman.
“I’m a changed man,” Brody said, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. “Even Roc can’t rain on my parade.”
The guys chuckled.
Roc cracked a smile. It was more of a we’ll-just-see-about-that smile than one of actual joy, but it was still a grin.
It was amazing to him just how much changed in the last year. Maybe it was the betrayal of someone so close to them, but all the guys seemed a little closer to each other as a whole than back when Colonel was over them. Even the asshole Roc, just barely.
Hunter’s phone vibrated, so he dug it out as Bear said something that made the guys chuckle again. When he looked at the screen, he bit back a curse, knowing he couldn’t ignore the call.
“Be back in a sec,” he said as he stood, accepted it, and made his way out of the room for some privacy. “Hello?”
“Bubba?”
“Yeah, Heather, what’s up?” he asked as he closed the door behind him.
“Oh, thank god. I’ve tried calling you all morning.”
Huh? He hadn’t had any missed calls from her, had he? Then again, one missed call from her might as well be a dozen. Good thing she couldn’t see him rolling his eyes. “Is everything ok
ay?” he asked, knowing it wouldn’t sound anything but concerned.
“No. Everything is not okay. Maya’s ex-boyfriend like totally vandalized her car. She’s been saying he’s stalking her, but I’ve been telling her she’s nuts—sorry, but I thought you were,” she said away from the phone, which meant she wasn’t alone. “Then we went out to Starlight last night, but while we were in there, he trashed her ride. I mean beat it the hell up. Wrote hateful things on it. Even left a used condom on it, Hunter. How sick is that?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to make sense of her words. “Who?”
“Jake.”
“No, I mean who are you with? Who’s this Maya?”
“Oh my god, do you never listen to me? She’s my roommate. Practically my best friend. We had to call the cops. They came out, and we told them about Jake, but they said they have to investigate it. I don’t think they believed us.”
“Slight right turn in two miles,” a monotone voice announced in the background.
“Don’t let me miss the exit,” Heather said, and Hunter knew she wasn’t talking to him.
“What’s going on? Where are you going?”
“Home. To your house, I mean.”
He stood straighter. What the…? “You’re coming here? You can’t miss class, Heather.” Boy trouble with some misfit wasn’t reason enough for her to ditch. For all he knew, she was reaching for an excuse not to go.
“He threatened her,” she said softly, but he didn’t miss the quiver in her voice. “He knows where we live. We’ve left a message with the dorm monitor—”
“Wait. He’s been to your room?” he asked, a chill creeping down his spine. And only partially because of what she was telling him. His baby sister let boys into her room? At night? He didn’t like the thought of that at all. And now some jerk who’d been that close to her was causing problems?
