STONE
Daring the Kane Brothers
Published by Kelly Gendron
Copyright © 2020 Kelly Gendron
All rights reserved
Edited by J Sims - Editing4Indies
Photographer - Wander Aguiar
Model – Zach Altland
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews.
CHAPTER ONE
I turn the key, lock the door, and my life takes a colossal turn for the worse. I spin around, catching the black SUV as it comes to a screeching halt in the parking lot. The back-passenger door swings open, and something drops to the ground before the SUV skids away.
“What the hell!” Did anyone else see what happened?
I glance around. There’s not a soul in sight. Dammit! Away on vacation, Crash trusted me with his business, so I’m going to have to check this shit out. I cram the keys for the shop into my overalls, recalling Crash saying an unhappy customer once dumped a couple of cans of oil all over the front door entrance. I thought I had a good week. Everyone seemed happy when they picked up their car.
I take a step toward the parking lot. It’s too dark to make out whatever the huge black SUV decided to drop a good fifty feet away. Shit! I can’t leave it there until Monday. I give the area another once-over before I head toward the thing.
The closer I get, the more it takes shape.
“Shit!” I stomp a foot. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
It’s a body!
I shake my head, looking around for some other unlucky soul to join me in this insane discovery.
It’s just me.
I walk slowly toward the heap of clothing. “Hey.” I tap the stiff, unmoving body with the tip of my boot, but it barely budges. Oh my God! What if it is dead? “Hey.” I crouch down, trembling from fingers to toes. “Are you okay?” A low masculine groan jerks my hand back from the disheveled pile of human being. “Okay, good.” I blow out. “You’re not dead, but you don’t sound good. Tell ya what, I’m gonna call someone and get you some help.” Like the cops, I mutter under my breath. There’s obviously some shady shit going on for someone to dump this guy’s ass here and take off.
“No!” The man rolls over, and I catch a bottle of liquor in his hand as it passes by a stream of light.
“Look—” I go to stand, but he grabs me. I tear my arm away. My cell crashes to the ground, and I fall back on my ass. His hand comes at me again. He moves closer. Unsure what else the drunk might be on, I try to get away. I kick him.
“Fuckin’ stop!” His head pulls back, long hair flips from his face and familiar black, soulless eyes slam into me. “Jaggs,” he growls. “Fuckin’ stop!”
Leg pulled back, ready to deliver another hit, I hear the recognizable deep, raspy voice say my name, and I freeze. No. It can’t be. My heart slams into my chest wall. “Stone?”
“Yeah,” he breathes out, falling back onto the pavement as if the battle is over.
I crawl to him, noting his tattered clothes, and pale and sweaty skin. “What the hell happened?”
“Motherfuckers!” He pounds the ground with his fist, letting out a groan, and I hear it for what it is, anger and pain. He curls back into a ball, clenching his stomach.
“Hey.” I shake his shoulder. “Stone?” He barely moves. “Stone, you okay?” I shake him again. Did he pass out? I know he’s a junkie and has been fighting his addiction for years. Crash says he’s been clean for some time, but I know better. I know what Stone Kane is capable of.
What if he went too far this time? What if that’s why he was dropped off? Maybe he started showing signs of OD’ing, and whoever he was with didn’t want him to die on their watch. Maybe they didn’t have any of the drug that addicts carry with them in case of an overdose.
I hear another groan from Crash’s loser brother.
Dammit! He doesn’t look good. He could be OD’ing, and I wouldn’t know any better.
I glare down at him for a few seconds. It couldn’t be this easy, could it?
I’ve waited so long for this, haven’t I?
“Stone?” I pull the long strands of hair back from his face. It’s an okay face, hard and scruffy in all the right places, and I hate that I like looking at it. Hate the way my body reacts whenever he’s around. Hate that if I didn’t hate him, I’d probably fuck and then fall in love with him. Like most damaged chicks, I have a thing for bad boys. Lost my virginity at the age of sixteen because of it. Fuck Logan Diller.
And fuck Stone Kane. The asshole took a lot more from me.
Tapping my bottom lip, I glare down at the tattoo of a Roman numeral seven on his neck. Never asked, but for a messed-up recluse like him, the tatt’s gotta have some kind of fucked-up meaning.
Maybe it’s the number of people he killed.
Dammit! I should turn around and go to my car.
My tapping finger stops. The vein on the side of his neck beneath the tattoo, it’s slow, but there’s a pulse. I watch the beating proof of life for few more seconds, contemplating what to do.
The image of Jenny, my little sister, holding a half-dead baby rabbit, flashes in my mind. The bunnies were eaten by their mama. It happens sometimes. Some moms can’t help themselves; they’re just evil. Poor Jenny. I wanted to take the bunny back behind the shed with the rest of its mutilated siblings and put the small creature out of its misery, but my bleeding-heart little sister begged me to let her keep it. She gave it her all, but the baby bunny died three days later. That was the thing with Jenny; no matter what hell she endured, she remained all heart. Even now, I could see her kneeling beside the half-dead creature on the ground, his self-inflicted wounds, infecting him from the inside out, and she’d still want to help him.
I look up at the dark sky. Sorry, Jenny but like the bunny, this mutilated animal isn’t long for this world. I can’t let you save this one. He’s not worth it.
Decision made, I grab my cell and rise from the ground. Like Jenny, a bright light flashes before me followed by loud cracking thunder. Oh, come on. I look back up at the sky as Stone lets out another distressing groan. It’s a sign. I know it is, and as much as I don’t believe in that shit, I kind of do.
Dammit, it could be my conscience, but I blame my next action on Jenny. Besides, what am I going to tell Crash? His brother was dumped off like a pile of trash in the parking lot of his shop, and I left his sorry ass there on the doorstep to die. It’d kill Crash, and I really do like Crash. He’s like the brother I never had, and with no family of my own, the Kane family has sort of adopted me. Although the circumstance as to how I’ve come to be a part of their family is screwed up, I love them all the same.
Well, all of them except Stone Kane.
He’s the enemy.
I squeeze my cell. This is what I want. Him dead. I stare down at the unmoving wannabe rock star, and for the first time, I feel my revenge outweighed by the love I have for the Kane family. Perhaps, I could deliver his punishment over a few more years instead of ending it today.
Okay, Jenny, I’ll call 911.
Raising my cell, I slide my fingers over the shattered screen and try to turn it on. The screen remains black. I tap it and spot the blood on my finger from the cut glass. I shake my he
ad again. It’s gotta be a sign.
Unable to get my phone to work, I hear Stone’s ringing. “Yes!” I cram my broken phone in my overalls and search Stone’s jacket.
“What the fuck!” He rolls over, and before I can stop him, he pulls himself up from the ground. “Shit!” He presses his palm against his head, staggering while searching his coat with his other hand.
I jump up and move toward him. “Here, give me your phone.”
“No!” He wavers as he finally finds and shuts down the loud ringtone.
“Stone.” When I take a step toward him, his hand comes up, and I stop. “You’re obviously…ah, hurt. I need to call an ambulance.”
“Fuck that.” He pushes his cell back into his pocket. “Take me to Crash’s.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you to think,” he snaps. His hand drops from his forehead, and those dark, desolate eyes penetrate me. Like a bear, I’ve never looked directly into this badly domesticated animal’s eyes. At least, not since the time I caught him in the storage room after one of his shows fucking a groupie. I’ll never forget the way he looked at me. I couldn’t tear my eyes away as he pounded into the woman from behind, but I’ve never looked into his savage eyes since. I always thought they were black like his soul, but they’re a glossy dark whiskey color. They’re almost pretty.
Oh, hell no! I’m not one of his groupies. I’m not one of his fangirls who easily falls for the guitar-slinging, grunge tees and ripped jeans, wannabe rock star. I know the other Stone Kane, the worthless jarhead who returned from overseas broken and unfeeling. I know the shitshow going on beneath all the tattooed, sexy, fucking nameless girls backstage, rock star.
“Fuck you!” I turn around to head to my car.
“Jaggs!” He says my name like he’s ordering me to stop, which keeps my feet moving. I hear his phone again, but this time, it’s a different ringtone like an alarm. “Shit!” I hear him say before it stops. “Fuck, Jaggs, I gotta be at Crash’s in a half hour. You need to take me there.”
And I hear it, the anxiety in his voice. My feet stop. I know he’s got a thing about timers, alarms, and expiration dates from deactivating bombs in the military. I’ve heard the Kanes talk about it. They’ve always warned that if you tell Stone a time to call or that you’ll meet him, don’t be late because it fucks him up. Of course, the family doesn’t want to mess with the fragile junkie, but as much as I want to be, I’m not family.
I look at him from over my shoulder. “Why?”
“I just need to be there.” His gravelly voice softens. “Please, Jaggs.”
I walk over, scoop the whiskey bottle off the ground, and give him a cautionary glare before proceeding to my car. It takes him a few seconds, but he’s able to get the car door open. He drops into the passenger seat the same way he was dropped from the SUV. For a split second, I’m tempted to ask. Instead, I start my car and head for Crash’s, completely aware this is just the beginning of my night.
For like Stone, due to a busted water pipe at my apartment, I’m crashing at his brother’s place for the night as well.
CHAPTER TWO
All the commotion of getting up from the ground and into the car must’ve worn Stone out. It’s only been about ten minutes since we got to Crash’s house, and he’s already out cold. I check my cell again, but like the asshole in the bed up above, there’s no life left in it. Dammit. I toss the useless, broken thing on the kitchen table and take another swig of the beer I cracked a few minutes ago.
The knock on the door has me springing to my feet to answer it before it wakes the crackhead sleeping upstairs. Maybe, if I leave him alone long enough, he won’t wake up.
Ever.
I open the door to a kid, well, an eyebrow-pierced, full sleeve-tatted twentysomething.
“Hey,” he nudges. His squirrely, beady eyes race the room. “Stone here?”
“No,” I lie. I don’t know this kid, so I’m not about to surrender Crash’s brother to him. At least, not yet. For all I know, he’s the one who dropped Stone’s ass off like a pile of trash in front of the shop. Therefore, it’s unclear if I should thank him or slam the door in his face.
“Oh.” He tilts his head to try to see better into the house. “This is his brother’s place, right?”
I rest a hand on the doorjamb in case the little shit doesn’t get the hint I’m not letting him in. “How do you know Stone?”
“My brother, Trigger, is in his band. Stone wanted me to meet him here so I could drop off his shit.” He bends down, picks up a dark green Army bag, and holds it out to me. I grab it. “Oh, yeah. He’ll probably want this.” He swings the guitar case from around his shoulder, and I take it off his hands as well. “Thanks.” He smiles, and the more I look at him, the more I’m thinking maybe he’s only still in his late teens. “Do you mind if I wait here for him?” He tries for another looksee behind me. “I want to make sure he gets here okay.”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
My question blinks his eyes back to me. “I’m just surprised he’s not here, ya know, on time,” he says as if I’m privy to Stone’s alarm timer pet peeve. My face remains flat. I’m not giving this kid anything. “Well, okay. Yeah. Alright.” He nods, reading my expression. “Can I give you my number, and you could shoot me a text when he gets here, so I know he’s all good and got his shit and stuff?”
“What’s your name?”
“Getty.”
“I’m sure, if Stone knows you, Getty, he’ll have your number. I’ll tell him to text you when he gets here.” I smile and hear a faint, “Thanks,” after I slam the door in his face.
Setting the guitar against the wall, I then drop the bag, and an invisible puff of Stone’s scent hits my nose. Damn. How can something so defective smell so good? I hesitate to pick up the bag for another whiff of the man I hate. I reach down and stop. “Oh, hey.” I stand back up, startled by Stone’s half-naked body. Hell, if the asshole doesn’t look good in a pair of slim-fit, unbuttoned black jeans. With his long, messy hair, unkept beard, and tattoos, he’s got a vintage yet modern rocker look about him. Some other girl might find it sexy, but not me. I know what kind of heartless asshole is hiding behind all that counterfeit sexiness.
He points with his chin to his stuff. “Getty?”
I nod. “Text him. It appears he’s worried about you.”
“Yeah.” He rubs his naked, washboard belly.
Yes. Stone Kane crackles with sex appeal. I’ve been dragged to a few of his shows by Crash and his siblings. Not only do I know what he looks like taking some random girl from behind but I also know what he looks like without a shirt. I’m not sure what’s hotter, watching him on stage all sweaty with a guitar in his hand or fucking some chick in a dark room.
I’m so messed up when it comes to this Kane brother.
I smirk as my eyes slip from the tightness of his stomach. I need another beer.
Entering the kitchen, I pull a bottle from the fridge and turn around to find he’s followed me. I don’t care if he’s an addict. I smile, rest my ass against the counter, twist the cap off, and take a nice long chug of the cold beer.
“Thanks for the lift.” He drops those oppressive amber eyes on me and damn. I knew there was a reason I never looked this bear directly in the eyes for the past year. “But I’m good.” He glances at the fridge and then back at me. “You can head out,” he says as though he’s doing me a favor. Like I’m hanging out to make sure he’s okay.
What an ass.
I pull the beer from my lips. “I wish it were that easy, but sorry, I’m here for the weekend. They’re doing work on my apartment.”
He studies me for a few seconds. “Shit.” He scratches his head with a long-dramatized exhale.
My eyes lower to the key hanging around his neck. I’ve overheard a few of his groupies say it’s the key to his heart. What a jok
e. For that to be true, the man would need to have a heart.
I look up at him, and he’s watching me watch him. He doesn’t say anything, call me out, or anything. He waits for me to finish and then turns back to the fridge, perhaps contemplating a beer for himself.
I mean, he’s obviously already broken the supposed three-year seal he had going on, according to his siblings, when he took whatever drug he took tonight. The evidence is shining in his pinpoint pupils. Hell, even strung out, the man’s appealing to any woman with a good working heartbeat. Then again, so is the devil, according to Hollywood whenever he’s portrayed in human form. I suppose more to tempt you with.
“Yeah, shit,” I emphasize with my own sigh. “My thoughts exactly.” I take another swig of my beer.
I hear a low growl rumble from him, and the sound tickles parts of me I’d forgotten about. His dark eyes find me, and I grin. Sorry, asshole. You’ve met your match when it comes to hiding your feelings. I got this shit down pat. It’s what you get from losing your mom at four, going from foster home to foster home, and then losing the only other person you ever loved.
I cross my arms, get comfortable against the counter and smirk at him.
Your turn.
“I can’t do this shit right now.” His head shakes before he grabs a bottled water from the fridge. “I’m going to bed.”
“Good night.” Satisfied with the outcome, I finish my beer.
A few minutes later, there’s another knock on the door. If it’s that damn Getty kid, I’m not answering it. I glance out the window.
Shit! Nix.
What the hell is he doing here? I pull the door open.
“Hey, Jaggs.”
I nod at Crash’s other brother. I like this one. He’s a bit of a nerd but has an adorable six-year-old, and he’s really good with a computer—not to mention, he’s easy on the eyes. Not like Crash, my best friend. They call him the pretty Kane, and he is pretty. Good thing I’m not attracted to him because it’d have caused all kinds of trouble when I arrived here.
STONE (Daring the Kane Brothers) Page 1
