The phone whirred for a second.
Wi-Fi not available.
“I know Wi-Fi isn’t available,” Thuy said sharply, switching the setting. She entered the search term again.
The phone whirred obediently. Then another message popped up.
Phone is offline. Return search when online?
“YES,” Thuy grumbled, twisting and contorting, struggling to get a signal.
After two hours and a game of signal Twister, Thuy came back into the house feeling demoralized and cold. The articles she’d managed to scavenge were very general. It gave her just enough information to realize how much she needed to learn. There was probably something Socratic and profound in knowing she knew nothing, but that wasn’t going to help her run this damned farm with Maddy, and if there was one thing she hated, it was feeling incompetent.
“You doing okay?” Maddy asked, looking concerned.
“Yeah,” Thuy said. She didn’t want to stress Maddy out. Since Maddy had decided to keep the farm, she’d been sleeping better, humming to herself as she moved throughout the farmhouse. She seemed really happy, and Thuy didn’t want to take that away from Maddy by revealing her own anxieties. “I’ll, um, figure something out with the internet.”
“Yeah. I forgot how bad tech can be in rural areas,” Maddy said. “You get so used to high speed at your fingertips, you know?”
“I’m going to go into Netflix withdrawal,” Thuy said ruefully, and Maddy giggled.
“You’re going to be a farm girl,” Maddy pointed out. “That means early rising, and early to bed. You’ll be tired.”
“So, what exactly are you planning on doing with the farm?” Thuy asked. “And, you know, how can I help?”
Maddy looked down at the multitude of scribbled notes she had jotted on the legal pad. “I’ve worked with farmers markets enough to know which farmers make the most, and a lot of their practices,” Maddy said carefully. “My father was an amazing gardener. He’s got the greenhouses filled with plants, even now. The electricity bill’s going to be kind of high from heating them, but I think I can keep a lot of his customers. And when spring hits, I think I can plant produce for sale. Sort of an artisanal organic farm. Maybe not with the certification, because that costs an arm and a leg, but one that runs without pesticides.”
Thuy stared at her friend, watching her face light up with passion at the project.
“What about the cows?” Thuy asked.
“From what I can see, we’re wintering some cows for a neighbor, Jake McMasters,” Maddy said. “We’re giving his lands time to recover. We’re sort of renting our land and taking care of his stock for him. So that’ll be extra income. It does mean we need to feed the cows, though, and look after them.”
“But what can I do?” Thuy asked.
Maddy bit the corner of her lip. “I’m still figuring that out,” she admitted. “At the least, you can check fences. Maybe help with feeding? I did that when I was a tween.”
Well, if Maddy did it before she was thirteen, then a grown-ass woman ought to be able to do it, Thuy reasoned. “That doesn’t sound too bad.” She paused. “I don’t know much about gardening, though, organic or otherwise. And I know absolutely nothing about livestock.”
“You’ll pick it up. You’re smart, and you’re the best researcher I know,” Maddy said confidently. “Besides, the best way to learn is practice. I’ll walk you through it.”
Thuy sighed. She wished she felt as confident as Maddy sounded. “Okay,” she said. “Anything I can do for you now?”
“You could grab the mail,” Maddy suggested. “I want to make sure I’m staying on top of Dad’s bills. Oh, that reminds me… I need to contact his banks.” She hurriedly turned back to her lists.
Thuy headed out, then realized that the mailbox was down at the end of the driveway — about half a mile, maybe more, away. She considered walking, then reached for the car keys hanging on a hook by the door.
“You can take the side-by-side, if you want,” Maddy said absently.
“The what, now?”
“The side-by-side. That golf cart looking thing,” Maddy clarified. “It’s by the barn.”
“Um… okay.”
Maddy looked indulgent. “It’s just like driving a car, basically. Only smaller.”
“Gotcha.” Thuy struggled to keep the trepidation out of her voice.
“It’s what you’ll probably use to get hay to the cattle,” Maddy added. “I don’t think you’ll use the farm truck, it’s too big. Again, I’ve driven side-by-sides since I was twelve or so.”
“Right.” Thuy nodded, leaving the rental car keys where they were. She swallowed hard.
“Key’s in the ignition,” Maddy called out after her.
Thuy headed out towards the barn. It was a faded reddish-brown, with a metal roof. The side-by-side was painted in camouflage colors, its black seats patched with duct tape. She climbed in, carefully buckling the seat belt.
“Just like driving a car,” she muttered. Except it wasn’t, not exactly. There were buttons for lifting and lowering things, from the looks of it. And there was… what the hell was a “diff lock?” Did she need it?
Cars were so not her jam.
She bit her lip, then turned the engine. It growled to a surprisingly noisy start.
“Shit,” Thuy muttered. She looked for a clutch. Not finding one, she struggled with the gear shift, putting the thing in drive and tapping the gas pedal.
It jerked forward.
She grimaced, then pushed the gas pedal forward, gripping the steering wheel for dear life. For a little thing, it went pretty fast. Of course, she couldn’t have been going more than twenty or thirty miles an hour, but the wind rushing over the half-windshield and the roar of the engine made it seem like it was going a lot faster. She bounced down the dirt road, heading for the mailboxes.
She slowed down carefully, braking as she got to the box and then putting it in neutral since there didn’t appear to be a “park” setting. Getting out, she grabbed the mail. There were a few bills, a mailer, a local newspaper. She stuffed them in the little glove compartment.
As she got back into the small vehicle, she abruptly realized that the driveway was narrow — like, one-lane narrow. It was flanked on one side by a ditch and on the other side by several large trees.
She had two options: turn around, or drive in reverse all the way back. Driving in reverse seemed stupid, and honestly, she wasn’t all that confident in her backward driving anyway.
She looked at the main road. She could try turning around there, she reasoned. A simple three-point-turn. It didn’t look like there was a lot of traffic on this road.
She moved the gear shift. Only this time, the thing decided it didn’t want to leave neutral.
“Oh, come on,” she muttered, cursing under her breath. “Come on, baby. Work with me, here.”
She got it in drive, the lowest gear. It lurched forward, then stalled out.
“God damn it.” She turned the key off, then put it in neutral, starting it back up again. It made a sick sound, like a nauseous cow, but slowly warmed up.
She felt a wave of relief, and put her hand on the gearshift.
It shifted, all right. Only this time, it went into reverse — and her foot slipped from the brake to the gas.
“Fuck!” she yelped, as the thing jerked back. And next thing she knew, she’d rolled into the ditch.
Chapter Twelve
Viciously hungover, Drill rode his bike to his father’s farm, grimacing to himself. He hoped that Maddy’s decision to keep the farm was hormonal, just something she thought of out of nostalgia and maybe a misguided sense of family. It would make it that much easier to convince her to sell the thing, so they could split the profits.
And then he could… give the proceeds to the Wraiths.
He frowned, pouring a little more speed into his bike, feeling the rattle of the machine beneath him as he tore across the pavement.
It had made sense, when Cat
fish had told him last night. The Wraiths were in trouble. They needed cash. He could get his hands on cash. He needed to hand it over to the club.
Of course, when he’d agreed, he’d been pretty damned drunk, he realized.
When he was sixteen, he would’ve handed it over without blinking. They were his family, his soul. They were his brothers. If they told him to rip out his own liver and cook it over an open flame, he’d have done it without a second thought.
That was sixteen years ago. Half his life.
A lot of shit had happened since then.
Unbidden, he remembered Pete’s remarks at the bar last night.
Bikers killed… like twenty of them? He killed club members too, didn’t he?
Drill gritted his teeth. That had been Razor, though. Razor had been a psychopath. That said, he’d also been one of the most effective leaders the Wraiths had ever had. With Razor and Darrell Winston at the helm, the Wraiths had brought in more money, run more rackets, and had absolutely zero attrition. Once you were a recruit, you didn’t fucking leave the Wraiths, period. Not unless it was in a box.
That Razor might’ve put you in.
Since Razor was in jail and Darrell had gone state’s evidence, it had taken nearly a year for Catfish to take the reins and get the club in some semblance of order. Drill had beaten a few pretenders to the throne to make sure that Catfish stayed on top. He’d kept assholes like Timothy King down when they started getting too big for their britches, thinking they were running the place. He’d taken over the bulk of the loan collection, and he’d provided muscle when their car parts racket was being threatened.
But I’ve never killed anyone.
He felt tired, and it had nothing to do with the hangover.
Maybe he was being selfish. Maybe he was overthinking things. But he felt taken aback that the club wanted his half of the farm. It’d be a good deal of money, tens of thousands of dollars. Maybe even a hundred thousand, if he was lucky.
But it’d all go to the club.
It’s like an investment, he seemed to remember Catfish saying. And he’d half-heartedly agreed. But the thing was, the Wraiths didn’t really pay out like an investment. What was yours was theirs. They gave him enough of a cut to keep him afloat, and comfortable. But he knew that Darrell and especially Razor and Dirty Dave, kept the lion’s share for themselves. Management fees, Dave used to joke.
Drill felt a little hesitant about handing over the lion’s share of his family farm to fucking Dirty Dave.
It’s not to him. It’s for the Wraiths.
He was still muttering that to himself when he pulled up to the farm’s driveway. He stopped immediately at the sight of a side-by-side that had somehow slid ass first into the drainage ditch alongside the drive.
He turned off his bike, getting off and quickly going to the vehicle. Thuy was in the driver’s seat, her head on the steering wheel.
“You okay?” he asked, feeling concern. He rushed into the ditch to her side.
“Yeah,” she said quickly, rubbing at tears that were in her eyes. “Well, I mean, no, obviously. I’m in a fucking ditch. But other than that, I’m peachy.”
He barked out a surprised laugh. “That you are, baby. So how’d this happen?”
“I was — don’t laugh — getting the mail,” she said. “I wanted to get used to driving this thing, since I’m probably going to need to. You know, to help out with stuff around the farm. Anyway, it slipped out of gear, and then I guess I hit it funny when I was pressing the gas, and next thing I knew…” She gestured at the ditch.
He nodded, not trusting himself not to chuckle. When he finally got it together, he cleared his throat. “I see,” he said solemnly.
“I tried driving back up and out, but it’s too steep,” she said. “I was afraid I’d burn out the motor if I kept pushing it. So I was trying to figure out a way to get out when you came along.”
He nodded again. She looked miserable, and frustrated. He looked around, seeing a solid oak tree behind the mailboxes. “Tell you what. I’ll get you out of there.”
“With what? Your motorcycle?” She looked skeptical.
“No, darlin’. With the winch.”
She looked at him blankly.
“Here. Why don’t you hop out a sec, and we’ll get this fixed right quick.”
She did as he requested, clambering out with little grace. She was such a tiny thing. Perfectly proportioned, but short and slight. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a thick jacket, her cheeks pink from the cold.
He ran the winch line out, getting enough of it to drag to the nearby oak and loop around. Fastening it, he walked back to the side-by-side. “All right. See this button here? That operates the winch,” he instructed.
Thuy watched, looking fascinated and a little wary.
He pushed the button. The winch heaved, struggling for a moment as the metal line tightened. Then slowly, inexorably, the cart inched up the incline and settled on the driveway.
He turned it off, then turned back to her, smiling. “See? Not so bad, was it?”
She nodded. “Thank you,” she said, with feeling. “I had no idea what I was going to do. I hate feeling helpless.”
“No big deal.”
She put a hand on his arm, stopping him. Her dark eyes were solemn. “I’m serious. Thanks.”
He puffed up, feeling his chest warm. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had thanked him for something. For that matter, it had been a long time since he’d done something to help someone. He felt an odd sensation seep through him, like a shot of whiskey on a cold night. It was nothing like the numbness and disquiet he’d been feeling with the club.
He immediately smacked the thought away, feeling traitorous and uneasy.
Quickly, he undid the winch line and retracted it. “No problem,” he said to Thuy. “Can you get it turned the right way from here?”
“I think so.”
“Let me help you get it into gear,” he said.
She climbed in, buckled up, and he leaned over her, putting his hand over the key. He tilted his head to look at her.
She was inches away from him, looking at his hand. Then she turned her attention to him. Their gazes locked, and he felt a blast of heat that had nothing to do with the sharp November sunshine.
She was cute as hell. He’d thought so earlier. Now, he realized, she was even prettier than he remembered. That full lower lip, that rosebud mouth. Her eyes, that dark rich brown of polished walnut. Her determined little chin, currently tilted up at him.
“Um… the engine?” she asked slowly, sounding out of breath.
He could lean forward and kiss her. She’d probably smack the shit out of him. He thought about it anyway, just for a second.
“Drill?” she asked, her voice a mere breath.
He wanted her, he realized, and it was like a punch in the gut. And it wasn’t in the casual way he normally hit on women, which was more for entertainment than anything, a way to fend off the numbness. It wasn’t because it’d be casual, a simple way to pass the time.
It was strong, almost scalding, in its intensity. He wanted this woman.
She was Maddy’s friend, and he couldn’t just have a quick roll in the hay with her. Maddy would kill him. Hell, he got the feeling Thuy would kill him.
But what if she didn’t? He could see her pulse, pounding in her throat. The way her breathing went shallow, and her pupils went big.
Maybe she would be up for something. The barest of images, of the two of them wrapped around each other, flashed across his brain. Before he could pursue the train of thought, another question popped into his mind.
Would one time be enough, anyway?
The concern was shocking, one he couldn’t remember having about anyone. He shook his head, trying to clear it.
Lock this shit down, idiot. Get yourself together.
“Maddy’s home, right?” he asked, his voice coming out hoarse.
Thuy nodded slowly.
> “C’mon then,” he said, and with some effort moved away from her. “Let’s go see my sister.”
Chapter Thirteen
Thuy followed Drill back up the driveway to the house, parking it in the spot by the barn. She felt shaken, and not just from the fall into the ditch.
What the hell was that?
The last thing she needed was an attraction to a frickin’ biker. She’d known criminals most of her life, and she found nothing sexy about the lifestyle. So, what was it about Drill that had her hormones twerking every damned time she saw him, for God’s sake?
She climbed out of the side-by-side, watching as he got off the bike and put his helmet down. He was ripped, no question, and did nice things for a pair of jeans. She realized he was a hell of a lot more solid than the guys she usually dated. She tended to lean towards thin, diminutive guys. Guys who knew their way around a bistro menu, who knew the latest memes, who could tell you the latest Bethesda game release and why it was better (or worse) than the last one.
You tend to date guys who don’t threaten you.
She frowned at the realization. Threatened might not be the right word. Challenged. Because it wasn’t that Drill threatened her, per se. If anything, she felt a strange safeness in his presence.
It doesn’t matter. You’re not going to date the guy. End of story.
She followed Drill into the house, wondering if he’d want privacy to talk with Maddy. The way his strong jaw was set, he looked like a soldier on a mission. She wondered absently what that mission was, and why it made him look so grim. She’d seen how pissed he was when he left the lawyer’s office.
It suddenly clicked, why he was there. She felt her heart fall into her stomach.
He held open the door for her, and she walked in, feeling him fall in line behind her and shut it. She went to the kitchen.
“Thuy? I was starting to think you got lost,” Maddy said, with a laugh, sitting at the kitchen table. The surface was absolutely strewn with notes, open farming books, and her laptop. “I… Teddy?”
Drill sighed.
“Sorry, Drill,” Maddy corrected. She started to cantilever herself out of the chair, but Drill put a hand on her shoulder, nudging her down.
Prose Before Bros Page 7
