Stuffing my phone back in my pocket, I ball up the Taco Bell wrapper and shoot it into the trashcan clear across the break room, sinking the shot. Nothing but can! Slipping a Camel between my lips, I give the lighter a stroke and bring the flame to the end of the cigarette. A few puffs and I can already feel the nicotine seeping into my veins. I close my eyes, savoring my smoke and thinking about how I’m going to welcome Harper home tomorrow night. Taco Bell and an invitation into my bed. My dick twitches just thinking about her. Damn, I miss her. Never thought I’d be the kind of guy to miss a chick, but Harper is one of a fucking kind.
“Boss ain’t gonna like you lightin’ up in here,” Doug says, crunching into his seventh taco and killing my nicotine buzz.
Opening my eyes, I take a long pull. “He won’t know unless someone opens their fucking mouth.” I blow a cloud of smoke in his direction. Leaning back in the chair, I rest the heels of my steel-toed boots on the table. “With any damn luck, I won’t need this job once the music gig starts to pay off.” Don’t get me wrong, I love working on cars, but if I have to change the oil in one more crossover SUV for some soccer mom that doesn’t know the difference between a windshield wiper and a dipstick, I’m going to lose my shit.
Reason number 111 why Harper is the perfect chick: I can talk cars with her and she understands, and is genuinely interested. Who would have thought a rich girl from New Hampshire would share my love of automobiles? Unreal. She’s always full of fucking surprises.
Chewing, Doug continues the small talk. “You still in that band?”
I take a long drag, nodding. “Contract signed. We hit the recording studio on Monday.”
“Cool. I can say I knew you before you were famous.” Draining the last of his Pepsi, Doug lets out a huge belch and stands, rubbing prominent beer gut. “We better get back out there. Wouldn’t want Wyatt to come looking for us. Then you’re busted.”
“Shit.” I kick my feet to the floor and sit up, glancing at the clock—8:32. Two minutes over our break time. “That thirty minutes went by too fucking fast.” With one last pull on my cigarette, I drop it on the floor and ground my boot against it. Picking up the butt, I toss it into the trashcan on my way back out to the floor.
“Thor, I’ve got a CR-V in bay two. Standard oil changed,” Wyatt shouts from the computer at bay one.
“On it.” Walking over, the driver, a beautiful blond woman, lowers her window.
“What brings you in today?” I ask, turning on the charm. It’s a well-proven fact that charm can lead to more services rendered than just an oil change. And in years past, it could have led to something beyond the One Stop Lube Shop’s premises. Ladies can’t resist a man in navy-blue coveralls popping their hood. But these days, I’m keeping my skills strictly vehicle related; Harper gets the off-premises services.
“I just need an oil change, thanks.” She flashes me a wide smile and snaps her gum.
“Mom! Mason took my iPad! Tell him to give it back!” A shriek rises from the backseat.
The woman whirls around. “Mason! Give your sister her iPad. It’s not her fault that you didn’t charge yours. Behave yourself! We’re in public!”
Turning her attention back to me, she flashes an even wider smile. I know this smile. I’m so mortified. Please excuse my children’s behavior, or better yet, let’s pretend it never happened. Please.
My mother has worn this smile before, albeit, for different reasons. I’m so mortified. Please excuse my husband’s behavior. You didn’t just hear him threaten to hit me, or better yet, let’s pretend it never happened. Please.
“I’ll get you taken care of. Go ahead and shut off the engine, put your keys on the dash, and pop the hood.”
The engine dies and the hood shutters with a loud pop. I scan the vehicles VIN number and pull up the diagnostics on the computer.
“Yo, Thor,” Doug hollers from the office. “You got a phone call.” He’s got the office cordless in his hand, waving it out the door. “Whoever she is, she sounds pretty upset.”
She? Upset? It can’t be Harper, she’d text me.
Mom.
I abandon my post at bay two, hustling toward the office. Seizing the phone from Doug’s grip, I shout breathlessly, “Ma?”
“I just got home from the grocery store and he was here. I’m scared, Thor.”
“You fucking bitch!” I hear Dad’s slurred growl muffled in the background.
Running a hand over my head, I pace the office. I am utterly fucking helpless here. Looking out the window, I see Doug under the CR-V hood, taking over where I left off. “Where are you? Are you in the car? Get the hell out of there, Ma!”
All I hear is sobbing on the other end.
And glass shattering.
Fucking shit!
“Raymond, no!” Mom shouts, still crying.
“I’m coming, Mom.” I press end on the call and put the phone back on the charger, racing out of the office. I’ve got to get to her. “Wyatt. Doug,” I yell. “I’ve gotta go. My mom’s in trouble.” Without waiting for a response or an all clear to leave, I run to my car, digging my keys from the pocket of my coveralls. Wyatt can fire my ass for all I’m concerned. I’ve got to get to my mom.
Driving like a bat out of hell, I speed down the highway, hoping no cops get in my way right now. Although, if one tailed me, it might not be a bad thing, I could lead him to my mom’s place. In my other pocket, I yank out my cell phone, fumbling to unlock it. Hitting Mom’s name in my contacts list, I slip the phone between my shoulder and ear, listening to it ring over and over again.
No fucking answer.
I tear it away from my ear and throw it onto the passenger seat, pounding out my frustration on the steering wheel. “Fuuuuuuuck!”
Fifteen minutes later, I skid over the gravel, and pull up alongside her empty car. I’m not quite sure if I’m going to find my mother’s lifeless body in the parking lot of her apartment building. A cop car sits on the other side, blue and red lights flashing.
My stomach drops, sending bile rising in my throat.
Killing the engine, I step out of the car. The second my feet hit the ground, glass crunches under my boots. I survey the scene. Mom’s window is busted out and Dad’s truck is parked a few spaces down, but no sign of either of them.
“Sir?” A deep voice calls from behind me. Whirling around, a cop approaches. “Are you a resident in this complex?”
I shake my head. So many words pile up in my brain, but I can’t get them to come out of my mouth. What did that fucker do?
“I’m sorry, sir, but if you’re not a resident, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“My mom.” I point to her car. “That’s her car.”
“Your Linda Kline’s son?” the cop asks.
I nod. “Where is she? Is she okay?”
“Can I get your name, sir?”
Ignoring the police officer, I bend down to peer into the broken driver’s side window of Mom’s Corolla. There’s blood and tufts of blond hair on the jagged pieces of glass still left in the frame. I round on the cop, needing some fucking answers. And if I don’t get them, I’m going to fucking lose it. “What happened?” I’m trying my damnedest to be respectful, but his lack of useful information is quickly becoming a thorn in my side.
“I need your name and identification, sir. I cannot disclose any information until I can confirm your identity.”
Fucking red-tape bullshit. “Thorin Kline.” Sticking a hand in my pocket, I pull out my wallet, yanking my driver’s license free. I hand it to Officer Protocol. “My mother, Linda Kline moved into this complex about nine months ago. That’s her car. I need to know if she’s all right.”
The officer eyes my driver’s license, then me. My hair was longer in the picture, but other than that, my features haven’t changed much. With a nod, he hands back my ID. “A neighbor called when they heard shouting and glass breaking. According to the woman who phoned in the disturbance, an older man busted out Mrs. Kline’s window and attempted to drag her through it. When we arrived on the scene, the perp had already fled.”
“Is she okay? I need to see her. Where is she?” Turning in circles my brain races over all the places she could be.
“Your mom’s fine. She had some superficial cuts to her face and neck, and she was pretty shaken up. The paramedics took her to the hospital for observation.”
Fuck me. This is bad. “Shit!” Shoving my license back into my wallet, I drop it in my pocket, and jog back to my car. I’ve got to get to the hospital. But, before I climb behind the wheel, I point down the row of cars. “That’s his truck. The beat-up Chevy.”
“Wait, you know the man who did this?” Pulling his eyebrow low, an air of suspicion clouds his features.
“Raymond Kline, my dad.” I slam the door shut and start the engine, not bothering to give the cop any other information. His name is enough. Find the bastard before I do. I won’t show him any mercy.
* * *
The bleached, fluorescent lights of the emergency room sting my eyes. Squinting against the brightness, I run over to the nurses’ desk, heart in my throat. “Was a woman brought in? Cuts and scrapes, maybe in shock?”
“I need her name, sweetie,” the nurse says, lifting her warm, dark eyes off the computer screen to look at me. She has a comforting smile, too. She gets an A-plus for bedside manner, but I’m so keyed up right now, nothing can calm me down. I just want to find my mom.
“Linda Kline. She was brought in about ten or fifteen minutes ago.”
The nurse taps on her keyboard while I beat out an impatient rhythm on the counter. “A Linda Kline was brought in at 9:05.” She stares up at me, delivering the information.
“Can I see her?” My patience is wearing thin. I don’t want to go off on this nice lady, but if I don’t get back there, I will.
“I can only allow family in the exam rooms.” Still smiling sweetly, she blinks.
I want to plant my fist through the fucking wall, but it’s hard to be angry with this woman. She’s just so nice. I rein in my anger. It’s not her I’m pissed at. I’ll have enough time to hunt down the fucking animal that did this to my mom, later. I have to make sure she’s all right, first. “I’m her son, Thorin Kline.”
“Wonderful. She’s in exam room four. Go down the hall, make the first right, her room will be the fourth on the right.”
I smack the counter, and for the first time in the last forty-five minutes, a smile blooms across my face. Fucking answers, finally. “Thanks.”
Running down the hall, my boots clomp on the polished tile. I skid to a halt in front of her room, hesitant to go in. A fireball of anger and fear roils in my stomach. Knocking, I push open the door.
Inside, Mom is lying on the small bed, her eyes closed. “Mom?” I whisper. The last thing I want to do is frighten her.
Her eyes flutter open. It’s now that I get a good look at the aftermath of hurricane Raymond. Her cheeks are covered with scrapes, extending down her jaw, and onto her neck. Patches of dried blood run along her hairline, and a faint purple shadow is visible over her left eye.
Pulling the chair over to her bed, I sit, fitting my hand beneath hers. “I’m here, Ma.”
Guilt, hatred, fury, outrage, weakness, sorrow, all of them slash at my insides like the claws of a raptor, ripping me to shreds. I was too fucking late. He got to her. I couldn’t protect her.
“Thor,” she croaks, her voice heavy. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” I growl, hating that she thinks this is her fault. She always does this, takes all the blame. Covers for him. “What happened?” No one’s been able to give me a straight answer.
“I got home from the store and was unloading the groceries. He came up behind me. I dropped everything—the groceries, my purse, keys. I got away and ran back to my car. Locked myself inside. Luckily, I had my cell phone shoved in my back pocket. That’s when I called you. When you didn’t answer your cell, I called the shop.”
“I’m here now. Sorry I didn’t get there sooner.” I brush my hand over her matted blond hair, careful to avoid the cuts at her hairline. “You gotta call the cops in situations like that, Ma. When you can’t get ahold of me, or I’m too far away.”
“I know. I just panicked. When he busted out my window, I didn’t know what to do. He punched me, grabbed handfuls of my hair…” She pauses for a second, breathing heavily. “Then he tried to pull me through the broken window. That’s when the cops got there.” She touches the cuts on her jaw, eyes glisten with unshed tears. “The jagged pieces in the frame cut me pretty bad. Doc says I’m going to need stiches for some of them.”
“They’ll get you put back together.” It’s all I can say. “Just rest. I’m gonna go talk to the doctor. I’ll be right back.” I pat her hand and bend down, placing a kiss on her forehead.
My hand poised on the door handle, Mom says, “Thor, my purse. I dropped it at my door. If he gets it…” her voice trails off at the thought of Dad getting his hands on the contents of her purse. Her life. Money, credit cards, license, keys. Everything.
“Don’t worry, Ma. I’ll find it.” And so help me God, if he has her things, I will end him. Even if it means spending the rest of my life in prison for manslaughter, I will get her purse back. That piece of shit doesn’t deserve to draw another fucking breath.
“And Thor”—she stares at me, one eye swollen shut—“promise me you won’t go looking for him. I don’t want you hurt or in trouble.”
I hold my breath. Goddammit. She knew exactly what I had planned. Track the son of a bitch down and mess him the fuck up.
“Promise me, Thor.” Her shout is strangled.
“Yeah,” I growl, throwing open the door, anger burning up my insides.