Tension slides off my shoulders as the aroma of dirty motor oil and chassis grease replaces the warm summer air. Since high school, I’ve busted my ass to build an empire. RB Auto Repair, a business I built all on my own, is one of few things in my life that stirs a feeling of undisputed pride. The loud humming of hydraulic hoists, constant clinking of sockets on concrete, high-pitched whining of impact wrenches, guys swearing under their breaths all put me at ease. They’re the sounds of home, the melody of my life.

Amidst the racket, I whistle “Bury Me Face Down” by grandson while making my way to the other end of the shop. The song’s lyrics are the quintessential representation of what everyone goes through in this neighborhood. The smooth and chaotic melody, led by a heavy bass drum never fails to inspire me to perform, and become a better musician.

No matter what I’m doing, my thoughts always gravitate toward the band. Teaching myself ways to improve on vocals and lead guitar, working with the guys on making our sound tight, they’re the only way I’ve been able to keep it together after shit went down with my crew and family.

Over five years have passed since my best friend and my brother stumbled across the organ trafficking ring in my uncle’s warehouse. When my uncle disappeared around the same time they accused him of orchestrating the operation, a small part of me believed it had to be true.

It’s no secret my uncle ran some questionable businesses, the least of which involved dealing drugs. He’s no saint. He earned his way to the top long before the night I was conceived in the back of Bunny’s strip club. Back in his day, no one on the South Side did anything without his approval. If someone so much as breathed in the wrong direction, they could count on his thugs to appear.

But there’s a whole different side of Uncle Marty that few have witnessed. He was there in the final days when my old man’s liver finally gave out, keeping him nourished and giving him his meds. Every year he made anonymous donations of tens of thousands to children’s hospitals and homeless shelters. Without him, the neighborhood’s high school couldn’t have afforded a new rec center with state-of-the-art equipment, and the local hospital wouldn’t have a CT scanner. I’m one of few who knew the extent of his generosity.

So do I think he’s the type that would kidnap healthy, innocent college girls to sell their hearts and lungs? No fucking way. My uncle has enough money without getting involved in something that macabre.

Once I’m in the back room where the real heart and soul of the repair shop operates, studying the fresh cherry red paint job on the 718 Boxster I boosted last week, I release a hefty sigh. As hard as I try not to put too much thought into how I became successful, because those are the days I wonder if I was destined to walk in my uncle's shoes, times like this I’m unable to deny the Blackwood men were born criminals.

Beside the car, one of my oldest-friends-turned-new-employee pulls a respirator down around his neck, a prideful grin stretching across his stubbled face. Despite having recently finished a tour in the Marines, no one would guess Stone ever left the neighborhood. Ratty jeans and t-shirt, dirt smeared on his cheek and forehead, greasy chin-length hair, he fits right in with the other mechanics who have been around their whole lives.

His grin’s a rare glimpse of the spirited little fucker who egged my house fifteen years ago, inevitably becoming my friend shortly after. Life has chewed him up and spit him out so many times that it’s a miracle he’s still here and not six feet under. Instead he learned to build a wall high enough to prevent any more pain from bringing him down. It’s the reason he’s lacking in social skills, and scares the hell out of nearly anyone he meets.

When he came to see me after returning home, demanding I give him a job so he wouldn’t have to move back in with his ex-con grandmother, there’s no way I was going to deny him. He’s the one who talked me into starting the band back up again, even though we had to recruit new members for the bass and drums. He’s shown more loyalty over the years than my brother by blood.

At the same time, he’s becoming a royal pain in my ass. He’s always doing his own shit regardless of what I say or ask of him. If it were anyone else, I wouldn't take his shit. If Uncle Marty taught me anything, it’s that respect isn’t given freely.

“Whatcha think?” he asks, arching an eyebrow while wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

Uncrossing one arm, I scratch my beard. “Thought we agreed on the standard silver this time.”

He sets the sprayer’s nozzle on the wheeled cart, lifting both shoulders like it doesn’t matter. “Ever seen a hot chick driving a red Porsche? It’s sexy as all fuck.”

“It also draws more attention to the cops. Who says a woman’s gonna buy it anyway?”

“Me.” His arctic blue eyes radiate with wild determination. “I’m plannin’ to find me a rich old broad with great tits…bang her on the hood.”

Rather than putting him in his place, I pinch my lips together and scrub my tired face with both hands. There isn’t anything I could say that would stop him from executing his fantasy, and I’m in no mood to beat his ass considering he’d win anyway. Since high school, he’s bulked up to twice his former size, and he’s arguably more psychotic after being brainwashed to think the entire world is out to get him.

Pulling my hands down to take a sweeping look through the rest of the building, filled with half a dozen other stolen cars waiting to be dismantled, I frown. “Where’s Bender?”

Stone’s shoulders lift again while he slides an unfiltered cigarette between his lips. “The hell should I know? I’m not your brother’s keeper.” While lighting the smoke, his eyes trail down my hand soothing over my aching chest. “Rough night?”

“Terrance Fisher’s thugs paid me a visit.” Like my uncle, his head henchman went underground after Trask was murdered. But Terrance’s still living somewhere nearby, remotely operating my uncle’s shady business dealings on his own.

Smoke billows from Stone’s nose like a bull. “Again? What the fuck does he want?”

“Same as always. He thinks I know where my uncle’s hiding.”

“Why now, after all these years? Not like it’s anything new that he split.”

“Wasn’t a lot of time for questions while they were kicking my ass.” If there’s one thing I believe about Bender and Rook’s claims, it’s that Terrance was standing over one of those college girls as a surgeon removed her heart. Rook swears on his life Terrance even shot at him, and I don’t question it. He’s a mean, dirty bastard…never trusted him for a second. The pricks working for him aren’t any better.

“If you want to take care of that asshole once and for all, I know where I can get my hands on some C-four. I wouldn’t hate watching his ugly-ass mug getting blown sky-high.”

Despite the chuckle that vibrates inside my throat, I’m not entirely convinced he’s joking. “I’d have to find him first.”

Before I head toward my office, a series of honks comes from outside. Stone punches the opener, and the middle garage door lifts. A fully loaded black Land Rover glides in beside us with my little brother behind the wheel, banging his head along to some death metal band.

The fuck?

Bender cuts the engine and steps out of the driver’s side, beaming with the cockiest of grins as the overhead door closes behind him. Spending half his teenage years in a detention center hardened him in so many ways that it’s hard to believe on first sight he’s only nineteen. The inked illustrations covering his arms tell the story of someone who has lived a long life and hates the world, and puts his trust in no one other than himself.

I felt obligated to let him in on the business because he’s an expert criminal, and the blood we share from our mother runs deeper than our mutual mistrust. Even though he despises me for taking my uncle’s side, he’s too proud to accept handouts, and I don’t want to see him living on the streets. His hatred is embedded so deep that he wouldn’t even take me up on the offer to move into my uncle’s place. Guess he prefers to bounce from bed to bed of whatever chick he’s banging at the moment.

“Who’s up for employee of the month?” he boasts loudly, holding his arms straight out at his sides.

Stone strides over to the open car door, cigarette dangling from his lips as he peers inside. “This shit’s lit.”

My blood pressure skyrockets to dangerous levels as I glare my brother down. He’s so damn careless, never planning anything out. One of these days he’s going to bring the cops straight to our door. “Where’d you get that?”

He answers with a quick shrug, proving he put little to no thought into the boost. “Some plastic-looking lady with a huge rack left it running outside the Riverdale mall…probably worried she’d melt when she got back in.”

“This will bring in a hundred k minimum,” Stone comments, bending at the tire to inspect the rims. “These are custom made. They’re worth five grand alone.”

Unease sends my stomach plummeting to the floor as I give the SUV a closer look. The rims aren’t the only thing added aftermarket, meaning someone dumped a lot of money into making it theirs. The owner won’t be giving up their search anytime soon.

“Fuck me.” Stone straightens behind the backend with the door held open, dire look pinning me down. “Better come take a look at what your genius brother found.”

I shove Bender aside to join Stone, lungs seizing with my discovery.

Beneath a false floor, there’s a shit-ton of automatic weapons. I recognize a few as AK-47s and M16s, but there are many others. Too many to count. Someone was preparing for a damn war.

Stone lets out a low whistle. “Someone’s not messing around. These are military grade.”

Bender’s standing on my other side a second later, running shaking hands over his head as he releases an arrogant laugh. “Oh shit!”

Blinding rage slithers through my guts until my head’s ready to explode. I’ve tried to look out for him since the day he was born, but he makes it impossible. I swear to god the little shit doesn’t think anything through, just like when he set fire to his foster parents’ car. Should’ve known getting him involved in my business would lead to something like this.

Wrapping my fingers around my little brother’s throat, I pin him against the vehicle. “Do you understand why we scope shit out before planning a boost?”

He tries to pry my fingers loose while laughing a little harder. “You…kidding me? It’s…another…opportunity…to make more…cash!”

“You dumbass!” I roar, shaking him. “Don’t you get how serious this is?”

Stone steps between us and shoves me off my brother. “Knock that shit off.” His piercing eyes narrow as he’s addressing Bender. “He’s right, numbnuts. This is serious business. This vehicle belongs to someone with a fuck-ton of power. I’d say it could belong to Terrance, but it’s not his usual m.o. to pack this kind of heat. My money’s on the drug cartel. They hear you’ve been trying to sell their weapons, and you’ll come out of the deal without your damn head.”

Bender rubs the red marks on his neck, eyeing me like I’m the devil. “What the hell do you suggest we do? Return it to the mall with a handwritten apology?”

As I stare back at him, my fists clench, wanting to knock him flat on his ass. Sometimes I think he belongs in jail…permanently. He no longer knows how to deal with the real world. I tried the best I could to take care of him when our mom couldn’t, keeping on top of everything he needed from food on the table to help with school, but it apparently wasn’t enough.

I take another step closer to him, jaw muscles ready to pop under pressure. “You’re going to replace the plates, wipe your prints, and wait until it’s dark. Then you’re going to dump it on a quiet street in Minneapolis, guns included. This is your mess, Ben. You’re the one who’s gonna clean it up.” I shake my head with spittle building around my mouth. “So help me, if the owner of these weapons comes sniffing around here, you better hope they kill you before I have a chance. Do you understand?”

When Bender replies with a dismissive nod, I turn away before I do something I’ll regret.

* * *

Two days later, as I’m listening to the host of the U’s radio station discuss the investigation of several missing college students with the County Sheriff, Stone storms into my office. With the dark sneer pulling at his reddening features, I’d be reaching for my pistol if he wasn’t a life-long friend. “Where the fuck is he?”

“Bender? How the hell should I know?”

He hasn’t been around since the night he got rid of the Land Rover. I just figured he’s still angry over the ass-chewing, and can’t deal with the fact that he has to answer to his big brother. At least there hasn’t been anything more on the jacked SUV. A contact inside the sheriff’s office confirmed there weren’t any missing reports filed, just as I suspected. Whoever it belonged to is crooked, and doesn’t want to draw unwanted attention to their stash of weapons.

Stone laces his hands over his head. “That little shit stood me up last night. I called in a favor to score him an audition with my cousin’s band.”

I lean back in the chair, grinding my teeth as annoyance seeps beneath my skin. Bender didn’t bother mentioning anything about Stone’s cousin. Once we found a drummer to replace Trask, Ben taught himself to play bass. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if he quit, but without him around, Stone and I would be scrambling to keep up with the demand for cars and parts. “Thought your cousin lived in New York.”

Stone shrugs. “He’s in town for a friend’s wedding or some shit.” His fingers smooth over the deep creases in his forehead. “Doubt he would’ve taken Bender anyway. Roman doesn’t make any decisions for the band without Belle’s approval, and she stayed back at the hotel with their rug rats.”

Having closely watched Roman and his wife’s rise to fame, I nod in agreement. They each headlined their own band until she became pregnant with their first kid. Deciding it would be easier to tour together, they combined band members and shared lead vocals, giving a unique sound to the rock scene that led to several Grammys and a platinum album. I’ve always been envious of their success as one of the most powerful couples in the industry.

The shop’s old-school phone rings on my desk, buried among a pile of invoices. I stare at it, waiting for my secretary to answer. After several rings, I assume Heather’s once again too distracted by her damn boyfriend, and snag it off the cradle myself. “What?”

“Ryker? It’s Justice…your brother’s girlfriend.”

I run a hand through my hair while rolling my eyes to the ceiling. The notion of Bender having a girlfriend is laughable. Either she’s clueless, or she’s a sadist who doesn’t care who else he’s sticking it to. “What do you want?”

“Since he won’t answer his goddamn phone, and he hasn’t come home the last two nights, I was hoping you could pass a message along. Tell him he has twenty-four hours to get his shit out of my house, or I’m selling his guitar to cover rent. That tight-ass hasn’t helped with rent in over two months. This shit’s getting really old. I’m not running a homeless shelter.”

Guess he hasn’t been drifting from bed to bed like I thought. The fact that he bought a backup bass and has been storing it with this one speaks volumes. He hates spending money, and hates trusting anything of value in someone else’s hands even more. “How long has he been living with you?”

She pauses for a moment. “Ever since he got out of juvie. Why?”

“You have no idea where he could’ve gone?”

“No. Probation is looking for him too. He’s going to get his ass hauled to jail.”

I obviously don’t know much of anything about my brother’s life. He cut me out for awhile after Trask died, even told me I was dead to him. But I can say with certainty that he wouldn’t screw up his probation. Just because he belongs in jail doesn’t mean he wishes to be there.

“Call back if you hear anything.” I hang up and meet Stone’s intimidating scowl. “His girlfriend and probation haven’t heard from him in days either.”

“Dumbass,” he grunts out. “If he tried moving those guns, we’ll find his corpse hanging from a bridge somewhere like they do it in Mexico.”

Where the hell could he have gone? Fear wraps around my spine as I grasp at ideas. No way we’re calling the cops. We could try searching for the place he dumped the SUV, but we’d risk drawing attention from its owner. Any questions we start asking around the neighborhood could do the same.

Stone puffs out his chest. “We should call Rook. That smart bastard will know what to do, and his hot-ass wife could probably smooth things over with his probation agent.”

I lean back in my chair, scratching the back of my head. “No fucking way.”

He frowns, nostrils flaring. “Why? Because you’re still butt hurt?”

“Because he hasn’t said a single word to me since Trask’s funeral five years ago. He’s not about to do me any favors.”

“He would if Bender’s involved.”

My smart phone vibrates across the desk, CALLER UNKNOWN flashing across the screen. With a sudden rush of relief, I eagerly answer, “Ben?”

My ear’s assaulted by a cold, gravelly voice. “You’ve changed the security code on my house.”

A strange mix of anger and elation washes over me as the office takes on an unusual slant. Not sure if I’m about to spew my last cup of coffee or scream with rage.

It’s a blast from the past, a voice I never thought I’d hear again.

He’s here?

Why now…after all this time?

Uncle Marty is back.