Prologue
Thomas “Cuss” Layne lay under a ’57 Chevy, the car he’d been restoring for the last two weeks. Feeling a kick on his leg, he slid out from under the car, sat up, and met his VP’s gaze.
Jaw clenched, Dash shook his head. “Can’t believe this shit. We’re outta whiskey.”
A Friday, the night the brothers met at the compound to relax and lay low. They did this by drinking, banging taps, shooting pool, and listening to music the only real way to listen to music—loud. So he understood why Dash sounded peeved they were out of whiskey.
“Brother, we got prospects to get that shit.”
Dash shrugged. “They’re out pickin’ up some shit.”
He dragged a greasy hand through his hair and chuckled. “That shit by any chance whiskey?”
“No, it ain’t. It’s some shit for the garage.”
He spared a glance at the clock at the far end of the shop. They had plenty of time before the brothers showed up. “I’ll make the run. Be back in no time.”
Dash lifted his chin. “Thanks, Cuss.”
“No prob.”
He stood, grabbed a towel, and wiped the grease off his hands. He then threw on his cut over the long-sleeved, thick, black thermal he wore, climbed on his bike, and rode off. The cool air whipped against his face, chest, arms, no better feeling. Arriving at a shopping center off Main Street, he parked, hopped off his bike, his gaze shooting toward the liquor store. Something caught his eye. He shifted his stare and froze. His stomach hollowed out and knotted. Only one person could make him feel that.
And it was her.
Tiffany.
She strode out of the grocery store, the exit just a few feet from the liquor store, dressed for a night out wearing a blue fitted dress, black fur coat tied at her middle highlighting her small waist, and a pair of six-inch heels. Her dark hair cascaded around her shoulders, her lips pink and glossed, cheeks rosy from the cold.
Still a beautiful girl, still out of his league, but damn, she was beautiful, grew more so every year. Having known her since she was fourteen, he knew this as fact.
She shifted, head angled to the side then back, looking behind her. A man walked out holding a dozen roses and a bottle of wine. Tall and blond, a pretty college boy worth her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, leaned into her, and whispered something in her ear, something that must’ve been hilarious because she laughed in that way that lit up her whole face.
It hurt.
It stung.
It killed.
She was happy. They looked happy. They’d date, and then, the pretty college boy would propose. She’d say yes. They’d get married, have a big, lavish, expensive wedding. She’d have his kids and live happily ever after. Without him. She’d never be his, not for an hour, minute, second.
Fuck.
Fuck him.
Fuck life.
Fuck it all.
The knot in his stomach turned into a burning ache consuming his whole chest. Still, he couldn’t force himself to look away, like he wanted to remember the sight, like he wanted to suffer and relish that burning ache. If it was all he’d ever get of her, he did.
Gaze glued to them, he watched the pretty college boy open the car door for her, watched the pretty college boy cup her cheek and kiss her lips. He watched the pretty college boy pull away and the beautiful smile that spread across her face.
Cuss wanted to go to her, see the look on her face when she saw him. He craved to know what she’d do, how she’d react, but like he couldn’t tear his gaze away, he couldn’t summon the strength to move, knowing deep in his gut, he’d forced this. Exactly what he knew would happen.
He missed his chance.
She’d never be his.
He wasn’t good enough, so he never tried. A coward, he hadn’t wanted to fall for her knowing one day she would leave for bigger and better. But standing there, staring at them, feeling nothing but that ache, he realized he should’ve risked it, even if they’d only lasted a night. One night with her would’ve meant much more than all the taps he could fuck in a lifetime combined.
He clenched his jaw so hard it throbbed.
Then and there, he decided, she was his. She didn’t know it, would never know it, but she was his girl. Some of his brothers knew it. He’d saved her twice, claimed her in front of his brothers, at a party, and once, she rode on the back of his bike. No doubt, she was his girl and would always be, didn’t matter who she was with.
Only when they drove away did Cuss drop his head. He stared at the ground, still enduring that burning ache.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there motionless and lost in thought. He didn’t feel the cold, had grown numb to it, but it was long enough Dash called and asked him if he’d been swallowed by the ground.
He bought whiskey then drank too much of it.
Still, the image of her kissing the pretty college boy didn’t fade. He consoled himself by remembering she would always be his girl.