Chapter 19

I may not be a Victoria’s Secret model, but I could pick one up and squat her.

-Kennedy’s secret thoughts

Evander

“Hello?”

“Meeting started five minutes ago, where the fuck are you?”

That was Travis, and he didn’t sound happy.

“Ran into a problem,” I said, eyeing Kennedy. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Travis muttered something and hung up, leaving me standing there, my pants around my thighs, staring at Kennedy as she cleaned herself of my release.

I watched her drop the towel, and then walk out of the room, but only far enough that she could get to the bed and flop down on it, face first.

My lips twitched.

Buckling my pants up, I walked into the bedroom and stood over her.

“Come on,” I ordered, hauling her up from her sprawled position by one ankle. “I have a company meeting, and I need to run by my place and change. And I would like to take my bike because it’s a beautiful fucking day out, and we needed to be there about five minutes ago…that okay?”

She stood shakily on her feet, and her face was a mask of pleased tiredness. The look on her face, paired with what we’d just done, was enough to make me feel smug.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ll ride on your motorcycle with you. What should I wear?”

I thought about that for a moment.

“You have any leather?”

She didn’t really need leather. More so she just needed pants, but I’d love to see her rounded ass in leather.

Not that the stuff she wore wasn’t extraordinary enough, but the thought of seeing those rounded curves in something that was so tight on her ass that it was like a second skin—yeah, that did things for me.

Things that shouldn’t be happening when I’d just had her, but oh well.

It was what it was.

“I have a leather skirt,” she said. “But no leather pants…which would be the only thing I would wear on a motorcycle. I’ve seen some crazy Facebook video footage of what happens when a woman wears a skirt on a bike.”

I grinned and pulled her to me.

“Yeah?” I asked. “What happens?”

“People get a sneak peek whether the skirt-wearer wants them to or not.”

My gut twisted.

“Wear pants,” I grumbled.

Her lips twitched. “Yes, Sir.”

***

Twenty—not thirty—minutes later, we pulled into the driveway of Hail Auto Recovery.

Instead of going inside like one would expect, I grabbed hold of Kennedy’s hand and tugged her along behind me, taking her not to the shop, but to the club next door.

“What’s this?” she asked, eyeing the club.

It was one of the most popular places in the area and owned by Travis and Dante Hail.

“I didn’t realize that a city limit sign could be in the middle of a city.”

I looked over at where she was pointing, and saw the sign that read Jefferson, Texas City Limits. Population: 4, 206.

“There’s a story there,” I said distractedly as I walked up to the door, grabbing Kennedy’s hand as I did.

Atticus saw me, nodded his head, and then opened the club’s door without another word.

We walked inside into a dark, quiet hallway.

“Well, are you going to tell me this story?” she teased.

I grinned.

“Hostel used to be a dry town, and when we decided to open the club, Hostel’s city council flat out refused to allow them to have a liquor license. So they built the club—they, as in the owners, Travis and Dante—the next town over since they would approve the liquor license. That’s Jefferson, Texas.”

“Was the garage always there?” She pointed behind her, I assumed to indicate the Recovery shop.

“No,” I said. “When the business took off, they rebuilt it. But they wanted it in Hostel, and not Jefferson, because that’s where it was established. In the beginning, Dante and Travis, as well as Dante’s wife, started it out of their garage in Hostel. For a short time, they moved to Louisiana and opened another branch in Shreveport, but they no longer run that location. Though, the location still uses ‘Hail Auto Recovery’ for the name because it’s an established business there.”

“Sounds confusing,” she murmured, stopping when we came to a door.

I pushed it open, and the pulsing sounds of the club started to vibrate around us.

“Wow,” she gasped. “I’ve never even heard of this place. It’s amazing.”

I laughed. “The way you tell it, your sister’s the one who took you out and got you to see new places and things. You’re not really the type to go out and party. I can see why you wouldn’t know about this place.”

I immediately felt badly about mentioning her sister, and the frown and sadness that entered her eyes was enough to make my heart clench.

Fuck!

Then she smiled.

“My sister tried to get me to go out with her once to a club downtown, but I flat out refused. It’s not surprising that she wouldn’t tell me about this one.”

I squeezed her hand and tugged her into me, wrapping my arm around her shoulder as I directed her into the back of the club, down a long hallway, and into the private quarters that the Hail crew, also known as the Hail Raisers, occupied when they were in the club.

The moment I pushed open the door, Travis, who was on the front of the table leaning against it with his feet crossed, stood up.

“Fucking finally.”

“Sorry,” I muttered. “This is Kennedy. Kennedy, that’s Travis. I’ll introduce the rest to you once we’re through with the meeting.”

I’d do it now, but Travis looked fucking pissed that I was late.

Eyes wide, Kennedy nodded. “Okay.”

It was how she moved closer to me that erased the scowl off of Travis’ face.

The moment he saw that Kennedy was intimidated, he sighed and stood from his lean, offering his hand to her.

“Nice to meet you, Kennedy,” he said, eyes intense on her. “Have a seat. This won’t take long.”

I walked to the closest two open seats, which happened to be at the end of the table, and took a seat.

Kennedy sat in the rolling chair and scooted up as close to the table as her chair allowed, and then placed her hands gently in her lap, waiting.

I grinned, and then took the seat beside her, not scooting up like she did, but scooting back so I could plant my feet on the table.

“Like hell it won’t take long,” Baylor grumbled, extending his feet into the chair beside him. “We need to figure this shit out before it gets too far out of hand.”

Baylor was a Hail—an actual Hail, and not just a man that worked for Hail Auto Recovery.

“Agreed.” Reed stood up and started pacing.

Reed was also a Hail. He was military—home for a few days from what I’d heard—and he had a bad attitude that nobody wanted to get near. Although others may know why, I didn’t.

I studiously avoided everything that had to do with him seeing as I wasn’t the touchy feely type and didn’t want to find out why the fuck he was acting like a complete asshole.

Because asking people why they’re sad, or angry, or anything really, invited more talking on their part. That was something I wasn’t willing to deal with at this point.

“We can talk about Dante some other time, boys,” Travis snapped. “He’ll hold.”

I wasn’t sure that was true.

It had taken Travis a few weeks to explain exactly what was going on with Dante, but once he had, I’d immediately understood why he wasn’t there anymore.

His wife and children had been killed in a car wreck—a car that Dante’s sister had been driving.

And within weeks of that happening, Dante’s sister, Amy, had killed herself because of her distress.

So yeah, I didn’t need any further information on that front.

I could see why Dante would want to check out, and as long as he wasn’t hurting the business, then I didn’t see a goddamn reason in the world why everyone couldn’t leave him the fuck alone.

His brothers, obviously, had different ideas.

I leaned back and sighed, wondering why exactly I had to be here for a meeting like this.

There were a hundred different things I could be doing right now.

Cleaning up my yard. Picking up a skip. Fucking Kennedy.

None of those things could be accomplished here.

“Fine,” Reed grumbled. “But don’t think that I won’t beat the shit out of you if you keep avoiding me.”

My lips twitched.

Reed was big, like Travis, but he was also about fifty pounds heavier and tolerated less bullshit.

It’d be an interesting fight, that was for sure.

“I have a new high-bond recovery, and I want to go over it before I assign it.”

I was only halfway listening, my eyes studying the long strands of hair that were curling around Kennedy’s neck, when I heard the name and froze.

“Balthazar Montes.” Travis’ eyes flicked up to meet mine the moment he said the name and watched closely as my fists clenched.

He knew who he was to me. He knew that that man was no bigger than a piece of shit and someone that I would love to run over with my truck if I ever had the chance—even if I had to drive through the gates of Hell to get to him.

“I’m sure some of you are aware of who he is…” Travis continued.

Everyone in the entire room was aware of who Balthazar was and what he’d done to me. What he’d taken away from me.

Luckily, nobody said a word as Travis explained why Balthazar was getting his car repossessed. My hope was that it was due to him being a complete moron.

My luck was never that good, though.

“Two people will take this skip,” Travis continued. “If you need help, or see it in town, don’t approach unless you have enough manpower. This asshole is dangerous and carries a shit ton of muscle with him everywhere he goes.”

I knew that. That’d been the reason I hadn’t approached.

It’d been the reason that little piece of trash wasn’t lying dead in an alley somewhere far, far away from here.

“Understood?” Travis confirmed.

There were a few grumbled yesses from the men and a “Yes, fucking Sir,” from Reed, even though Reed didn’t normally take skips. See, Reed was actually a doctor—an OB/Gyn, in fact. It was rare that he was in town, and even rarer that he would take a skip. I had a feeling that the only reason Reed was here was due to whatever was going down with Dante.

Travis shot him a glare, and Kennedy started to giggle.

Causing me to smile.

“Shh,” I whispered. “Travis is in a shit mood lately.”

Her eyes turned my way, wide and surprised because she knew damn well that Travis could hear every word we said.

“I think now’s the time we talk about hiring more people,” Baylor piped up, ignoring Kennedy’s giggling. “Without Dante here to help and Tate Casey in jail for the next three years, we need to hire more manpower.”

My brows rose.

That was news to me.

I’d wondered where Tate was the last few weeks I’d been working again, but I hadn’t had enough time to ask any of them where he was. I’d just thought he was on vacation.

He did that a lot. Sometimes he was gone for months at a time while he rode off into the sunset on his bike, and then he’d show up a month, sometimes two, later wearing a much happier smile.

“What the fuck is he in jail for?” I barked, leaning forward.

All eyes turned to me.

“Shit,” Travis said, scratching his beard covered chin. “I thought you would’ve heard.”

I shook my head. “Nobody talks to me anymore. They think I’m scary.”

That earned another giggle from Kennedy, and I wrapped my hand around her ponytail and tugged lightly.

“Quiet, woman.”

She didn’t turn to me, but I could see the small smile on her face.

“He was making a pick-up two blocks from the club and drove up on a couple gang members raping a woman. A girl, really. You know how he is about that.”

I winced.

Tate Casey was the gentlest man you’d ever come upon…unless it involved females.

Nobody knew the full story, but we’d all seen the light switch on in his brain over the years that we’d been working with him.

There was this one time, while we were doing a recovery together that had gone late—later than we expected, anyway—and we’d been there when the couple had arrived home.

Since we’d been in an area of the yard with our lights off that was fairly deserted, they didn’t see us as they pulled in. Further, they didn’t see us at the back of the lot as they opened the trunk of their car and yanked a little girl out.

A girl who’d been kidnapped earlier in the day.

And that same light had gone off in Tate’s eyes as I’m sure had when he’d seen that girl being raped by the gang members.

“Goddammit,” I rumbled, standing up and putting my hands on my head. “How long is he in for?”

“He got eight years, but due to his…errm…circumstances, he got a lighter sentence. Something much lower than he could’ve gotten for beating two teenagers to death. He has the possibility for parole in three years. My guess is that he’ll get it.”

I looked at Travis, knowing that he knew more than the rest of us. But I didn’t press. If he wanted to share, he would have. Whatever he knew, it must’ve been big, because the guys in this office were a bunch of gossips. You couldn’t keep a secret in this place to save your life.

“Well, fuck,” I said. “That fucking sucks.”

“I’m open for suggestions on hires if y’all have any,” Travis groaned. “Goddammit, I’m tired. This shit is for the birds. Dante used to handle this part of the operation. All I had to do was drive a truck when I was needed and do the fucking taxes on time.”

I thought about people that I knew who were up for the crazy, and sometimes life threatening, job of an auto recovery agent, and I could only come up with one man.

“I know one man. He’s here for the next six months for some operation—which I’m not privy to so don’t fucking ask—and then he’ll be gone. But he used to be in the Army with me, and he’s a good man.”

“Who?” Travis asked.

“The dark, creepy motherfucker who I’ve seen hanging around the club lately?” Reed questioned, perking up at hearing someone that someone was around to help out, which would give him more time to visit his lady who was hours away where his other brother, Tobias, lived now.

I grinned. “That’s him.”

“Ask him,” Travis ordered immediately. “As long as the two jobs don’t interfere with each other, that’s perfectly fuckin’ fine.”

“I know a SEAL…well, an ex-SEAL…named Brock,” Baylor started. “I might have to dig him out of the bottle first, but he’s around.”

“Ask him,” Travis said. “I’m not being picky at this point. I’d ask Mom and Dad to get some fuckin’ sleep at night at this point.”

I snorted.

Travis grinned.

Tobias and Baylor started to laugh.

Kennedy looked at me in confusion.

“Travis’ parents are the sweetest, kindest people in the world. They fronted Dante the money to start this business fifteen years ago—when he was just twenty-five—but they’d never be able to take someone’s car away from them,” I explained to her.

“Ahhh,” she nodded in understanding. “Got it.”

I winked at her.

“Who is this Brock guy?” I asked Lincoln. “I saw someone at the diner the other day. He ordered a beer with his breakfast, and I think he was the only other person in the entire place who could take some of the heat off of me the entire time I was there.”

Baylor nodded. “Was with me in the SEALs. Something happened. Something bad. He was looking for somewhere to go and I offered him up Hostel. He’s staying in an apartment in Jefferson, though. The rent’s cheaper there.”

“All right, then ask those two. We will see how the workload lightens up and go from there,” Travis scratched his head. “Did we go over the numbers for last month?”

“No,” all of us said.

The numbers from last month were pretty much made up from what we pulled in with repossessions. Usually, there was a running count to see who could get the biggest payout, but I guessed that it’d taken a back burner when Dante’s family had been killed.

And my guess was confirmed moments later when Baylor spoke.

“No point,” Baylor sighed, his head tilting forward as he stretched out his neck. “I’m exhausted, and the faster I can get home, the faster I can get to fuckin’ sleep.”

Before Travis could reply to this, his phone rang, and he halted everything to answer it.

I understood why he’d done that moments later when he stood up like he had somewhere to be.

Which, I might add, he sure as hell did.

“Hannah’s in labor. Gotta go.” He paused at the door and looked at Baylor. “Assign that to whomever wants it and get to the hospital.”

Baylor had already been halfway to standing when he got the directive.

“10-4,” Baylor grumbled. “I’ll be there. Good luck, brother.”

Travis visibly shook himself and then he was gone.

“This his first kid?” Kennedy asked in surprise.

“No,” everyone around the table answered at once.

The single word was said so abruptly, and with so much anger, that Kennedy shrank back in surprise.

“I think I sense a story,” she murmured, this time for only me to hear. “But tell me later.”

Baylor grunted, and Kennedy’s faced flushed with the realization that she hadn’t whispered quite as low as she thought she had.

“There really is nobody to give this to but you, man,” Baylor handed off the file folder by sliding it across the table. “We gotta get to the hospital…just be smart, yeah?”

I lifted my lip in a silent snarl.

“I’ll be smart,” I lied.

I wouldn’t be smart.

This was the ticket that I’d been waiting for. The entrance to the private Montes compound that had security that rivaled Fort Knox. The place that housed one of the two men who’d been responsible for leaving me to rot in that shit hole for four years.

Yeah, I wasn’t going to be smart. I was going to kill that motherfucker with my goddamn bare hands.

And I had a good damn reason to be there.

Fuck. Yeah.

With the rest of the group leaving, it left Kennedy staring at me in anticipation.

“I have so many questions!”

I started to laugh as I pulled her up from her chair.

Once we got outside, I opened the truck door, but she waved it away.

“No, let’s go over there and get some candy.”

“Candy?”

“Candy!” She said, then started across the street to the gas station.

I followed behind her, eyes on her ass, and almost missed the woman who pushed out of the gas station at the same time Kennedy pushed in.

“I’m sorry.” Kennedy apologized.

I looked up at the same time that I saw the vet staring at me accusingly.

“Dog stealer.”

I gritted my teeth.

“What are you talking about?” Kennedy questioned Layne.

Layne turned her angry gaze to Kennedy.

“He didn’t tell you that he stole my dog?”

Kennedy’s eyes turned understanding.

“From what I hear, he didn’t steal the dog. You were housing the dog, and he had a signed contract.” Kennedy corrected her.

Layne didn’t have anything to say to that. She flipped us both off and left, walking out of the gas station parking lot and next door to her clinic.

But she’d done the damage that she’d set out to accomplish. How, you ask? The town gossips had been standing in the middle of the parking lot next to a large Suburban. Three women, six kids, and two fathers that also helped coach the team that my nephew was on. All of the adults were staring at us with various degrees of disgust on their face.

Just fucking perfect.

“Let’s go.” I ordered, grabbing Kennedy’s hand.

She tugged it away from me and went into the store. I stayed where I was, torn between following her and standing my ground.

I decided to stay and stare the group down, but two of the women were already on their phones, texting.

Just fucking great.

“Ready.”

I looked down at the bag that Kennedy was holding.

She didn’t have just a candy bar. She had six. Two half gallons of ice cream—Rocky Road and vanilla. And a huge rainbow popsicle the size of a 6-cell Maglite.

And as we walked away, she was sure to glare at each of the adults that she passed. Grabbing onto my hand and holding on for dear life as we made it back to my truck.