TWENTY-ONE

Dog

“Dude! You missed that before you even hit it.” I laugh at the piss-poor attempt one of the hangarounds made of sinking the last pool ball.

Derek’s been thankfully quiet since he visited a few days ago. Still can’t believe the size of the kahunas on the guy to think he could walk in here and strong arm me into returning to something I have absolutely no fucking passion for.

There’s only one reason I’ve been able to come up with that he’d want me—the black sheep of the family—involved in the company. Because I’d be one less person he has to hide his bullshit lies and underhanded deals from. I know the kind of shit he pulls: the double-dealing, the over-hyped products that strangely creep up in price after they’re contracted, the fraudulent reports … yeah, I know it all. With me around, he’d be free to do his deals without the restriction of having to watch over his shoulder. Asshole probably assumes I’d never say a thing about it, because I’m already guilty by association, right?

I snap from my inner musings as King cuts into the common room from the garage, on a dash for his office. He looks across at the three of us who are taking turn-about and scowls at me. No mistaking that look. I frown in reply, confused about what the fuck I’ve done wrong considering he’s been okay the past week while I’ve been baby-sitting his and Hooch’s guest—Dagne. Damn, maybe he’s madder than I gave him credit for about Derek’s visit?

After all, I swear the guy to secrecy and then damn near blow it all in the next breath.

“Be right back, guys.” I pass the pool cue off to the next player and then follow over to King’s office.

He barks out a short, “Enter” when I knock on the door.

“Hey, Pres. You got a second?”

Fucker doesn’t need to say a thing. The look on his face tells me he’s got an hour’s worth of seconds for me, and none of them are good.

“Just wanted to stick my head in and say sorry again for that drama the other day.”

“Sit down, Dog.” He snatches his bottle of whiskey out of the drawer, still on his feet.

I do as I’m told, holding my tongue as he pours out a single shot. Must be mad if he ain’t sharing.

“What the fuck did you do to her?”

“Who?” Can’t be Dagne. Last I saw her she was out back listening to music in the sunshine.

“The Virgin Mary. Who the fuck you think I’m talkin’ about?”

Mel. Right. I push up on my elbows, mostly so I can appear larger, you know, fool the predator into thinking you can stand your ground? The anger pulses off him in invisible waves that match my budding headache.

“Care to explain this?” He thrusts his phone at me, a message thread from Crackers on the screen.

Smack Dog upside the fucking head for me.

I shrug. “He reamed me about drinkin’ too much before I left the other week. Maybe that’s what he’s on about?”

King takes the phone back and shakes his head, finger swiping at the screen. He stabs so hard the end of his finger turns white and then twists it to me once again. This time it’s a screenshot of a Facebook post.

“The post has been removed, but enough people saw it.”

Sure enough, there’s a thumb up, sad face, and the number thirty-one next to it. I drag my eyes back up to the text, knowing in my gut I don’t want to know what it says but also that King won’t let me get away without reading it.

Searching for the meaning to all of this …

Underneath is a picture, but all I can make out is trees and what looks like hair. Dark hair.

King helpfully reaches around and swipes left to the next picture: a screenshot of the image, clear as day.

I have to open my mouth to save from grinding my teeth into nothing. Mel sits on the edge of the porch, only her back visible as she reclines, her hands braced on the wooden planks—a gun under the right. What tells most of all, though, is the wisp of dark gray that tracks down her cheek from the corner of her eye. If it weren’t so fucking disturbing, it would be a stunning black and white portrait. She’s obviously propped her phone up against the house to take the shot.

I can’t even speak—barely swallow.

All I see is that gun lazily pinned beneath her palm.

“She’s been spoken to,” King murmurs, taking the phone away, “but Crackers wants to know what the fuck you did to leave her so twisted up.”

“Why does it have to be my fault?” I protest weakly, knowing full fucking well I have a bucket load to do with it. “Fair game, Pres. She’s been through a lot. All things considered, don’t you think there’s plenty for her to be worked up about without it being because of me?”

King tips his head to the side, giving me that condescending fatherly look I hate so much. “She asked after you.”

She did? “Oh.”

I grip the ends of the armrests, my fingers curled in tight to the upholstered seat.

“She came in here lost and worried about how she’d fit back into her old life,” King says, quiet and measured. “And now here she is, sittin’ on a fuckin’ porch contemplating the reason for living.”

“Where is she now?”

“Being watched.” He sighs, swirling what’s left in the base of his shot glass. “Think it over, Dog. If she said anything to you that might help, I want to hear it.”

“Yeah, sure.” I’ll have plenty of time to think on my way down there. “Anythin’ else botherin’ you, boss?”

He came in here like a hurricane. You can’t tell me that was all because of her.

“We can’t find Hooch.”

“Fucker’s kind of hard to lose.” I chuckle.

The joke falls flat between us.

“He hasn’t been in contact for almost a week.” King stares solemnly in the shot glass as though it holds his most cherished memories of times gone by and people lost. “We’re runnin’ out of ideas on how to track him down.”

“Anyone told Mel?” Might explain her mood some.

“No.”

“Shit, man.” I slap a hand to my face, drawing it down hard. “She has a right to know.”

“Yeah, I get that.” He glares at me, slamming the glass down. “But don’t you think after that underhanded cry for attention, she might just be a little too fragile to take it right now?”

“You guys don’t give her enough credit,” I murmur.

That girl’s stronger than even she knows. She’s the kind of old lady the brothers dream of: resilient, steadfast, and honest. It’s no wonder, really, why Judas was so hard on her. With a woman like her at the top, the place was sure to thrive.

She might think all her days are cloudy, but that bitch doesn’t realize she is the fucking sun. She has the power to turn this all around.

“You need me around here?” I ask.

King frowns, rubbing his palms together slowly. “Why?”

“Why do you think, man?”

“If you go down there, you fix it,” he orders. “Without involving your fuckin’ dick for a change.”

“You’re horrible when you’re angry, you know that?” I tease.

“I’ve been told.” He drops into his seat and then pours another drink. “Now get out. I’ve got a shitload to get through before Elena expects me home for dinner.”

“Consider me gone.” I get as far as the door before King calls me back.

“What if your brother shows up again, Dog? What do you want me to do with him?” he asks.

I shrug, running my palm up and down the doorframe. “Whatever you want, Pres. He’s all yours.”

I’ve long given up caring what happens to him. Derek wants to be stupid enough to come back here, he deserves whatever grief he gets.

I’ve got more pressing things to worry about. Shit that I actually care about. Things that really matter.

I head upstairs with the vision of Mel on the porch burned in my brain. How in the fuck I can screw a woman up so badly when all I did was goddamn kiss her?

Huh. Maybe that’s it.

All I did was kiss her.