CHAPTER EIGHT

STEELE

 

“No. You can’t use that one!” Crash yanks the wrench from Token’s hand and shoves him away from the motorcycle. The look on Token’s face would send anyone else to their corner of the ring but not Crash.

I laugh. It’s entertaining to watch my brothers yell at each other. Must be a sibling thing. Especially when it’s the youngest giving the toughest a hard time. Beard, tatts, and built like a bulldog, Token’s a beast. Most people would think twice about looking at him wrong.

Stone’s a beast too, but where Token’s flexing, front and center, Stone’s silently waiting in the background to pounce on his prey. Nix, now he might have the Kane physique, but that boy’s all brains, computers, and collars. Very rarely do you see the guy in a tee. And Crash, well, no matter how much motor oil or grease that kid gets on himself, he’ll always be pretty. He’s just too damn good-looking for his own good.

“Hey.” Token nudges his beard my way while wiping his hands off with a rag. “You going to see Stone’s band Saturday night?”

“Thinkin’ about it.” Honestly, I’d forgotten Harley had mentioned it. I’ve got nothing but the raven beauty on the brain, and it’s not only making it difficult to work out my stunts with Jaylyn on the set but also in my head all the time. Hell, I almost overlooked putting on pads before a simple fall down a flight of stairs.

“What about you, asshole?” Token looks down at Crash. “You and Jaggs gonna go?”

“Fuck!” The wrench slips off the bolt and drops to the cement floor with a cling.

“Don’t fuckin’ strip it,” Token leans down, crowding Crash’s space.

Crash picks up the wrench and points it at him. “Get the fuck away from me.”

“So what’s she gonna be?” I intervene, laughing at my little bros.

“Who?” Token growls and stands. Task completed, he directs his attention on me.

“Bella,” I respond.

“Ah, Nix told me, but fuck if I remember.” His glare shifts back to Crash. “It’s fuckin’ stripped, isn’t it?”

Crash doesn’t say a word as he pulls the bolt free with a tight grin.

I press my lips together, holding back another chuckle. “Maybe she’s gonna be a princess, a witch, a fairy?” I raise my voice. “Wonder Woman?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know.” Eyebrows furrowed, Token looks at me, shrugging his hefty shoulders. “The Pink Power Ranger?”

“Power Ranger?” Stone walks into the shop. “Dude, that’s from when we were kids.”

Token nudges a what’s-up at Stone. “Didn’t you hear, they just came out with a new movie?”

“No shit?” Stone stops and stands with the rest of us as we watch Crash work on Token’s bike. The bolt falls to the ground, and Token’s face crumples.

“Hey, remember that time Token dressed up as Superman?” I laugh, relieved to see Token’s scowl directed at me instead of Crash. The kid could use a break; he might even get Token’s bike fixed while he’s at it. “He came out of Ma’s room dressed in one of her slinky bodysuits, a bright red G-string, and blue thigh highs.”

“Yeah,” Stone says with a lop-sided grin. “The kind with that lacy shit on top?”

“Oh, yeah.” Crash nods, waving the wrench across his chest. “He stuffed his shirt with maxi pads for muscles.”

“Fuck you.” Token snarls. “And I don’t want to hear anything from you.” He points at Crash. “The kid who wouldn’t touch anything made in China, including the silverware. You ate off plastic spoons and forks until you were twelve, for fuck’s sakes. What the hell was up with that shit?”

Crash shrugs, inspecting the bolt. “Anything Chinese scared me. I think it was from watching The Grudge or something.” He tosses the bolt across the room, easily making it into the large garbage can.

“The Grudge wasn’t Chinese. In fact, it was a Japanese remake, and it came out like ten years ago. The shit with the spoons started when you were around six,” I say although it could’ve been as early as age five.

“No.” Stone shakes his head. “I think The Grudge came out a little longer than ten years ago. I remember sneaking Libby Greyborn into the theatre because we were too young to see it.”

Crash picks up a new bolt from a metal box. “Was just a kid, so don’t really know where it came from, and I don’t care.”

“Had to have been Uncle Rowdy.” I rub my clean-shaven chin. I wish Kip would grow a beard and give me a break from having to shave every fucking day. “He’s always bitching about people buying shit from China. Hell, when he found out the American flag hanging on the front of his cabin was made in China, he nearly burned the damn thing in the campfire.” We’d go down to Crazy Uncle Rowdy’s a lot for the weekend with Dad when we younger. Uncle Rowdy had an opinion about everything. Dad didn’t always agree with them, but he was his brother, so he put up with Uncle Rowdy’s rants.

“Yeah.” Stone leans against a dark blue Monte Carlo. “It took a twelve-pack, but Dad talked him out of it.”

“So Steele …” Crash says, bending over the bike. “You bringing Jay Saturday?”

I know what the little fucker’s doing. A few years ago, Crash might’ve liked being the center of attention and even relished in it, but not anymore. He’s directing the unwanted attention from him to me, and it’s working. Stone and Token’s eyes missile at me. They both ask, “Jay?”

“Wait.” Stone’s dark brow rises. “Is Jay a boy or a girl?”

“Funny, asshole.” I smirk.

“What?” Stone lifts a hand. “It’s a legitimate question.”

“Jay, yeah, Jaylyn.” Token snaps his fingers. “That’s the girl Harley met over at your place the other day.”

“Yeah, tell ’em, Steele, how you’re sleeping with the enemy.” Crash stands up. “She works for the insurance company that’s covering his stunts for his latest movie. I met her. She seems cool.”

“I’m not sleeping with her.”

Token’s face scrawls. “Why not?”

“Could be the ring on her finger.” Crash closes the metal box and heads for the work bench.

“She’s not married,” I inform them all. If there’s one thing my brothers and I agree on, it’s no married women.

“Why the ring then?” Crash waves his hand.

“She’s a widow.”

“Oh, fuck.” Stone crosses his arms over his chest. “You better be careful if you’re thinking about hitting that.”

“Why?” I can’t believe it, but I need to know Stone’s reasonings. Obviously, mine are not working. I can’t get her out of my head.

“When did he die?”

“Three years ago.” I step closer to Stone.

“Okay, well, before you decide to get involved, there are a few things you’re gonna wanna know. Like does she still live in their home? Are there children involved? And heads-up, holidays can get weird. And dude, know you can never replace him, so marriage might never be an option. Oh, and widows, they tend to cry at the drop of a hat. Like you could be high off your ass at two in the morning, standing in the snack aisle of a grocery store, and all of a sudden, she starts crying uncontrollably. I mean, nice sales clerk, me, and some eighty-year-old lady can’t-get-her-to-stop-crying crying.”

“Someone you dated?”

“No. Army buddy of mine. I promised if anything happened to him that I’d check up on his wife, Jenny. Real cool gal, we hang out from time to time, and well, anyway, tread lightly, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

A little stunned, I stare at him. Stone hasn’t really said anything about the Army. He just returned home on an honorable discharge with some shrapnel in his back and started using drugs. First painkillers, then coke, and luckily, with four brothers standing in front of it, he never graduated to meth. Once we found out about his drug problem, we shut that shit down. He’s been doing good since our little intervention at Uncle Rowdy’s. “Sorry about your buddy.”

“Hey, who wants to see Bella in her Halloween costume?” Nick calls out with his head sticking through the front door, reminding us why we were all summoned to Crash’s auto shop in the first place.

We all stop what we’re doing to respond with loud enthusiasm. Every single one of us would do anything for our niece and with my little sis, Lurlene, living out of town, that includes painting nails and putting on lipstick. Luckily, though, the kid also likes to toss a ball around.

All forty-five inches of Bella waltzes into the shop, dress ripped, blood trickling from her neck, face pale and eyes blackened, arms and legs stiff. My six-year-old niece looks dead, and as soon as it hits me, I blurt out, “You’re a zombie!”

“Yes,” she squeals, clamping her hands together with little girl excitement.

I scratch my head. What sweet, innocent girl wants to be corpse for Halloween?

Well, my brother’s, of course. She fits right into the Kane clan, all right.