The Boy I Grew Up With
Page 8
“I’m not intending anything. I swear. I was just mentioning them because they remind me of you and Jax. I remember how you two were back in the day.”
The gas finished, and I turned to take the nozzle out.
I finished and glanced back. “You don’t need to be talking about her either.”
A forced laugh. “Holy fuck, Monroe. You’re testy. I’m not angling for anything.”
“You’re not over here to shoot the shit with me. I know that much. You’re bringing up my sister, then Heather. You’re talking like she and I are done, and you know that’s not the case.”
My eyebrows went up. “Is this about your woman?” I shot back. “Lynna was in Tuesday Tits last week, but I didn’t notice her going home with anyone.” I paused. “That night.”
He’d tensed up at her name.
A second later, he shook his head, moving back another step. “I came over to start a conversation. That’s all.”
I studied him.
“You’re probing.” I spoke clearly. “Why are you probing?”
His eyes narrowed. Just then, the bell on Quickie’s door jingled, and one of his guys came out from inside.
Our “conversation” was done almost as quickly as it had started up.
His guy grunted his name as he walked past us, and all of them got on their bikes. They paused, but Richter waved them on. One by one, they pulled out of the lot.
Richter held back, staring at me, but he was edging toward his bike now. And like other times, a different look came over him once his MC was gone. The sliminess faded, and he sounded genuine when he said, “I know you and I don’t…” He hesitated. “…work well together.”
Work wasn’t the word I would’ve used.
He was smart. He was connected. That made him dangerous.
He’d been circling the waters for a long time now. This was just the first time outside of Tuesday Tits that we’d talked in years. The last time had been across battle lines a few years ago when I told him his MC could drive through Roussou. They could eat in Roussou. They could drink in Roussou, but they couldn’t claim Roussou as one of their territories.
It wasn’t anyone’s, but if it had been, I’d have had to step up and claim it. I just hadn’t because I didn’t want to. That road would be violent. People would die.
“Look, Channing.” His hand gripped the back of his neck. A frustrated vein stuck out from his forehead. “I’m not the enemy you seem to think I am—my guys too. We like Roussou. I have family in Fallen Crest. I don’t understand why there’s this rub between us.” He shrugged, a small smile appearing as he put on his sunglasses. “Who knows. Maybe one day we could become friends?”
Friends.
“Your MC beat up one of my crew two years ago,” I pointed out.
He shrugged. “You guys got us back. You beat up one of my guys.”
I flashed him a hard grin. “I’m thinking that’s why we can’t be friends—and the whole thing where you want to run drugs through Roussou. There’s that too.”
He got on his bike. “Yeah. That too. But other than that, I think we should grab tea one day.” He laughed, starting it up and held up two fingers in a salute, heading out.
Watching him go, an uneasy feeling settled in my chest. That war might be coming sooner than I’d realized.
He’d just given me a warning, in his way. He knew my weaknesses: Heather and Bren. He was letting me know he knew.
I was still standing there when I heard Quickie’s greeting bell again.
“You need me to call the cops?” It was the gas clerk, standing outside the door, holding it open.
I almost laughed. Even if I’d had a bullet in me, I wouldn’t have wanted that. I started for him. “Nah. They went to 10. They don’t know the cops started ticketing there last week.”
The clerk laughed, easing up as I got to him.
He went inside first and moved behind the counter. “Lots of speeding tourists around these parts.”
Yes. Yes, there were. I went to grab a Red Bull before I paid. As I was returning to the front, a black truck roared into the lot, and two idiots jumped out from the back. I say idiots because normal, rational, thinking people wouldn’t be back there, not when the truck was going so fast it had to careen to a stop.
Actual smoke lingered over the tire tracks.
The guy was ringing me up when the door pushed open, and the kids who entered saw me. They braked suddenly.
“Channing!”
Her eyes were wide, but they weren’t scared.
They should’ve been scared.
Inside I cursed, but outwardly, I just sighed and said, “Bren.”
My sister had just entered the building.
“Hey.”
Her three crew guys came in after her. She stopped in front of me, and they all traipsed around her. Each gave me a different head nod. The taller one moved his head down, “Channing.” A note of awe was in his voice, but he kept it going.
The shorter one looked up at me, his eyes widening, but he lifted a finger to his forehead in a small salute. He followed the taller one. Finally Bren’s best friend paused next to her. Cross Shaw looked between the two of us.
She shook her head, just slightly, and he nodded to me too. “Hey, Channing.”
He moved along, but Bren’s eyes lingered over my shoulder a second before looking back up. I had a feeling Shaw was standing a short distance behind me, making sure she didn’t need his backup.
Her mouth pressed together before she cleared her throat. “Hey.” She was wearing a leather coat, jeans way too fucking tight, and a tank way, way too fucking tight.
She was Heather, but with a bigger chip on her shoulder and darker hair. And she didn’t smoke. Thank God.
I wanted to give her my jacket so it’d be like a straitjacket around her, but instead I offered her a closed-mouth smile.
“Were you in Frisco last weekend? At a party?”
She didn’t move. She barely blinked.
She showed no emotion, but I’d surprised her. I knew my sister. She was stone cold, but she wasn’t a big partier, and if she’d gone to Frisco, I needed more information. That wasn’t normal for her.
I waited.
A few seconds passed. She wasn’t going to answer.
“Bren.”
She shrugged. “Not as far as I remember. Why?”
Her crew had gotten their drinks and food. They came back, standing around us. Shaw stood the closest to her. The shortest one went to the register, with the taller one behind him, but both were paying attention to our conversation.
“Did you guys party in Frisco last weekend?” I asked them.
I wasn’t paying Shaw any attention. He was like Bren. He wouldn’t give anything away, but the others shared a look.
The taller one narrowed his eyes, his tone confused. “Yeah. Just Zellman and me.” He nodded to Bren. “B didn’t. She hung back with Cross.”
“Why are you asking?”
Cross was the one who’d asked, but I spoke to Bren. “Richter said he saw you there.”
At the name, all of them straightened up. They were more alert now.
They were well aware who Richter was, and what it meant if he or any other Demon brought up their name. It was a challenge and a threat rolled into one.
I sighed internally, because there wasn’t much else I could do.
Bren did her own thing. She wasn’t a kid I could put structure on. If I did, she’d bolt. She knew it. I knew it. Everyone in her crew and this town knew it. She wasn’t a smart-mouthed teen, or a sarcastic brat. She’d just seen way too much for her age, and I knew I’d contributed to that.
The gas finished, and I turned to take the nozzle out.
I finished and glanced back. “You don’t need to be talking about her either.”
A forced laugh. “Holy fuck, Monroe. You’re testy. I’m not angling for anything.”
“You’re not over here to shoot the shit with me. I know that much. You’re bringing up my sister, then Heather. You’re talking like she and I are done, and you know that’s not the case.”
My eyebrows went up. “Is this about your woman?” I shot back. “Lynna was in Tuesday Tits last week, but I didn’t notice her going home with anyone.” I paused. “That night.”
He’d tensed up at her name.
A second later, he shook his head, moving back another step. “I came over to start a conversation. That’s all.”
I studied him.
“You’re probing.” I spoke clearly. “Why are you probing?”
His eyes narrowed. Just then, the bell on Quickie’s door jingled, and one of his guys came out from inside.
Our “conversation” was done almost as quickly as it had started up.
His guy grunted his name as he walked past us, and all of them got on their bikes. They paused, but Richter waved them on. One by one, they pulled out of the lot.
Richter held back, staring at me, but he was edging toward his bike now. And like other times, a different look came over him once his MC was gone. The sliminess faded, and he sounded genuine when he said, “I know you and I don’t…” He hesitated. “…work well together.”
Work wasn’t the word I would’ve used.
He was smart. He was connected. That made him dangerous.
He’d been circling the waters for a long time now. This was just the first time outside of Tuesday Tits that we’d talked in years. The last time had been across battle lines a few years ago when I told him his MC could drive through Roussou. They could eat in Roussou. They could drink in Roussou, but they couldn’t claim Roussou as one of their territories.
It wasn’t anyone’s, but if it had been, I’d have had to step up and claim it. I just hadn’t because I didn’t want to. That road would be violent. People would die.
“Look, Channing.” His hand gripped the back of his neck. A frustrated vein stuck out from his forehead. “I’m not the enemy you seem to think I am—my guys too. We like Roussou. I have family in Fallen Crest. I don’t understand why there’s this rub between us.” He shrugged, a small smile appearing as he put on his sunglasses. “Who knows. Maybe one day we could become friends?”
Friends.
“Your MC beat up one of my crew two years ago,” I pointed out.
He shrugged. “You guys got us back. You beat up one of my guys.”
I flashed him a hard grin. “I’m thinking that’s why we can’t be friends—and the whole thing where you want to run drugs through Roussou. There’s that too.”
He got on his bike. “Yeah. That too. But other than that, I think we should grab tea one day.” He laughed, starting it up and held up two fingers in a salute, heading out.
Watching him go, an uneasy feeling settled in my chest. That war might be coming sooner than I’d realized.
He’d just given me a warning, in his way. He knew my weaknesses: Heather and Bren. He was letting me know he knew.
I was still standing there when I heard Quickie’s greeting bell again.
“You need me to call the cops?” It was the gas clerk, standing outside the door, holding it open.
I almost laughed. Even if I’d had a bullet in me, I wouldn’t have wanted that. I started for him. “Nah. They went to 10. They don’t know the cops started ticketing there last week.”
The clerk laughed, easing up as I got to him.
He went inside first and moved behind the counter. “Lots of speeding tourists around these parts.”
Yes. Yes, there were. I went to grab a Red Bull before I paid. As I was returning to the front, a black truck roared into the lot, and two idiots jumped out from the back. I say idiots because normal, rational, thinking people wouldn’t be back there, not when the truck was going so fast it had to careen to a stop.
Actual smoke lingered over the tire tracks.
The guy was ringing me up when the door pushed open, and the kids who entered saw me. They braked suddenly.
“Channing!”
Her eyes were wide, but they weren’t scared.
They should’ve been scared.
Inside I cursed, but outwardly, I just sighed and said, “Bren.”
My sister had just entered the building.
“Hey.”
Her three crew guys came in after her. She stopped in front of me, and they all traipsed around her. Each gave me a different head nod. The taller one moved his head down, “Channing.” A note of awe was in his voice, but he kept it going.
The shorter one looked up at me, his eyes widening, but he lifted a finger to his forehead in a small salute. He followed the taller one. Finally Bren’s best friend paused next to her. Cross Shaw looked between the two of us.
She shook her head, just slightly, and he nodded to me too. “Hey, Channing.”
He moved along, but Bren’s eyes lingered over my shoulder a second before looking back up. I had a feeling Shaw was standing a short distance behind me, making sure she didn’t need his backup.
Her mouth pressed together before she cleared her throat. “Hey.” She was wearing a leather coat, jeans way too fucking tight, and a tank way, way too fucking tight.
She was Heather, but with a bigger chip on her shoulder and darker hair. And she didn’t smoke. Thank God.
I wanted to give her my jacket so it’d be like a straitjacket around her, but instead I offered her a closed-mouth smile.
“Were you in Frisco last weekend? At a party?”
She didn’t move. She barely blinked.
She showed no emotion, but I’d surprised her. I knew my sister. She was stone cold, but she wasn’t a big partier, and if she’d gone to Frisco, I needed more information. That wasn’t normal for her.
I waited.
A few seconds passed. She wasn’t going to answer.
“Bren.”
She shrugged. “Not as far as I remember. Why?”
Her crew had gotten their drinks and food. They came back, standing around us. Shaw stood the closest to her. The shortest one went to the register, with the taller one behind him, but both were paying attention to our conversation.
“Did you guys party in Frisco last weekend?” I asked them.
I wasn’t paying Shaw any attention. He was like Bren. He wouldn’t give anything away, but the others shared a look.
The taller one narrowed his eyes, his tone confused. “Yeah. Just Zellman and me.” He nodded to Bren. “B didn’t. She hung back with Cross.”
“Why are you asking?”
Cross was the one who’d asked, but I spoke to Bren. “Richter said he saw you there.”
At the name, all of them straightened up. They were more alert now.
They were well aware who Richter was, and what it meant if he or any other Demon brought up their name. It was a challenge and a threat rolled into one.
I sighed internally, because there wasn’t much else I could do.
Bren did her own thing. She wasn’t a kid I could put structure on. If I did, she’d bolt. She knew it. I knew it. Everyone in her crew and this town knew it. She wasn’t a smart-mouthed teen, or a sarcastic brat. She’d just seen way too much for her age, and I knew I’d contributed to that.
