Kellan (4 page)

“Sorry, kid,” Daisy shouted over my dad’s head at me. “I tried. I’ve
been
trying. It ends tonight.”
 

I let out a sigh and dropped my shoulders as I stepped forward. I slid on to the stool next to my father. With Daisy’s bat still tucked under his chin, he kept his narrowed eyes on her and his mouth set into a hard scowl.
 

He was old. To anyone who didn’t know him, he could probably pass for eighty. But he was only sixty-five. He’d lost his blond hair and Redford-level good looks right around the time my mother died. Now, he had just a few straggly wisps around his temples and on the top of his tanned head. At six foot one, he’d been built like a tank long ago. He could pick up my mother and me in each arm and twirl us around as if we weighed nothing. Now, his skin hung from his arms. His nose and cheeks were pocked and reddened from his bourbon-and-beer diet.
 

“What the fuck did you call her for?” he asked; his voice dripped with menace and caught on the word
her
.
 

“Dad,” I said. I reached out to put a hand on his arm but thought the better of it.  
 

He jerked back. Daisy lowered her bat and he turned to me. “Well, well,” he said, wiping spittle from his mouth with the back of his hand. His blue eyes widened, his focus strayed as he looked me up and down. He reached out and hooked a finger under my black bra strap, snapping it hard where it fell passed my shoulder.
 

“Good thing your mother can’t see you looking like that,” he said, his words running together. “You look like a little whore.”
 

“Dad, stop it. Let’s just get you home.”
 

“Honey, I’m sorry,” Daisy said. Pity crossed her face, making me taste bile just like every other time I’d seen that look. As a kid, I’d gotten it from my teachers at school whenever Ned came by to pick me up. I got it from the neighbors. Half a dozen doctors when my mom got sick.
 

“I can’t have him in here anymore,” she said. “I didn’t call the cops like I said I would, but he’s done here, okay? No more.”
 

“I understand,” I said. Getting Ned out the door was going to be another problem. “Dad, let’s go. Let me get you home.”
 

“I don’t need you,” he said. “Either of you.”
 

I took a breath and braced myself for a fight when I finally put my arm on my dad and tried to nudge him off the stool. Mercifully, he slid off and staggered toward me. I hooked an arm around his waist and headed for the door.
 

“Is he square?” I said to Daisy.
 

“Honey, just get him gone. I’m not worried about his tab. You hear that, Ned? I mean it this time, don’t come back here again. He took a swing at two of my customers. Luckily, they were just as hammered and probably won’t remember anything tomorrow. And also lucky that Ned’s aim is for shit!” She raised her voice on the last sentence and stared hard at my dad.
 

Ned flipped her off and started to pivot back toward her. Luckily, his balance was shot and I got him turned back around.
 

“Honey, wait,” Daisy called out. “God, he’s been so quiet back there I almost forgot.” My heart dropped as I turned my head back toward Daisy. She threw her apron on the bar and headed toward the back room. “Mitchie’s back in the breakroom. I kept him out of the fray as much as I could.”
 

A cold pit formed in my stomach and it was all I could do not to grab Daisy’s bat and hit the bastard myself. I peeled myself from under his arm and set him on the nearest chair.
 

“You stay put and keep your mouth shut,” I said, acid filling my throat. “Son of a bitch, Ned.”
 

When I turned back, Daisy came out of the back with an arm around my little brother. She smoothed back a lock of his blond hair. It was too long. He needed a cut. Mitch kept his head down as he walked with her toward me. His shoes clopped against the wood floor. He was still wearing his baseball cleats and uniform.
 

“H-how long has he been here?” I said. It was a stupid question. The answer was obvious in Mitch’s long face.
 

“He picked me up late from practice. After seven. I told him to take me home but he said he wanted to stop off.”
 

“It’s past midnight,” I muttered, anger making my blood boil. I wanted to say a whole lot more. I wanted to scream and rant at Ned. Why hadn’t Mitch called me? But this was family business. Ned had laid enough of it on Daisy’s doorstep. The bar was mercifully empty, only a half a dozen customers sat further down the bar. They’d kept their eyes firmly in their beer mugs while all this went on.
 

“Thanks, Daisy,” I said, defeated. “I’ve got this. You ready, Mitch?”
 

Mitch pursed his lips and walked toward me. I pulled on my dad’s arm. He rose and walked with me. One beer less or one beer more and he probably would have fought me. As it was, he just needed help heading in the right direction. I got my arm under him again. Mitch shook his head and let out a great heaving sigh that broke my heart. He hooked his arm under my dad’s shoulder and we led him out of the bar together, just as he started singing “When Irish Eyes are Smiling” at the top of his lungs but with his smooth tenor and perfect pitch. I winced at my mother’s favorite song.
 

“I’ve got his keys,” Mitch said, pulling them out of his back pocket; he handed them to me. I bit my bottom lip and thanked him. And that was the third hard lesson we’d learned growing up. Cover. Duck. Get Dad’s keys. I gripped them hard and we started toward Dad’s battered red pickup truck.
 

Just as Mitch got the door open, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
 

“Hey!”
 

I turned, peeling myself out from under Ned. Shit. Justin. I’d nearly forgotten him.
 

“We’ve got this,” I said. My dad was practically snoring on his feet. Despite my assurances, Justin reached around me and hefted my father into the passenger side of the truck. Ned snorted, but his eyes had already rolled back in his head. As soon as Justin got his feet stuffed in the cab and shut the door, he was out cold.
 

Justin tousled Mitch’s hair but Mitch jerked away. He gave a hard look to both me and Justin before he turned and walked to the other side of the truck.
 

“Just give me a sec,” I said. Mitch shrugged and climbed into the cab and started the truck. I looked back at Justin.
 

“I’ll follow you home,” he said.
 

“On second thought, please, don’t.”
 

“Mallory . . .”
 

I put a hand up and pressed it against his chest. I reached up and tousled Justin’s hair just like he’d tried to do to Mitch. Justin pursed his lips and rolled his eyes, but he didn’t pull away.
 

“This is my deal, Justin. Mine and Mitch’s.”
 

Justin let out a bitter laugh and slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “Yeah, well, Mitch is twelve. It shouldn’t have to be his deal.”
 

His words cut through me like a blade. But he was talking about a fantasy. This was my reality. It was Mitch’s too.
 

“What the hell are you doing, Mal? I’m serious.”
 

“Taking care of
my
family.” My words came out hard and Justin flinched.
 

“Yeah? Is that what that was back at
The Sand Bar
? You taking care of things?”
 

So, apparently I wasn’t the only one who could fling hard, hurtful words. I bit my lip past the “fuck yous” I wanted to lob at him.
 

“You taking a page from Ned’s book tonight? You wanna call me a whore too?” I shuddered. Flashes of Kellan seared through my brain. His hands. His lips. The taste of his skin. The way he brought me to the edge of desire so quickly. Just the memory of it made my breath leave me. It could have cost me everything. What if I’d gone home with him? What if Daisy or Mitch hadn’t been able to find me tonight?
 

Justin’s face went white. He took a step back like I’d punched him. “Fuck. Mal. No. Fuck. I’m sorry. It’s just, it wouldn’t kill you to let me—or
someone
—in and help every once in a while. You still need it.”
 

“I need to get them home,” I said. “I really do have this. Ned won’t wake up until probably noon or later tomorrow. If I have to, I’ll just let him sleep it off in the truck and hide his keys. It’ll be okay.”
 

Justin shook his head. I couldn’t help myself. I reached up and brushed that same shock of blond hair away from his eyes.
 

“Come over tomorrow if you want,” I said. “Let me give you a trim. If you do it, it’ll be easier to get Mitch to let me take the scissors to that mop of his too.”
 

Justin laughed and things grew instantly easier between us again. “I’ll think about it. Right now, he looks like he’s ready to stab something.”
 

I didn’t dare chance a look back at my brother. I didn’t have to. He revved the engine hard.
 

“See you tomorrow,” Justin said. “I’d tell you to call me later if you need help but I know you won’t. I’ll just have to take what I can get.” He ran his hand through his long hair and winked at me.
 

“Thanks.” I went up on my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. He rubbed my arm and turned to leave. I went around the front of the truck and made a gesture to Mitch, telling him to scoot over.
 

“Oh, hey,” Justin called out. I froze with my hand on the door handle. Justin bounded around the front of the truck and stood in front of me again. “I forgot to tell you. Brad told me there was a scout there tonight.”
 

“A what now?”
 

Justin reached into his back pocket and pulled out a business card. “Guy’s looking for a house band for a new place opening up down in Lincolnshire. Someplace called
The Wolf Den
.”
 

I took the card from Justin’s outstretched hand. There was no name on it, just raised lettering in black and red and a howling wolf’s head logo. The address was circled. I turned it over. In a scrawling hand was written, “Wednesday, 8:00 p.m.”
 

“Never heard of it,” I said, flipping the card over and handing it back to Justin.
 

“I’ll do some sniffing around but Brad said he has heard of it. It’s run by an M.C. gone legit. They’ve got one up in Grand City. Brad says it’s a gold mine. They pull in tens of thousands on weekends.”
 

“A house band? Seriously?”
 

Justin smiled. “It’s worth checking out though, right? It’d be a steady gig, Mal. Brad said the guy was seriously impressed with what he saw. He wants us to show up for an audition with the rest of the club owners next Wednesday. I think we need to do it.”
 

I took the card back from Justin and ran my finger over the lettering.
The Wolf Den
. “Run by a motorcycle club you said? Sure. What could
possibly
go wrong?”
 

Chapter Four

Kellan
 

“A little to the left,” I said. Brax held the neon beer sign high over his head. At six foot six and with a wing span bigger than a fucking condor, that was pretty damn high.
 

“You sure?” he asked, shooting me a raised brow. He looked every inch of his Viking ancestry with blond, almost white hair, fierce-as-shit blue eyes, and thighs as thick as a damn tree truck. “It’ll be on the damn ceiling.”
 

I was fucking with him. Brax was perched on the edge of the stage and I was hoping I could get him to take just two more steps back before he toppled off the side of it.
 

“Oh, yeah,” Joker said. He leaned back on his bar stool and cocked his head to the side. His shit-eating grin gave him away. It’s how he got his nickname, for having the worst fucking poker face on the planet.
 

“Hey,” Brax said. He brought the sign down and tucked it under his arm, using his other hand to thrust a middle finger at each of us. “You trying to get me to break my damn neck?”
 

“No,” I said. “Just hear you squeal like a little girl before you hit the floor.”
 

Brax set the sign on the floor and hopped down from the stage. “You fuckers can hang this yourself.  I’ll get you a booster seat to stand on so you can reach all the way up there.” That earned him a middle finger from both Joker and me.
 

Brax pulled a chair up, turned it backward and sat down next to me. He flicked his fingers toward the bar. Jeanette, one of our newly hired barmaids, came around from behind the bar and brought him his mid-afternoon cocktail of tomato and orange juice. It was fucking disgusting and smelled as bad as you’d imagine. But Brax loved the shit. He was bouncing tonight so he wouldn’t be boozing, not that he did very much to begin with. We weren’t ancient, but we were getting way too old for rabble-rousing. Plus, this place was poised to make all of our bank accounts fat. We all knew better than to shit where we ate.
 

“Did you get lucky on your last scouting trip or what?” he asked, setting his drink down. He swirled the concoction with a straw. When you mix tomato and orange, it comes out kind of pink. I decided to let that particular burn go.
 

My heart thumped at his word choice. Did I get lucky? In the five days since she’d left me at the docks, Mallory Rhodes had been on my mind. My fingers twitched as I remembered how her firm tits felt, the sweet smell of her shampoo. They way her breath hitched and she trembled all over when I ran my thumbs along her rib cage.