Satan's Revenge (2 page)

But now it’s finally done, so we’ll at least have a little peace and quiet at the house. I wouldn’t have thought that the remodeling would have caused so much stress, but my sigh of relief at its completion was genuine. And of course Drifter did a great job with it.

I glance up to the mirror again. That guy with the dark hair seems to be staring at the back of my head, though he probably can’t tell I can see him in the mirror. I adjust my cut a little over my airy white blouse. I’m proud to wear it, but it does attract some attention. The back is emblazoned with the Sons’ symbol, and the front reads “Property of Drifter.”

Because of my dad, I grew up in the MC culture, so the whole “property” thing never seemed like a big deal to me, though I can understand it would to some women. To me, it means that I belong to Drifter, and he belongs to me. It means we would do anything for each other, and it’s the truth.

Sam drops off my beer and then walks out from behind the bar, making a pass around the rest of the place. In the mirror, I see him clean off a couple tables and chat with some of the other customers.

I envy his easygoing nature, the ease he has with the people he’s talking to. After my experience with Rooster and his attack on the clubhouse, I’ve been much more guarded around strangers. When I’m working at the hospital, I feel focused and in control, and the doctors say I’m one of the calmest new nurses they’ve seen. Outside the hospital though, sometimes the smallest things will set me off. Someone innocuously brushing against my arm at the grocery store, a car backfiring. Drifter, a three-tour veteran, says I’m having anxiety reactions, like the men he served with who developed PTSD.

The worst it’s ever gotten is a tight feeling in my chest, and I’m usually able to calm myself down after some deep breaths, or call Drifter and have him talk me down. I also made him teach me some hand-to-hand combat so I’d feel like I could handle myself more. My dad already did an expert job teaching me how to use a gun, so I didn’t need any help there.

I see Sam approaching out of the corner of my eye and I turn to smile at him. He wipes the bar next to me with a white rag and leans forward to murmur in my ear:

“Guy sitting at your 8, dark hair. He was asking about you. Wanted to know whose old lady you are.”

My eyes flick up to the mirror as Sam moves away, cleaning the rest of the bar. My pulse quickens and I glance at my phone. No new messages from Scott. I sigh quietly and drink the rest of my beer. The life of an old lady is never dull, that’s for sure. Guy could be harmless, maybe he just wants to ask for my number, or he could be from a rival MC and wants to send a message to the Sons through me.

The two beers I’ve just downed sit in my bladder and I begin to bounce my leg up and down on the stool. I drum my fingers against the black fabric of my skinny jeans, which I’m currently wishing weren’t quite so tight. I glance back up at the mirror and around the bar. There are several other people here, and this guy wouldn’t try anything in such a public place. Still, I wish Drifter would hurry up and get here.

I watch the guy take out his wallet and toss a few bills on the table. I glance back down as I feel him walk behind me to the door and quickly hop off my stool and head to the bathroom, just off the end of the bar and down a short hallway.

I bolt inside and empty my bladder in sweet relief. It’s funny, the things that Drifter and I didn’t know about each other when we moved in together. We knew we loved each other, that our connection was special, and that the sex was great, but there were those small things that only reveal themselves when you’ve been living together for a while. Like that Drifter always pees with the door open, for one. I’ll be innocently heading into our hall bathroom, and there he is, all of him. He tried to remember to shut the door at first, but now he just leaves it open, shrugging his shoulders and smiling sheepishly when I walk in on him.

I wash my hands and shake them dry. My lip gloss looks like it rubbed off a bit on the beer glass, so I grab the berry color from my clutch and reapply. I realize my hands are a little shaky as I move the tube across my lips. That guy watching me affected me more than I thought. I take a deep breath and flick the lock on the door open and pull it toward me, stepping out into the hallway toward the rest of the bar.

I feel a hand grab my elbow and turn to see the dark-haired guy standing behind me, clearly waiting to get me alone. My adrenaline spikes, and before I can think I jab him quickly in the throat with my right hand, and then my leg is snapping out to kick him square in the balls. He cries out in pain and surprise and doubles over. Yeah, bet you didn’t see that one coming, you creep, I think, as I drop my clutch and bring my hands over my head. I grip them together and bring them down hard onto his back, sending him sprawling to the floor. I step back to kick him in the stomach.

“Violet!” I hear Drifter yell behind me. “What are you doing?” he asks as he runs toward me.

“This guy…he, he was watching me, and then he pretended to leave, but he followed me to the bathroom,” I stutter, realizing that the rest of the people in the bar are standing up and staring at me. I look down. The man doesn’t look so scary now.

“Huh,” Drifter says, his expression darkening in anger. He looks down at the guy who’s still curled around himself with his head down. “Hey, buddy, you follow my…”

The guy glances up from the floor, and Drifter stops speaking midsentence. I look at him and see a mixture of shock and some other emotion I can’t quite name.

“Scott…” the man on the floor murmurs, regaining his breath. “Been a long time.”

I glance between Drifter and the stranger. “What’s going on?” I ask, frowning.

Drifter sighs and offers me a weak smile. Then he leans forward, offering his hand to the man on the floor, who grabs it and stands up. He straightens and rubs his throat where I hit him. With them standing next to each other, I can see why I mistook him for Drifter earlier. Their resemblance is uncanny.

Drifter clears his throat. “Violet, I’d like to introduce you to my brother, Marcus. Marcus Burrell.”

Chapter Two

My mouth drops open in shock as I stare at Drifter.
His brother?
He’s never mentioned having any siblings. I glance back and forth between the two of them as my world starts to spin.

“I…what…” I murmur, unsure of where to even begin.

“Violet, is it? I guess Scott hasn’t told you much about me,” Marcus says, smiling.

“You could say that,” I reply, finally spitting out a coherent sentence.

“I didn’t know you were coming to town,” Drifter says, running his hand through his hair.

“Sorry, didn’t know myself ‘til recently. Things weren’t working out so well back in Oregon, so I thought I’d make a fresh start of it, kind of on a whim. Guess I should have given you a heads up…” he adds, raising his eyebrows at me ruefully.

“Sorry about that,” I say. He is Drifter’s brother, after all. “I’ve been a little jumpy lately. I thought you were trying to get me alone.”

“Well I was… I mean, I saw your cut and recognized the name of my brother’s MC, but I couldn’t decide if I should ask you about him or look him up first. Those are some nice moves you’ve got there.”

“I taught her those,” Drifter jumps in, proudly.

I glare at him. He is in no way off the hook.

“So, you’re my big brother’s old lady,” he says, glancing at the label on the front of my cut. “Isn’t this a coincidence?”

“Yeah…In fact, tonight’s our one-year anniversary,” I reply.

“Oh, shit! So it’s serious, then? Am I interrupting?”

“Well…” Drifter says, glancing at me.

“No, no, we didn’t have plans,” I lie. I did just beat the guy up, and it’s not his fault that Drifter didn’t inform me of his existence. “We were just going to go back to the house. I can make us all some dinner. Sound OK?”

“Yeah, sounds great!” Marcus replies enthusiastically.

“Sure…” Drifter says, nervously eyeing me. “You have a car here, Marcus?”

“Yeah, a real piece of shit. Basically just a heap of scrap metal at this point.”

“Well, looks like we’ve all got separate vehicles. You can follow me back to our house,” Drifter says.

We start walking back from the hallway through the bar. I take out a few twenties from my clutch as we pass the bar and slide them across to Sam.

“Sorry for the trouble,” I whisper.

“No problem,” he says, frowning at Marcus, “I didn’t like the look of him either.”

I smile at him and walk to the front where Drifter is holding the door open for me. He tries to grab my arm as I walk through the door, but I shake him off and walk quickly down the street toward my car.

As I slide behind the wheel I see him watching me, then he turns and heads toward Marcus, who’s waiting for him in the opposite direction.

I turn my keys in the ignition and head for our house. I wish the five minute drive was longer. I have a million thoughts in my head that I need to sort through, and I’m still feeling shaky from the adrenaline and shock.

For starters, I can’t believe Drifter never told me he had a brother. Why wouldn’t he share such a big piece of information? A cold feeling spreads in my stomach. I know we moved quickly, but this is the first time I’ve ever felt that I don’t know the man I love. It’s a terrible feeling. But the fact is, he lied to me. If not directly, certainly by omission. And he knows how much I struggle with trusting men.

And it sounds like Marcus didn’t know anything about my existence, either. I know that Drifter’s parents died in a car crash and that he was raised by foster families he never got close to. I never expected him to introduce me to any family. But now it turns out he does have a brother, to whom he never even mentioned me? Is he ashamed of me? Of the way we met?

Shortly after we moved in together, I sensed Drifter had a wall up, something I’ve never been able to break down. And he acts like it’s not there, which makes it even tougher to address. Could his brother be the key?

Far too quickly, I arrive back at the house. I pull into our driveway and open the automatic garage door. I can hear the dogs barking as the door lowers behind me. I take my clutch and get out of the car, smiling at the sound of their scratching at the door from the kitchen. They bound at me as I open it, and I can’t help but laugh as they each angle for the best spot to lick my face. I kneel, wrapping my arms around them as they wiggle with happiness. Scout and Kalb always make me feel better after a rough day.

“OK, OK,” I say, pushing them away. I refill their water bowl as I hear the sound of Drifter’s bike outside.

I hadn’t been planning on cooking tonight, but there are some chicken breasts and vegetables in the fridge, which are easy enough to throw on the grill. I head out to the backyard to get the grill started and hear the dogs excitedly greeting their father and our guest.

I glance in through the glass door and see Drifter clearly pointing out the remodeling work he’s done in the living room, before they disappear down the bedroom hallway. Giving his brother the grand tour, no doubt. I wonder how much younger Marcus is. God, I wonder if he has kids…that would sort of make me an aunt.

I toss the chicken and vegetables on the grill as Drifter and Marcus return to the living room and sit on the sofa. I grab a few beers for us and join them, determined not to hold Drifter’s reticence against his brother.

“So, Marcus, you were living in Oregon?” I ask, as I sit in the comfy armchair kitty-corner to the couch.

“Yeah, but things weren’t really working out for me there. Thought I’d give my older brother here a visit,” he says, punching Drifter on the arm.

“So no wife, girlfriend, then?”

“Nope, unattached.”

“And what’s the age difference between you two, exactly?” I ask, glancing between them.

“Four years. Wow, Scott really didn’t tell you anything!” Marcus laughs, and Drifter winces.

“There’s quite the family resemblance,” I observe. I examine Marcus’s face…his nose is a bit longer and more pointed than Drifter’s, his mouth a little thinner, and his hair darker, but they have the same deep-set blue eyes, and the same brow. He’s certainly a good-looking guy. They also have a similar body type, but Drifter is taller, and probably has about twenty extra pounds of muscle on him.

“Yeah, we both have Mom’s eyes,” Marcus agrees.

“You put something on the grill?” Drifter says, standing up. He never likes to talk about his parents.

“Yeah, chicken, hope that’s OK with you,” I say to Marcus.

“Oh, I’ll eat anything,” Marcus replies with a smile.

“I’ll check on it,” Drifter says. “Violet’s a great cook,” he calls back before pulling the sliding door shut behind him.

Marcus and I smile awkwardly at each other. First time we’ve been alone since I tried to beat him up. That old situation.

“So, sorry again about earlier. Are you OK? Do you want me to look at anything? I’m a nurse.”

“No, no, I’m OK. Well, actually, I’m pretty embarrassed. Last time a woman took me down like that was…never.”