CHAPTER SEVENTEEN LATE NIGHT VISITORS

Rebel—

There’s a late meeting at the clubhouse, and Brayden wasn’t sure what time he’d make it over. I closed the garage at seven. It’s after eleven now, and I’m in a pair of soft pjs made up of a tank and matching shorts. Lying on the bed, I play on my phone until a text comes in.

Brayden: Meeting just broke up. Having a beer with the guys, then gonna slip out.

Me: See you soon.

I go back to playing on my phone, Tucker and Daisy curled up on the rug next to the bed. Cars drive past on the highway, and the sound of their tires rolling on the pavement is familiar and soothing. It’s a warm night, and I’ve got the window cracked open, letting the breeze inside.

It’s after midnight when Brayden calls.

“Hey, sweetheart. I’m at a stoplight on 31. Just got off the interstate. Should be there soon.”

“Great.”

I hear a banging sound and then something that sounds like a tool skidding across the concrete. Both dogs jump to their feet.

There’s a door at the top of the stairs entering my little apartment. I cross and lock it. It’s not much of a door, and it could probably be broken down, but it’s something.

Tucker starts growling.

“What’s going on?” Brayden bites out.

“I think someone’s in the garage,” I whisper.

“Keep the dogs with you, and get your gun. They come up the stairs, fire a couple warning shots up high through the door. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there in two minutes, baby.”

“Hurry.”

“They come through that door, do not hesitate to unload that weapon. Dead center chest. Got me, babe?”

I nod, tears streaming down my cheeks, more afraid than I’ve ever been.

I hear the roar of a motorcycle through the receiver and know he’s shoved it in his pocket and is riding hellbent to get to me. Sucking in a calming breath, I get the gun out of my bedside drawer and load a bullet in the chamber, removing the safety. Then I climb on the bed, back against the wall, and aim it at the door.

Tucker is growling low, his head cocked, his ears perked, listening. Then he barks. There’s no confusing it with anything but a big mean dog.

Whoever is down there, they aren’t trying to be quiet. Things are being knocked to the floor. I try to separate the sounds and determine if there’s more than one person. Maybe they just want tools and anything they can carry. Maybe they’re after the cash box. There’s little cash in the building. No one uses it anymore. I can’t remember the last time someone wanted to pay in cash. But still, I keep a couple hundred in small bills, just in case.

My heart is pounding, and I’m trying to keep from completely losing it.

I hear a motorcycle in the distance, coming fast. Please let it be Brayden. But then an even scarier thought fills my head. What if there’s more than one? What if they have weapons? What if Brayden gets hurt?

Footsteps on the stairs carry to my ears, and Tucker starts growling.

Aim for the top of the door. Brayden’s words play in my ears along with the sound of his bike downshifting right outside on the street. It has to be him. The door shakes, and I know I can’t wait for him another second. If whoever is out there puts a shoulder or boot to the door, it’s going to fly open.

I squeeze the trigger and fire off three rounds.

There’s a loud clatter, like either the person fell or ran down the stairs.

I hear scuffling, and then Brayden’s voice.

“On the fucking floor, motherfucker, or I’ll blow your goddamn head off.”

I crack the door to peer through the open iron stairs down into the garage. It’s dark, and I flick the light switch on the wall just outside my door, flooding the garage in fluorescent light.

Brayden is in a standoff with a skinny kid in a hoodie who has his hands up.

“You okay, Rebel?” Brayden’s gaze flicks up to me, and when I nod, he returns his attention to the kid. “How fucking old are you?”

“S-sixteen.”

“Did you know this garage is owned by the Evil Dead motorcycle club?”

“N-no, sir.”

“What were you doing?”

“Looking for tools and shit to steal.”

“You know what happens to you when you steal from my club?”

The kid shakes his head.

“You fucking disappear.” Brayden cocks his head. “What’d you need the money for?”

“There’s no food at my house.”

“Who’s at your house?”

“My mom, two little sisters, and little brother. I quit school to work, but I got fired because I was late. I only have a bike to ride, and it”s four miles.”

Brayden holsters his pistol under his cut. “Where’s your dad?”

“He took off a year ago.”

“You got a real sad story. That your bike out there?”

“Yes.”

“How’d you plan to get the tools home?”

The kid shrugs. “I thought maybe I’d find a bag.”

“Tell you what I’m gonna do. You and me are gonna take a ride to your house. If what you’re telling me is true, I’ll buy you some food. If it’s not, I’m gonna break your fucking arm.”

The kid pales.

Brayden lifts his eyes to me. “I’ll need your truck.”

“I’m coming with.”

“Babe—”

“I’m coming with, Brayden.”

He sighs heavily. “Then throw some clothes on and be quick.”

Once they move outside, I let Tucker and Daisy go, and they run to the closed garage doors, barking. One of the cardboard pieces is torn away, and I know I have to tape it before I leave or the dogs will get out. I throw some clothes on, grab my purse, and hurry down the stairs. I find the roll of silver duct tape and tape up the section. Then meet Brayden at the truck. The ten-speed bike is already in the bed of the pickup.

Brayden puts the kid in the back of the crew cab and takes the seat next to him, leaving me to drive. I know he wants to keep the kid in his sight.

I meet the kid’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “What’s the address?”

276 Buckhorn Ferry Rd.

I put it in my phone and get directions. “Off highway 52?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Jimmy Reardon.”

When we arrive at the single wide trailer at the end of a gravel drive, I scan the place. A window is boarded up and the outside is covered in green mold. There are indeed toys in the yard, so maybe he’s not lying.

“Is there a man living here? A boyfriend or anything?” Brayden asks.

“No, sir.”

“Does your mother work?” He asks, taking in the place.

“Yes, sir.”

“How does she get to work if there’s no car?”

“She works for a maid service; they pick her up in the Mini Maids car.”

Brayden shoulders open his door. “Come on, Jimmy. Let’s find out if you’re a liar.”

I turn the ignition off and follow the two of them but wait at the bottom of the stairs when they go up on the small porch.

Brayden holds Jimmy back and bangs on the door. “Call your mother. Tell her it’s you.”

“Ma, it’s Jimmy. Can you come out here?”

We wait, and Brayden settles his free hand on the pistol cradled under his cut.

A woman carrying a crying baby on her hip answers the door. She’s young, but her face looks tired, making her look older and worn out.

“My boy in trouble or something?” Her eyes sweep over Brayden.

“Depends. You want to let us in to talk for a minute?”

“Nope. I don’t know you, mister. And get your hand off my boy.”

Brayden shoulders his way in nevertheless, hauling Jimmy in with him. I scurry up the stairs, following.

“Hey! You can’t just come in here. I’ll call the police,” the lady whines.

“You do that, and I’ll tell them your son broke into my club’s garage, lookin’ to steal some tools.”

The woman looks at her son. “Jimmy, what were you thinking? Like I don’t have enough troubles, you got to go out and make more?” Her attention returns to Brayden. “He didn’t mean nothing by it. He’s a good kid. Always got good grades till his daddy left.”

Brayden moves past her into the tiny kitchen and pulls open the fridge, then the cabinets.

“What are you doing?”

“There’s barely any food in this house, lady. How you gonna feed your kids?”

“I just paid my rent. I had twenty dollars left to buy groceries to last till next payday, and that ain’t for another week. All I could afford was that jar of peanut butter, a loaf of bread, some ramen noodles, and some powdered milk for the baby. Who are you to come in here and tell me off about how I’m takin’ care of my kids? I love my kids.”

“You divorced?”

“Richie left me over a year ago, but I don’t have the money to divorce him.”

“He send any money?”

“Like child support? Hell, no. Not one dime. Not even on their birthdays or Christmas. What kind of low-life walks out on his kids and doesn’t look back?”

“Who watches your kids when you work?” Brayden asks.

She nods to her son. “Jimmy does.”

“What’s your name, lady?”

“Lisa Marie.”

“Like Elvis’ daughter?”

“Momma was a big fan.”

Brayden digs in his pocket and peels off two hundred-dollar bills from a folded stack. “Here’s some grocery money to get you through until next week. You got a phone?”

Lisa Marie’s eyes get big as she stares at the money. “Yes. I’ve got one of those ones you load minutes onto. Why?”

“I’m gonna call you tomorrow. Maybe there’s something I can do to help you out. I don’t know yet. Give me your number.”

He punches the numbers she reels off into his phone.

“Why you doin’ this, mister?” Jimmy asks.

“Because I think you’re at a crossroads, kid. Somebody steps in and gives you and your family a hand could be the difference between you ending up goin’ down a road that leads to prison or you goin’ down a road that leads to you having a good life.”

Jimmy nods, his eyes glazing, and he turns his head away.

Brayden looks over at Lisa Marie. “I’m gonna have one of the girls from our club come over tomorrow and give you a ride to the grocery store. Okay?”

Lisa Marie nods and wipes a tear from her cheek. “Thank you.”

Brayden tilts his head. “You drive?”

“Yeah, but Richie took our car. I can’t afford one.”

“Maybe we can do something about that, too.”

Lisa Marie pats her baby’s back. “Thank you for doin’ all this, mister. You’re an answer to my prayers.”

Brayden nods, then looks at Jimmy. “You stay out of trouble, hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Brayden and I walk out to the truck, and I toss him the keys. He holds the passenger door for me and pauses, taking my face in his hands. “I’m glad you’re okay. You scared the hell out of me.”

“Me, too.” I look back at the trailer. “Brayden, I could have shot that boy.”

“You didn’t.” He pulls me forward and kisses me.

I search his face when he releases me. “It was sweet what you did in there.”

He grins. “Am I earning points?”

“That’s not why you did it.”

“No. That’s not why.” He looks at the old trailer. “Sometimes people just need a little help.”

At that moment, I cannot love this man more. I reach up and brush my thumb across his mouth. “You’re a good man, Brayden Austin.”

“Let’s go home, Rebel.”