2. Dane

2

DANE

I am not okay.

That’s what the battered poster hanging over the even more battered bar in East LA proclaims. The poster features a kitten struggling to hang on to a thin branch. A precarious drop is implied if not shown.

I grin ruefully. The ice clinks in my glass as I toast the kitten in the poster with whiskey.

“I know how you feel. I’m not okay, either.”

“What?”

The grim-faced bartender shoots a querying glare my way. He glared when I approached the bar, glared when I ordered whiskey on the rocks, and glared when he refilled the glass.

But he keeps pouring, and I keep paying, so our relationship is going to work out just fine.

“Nothing. Talking to myself. Guaranteed intelligent conversation.”

The bartender stares at me, lips twitching under his handlebar mustache. He doesn’t appreciate my being here. In fact, most of the patrons would probably prefer it if I fucked off. A clean cut former sailor sitting in a place like this is going to stick out.

Fortunately, my tank top shows off not only the time I put in at the gym, but the tats I picked up while trotting around the globe. People see the tiger shark on my deltoid, maybe they don’t think twice. But the crosshairs on my forearm over a silhouetted head make it pretty clear what my old job was.

A bitter smirk stretches over my lips. I wasn’t that good at my old job. Sure, I could make the shots. I learned to control my every breath, my every movement, and fire between my own heartbeats for unerring accuracy.

But when the chips were down, and I needed to act? I fucked up. Big time. Others paid the price for my failure. The Navy didn’t reprimand me for failing to act when it counted. They let me stay on and train the next generation of snipers. I did that for a little while. But then I gave it up.

How could I teach others to operate like precision machines when I couldn’t do the same myself?

Now I’m ‘enjoying’ civilian life. No duties to report for, no appointments. I can get piss drunk and pass out until noon, and no one’s going to give me shit for it.

The gangbangers playing pool in the corner keep giving me dirty looks. I don’t think they’re going to start shit, but I’m keeping watch out of the corner of my eye just in case. They’re still at the ‘working up the courage’ phase. If they get to the ‘talking shit’ phase, it’s probably going to go down. Whatever. I don’t even care what happens to me at this point.

In the Navy, I learned to hone my senses to a razor keen edge. I can hear the changes in the gangbanger’s breathing as they move around the billiards table, smell the cheap cologne on the bartender’s face, and see the mosquito buzzing in for a landing on my forearm without really trying.

I smack the mosquito into red mush, more on instinct than because I care if I get bitten. I look for something to wipe my hand with.

“Here, Dane.”

I manage not to act startled, even though the sound of the voice takes me unawares. Turning my gaze to the left, I find six foot four inches of lean muscle stuffed into skinny jeans and a designer shirt. He’s holding out a napkin. I take it and clean the dead mosquito off my hand, giving him a surly look. Bastian is one of the few people who can sneak up on me like that.

“Bastian. Nice shirt. I see my sister is dressing you better.”

He looks down at himself and chuckles.

“Dude, it’s best to just let Harlowe make those kinds of decisions. You think I picked this haircut, or this shirt? I’d probably shave my head and go shirtless if it was up to me.”

I snort and take a sip of my drink. “So, what are you doing here, Bastian? Did big brother Jax send you to try and recruit me again? Or is my little sister putting you up to some kind of intervention?”

He grows tight-lipped, and when the bartender comes around he orders a coke.

“Look, Dane. Your landlady heard you screaming again last night. She called Harlowe to talk about it.”

I shrug. “If the old lady wants me to move out, I’ll move out. No big deal.”

“You’re missing the point, Dane.” His dark brown eyes reflect the weak lights of the bar back at me with ghostly luminescence. “Your landlady isn’t mad, she’s worried about you. So is Harlowe, and quite frankly so am I.”

“It’s just nightmares. I’m hardly the only one in the family with trauma, why does everyone have to act so oppressive about it? I’m a big boy and I can take care of myself.”

Bastian’s coke arrives. He takes a sip and then fixes me with his gaze.

“Are you talking to anyone about these nightmares?”

“Like who, a therapist? Hard pass. I’ll deal with it on my own.”

“I didn't mean a therapist, necessarily, though quite frankly Easton knows a number of really good ones.”

I scoff and drain my glass.

“You’re on a first name basis with Mrs. Big Time Hollywood Actress now, are you? Her Academy Awards might look nice on her and Jax’s mantle, but they don’t motivate me. I’m not part of your little Platinum Security clan. I don’t need to be managed by committee.”

“No one’s trying to manage you. We’re just trying to help. There are a lot of guys who have similar experiences to yours at the office. You could try talking to one of them.”

I roll my eyes and slam the empty glass down harder than I need to. This draws the attention of pretty much everyone in the bar, and not in a good way.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bastian, I don’t want to talk about it. Can’t you understand that?”

“I know you don’t want to, but I think you really need to. You’re carrying around a ton of guilt, and it’s not healthy.”

“Oh, you’re going to lecture me, Bastian? Mr. Fight Club? Mr. Bad Boy? Didn’t you show up on your girlfriend’s doorstep with a bleeding knife wound?”

His brows come low over his eyes.

“Stop deflecting, and there were extenuating circumstances about that stab wound. Don’t you realize that if you keep on like this, you could die?”

“Something’s gotta kill ya.”

The bartender gives the two of us a dirty look and I grin back at him.

“Dane, how much have you had to drink?”

“Not enough. What are you, my mother? Harlowe should have told you that I don’t put up with that nonsense from her, and I’m not putting up with it from her husband, either.”

Bastian shakes his head sadly at my blatant provocation. He’s not going to rise to the bait.

“Anyone can lose their way, man. You’re not angry at me, or Harlowe, or anyone else but yourself.”

I nod, arching my brows. “Yeah, you’re right. A plus plus. Gold star for you. Do they still put gold stars on kid’s homework at school?”

“How the fuck should I know? Look, Dane, I know you find it annoying when people care about you, but you need to get over that and let yourself get some help, man! Look at this place. You could have picked a bar where we were less likely to get stabbed.”

“Ah, this place isn’t so bad.”

The sound of broken glass draws my attention to the pool table. The gangbangers crowd around the terrified waitress. Vodka from the broken glass on the floor spreads out in a pattern that looks sort of like a skull.

I’m up and moving before I really think about it. Someone’s in danger, and I run toward it. A great habit for a military man. A bad habit for a civilian.

I drive my fist into the temple of the gangbanger holding the waitress by her wrist. He twists around and collapses against the pool table. I quickly usher her behind me as Bastian shakes his head.

“Fuck, Dane, you’ve done it now.” Bastian sighs and finishes his coke as the gangbangers come around the table and approach us. “I hope you’re not too drunk to fight.”

“I’m never too drunk to fight.”

A banger with his do-rag flopping in his eyes steps up first, wielding a pool cue in one hand and a beer bottle in the other.

“Hey, you got a problem, asshole?”

It occurs to me that he came up talking shit rather than swinging. That means we could de-escalate this. I could talk my way out the door without resorting to violence.

But I don’t wanna.

I launch into a Pearl Harbor attack, going on the offensive with zero warning. I swing with my whole body, putting extra ass into my right cross. The banger’s head snaps to the side and then he stumbles back until he falls ass-first onto the pool table. Two of the balls roll over and clack into the pockets.

“Neat, you’re a better player with your tukus than you are with a cue.”

That’s all I have time to say, because the shock wears off and all Hell breaks loose. Someone pitches a bottle of beer at my head. I duck underneath while Bastian smashes his empty soda glass across my attacker’s teeth.

Pool cue guy has recovered somewhat, and comes off the table with blood on his lip and murder in his eyes. He drops the bottle and takes a two-handed grip on the cue. The banger telegraphs his moves from a mile away, making it easy to dodge his wild swings.

The end of the pool cue gets tangled up with the legs of a chair. I take the opportunity to step up and smash my elbow into his face. The bone in your elbow is five times harder than masonry. His nose crumples like aluminum foil and he goes down again. This time he stays there.

I turn to see Bastian fighting two guys at once, and making it look easy. I don’t see why he should have all the fun and I grab one of his assailants around the waist. Popping my hips, I toss him up and over my head to land in an ugly heap by the rubbish bin.

“Hey!”

The sound of a cocking shotgun draws all our attention. The bartender stands with a big 1980 Ithaca pump action shotgun, the type that shoots solid slugs that go through engine blocks. Major overkill, but it gets his point across.

“Stop wrecking my bar! You two, get the fuck out!”

“What about them?” I ask, pointing at our opponents, but Bastian grabs my arm and drags me toward the door, tossing a hundred-dollar bill on the bar as we go.

“We’ll just be leaving now.”

I can’t help but feel my old man must have been in this situation a lot, on the verge of getting tossed in the slammer. Or dying. Sometimes I worry I’m destined to turn out just like him.

Once we get outside, I start looking for a place to ambush the bangers when they eventually emerge from the bar. I feel like they got off easy for terrifying that woman. Bastian figures out what I’m doing pretty quickly. He almost loses his patience. His face turns red and his jaw clenches tight. Then he visibly forces himself to relax, and his compassionate gaze comes back on, albeit with an edge.

“You know what, man? If you want to punish yourself, there are lots of options. I mean, this is LA. You’ve got fast food, fast cars, fast women…there’s lots better things to do than getting drunk in dive bars and picking fights with guys who have no qualms shooting you in the back after closing time.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Maybe you don’t, but how do you think your brother and sister would feel if you got shot?”

His words steal the bitter venom from my tongue before I can spew it. My shoulders slump, and he presses his advantage.

“Think about the people who love you, man. If you can’t pull your shit together for yourself, do it for them! If you want a job tomorrow, right this minute, you’ve got it.”

I groan and lean against a post. “I don’t belong in a position where I’m responsible for someone else’s life. Not anymore.”

“Harlowe says you joined the Navy because you wanted to make a difference, to make a better world. Working for Platinum Security lets you do that as a civilian…and the pay is better.”

I open my mouth to tell him to fuck all the way off, but he holds up a hand.

“Look, something has come down the pike that Jax thinks you’re ideally suited for. I know you don’t want to join the firm, but no one else is available for the commitment this job will take. You’re kind of it.”

“Just tell Jax to turn it down.”

“He’s not going to do that. In this case, I guess you could say it resonates with him.”

“Come on, man…”

“Just do this one job. Just one job, and I swear no one will bother you about working for the firm again.”

That piques my interest. If I can get them all to collectively shut the fuck up about my business, it will make my life a lot less complicated.

“All right,” I say. “You’re lucky you caught me early. I’m probably going to regret this, but I’ll take the case. ONE case.”

He smiles, but I’m not in the mood for it.

“Don’t get all smug like you’ve won. I’m only doing this so you’ll all shut up about me joining the firm.”

“Fair enough. Now let’s get you some coffee.”