12. Gage

Chapter Twelve

GAGE

One crack, and my head snapped to the side.The thud of knuckles slamming into my jaw echoed through the Dead End, louder than the Hendrix whining from an old jukebox in the corner, but it didn't hurt much.The sloppy cross glanced off my jaw, slipped, and connected with my mouth.A salty, metallic taste flooded my tongue.I let out a low, unimpressed hum and rolled my jaw, staring down the idiot who'd thrown the first punch.

“That all you got?” I asked, licking blood from my split lip.

The guy was young, barely out of his teens, and drunk off his ass.He blinked and shook out his hand, looking like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.Whiskey fumes rolled off him, mixed with the stench of sweat and cheap deodorant.Acne scars marked his skin beneath a patchy excuse for a beard.His eyes were so glassy, he'd been dipping into somebody's stash of illegal, that was for damn sure.

I’d been hunting for Paulie Tibbs and his friends all week, and this was the first lead I'd gotten.This guy hadn't been there that night, but he knew something.I could smell it on him, a cold, sour sweat that had broken out the moment I started asking questions.He wasn’t about to snitch, and I wasn’t going to back down.That left us only one choice.

I'd been tangling with guys like him all week.There was a never-ending supply in a bar like The Dead End.It wasn't much more than a roadhouse on the edge of town, barely earning enough to keep the doors open.The dark, wood-paneled walls were lined with biker paraphernalia, and the floor was permanently sticky from a cocktail of spilled booze and body fluids.Despite the no smoking sign, the air reeked of cheap cigarettes, mingled with the faintest trace of rancid oil from a kitchen that hadn’t served fried food in years.

Whatever charm this place had was lost after Pops retired.Now, with Silas McKenna behind the bar, it was pure chaos.Old country tunes were still plugged into the jukebox, but nobody played them anymore.It was all classic rock now, or at least it would've been, if the music wasn't drowned out by shouts, drunken laughter, and the occasional crash of broken furniture.Customers snorted lines at their tables, bartenders passed pills under the bar, and every other night there was a brawl that spilled out into the gravel parking lot.

I ought to know; I was the one brawling.

Silas never stopped it, and he never called the cops.He just observed with those sharp, jaded eyes of his, like a guy who'd seen it all before.

Crime had taken root here in plain sight, and the sheriff’s department didn’t seem to care.That was for the best, at least for me.The last thing I wanted was to run into an on-duty Wyatt.Not after everything I'd said by the pool.I tried to tell myself it was a relief he'd kept his distance ever since that night, but it was tough to ignore the shame gnawing at my insides.

I flexed my shoulders and spat a mouthful of blood onto the grimy floor.The air was thick, hotter than it should’ve been this time of year, drifting in through open windows and barely cooled by some lazily spinning box fans.The jukebox had finally run out of tokens, cutting Hendrix short, and an oppressive silence settled over the room.A few hard drinkers made their escape, clattering through the rear exit, but neither of us so much as glanced in that direction.

The guy's face twitched as he stared down at the glob of bloody saliva near his boots.

I gave him a smile that felt more like a snarl and said, “See, I wanna make it real clear that you’re done.‘Cause once you are, it’s my turn…and I promise, you’re not gonna like it.”

His swagger slipped then, and he glanced over his shoulder at his two buddies, hovering near the bar like they were waiting for a cue.The only thing stopping them from making it a three-on-one was Silas, watching from behind the bar with his arms crossed, flexing a set of guns the size of bowling balls.

“Well?” I took a slow, deliberate step forward.“You done?”

Adrenaline was spiking my blood, electrifying my veins, pushing me to a point that begged for release.Violence was the easiest way to settle the restless energy inside me.Always had been.

I’d bounced at enough clubs to recognize the exact moment this guy realized he was in over his head.His fried brain wasn’t running on much more than meth and ego at this point.Yeah. He was just about there.I could practically smell the fear rolling off him.

My smile seemed to push him over the edge.His eyes widened, and he lunged, swinging wide with a desperate left hook that might’ve done some damage if he wasn't so slow.But he never got close to connecting.His friends jumped in, grabbing him around his sweaty torso and yanking him away.They wrestled him back toward the door, shouting, “Easy, man.Easy!”

The biggest, most sober-looking man edged backward, hands up, attention shifting between me and Silas, who still hadn’t moved an inch.“He’s just drunk,” he said, trying to smooth it over.“He didn’t mean nothin’. We’ll get him out of here.”

I stared him down, ice cold. “Not before you tell me where to find Paulie."

“We can’t.” He was tripping over his own feet as they nudged their loudmouth buddy toward the exit, and he shot his friends a desperate, knowing look.“He’d kill us—and he ain’t the only one.He's got badges watching out for him.”

Dominic's words came back to haunt me: more than half the department is dirty.

"Tell me their names," I said coldly.

"I don't know."

"Teddy? Vanderhoff?" I hesitated, then added despite my better judgment, "Brooks?"

He stared at me like I'd lost my mind."You think they leave business cards?I don't fuckin' know, man! All I know is he's protected.Never done even a minute behind bars.With the shit he's into...you think that's a coincidence?"

I wanted to press him on it, but I could already tell I wouldn’t be getting anything useful.They were small fries, scared spitless over what the bigger fish would do to them if they snitched.I caught the door and held it open as they shuffled backward.“Better hope I don’t catch you around here again.Next time, you won’t be walking away.”

The ringleader looked like he might argue, but his buddy kicked the back of his knee and shoved him toward the parking lot.I watched them just long enough to be sure they weren’t coming back with a weapon.They were already beaten; I saw it in their slumped shoulders.I waited a moment longer, but the no-see-ums were trying to get through the open door, so I slammed it shut behind them.

Frustration and disappointment were flooding me, and not just because I hadn’t gotten any leads on Paulie.I’d needed that fight. I hadn’t realized how badly I wanted to hit something until my chance ran right out the door.

Silas McKenna’s deep, amused baritone interrupted my brooding.“No way they’ll stay away. Not tonight.Their dealer should be waltzing in any minute.”

“He’ll leave the same way they did,” I muttered, rolling my neck and taking a deep breath.It didn’t ease the hot, itchy feeling under my skin.

Silas popped the cap off a beer and thrust the bottle in my direction.I gave him a grateful nod and downed half the bitter, hoppy liquid in one go.It stung my split lip, but I barely noticed.

I was busy watching Silas.

He wasn’t from around here, but he fit right in.Built like a lumberjack with tree trunks for legs, he looked like a man who’d seen more than his fair share of rough nights.His hair was crazy long and tied back in a low ponytail, and he dressed like a reformed biker.Or maybe not so reformed after all, considering his clientele.He was probably around Wyatt’s age but carried himself with the easygoing calm of a man who’d learned not to take life too seriously.

I cocked my head. “Why don’t you just beat the crap out of ‘em yourself if the cops won’t get rid of them?”

His chuckle was a pack-a-day rasp.“Wouldn’t be the first time, kid.But I’ve learned a thing or two over the years.There’s no sense fighting a war on two fronts.The Sheriff would love to make an example of a guy like me.”

“He can’t even get off his ass to arrest those thugs. What makes you so different?”

Silas took a lazy sip of his beer and grinned.“I’m not scared of him, for starters.But I’ve already got a record, so I don’t need him breathing down my neck.He’d love to toss me back in a cell.Besides, patience is a hell of a weapon if you know how to use it.”

I snorted and finished off my own beer, not even a little bit convinced.

That was when the door swung open and Mason strolled in on a blast of muggy air, looking like he'd just crawled out of a ditch.My eyebrows shot toward the roof in surprise.I'd never seen my brother in such a state.He was usually the poster boy for business cool: impeccable suit, starched collar, and not a single hair out of place.But not tonight. The wrinkles in his suit jacket were so deep, it looked like he'd bunched it up and used it as a pillow.Unshaven scruff covered his jaw, and he had the exhausted, puffy-eyed look of a man coming off a hard bender.

But Mason didn’t drink. He avoided anything that messed with his perfect self-control.

Silas raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t seem surprised.He just jerked his head toward the storage room, the same one Ivy said he’d let her use when she had nowhere else to go.“Room’s free if you need it,” he said, casual as ever.“Rough night?”

Mason groaned, tugging off his silk tie and stuffing it into his pocket as he shuffled over to the bar.His steps were slow and heavy, like he had weights strapped to his ankles.“Rough few days,” he muttered in a voice like gravel.

I studied him carefully, more than a little surprised to see him and Silas so familiar.Out of all my brothers, Mason was the straight arrow.These days, anyway. Once, when we were younger, he was the wild card who taught me to hotwire cars, but that all changed after Ben went to prison.Now, Mason was an attorney with the state prosecutor's office.His universe was about rules and power lunches, completely different from anything men like Silas and I knew.

“You look like hell,” I said bluntly.

He shot me a crooked grin that didn’t reach his eyes.“Likewise. I thought I told you to stay out of trouble?”

“I have,” I said, shooting for innocent—and missing.

Mason raised an eyebrow, giving me a look of weary, knowing amusement.“That’s not what Gideon says.”

I dropped my gaze and picked at the label on my beer bottle.“Gideon got mouthy,” I muttered.

“He always does.” Mason chuckled, accepting the large glass of water Silas slid across the bar.He drained the glass, throat bobbing, gulping like a man who’d just crawled out of the desert.When he’d finished, he set the empty glass down with a gasp and added, “Your job is to shut up and listen to him, just like the rest of us.”

“I don’t remember ever agreeing to that,” I said with a smirk.

He barked out a laugh. “None of us did.It just happened after we got tired of being wrong all the time.”

“Eat something,” Silas interrupted, shoving a banana into Mason’s hand.Mason hated bananas, but he gnawed through the fruit with the single-minded displeasure of a man who knew he needed fuel.Silas waited until he’d choked down a few bites before asking, “How’s Ben?”

“How do you think he is?” Mason shot back acidly.

Silas didn’t flinch; he just reached under the counter, grabbed a knife and plate, and started slicing up some andouille sausage, cool as a cucumber.I had to give him credit—his patience ran deep.Not sure I’d have kept my chill if that attitude was directed at me.

“You didn’t say you were visiting the prison,” I said, frowning.“I’d have gone with you.”

Mason shrugged, looking even more wrung out now that he’d finally eaten something.“Wouldn’t have made a difference.He refused to see me again. Ever since his appeal got shot down, the only one he’ll see is Gideon.”

“Then why do you keep going?”

He stared down at the half-eaten banana in his hand as if he’d forgotten why it was there.After a beat, he took another bite and mumbled, “They’re squeezing him hard.Least I can do is make sure he knows he’s not alone.”

“Eat,” Silas ordered gruffly, sliding a plate of cheese and smoked sausage in front of him.The kind of heavy, salty food that could keep a man grounded when he looked like he was ready to dry up and float away.“Then get some sleep.”

Mason’s lips twitched into a tired half-smile as he reached for the plate.“Trying to fatten me up?"

A grin tugged up the corner of Silas’s mouth.“You could use it. You eat like a bird, Counselor.”

This time, Mason’s smile actually hit his eyes.

I glanced between them, confused as hell.Mason wasn't the type to be caught dead unwinding in a grimy bar with peeling paint and cigarette burns covering the tables.But I guess it made sense in a weird way.This was one place no one would look for him, where he didn’t need to have all the answers.He could let go, just a little, and let Silas’s calm presence do the heavy lifting for a change.

Mason chewed in silence for a few minutes before his shoulders finally began to droop.Silas clamped a huge, meaty hand on the back of his neck and steered him toward the back room.“Get your beauty sleep,” he ordered, not unkindly.“Bed’s still there, but no fancy turn-down service.”

“I’ll let it slide,” Mason mumbled, swaying on his feet, “But I expect a mint on my pillow when I wake up.”

“Best I can do is a bowl of cereal and a dirty spoon.”

“Sold.” His lips were twitching in a half-smile when he finally glanced at me.“Try not to make any more messes for me to clean up, little brother.”

“No promises,” I shot back, but I don’t think he heard me.The door was already shutting behind him with a soft click.

Silas cleared his throat and picked up the empty glass Mason had left behind, washing it slowly, like he was somewhere else in his head.“Kid’s been running on fumes for a long time,” he said, shaking his head.

“I had no idea you knew each other,” I said, rubbing my face—and hitting my split lip.Smart.

Silas shrugged, setting the glass on a shelf behind the bar.“He doesn’t come here to drink.He comes to breathe. Everyone needs a place to crash when the world gets too loud.”

I got it. I’d been looking for that kind of quiet my whole life, but I hadn't found it in Silas's back room.My peaceful place was at Wyatt’s side.I used to cause trouble just for an excuse to see him, holding my breath, waiting for him to step out of his squad car whenever he rolled up.All the other kids would scatter, but not me.All I wanted was to look at him, and for him to look at me and see me.That one look always told me I’d fucked up again, but it was okay, because he was going to help me fix it.Half the stupid crap I’d done was just for that reaction.I craved it.

Silas was giving me a strange look.

I glanced away, running my tongue over my split lip with a wince.“Yeah," I muttered, staring at the floor.“Everyone needs a place.”

Mine was Wyatt—and I’d managed to screw it up.

My ribs didn’t bother me much anymore, but my chest ached like it wasshrinking.My heart was too big and achy to fit insideit.“Gonna take a breather,” I muttered, shoving away from the bar and heading for thedoor.

“Try not to get killed out there,” Silas said, watching me with something dangerously close tosympathy.“You’ve been swinging at every lowlife in the parish allweek.One of these nights, someone’s bound to swing backharder.”