After the boys had finished my bike, I headed to the shop. My next appointment wasn’t for another hour, so I planned to spend the time freestyling new designs for my scrapbook.
However, my plans flew out the window because, no sooner had I settled in my chair with my favorite scrapbook, the shop door flew open, slamming into the wall and cracking the glass.
An overly muscled guy in his early thirties, dressed in a plaid shirt with a bushy red beard approached me with three more following behind.
The look on his face and the fact that he broke my door told me he wasn’t here for a tattoo or social call.
I didn’t need to worry about appearing unfazed by the potential threat. My ‘give a fuck’ had taken a vacation a long time ago and never bothered to come back.
“Hey! You Chris?”
“Depends on why you’re asking.”
Chris Johnson was the name I adopted when I came to California. Di thought I should have gone with something less boring but boring was unassuming. A common name gave me less chance of being caught if anyone ever became curious enough. There had to be thousands of Chris Johnsons in the world, which allowed me to blend with the crowd.
“A few days ago, you tattooed a girl and made her suck a rusty pipe after you tattooed ‘whore’ on her backside,” the big redhead spoke again.
I made a point to let my gaze travel over the man whose intimidation tactics were a little outdated. “I got to say you look great since the last time I saw you although a little different.”
“She was my baby sister, you little shit.”
“And so I suppose you’re here for a tattoo?”
“I ain’t here for no fucking tattoo, boy. I’m here for a body.”
“Sorry,” I said without a hint of fear or emotion. “I don’t seem to have one in stock, but if you come back later, I might have a few laid out for you.”
That was a lie but giving the impression I was a ruthless killer would call the bluff of a lesser enemy.
It was something I picked up from Keiran although the difference between him and me was he actually was a killer.
I never realized how much his influence had not only affected me but also kept me alive for the past four years. I didn’t mix with the right crew because I was no longer interested in doing the right thing.
“Later isn’t going to work for me,” he yelled unnecessarily. Spit flew from his mouth as he talked. His skin was now a deep red, and I couldn’t help but think of those fat, red sausage links that split open when you boil them too long. “I’ll take yours instead.”
The three men who had yet to speak all drew on me as I continued to sit with my sketchbook in hand. I had my own piece taped under my chair for insurance just in case a client ever got a little froggy, but something, or rather someone who caught my eye made me rethink my next move.
“You got anything to say now, pretty boy?”
“Aww, shucks. You think I’m pretty?” I mocked with a fake country twang.
“Enough, Keenan,” the deep voice of my big, bad brother boomed behind the unsuspecting men.
Before they could blink, the gun, equipped with a silencer, blew out the back of each man’s head in quick succession.
When the last body fell, I was left with the only person I had ever feared. His dark eyes were as cold as I remembered as he stared me down. I had to remind myself it was a long time ago. I became an entirely new animal since discovering how fucked up he really is.
“How did you find me?”
“Is that the first thing you say to someone you haven’t seen in four fucking years?”
“Were you expecting a hug and a kiss on the cheek, or did you forget the fact that I would sooner kill you than shake your hand?”
“If you ever feel the need to take it there, Keenan, just let me know…”
I waved him off. “Say whatever you came to say and leave.”
“I didn’t come here for polite conversation over tea. It’s time to go home, and I’m your escort.”
Laughter bubbled inside my gut until it spilled over.
“Nothing has changed, I see. You still seem to think the world is supposed to bend for Keiran fucking Masters. Well, I’m not following blindly behind you anymore. I lead myself.”
“You sound like a female. Have you been talking to Lake?” He blew out a heavy breath and growled. “Fuck it. Here are your options—you can walk on your own two feet...” He paused and the next second, I was staring down the barrel of his gun as he aimed it directly at my head, “or I can make you.”
“So you really did kill her?” I asked, meeting his hard gaze dead on. If he was willing to kill me, what chance did my mother have with him, even at such a tender age? Sometimes I wondered if she ever begged and if he really didn’t know who she was when he killed her as Lake had claimed.
“Yes,” he answered without question, but the falter in his stare let me know that he wasn’t completely out of touch with his feelings.
Maybe Lake had softened him up. It was time to test that theory.