Owned & Untamed (Back Down Devil MC #11)(7)

“Holy shit!” Trent yelled. He grabbed for Trev and pulled him back, just in case.

“There,” Ivan said. “I don’t deal with a half ass job. I could have lost more money. So you never have to worry about Curtis again.”

“Fuck,” I said.

Ivan tucked his gun into his suit jacket and nodded to me. “And you, Duke. You need to shut your f*cking mouth.”

Ivan tapped Peter’s arm.

I felt my phone in my pocket start to vibrate.

Who the f*ck would be calling me right now?

I couldn’t f*cking focus on the phone call though.

I was too busy watching as Peter took out a gun. A small handgun. I started to reach back for my gun, but I had no time. No chance.

I looked at Ivan.

“For you,” he said with his accent.

By the time he folded his arms and smiled at me, Peter pulled the trigger.

What a f*cking night.





four.



(belle)



Bacon popped and a little bit of grease hit my arm.

“Fuck!” I yelled and backed up from the pan.

Right on cue the smoke alarm started to go off, the shrill beep pounding at the insides of my ears. I grabbed a towel and ran out of the kitchen to the hallway and started to wave the towel at it. That did nothing.

Behind me, I could smell the bacon starting to burn.

I ran back to the kitchen and got a chair. I climbed up and twisted the smoke alarm off the wall and popped out the nine-volt battery. I ran back to the stovetop and turned off the burner. I slid the bacon pan back and went for the coffeepot. I poured myself another cup and walked to the table.

Fuck it.

I sat and buried my hands in my face. I felt like a single mother trying to keep things together but unable to do so. The problem was that my “child” was my thirty-three year old brother who couldn't damn well take care of himself. And I had no place to tell him how to take care of himself. There was only one person in the world who could stand up to Jim and push him around.

And that person never called me back…

Then again, to be fair, I never left Duke a message. But I did call more than once.

I tried to savor my coffee, but face it, it was cheap coffee that I bought on sale. The kitchen lingered with the smell of bacon. All I wanted to do was try and make a quick breakfast so Jim could eat something greasy and hopefully feel better.

Jim stumbled into the kitchen a minute later, looking like death. He looked at me, looked at the stove, then looked at me again.

“I f*cked up the bacon,” I said. “Sorry.”

He walked to the counter. He opened a cabinet and grabbed a large container of pills. He dumped out three ibuprofen, poured a mug of coffee, and then took out a plate and slapped a few pieces of the bacon on it. He then sat across from me, sipped his coffee, and took a bite of the bacon. It crumbled into black charred pieces on the plate.

When he grabbed the pills, I raised an eyebrow.

“That’s too many,” I said. “You’re going to hurt your stomach.”

Jim didn’t speak. He put all three pills into his mouth and swallowed without even using a drink.

He took another bite of burned bacon and sipped his coffee.

That’s when he finally spoke.

“Bacon is too crispy.”

“You’re an *,” I said.

I stood up and walked to the coffeepot and poured more for myself. I spotted the pan in the sink - the one with the fruit flies and dried spaghetti sauce - and grabbed the handle. I tore it out of the sink and spun around.

“Why can’t you even clean this up?” I yelled. “This sits here for days. It’s disgusting, Jim. Of all the things… why not just…”

Jim finished another piece of bacon. He licked black pieces of bacon off his lips and then rubbed some out of the scruff on his face. He then looked at me.

“You know, this still tastes better than some of the shit I had to eat over there.”

Over there was code for Iraq. Jim never said the word. It was always over there.

I dropped the dirty pan and carried my coffee to the table.

“Is that your way of thanking me for the bacon?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said. He drank more coffee.

“You could have hurt yourself last night.”

“I know.”

“How is that fair to me? I get to come home to that. If I was twenty minutes later you could have choked on your own puke.”

“Isn’t that how rockstars die?” he asked with a shit grin. “I could have been famous.”

“Jim…”

“Well, I guess I’ll never be famous. Even when I got hurt over there, I did it the wrong way. Losing a leg is so twenty years ago.”

I just sat there, refusing to speak to his baby nonsense.

We were in silence again for a few minutes.

“That tree is still out back,” I said. “The one that fell in the storm a month ago. I can call someone…”

“Don’t you f*cking dare,” Jim snapped.

“It’s just sitting there,” I said. “You don’t have to worry about stuff like that, Jim.”

“I’ll cut it.”

“When? You keep saying it.”

“When I f*cking feel like it, sis.”