Dare To Run (The Sons of Steel Row #1)(42)

“Good.”

That was it. Just a one-word answer. I gripped the phone tighter and stopped in front of the shop. “Where you at?”

“Oh, you know.” He took a while to answer. “Just hanging at home with some of my boys from my crew. Shooting the shit.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “That’s so.”

Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes. I knew that soft tone of voice Scotty was currently using. It was his lying voice. I’d always teased him about it as a kid. When he lied, his voice rose in pitch just the slightest bit.

I’d first noticed it when he’d eaten my last chocolate bunny from my Easter basket. He’d still had the chocolate on his face, all over his chubby cheeks, and I’d asked him what had happened to it. He’d looked me flat in the eye and said he didn’t know—with a hitch to his voice. From that point on, I’d noticed that every time he’d lied to me or Ma, his voice would change. It was doing it now, too.

And it hurt like hell.

I looked down at the snow. It was already gray and filthy. The purity hadn’t lasted long. It never did. “You want to meet up for drinks? Shoot the shit? Haven’t seen much of you since I got out.”

“I can’t. Maybe some other time.”

I nodded once. “All right, then. Hey, have you seen any of the Bitter Hill guys hanging around our territory? There’s been a rumor that they were stirring up trouble earlier, and Tate wanted me to check into it before I went home for the night.”

A long pause, and then: “Nah, man. I haven’t seen a single one. But I stayed home the past two days with that chick I hooked, so I’m not the most reliable source for that type of intel.”

I stiffened and glanced up toward the window again. Another lie. But I didn’t need my trick to know it this time. After all, I’d seen him with my own two eyes. As I turned away, something red and black caught my eye. I crept around the side of the building, my heart thudding loudly in my ears, echoing like some sick kind of ticking clock, counting down to D-day.

My shop had been tagged by Bitter Hill.

Son of a bitch. Scotty, the same boy whom I’d told fairy-tale stories to until three a.m. whenever he had nightmares as a kid, had put a price on my head. I glared up at the sky, forcing myself to keep my tone neutral. Motherf*cker. Out loud I said, “Okay, good. Let me know if you see anything suspicious.”

“Sure thing.”

Scotty hung up, and I gripped my phone so tightly I’m surprised it didn’t crack under the pressure. If I’d had any doubts about his true loyalties . . .

They’d just been torn to shreds.

What the hell had happened when I’d been serving my time? What could have changed my little brother so damn much that he wanted to kill me? Scotty had always been a bit selfish and shortsighted, but fratricide? When had he become someone capable of that?

A small—okay, huge—part of me blamed myself.

I couldn’t help it, since I’d practically raised the little f*cker and all. Maybe it was something I’d done or said. Maybe I hadn’t been enough of a parent figure to him after Ma died. I’d been all he had after she’d passed. I’d tried my best, but I’d been nothing more than a kid myself.

When I joined the Sons of Steel Row after Ma fell ill, we finally had the money to pay our bills and put food on the table, but she hadn’t approved of where the money came from. Had refused the money I’d tried to give her, so instead, I’d bought groceries and paid off her mortgage behind her back . . . whether she’d liked it or not.

I’d done what needed to be done.

But she’d died, and all Scotty had was me to look up to.

No wonder he was f*cked-up like he was. I wasn’t a role model and never would be. I’d joined this life because it had been a challenge, and we’d needed money, so I’d accepted the challenge. I’d worked my ass off to gain their trust, and then I’d worked even harder. When Scotty had followed in my footsteps and joined, too, I’d welcomed him into the fold with open arms. And look what had come of it. This.

I had no clue what to do with him now, but turning him in to Tate wasn’t an option. In the end, he might need to die, but he didn’t need to be ripped to shreds by the Sons. And I wasn’t ready to give up on him yet. There had to be a way for me to redeem him. To show him what he was doing was wrong and guide him down the correct path . . . whatever the hell that was. He was my little brother. I’d practically raised him. I couldn’t just give up on him.

It couldn’t be too late, damn it.

I tore my gaze off the tag that changed everything, made one more quick stop at the hardware store across the street, then opened the downstairs door, climbing the stairs one slow step at a time. Music played, and the welcoming scent of lasagna hit me halfway up. I paused for a second, taking it all in.

Outside, life was hell and dark. But in here . . .

It was like a whole other world. One I liked.

She sang along to whatever song was playing, her voice soft, musical, and intoxicating. The way she acted, the way she was, was so different from anyone else I’d ever known, besides my ma. Maybe that’s why I’d rescued her from Bitter Hill. She had a freshness to her that drew a dirty soul like me in. She wasn’t from the same twisted world that I was from.