I open my eyes to my phone ringing. Leaning over the sleeping body in my bed, I grab it from the nightstand. An unknown number. I usually don’t take those and am about to put it back when something nudges my mind. The first digits clearly indicate that the caller is from Maine, so I hit ‘accept.’
“Yes.” I sound gruff, but that’s not my problem since they got me half asleep.
“Archie?” An unfamiliar voice asks.
“This is him. And you?”
“It’s Kenneth Benson, Alex’s brother.”
My blood runs cold, and my heart stops. I’ve heard of him briefly but never actually met the guy, and him calling me in the morning like this? It fuckin’ chills my bones. Alex is a vet struggling with severe PTSD, and no one, trust me, fuckin’ no one wants to get a call like this.
“What happened?” I push through the sudden dryness in my throat.
“Oh,” he exhales loudly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. He’s fine.”
I let out a breath of relief.
“I was wondering if I can ask you for a favor,” he chuckles apprehensively.
“Favor?” Interesting. I barely know the guy. Alex hardly mentioned him during our years of service together, so Kenneth calling me must be big. “What sort of favor?”
He chuckles again, clearly not knowing where to start. “This is gonna sound weird.”
“You think?” I lean back onto my pillows, and the female body next to me wiggles her ass in the air, stirring my dick.
“Fair.” Another chuckle. “I’m kind of in a…how should I say? An interesting situation.” I’m quiet, so he asks, “You there?”
“Oh, I am.” I laugh. “I can’t wait to see where this is going.”
“Fucker.” A loud groan follows, and I instantly begin liking the guy. “I know you’re coming here tomorrow for dinner at our parents’, but I was wondering if you could come tonight.”
“Why?”
“I need you to be somewhere to wait for…” I can almost hear him thinking, “us.”
“Us?”
“Yeah, myself, Justin, and another dude.”
This is getting more interesting by the second, especially as the woman next to me places her hand between her legs, letting out quiet little moans.
“Do I want to know why I need to meet you all there?” I ask, eyeing the show at my side. “Considering I can’t fuckin’ stand that blond asshole.”
“No one does. But they need—we need—an alibi.”
I push from the pillows, swinging my legs over the bed to sit, forgetting about the woman in my bed. “Why would you need that?”
“Look,” a deep sigh, “the only reason I called you is because Alex talks about you like you hang the moon and fuckin’ stars, and I need someone not from around here who can keep his mouth shut, and I thought you could be that someone.” He groans as if he’s tired of trying to reason with me and says, “You know what? Never mind, forget it.”
I know he’s about to hang up, so I rush to reply, “I’ll be there. Text me the address.”
There’s a weighted silence before he speaks. “Alright. Thanks. I don’t know when I’ll need you there, but I strongly suspect that it might be tonight. I’ll text you the time as soon as I’m sure.”
“Copy that,” I say before hanging up. Interesting. There are not many people I’ll do anything for, but Alex is one of them, and that means his family too.
A second later, my phone chimes with a text containing the address of a bar in one of Little Hope’s neighboring towns. I check the drive time: about four hours, and with the snowy roads it might be longer. It’s currently nine in the morning.
I still have time for a quickie.
Lying back in bed and turning to the brunette, I gently pat her shoulder. She turns around to kiss me, but I press my finger to her lips before she can. “No kissing, babe. That’s the deal, and you know that.”
She pouts and pushes on my shoulders, and I don’t know why she acts so scandalized—I’m always open and strict with my rules: no kissing, no morning snuggles, no heartwarming hugs. I like a warm body next to me just like any other man, but it needs to be next to me, not on me, beside me, or any other variation. Don’t get me wrong, I like said variations during the fun activities, but not after.
When I’m on my back, she climbs on top of me. I smile, ready for a good time.
If not for my flaccid cock. The gorgeous brunette—Jannette? Jaqueline?—pushes her boobs into my face, and still nothing. She moves over me, and nothing. Fuck, here we go again. I slightly push her back and lean over to the nightstand. Opening the drawer, I pull my knife out. Her eyes go round, and I rush to calm her down.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s not for you.”
She lets out a relieved breath but watches me warily.
I flip the knife so the handle is pointing toward her and offer it. “Take it.”
She takes it carefully, and I grab her hand, guiding her toward my chest. “Now, cut it.”
Shocked, she looks from me to my chest and licks her lips. I think she’s about to bolt when her eyes turn hungry, and she presses the blade into my skin, cutting it.
“More,” I rasp, and she presses harder. The pain is familiar and welcoming. Now, my dick stirs, and I grab the condom, ready for action. That’s another rule I always follow—always dress up. Never in my life did I go in raw, nor do I plan to.
As she makes another cut, going a lot deeper this time, I think about how it’s getting more difficult to feel anything without pain with every passing day. When will I reach my limit?
It’s seven in the evening when I park at the Dancing Pony, the Little Hope bed-and-breakfast. Getting my overnight bag out, I walk to the door. A slim elf-like woman with her ever-present long, fake ears greets me at the reception desk. She’s the owner of this place. Emma has only ever been nice to me, a real ray of sunshine. But today, she greets me with a concerned frown.
“Archie, I’m so sorry! Your room got a radiator leak. It’ll take a couple days to fix.”
“Bummer. I’m okay with any room.”
“I don’t have any left,” she says, her voice small, nearly ready to cry. She’s one of those people who don’t know how to just say ‘no.’
“None?” I longingly glance at the hallway of the inn.
“No.” She shakes her pretty head, her elf ears flopping a little.
“Oh, well.” I sigh. “I guess call me when you have anything available.”
“Will do. Sorry again!”
“Don’t worry.” I wave at her, walk out the door, and back to my car. Fuck, I can try another town, but it’s like a thirty-minute drive on a good day.
Once I get inside, I pull out my phone and call Kenneth. He’s the local sheriff, and he would know if something is available somewhere around. Plus, he’s the reason I’m here today, so he owes me.
He picks up on the second ring. “Benson.”
“Do you know of any other accommodations around besides Dancing Pony?”
He sighs. “They’re packed?”
“Yeah.”
“Nothing around here.” He clicks his tongue. “You can stay at my place; I got plenty of room.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’ll text you the address.” He yells something to someone and then returns to me. “Sorry, work. The extra key is on the beam at the back door.”
“Got it, thanks.”
“Sure. I’m stuck at the station for another thirty minutes, but that thing we talked about? I think it’s tonight. I’ll give you the details when I’m back.”
“Copy that.”
The end of the line goes dead, and a message follows a moment later. I plug the address into my GPS and drive to his place. I could probably crash on Alex’s couch, but something tells me he is unaware of the shenanigan his brother is up to. And I intend to keep it that way—Alex already has enough on his plate.
Benson’s house is a suburban-style, two-story brick building with more character in its gutter than my whole gigantic mansion in Boston. I walk around to look for the back door, and, as promised, I find the spare key on the beam. Opening the door, I step inside.
It matches the outside. Clean cut, simple but tasteful. Looking around, I get a feeling that Benson must have spent a few years in the military, judging by how neat and tidy everything is and the ninety-degree angles everywhere.
I drop my bag on the bench by the door and take my shoes off. My mother would have a fit if she saw me walking barefoot in someone’s house, but pissing her off is one of the last pleasures in my life. Even if she doesn’t see it.
I wash my hands and plant my ass on the couch, scrolling through social media. Seeing new tattoos made by my crew warms my heart. My parlors are among the very few things that still bring me pleasure in life besides being a tool to my mother, and I treasure seeing the beautiful work my employees put out into the world.
Thirty minutes later, the front door opens, and a tall, well-built dude in a sheriff’s uniform walks inside. I see the family resemblance right away. His hair is cut short, but besides that, he’s pretty much Alex’s twin, just a little older. A few stripes of silver mark his temples, and a few extra lines around his mouth and eyes. I stand up and walk to him, hand outstretched. He shakes it firmly and smacks my shoulder with his other hand.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Don’t mention it.” I smile. “Though I might say I’m curious.”
“I bet you are. C’mon, I’ll explain everything.” He takes his shoes off and proceeds to the kitchen. “Alex doesn’t know you’re here?” he asks, turning to me.
“No,” I say, following him. “Figured if you wanted him to know, you would tell him.”
“You figured right. Don’t want to get him involved.” He nods.
“And involving me is alright?” I ask with a smirk.
“It’s not like that.” He opens the fridge. “Want something?”
“Water.”
He grabs a cold bottle and passes it to me. “You won’t be mixed into anything that might cause you trouble, but if he knows, he will make sure to be in the middle since he knows the parties involved.”
“Okay, you got me hooked.” I unscrew the cap, toss back half in one go, and sit at the table. My hangovers always leave me dehydrated, so I’m always thirsty.
“You know Justin, right?”
“The asshole who treated my star artist like shit? Yeah, I know him, alright.”
Kayla, Justin’s fiancé, is my top artist. I discovered her a few years ago and paid for her classes to become a tattoo artist. The best investment I’ve made so far—she’s booked for months ahead. She is an unbelievable success considering she’s a brand-new name. Her signature phoenixes are getting well-deserved recognition around the world.
Justin did some shady shit and lost her there for a minute. She came to my house, ready for a new life. She stayed in one of my many empty rooms while she was studying and working part-time in one of my Boston locations. One day, he showed up at my place, demanding to see her. But the asshole realized she was better off without him for the time being and let her chase her dream.
I may have influenced his decision. A bit. I felt sorry for him, to be honest. He came to me looking like a beat-up, homeless dog. That’s what love does to people, and that’s precisely why I only do one-night stands. I can’t get involved with someone and go through those highs and lows since I’m already so unstable. And I can’t get anyone involved in my bullshit either.
“Yeah.” He takes a sip and chews on his lip. “Well, his sister—and this stays between us, you got it?” He finds my eyes and gives me a death stare, so I nod. “His sister was assaulted eight years ago, and no one was punished.”
“Fuck.” I wipe my face with my hands, masking my anxiety.
So, that pretty blonde I met the night I dropped drunk Romeo off went through something horrible. That’s why her eyes were permanently sad. It wasn’t only because she lost her lover, but because she’s been through hell and back.
After hearing this, I know I’m in, no matter what the hell he’ll ask.
“Yeah. So, rumor has it, Mark, her boyfriend, found them.”
“You’re shitting me.” I lightly smack the table with an open palm, too excited at the prospect of what he might do to them.
“What?” His brows arch.
“I met the guy a week ago at the bar.”
Kenneth’s lips quirk up. “You’re the Samaritan who drove him home?”
“And how do you know it?”
“It’s my town.” He shrugs and adds with a smirk, “Rory told me.”
Ah, the pretty bartender.
“Small towns.” I shake my head.
“Yep. Gotta love ’em.” He chuckles and looks longingly at the fridge. “God, I wish I could have a beer right about now.”
“You and me both. I’m not used to being sober this late in the evening.”
He gives me a once over and continues, “I have my suspicion that he and Justin are going after them tonight.”
“After them as—” I let the question hang in the air.
“To deliver justice. And that’s why I’m going. To make sure they don’t overdo it.”
“Alright. You want me to go with them.” I nod, getting excited about fixing at least one injustice in this shitty world.
“Fuck no. Two psychos are enough. I can’t rein you in as well. No offense.” He shoots me a sympathetic smile, making me cackle. “I need you to wait for us at the bar and make everyone believe we were there the whole evening. Is that doable?”
I snort. “I’m offended that I’m left out, but I can do that. The drinks will be plenty, and the table will be busy. No one will notice you weren’t there from the start.”
“Glad that’s covered. I hope they won’t go too far.”
“Would that be bad, though?” I mumble under my breath, but he hears it.
“I don’t give a shit about those fuckers. God knows that’s wrong to say, but it’s the honest truth. They’ve done a lot of shit, if my…” he averts his eyes, “research it correct. But I can’t let them go that far. That’s not how justice is served.”
“And yet here we are, securing an alibi.” I lean back in my seat and fold my arms over my chest.
“It’s complicated.” He shakes his head and leans against the table. “It’s been eight years, and not even one person came forward.”
“How do you know they’re to blame then?”
He levels me with a stare. “We always do. But our hands are fucking tied if there’s no evidence. Or if it’s getting swiped under the rug.” His words are heavy; he looks tired, and I understand. I understand the system isn’t perfect. I know that more than anyone.
His phone rings, and he answers it with a bark. “Yeah.” Someone talks on the other end, and Benson groans. “Fuck, thanks, Jennica.” He puts his phone away. “I’m gonna go change. It’s definitely today. Go there now because it looks like our little vigilantes went on a hunt a little earlier than planned.”
A few minutes later, he exits his bedroom dressed in civilian clothes. “Take the key. You can stay here while you’re in town. I don’t think Dancing Pony will have a room for a few days. They had a new movie come out or something, so they’ll be swamped.”
“You sure it’s okay?” I grab the keys and shake them in the air.
“Yeah,” he waves me off. “I have three extra bedrooms; take whichever you want.”
“Thanks.”
“No, thank you.” He pulls on his coat and shoes and walks outside. “See you there,” he yells over his shoulder.
I get dressed and lock the house up. The drive to the bar takes about thirty minutes. The place is super busy, and I take a table in the corner and make friends with a couple huge dudes who come to sit with me.
I pay for their drinks and make sure to constantly walk to the bar and back to my seat, bringing attention to our table and how drunk we are. Then three more guys join, and the party becomes so loud even I can’t figure out who’s been here from the start. About two hours later, when the guys at my table are wasted and barely remember their own names, Kenneth, Justin, and Mark walk inside.
To say that two out of three of the newcomers are surprised to see me would be an understatement, but they quickly regain themselves and start acting along.
A quick assessment shows Mark and Justin’s knuckles bloodied, their pupils dilated, and their gazes crazed and rapid. I walk them over to our table, where our two wasted friends greet them like we’re all a big happy family. Kenneth is collected and professional.
He scans the room and says under his breath to no one in particular, “Good job.”
We all did well tonight, judging by the satisfied looks on Justin and Mark’s faces.
I give Mark a side hug. “Now would be a good time to go and powder your nose.” I nod at his hands. He follows my gaze and hides them under the table.
“Good idea. Coming, Justin?”
“Yeah,” he says and rises from his chair.
“Are you gonna hold each other’s hands?” One of our new friends’ cackles, and Justin laughs back. It’s forceful and unnatural—no Oscar for him, for sure.
“Yeah, can’t let him out of my sight.” He and Mark disappear, and Kenneth calls my name.
“I owe you one,” he says firmly as I face him.
“No, you don’t.” I roll my eyes. “I came to the bar to get drunk like I usually do. It’s just another Wednesday for me.”
“I do,” he repeats firmly.
“I’ll never call in a favor for that. Forget about it.”
He gives me a thumbs-up and sniffs a glass in front of him.
“You got anything lighter than this?”
I rise to my feet to grab us some water. “Coming right up.”
A few hours later, Justin and Mark are dropped off at their places. I saw a glimpse of Kayla through the window of Justin’s condo, but I sure hope she didn’t see me. I don’t want to lie to her, and I can’t give her an explanation, as it’s not mine to give. We reach Benson’s home well past midnight.
“I’m gonna go to the station tomorrow. It’s my day off, but we have to interview a new hire, and I’m going straight to my parents’ place. I can pick you up on my way if you want.”
“Sounds good. I’m still not quite sure why I was invited,” I say, befuddled. I was somewhat shocked when Alex called me a couple of days ago and said that his stepmother had asked him to invite me over. She doesn’t even know me; why would she want me in her house?
“Because you’re Alex’s friend, and he talks about you. A lot.” Then he pauses. “Alex. Talks a lot.” He raises a brow, letting his words sink in, and I smirk.
“Yeah, that’s new.”
“Exactly,” he replies, taking off his boots. “Mom is impressed. So yeah, you can’t get out of that.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You just wait.” He lets out a tired laugh. “It’s gonna be a mess. My father will make sure to fuck it up. He and Alex don’t get along very well.”
“That I’ve heard.” I don’t add that that’s pretty much all I’ve heard about him.
Alex didn’t really talk about his family much during our years in the Navy because he didn’t consider himself a part of one. I know that his father had an affair with his mother while still married to his current wife. Alex’s mother died when he was a teenager, and he came to live with his father and his family. I believe he just decided to reconcile with them recently, and I’ll bet my left nut it was influenced by his girlfriend Freya. She’s a foster child and wants to have a big family. Good for him.
“But you hadn’t heard about us?” he asks half-hopefully, half-sadly. He already knows the truth.
I smile in response. “A little. I’ve heard about your little sister and brother. Mostly your sister, though.” I don’t know her name, but I don’t say that. On those rare occasions when Alex talked about his family, he mainly mentioned some shenanigans his little sister or brother did. I believe they’re close in age and used to get into trouble at school.
He said she had hero syndrome and wanted to protect every bullied kid starting from kindergarten, and her brother was the one who got his hands dirty when the message wasn’t received. Every time he mentioned her, he called her one of those cute things a brother would call a sister, and I never questioned it. Neither of us liked to talk about home, so we took what either of us was willing to share.
“Figures. Alex adores her.” Then he gives me a pointed look and adds, with a smirk, “Secretly. I think he only tolerated her because I was about the same age, and we didn’t get along, and Aiden, the youngest, was a little shit and pissed everyone off.” He chuckles at some memory, his gaze wavering. “Besides our sis. They did get in trouble together, for sure. Nothing’s changed, by the way—Aiden’s still pissing everyone off.” He chuckles again, sounding oddly affectionate. “It got better, though. You should have seen our first dinner together. What a fucking disaster it was.”
He shakes his head with sad laughter.
“Thank God Freya was there. She always acts like a buffer.”
“You should have seen my family dinners.” I walk to the fridge and pull out two bottles of water.
“Were they bad too?” he asks as I pass him one.
“Bad would be an understatement.” My brows jump as always when my family is mentioned. It’s like a damn tick, I swear. “My mother is a proper British lady. You know, those unrealistic ones you see on TV, where they don’t have any emotions, drink tea twenty-four-seven, and don’t accept any flaws.” I take a sip from the bottle and let out a bitter laugh. “And I’ve got plenty of those.”
“I wondered for a moment if your accent was Australian or something.”
“Nah, British. Eighteen years with my mother left a footprint. I’ve been trying to ditch it, but it appears here and there.” I shrug.
“Makes sense,” he agrees. “What about your dad?”
“He died when I was nineteen.” A lump forms in my throat at the mention of the only person who held me together.
“I’m sorry.” He sounds sincere, so I nod, accepting it.
That’s where the conversation dies, and I’m about to walk to the bathroom when Kenneth asks, “Wait, how did you serve in the Navy?”
I turn back to find him looking confused, his brows furrowed.
“My dad was American. Came from old money. I moved with him when I was eighteen.”
“Why wait so long?”
“He didn’t have custody.” I bite back the bitter memories. “When I was old enough to leave, I did.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” I roll my lips. “I’d’ve left earlier, but my mother severed all communication between us, so I thought he just didn’t want me, you know.”
Suddenly, I feel uncomfortable with oversharing and turn to head back toward the bathroom when Kenneth stops me.
“I’m sorry, man.”
I turn to face him. “What are you sorry for?” He already said that, and I don’t know why he keeps mentioning that.
“That you only got to spend one year with your old man.” His voice is coarse.
I nod and hurry to the bathroom. That’s gotta be one of the top things I’m sorry about, too—I wish I didn’t listen to my mother and had gone to find my dad before she got to me too much. I’ve always been a difficult, rebellious kid, but she suppressed all the feelings I might have had, and I never learned how to deal with my emotions.
She has this ability to destroy a person just by looking at them, and she often used it on me just as my brain was developing. I guess I can ‘thank’ her for contributing to what I am now.
She used to hide me in my room like a freak whenever guests visited. Even during dinners with her family, she didn’t utter a word to me, hating my very presence.
I still don’t know why she kept me and didn’t just ship me away to my dad. I guess it was a power play, because when I met my dad, he told me he’d been trying to contact me for years, and she prevented it every single time. Eventually, she even filed a police report, and he was banned from coming to the country.
Since I came to meet him a month—because that’s how long it took me to find him in the States—after I turned eighteen, I haven’t been back to England because of her, even though I miss the country and its great fuckin’ beer.
She calls me from time to time when she needs something from me—usually money—and that’s about it. She comes from money too, but her spendings know no limit. I’ve stopped picking up the phone when any British number shows up on my screen because every minute talking to her brings me closer to the edge of insanity.
Yeah, that’s a bad way to finish a day of small victories. Fuck you, mother.
