Page 7 of Brood

Chapter Four

“You get that thing fixed yet?” Roman asks as he steps into the shop, pointing through the garage bay door at Jordyn’s car. Where I have had it parked for over a week now.

“You in charge of the shop?” I toss the book in my hand down onto my desk and regard the man. I know why he is here, and he ain’t getting shit out of me.

“Nope.”

“You my Pres?”

“No.”

“Then as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t concern you,” I quip and grab the book back up again. The thick parts catalog is only a distraction, I never order shit from it.

“Fine. She just asked me at the café today is all.” I push away the annoyance I get that he was even talking to Jordyn and flip to the next page. I don’t even know what’s on it. I’m not really looking at it. All I see is light brown hair that I noticed just the other day has a slight tint of red highlighting it. A tiny little frame and innocent eyes. Something I know I shouldn’t be seeing or thinking about. “You hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear ya. What the fuck do you want? Her car ain’t done, and I don’t know when it will be,” I snap and don’t even bother looking up from the catalog.

“You don’t want her to leave.”

“The fuck you say?” This time, I do pull my false attention from the book, slapping it together before tossing it to the cluttered surface of my desk. My chair scrapes across the concrete floor before I’m up and toe to toe with Roman. “Why the fuck would I want to keep her here?”

“I’ve known you a long time, Brood. Have you forgotten I can tell when you are lying?” Despite the sudden closeness, the man still has his shit-eating grin on his smug face.

“Fuck off Roman. Don’t you have someone else to bother?” I try to brush past him, but he doesn’t let me get far.

“I invited her here tonight.” I want so much to turn around a punch his lights right the fuck out, only I hold in the anger starting to pulse through me.

“Keep an eye on her then,” I tell him and leave him behind me. It doesn’t take long before I’m on my bike and riding to the bar. Unlike most clubs ours doesn’t have a bar in it, instead if we need a drink we frequent the only bar in town. Which would be ours except the owner refuses to sell to us.

“Pria. Whiskey, make it a double.” I slide onto a stool at the empty bar. The guys are probably still at the café or have already started their workday.

“It’s nine AM.”

“You’re open, ain’t ya? I didn’t see a closed sign on that unlocked door I walked through.” Not that it has ever had a sign on it. If Pria isn’t here, we let ourselves in. She makes more than enough money off us; her door should always be open.

“Someone woke up with the wrong woman in his bed.” Fuck this woman and her mouth.

“Just give me the drink, or I’ll get it myself,” I grumble and rub my tired face with my calloused hands. After dropping Kas off with Cammy for the day, I seriously contemplated skipping the day in favor of a nap but knew that I most likely wouldn’t sleep anyway. “Kas had a rough night last night,” I tell Pria as she slides the glass my way, setting the bottle on the bar within my reach.

“Poor little guy. Bad dreams again?”

“Yeah. Shit, he ain’t even four yet and seems like he’s going through hell.” I tip the glass back and take the liquid down in one swallow.

“That boy is in no way going through hell. Don’t you dare say that. You are a great father to him. He’s just a kid that has bad dreams now and then. All kids do.”

“Yeah, well, this kid has night terrors because of his fucking meth-head of a mom.” I grip the bottle in my hand and pour another drink.

“She’s gone now.”

“Yeah, but not before she could inflict the damage.”

Pria reaches across the bar and places her hand over mine in a comforting gesture. “He will be fine. He has you as his dad.” She tries to reassure me again. I don’t argue further, it’s pointless. I know where I went wrong, fucking twice. Pria leaves me to my bottle and guilt and picks up a broom. I listen as she sweeps the bar and straightens out the tables and chairs. Once in awhile some glasses clink together. Then the door opens.

“Damn hold that position. I’ll be right there.” Shaking my head, I turn around to see Roman stalking toward Pria, who is bent over and sweeping trash into her dustpan. She instantly stands ramrod straight, getting a laugh from Roman.

“You’re a dick,” she huffs, then bends at her knees, squatting down, to resume what she was doing. All the while now facing the direction of Roman so he can’t get another eye full of her ass in them tight as fuck jeans.

“I can still see down your shirt,” Roman quips as he comes to my side and reaches over the bar to grab himself a glass before sitting down and helping himself to my bottle. We don’t pay per glass here. Instead, Pria charges us a monthly fee to drink until our heart’s content or liver has had enough. Like I said, she makes more than enough money.

“You need to quit fucking with her. She might ban you from the bar.”

“Not a chance. I pay my seven hundred a month just like everyone else does,” he states knocking back his glass of whiskey.

I force back the laughter that wants so bad to bubble up and take one last shot. “Like I said, quit fucking with her.” I pat my brother on the back and walk out of the bar, not even caring that he pissed me off earlier. Knowing that he pays seven hundred a month is enough satisfaction to bypass my annoyance toward his stupid ass.

Pria is a devilish woman and deserves every cent she gets from him.

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