Page 1 of Javier

CHAPTERONE

Torch River …

Javier used tongs to dip the finished blade in the vat of water to quench it, put it next to the others and nodded, pleased, as he surveyed his work. When completed, the knives would be badass groomsmen gifts. He was months ahead of the groom’s deadline. It was only eleven o’clock, but fabricating was done for the day, as he had started just after the sunrise. The August heat already rivaled the miserably uncomfortable Midwest humidity. He turned off the propane to the forge, deposited his goggles, apron, and gloves on a scarred wood table and headed for the outdoor shower, anticipating the cold water sluicing over his body.

He enjoyed his work. Found it cathartic. However, hammering and drawing out the tempered metal for hours was taxing, and his clothes were drenched. He counted on the shower to revive him. It always did. After picking up his lunch at the diner, he was headed to the business that he and the siblings of his heart founded decades earlier—River Rats Brewing.

The name evolved from the disparaging term river rats they had been called all their lives. The group decided to proudly embrace it, and when the craft brewery became successful, the slur no longer held a sting.

River Ratswas a nod to their beginnings and shared experiences as foster kids who grew up in the Narrows alongside the wide, winding Torch River—from which the town took its name. The same river that served to divide the affluent and poor.

River Ratshonored survival and acknowledged what had shaped them into driven, gritty, and street-smart adults. They might not had been born of the same blood, but they would bleed for each other.

Brewing beer had grown from a hobby in Sammi’s garage to a serious business enterprise. After exhausting the space of two buildings, they invested in a state-of-the-art facility that had future expansion abilities. It was a wise move.

Business was booming. The brewery had expanded several times. A new distributor agreement with a nationwide wholesaler had been inked late last year and was predicted to substantially increase their market share. In anticipation, they scaled up the facility again and hired more employees.

Of course, some residents in the affluent Cliffs area across the river had taken notice. There was an uptick in inquiries and inspections. Having grown up in the economically depressed area of Torch River, Javier, and his brothers and sisters, were wise to tactics of the rich, particularly those of the Hayes and Maitlin families. The highly profitable brewing operation was a target for acquisition, at any cost. So was the land.

It wasn’t going to fucking happen.

Before moving the brewery into its first official building, they had hired attorneys, incorporated, and then systematically and quietly purchased all available land in the Narrows and put it in a trust. Some of the prominent people dwelling in the Cliffs had to be gnashing their teeth over the inability to acquire what was now coveted land.

What would the Cliffies do if they discovered the seed money had come from one of their own?

Javier smirked, pulled the moisture-laden bandana from his head, and shrugged off the sweaty tee, then turned on the shower and pushed off the steel-toed leather boots—the last of his protective gear.

He used the shower in the shop’s bathroom roughly half of the year. However, when the weather was warm, he preferred rinsing off outside. It was pure freedom. Just him and nature, the water directly piped from the Torch. The outdoor shower was unnecessary, but he never regretted adding it.

He shimmied the roomy pants off. They pooled at his feet. He kicked them aside, into the weeds. Commando, he stepped in under the strong spray and groaned loudly. Once cooled-off, he soaped, rinsed, and turned off the faucet.

Behind him, someone loudly cleared their throat. He ignored them—until it registered that the person sounded like a woman.

Not Sammi. She was busy opening up the Wake even though the bar didn’t open until five tonight.

Not Rose either. The lunch rush at Daphne’s Diner was just starting and she would be up to her elbows with customers until roughly two o’clock.

Cabrera’s was his property. His domain. He squeezed out his hair and ran his palms over his beard, which was desperately in need a of a trim, and squinted over his shoulder. Curiosity piqued, he pivoted, giving zero fucks about his nakedness.

Wearing platform sandals, a gauzy flowing navy skirt, and a sleeveless flowered blouse, the statuesque redhead took her time looking him over. A smile tugged at her lips and her brows arched above the mirrored sunglasses. Her dewy skin had a slight flush. Was she hot orhot? He decided she was the latter, given her slow, bold perusal.

With effort, his eyes left her and traveled over the restored classic muscle car parked behind her. A beauty. A red convertible with a white interior. “Yours?” He hadn’t heard it. The force of the water hitting the corrugated metal made a decent amount of noise.

“It is. I’m looking for a man that goes by Gray Wolf. I was told I could find him here or later at” —she looked at the screen on her phone— “a bar called the Wake if I miss him. Do you know him?”

The mention of the long-retired alias, inspired by his premature graying hair some thirty years earlier and his tendency to lead others, deflated his cock and had him reaching for the towel on the hook. “Who’s looking?”

“Memphis Creed.”

He had known a Creed long ago. A brother. A loyal friend. A man of honor, until he demonstrated that he wasn’t. Coming up empty, Javier shook his head. “I don’t know a Memphis Creed.” He moved to walk past her—toward the clean dry clothes in his office.

She stepped in front of him, bravely cutting off the path. “Fair enough. You’d have no reason to. But you knew Ransom Creed?”

The damp hair on the back of his neck rose.Why the insistence?“I did. Haven’t had any contact with him in ages.”

“I know. He told me.” She slipped off the sunglasses. Exquisite hazel eyes studied him with a level gaze. “Just not thewhy.”

Javier’s chin snapped up.What the fuck?

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