Page 22 of No Apologies
Chapter Five
He was having a shitty fucking day. When he’d opened his eyes this morning, he’d known that he was in hell. Every moment since had only confirmed it. He was tired, exhausted physically and emotionally. He was sore, his body aching with every single movement. And if that wasn’t bad enough, his entire family seemed hell bent on making it worse.
Colt stared at his reflection in the mirror over his work station and assessed the damage again. His nose had been broken for what must be the twentieth time in his godawful life. Both of his eyes were bruised from the swelling and sadly his face didn’t show the worst of the damage.
His ribs were bruised and he wouldn’t have been surprised at all to find that at least one of them was cracked. It wasn’t as if he could go to a doctor so he’d patched himself up as best he could last night, taken some painkillers and passed out with the hope that things wouldn’t look so bad in the morning. Of course, he should have outgrown a silly emotion like hope years ago because in the bright light of day, things only looked worse.
Lincoln was pissed at him. Oh, his cousin had dragged his ass up and gotten him home. He’d been kind enough to set his nose for him, though the bastard probably would have gone a little easier on that task if he hadn’t been cursing him at the time. He’d saved the threats for after Colt had slept off the worst of the pain and exhaustion but they’d been coming in steadily all morning.
He didn’t even blame him.
Colt had fucked up royally. He’d stepped into the cage last night without his head on straight. He’d gone in there knowing full well that he wasn’t prepared for a fight and yet he’d had no choice. He couldn’t back out so the fight had gone on and he’d gotten his ass absolutely handed to him.
He hadn’t lost but that didn’t matter to Lincoln. He’d managed to pull it together at the last minute. He got a lucky break, caught the guy in the knee, taking him to the ground and the stinger meant he couldn’t put pressure on the leg. Colt had used his slight weight advantage to pin him and eventually gotten the tap out he needed. But it hadn’t gone down the way Lincoln wanted so it wasn’t a victory.
His opponent was supposed to go down in the second, hard. Colt was supposed to have ended it hard and fast. One round of dancing, showing off for the crowd, one round to get the last minute bets placed, and then Lincoln had told him to end it. Quick and painless, knock the guy out so they could take their money and go home.
All of that should have been fully within his abilities but he hadn’t been queued up for a fight. He’d spent the night cuddling with a cute girl instead of preparing himself and he’d gone in cold. He hadn’t been quick on his feet and his brain had been slow to adjust. He’d taken a beating before his pent-up rage finally let loose and his instincts kicked in.
Six rounds. He’d barely survived six rounds. He’d dragged his ass all over that cage to make it six rounds. He had the broken bones to show for his effort but Lincoln didn’t care about that either.
Colt had won the fight but he’d lost something much more important. Whatever small modicum of respect his cousin had for him was gone after last night. He hadn’t followed orders. He hadn’t played his part like a good little solider and he would pay. Lincoln had made that completely clear in his messages this morning.
This fight hadn’t counted against Colt’s debt. He’d gotten his ass kicked and it hadn’t even counted because Lincoln had bet on him to win in two and he hadn’t. Lincoln had lost money so Colt would owe even more now. That was the way of things and there was no family discount.
So yeah, his day had started off as shit and it had only gotten worse when he got to the shop.
Despite his multiple warnings, Bentley had gotten into his ink last night. He’d tried to clean up after himself but he had no idea what the hell he was doing which was why Colt had told him not to use the machine in the first place. His cousin had left ink in the line and it had dried up overnight. The entire setup would have to be replaced which would cost him money and since Bentley was Lincoln’s brother he couldn’t even force the bastard to cover it.
After cleaning up his cousin’s mess, Colt had gotten more family drama courtesy of his older brother. Remy had stopped by under the guise of a friendly chat but if there was one thing he and his big bro had in common it was that they both sucked at beating around the bush. Direct and to be point was the Bomar way, for better or worse, so he wasn’t surprised in the least when Remy dropped the bullshit after only five minutes and broached the real reason he was there.
He wanted to join the shop. Work for Colt. He needed a job and he expected his little brother to hand him one.
Colt scrubbed his face and only remembered the bruises when pain followed the movement. He didn’t need this shit. Not today. He had enough to deal with facing off against Lincoln, handling Bentley and keeping Cash off his ass. He didn’t need to add another family member to his list of problems, least of all the long lost brother he had about a billion issues with already.
Remington Bomar was five years older than Colt and Cash. He’d been Decker’s favorite son, or to hear their father tell it, his only son. And despite what the rumors said about the twins, nobody had ever doubted for a second that Remy was that bastard’s spawn. He looked just like him and he’d gotten more than a few of his behavioral issues.
Even though Decker and Chrissy had doted on Remy and alternately ignored and abused Colt and Cash, he’d been a good big brother. He’d protected them from Decker’s fists. He’d made sure they ate when Chrissy was too stoned to know she even had sons. But all of that had ended the week he turned eighteen.
Remy had hitched a ride to the Army recruitment office in Falls Lake the day after his birthday. He’d signed up, gotten a haircut and never looked back. He’d come home long enough to tell them he was leaving, that he couldn’t stay and deal with the lies and bullshit any longer, and then he’d left.
He’d never come back. Not once. Not for an entire decade.
Colt and Cash had been thirteen at the time. They’d dealt with five more years of abuse in that house with nobody to protect them. They’d been too young and too small to defend themselves at the time and he would never forgive Remy for abandoning them when they needed him most.
Just like he would never forgive him for staying gone. For only calling to check on them when he was drunk and feeling lonely. For all of the excuses that weren’t explanations.
Remy had only come back into their life a couple of weeks ago and though that had been his call, he’d regretted it ever since. At the time, it was the only choice he’d had. Jemma had been in trouble and she’d trusted him to find a solution to her problem without involving Cash and getting him in trouble. Since the ex that had been threatening her was in Houston and he’d recently learned Remy was in the same city, he’d made the necessary call.
It had never been his intention to make Remy think he would be welcomed home with open arms if he helped them. Apparently something had gotten lost in translation though because his big brother had showed up on his doorstep days later. Neither he nor Cash had been all that welcoming yet Remy had stayed for reasons neither of them could figure out.
Until now.
A job. Colt almost laughed. That was the last thing he’d expected. A request for money or help disposing of a body would have been more in line with the Bomar way. He’d have been better equipped to deal with either of those than this.
“Come on little brother, is it that crazy of a request?” Remy fidgeted, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Colt swiped a hand through his hair and pulled himself together before turning to face his brother. There was something about Remy standing behind him that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Maybe it was the resemblance to Decker, the dark hair and dark eyes, so opposite to his own sand brown and light blue. Or maybe it had something to do with the knowledge that Remy had taken his natural-born violent tendencies and let the Army hone him into a killing machine. Whatever it was, he wasn’t completely comfortable with Remy but he hoped that didn’t show on his face.
