Page 7 of No Apologies
Chapter Two
Despite what he told Trey, Colt didn’t end up closing the shop early. He ran a business. He had a responsibility to be open when he said he would be open. Still, it wasn’t the first time Lincoln had called him in to fight on a night the shop was open late. He’d made the necessary calls and fortunately he had at least one cousin that was interested in what he did and reliable enough to help him out when he was in a bind.
Bentley Bomar was Lincoln’s younger brother. Their father, Auto, was Decker’s older brother. Like all Bomar’s the old guy was a violent bastard with a mean streak but since he’d always been good to them, Colt couldn’t bring himself to hate his uncle. Auto had been there for them when they had nobody else, had even given Cash his job at the garage. He looked out for them almost as if they were his own sons, and if you listened to rumors maybe they were.
That was how fucked up his family was. His uncle might be his biological father. His father might actually be his uncle. It was a sick, twisted mess that he didn’t like to think about.
Didn’t like to think about just how much he and Cash resembled their cousins, who might be their half-brothers. Didn’t like to think about how Uncle Auto had two sets of twins already; Lincoln and Ford then Bentley and Royce. Didn’t like to think about how nobody else in the family had produced twins in their generation or how Auto used to hang around when Decker was off whoring and drinking, taking care of Chrissy too.
So he didn’t.
That was how he survived. He didn’t think about all of the shit that threatened to tear him down, tear him apart. If he didn’t think about it, he didn’t have to deal with it.
If he cut Decker and Chrissy out of his life, he didn’t have to face the horrors that they’d been responsible for. If he didn’t get involved in the dirty side of the family business he didn’t have to admit that his family was just as bad as the rumors said. If he could accept that he was damaged goods, fucked up beyond all repair, then he didn’t have to care what anyone else thought of him.
He’d decided a long time ago that his life was a hell of a lot happier, and easier, if he thought of himself simply as Colt. When he let the Bomar shit go, it put him in a much better mood. He even managed to smile, laugh and enjoy himself most days, as long as he didn’t touch the dark, evil parts of the Bomar world then the dark, evil parts of himself stayed buried too.
But tonight he wasn’t just going to touch it, he was going to immerse himself in everything that was wrong with his family, violence and alcohol and dirty money, and it was impossible to separate himself from them when he was beating a man half to death with his fists.
“Dude, everyone’s all wound up about this fight tonight. You ready for it?”
Colt shot his cousin a smirk, “Have I evernotbeen ready for a fight?”
“Touché.” Bentley kicked back at the front desk, his feet up and his hands behind his head. “I told Link to put my money on you so it’s almost like you’re payin’ me for being here.”
He looked so damn much like Cash when he grinned like that, it was disturbing. Maybe he should have thought Bentley looked like him. God knew he’d always been more apt to smile than Cash had ever been, but lately that knowing, near glowing look on his twin’s face had put his own good moods to shame. That was how Bentley looked right at that moment, like a kid in a candy shop, and that was enough to worry him about leaving his cousin alone in the shop.
“I’m not paying you shit.” He repeated for at least the fifth time, “And don’t mess with the equipment.”
“Oh, come on, C.”
“Don’t mess with the equipment, Bent.” He repeated seriously when his cousin only chuckled, “There’s nobody on the book but you might get a walk-in or two. Just schedule them and send them on their way. No funny business.”
Bentley held his hands up, a faux innocent look on his face that would have been comical if they weren’t talking about Colt’s livelihood. He’d offered, more than once, to take his cousin under his wing and teach him the skills to become an artist but Bentley always refused. God forbid his brothers got wind of him wanting to make money in a legal way.
“Funny business?”
“Shut up. Just don’t touch any of the equipment. You’re not licensed to use it.”
“Don’t need a license to use it on myself.”
“Actually, you do.” Colt fought a smile, “And if you put so much as one crooked line on your skin, I’ll kill you myself.”
“It’s my skin!” Bentley laughed.
“Yeah, but it’s my shop and crooked lines makes me look bad.” He knocked his cousin’s feet off the counter, “Just answer the phone if it rings, schedule any walk-ins and stay out of my ink.”
“Sir, yes sir.”
“I’m not fucking around Bent. Don’t make me…” His cell phone started to ring and he pulled it out of his pocket, saw the name on the screen and sighed, “Hold on.”
Bentley ignored him, which was standard, so he turned and walked away. He’d been expecting this call all evening. It was a twin thing. Cash always knew his moods, knew when he was on the verge of crossing the line. Even from a different state, not having seen or talked to him since this morning, having no knowledge of Lincoln’s visit or even the deal Colt had made to fight for his cousin, Cash was calling to check on him.
“Well if it isn’t the man in black...” He picked up on the fourth ring with his usual joke, “Miss me already?”
Cash scoffed, “Like a hole in the head.”
“Put Jem on then, I bet she’s missing me. I know I’m missing my favorite feisty redhead. I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep tonight without her here. I’ve gotten used to the sound of her voice lulling me to sleep through the walls of the apartment.”
