3. Talon
three
Talon
I t never failed to become my problem when my brother fucked up. Even when we were little kids and shit went down, our parents always made sure I was held responsible for whatever bullshit Milo found himself in. Maybe it was middle child syndrome, but at least back then I’d had Bri’s help. She had adored Lo, doted on him like he was her fucking kid. Not anymore.
The change had come drastically after the death of our parents, not that I could blame her. We went from having wonderful parents and a pretty decent family, to having Kyle. It was hard to believe we were even related to the motherfucker. But apparently we were, and he was the only family we had left.
Eventually we found a system, far from perfect, but a system nonetheless. Things were going okay. We all had our roles to play. That is, until Milo went fucking rogue. He’d always been the most resistant to the new order of things, and maybe that was because he was the baby of the family. But it was one thing to be a little rebellious and a whole other to be a fucking snitch.
It wasn’t like I gave a fuck that Kyle was arrested. The piece of shit had it coming. But he was our uncle, and you don’t snitch on family. That was our number one rule; the only rule that really mattered. You gotta get the heat off your own back? You get rid of the smaller fish. They knew what they were getting into—like lambs to the slaughter. Milo fucking knew that. And he knew Kyle would never take anything laying down.
And yet.
I blamed the bitch he’d shacked up with. I always knew that was going to be his downfall—love. Such a cliche, it made me sick. Milo was softer than he had any right to be, all things considered. He left himself open to care about others. Whole lot of good that did him. Unfortunately for me, I wasn’t in a much better predicament. I sure as shit hadn’t gone and fallen in love like some dope, but I’d done the single worst thing there was to do when you live a life like we do.
I hadn’t wrapped it up. The one fucking time I was in such a rush to get my dick wet, and of course, luck would have it, I knocked the bitch up. I didn’t even know her name. I sure as shit know it now . She was just some girl that would come into the garage with her friends from time to time, hoping to use their cleavage to score a deal on repairs and maintenance on their cars. I’d been frustrated and horny and she’d been more than willing. Took her in the back, we did our thing, and she went on her way. That should have been the end of it.
Until she came back four months later with a small bump and determination in her eyes. I’d denied paternity vehemently, of course. All she’d done was roll her eyes and tell me there were no other candidates and it didn’t matter anyway. She was having the baby, and if there had to be a paternity test, so be it, but she expected me to be financially involved. She couldn’t give less of a shit of my involvement outside of that.
That was fine. I would send her her monthly dues and she would do what she wanted to do. I pulled her aside, away from the prying ears of customers and told her I couldn’t do more than that. That I wasn’t going to be a dad. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. Not with the shit my family was involved in. And then there was the fact that I already had my hands full looking out for Milo, not that I would tell her or anyone else that. Again, the pretty brunette didn’t seem phased in the slightest. I had to give her the respect she clearly earned—she knew we were never more than a quickie in the back of my garage, and she was fine with that.
She went on her way and that was the last I ever heard from her, outside of dropping the envelopes of cash in her mailbox on the first of every month. I thought I’d done the right thing by her and by the child we’d created together. She’d gone and gotten married, and from what I could tell, they were raising my son like a proper family would, even getting him a puppy and a little sister. He’s like eight now and fuck he looks like me, the only exception being that his curly hair has the same coloring as Milo’s. At least from what I could tell by the picture that Kyle had slapped in front of me five months ago.
I thought I’d been careful. There was no paper trail. I decided against the paternity test because I didn’t want a court case in the system. I told Kenna, the boy’s mom, as much of the truth as I could. That I had some people around that would not be safe around the baby and I’d do everything in my power to keep them away from her. That had been enough for her. But apparently, somewhere along the way, I’d failed.
Kyle came into the shop’s back office and slid into the chair in front of my desk like he had some right to it, a slimy grin on his chapped lips. There was an odd look of sick satisfaction pulling at his features like he knew a secret and was wondering what he could do to make me want to know it.
I didn’t greet him, only stared like I always do, letting him know perfectly well with just my eyes how much I detested him. It brought me perverse joy that the motherfucker still had to wear a brace on the arm my brother had shattered, the bones never quite healing the way they should. Knowing he was in near constant pain when he wasn’t high as a kite was like karma demanding her piece.
It was obvious he’d seen my gaze shift to the black brace, his own expression hardening. He bit out, “You still haven’t found your piece of shit brother.” An accusation, not a question.
“You know I haven’t. He’s covered his tracks pretty damn well. I told you that at our last meeting.”
Kyle and Bri knew to leave me alone if it wasn’t a meeting day. I retained my don’t-fuck-with-me status fairly well, my bulky stature giving me an air of dominance that Kyle didn’t ever try to impede on. We all knew he was the decision maker, but I was the muscle. And it would be too easy for me to turn that muscle towards him instead of our enemies.
Typically, Kyle respected the boundaries that I set, but when Milo took off and got him thrown in jail, he’s seemed nearly unhinged. Bri hadn’t been around as much, not that I could claim I missed her, but the last time I’d seen her, she’d had a black eye. I didn’t know the specifics behind how Bri and Kyle worked together, mostly because Bri refused to share any details despite years of prodding, but I had a feeling he was responsible for her latest bruise.
He was desperate to get his hands on our little brother, even though it wouldn’t change a thing. He’d still be due in court next month to plead his guilt or his innocence on a plethora of charges. Milo had done a bang-up job making sure that Kyle went down for everything, while still somehow keeping Briauna and me out of it. That little fact only seemed to enrage our uncle further, his mind already half gone from a lifetime of drug and alcohol abuse. And now here he sat, across from me at my place of business, on a non-meeting day, with an ugly smirk on his grimy lips.
A dirty, grown out fingernail tapped idly on my desk, his other hand rubbing absently at his jaw. “ Or you’re covering for him.”
I felt the muscles in my body tense up. I wish it had been that easy. “I know better than that.”
Kyle’s barked laugh was harsh and forced. “You better hope so.”
That felt like a threat. I don’t handle threats well. Cocking my head to the side I felt my brows narrow. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
Dull, beady eyes jerked over my features, drinking up any tells he thought he might find. Slowly, he pulled something from his back pocket, never taking his eyes off mine. He slid it across the desk until it was right in front of me, his mouth popping open on another deranged laugh as I allowed myself to look down. The blood left my face rapidly, something in my chest tightening painfully.
There he was. The little boy I’d fathered, throwing a football at the park, to a man I now recognized as Kenna’s new husband. He looked a lot like me, the child, the only key differences being his hair color and the transparent joy that lit his features. “Obviously expert track covering isn’t a family trait. You certainly did a piss poor job of it. Did you really think I didn’t know about your little whoospie baby?”
Kyle’s mocking tone was the catalyst that broke me from my trance as I stared down at the photo of the child. I reached across the desk and fisted my hand in his shirt, dragging him forward until our noses nearly touched. “Stay the fuck away from the kid. He’s got nothing to do with this.”
Despite the thundering of Kyle’s heart in his chest battering against my fist, he laughed again, cold and calculating. “What’s the matter? Don’t want to introduce your boy to his family? His real family?”
“This isn’t his family.”
“Thanks to you.”
“I’m warning you, you mother fucker —”
“You’re warning me ?” Kyle’s tone changed then, one of his hands dipping behind his back to pull out a handgun, all humor lost, suddenly stone cold serious in that eerie way of his. “No, I don’t think you are. See, this is what’s going to happen, Talon. I’m going to give you exactly six months to get Milo in front of me, dead or alive, or Uncle Kyle is going to go pay a visit to little Leo and his whore mother. Do you understand?”
Leo. His name was Leo. Not a name I would’ve thought of, but still, it fit. Leo .
And certainly not something I wanted to be learning for the first time from this fucking pig.
Rage unlike anything I’d ever felt, threatened to blind me. All I could imagine was beating this fucker’s face in until he choked on his own blood and drowned. Maybe I should. The world would be better off if I did. Instead, I threw him backwards, barely satisfied when he tripped over the chair behind him.
“Six months, Talon, or you’re going to be attending your boy’s burial. It’s Milo or Leo. I’ll let you decide which is more important to you.” He left the photo on my desk when he walked out, a sick laugh echoing behind him.
My fist hit the table in front of me hard enough to send my beer crashing to the floor. I had to fucking find Milo. The auburn haired boy’s smile glared up at me from the photo that was now kept in my wallet, a reminder of why I was doing this in the first place. I didn’t want to go after my brother. I didn’t want drag him back from whatever fucking fantasy realm he’d built for himself. But Leo didn’t ask to be born and I’d made a promise to his mother that I would keep them out of danger.
I had to make good on that promise.
Bri’s call came bright and early, just as always. I cursed, pinching the corners of my eyes in an attempt to wipe away the fatigue before I answered.
“What the fuck do you want?” I barked, leaning my elbows on my bent knees.
“Good morning to you too, little brother.” Briauna’s voice was cold as ever, a note of condescension always present. She was the oldest of our brood, and by far the most bitter. It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the fact that she was nearing her forties and was still perpetually single—she wasn’t the type of woman that gave a fuck about settling down and starting a family. Not anymore.
No, Briauna MacArthur’s sole purpose on this planet was to ensure that this family made money. Of the three of us ‘kids,’ Kyle trusted her the most, at least from where I sat. She was who he went to first in all things, and when he wasn’t getting what he wanted, she was sent to oversee that it was taken care of.
It was obvious to anybody with half a brain that she hated him as much, if not more, than the rest of us. And yet, she did as she was told. I remembered a time when she fought him as hard as Milo and I had. A time when she’d put herself between a raging drunk Kyle and our younger brother, guarding him from the lashing our uncle was about to dole out with his belt.
But then there came a day where he could no longer count on her protection because she had changed. So drastically and so quickly that neither of us could have prepared for it. The anger within her was unmatched and unfortunately Milo caught the brunt of it. Bri never spoke on what had happened to cause such thorough resentment, but I knew it went much deeper than the loss of our parents when she was nineteen. Asking her only seemed to make her angrier.
At this point, so many years had passed and so much shit had been done and said that I wasn’t sure I cared to know anymore.
“Always a pleasure,” I bit out sardonically. “Now what the fuck do you want at this ungodly hour?”
The red illuminated numbers from my ancient ass alarm clock glared at me from my nightstand. Nine a.m. I guess it wasn’t that early. Whatever.
My sister seemed to have the same thought because she snorted. Knowing her, she’d been awake since five a.m. performing a blood ritual to some demonic overlord or some shit. Eight o’clock was sleeping in.
“It’s time for your weekly progress report,” she said, not a drop of humor in her tone.
I felt the growl build up in my throat. She knew exactly what I was going to say. Nothing had changed.
“He’s clearly in witness protection,” I ground out. “What the fuck am I supposed to do? Infiltrate the fucking DEA?”
Briauna was unmoved. “Whatever you have to do, Talon. Find the little shit and get it over with. I’m sick of babysitting you.”
“Then tell Kyle to go fuck himself. What’s he got on you anyway? You’re the golden child, he might actually listen to you.”
There was a long, tense pause where all I could hear was her ragged breathing. Then, in a clipped voice that seethed with venom she reissued Kyle's earlier threat, “Find the runt, Talon, or in four weeks you can introduce yourself to your son at his funeral.” When she hung up the end tone echoed back in my ears like a bomb siren. I squeezed the phone so tightly in my grip that I heard the plastic protesting, my fury radiating off me in waves.
Breaking my phone and destroying anything within reach wouldn’t change a damn thing though. Bri didn’t care and I already knew Kyle sure as fuck didn’t. They were sticking to this stupid fucking timeline and if I didn’t deliver, they would. I closed my eyes tightly, biting back a roar of frustration rushing through my system as I fell back against my pillows once more.
It only took a few minutes before I jumped up from the bed, knowing sleep would not return and condemning myself to another day of neglecting my business and life to continue a fruitless hunt for my shithead little brother. Forcing myself to follow through with my list of Non-Negotiables was, as per usual, more difficult than anything, but I did it.
Crawl out of bed
Brush my teeth and wash my face
Protein shake
Two-mile run
Gym
Shower
Coffee and eggs
Two chapters of reading
It was the same routine every day, no matter what else was going on. It kept my mind clear and my body healthy. By the time I completed the list, I was awake and ready to get through whatever hellscape my life would be that day.
I was on the last page of my second chapter of reading when my phone chimed on the coffee table in front of me. My jaw clenched, irritation that I had forgotten to turn off my notification alerts for my reading session flaring through me. I forced myself to finish the page and slammed the book shut, not remembering a damn word in the last three sentences.
But when I picked up the blasted device to see who was interrupting my daily routine, the irritation left my body, replaced by an odd flipping sensation in my stomach.
“ miselyXfisher posted for the first time in a while. Check it out! ”
I gritted my teeth, deliberating if it was worth clicking on the notification for several long seconds before jabbing at the screen. Misely was the leggy best friend of Milo’s little girlfriend, Birdie. The first time I’d seen her, she’d left me annoyingly speechless. Not that that was a hard feat by any means since I leaned more in the direction of silence anyway, but it didn’t change the fact that she had caught all of my attention.
I’d barely seen Milo’s snapping point when he’d flown across a bar to break our good-for-nothing uncle’s arm for touching his girl. I was too distracted by pale blonde hair, blue eyes, and lips the color of cherry blossoms.
She was standing behind Birdie, her expression only slightly confused and frightened—but mostly pissed off. When Kyle had put his arm around her friend, Misely’s entire demeanor had gone defensive and if it hadn’t been for the grip the woman beside her had on her upper arm, I was certain she would have lunged for my uncle.
When her eyes met mine, they narrowed, clear accusation written in them, as if she were daring me to do something about the drunken bastard. The oddest part had been that I had the urge to do just that, if only to see how this woman would react.
I hadn’t known her name then, but it didn’t take long to figure it out. Milo had been living in a very small town, where everybody knew everybody. The first place I’d looked when I’d started the hunt for Milo, was the girls’ shared apartment. I was ashamed to admit that I’d spent more time than necessary snooping through Misely’s room, digging for any information that I could get my hands on about her . I found enough—her name, her occupation, her family. A week later, she was gone and there was no trace of where she’d fled to, killing off my only lead on Milo.
I had tried social media before, but as if they had predicted I would—or more likely had been warned away from online platforms by witness protection—both women had gone radio silent. Until now. I stared down at the photo of the blonde, smiling ear to ear with an older woman, and my own grin grew wickedly. Looks like I’d be making a trip to Chicago.