12. Kevlar
Kevlar
Kevlar pulled up to the gray cinder block building with Oberlin, Kevlar’s surname, painted in red block letters.
It felt like coming home. The body shop remained in his family after his father’s untimely death.
His sister, Remi, had taken over. Rightfully so.
She stuck around, had the most knowledge, and honestly, the shop had always been hers.
Ever since she was old enough to hold a socket wrench, they couldn’t get her out of there.
Cutting the engine of his bike, he flung his leg over. Twisting at the waist, he stretched his back. Sleeping on the floor after a long-ass ride had him stiff. His brother did the same as they scanned the lot filled with different vehicles in various states of repair.
“Think she’ll be happy to see us?” he asked.
Kid shrugged. “If I recall, she still owes me a paycheck.”
They hadn’t worked in the auto-body shop in years. “That ship has sailed,” Kevlar said on a chuckle.
“She needed it more than me anyway,” Kid said as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.
That cut Kevlar’s mirth short. If memory served, their family business was barely profitable. One bad month, a sickness, anything, and it would crumble. When they’d left, there were exactly three employees: Remi, Kevlar, and Kid. They’d fucked her over.
Maybe she wouldn’t be so thrilled about their return, but it’d been years. Surely, she’d gotten over it by now. Water under the bridge.
“Can I help you?” A man with a slight limp exited the open bay door, wiping his hands on an oily rag.
Kevlar eyed him. Tall. Skinny. Unfamiliar. Who was this jackass?
The coveralls would point to him working there, but Remi didn’t like people. She hated outsiders. If she were to employ anyone, he’d assumed it would’ve been some of the old Roughneck Riders guys.
Not this asshole.
“Is Remi around?” Kid asked.
The man looked over his shoulder and into the building.
Kevlar followed his gaze and smiled. Wearing matching overalls and an Oklahoma City Thunder hat, his sister stood beside the wheel of a beat-up sedan, holding an impact gun and removing lug nuts.
“Thanks,” Kevlar said as he strolled by her employee.
Kid clapped the guy on the shoulder as he passed him and followed.
Dropping lug nuts into a metal bowl of sorts, Remi worked as though completely unaware of her brothers. To be fair, the tool was loud, and she had the radio blasting. Kevlar doubted she could hear her own thoughts.
With both hands on the tire, she wiggled it for half a second before turning toward him. Her brows knitted together, and her gaze traveled up and down him before flicking over to Kid and back at him.
No glee.
No excitement.
She practically glared at them.
That wasn’t the kind of homecoming he’d hoped for, but it wasn’t the worst. One time, he pissed her off so badly that she threw a tire at him.
“You’re late,” she said before resuming her task.
She wasn’t wrong. He’d been scheduled for a shift three years ago and never showed up. No call. Nothing. He just left her high and dry. If she was pissed, she had every right in the world to be.
Hanging his head, Kevlar kicked at some pebbles on the ground.
“Yeah. Traffic’s been a bitch,” he said, scrubbing the back of his neck.
She snorted, shook her head, and continued jiggling the tire off.
“Want some help?” Kevlar approached.
“Three years ago,” she snapped as she got the wheel off and bounced it on the ground.
Pieces of metal tinked on the cement floor. Apparently, this was a brake job. The shoe had been shredded.
“Looks like I’m not the only one who should’ve come to the shop sooner.” He gestured to the car she worked on.
Once again, she glared at him. He deserved every one of her dirty looks. He’d accept his lumps.
“What do you want?” she asked as she moseyed over to a large drawer of tools.
Movement drew Kevlar’s attention. Turning toward it, he watched the guy in matching overalls easing a Honda hatchback into the open bay with Kid’s guidance. Kevlar shifted out of the way. Not that he would get hit or anything, but he didn’t want to take any chances.
“We’re back,” he informed his sister, unable to contain the pride.
She opened the metal drawer and picked through the implements inside.
No reaction to him. Not even a hint of acknowledgement that he’d spoken.
“Kid and I are here for good,” he clarified.
Remi peered over her shoulder at him. “Kid?” she repeated quizzically.
Kevlar nodded. “New club. New names.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Plucking a large flathead screwdriver, she came back toward the car.
“I go by Kevlar now,” he said.
“Little Junior and Baby Boy were terrible,” she commented on their previous road names as she worked on the brakes. “But Kid and Kevlar are worse.”
He inhaled a deep, audible breath, hooked his thumbs into his back pockets, and nodded. She didn’t have to like the monikers. Hell, she didn’t even have to use them, but she should respect them. They’d earned them.
“We’re back,” he reiterated.
“What does that have to do with me?”
Damn. He wasn’t prepared for this level of bitter bitchiness. Her sass was fully expected. She’d never been one to take shit, but this was a different level.
“Most people are happy to see their brothers again after a few years.”
“Most brothers don’t screw their sisters over.”
That one stung. He licked his lower lip. Explaining the reasons for his previous actions wouldn’t do any good. He barely understood how he could just walk away himself. How could he expect her to get it?
“Things have changed,” he said.
“Not for me,” she countered.
“We’re gonna set up here.”
“Have at it.”
“No. I mean here.”
She turned slowly and studied him.
Granted, the situation wasn’t ideal—for either of them. Kevlar didn’t have many choices. Neither he nor Kid held any property in Oklahoma. At least this building had their surname branded on it.
“As you know, the old clubhouse is gone. We need a base of operations,” he explained.
“That’s not my problem.”
Fair. Unfortunately, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. This was the only answer he’d been able to come up with for a quick temporary headquarters.
Kevlar sighed. “Don’t make this difficult.”
She charged, closing the distance between them. She stopped mere inches from his face. “You don’t get to fuck off for years, leaving me to figure this shit out, and then show up and take it from me.”
“Well, my name is on the wall outside,” he said and immediately regretted it.
Internally, he winced, bracing himself for whatever she threw at him—hopefully, this time it wouldn’t be a tire or a wrench.
She curled her fingers into a fist, cocked back, and slammed it into his gut.
The air flew from his lungs in a grunt. He doubled over in pain and stumbled back a few steps, bumping into a large barrel on wheels of spent oil. At least he didn’t knock it over.
Remi turned on her heel and returned to work. “My name is on the deed.”
Kid appeared at his side as Kevlar straightened himself.
“You earned that,” his younger brother offered unhelpfully.
Kevlar nodded. “I don’t want to take anything away from you,” he said, approaching Remi. “We just need space.”
“You’ll have to discuss that with the Dixie Dicks,” she said.
The what? Who? Kevlar took far too long to realize she referred to the ragtag family of idiots running around Oklahoma playing mafia. They had illegal casinos and a few strip clubs. Harper, his older sister, was fucking one of them.
“Why?” He was pretty sure he knew, but he wanted her to spell it out for him.
As much as Kevlar wished to lay the blame at the Dixie Mafia’s feet for his father’s death and the demise of their club, it wasn’t because of them.
They may have been the ones who burned the building down, but ultimately, they weren’t at fault.
His own club brothers had turned on him and his family.
They destroyed everything. It was the Dixie Mafia who protected his sister, Harper.
She gave him a look of exasperation. “You’re in their territory. I’m pretty sure two syndicates can’t exist in the same space.”