Chapter 9 Phoenix
PHOENIX
An orange light flickered in the loft window as the barn came into view, a massive brown silhouette against the swirling rain.
Home. My new home.
Twenty-four hours after the doctors had released me from the hospital, I knew I couldn’t stay in the family home anymore.
My brothers, our staff, the housekeeping, all fussed over my every move.
My every single move. I couldn’t go to the bathroom without someone monitoring me.
Axel followed me around with a bottle of prescription pills in his hands, Gage with a bottle of Johnnie Walker, and Gunner with a therapy schedule thicker than my medical records.
All that was annoying but it was the looks that broke the camel’s back, so to speak. The side-long glances after I’d deny the pills, deny the food and drinks, deny the therapy. The entire house walked on eggshells around me because I was a loose cannon.
So, at two-oh-seven on day two of being home, I packed a bag and snuck out the back door while my brothers gathered in the kitchen to debate my future over a case of Shiner. I walked to the stable, set up shop, and never looked back.
Since then, I’d added a mini-fridge, a microwave, and a cot in the loft. Better than sleeping in hay, which if I’m being honest, I didn’t mind that much. It reminded me of the old days. My glorious military days running specials ops, kicking in doors, living each day like it could be your last.
A life that seemed so long ago.
And it wasn’t like I was roughing it in some broken-down barn.
The Steele stable was a showpiece—six horse stalls, a utility room, washroom, office, and an overhead loft with a loading door that overlooked the property.
Our dad had renovated it the year before he died, keeping the weathered exterior for character, but transforming the inside into something out of a magazine.
Polished oak covered every inch—floors, walls, ceilings. The stalls were framed in gleaming black iron, and stone pillars lined the walkway, stretching up to iron chandeliers that flickered overhead like we were hosting medieval banquets.
It was ridiculous.
But not as ridiculous as the main house just up the hill.
Dad had built what can only be described as a log-cabin mansion—eight thousand square feet of wilderness excess.
Staff quarters, elevators, a home theater, indoor and outdoor pools, a gym that rivaled most grocery stores, and an outdoor kitchen big enough to host the U.S.
curling team. And that was just the house.
Below it sat basketball and tennis courts, multiple fighting cages, and both indoor and outdoor shooting ranges.
Yes, we had money.
A lot of it.
And while some might’ve rolled their eyes at my dad’s taste for the extravagant, the man had earned every penny. He’d grown up with nothing and clawed his way into a better life for himself—and for us. And he made sure my brothers and I knew what it took to keep it.
When our parents died, those lessons stuck.
Which is why I’d worked side-by-side with the contractors who built that house from the ground up—while my brothers played war games in the woods.
Blood, sweat, and tears made up every inch of the Steele property and I was proud to call it my home.
No matter where I slept.
I guided Spirit into the stable then pulled the doors closed behind us, wind and rain swirling around my legs until the door latched.
It was going to be a cold night. Although the stable had a HVAC system, I didn’t use it.
The horses were fine as long they weren’t out in the elements, and I didn’t want to be the cause of a massive spike in our electricity bill.
Lord knew I’d already inconvenienced the family enough.
A chorus of snorts rang out, dark brown snouts appearing from each stall. We had four horses total, including Spirit. Two quarter horses named Butch and Cassidy, and a thoroughbred as black as ink named Midnight.
Spirit was mine.
One of our old military buddies had rescued her from a frozen pond in Utah, and when he realized she was feral—craziest horse he’d ever met, were his exact words—he’d given her to a group of cowboys who’d thought they could take her on.
They couldn’t. She was on her way to the glue factory, so to speak, when my buddy called me up, knowing we owned acres of land.
I drove through the night to pick up her crazy ass and had her tamed within a week.
I admired her, her spirit.
It’s funny, although my brothers would each take a bullet for me, it was Spirit that felt like my rock since “the incident.”
I’d just finished laying hay in the last stall when I heard the familiar growl of an ATV outside.
Seconds later, the front door slammed open—louder than necessary.
Had to be Gage.
“Holy cow, it’s colder than a penguin’s tit out there. Where the heck is spring?”
I dropped the hay and straightened. “It is spring. And penguins don’t have nipples.”
Gage cocked his head, striding down the center aisle like he owned the place. “First of all—where’s your shirt? I know it’s been a while since you saw a real woman, but”—he gestured toward Spirit—“I’m pretty sure that kind of romance is illegal in several states.”
“One, I lost the shirt. Two, don’t ever talk about Spirit like that again. And three, penguins actually don’t have nipples. There are two females for every male, most of whom engage in prostitution, polygamy, and in some cases... necrophilia.”
He blinked. “Sounds like a party. How do you even know that?”
“National Geographic ran on a loop at the hospital.”
“And no one thought twice about airing footage of giant bird boobs in a wing full of post-op men? That seems like poor planning.”
“Only you would focus on that, Gage. Only you.” My eyes dropped to the cooler he carried.
He held it up with a grin. “Gunner made a fresh batch of chili. Said we ought to celebrate the last cold snap—or whatever dramatic reason he cooked up tonight.”
I lifted a brow. “You bring the sides?”
“Chili isn’t chili without saltines, cheddar, and pickles. And beer.”
Sold.
He helped me lay down more hay, and after grabbing my jacket and tool bag, he followed me up the stairs to the loft—otherwise known as my bedroom.
I motioned to the small wooden table I’d spent half the day building with discarded lumber.
Hay bales sat on either side. My cot was set up next to the trap door that I kept open most nights, watching the stars twinkle hoping to fall asleep.
“I like what you’ve done with the place.”
I ignored the quip and tossed my coat on my dresser—a wooden bench—and hung the toolbox. Priorities.
“Going to dip into the thirties tonight,” he said.
I nodded to the space heater as I pulled on a clean T-shirt and swapped my muddy boots for a dry pair.
A moment passed and I could feel his gaze on me, assessing, as everyone did when they saw me. I turned my back fully to him. He got the message and began unloading dinner.
“Took a trip to the hospital today,” he said.
“Finally getting that rash taken care of, huh?”
“Yeah, Ax gave me some of your old ointment.”
“Funny.”
“No, this visit was personal.”
I looped my laces and turned, eyes narrowed. “How so?”
“Ax and Gunner and I decided it was time to confirm who was spreading our business.”
“My business. My business is my business. Stay out of it.”
“Your business is our business. Just as ours is yours. It’s always been that way, brother. This is no different. I won’t have some loose-lipped son of a bitch spreading your confidential medical information. Considering who we are, that information should have been locked tighter than a nun’s—”
“Stop.”
“Oh, so you don’t want to know who it is?” He chided.
I waited.
“Our assumption was right.” He said.
My hand curled to a fist.
“It’s him. Pretty-boy Josh Davis.”
“How do you know this?”
“I have a source.”
“Who?”
“One of the nurses.”
“Who?”
“My business.”
“Who?”
“Your old nurse,” Gage said. “She told me Josh paid one of his mom’s friends to sneak a look at your file.”
My jaw locked.
Josh Davis.
The entitled, silver-spoon son of a state senator who’d bought his way into Kings Point.
As if that wasn’t enough reason to despise him, there was also the good ol’ Southern family feud.
Years back, our dad had done business with his, and somewhere along the line, things soured—over money, of course.
That falling out turned into bad blood, the kind that didn’t fade.
Add military service to the mix, and it only got uglier.
Josh and I had served together. During a failed op, he abandoned his post to save his own hide while two of my men died—one of them burned alive trying to carry the other out. Josh swooped in after the fact, dragged the body out, and took credit for the heroics. I called him out.
Almost got discharged for it.
But Daddy Davis had more pull than a parade float. Josh walked away with a bronze star and a clean military record—discharged honorably and handed a cushy job running his daddy’s construction empire.
So yeah, when I heard someone was spreading my business around town, Josh was the first person who came to mind.
Apparently, Gage thought the same.
I met my brother’s gaze, eyes hard. “What happened next, Gage?”
The corner of his lip curled into a cocky little smirk.
“Let’s just say he won’t be able to make it into town for a while to spread your business.”
“You slit his tires?”
He snorted a laugh. “Come on. Child’s play. What am I, eight?”
“No, you were eight when you slit principal Mortensen’s tires.”
“Teach him to confiscate my slingshot. I sweetened his gasoline.”
“You put sugar in his gas tank?”
“His, and…”
“And?”
“You know that subdivision he’s building down Apple Ridge road?”
“Tell me you didn’t…”
“Every backhoe, bulldozer, and truck on that site, bro.”
“Dammit, Gage.”
With a triumphant smirk, he tossed me a beer from the cooler and opened one for himself. “Sit,” he said. “Cold chili is blasphemous in this house. Or barn, I guess.”