Kane Read online

  A haughty look replaced the shock. “Do I know you?” As if he were the dirt on the bottom of the man’s shoe.

  Ha. If a look was all it took to rattle him, he would never leave the house. “If you don’t adjust the way you’re talking to the lady, you’re about to know me better than you ever wanted to.”

  He had very little patience for guys who refused to regard women with respect. His dad had always treated his mother like yesterday’s garbage, and though he learned the hard way there was nothing he could do about their relationship, it didn’t stop him from speaking up now. An unexpected wave of protectiveness rose toward the woman behind him.

  The guy spoke over his shoulder to her. “Oh, this is rich. Are you slumming it, Amanda? Don’t want to give it up to me because you’re too busy getting it from Mr. Thrift Store Reject over here.” He turned his cruel gaze to Kane. “Tell me, Reject, does she spit or does she swallow?”

  He didn’t hesitate. He balled his fist and slammed it into the asshole’s still-flapping jaw. It knocked the guy flat on his ass.

  The woman stepped forward and curled her arm around his, startling him with her touch, then making him puff up in pride. “Don’t ever call me again, Chip. And if I find out you’re spreading rumors, trying to ruin my reputation, I will crush you. You think you’ve got clout in this town? You think you can take on a Griffin? I learned from the best. My father eats toads like you for breakfast.”

  Stepping deftly around the still-blustering Chip, she led Kane down the aisle. She didn’t stop moving until they got to the reserved seating. “You didn’t have to do that…step in, I mean.”

  He rubbed her hand, which was still locked around his bicep. Her skin was soft and smooth. Delicate. His protective instincts swelled. “Yes, I did. That guy had no right to talk to you like he did. You deserve better.”

  She shook her head, her red hair swishing across her shoulders. “You don’t even know me.”

  “Every woman deserves better than the way he treated you.” It came out a little more forcefully than he intended. “Still, I’m sorry I kind of lost it. I probably could have found a better way to handle the situation.” He cleared his throat. “My name’s Kane, by the way.”

  Her smile was like sunshine on his skin. “I’m Amanda, and it appears I’m going to be watching this game alone. Unless…you’d like to join me?”

  Scott’s face flashed for a moment in Kane’s head, but if anyone would encourage him to accept an invitation from a beautiful woman, his brother would. He fired off a quick text of apology, then gave her his most charming smile. “I can’t think of a better way to spend my birthday.”

  “It’s your birthday?” She raised a perfectly arched brow. “Well, Kane, let’s make it one you never forget.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Amanda

  As she stepped back onto the construction site, Amanda wondered what her stepfather would think of the way she was running things. A love of construction prompted Charlie to start his company, and his hope for a legacy inspired him to give it his name. He’d told Amanda dozens of times over the years how satisfying it was to watch a crew build something up from nothing. He passed the same joy onto his son. Mike liked to drop in on builds just to see the parts come together in a whole.

  She was a businesswoman. And while she liked construction as well as any other thing, creating the strategy behind the company’s success really got her blood pumping. Though Charlie would have rolled over in his grave if he knew, the exquisite home coalescing around her barely even caught her eye as she searched out the foreman in the backyard.

  Of course, her indifference could have something to do with having her first real conversation with Kane in more than a dozen years.

  Oh, she’d caught a glimpse of him a few times now and then. With him working for the company, it had been inevitable. She still couldn’t get over the changes in him, though. The long hair, the beard, and the scar cutting across his cheek. He’d grown bigger, too, bulkier, which made sense when she factored in the manual labor he did every day. From the outside, he’d become the very thing he swore he’d never be: a biker in his father’s club.

  But his voice.

  His voice made it hard for her to breathe.

  He sounded exactly the same as he always had. Time had done nothing to change his husky baritone. Even worse, though, was the way he looked at her when he spoke. Like he considered her precious.

  The man had every reason to hate her—and maybe he did—but there was no denying he still cared. It was a blessing and a curse. A small flame, a candle burning in the window of a home she could never return to. Maybe it would be easier to live without him if the candle ever burned out. Or maybe it would extinguish whatever part of her soul that still burned for him.

  Not likely. She’d probably take that to her grave.

  Shaking off her melancholy, she stepped into the backyard where Xander Karras was cutting drywall. The foreman was at least a decade older than she was, but he wore it well. Silver threaded his nearly jet-black hair, and his olive skin glistened with a sheen of sweat. He didn’t have Kane’s bulk, but his muscles were clearly defined, even through his thin flannel shirt.

  She waited for the high-pitched whine of the saw to cut off before she called out his name.

  He visibly flinched when he heard her voice, but after their last conversation, she couldn’t blame him. The delays from this build were costing the company money, and even though none of it was his fault, he’d borne the brunt of her frustration.

  She held her hands up in surrender. “I’m not here to give you a hard time. I swear.”

  His tense shoulders relaxed, but only a fraction. “What can I do for you, Miss Griffin?”

  “First, I want to apologize for the way I behaved the last time we spoke. None of the delays and complications on this job have been your fault.”

  He finally looked her in the eye.

  “It’s no excuse, but the truth is, my behavior was more about my brother’s accident than the money we’ve been losing.” She leaned against one of the pillars supporting the patio overhang. “The money’s important, but Mike means everything to me.”

  “I know.” He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his lined forehead. “We’re all worried about Mike. He’s a good man. If there is anything I can do to help while he’s getting better, all you have to do is ask.” His steady eyes spoke the truth of his words.

  She took a deep breath and let it out. “Mike and I want to expand.”

  “Expand,” he echoed.

  “There’s a new development going up about five miles from here. Sandpiper Run.”

  Xander nodded. “Yeah. A Berringer Homes project. I’ve heard of it.”

  “They’re looking for another subcontractor. Their old one went under.”

  “New development like Sandpiper, a lot of the houses will be on spec, and you know it takes a minimum of five months before we can turn a property around from an empty lot to a home.”

  She stood up straight and closed the distance between them. “Yes, but Berringer is taking the lion’s share of the risk. The beauty of working with a developer is we get paid the same whether they sell the houses or not. As long as we do quality work and finish on time, we have a steady source of income.”

  Xander swiped a half-full water bottle from the ground at his feet and unscrewed the cap. “What’s the downside?” He took a healthy swig before replacing the top.

  “We’ll need to hire more men. I know it’s a particular challenge for you since you’re down two guys. Obviously, we’ll need to pay them as they work, which means I’ll need some upfront cash for payroll and for materials, but I’ve got it covered. It’s—Mike and I both respect you. We believe this is the right course for the company, but we—I—want to know what you think.”

  She threaded her fingers together to keep her hands steady while he considered his answer.

  Xander wasn’t the company’s only foreman. T
here were four others, two junior and two senior, but Xander never promised more than he could deliver, and his crew always did top notch work. The man knew this business like the back of his hand. There was no single employee she or Mike trusted more.

  “It’s this or downsizing. Am I right?”

  She nodded.

  “I’d have to hire at least one more guy to pull my weight. I’m not sure when Will and Brick will be back at full capacity.” He paused. “I imagine you heard what happened to them.”

  Her brow creased. “Perry told me about the shooting. It happened offsite, right? Do I need to be worried about any blowback at one of the work sites?”

  “No.” Neither Xander’s face nor his tone belied even a hint of doubt. “Those men have never done anything but work hard for me. There’s always a place for them on my crew.” His eyes flashed, almost as if he were daring her to argue.

  She didn’t. “Your crew, your call. If you need to hire another set of hands, you have my blessing. Forward me all his information when you have it, and we’ll get him on the payroll.”

  His face relaxed. “Thank you.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re making a good call. Berringer is a reputable developer, and semi-custom homes are a lot easier than full custom jobs once you get used to the plan options. You’ve got my support.”

  She let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. Xander wouldn’t tell her it was a good idea unless he really believed it. “Excellent. I’ll get the ball rolling.” She started back toward the direction from where she came.

  “Amanda.” He spoke softly, but the hard undercurrent in her name stopped her in her tracks. “Why don’t you go around the side? I can’t imagine it would do Kane much good to run into you twice.”

  His unmistakable admonishment squeezed her chest.

  Was their history so obvious? Did everyone view her as the villain in their doomed romance?

  She shoved down her questions and her doubts into an impenetrable place inside her, then smoothed her skirt and lifted her chin before escaping around the house, through the mud, back to her car.

  ***

  Kane

  The scent of fresh linen still teased Kane’s nose hours after he ran into Mandy at work. Back at the clubhouse, he imagined he smelled it even amid the thick odor of second-hand smoke clinging to his brothers’ clothes.

  He took a deep pull from his longneck. If only he could drink his thoughts of her away. God knew he’d tried for years, but he’d never even come close.

  How many nights had he sat on this very same recliner and tried to figure out what went wrong? How often had he choked back the waves of grief threatening to drown him?

  Not tonight.

  He backhanded the empty water bottle off the rickety table beside him, and it bounced off the wall with a satisfying thwack.

  Why the fuck did she think it was okay to show up where he worked? Did it mean so little to her? Was she over it now?

  He drained his Budweiser and reached for another from the cooler at his feet.

  Who was he kidding? She’d been over him a dozen years ago.

  He downed the second beer even faster than the first.

  Before he could twist open a third, a flying wad of crumpled paper bounced off the side of his head. He growled as his brother’s cackle carried across the room from the far end of the pool table.

  “What the fuck, man?”

  Scott ignored the acid in his voice. “Stop sulking. Life is too short for all your broody bullshit.” He tossed his stick to Frank, the club’s resident Casanova. With his perfectly maintained stubble and wavy blond hair, the guy looked more like an actor than someone who would take MC life seriously. He brought in more pieces of ass than Hugh Hefner probably got in his heyday. But when the chips fell, he never let his brothers down. Not once.

  Scott stalked toward the recliner, then toed his foot with a heavy boot. “Seriously. What the fuck do you have to mope about?” He squatted down so they were eye level. “You’ve got your brothers. Money in your pocket. More pussy than you could ever fuck in one night.” He slapped the arm of the old vinyl chair. “Life is good.”

  Kane knew better than to bring up Mandy. His brother didn’t like her, not from the day he introduced them after the first Braves game, to the day she left him with a broken body and heart in a hospital bed. “I’m not moping.” It didn’t even sound convincing to his own ears.

  Pulling up to his full height, Scott scoffed. “The fuck you ain’t. Come back to the chapel. I’ve got something to take your mind off your troubles.”

  Knowing Scott, that could mean anything from two women fucking on the table, to a midget stripper or a clown standing by to pie him in the face. Except for the fact they were headed to the club’s private meeting room; it was as close to sacred space as any of them had.

  The chapel was empty when Scott led him to the big table. Intrigued, he took his customary seat, folded his hands, and waited as his brother paced the paneled room. The flimsy, dusty blinds were closed, as always, and the halogen lamp standing in the corner did little to relieve the room’s ever-present shadows.

  “We have an opportunity, Kane. The club has an opportunity. We need to jump on it now.”

  He cocked his head to the side, in a silent invitation for Scott to continue.

  “Sucre has been dead for—what—a little more than a week? Shit on the street is already falling apart.” He loped from one end of the room to another then turned on his heel and paced the other way. “Say what you will about that sick fucker, he kept things straight.”

  “Yeah, because people couldn’t so much as fart for fear he’d shove something up their asses.” Sucre had run Atlanta’s streets with an iron fist and unyielding consequences for failure. His methods and his brutality were legendary.

  Scott flapped his hand like he was swatting away a fly. “Fear is the only thing guaranteed to motivate criminals and drug addicts, brother, and it’s got to be scarier than a slap on the wrist. Otherwise, what’s gonna work? We’re talking about people who already deal with terrible shit. They’ve got roaches on the floor and kids they can’t feed or pimps who slap them around. It’s got to get worse than what they’re used to if you’re gonna make them pay what they owe.”

  His brother finally stopped moving and faced him. “It doesn’t matter right now anyway. Bottom line, the man is gone. Where are all these junkies getting their fix? You know how desperate they’ve got to be right now? They’d probably pay anything—do anything—to get their hands on a stash.”

  His stomach churned as he followed the train of thought. “You want us to take his place.”

  Biting his bottom lip around a wide smile, Scott spread his arms wide, palms up, then spun around. “It’s perfect. Who else is gonna do it? We’ve got the men; we’ve got the reputation.”

  “We don’t have the money. Or a supplier.” He could tell by the faraway look in his brother’s eyes no argument was going to register. Once he had an idea stuck in his head, it played over and over like a song on repeat.

  “We’ll put a second mortgage on the clubhouse.”

  “No.” He sprang from the chair. “We only paid it off last year. We’re not pulling in enough cash to start making payments again.”

  Scott rested both hands on his shoulders and brought their faces so close together, he could smell the bourbon on his brother’s breath. “That’s exactly why we have to do this.”

  He shook his head. “But we don’t have any connections to score us a high volume of product. Drugs don’t just fall from the sky.”

  “Malcolm’s already working on it.” Scott’s smile was pure pride.

  “Malcolm—so this is already decided?” The unease churning in his stomach solidified into a pulsing mass of anger. Guns were bad enough. Drugs would take the club down a path of no return. They’d all end up the same kind of scum as the man they took down—if they didn’t end up in jail first. “Did
I miss some kind of vote, brother? Because I know you and Malcolm wouldn’t start making decisions for this club without giving everyone a say in what we do.”

  Scott scowled. “Calm your tits, K. We’re only putting a few preliminary things in motion. The club will vote in a few hours.”

  After Scott had a chance to set up all the pins for a strike.

  “I don’t like it.”

  His brother’s usually smiling, congenial face soured. “I don’t care. Make your case at the vote this afternoon, but don’t think you’re gonna stop this.”

  Kane thumped his fist on the table. “This is gonna blow up in our faces.” He was far from done, but Scott was already stomping out the door. His only chance to stop this was to convince the rest of the club.

  ***

  The air positively crackled with unspent energy as the brothers took their seats around the heavy wooden table. Even the prospect attended the meeting, leaning against the far wall. He wouldn’t have a seat unless they made him a member.

  Kane had no doubt his brother had planted the seeds for support with most if not all the guys already, but still, he had to try to talk them out of this plan. They spoke among themselves in a low hum, but all talk ceased the moment his father walked into the room. Of course, Scott went for the big guns.

  Malcolm walked to his chair, but instead of sitting, he stood behind it. “When I founded this club thirty-five years ago, it was only me and three other guys with a love of the open road and a big fuck you to anybody who wanted to tell us what to do.”

  The men knocked on the table in a show of support. Malcolm winked and waited until the noise stopped to continue. “Case and Bender are gone now. We all know what happened with Wes.” He scowled, then shook it off. “But as I lost brothers, I gained sons. Sons who still embrace a life lived on two wheels and raise their middle fingers to anyone who wants to challenge our authority to carve out our own place in this town.”

  This time the knocking was louder and punctuated by cheers. Malcolm took it as his due. “We have a unique opportunity to take this club to a level it’s never been before. No more scraping and scratching to get by. We’ve already done the hard part. We eliminated Sucre de la Cruz. Now we can step into the void he left behind.”