The Brotherhood 2: Bite Me Read online

“Liar! I’m seventy-three years old, and I know asleep when I see it. I should tell your manager.”

  “There’s no need for --”

  She fixed him with a lemony glare.

  Hiding his sigh, Bree pushed over a business card. “Her name is Ms. McVeigh. All the pertinent details are printed right there.”

  “Good!” His customer snatched the card up like a prize, peered at it, then tucked it into the depths of a yawning knit purse even he could see was filled with junk -- a few dozen receipts, parking tickets, movie stubs, and unopened mail. She looked up in triumph, as if she’d just taught him a darn good lesson. “Now, are you going to help me, or not?”

  Bree smiled again. Patient. Placid. Calm. “Of course, ma’am. In case you’re not familiar with our operation, let me give you a quick rundown. Money Now! is a payday advance company, designed to give you a little help if you find yourself short before your next check comes in. We’ll just need some ID, a recent pay stub from your place of employment, and --”

  The customer reared back. “Employment? You mean, like a job?”

  Bree’s inner alarms whooped. He kept the smile on. “Yes, ma’am, a job.”

  “I don’t have any job! I just told you, I’m seventy-three years old. Where would I get a job? I just want some money. Your sign says money now, nothing about all this information you’re asking for. I came in to talk about getting some money. Is that clear?”

  “And you ... have no way of paying it back?” Bree faltered.

  “Oh, of course. I’m not stupid. My son-in-law’s going to win the lottery, and then I’ll repay you.”

  “I see.” Bree’s head gave an extra-nice throb.

  Nope. Not enough aspirin in the fucking world at all.

  So how did I get myself into this, again? Bree resisted the urge to rub his temples. Instead, he pulled out a small legal pad hidden beneath his cash drawer and made a vicious check-mark with enough force to rip the paper. The heading at the top read “Idiot Counter.”

  One of his coworkers, Cindy Lou, who wasn’t bad despite being named after a Dr. Seuss character, gave him a sympathetic grin. “It coulda been worse.”

  Bree gave her a look filled with pain. Yeah. Could have been worse. They’d both been there before.

  She shook her head and went on counting her cash. Ready to close out her shift, lucky bitch. “I mean, what is it about places like these that attracts morons?”

  Hell if I know. Even though I should. I figure I’m the biggest dumbass ever for walking through the doors with a job application. Shoulda stuck with Fast Food Hell. Even Taco-Rama, may it rest in roach-infested peace, was better than this.

  He’d been stupid. Dealt with the last customer he could take demanding “More hot sauce. No, I said hot sauce, not mild! More than that! Hey, you short-changed me! Can I get a couple of taco meals for free since you screwed up? No? Let me speak to your manager!”

  So, he’d gone out looking. Found this place through a friend of a friend, with their big “Now Hiring” sign, the kind that shines like a heavenly beacon to the perpetually broke. Gone in, filled out his forms, and been called back a couple days later to ask when he could start. All gone off without a hitch. He’d walked in the first day, looking like his normal self, and been called straight into the store manager’s office.

  He’d walked out with a pocketful of stripped-off jewelry and a wadded-up dress code in his hand, ordered to go home and change into something called “business casual.”

  Things had pretty much gone downhill from there.

  Cindy Lou gave a discreet cough. Bree glanced up to see a middle-aged man with an immense beer belly, ragged shorts, mud-caked sneakers, and a filthy ball cap stomping toward him with murder in his eye. He was already waving a “request for repayment” statement like an angry matador.

  Bree tried to glance away, pretend he was busy -- too late. The man zeroed in on him like a mosquito to a nice juicy vein. Slamming his statement down on the counter hard enough to make the whole shebang rattle, the man barked, “You! Did you send this to me?”

  “No, sir, corporate sends out all our correspondence, but I --”

  “Fuck that!” The creep leaned in. Bree caught a whiff of rotten-cheese BO strong enough to make his stomach flip. “I don’t give a shit about corporate. I’m here, now, and you’re gonna get this straightened out for me. Got that?”

  Smile, Bree, smile. Remember, it’s payday soon. “I’ll see what I can --”

  The man narrowed little, piggy eyes at him. “You sound like a girl,” he said. “You one of them faggots?”

  Smile! “I’m sorry, sir, we are not allowed to discuss those things --”

  “Knew it. Whole world’s gettin’ overrun by fucking queers. So? You gonna sit there on your pansy ass, or do something?”

  Smile! “I’ll be glad to. If I could just see your letter so I can get some information about your account?”

  “Why? Ain’t it all in your computer? You should know who I am.”

  Smile! “Yes, but I just need to double-check --”

  The man spat a gob of tobacco juice on the floor. “Double-check my balls, cocksucker.” He groped himself. “Do I gotta call your manager?”

  Smile! Smile! Smile!

  Cindy Lou patted Bree on his shoulder as Mr. Needs-a-Bath-in-Lysol stomped off, the manager’s business card clenched in his fist. “Sorry, hon. I don’t think I have seen worse, actually.”

  Bree said nothing. He brushed the shreds of torn-up collection statement off his desk and made another heavy check on the idiot counter. Somehow, it didn’t feel very satisfying.

  “I hate to say it, but you’d better clean up the spit before you-know-who sees.” Cindy Lou primed her mouth up like she’d been eating persimmons and mimicked their boss. “Mr. Brian Todds! Money Now! prides itself on providing a safe, pleasant experience for its patrons. How dare you leave a puddle that someone could slip in?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She meant well, but again, not helping. Bree fished a bottle of cleaning spray and a roll of paper towels out of his file drawer, plus a cheery yellow Be Right Back! sign to prop on the countertop. He trudged around front to wipe up the tobacco juice.

  Oh, God. His gorge rose. The puddle was still warm. Made the skin on his fingers want to peel back in disgust. He kept his face expressionless, squirting and wiping until the floor was clean and dry, then heading back behind the counter to toss the whole mess and pour on a hefty payload of hand sanitizer. The sharp smell burned his nose, but it was better than still being able to feel warm, slimy spit on his fingertips.

  He glanced up. No customers in sight. Thank God. Maybe the rush had finally slowed.

  Bree hid his idiot counter, then bent to pick up the paper shreds. The guy had done a serious number on them, tearing the pieces up so small that he couldn’t make out a thing. Shit. He’d be getting into trouble for that, not only when the customer called his manager, but when she found out he hadn’t even gotten the guy’s name before he went off like a homophobic firecracker.

  “Excuse me?”

  Damn it!

  Bree glanced up -- and up. There was a lot of up to this customer. And a whole lot of ... holy shit.

  The man -- or the fallen angel masquerading as a man -- gave Bree a kind smile with a small, wry quirk to it. “Let me guess. You’ve had a rough day?”

  Bree stammered briefly before his own plastic grin popped back into place. “Oh, it’s all part of the territory,” he said with corporate-approved cheer. “Now, how can I have you? I mean -- help you?” Shit!

  The man’s eyes twinkled. Bree gazed at them. God, he’d never seen such eyes. The exact color of good coffee, a warm, dark brown he could fall into and happily drown in. Eyes that had definitely seen it all, but instead of turning sour had come to some kind of peace with the fucked-up world they lived in. Couple of smile creases. And oh, God, yes, his smile. That was the kind of smile every customer service rep -- not to mention the horny and lonely -- lived in hop
e of. The quirk of those lips said, I understand. It’ll be okay. Trust me. And while he was staring, why not scope out the thick, deep-red hair tied back in a silky ponytail, or the bod that Michelangelo would have wept over, or ...

  “Why are you staring?”

  The question came out gentle and soft, maybe even a little teasing, but Bree gave a jerk and shook himself. If the manager saw that ... crap. “I’m so sorry, sir,” his lips said in numb rote. “You, er ... you look like my cousin.” He winced. “Again, I apologize. My name is Brian. How may I help you today?”

  To his surprise, the man tilted his head back and laughed. Still soft, not drawing any attention, but something had definitely gotten him tickled. Bree blinked. “Sir, are you all right?”

  “Ah, Bree, Bree!” The man looked back at him, gaze gentle and warm as the sunrise. He reached out and cupped Bree’s cheek in one hand. The ball of his thumb brushed over Bree’s slightly parted lips and stroked down the dimple in his chin. “You are a rare treat.”

  The touch of this stranger’s hand made him want to curl up and purr like a kitten. Bree blinked, a little dazed. “I -- what -- huh?”

  “This place strips you of your wit,” the man said, the first flash of sadness crossing his face. “Better things are soon to come. That, I promise.”

  He smiled again, slowly withdrawing his hand. “You’ll see me soon, Bree.”

  Bree stared. Couldn’t help himself. “When?” he managed to whisper.

  “When you least expect it, of course -- but after you’ve been looking for me.” The man winked. “I’m called Julian. Remember the name.”

  As if Bree could forget.

  Tucking his hands into the pockets of mouth-wateringly well-fitted jeans, Julian turned away and sauntered back out the doors into the mall. Bree found his own hand coming up to rest where Julian had touched him. He tingled. Julian’s skin had felt deliciously cool, but at the same time ... oh, man.

  He was so lost in thought, he didn’t spy his next customer stepping up until he heard them speak in a sneer. “So this is how low you go, Bree? Thought you had better taste than shilling suckers for a buck. No, wait ... you don’t, after all. I taught you well.”

  Bree blinked as he automatically recognized the man in front of him. How could he not? For six weeks, he’d woken up next to that face. Kissed it. Trusted it. Believed the words it spoke were truth. Believed those lips when they said, “I love you.”

  His ex.

  The ex that had wiped out his bank account, maxed his one credit card, and then brought a frighteningly young-looking guy home to Bree’s own bed, where he’d found them just about breaking the springs.

  The guy who had sent him to lawyer Simon and into the Brotherhood.

  Bree’s canned speech died before it had a chance to get out. “Management has the right to refuse service,” he said, backing off a step.

  James sneered. “Not to paying customers. Good customers who they like.” He slapped down a personal, embossed check and a bill. “I’m here to pay in full, on time.”

  “With what? The money you stole from me?” Bree couldn’t stop himself. “Or did you sponge it off your little boy toy?”

  James shook his head. “Now, Bree. That’s hardly good customer service, is it?”

  Bree gritted his teeth. No way had James come in by chance and just happened to walk up to his till. The guy had proved himself to be a grade-Z prick. He was loving it, flashing the cash when he knew Bree was still struggling to pay back his Visa bill.

  Simon’s calm voice sounded in Bree’s mind: “Don’t let him get to you. You know you have anger-management issues. If you see James again, above all else remain calm.”

  Fine. Calm. He could do calm. Damned if he’d smile, though. Stone-faced, Bree took the check and letter. He punched the information in, all the while feeling James’s delight in seeing him at his menial worst. The transaction went off flawlessly. He stamped a receipt and pushed it back across. “Thank you for your business. Have a nice day.”

  Now get the fuck out of this store.

  James took his sweet time examining the receipt before folding it up neatly and tucking it into the inner pocket of his tailored blazer. “Good little lackey,” he said with a sweet smile. “But then again, you always did get off on doing like daddy said, didn’t you?”

  “Stop it.”

  James lowered his voice. “Oh, James, James, James!” he mocked in sing-song. “Fuck me harder, James. I love you, James. I’ll never leave you. It’s okay, James, I know this credit card bill has to be a mistake. I trust you, James. You’d never cheat on me, James. You’re the one I’ve waited for all my life ... James.” His eyes sparkled with malice. “God, are you a schmuck.”

  Simon’s voice frantically chanted advice in Bree’s mental ears. Too bad it was getting drowned out by a tidal wave of rage, the same blind fury that came up whenever he thought of James. Memories were bad enough. Seeing the bastard in the flesh? Bree felt his hands curling into fists. Images of Simon were replaced by visions of smashing in that perfect nose and watching the blood splatter over counter and floor.

  “Get out,” he growled.

  James pretended dismay. “Oh, my, that won’t do. Where are your manners, Bree?”

  “The way I figure it? Same place as my savings. Shot all to hell. Now get out before I call the cops.”

  “On what grounds? You never did take out a restraining order to keep me out of your life, and I can go wherever I want. You should have taken steps to ‘protect’ yourself, hmm? Sloppy, Bree, very sloppy. But as I recall, you liked getting messy. Nothing like my little Robbie. He’s neat as a pin. Always makes sure to clean up after himself. And me.”

  Bree glared. “Great for you. Glad you’re happy. Now leave.”

  James ignored him. “But I’ve been thinking, Bree. Remembering the good times. What do you say to taking off work early and going somewhere a little more ... private? Just for fun, of course.” With that, he reached out to touch Bree’s face.

  Right where Julian’s fingers had rested.

  Bree reacted without thinking. He jerked away from James’s hand, then lunged forward to grab him by the lapels of his damned tailor-made jacket. He might not have been the bigger of them, but fury gave him the strength to start shaking James like a puppy dog. “You fucking, fucking bastard! Get the hell out of my face!”

  “Brian Todds!” The harpy-like screech came from the back of the store. Clawed hands manicured in pale pink wrenched him away from James, pulling him back. His manager, who hid in her office all day watching the security cameras and keeping careful logs of complaints, had finally put in an appearance. A mightily pissed-off cameo. She glared at him with pure venom before pushing him aside for James. “Sir, are you all right?”

  James began to cough and splutter, even though Bree hadn’t gone anywhere near his neck. “This man is a maniac! He’s nearly killed me!”

  “Sir, I cannot apologize sincerely enough.”

  “I want his job!” James spat out, straightening his jacket. “Does a company like yours allow maniacs to work with the public?”

  The manager spared Bree a withering glance. “No,” she said. “We most certainly do not. I’ll be certain this is dealt with. In the meantime, is there anything I can do to make amends for his behavior?”

  “No. Just make sure I don’t see him in here again.”

  “But I --” Bree protested automatically.

  They ignored him. “I won’t sue,” James said genially. “Just give me your word that you’ll deal with this man according to policy.”

  “Thank you, sir. Rest assured that I will. Have a good day!”

  James spared Bree a knowing leer, then turned and walked out, almost jauntily.

  As soon as the doors closed behind him, the manager turned to Bree with quiet, terrifying ferocity. “Put up your away sign,” she hissed. “Back to my office. Now. We’re going to have a talk.”

  Bree paused a moment before following h
er mincing, high-heeled steps. He took in half a dozen deep breaths. Forced the rage deep back down inside. Hid it in a pocket within his soul. Sent it the same way as his piercings and tattoos.

  Okay. Probably going to lose his job. No savings. Rent due soon. Hardly any groceries left. He never had been good at planning for the future, and the same shit happened to him near the end of every month. He knew James knew that and had been counting on it as an extra little jab for his twisted pleasure.

  Bree took another deep breath. Still calm, he took off his name badge and laid it on the counter. He took out his idiot counter and squared it up next to his uncounted till. Then, without a word, he walked away from the manager instead of toward her office, heading for the exit.

  He didn’t make a sound until he let the door slam with a vicious bang, then kicked it for good measure.

  The hell with you and your payday business, he snarled inside his head. I’m not gonna be your whipping boy anymore. Find someone else to pick on. I’m outta here.

  Bree does what he wants on his own fucking terms from now on. Again.

  Damn straight.

  Chapter Two

  “There you are, young man! We’ve been waiting all day for you. I knew the moment I saw him that he would be the one for you. Just look at his face!”

  Damn. Some days, it was better to go anywhere but home.

  Bree switched off his motorcycle and levered the kickstand down into place. Yeah, they’d bitched at him about his ride at Money Now! too. He’d stood his ground about keeping the bike, because face it, even with a trade-in he couldn’t afford a car. Besides, the thought of a beige compact made his stomach do sick little flips. He could handle faking the clean-cut look, but no way would he sacrifice his beat-up Harley. Trouble was, it kind of advertised his arrival to the nutcases -- er, neighbors -- he lived with.

  He could see Mrs. Jamison, who lived downstairs from him, waddling toward him fast as she could go, vast thighs rubbing together and a grin brighter than Times Square on New Year’s Eve splitting the middle of her bulgy face. She always made him think of bread dough that had been left out too long: puffy, white, and kind of sticky-looking. Bread dough that had serious personal space issues. And a fixation with small, furry animals. For some reason he had yet to figure out, she’d taken a shine to Bree.