“Well, you didn’t. Nathan wouldn’t let any of that touch you. Still won’t.” He said the last under his breath then shook his head. “But the guys built a bike for one of them, and I did some detail paint work—one of my first jobs really—and we got to talking. One thing led to another and the next thing I knew…”
He trailed off like it was nothing.
But it wasn’t. It was huge. I couldn’t even imagine. This wasn’t the Dylan I knew. While I’d been writing essays for English class, he’d been delivering drugs for the scariest motorcycle club on the west coast. Holy crap.
“Wait, I thought you guys started the shop with the money Wendy got from her wrongful death lawsuit? Why’d you run drugs when you guys had all that money?”
Dylan blew out a hard breath and looked kinda sheepish. “I didn’t know. I was only sixteen at the time, and since I was the little brother, they didn’t bring me in on all the money conversations. Or any of them really. I’d overheard them talking about how much it’d take to open a shop in town, so when Rags offered me a job, I took it. And the half dozen or so that came up after that.”
“God, Dylan.” I shook my head. “So that’s what they have over you? They’re blackmailing you about some drug runs you did ten years ago?”
“No. I was just giving you the background. I’m pretty sure the statute of limitations is up on that. What they’re holding over my head is more recent. And if it comes out, I’ll lose everything. My freedom. My job. My brothers’ respect—if I have any of that left after I took Dad’s side in his parole hearing. I’m fucked, Maddie.”
Chapter Four
NathanTwo hours earlier
I fucking hated Fridays. And working with family. And tv producers. Why the hell did I do any of this again?
“Dylan still MIA?” Austin asked as he pulled out the chair next to me in our tiny conference room. We only used it to meet with clients—and producer assholes apparently.
“He’s still ducking my texts. Moron hasn’t turned off his read receipts, so I know he’s read them. Hasn’t replied though.”
Austin laughed. “He does it because he knows it pisses you off.”
“It’s not that hard to reply to a simple text. It’d be nice to know he’s still alive.” I’d just pin him down when I got home later. If this endless production meeting ever finished. We had to take a break after three hours, and that was only because I’d thrown a fit.
What? I was hangry. James, the bastard, tried to talk through lunch. Ha! I would’ve thought he knew who we were after working with us for two years. Apparently not.
Not knowing who someone was made me think of Maddie. And that damn biker last night.
I leaned toward Austin. “Hey, have you heard anything about Maddie dating someone new?”
“Why?” Ryan interrupted as he dropped his cell phone on the table on my other side, pulling out his chair. “You finally got your head outta your ass and gonna make your move?”
I jumped. I hadn’t even noticed him come in the room. “What do you mean get my head out my ass? Maddie’s like a little sister. I don’t think about her like that.”
“Sure,” Ryan mocked. “Like how you stalked Maddie’s date at our wrap party last year, following him around, peppering him with questions, and letting her know she could do better. That’s totally normal.”
I blinked. “How’s that any different than the shit we give Sabby about any of the guys she’s dated? Same difference.”
“You’re so fucking blind, bro.” Austin laughed and twirled the piece of paper production had set in front of his chair. “It’s fun to watch though.”
Blind? I didn’t know what the hell they were talking about. I really did think of Maddie like a little sister. Which was why I got so bent outta shape when I saw that biker with her last night. Holding her close. Touching her. What the fuck was that anyway? I was just getting ready to ask Ryan about it when our producer, James, finally entered the room.
“Anyone manage to get ahold of Dylan?” James asked as he pulled out his chair.
We all shook our heads.
Ryan lifted a shoulder. “I stopped by his place over lunch, but he didn’t answer the door. I don’t know what’s going on with him lately.”
That was the fucking truth. Ever since he’d sided with the sperm donor in that last parole hearing, it was like a pod person had taken Dylan over. I thought maybe we’d finally get our little brother back after the bastard went back to prison, but no.
Dylan was more withdrawn than he’d ever been.
“Well, you guys will have to fill him in next time you see him.” James folded his hands on the table and looked at us, lined up opposite him. “The last item on our agenda—that I wanted to get through before Nathan had his little temper tantrum—is the vacancy at the front desk.”
I barely restrained the urge to leap across the table and deck James. He always had to get those little jabs in, like we were children. Like we weren’t the sole reason he had a job at the Urban Channel. Judging by the way Austin shoved his hands in his pockets, he didn’t appreciate it, either. Only the anger management classes we’d all taken kept my ass in the chair.
Although I wondered why James hadn’t been required to take them too. He was such a fucking tool.
After not getting a rise out of any of us, James raised his eyebrows and continued. “Since Sabrina won’t be as much of a personality on the show going forward—not that she has been up to now—the network thinks it’d be good if we get an injection of estrogen on
