Beneath the Secrets Page 2

  “Have the owner contact me. I want to purchase this club,” he instructs her, his tone firm and direct.

  The bartender’s teeth munch on her bottom lip as she nods her head. Ignoring the sex kitten who wants to purr at his feet, Mr. Trust Fund turns his eyes to me. While tucking a business card into the pocket of the long-sleeve dress shirt I rummaged from the back of my closest this morning, he says, “Call me tomorrow morning. I want you to join my empire.”

  With that, he pivots on his heels and stalks out of the building without a backward glance. Removing his card from my pocket, I discover his name is Isaac Holt, entrepreneur and founder of Holt Enterprises. It's only when I notice his business address is for a bum hick town over two hundred miles away does it suddenly dawn on me that I’m stranded in the city with no ride back to my truck.

  Fuck!

  Mumbling incoherently under my breath, I make my way outside while logging into my internet banking, praying I’ll have enough in my account to pay for a taxi ride back to my truck. My brows furrow when I step onto the sidewalk and notice my truck parked at the curb. Seeing my shocked expression, a gentleman with a thick silver moustache pushes off the back-quarter panel of my truck and ambles toward me. Even though his pistol is hidden, I can tell he's carrying a weapon just from the way he walks. He has the recognizable swagger of a police officer.

  “Hugo,” he greets me.

  I nod, masking my surprise that he knows who I am.

  “Mr. Holt requested for me to give you this.” He smiles while handing me a sealed white envelope. I don’t need to open it to know what's inside. My nose can sniff out freshly printed Benjamin Franklins from a mile away.

  “I look forward to working with you,” states the unnamed gentleman before he enters the passenger seat of a black town car idled at the side.

  The black Lexus pulls into traffic just as slowly as the back passenger side window glides into place, concealing the curious gaze of Mr. Isaac Holt, A.K.A. Mr. Trust Fund.

  In that instant, I knew my life was about to change. I just had no idea it would be so fucking mammoth.

  Two

  Hugo

  Six weeks later…

  “Are you sure you don’t just want to go and purchase a new one?”

  My sister Jorgie's cornflower blue eyes shift from gazing outside to me. Her top lip forms into a snarl, bearing her teeth before she turns her gaze back to the storm forming outside. For a majority of the day, the scattering of dark clouds in the sky pummeled the dry land with much-needed moisture.

  Although the wind that intensified during the day has dispersed the clouds to the horizon, the threat of rain is still paramount. The pouring rain has turned the humid air in our hometown crisp with a cooling freshness I’m relishing after spending months living in the unbearable conditions of a hot dessert.

  Jorgie is a year younger than me, and the youngest member of my family, which earns her the coveted title of Baby Girl. Her real name is Marjorie, but just like every member of our family, she hates her christened name, so we call her Jorgie. Although she's tall for a girl, standing a little over six feet tall, she's a little stick of dynamite, feisty and full of life. Her hair is as dark as the clouds in the sky, which makes her blue eyes stand out even more on her beige skin.

  For years, she rebelled against everything and everyone who tried to get in the way of her plans to escape the clutches of Rochdale and living her life how she envisioned. She didn't want a nine-to-five job or a little house with a white picket fence. She wanted freedom; she craved adventure; she wanted to live.

  All her big plans came to a halt the instant I introduced her to Hawke, my roommate from college. We were both members of the Kappa Sigma Phi fraternity. Even with our difference in age, we became blood brothers from the moment we met. Girls, partying, and hitting the club scene were how we spent the first two years of our newly founded kinship.

  Watching the sparks fly between Jorgie and Hawke was like watching fireworks in a pitch-black sky. It was explosive, but I wasn't having it. For one, Hawke was two years older than Jorgie. He played the field nearly as much as I did, and he also had every intention of leaving Rochdale in the wake of his dust. And as much as Jorgie wanted to escape the stranglehold of her dreary existence in Rochdale, Rochdale is her home; she was born and raised here. Although our parents were strict and never let us get out of line when we were younger, they're the glue that ensures we remain a close-knit family.

  Jorgie just rebelled more as she not only had mom and dad’s stringent set of rules to adhere to, she also had Chase’s. Chase is five years older than me and is the eldest sibling of my family. If you thought my aversion to Jorgie and Hawke dating was harsh, you should have seen some of the elaborate ruses Chase pulled.

  Not many men can make Hawke nervous, but one wry look from Chase, and Hawke quivered in his boots like the earth was shaking beneath his feet, but Jorgie is as stubborn as a mule, and when she wants something, she never gives up. She fought tooth and nail for Hawke, and in the end, she won.

  Now, I can't comprehend what my original objection was about. Jorgie is glowing and the happiest I've ever seen her. She lives in a cute little house on a street nearly smack bang in the middle of Rochdale. She has a steady job as a bank teller, and she and Hawke are getting married in three weeks’ time. He balanced out her rebellion by instilling the discipline she fought so hard against in her teens. My mom has always predicted that one day the right man would swoop in and calm the raging storm of Jorgie. Hawke was that man. He's her serene.

  I slide out from beneath the motor of Jorgie’s beloved 1969 Chevrolet Chevelle SS. It's a piece of shit rust bucket she purchased over eight years ago, but she loves it like it's her own child. After nagging me relentlessly for the past three years to assist her in restoring it, I managed to squeeze in a couple of hours this afternoon to replace the carburetor.

  My time has become a little more flexible since I returned from my second tour in Afghanistan. Since I'm unemployed and unable to sleep, I have more hours in the day than ever before. Sleep has never been a close friend of mine, and when I joined the Air Force, it became an even more distant acquaintance.

  “By replacing the faulty carby, it should be drivable again, but you have a whole heap of other issues you need to have a mechanic look at before you can even consider getting behind the wheel," I inform her, wiping chunks of black grease from my hands with an old rag hanging over the radio antenna. "Does Hawke know you're trying to get baby back on the road?”

  Jorgie stops peering at the gathering of storm clouds on the horizon and stares at me. Her little button nose is screwed up tightly, and her lips are pursed, but she remains as quiet as a mouse. My lips tug high when I see in the guilt marring her eyes.

  “You know Hawke doesn’t want you driving this around, Jorgie. It isn’t safe for you or your little bun in the oven,” I chide, poking my index finger into the round curve of her pregnant stomach.

  “Ouch.” She rubs the area I poked, feigning injury. Her blue eyes lift to mine. They're glistening with the usual mischievousness that always sparks them. "He never complained about me driving it when we used to take it up to the Mt. Louis lookout during summer break.”

  I inwardly gag. The last image I want in my head is my little sister making out in the backseat of a car with my best mate. Some images you can never wash from your memories. When she notices my scrunched-up face, her small giggles bounce around the dingy garage.

  “You do know there's only one way this baby got inside my belly, don’t you, Hugo?” she jests, her tone thickly drenched with cheekiness.

  “Yeah, I’m fully aware.” I roll my eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I want to hear all the explicit details coming out of your dirty little mouth.”

  Her giggles increase as she bounces on her heels. Jorgie and I are close, and I don't mean by our difference in age. We're two peas in a pod, both rebels cruising through life one adventure at a time. Although she found her Achilles
heel and is expecting her first baby in a few months' time, her cheeky antics and playful disposition keep Hawke on his toes, even when he's on the other side of the world.

  Hawke is currently deployed to Iraq. He's on his second and final tour as part of the First Battalion. With all troops being pulled from Iraq by the end of the year, it's the perfect time for him to leave the service.

  My suspicions became piqued when Jorgie scratches her brow. It’s a nervous trait she does every time she’s either in trouble or is creating trouble. I cock my head to the side and arch my brow. The corners of her mouth lift as she tries to conceal a smirk.

  “What are you up to, Jorgie?” I release the latch on the hood of her car. The loud crack of heavy steel clanking back into place rumbles through the quietness of the late afternoon.

  Jorgie’s teeth gnaw on the side of her lip as her hand fiddles the oversized button on her shirt. “You don’t have any plans tonight, right?”

  Even though she's asking a question, she continues talking, not waiting for a response.

  “Because I'm cooking that chicken dish you love, with a side of ribs, mashed potatoes, green beans--”

  “What are you up to, Jorgie?” I ask again, overemphasizing her name in a thick drawl that relays I’m not buying her bullshit offer of cooking me a free meal. Jorgie only ever cooks when she's scheming a plan or sucking up after her last failed scheme.

  Her already large eyes widen, making them stand out even more than normal. “Ava is coming over for dinner.”

  I cringe. “That’s nice; I’m sure you’ll enjoy the company.” I move to the corrosion-riddled driver’s side door to crank the engine.

  A grin carves on my mouth when the motor kicks over on the first turn of the ignition. I’ve never studied to be a mechanic, but I picked up some useful skills during my wild ride from rebellious teen to even more insubordinate man. I rev the engine, trying to quell Jorgie’s ramblings, but I still manage to catch portions of the same pleas she has declared a minimum of once a day since I returned from my tour in Afghanistan.

  “She's the perfect match for you, Hugo. She has a well-paying, stable job, owns a three-bedroom apartment in that fancy new building on the river. I went there last month; the views are too die for. Mom and Dad already know and love her, and even Helen’s given her approval. And you know Helen; you have to be valedictorian four years in a row to get the smallest smidgen of attention from Helen,” she jests.

  I rev the engine more. It’s not a requirement to check the capabilities of the motor, but it does successfully drown out Jorgie’s incessant blubbering. Everything she's saying I’ve heard a million times before. Ever since Ava moved back to town, Jorgie has made it her mission to force Ava and me together. She gathers since she's marrying my best mate, I should marry hers. In her head, it makes perfect sense. She just failed to get the memo that I’m not interested in dating anyone right now, let alone getting married.

  Once Jorgie finally stops jabbering long enough to inhale a much-needed breath, I release the heavy compression of my foot on the accelerator.

  Jorgie crosses her arms in front of her chest and glares at me. “Deny it all you want, Hugo, but you can’t fight fate. One day, you and Ava will be together, and you’ll have me to thank for it.”

  A lewd grin curls on my lips. Jorgie’s favorite quote since the day she met Hawke has been “You can’t fight fate.” I’ll admit they did meet in unusual circumstances. Most saw it as luck; Jorgie saw it as fate.

  “What have you got against Ava anyway?” She paces closer to me. “You were close when you were younger.”

  What Jorgie is saying is true. Back in our teen days, Ava and I were close. It was a weird hidden kinship only a handful of people were aware of, but circumstances change. People change. I’ve changed. I’m no longer a teenage boy who can’t control his cock around a beautiful girl. I’m a grown man, a man whose skins crawls when anyone mentions the dreaded M and C words: marriage and commitment.

  Cranking my head to the side, I catch Jorgie’s murderous glare staring at me, demanding an answer to her question.

  I smirk. “For one, Ava’s a dentist. You know I hate dentists.” I give her the same excuse I’ve given the past two months.

  Jorgie scoffs and rolls her eyes, not buying my pitiful excuse. “You’ll never have a cavity again,” she remarks, her tone smug.

  I angle my head and cock my brow. “Two, she probably smells like a dentist.”

  Jorgie’s bottom lip tucks into the corner as she tries in vain to stifle a smile, but she doesn’t refute my claim, as she knows as well as I do Ava most likely smells like every child’s worst nightmare: the dentist’s office. Ava’s last two weeks of high school saw her interning at a fancy dental practice downtown. I swear to god, a week after her visit, I was still smelling that ghastly dentist surgery smell.

  Jorgie pledges Ava only smelled like that because her employer made her spend a week sterilizing all the equipment at the local training hospital for being insubordinate, but I’m not convinced. Ava never bent from her strong stance on following the rules to the most stringent detail, so I can’t comprehend why she'd suddenly rebel against anyone, much less someone as important as her employer.

  “And third, but not at all least, she’s too… innocent,” I say, my tone lowering when I say the last word.

  Now don’t construe this the wrong way, the last time I saw Ava, six years ago, she was no doubt attractive. Although she has always been a little nerdy, and her head never left the inside of a book during her entire academic career, she could garner the attention of any hot-blooded male she feigned an interest in – myself included.

  Ava was the very first and only girl I’ve ever lusted over. One flash of her killer smile, and I wanted to drop to my knees and kiss her fucking feet. My infatuation with her only ended when she left for college. Unlike Jorgie and me, Ava chose to attend a university on the other side of the country. Although we kept in contact the first two years, all contact stopped when I joined the Air Force. The last time I saw Ava in person, she was walking into the airport with a flood of tears streaming down her face.

  An eerie silence encroaches the garage as the first splatters of rain fall from the sky. Big drops of water sizzling on a sun-heated steel roof makes Jorgie’s silence even more paramount. The only time Jorgie is quiet is when she's telepathically communicating with Hawke or fuming in anger. Placing the dirty rag onto the rickety wooden shelving at the side of the garage, I pivot on my heels.

  Jorgie has her hands on her expanded hips and her brows knitted tightly. “You’re seriously condemning Ava because she kept her legs closed during high school?”

  Even with a pleasant breeze blowing in from outside, the room is roasting from the furious heat pumping out of Jorgie.

  “Would you prefer she opened her legs for any man who feigned an interest in her?” Her lips purse as she screws up her nose. “Perhaps like Victoria Avenke.” Spit flies out of her mouth when she sneers Victoria’s name.

  I smirk. I should have known Jorgie would have heard about my arrangement with Victoria. Vicky and I have been on a handful of dates. By dates, I mean casual hook ups. No strings attached. No false promises. Just two consenting adults happily sticking to the no commitments requirement of our agreement.

  “Vicky knows what she's getting.”

  Jorgie huffs. “Yeah, with you and at least another ten guys.”

  “Cattiness doesn’t suit you, Jorgie.”

  Her eyes snap to mine. “It’s not being catty when it’s true. Vicky puts out more rides per year than the Ferris wheel at the State Fair.”

  I try to hold in my laughter, but my chuckle rumbles through my gaped mouth when I spot the repulsed mask slipping over Jorgie’s face. Jorgie has always attracted men, ever since she passed the awkward puberty stage. When she was younger, her legs were too long, and her body was as straight as a board. It was only once she filled out did mine and Chase’s big brother protective mode kick up a
gear.

  Vicky was the equivalent of Jorgie’s schoolyard bully in a nasty prom queen bitch way. Vicky was one of those girls who gained the devoted attention of every guy in school, including the male teaching staff. Even back in the day, when Vicky and I first messed around as seniors, Jorgie was disgusted.

  It's safe to say, no matter how much time passes, Jorgie and Vicky will never be classed as casual acquaintances, let alone friends. Jorgie still holds a grudge against Vicky from when she called her a giraffe in junior high. As much as Vicky’s taunting words hurt Jorgie, it was true. In her pre-teen years, Jorgie was tall, lanky and had the hugest pair of wobbly knees. She was the very definition of a giraffe.

  “You won’t be laughing when you catch something off her,” Jorgie mumbles, her snarky tone barely audible from the heavy pelts of rain hammering the steel roof.

  “Very mature,” I remark.

  She screws up her nose and sticks out her tongue. I pace to the side of the garage to pack away the tools I used. A grin carves on my mouth at the anal cleanliness of Hawke’s garage. He's so meticulous about his man cave, each tool has its own rightful spot. Like Jorgie, Hawke also collects vintage cars, but unlike Jorgie, his are actually valuable.

  One of his beauties is a 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z-28 SS Coupe. I’ve known Hawke for seven years, and I’ve only driven his Camaro once. That was only because he was too drunk to drive and refused to leave it at the college dorm where we were attending a party. My eyes drift to the other side of the garage. Even hidden under a protective car cover, I can recall its shimmering dark blue paint with thick white stripes and fat-rimmed tires. Just the thought of its 500 horsepower aluminum V-8 engine rumbling through my ears as I cruise down the highway has my pulse quickening and my palms sweating.