“I hate you.”
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard those words from Wylie and wouldn’t be the last. I couldn’t remember a time when he did anything but complain, which was why me and my other employees jokingly called him Whiney Wylie. He hated the nickname, but he hated a lot of things.
Like me, apparently.
I smirked, slid on my Aviator shades, and hit the ignition on my Mustang GT Fastback. Wylie and Flint always gave me shit for my car because of the color—a metallic magenta—but she was my baby. Shakira was more than a vehicle, she was part of my identity. It was Ren, Shakira, and Wiggles, my white ferret.
Shakira’s name came to me as easily as if she was my own child, and it was clear from the moment I slid into her front seat, the name fit her, since she got hips moving. Men and women who loved cars couldn’t wait to fuck me once they got a good look at me in her.
Flint had already fallen asleep in the back seat, arms crossed and head lolled to the side, mouth open in a soft snore that made me roll my eyes. He could sleep anywhere.
Wylie twisted in the passenger seat and glared at Flint. His blond hair flopped into his eyes and he brushed the bangs away. “What the fuck, man? Boss only picked us up from the airport five minutes ago and you’re already dead to the world.”
Flint continued to snore, his bright tattoo sleeves full of chaotic designs the only color on him. He wore black, and only black, and looked at home on my black leather seats.
I chuckled. Nothing would rouse Flint. He was deep in dreamland. Once he decided he was done, then he wasdone, and no one could get between him and a nap. I wish sleep came as easily for me. I wasn’t one of those people who fell asleep instantly. It took hours of tossing and turning before I finally drifted off.
“Did I mention I hate you?” Wylie said, dragging me out of my thoughts. He leaned forward, flicking through the songs on my playlist, not giving them time to start. Nothing irritated me more. It took every ounce of my self-control not to snap at him.
“Repeatedly.” I tapped the steering wheel, glancing between the road and the screen on Shakira’s dashboard, where he jabbed his finger, until the frustration finally won. I seized his finger, gripping it tight, and he shot wide gunmetal blue eyes at me. “Enough, Wy. Sit the fuck back and relax.”
He sighed loudly. “Why are we here, Boss? This isn’t like Los Angeles. If you wanted to expand the franchise, wouldn’t you start somewhere bigger? Hell, why not the Big Apple?”
“New York City is too expensive. And we’re close enough to it by being here. Plus, no one who actually lives there calls it the Big Apple, you tourist.”
He rolled his eyes and huffed, leaning his temple against the window. One growl from the back of my throat was all it tookfor him to straighten and use the bottom of his shirt to buff out the smudge. He knew I hated any marks on Shakira. I kept her pretty.
“You didn’t answer my question.” He pouted, a small, faded scar below his lip becoming more pronounced. Sometimes it was hard to believe he was a year older than me. He acted ten years younger.
“Why do you think?” I shrugged and scrolled a few songs down my playlist until I came across one I liked. I gave him side-eye that told him to leave the music or I’d castrate him. “You knew this was coming. I told you from the start. My revenge on my brother.”
Wylie eyed me carefully. “You never really told me what he did to piss you off.”
“And I never will. That’s between me and the devil.” My grip on the steering wheel tightened, the leather squeaking under my palms. “All you need to know is he hurt someone I loved and I’m returning the favor.”
“How? By starting a tattoo parlor next door to one of his friends?” Wylie asked.
He didn’t sound convinced, and honestly, I didn’t blame him. He didn’t know I had a well-thought-out plan that had taken me years to perfect. Every piece of information I curated about Luke had its purpose, and everything would slot into place.
“You know, my mom always said living well was the best revenge,” he said.
I chuckled. “Me and your mom are two different people. In the words of Jerry Rice, today I will do what others won’t, so tomorrow I will accomplish what others can’t.” I whacked him on the back of the head. “People shy away from revenge, believe it isn’t worth the work. I run full speed at it so I can watch my brother burn.”
“Jeez, Boss. You aren’t for the faint of heart.” Wylie threw his head back and laughed.
He had no idea.
Wylie glanced out toward Lake Ontario as it glittered in the distance and whistled. “I’ll give this city something, that water’s pretty. Does it ice over in the winter?”
“What do you think?” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Wylie grew up in Southern California and had never traveled much. I didn’t think he’d ever seen snow in his life, which probably meant I’d have to warn him about the dos and don’ts. I aimed for a softer tone. “Yes, it will.” I leaned forward to check out the lake and smiled at how the sun glittered over the surface, causing it to sparkle like diamonds. “I might have to check if this place has a weekend hockey team. Maybe a beer league. You want to join?”
Wylie made a distressed sound deep in his throat. “Me on skates? No thanks. I value my life. And this pretty face.” He gestured to his narrow jaw, high cheekbones, and pouty mouth. “Too perfect to lose some teeth. The women in this world would never forgive me.”
I snorted. I doubted it, but I didn’t take the bait. The conversation reminded me that Wylie liked football. He’d played the game in high school and started in college before he’d realized he wanted to be a tattoo artist and quit school. I didn’t know jack shit about the sport, but KC played linebacker on his college team.
“You love football.”
Wylie gave me a careful look, half surprised and half confused. He dipped his chin. “Yes?”
