Page 1 of Outcast
CHAPTERONE
Gray
My Harley’smotor growled as I leaned into the curve of highway that crossed into Riverton city limits.
The power between my legs was a lot more fun three hundred miles ago. My thighs and back ached from holding my position on the V-Rod. It was a badass bike, but not the best for long trips.
Thank fuck I’d installed a better seat and windshield—or I’d really be hurting.
The land that stretched ahead of me was flat as fuck, revealing the familiar site of Forrester & Sons Auto Shop ahead. My stomach heaved. What a joke. The old man had named the auto shop like we were his real sons or something.
We were nothing but free labor to him. Just a group of fucked-up foster kids who could help keep the “family” business running. Mom had been the one to give us a home, affection,love.
They were both dead and gone now, though. Only my brothers waited for me.
I rolled off the throttle instinctively, losing speed. I didn’t kid myself. I’d been gone ten years, and even with the letter from my older brother, Holden, asking me to come back, this wasn’t going to be a sweet homecoming.
Time to rip off the Band-Aid.
I picked up speed, cruising past the fenced-off junkyard adjacent to the auto shop. Set back a few hundred yards, the farmhouse where I’d spent nine years of my childhood was just visible.
It looked better than I remembered, a bright white that spoke of a fresh paint job, with slate-gray trim in place of the old faded green. I slowed to make the turn into the parking lot.
A huge beast of a dog came out of nowhere, barking like fucking Cujo. I swerved, startled, and almost laid the damn bike on its side.
“Sugar!” a deep voice called. “Sugar, we’ve talked about this! No attacking visitors.”
I pulled the bike back from the brink of a crash and wobbled to a stop. My adrenaline roared as I kicked down the stand and tugged off my helmet.
“You call that fucking beastSugar?”
The guy slipped two fingers under the rottweiler’s collar, tugging it back—and holy shit, was thatAxel? I’d last seen him when he was fifteen. He’d shot up five inches, and his honey-blond hair was loose and blowing in the wind, covering half his face and giving him a wild look. Tats ran up and down his arms.
His blue eyes widened when he saw me, then narrowed.
“What thefuckare you doing here?”
His snarl was almost as vicious as Sugar’s. The dog curled its lip up, showing me teeth. Sensing Axel’s animosity? If he decided to let Sugar go, could I make it inside the shop without losing a chunk of flesh?
I hung my helmet on the handlebars and swung a leg over the bike, moving nice and slow so Sugar wouldn’t think I was more of a threat.
“Holden said y’all needed me.”
“We don’t need shit from you.”
My older brother emerged from the bay garage, wiping his greasy hands on a rag. “Speak for yourself, Ax. This place doesn’t run itself.”
Holden’s brown hair was chin-length but cut more conservatively than mine or Axel’s. He wore a black button-down, with the sleeves rolled up to expose inked forearms, and dark jeans. It was an odd contrast to the grease rag in his hands—and my memories of him mostly bumming around in sweats and hoodies.
“We do just fine,” Axel said.
Sugar growled quietly to remind me whose side she was on. Axel patted her head, murmuring soft assurances that contradicted the death glare he was shooting my way.
I sidestepped toward Holden. Strength in numbers and all. I didn’t want to be dog food.
“What’s with the slobbering beast?”
Holden snorted a laugh. “Who, Sugar? She’s the sweetest. Aren’t you, babydoll?”
