Page 54 of Four Stepbrothers for Christmas

As we moved toward the exit, a rush of adrenaline propelled me forward, pushing away the nausea and dread threatening to overwhelm me. My only focus was on getting my brother to safety, hoping it wasn’t too late.

As we stepped into the cool winter air, the relative silence was broken by the menacing rumble of engines. Before we could fully process the situation, a small fleet of cars barreled down the street, skidding to a halt, creating a makeshift barricade in front of the dilapidated house. Dust swirled, and from the shadows of the vehicles, figures emerged.

Each of them looked rougher than the last — leather jackets, tattoos snaking down arms, chains hanging from pockets. But it was their eyes that truly terrified me. Cold, calculating, and hungry, they sized us up like prey.

The silence was thick, almost suffocating, broken only when one of them stepped forward. "Where you think you're going with him?" he drawled, his voice dripping with menace. His gaze was fixed on Mikey, who was still groggy but beginning to show signs of awareness.

I swallowed hard, readying myself to answer when Vinnie replied. "Taking our friend home."

The man sneered, revealing a gold tooth. "He owes me a hell of a lot of money. And you think you can just waltz out with him?" He stepped forward slowly, fury in his eyes. “Not a goddamn chance.”

Chapter 34

ISAAC

Surrounded by the harsh cacophony of growling engines and sharp, muttered exchanges, my focus narrowed on our immediate surroundings.We were in a damn tight spot.

The pulsing beat of adrenaline surged through my veins, and though my instinct screamed to draw the line and defend, I knew the best option was to remain poised. Cool heads would need to prevail here.

I could sense the energy of the group of men who must be the Garcias, a collective menace that seemed to emanate from their ranks, and it was nothing to be trifled with. It was clear we were on their turf, and while we had the immediate objective of getting Mikey out safely, there was a larger game afoot. Respect, territory, and a display of power. Those were always the undercurrents in situations like this.

Becca's voice, rising in defiant determination, pulled me back to the moment."We're taking my brother and we’re leaving," she declared, chin lifted. It was a bold move, but it was also Becca—she wouldn’t stand down when family was on the line.

In stark contrast to her statement, the Garcia's leader, a mountain of a man with scars that hinted at a past of violence, responded. The slow, predatory grin he wore heightened the anxiety coursing through me.

"He isn't going anywhere without settling his dues," he rumbled, voice laden with a thinly veiled threat.

My heart raced, and not for the first time, I felt the weight of the choices we had made. The situation was teetering dangerously close to a point of no return. Behind me, I sensed Archer tensing up, ready to spring into action, while Luke subtly moved, positioning himself between the gang and Becca. Vinnie's eyes darted around, calculating exits and formulating strategies.

But it was clear, even to the Garcias, that any overt move on our part would light the fuse to an explosive standoff.

I locked eyes with the leader. The silent understanding was evident—we both knew the score. Power, respect, and the unspoken rules of the street were at play. Mikey's debt was just the face of it. The deeper issue? This was a challenge. A test of resolve.

Every muscle in my body was coiled tight. The silence stretched, pregnant with tension, making every second feel like an eternity. The Garcias, clearly confident in their numbers and firepower, waited for our move. And as the standoff persisted, the gnawing dread in my gut intensified. All it would take was a single misstep, one wrong word, and the situation could erupt into violence.

Becca, her face a fierce mix of concern and defiance, stepped forward with a bite to her tone. "We're not paying you a cent," she declared, the words slicing through the tension like a blade, "and consider yourselves lucky we're not dialing 911 right now."

Shit. I winced at her playing that card. Mentioning the police in a situation like this was akin to tossing a match into a pile of dry leaves. It would only make things worse.

I leaned toward her, my voice low but firm. "Becca, this isn't the time for bluffs. Let's keep it cool, okay?" My hand gently pressed on her arm, attempting to ground her, to pull her back from the precipice of emotion she teetered upon.

She hesitated, her eyes scanning mine, searching for any hint of a plan or guidance. I could see the moment she decided to hand me the reins, her chin dipping in a subtle nod.

With a deep breath, I squared my shoulders, addressing the looming figure of the Garcia leader. "How much does he owe?" My voice was even, stripped of any challenge, but it carried an undercurrent of steely determination.

The leader eyed me, his face unreadable, before finally revealing the amount. "Five grand. " The tone was mocking yet tinged with genuine confusion. Why would someone willingly put themselves in such debt? Had Mikey planned on getting enough drugs for one last binge, one that would end his life?

I pushed the thought out of my head, turning my attention to Archer. I nodded to him, and he nodded right back.

Without missing a beat, Archer reached into his pocket, fingers expertly fishing out a thick wad of cash, his hand going up as he did to assure the Garcias he wasn’t trying anything funny. As a precaution, we’d stopped at a bank before coming to this hellhole. Archer had pulled out several thousand dollars, just in case. Our motto is like the Boy scouts: always be prepared.

I took the cash, fanning it out slightly for emphasis."Ten thousand," I declared, holding the leader's gaze with unwavering intensity. "Five to settle his debt. Another five for a promise—never sell to him again."

A hush settled over the group. The Garcias exchanged glances, unsure and calculating. The leader, eyes narrowing to assess our seriousness, gave a slight nod to one of his crew. A lanky, tattooed guy, sporting a smirk that showcased a gold tooth, sauntered over to me, clearly keen to confirm the validity of our offer.

Everyone was frozen as he meticulously counted the bills. The air around us was thick, every second stretching out like an eternity. Everyone was holding their breath, waiting for his verdict. When he finally looked up, he gave the leader a nod, indicating the amount was as promised.

"Alright," the leader growled, his voice carrying a begrudging respect. His eyes locked onto mine, a cold acknowledgment. "Consider his debt cleared. And sure, no more selling to the kid. But I want all of you off my turf. And don't think about coming back."

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