He was a cop, for God’s sake. It should be the easiest thing in the world for him to plan the perfect murder and get away with it, scott free. He was sure if he put his mind to it he could come up with something workable. And then maybe he would finally have Mike Kelly off his back.
“Honey, he didn’t mean anything by it,” Julia Kelly said, trying to soothe her son as he stood in front of her, still seething.
“Oh, he always means it, Mom,” Storm replied, looking the woman in the eyes. He had always loved his mother’s eyes. They were the most beautiful shade of brown - bright and clear, like whiskey or amber. He had always wished that he’d gotten her eyes instead of the cold, icy blue ones that he got from his father. Every time he looked in the mirror, Storm saw Mike Kelly staring back at him, and it pissed him off. Once when he was a teenager he had tried dying his hair dark brown to make himself look more like his mom. It didn’t work. Sure, his hair was brown for a while, but he still had those damn cold eyes staring back at him in the mirror.
“And you always take up for him,” he continued. “Always trying to convince us kids that we just don’t understand him. You know, that might have worked when we were younger, but we’re adults now. And the things he says matters. As much as we may hate it, and as hard as we each try to pretend like his words don’t hurt, they do! And Ethan and Frankie and Marina and me … we feel it. And the truth of the matter is that he wants his words to hurt. He wants to tear us down!”
“Stormy that is not true,” Julia countered in a harsh tone. “Your father loves you! He loves all of you so much; you have no idea! He’s just harder on you because you’re his firstborn. His namesake. He’s proud of you, honey. He just wants you to be the best cop that you can be, that’s all.”
“No, he wants what he’s always wanted. For me to be him,” Storm shouted. “For me to live out his dreams and carry out his plans. He has never cared what I wanted for my life. My life, Mom. God, sometimes I wish I’d never come back from Iraq!”
The second the words left his mouth, he felt the sharp burning sting of pain shoot across his cheek, and his head snapped to the right with a forceful jerk. Slightly dazed, his hand flew to his cheek as his eyes darted to his mother. The look on her face was a mixture of shock and regret. And he couldn’t miss the tears in her pretty brown eyes. He felt about two inches tall looking at her.
“How dare you say that,” Julia whispered, looking up at her son.
“Mom … I’m sorry, that’s … I, I didn’t mean it that way,” he stammered. And they both knew that he was talking about his cousin, Tommy. Julia’s brother’s son. He hadn’t made it home from his second tour. “I just meant that sometimes I wonder if maybe I should have reenlisted instead of getting out and coming home. That’s all I was trying to say.”
Julia’s look of remorse morphed into disbelief. “You would prefer hostile territory to dealing with your father?” she asked.
Storm couldn’t help the mocking curl of his lip. “That’s what you just don’t get, Mama Julia,” he said, using the affectionate nickname he and his siblings sometimes called her. “Most of the time dealing with Dad is like entering hostile territory. At least over there I had a reasonable idea of what to expect, and I had an entire unit watching my back.”
“Storm,” she sighed.
“Do you realize that all of my visits end this way, Mom?” he asked her. “Unless I’m here for a big family dinner where the whole Kelly clan is in attendance and he can’t focus all of his attention on me, all my visits end like this. With an argument over something stupid, and Dad ends up shutting himself up in his study while you try to talk me down! And I know for a fact that Ethan’s visits aren’t much better. But yet you’re always saying that it’s not him, it’s us. We just don’t understand him.”
“Storm …”
“You know what? I’m sorry, Mom, I can’t do this anymore,” he said, grabbing his leather jacket off the kitchen chair where he’d left it. “I’ve had enough of the great Michael Storm Kelly for one day. I’ve got to go.”
“Fine. You should probably go cool off,” Julia said sadly. She hated the constant tension between her sons and their father, but she had always felt so powerless to fix it. She knew that Mike loved their four children deeply. He just didn’t always know how to show it. He had grown up with a very strict father himself, so he had never really learned how to show his affection. At least, not with his sons. The girls were a little different - somehow they were easier for him. But the boys were such a challenge, and Julia had always believed it was because his own father hadn’t really known how to show him affection either.
Storm pulled his jacket on over the black t-shirt he wore. Then he bent down and sweetly kissed his mom on the cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
She reached up and gently placed her palm flat on his cheek. It was still red. “I’m sorry that I slapped you,” she said.
He smiled at her, and his intense ice-blue eyes warmed a shade to an almost pale baby blue. “It’s okay. You thought I was being an ass.”
“I have never hit any of my children,” she said, and her voice was full of remorse. “Not even when you were being little asses.”
He laughed slightly. “It’s okay, Mom,” he said softly. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. You are not the first beautiful woman who’s ever slapped my face.”
Julia laughed at his comment. She knew that her eldest son was quite the charmer when it came to the ladies. It wasn’t difficult for her to understand why since he’d always been the spitting image of the father he despised so much. So tall and handsome. She smiled as she looked up at him. But his red cheek made her sad again.
“I think about Tommy a lot,” she said.
Storm nodded his head. He and his cousin had been close. They had enlisted together, and Mike Kelly had hit the roof when he found out. “Me too.”
“Thomas is still a mess,” she said, referring to her brother. “Even after all this time.”
“I know,” he said. He had made it a point to visit his uncle more often once he got back, and those visits were always difficult. Storm always felt a good measure of guilt whenever the subject of Tommy came up. Deep down, he still believed it was all his fault. He had been the one who talked Tommy into enlisting in the Air Force with him, after all. And then he had been the one who had come home while Tommy hadn’t.
They had gone through basic training together with a plan to become Security Police. Then a couple weeks before starting their SP training, Tommy changed his mind because he’d discovered that being a Pararescue Jumper was where the real action was. Tommy was always a thrill seeker, a real adrenaline junkie, and being a PJ was one of the most challenging and most thrilling jobs the Air Force had to offer. Their answer to the Navy SEALs or the Army Rangers, and it was right up his alley. So while Storm was relatively safe guarding an Air Force base in Iraq, Tommy was out risking his own life every day in actual hot spots as his unit saved hundreds of lives. They had both come home from that tour safe and sound. But Tommy’s unit went back for a second tour of duty just a few months later. And six weeks after arrival his chopper was shot down by an RPG.
Storm couldn’t look at his Uncle Thomas anymore without feeling a crushing sense of guilt. And the real kicker for him was that he had gotten the bright idea to enlist after yet another fight with his father about his future. Mike had been insisting that Storm was going to take some college classes and then go straight to Eastwood’s police academy. And, as usual, Storm was adamant that his dad wasn’t going to dictate what he did with his life. He enlisted not so much because he’d had a burning desire to serve his country, but because he had wanted to stick it to his father and get away from him for a few years. And because of that, his cousin was dead.
He confided in his uncle about all of that after Tommy’s funeral, breaking down into tears as he apologized to him. His uncle had wrapped his arms around him and told him that every letter he ever got from Tommy talked about how much he loved what he was doing and how he felt like it was his calling. He told him that Tommy had died fulfilling his purpose, and that he wouldn’t want Storm to feel guilty about leading him to a career that he loved.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to shake that familiar cloak of remorse and grief off of his shoulders. “I’ve got to go, Mom. I love you.”
“I love you too, honey,” she smiled. “Be safe please.”
“I will.”
She walked him to the front door, and Storm breathed a silent sigh of relief as he walked down the front path toward the beautiful bike sitting at the curb.
He smiled slightly as he looked her over. Just the sight of her always gave him such a thrill. His 2005 Harley-Davidson Wide Glide. He’d bought her slightly used when he first returned to Eastwood five years ago. She was in exceptionally good condition when he bought her, having barely been ridden by the original owner, and he’d made a few modifications to her over the years – not the least of which was adding a Magna Supercharger to the engine to boost the horsepower. He’d also added a 250 wide-tire kit to the back, and a one-of-a-kind custom paint job: 3D red metallic flames over a flat black base. She was mean looking, and Storm was completely in love with her! And after sinking so much money into her added extras, he also invested in an after-market remote alarm system.
Before he’d stopped at his parent’s place, his plan was to head straight home and call it a day. He’d already had a full day of riding with a few fellow cops from the Eastwood PD. Those of them with bikes liked to take advantage of the nice weather on their days off. But after the argument with his Dad, Storm felt like he needed to blow off a little steam. He swung his leg over the Harley and sat astride her, letting up the kickstand and getting comfortable as he pulled his riding glasses from the jacket pocket and slipped them on. Then he started her up and revved the engine. He checked the traffic and then pulled away from the curb.
Storm had been obsessed with motorcycles since he was about fourteen years old, and he could still remember the argument he’d had with his dad the first time Mike Kelly had caught him riding one. He and his cousin, Payne Kelly, had been at a friend’s house who’s older brother had a motorcycle, and he was teaching the boys to ride it. Mike had just happened to drive by in his police cruiser one day and saw Storm zoom past on the thing at breakneck speed. And three weeks later, when Mike caught him riding the boy’s motorcycle again, after being explicitly told not to, the fallout had not been pretty. He had been grounded for an entire month, not to mention subjected to a daily lecture about road safety and driving without a license.
Even when Storm had turned sixteen, Mike had still forbidden him to ride them and he definitely warned him not to even think about trying to get a motorcycle license. So, Storm being Storm … he did what he’d been doing his whole life and ignored his father’s edicts. After obtaining his normal car driver’s license, he borrowed a buddy’s motorcycle and went to the neighboring town to take his motorcycle test. And once he got his motorcycle license he bought his first bike with the money he’d saved from his after-school job working at Beaman’s Car Detail Shop. While Mike would praise his son for saving up his money to purchase a sensible used car, Storm would smile and think about the second-hand Honda 650 he’d bought that was safely hidden away in his friend’s garage.
He smiled as he thought about it now, as he felt the wind ruffling through his hair. He had kept that little Honda hidden from Mike for a whole year and a half, until he turned eighteen. Part of that sucked because he could only ride it at night whenever he would sneak out to go to a party or wherever. He just couldn’t take the chance that his dad might see him out on it in the daytime. But he gladly put up with the riding restrictions because he knew that eventually it wouldn’t matter, and when he turned eighteen he could drive whatever the hell he wanted.
Wanting to avoid the highway, he turned off Milner Avenue and took the winding backroads, leaving Eastwood Township and riding through Houstown and into Benton, a few miles away. The scenic ride took just half an hour, and while it did help to clear his head a little, he still felt some agitation. He didn’t know why he let his father get to him the way he did. Still. Even though he was a grown man. What he wouldn’t give for a little diversion right now. Something to take his mind totally off of the great Michael Kelly.
Stopped at a red light, Storm spotted a small bar up ahead on the left, and decided to pull in for a little while. The name of the place was Duffy’s, and he knew that it had a certain reputation among the area law enforcement agencies, although he had never had any dealings with the place himself. But the mood he was in right now could really lend itself to a scuffle, so what better place? Not that he was actively looking for a brawl or anything, but if he happened to find one he wouldn’t turn the dance down.
He smirked to himself at the thought as he parked his bike next to a long row of others in the lot and put his kickstand down. Then he locked the ignition and got off. He removed his eye protection and slipped them into his jacket pocket as he walked toward the door, remembering to set the alarm as he went.
When he stepped inside he looked around and wasn’t immediately impressed. It was basically a little hole in the wall of a place, mostly populated by bikers, and their women from the looks of it.
“What can I get you, lover?”
Storm looked up and met the gaze of a very pretty bartender. Short spiky blonde hair and the tightest, lowest-cut t-shirt he thought he’d ever seen. He smiled at her as he slowly looked her over, and he could see that she appreciated his appraisal.
“Jack,” he said simply, looking her in the eye as he leaned against the bar.
“You want that with my number, handsome?” she asked, smiling at him.
Storm grinned at her. “I won’t turn it down if you’re offering,” he replied.
She smiled as she went about pouring his drink, and when she set it down in front of him, it was on a napkin that was signed with her name and phone number, and she winked at him and moved on.
He threw back his drink and set the glass down on the bar as he turned and took a look around. The place was completely different from Jake’s, the bar in Eastwood where most of the cops liked to hang out after a shift. Where Jake’s had more of a homey, Cheers type feel to it, this place had a much darker attitude. The music was louder and meaner, and the patrons were edgier and a lot less friendly. And he guessed that they were not necessarily the law-abiding type. As Storm looked around, he could see that more than a few of the men were giving him the once over, no doubt wondering who he was and trying to decide if he wanted trouble or not. This was the kind of place he would never come into wearing his uniform unless he had a couple of other cops with him. His only backup tonight though was the police-issued Sig Sauer tucked into the holster at the back of his jeans and concealed beneath his t-shirt.
“Can I get you something else, handsome?”
He turned back toward the pretty bartender. “Yeah. I’ll take a Corona,” he said, pulling a few bills out of his pocket and paying for his drinks.
She set his beer on the bar in front of him. “Don’t you lose that now,” she said, motioning to the napkin with her number on it.
He smiled at her and picked up the napkin, folded it, and placed it into the inside pocket of his jacket. Then he took his beer and walked over to an empty table near the back of the bar and sat down. From this vantage point, his back was against the wall and he could see the entire room, and he watched the goings on around him as he nursed his beer. He could see that the place was slightly larger than he assumed when he first walked in. There was a room off to the left of the bar, and from where he sat he could see a couple of pool tables and at least one game going on. Other than that, there didn’t really seem to be too much action, and Storm started to wonder what all the hype was about. Either this place had severely cleaned up its act or it was never as bad as all the rumors made it out to be in the first place. And he noticed that the longer he sat and minded his own business, the less interested those around him seemed to be, as though they had determined that he was no threat to them or to whatever they had going on, and Storm actually felt a twinge of disappointment at the realization that he wouldn’t be knocking anyone’s head in tonight.
Oh, well. That’s what the job was for, and he would just have to wait until his next shift to mix it up a little. The power shift could always be counted on for a little action of some kind: a belligerent drunk maybe, or a combative perp who didn’t want to be arrested. Besides, it was probably for the best. The last thing he needed was to be caught in the middle of a bar fight while off duty in another town. He knew he’d never hear the end of it from his dad if that happened.
He took another sip of his beer and was about to get up to leave when he suddenly heard what sounded like a woman scream. But not like the kind of screams that a girl does when she’s laughing and having a good time, like the screams he’d heard coming from the pool table room. This was a real scream. The kind that meant help me.
Storm’s ears perked up with the first scream, but when the second one came and not a single person in the bar appeared to be concerned, he knew that something was up. Nonchalantly, he looked around and determined that the screams had come from the back, toward the bathrooms. He glanced around and noted that no one was looking his way. So he stood up and quietly slipped into the back hallway that led to the bathrooms.
Bypassing them, he ventured further down the hall. He saw what looked like an office, but it was empty so he kept moving. As he neared an open doorway at the very end of the hall, he suddenly heard voices.
“The more you fight it, baby, the worse it’s gonna be,” a gruff male voice said.
“Get off of me!”
The second voice was female, and Storm could hear the fear behind it. She was afraid of whoever he was. And even if Storm didn’t happen to carry a badge, he was a firm believer that no meant no, and that a woman should be treated with respect at all times. It was one of the few lessons Mike Kelly had drilled into his head that he actually took to heart. There was no way he was going to leave this bar without first checking to make sure that girl was all right.
“I don’t think the lady wants to kiss you,” he said, stepping into the small room and assessing the situation. Mr. Asshole had hold of the girl’s wrists, and he had her pinned against a tall metal filing cabinet with his body, and was trying to kiss her on the mouth as she struggled against him. And there were two jokers seated in the corner watching the action as though they were watching a movie.
“Who the fuck asked you?” the jerk snarled, looking over at Storm.
Storm ignored him and focused on the girl. “You all right, sweetheart?”
“No! Help me, please,” she begged softly, and Storm could see the alarm in her eyes.
“Shut up!” The man let go of her wrist and raised his hand to strike her, but he frowned when he felt the resistance and realized that Storm was now in his face and had a death grip on his arm.
“You don’t want to do that,” Storm said quietly as he stared the man down.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“You’re about to find out if you don’t let her go,” Storm replied.
Still pinning the girl to the cabinet, the man looked over his shoulder toward his cohorts. “What are you two numb nuts just sitting there for? Get this asshole out of here!”
Storm felt himself smile as the two guys in the corner got up and started toward him. Now this was the kind of action he had been hoping for!
“Hold tight, sweetheart,” he said, addressing the damsel in distress as he let go of the man’s arm and turned to face the two advancing on him.
The girl in question watched the scene play out feeling completely hopeless. Whoever this guy was, she was certain that he’d be no match for Bull’s friends. There were two of them, after all, and if she had learned anything in her very brief association with them, it was that they did whatever Bull told them to. She didn’t think there was any way this could end well.
But what she didn’t know was that taking on two or three at a time was something Storm had been doing most of his life, and from the looks of these two jokers, he liked his odds a lot. Storm had always been a brawler. Heck, causing a ruckus on the high school football field, or at the dance, or in the boys locker room … that had been his idea of fun back in the day, and with his brother, Ethan, and so many male cousins, the Kelly clan had quite a reputation back in high school for stirring the shit. That’s why it was funny as hell that they all ended up in law enforcement. He’d be willing to bet that there were several teachers back at Eastwood High who lived in constant terror at the thought of Mitch and Mike Kelly’s boys all running around town with badges and guns.
But as they got older, they had all found more socially acceptable ways of using their fists. For Storm, it was doing a little boxing in the Air Force. And then there was all that Police self-defense training he’d been subjected to over the years. In any case, when the two guys came at him, Storm wasn’t worried. He was in his element.
When the first one descended on him, he felt a rush of exhilaration as his fist connected with the man’s face. And as they tussled, the second one tried to get control of his arms from behind. But with the swift jab of his elbow he thwarted that attempt and turned on the man with a vengeance, grabbing him and knocking him to the floor at the other man’s feet with a blow to his kidneys.
Turning his attention back to bachelor number one, he fired off a series of gut punches before tagging him with a quick right hook. When it was over Storm had barely broken a sweat but the two goons lay in a small heap on the floor, and Storm looked up at the guy still holding the girl against her will.
“Last chance to let her go,” he breathed.
“You must have a death wish or something, asshole. I don’t know who you are, but the next time I see you I will kill you. Take the bitch and go,” he said, grabbing the girl by the arm and shoving her at him. “And you better run before I change my mind.”
Storm wrapped a protective arm around the girl’s waist when she landed against him, and he smiled at the guy. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you didn’t want to dance with me.”
“Get the fuck out of my bar,” the man snarled. But it was too late. Storm had already seen the fear in his eyes. This man was a classic coward. A real big talker when he had a few buddies to back his play. But one on one? Forget it. He was the type of asshole who found it real easy to bully a woman or someone much smaller than him. But put him toe to toe with a man his own size and the truth came out.
Storm took the girl by the hand and walked out of the room. He led her back down the hallway and out through the crowded bar, keeping his eyes peeled the entire way. He noticed a few glances in their direction as they made their way out, and he wondered who this chick was and what exactly he had just stepped into the middle of. Did she belong to one of these guys here? Was he about to be jumped for trying to help her leave?
Once they were safely outside he turned to look at her as he kept a firm grip on her hand and led her toward his bike.
“Thanks for your help,” she said, her voice sounding slightly haughty as she pulled her hand from his grasp.
“You’re welcome,” he answered. He looked at her as he swung his leg over his bike and sat down. Back there in the thick of things he’d been a little too preoccupied to notice, but now that he had a minute to process, he started at her feet and went all the way up. Black spiked ankle boots, blue jeans that looked painted onto her form, a blue denim halter top that revealed a flat stomach, ample tits and a body peppered with tattoos. There was a small, very realistic looking ladybug on the right side of her neck, and Storm could see part of what looked like swirls or waves of some kind running down the left side of her abdomen. There were also words on her right forearm and a small tattoo of flowers around her left wrist, like a bracelet. She had long silky hair the color of copper and the biggest blue eyes he’d ever seen. She was sexy as hell, and Storm suddenly wanted nothing more than to peel her out of those tight clothes and bend her over his bike.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She looked at him with a surprised, blank stare for a moment, and then gave him a slight smile. “Look, sugar, I appreciate the assist with the Neanderthal back there. Truly, I do. But this is not winner take all, okay? I’m not your prize. You won’t be taking me home as your trophy.”
Storm smiled at her as he released the kickstand of the bike. “First of all … don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. I mean, you’re hot. But that doesn’t mean I’m dying to bag you,” he lied, loving the soft blush that crept over her cheeks. “And second, I just thought it’d be nice to know your name before I give you a ride home, that’s all.”
“Who said you’re giving me a ride home?” she asked.
“Oh, my bad,” he shrugged. “I just assumed that when no one in that place bothered to lift a finger to help when you were screaming, or cared enough to see if you were all right as you left, meant that they weren’t exactly your friends.”
She rolled her eyes as she listened to him and glanced back at the bar. He had a point. Who else was she going to ask for a ride? And it wasn’t like she had her cell phone with her. And she certainly didn’t want to go back in there to call a cab.
“Does one of these bikes belong to you?” he asked.
She looked back at him, and she could see the amusement in his eyes. They were an incredible shade of blue. The palest she’d ever seen, and with his blonde hair and those rugged features, he looked good enough to eat. Especially sitting on that bike in all that leather. Oh, yeah. Maybe she did want to be nice to this guy.
“No, they don’t,” she said, answering his question. “My name is Nina. Nina Fitz.”
“Storm Kelly,” he said, smirking at her. Then he started up the bike. “Hop on, Nina. Where do you live?”
She sighed as she imagined his annoyance. “I live in Eastwood. On Hawthorn Street.”
Storm’s snorted softly. “Eastwood, huh?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry,” she said. “I know that’s probably a little out of your way.”
“Actually, it’s not. I live in Eastwood.”
“You do?”
He nodded his head as he stared at her, wondering how he had never run across her before. She was someone he would definitely have remembered meeting.
“Small world,” she smiled, staring into his eyes.
“So they say,” he replied.
He waited as she climbed onto the back of his Harley, and then he reached to the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pair of aviator sunglasses.
“Put those on,” he said. Then he pulled out his own riding glasses and slipped them on. “Ready?”
She nodded at him and wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling slightly closer to him than was necessary.
Storm smiled as he glanced back at her over his shoulder. “Something tells me you’ve done this before,” he said.
Nina shrugged a shoulder at him. “I like bikes and the hot guys who ride them. Is that a crime?”
“No. Not at all,” he answered, revving the engine a couple of times. Then he pulled slowly out of the parking lot and onto the street.