Just behind Repo was Dirty Dave, the owner of the obnoxious laugh, another member of the Iron Order, and a real jackass. He was called Dirty Dave because he was dirty. And he stank.

I sighed my aggravation and set down the carburetor I was fixing. As enjoyable as Jessica’s visit had been that afternoon¸ I knew without a doubt these callers were going to inspire my ire.

Dirty Dave was just a douchebag lackey.

But Repo was a man of importance within the Iron Order. I’d known him since I was little. He even had dinner at my momma’s table on occasion, and gave each of us boys a bowie knife for our tenth birthday. Once upon a time I looked up to this man.

But as an adult, I considered him a con man and pariah.

“Hello, son,” Repo said, lifting his chin in my general direction as his eyes scanned the shop.

I reached to the side to switch off the Bluetooth speaker for my iPhone. Repo had a real raspy voice. I could barely make out what he was saying half the time in a quiet room. The shop was suddenly filled with the quiet sounds of a Tennessee night and the unwelcome sounds of motorcycle boots scuffing on cement.

“Repo. Dirty Dave. What do y’all want?” I didn’t bother to wipe my hands because I had no plans to shake theirs.

“Now, is that any way to speak to your Uncle Repo?” He smiled, his salt and pepper beard framing bright white teeth. This one reminded me of my daddy, all the charm of a snake in the grass.

I glanced at the wall clock behind him; it was almost 11:30 p.m. I’d lost track of time.

“You aren’t my uncle, old man,” I answered flatly.

No. This man was most assuredly not any family relation of mine. Though my daddy considered the members of the Iron Order to be his brothers, these men were less than nothing to me and I wanted them to know it.

“Ah, you’re not Beau,” Dirty Dave chirped from his spot next to Repo; he seemed to be looking at me with new eyes. “We were hoping for Beau. He’s so much nicer than you, plus he knows when to show respect.”

“Be that as it may, I’m trying to finish up here. So if you two will get to the point?” I set my hands on my hips, lifting my eyebrows, hoping they’d get my message to hurry-it-up.

“Now hold on a minute,” Repo rasped, lifting his hands up as though I needed to calm down. “We’re here with a business proposition. One I’m real sure you’re going to want to hear.”

“Not interested.” In an effort to show the alluded-to respect, I decided not to say, Not interested, asshole. Now go fuck yourself.

See? Very respectful.

“Just listen up.”

“No. You can leave the way you came in.” I flicked my hand toward the back of the shop then turned back to the carburetor and the well-lit table where it rested.

“You can’t say no to money, boy.” Dirty Dave lifted his voice.

“I’ll say no to anything involving the Iron Order.” I shrugged, showing the boredom I felt. I knew they were used to seeing fear and inspiring awe, the Iron Order wasn’t a joke; the club president was a criminal mastermind and a crazy fucker to boot. These weren’t good guys. But I’d never been able to muster up even the slightest trepidation where dumbasses were concerned—even dangerous ones.

“Why’s that?” This came from Repo. In my peripheral vision I saw the pair halt their slow progress into the shop, standing close and to my right.

“Because everything you do is illegal.”

“So? You race cars at The Canyon, right? Rumor is you’re one crazy motherfucker in the pit and make buckets of cash doing it. That sure as hell ain’t legal.”

“Racing for easy money is one thing, getting involved with your kind is another. I’m not my worthless father and I’m not interested in making money off other peoples’ misery.”

“How about making money to keep your family safe?”

A chill spread down my spine, making me stand straighter. I turned a questioning glare on Repo first, then Dave. I found Dirty Dave giving me a dirty smile. I faced them.

“Is that a threat?”

“No,” said Repo.

“Hell yeah,” said Dave.

Repo cut in before I could order them out again. “Now hold on. We’re not planning to hurt anybody. But you want to keep your family out of jail then you need to hear us out.”

“Keep my family out of jail? What are you talking about?”

Dirty Dave nodded once as he said, “Jethro.”

“Jethro?” I scowled at this. “No, no. I ain’t buying it. He washed his hands of y’all years ago.”

“Yeah, but before he did he stole us a lot of cars.” Dirty Dave said this with measured glee.

“So, what?” I spat. “You’re going to turn him in now? If you do that then you’re admitting to your own guilt.”

“Boy, didn’t I say listen?” Repo’s words were clipped in an unusual display of exasperation.

I threw my hands up and leaned my hip against the table, figuring that letting the man say his peace was the only way I was going to get them to leave. “Sure. Fine. Speak.”

“So your momma…” Repo paused. My eyes must’ve betrayed my spike in anger at the mention of my mother because he held his hands up again like I needed to calm down.

“I’m not down talking your momma, boy. I’m just saying, your momma died a month ago, rest her soul.”

I swallowed a lump of emotion, unable to stop thinking about my momma’s last days, how the cancer had taken her from us. I missed her; her kindness, her sweetness. I rallied against a sudden flash of nostalgia, knowing now—with these morons—was not the time to dwell on these thoughts.

“This is not news to me, Repo.”

“Yeah, but we been keeping our distance out of respect, giving you and yours time to grieve. We gave you a month. She was a good woman.”

“I’m not interested in your thoughts on my momma.” These words arrived through clenched teeth. He needed to wrap this shit up.

“Okay now, but here’s the thing, Brick and Mortar, the two Iron Order brothers your sister got arrested after your momma’s funeral—”

I cut him off. “They got themselves arrested because they were trying kidnap Ashley and Billy from the funeral.”

“And Brick and Mortar were only there trying to help your daddy because your momma tricked him out of his money.” Dirty Dave pointed his thick index finger at me. I wanted to snip it off with number twenty-four gauge wire cutters.

“That’s not how it happened. That money doesn’t belong to Darrell Winston. It never did.”

“Darrell is your daddy, boy. He and your momma had seven babies together, were married for years. That’s a long time, a lot of history, and a lot of kids for a man to wait for his fair share. Then your sister’s boyfriend, that park ranger—”

“Drew Runous isn’t Ashley’s boyfriend and he isn’t a park ranger. He’s a game warden.”

“Whatever. Drew Runous swoops in and sweet-talks your momma into signing over all her money. Now, how can you blame your daddy for trying to get what’s his?”

I had to grit my teeth to keep from hollering. Dirty Dave’s version of events was far from reality.

The truth was my daddy, Darrell Winston, was a no good, rotten, sonofabitch. In addition to riding with the Iron Order, he was a con man and an abuser. He’d married Momma for her money when she was sixteen—because she came from lots of money. He’d also beaten her and cheated on her. Habitually. And every time she tried to divorce him he’d used us kids to keep her from following through.

Finally, she outsmarted Darrell by filing for a separation from him, then selling all her belongings—her family’s house and all possessions therein—to a family friend named Drew Runous for a thousand dollars, thereby removing it from my father’s reach. She also signed over all her bank accounts and our trust funds.

That left Darrell spitting angry. But there was nothing he could do because Momma was already dead by the time he found out. So he showed up at my mother’s funeral with two of his Iron Order brothers—Brick and Mortar—and tried to kidnap Ashley and Billy; he’d likely been desperate and couldn’t think of another way to get his hands on Momma’s money.