Page 7 of Screwed

It wasn’t the first time we’d been forced to stay on site in a work trailer like this. But our last few remote gigs weren’t nestled in the coldest part of Blackwood Lake. And our last trailer also didn’t reek of dried diesel fuel, musty BO, and stale cigarette butts. None of us even smoked, and truthfully? I would’ve taken my chances with the rat.

By the time we were all clean and finishing breakfast, Deacon was joking around again. He was either sullen or an asshole most days, with very little room in between. And right now, he seemed to be in asshole mode—even with the jokes.

“Ready to head out to see what Princess Ava wants done today?” he asked, scraping around his bowl for the last of the oatmeal.

Ethan shook his head. “Well, she’s an architect. I’m actually kinda excited to see what she has planned for the old place.”

If Deacon was a walking stormcloud, then Ethan was a perpetual ray of sunshine. He always saw the bright side of things regardless of how dire the situation was. Not that having Ava Barden around as our newest client was dire at all. Surprising, confusing, concerning? Maybe.

Hearing her being brought up only sent my thoughts straight back to yesterday. She looked great. I’d hardly recognized her after all these years, but the second she opened her mouth—yep, that was Ava alright.

I remembered her being a little smartass even back when she wore braces and was all limbs and awkward conversation. She still had a mouth on her, even if everything else except that head of golden brown hair and wide, watchful green eyes had changed. The rest of her, though… I cleared my throat.

“Don’t disrespect our clients,” I reminded Deacon. “It’s unprofessional.”

“Planning on reporting me, then, Boss?” he returned. “Come on, we’re not on the clock yet. And I’m not saying anything either of you aren’t already thinking. Are you guys really looking forward to bowing to the whims of some city girl who didn’t even have the keys to her own house?”

“Hey,” Ethan said with a frown. “That wasn’t her fault. We don’t know why she was in such a rush to get this place, for all we know, there wasn’t even—”

“Oh, take the cape off, Moore,” Deacon said, getting up to dump his empty bowl in the sink. “We all know what her kind is like.”

“Her kind?” asked Ethan.

“Yeah. Spoiled, rich, hotshot city slickers who come to this side of the woods to slum it out and find themselves, or whatever,” he said. “She’s not hard to read. And don’t forget how we had to literally kick the front door down just so she’d have a place to sleep for the night. She still had the audacity to look pissed.”

“You’re kind of jumping the gun, aren’t you?”

“No, Moore, I think you’re just thinking with your di—”

“Stop it, both of you.” I stood up now, promptly ending the argument. Both guys turned to face me. Even Deacon shut his mouth. “Look, we’re only here because Jules asked us to look out for her. I don’t know any of the details, but it sounded like she was in a bad way.”

Deacon mumbled something under his breath, but his livewire energy fizzled out at the mention of Julia. Ethan nodded. These two morons weren’t my blood, but they were my brothers. And if they were my brothers, then that meant Jules was like their little sister too. I knew they both had a soft spot for her and would do whatever she asked. And she’d been desperate for this.

I didn’t ask questions. I knew about that kind of loyalty.

“All I need from you both is just to get the job done, and then we can leave. Think you can do that?” I asked.

Deacon scoffed. “Sure. If we don’t die of suffocation in this metal trap, first.”

“Suck it up, Matthews,” I waved him off. “I’m sure you’ve had worse than a trailer that’s a little tight on space. It’s only for a few months. How bad can it be?”

Deacon gave me a dead stare. Then he stood up and ripped ass.

I didn’t wait for a split second for my senses to be assaulted before I threw my shoulder against the flimsy aluminum door, bursting into the freezing mist while Ethan shoved right past me.

“Oh, God, it’s seeping out of the trailer!” he wailed. “I can taste that shit!”

We were both gasping for the clean mountain air, stumbling blindly into the nearest bushes. I doubled over with my hands on my knees, hacking and coughing violently as the cold morning mist irritated my lungs. But I would take that a million times over smelling whatever the fuck Deacon let loose back there.

“Um, good morning.”

I looked up, having mostly recovered, while Ethan still stood spluttering. Ava stood a few feet away, watching us with a fascinated and amused expression on her face. I wondered if she witnessed the whole thing or if she’d only come out in time to watch us cough up our lungs in the brush.

“Morning,” I rasped.

“I wanted to let you guys know that I’d like for you to start the day by fixing the front door you kicked in. I could barely sleep with the icy draft that came in through it,” she said.

Ethan was still heaving, and I heard shuffling from where Deacon had finally stepped outside of the trailer. She waited patiently, her eyes darting to each of us and making a return trip back to me.