Craving (Steel Brothers Saga Book 1) (17 page)

“What are they?”

“Old stuff of my father’s. I was always told it was junk, but I’m not so sure anymore.”

My eyes adjusted to the dark. Lots of brown cardboard boxes, well over twenty, sat in the space, taped up just as Marj had said.

“Let’s get them all over here close to the doorway,” she said. “Then we can pull them out one by one and go through them.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

The two of us yanked all the boxes near the entrance. By the time we were done, my knees were crusted with dirt and hurt like hell. I crawled out of the crawl space, and Marj followed, lugging the first box. She pulled it down into the extra bedroom and then repositioned the door to the crawl space.

“We’re going to need something to cut through this tape,” I said.

Marj smiled. “Not a problem.” She pulled a Leatherman out of her pocket. “I always come prepared.”

She quickly cut through the tape and opened the first box. “Just as I suspected. Bunch of old files and records.” She sighed. “Well, let’s go through them.” She handed me a pile.

I opened the first file and went through it. “This looks like mostly old quitclaim deeds. I mean, these go way back, over a century ago.” I leafed through the delicate papers. “There are even some old chattel mortgages in here. You don’t see those anymore.”

“What’s a chattel mortgage?” she asked.

“A mortgage on a thing, rather than on a piece of property. These are old ones, from England.”

“The Steels are originally from England,” she said.

“You don’t see them in the US,” I said. “What we have here are secured transactions.”

“You mean like collateral?”

I nodded. “A chattel mortgage is basically the same thing. For example, it looks like this one is on a threshing machine.” I handed it to her.

She shook her head and gestured for me to put the document back. “I probably wouldn’t understand it anyway.”

“What exactly are we looking for?”

“To be honest, I have no idea. But I bet we’ll know when we find it.”

I let out a giggle. This was kind of fun, like a game, looking for clues. I finished going through my stack of documents and reached for another. “What do you have in your stack?” I asked.

“Some old census documents, it looks like, from when the Steels first came over here from England several generations ago. A couple of birth certificates for relatives I’ve never heard of.” She kept going. “Are these more of those chattel mortgages you were talking about?” She handed me some papers.

“Yep,” I said. “We’ve got to be getting to the bottom of this box soon.”

Marj let out a sigh. “Is it worth going through these boxes? This is all ancient history.”

“Yeah, you could be right.” But something in me wanted to continue. “Maybe we should look at one more box.”

“Okay.” Marj put the lid on the first box. “I’ll re-tape this later.” She opened the door to the crawl space, pulled out the second box, and opened it.

She handed me a stack of files and took a stack for herself. I opened my first file, and lo and behold. “I think this is your dad’s birth certificate,” I said, handing her a document.

“Yeah. Bradford Raymond Steel. I wonder why his birth certificate has been boxed up with all this other historical stuff?”

“I think what that means is that this
is
all historical stuff,” I said. “We may have to go through all these boxes after all.”

“You’re probably right.”

I kept shuffling through the folder. “Hey, I have your parents’ marriage certificate. Bradford Raymond Steel to Daphne Kay Wade.”

“Wade?” Marj bit her lip. “Are you sure?”

I handed it to her. “Pretty sure.”

She perused the document. “I’m not sure what this means, but I was always told that my mother’s maiden name was Warren. In fact, Ryan’s middle name is Warren, after my mom’s maiden name.”

I didn’t see how this could have any relation to Talon, but it was definitely suspicious. “We should probably ask Jonah about it.”

Marj nodded. “Absolutely. If they lied to me about this, they could easily be lying about other things.”

“Hey, look,” I said, leafing through the rest of the papers. “Here’s Jonah’s birth certificate. And Talon’s and Ryan’s. And look, here’s yours, Marj.” I glanced at the document. “How come you never told me your first name is Angela?”

“What?” She grabbed the document from me.

“Be careful. These are old documents.”

I looked through the others. Jonah Bradford Steel. Ryan Warren Steel. Talon John Steel, all born to Bradford Raymond Steel and Daphne Kay Steel, née Wade.

Talon John. Such a strong rugged name for a strong rugged man.

“This is totally bizarre, Jade. My name is not Angela. They always told me my name was Marjorie Steel, no middle name.”

“Who always told you that?”

“My dad, when he was alive. And I never asked my brothers, but I assume they would tell me the same thing.”

That was odd. “Maybe they just decided to call you Marjorie.”

“Well, sure, I could understand that, but why wouldn’t they tell me that I went by my middle name? My signature should be A. Marjorie Steel. Not just Marjorie Steel. And come to think of it, all three of my brothers have middle names. Why would they decide not to give me one? It doesn’t make sense.” She stood. “Come on.”

“What?” Talon’s birth certificate fascinated me, and I wasn’t quite ready to stop looking at.

“We’re going to go see Joe. I want some answers. And I want them now.”

I glanced at my wristwatch. “It’s after nine o’clock.”

“I don’t care. I just found out my name is Angela. I suppose it’s not that big of a deal, but why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Okay. You go ahead, and I’ll keep looking through these documents.”

“No, I want you to go with me. Please? He’ll be less likely to get all big brother on me if you’re there.”

I let out a laugh. “Okay, good point.” I closed my folder, placed it back in the box, and stood, brushing off my knees again. “You’re driving.”

T
he boy didn’t
wear pants. They had been taken away from him the first day. He wore only his T-shirt. Even though it was summer, he was cold most of the time in the dank concrete basement. He spent most days and nights wrapped in the dirty blanket they’d given him.

Hot breath on the back of his neck—that’s what the boy hated the most. The rank stench of stale cigars and liquor. They’d always been drinking when they came. Sometimes they drank during.

The pain, the humiliation—as much as he hated them, he had learned to detach himself. One day he would be so used up he would die on the hard floor. No one would notice or care.

But the hot breath…the demonic stench…that wind from hell wafting over him.

He never detached from that.

H
ot breath
…stench of alcohol, stale cigar smoke…

A blunt object poked me in the back. “Your wallet, asshole,” the voice said.

I elbowed the assailant in the ribs, knocking him to the ground. I kicked his weapon down the alley and then booted him in the side a few times. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You think you can just take what you want? Life doesn’t work that way, you dumb fuck.”

I kicked the bum’s face and walked away.

This wasn’t the first time I had been mugged. I often walked through the seedy area on the outskirts of the city at night, just waiting for some dumb-ass to try to jump me. Two times before tonight I had been jumped, and two times before tonight I had disarmed the mugger and beat the shit out of him. No one had ever called the cops on me. I didn’t care if they did. I was careful never to do any lasting damage. Plus, self-defense and all.

I wanted to go back to that one, though. I used my will not to go running back and pummel him to his death.

The sickly heat of his breath on my neck. The acrid stench.

I wanted to see him dead.

But I wasn’t crazy. I knew killing was wrong, despite my time in the Marines and despite everything else I’d been through. I still had morals, and I knew how to exist in society. I knew right from wrong. I wasn’t a sociopath. I knew this as well as I knew anything. I’d done my share of research.

I didn’t beat people up indiscriminately. But hey, try to mug me, take what is mine, and I’ll make you pay. Not too many would argue with that thought process.

The face of Jade’s ex emerged in my mind. He was the exception. He hadn’t tried to take anything from me.

Or had he?

I had become an animal when I saw him kissing her. All rational thought had fled, and I had lunged forward to protect…what was mine.

I had no right to think of her as mine. I had nothing to offer her.

She was the only thing I had ever truly wanted.

And I had no right to her.

I walked into a seedy little dive that served rotgut whiskey and catered to two-bit whores. I wasn’t proud of it, but I had spent more than my share of time in the little alcove. There had been a time, after I turned twenty-one, when this place was my second home. I drank and fucked myself into oblivion, trying—and failing—to ease the pain that consumed me. I hadn’t been here in years, but still it stood, a haven for the melancholy, the outcasts—the people like me.

I sat down at the bar next to an old geezer in a blue-and-yellow plaid flannel shirt and a hunting cap.

A bartender who looked like he’d seen damn near a century strolled up to me. “What’ll it be?”

I cleared my throat. “Whiskey, straight.”

He poured me a drink from a bottle I’d never seen or heard of.

I downed a shot, burning my throat. Yep, rotgut. But I was in a rotgut kind of mood. I pushed my glass to the edge of the bar and signaled the bartender for another.

The old geezer next to me turned toward me. “Troubles, son?”

I shook my head in the low chuckle. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“You need an ear? I got nowhere else to go.” He held out his hand. “Name’s Mike.”

I shook his hand. “Talon.”

“Talon, like a bird’s claw?”

I nodded. “That’s the one.”

“Mighty unusual name.”

Not the first time someone had commented about my name. “My mother liked it. My dad wanted to name me John. That’s my middle name.” I took a sip of my drink. I’d take this one a bit more slowly.

“That’s some real crap you’re drinking,” Mike said.

“So?”

“So, you look like the kind of guy who can afford the good stuff.”

“Why do you say that?”

Mike looked down. “Those ostrich cowboy boots, for one.”

I let out a huff. “Maybe I like the crap.”

“If you say so. Me, I love to taste that good stuff once in a while.”

I took another sip. Mike looked tired. Old and tired. “What you do, Mike?”

“Worked construction all my life. I’m retired now. My wife passed away year ago, so it’s just me and my dog. What about you?”

“I’m a rancher.”

“That can be a hard life,” he said.

I laughed. Yeah, for most, ranching was hard. For the Steels? Not so much. We were lucky. Great-Grandpa Steel had started out with nothing, and between him and Grandpa, they built an empire, adding the peach and apple orchard to the already thriving beef ranch. Dad had built the winery, and he and Ryan had created another empire.

Not that we didn’t work hard. We did, Jonah and Ryan especially. They were known to put in twelve-hour days. But money was never a worry.

No, my ranch wasn’t the source of my problem.

“We do okay,” I said.

“Then what’s eatin’ at you, boy?”

I glared daggers at him. “Don’t call me boy.”

“Sorry. Meant no disrespect. But something’s bothering you. I can tell.”

I sighed. “I just got mugged.”

“Don’t surprise me none, walking around this area dressed like that.” Mike coughed.

“Last time I checked it was a free country, Mike. I should have the right to walk where the hell I want without someone trying to take something that’s mine.”

“I can’t argue with you, son. But you gotta use your smarts, too. You don’t look stupid to me, but it seems stupid for someone like you to be walking around here after dark and not expect to get mugged.”

“I took care of it.”

“You don’t look any worse for the wear.”

“I don’t, but the dumb-ass mugger sure does.”

Mike raised his eyebrows and took a long draft of his beer. Then he let out a laugh. “So you didn’t give in, I take it?”

“Hell, no.”

“And you kicked his ass?”

“Into next week.” I took another sip of the rotgut.

Mike chuckled. “Can’t say he didn’t have it coming.” He finished his beer. “So tell me, what’s eating you? And don’t tell me you’re upset over the mugging. If you didn’t want to be mugged, you wouldn’t have come down here.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Mike let out a little chortle. “I’m thinking I’m hitting a little too close to home for you, son.”

“So you’re a shrink now?”

“Not by a long shot. Just an old guy who’s been around the block a few times. I’ve been told I’m good at reading people. And I think I just read you better than you wanted me to.”

“You don’t know damned thing about me.”

“Now that’s not true. I know you’re rancher. You said so yourself. I know you were walking outside in the dark in this area with those boots on, and that made you prime meat for the muggers. I also know that you knew damned well you were likely to get mugged, and you did. You didn’t let the mugger have anything, and you walked away unscathed.”

I downed my drink and motioned for another. “You don’t know shit, old man.”

Mike gestured the bartender for another beer. “You get to be my age, and you know a lot. I know right now that you’re hiding something. Now, I don’t know what it is, but you’re going to have to deal with it sooner or later if you want to live a happy life.”

“I’m perfectly happy.” What a crock.

“Son, perfectly happy people don’t walk around asking to get mugged.”

I downed my third rotgut whiskey and threw some bills on the counter. “I’m out of here.” I stood and turned around, ready to walk.

“Running away is never the answer, son.”

I didn’t know why I turned back. I had heard those words before, from my brothers, from myriad other people. But something in Mike’s voice spoke to me.

I sat back down and looked into his watery blue gaze. These were eyes that had seen a lifetime, eyes that seemed to hold…something. Was it empathy? “You really think you know me, old man?”

Mike coughed again and smiled. “I don’t know the color of socks I put on this morning, but I know you need to face your life. Just like everybody else in the world.”

I shook my head. “Everybody else in the world doesn’t have my life.”

“Maybe not. But they have their own hardships. Never doubt that.”

I didn’t doubt that, not really. Did I? Maybe this old man had something to say after all. “All right. I’ve got a few minutes. Give me your wisdom, Mike.”

“Hell, I’m no sage. And even though I know you’re hiding something, I don’t pretend to know what it is. But you’ve got to let it go. There is no great secret to life. It’s pretty simple. You’ve read Thoreau, haven’t you?”

I nodded. I had read Thoreau, but I was pretty surprised that Mike had.

“It’s like he says. Suck out the marrow of life.”

“Thoreau was living in the wilderness. Refusing to do his duty. Pay his taxes. Pretty much being a spoiled brat, if you asked me,” I said.

Mike laughed aloud. “I can’t really disagree with you there. But the man had a lot of worthwhile things to say. You need to concentrate on the good things, no matter how small. Find the good in everything, and suck it out.”

The man was hardly eloquent. But Mike’s words resonated with me. Could I?

“Tell me something good about your life,” he said.

I remained silent.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been in this funk so long that you can’t see what’s good in your life. Clearly, you have no financial worries, judging by those boots you’re wearing. That’s got to be a good thing.”

I took a sip of drink and nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good thing.”

“For God’s sake, son, don’t be so blasé about it. I scrimped my whole life, and now I’m existing on what little I get from Social Security. Financial worries are a big part of most people’s lives. Be thankful you don’t have them.”

I raked my fingers through my hair. Suddenly I felt like a very small person. “You’re right.”

“Now what else?”

“I have two brothers and a sister. They’re all really great.”

“Good, good. Family is everything. And what else?”

Jade. She was actually the first thing that had popped into my mind when he asked about something good in my life. For some reason, I couldn’t bring her name to my lips. She wasn’t mine, as much as I wanted her to be, because with the same amount of desire, I didn’t want her to be. I didn’t want to bring her into my tortured existence. I didn’t want to ruin her. She deserved so much better.

“You got yourself a girl?”

I looked away.

“Or a guy? I don’t judge.”

My nerves prickled. “There’s a girl. But she’s not mine.”

“She doesn’t feel the same way about you?”

I didn’t know. She was clearly not repulsed by me. “She seems to like me okay.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Tell her how you feel.”

“I don’t really know how I feel.” It was the God’s honest truth.

“I don’t buy that.”

“I’m no good for her. She deserves better.”

“You need to stop that self-defeating attitude, son, if you’re going to be happy in life.”

Happy? I had given up the notion of happiness twenty-five years ago. “I’m not being self-defeating. This is just a fact. She deserves better.”

Hell, she deserved the best. Unfortunately, that wasn’t me.

“What could be better for a woman than a man who loves her? You do love her, don’t you?”

Did I? I didn’t know what that kind of love was. I had no frame of reference. I was used to taking what women offered. I had never given them anything in return.

And then it hit me like a house falling on my head. That was the problem with Jade. I didn’t want to just take from her. I wanted to give everything back to her as well, and I didn’t think I was capable of it. I hungered for her, longed for her. Was that love?

“I don’t know,” I said honestly.

“Don’t you think you owe it to yourself to figure out what your feelings are for this woman?”

I stayed silent.

“Don’t you think about her at all?”

Again, I stayed silent.

“Look, son, take a look at your life. Maybe it hasn’t been a joyful one, and I’m sure sorry about that. But there have to be moments of contentedness. Sift through the crap. Find those moments. When have you felt the most content?”

I smiled. I actually smiled at this old man who was the wisest person I’d met a long time.

“I’ve been the most content when I’ve been with her.” I stood.

“Now where are you off to?”

“I’m going home. But before I do, give me your address, Mike.”

“Whatever for?”

“You’ve helped me a lot. I’d like to send you something in gratitude.”

He scribbled something on a napkin and laughed. “Well. I won’t turn that down. It’s been great talking to you, Talon. I honestly do wish you happiness in the rest of your life.”

The road would be rough and icy, but maybe I could trudge along and find happiness.

One thing I knew. By tomorrow evening, Mike would have a case of the good stuff delivered to his door.