Screwed, p.1
Screwed, page 1
SCREWED
WOOD BROTHERS
ABBY KNOX
Copyright © 2023 by Abby Knox
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is coincidental.
Edited by Aquila Editing
Cover Designer: Cover Girl Designs
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CONTENTS
Screwed
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Abby Knox
SCREWED
Wade
When a new employee injures herself on the job, I take responsibility. The pretty Presley isn't making it easy on me, though. She's a terrible patient, and won't rest and let her body heal. What choice do I have but to take her home with me so I can keep an eye on her at all times?
Presley
My boss doesn't get it. I can't pay off my father's debt if I can't earn an income. The gorgeous Wade thinks he can make my problems go away, but he has no idea of the mess I'm dealing with. He should stick to fixing houses and let me handle my own issues. Being left alone to fend for myself is all I've ever known. I'll be fine...probably.
CHAPTER ONE
Presley
My felon pops’s enemies found me.
And I’m out of a job. Again.
I tried to explain to my boss at the gas station that those guys in the expensive suits were liars. That their business cards are phony. That they show up to my jobs regularly, claiming that I used to work for them and owed them money, even though I don’t.
“My pops is in debt to them, not me.”
My now-former boss believed them — the New York guys in the fancy suits with the Russian accents — over me and apologetically sent me packing. “I’m really sorry, Presley, but I don’t need this kind of trouble at my store,” he’d said.
Apologies don’t change the fact that I’m now without a job and have no marketable skills. Ruby’s Diner isn’t hiring, and Ruby’s catering business only pays per gig, and there are not many events in this town where she needs me.
I’ve spent all afternoon begging for work at every business in town. The visitor center, city hall, the brewery, the junk stores, the supermarket…nobody has anything for me. I even checked at Rex’s Garage. Not that I know how to fix cars or drive a tow truck, but as the mayor’s human companion, Rex knows everything going on in town.
“You might check with Wood Brothers; they’re always looking for crew members,” Rex had said.
That’s very generous of him to think I know the first thing about what to do with nails and screws and whatnot.
“I’m sorry, honey. A yarn store just doesn’t have the volume of customers that would demand more workers other than Hayden and myself,” Billie says on my final stop at her yarn and crafting store.
My last rejection of the day. I can’t take any more.
I understand what she’s saying. But I’m done now, and I’m headed home to eat my weight in ramen and cry in front of a re-watch of Gossip Girl.
You’d think a couple of wise guys trying to collect a debt would prefer I earn a legitimate income to pay off my Pops’s debts at some point.
But that’s not what they seem to care about. It’s all intimidation. Those guys from New York don’t want my money in drips and drabs. They want me to come and work for them and for their oligarch boss. They want me dependent on them, just like everyone else who works for their boss.
I shudder to think what that means.
I amble down the street, feeling on edge after what happened today. I walk with regular glances over my shoulder, even in this town of 1,001 people.
The sun sets behind me, and I can’t see very well, but a shadowy figure seems to be following me.
Was that the same stranger who got me fired today? He was smoking a cigarette on the stairs of the old courthouse as I zipped from store to store, looking for work today.
I’ve resisted Ivan Guzinsky’s overtures for so long now that I worry that his thugs will up and grab me right off the street now that they found me. Especially now that there’s no employer here accounting for my whereabouts.
I recall what one of them told me when they first approached me last year, right before I left the city and went into hiding: “No one will miss you. And things will be easier if you come willingly. He knows you like pretty things, like that Prada bag you have there. There’s a lot more where that came from if you don’t put up a fight. Ivan Guzinsky prefers it that way. Less messy.”
That day is burned into my brain. I vomited my meager dinner after that.
My pulse pounding, I decide it’s best if I make contact with as many people as possible tonight. Someone will have been the last person to see me. Someone will miss me. Someone, hopefully, will help me.
When I get to the aromatherapy store, I consider ducking in there for safety. Dammit, it’s already closed.
I look again, and the man turns and heads into Other Brother Ben’s Brewery. I blow out a breath of relief, scurry past the aromatherapy store, and head down the block, past the construction crew at the old Ingalls house. Thank goodness my best friend Grace’s husband, Buck, doesn’t tolerate catcalling from his crew. The Wood brothers have been rehabbing old, abandoned homes all over town, and not once have I been whistled at as I stroll through downtown.
“Downtown” is a bit of a stretch. Not much happens here. No noise at night except for the crickets and the occasional live band at the brewery.
The quiet is too quiet tonight, and I scurry to my crappy apartment in the sagging three-story Victorian.
I felt more secure in my crowded New York neighborhood. I believe in safety in numbers.
I had to leave that high-rise apartment in Manhattan, though, after the Russians came after me.
It’s funny how important people who have been scammed still want their money back, even after the guy who conned them ends up in prison.
Not funny haha. Funny as in, “Gee, I guess I’ll have to leave the city and live a quiet life in a flyover state where nobody would look for me.”
One run-in with those guys was enough. I packed up all my shit, moved to the middle of the country, and picked the first town that spoke to me. The first place that was weird enough for the likes of me but also made me feel at home.
As a testament to Fate’s welcoming vibe, a basket sits by the front door of my apartment building with a note that has my name on it, scrawled in permanent marker. I smile, pick up the note, and read, “I woulda brought it up to your door, but I guess that creep landlord of yours finally installed a code entry, praise Jesus. By the way, I peeked in your buggy at the grocery store, which traumatized me for life. Don’t you dare write me a thank you note. Just stop by for a visit sometime.”
The note isn’t signed, but I know who it’s from. The aroma coming from the basket makes my mouth water. Old Ernestine cracks me up. She’s got to be 85 years old, and she insists on bossing around everyone in town in the most loving way possible.
It was Ernestine’s billboard boasting the “Curiosity Spot” that first caught my attention and had me pulling off the highway to investigate. Turns out it’s a hill out back of her farmhouse where she has set up a tourist spot and gift shop, claiming that the hill defies the laws of physics. Something to do with the earth’s magnetic pull. I don’t get it, but I bought a souvenir shot glass on that first visit because it was just fuckin’ weird enough for me. Ernestine then invited me up to the house for fried chicken that was so spicy it melted my face off, and I knew I was home.
I lug the basket to my apartment and examine the contents of it as I sit by the window overlooking the street. The golden buttermilk biscuits inside have been sliced and slathered in Ernestine’s homemade jalapeño pimento cheese, and I’m drooling before I can unwrap them. A baggie of her chocolate chip cookies is buried underneath the biscuits, still warm. As an afterthought, there’s also a container of cut veggies and ranch dressing on the side. The woman feeds me like the grandmother I never had.
I stuff my face and watch the work crew at the Ingalls house below pack up and head home for the day. Buck’s truck has already left for the Paget mansion, where a pregnant Grace is waiting. I want to text her but don’t want to disturb their evening. The house is probably still bursting with gifts that they haven’t opened yet from the baby shower, and I can’t help but smile when I think about that big, gruff guy unwrapping boxes of baby clothes and toys. Buck is so sweet to her; I bet he’s already giving he r a foot rub and telling her not to overextend herself. Against my will, the image of him kissing her swollen belly pops into my head, and I feel a tightness in my chest.
I’m not in the least bit attracted to Buck, and I’m really happy for Grace. I wonder what it’s like to have someone to talk to every night.
I nibble on one of Ernestine’s buttery biscuits, loaded down with her spicy pimento cheese, and spy one of Buck’s brothers closing up the job site. It’s Wade. The middle brother. The grumpier and stressed out one, by all accounts. He’s objectively hot, all tattoos and rippling muscles as he locks up tools and other expensive supplies, bags up trash, and moves piles of junk from here to there. Weirdly, his hard hat and safety glasses are kind of a turn-on. However, I’m not a fan of how he gave Grace a hard time when Buck first hired her. Wade was suspicious of her and more or less accused Buck of thinking about getting laid rather than the bottom line.
By Grace’s account, she and Wade are on good terms, and he’s a great brother-in-law, but the brothers can be a bit hotheaded with each other.
I still haven’t forgiven Wade for being rude because Grace must be protected at all costs. That’s the thing about best friends: we don’t have to grant forgiveness to those who wronged the people we love. Hurt me? Sure, we can work things out. Hurt my friend? Yeah…no. I’ll make a sport out of being petty to you for the rest of my days.
My phone pings, and I wipe my buttery fingers on the napkin that Ernestine graciously included with my food before I touch my phone screen.
Grace: My water just broke!
I stand up straight, sending the baggie of cookies tumbling from the basket. Chocolate chip cookies crumble into a million pieces.
I FaceTime Grace right away. “OMG! Do you need me to come to the hospital? What do you need? Anything at all!”
She replies, “I’m good! Buck is handling everything, even the ice chips, lol. He’s getting the good ice from Ruby’s.”
“I’m so excited! Please keep me posted! And don’t you dare let anyone hold that baby before me!”
“After Buck and me, you’ll be the first.”
“I love you!”
“Love you too, Pres!”
Between Ernestine and Grace, I’ve been fortunate to attract good people to me in Fate.
I’ve been less lucky with jobs and money, and don’t even ask about romantic relationships. That’s a complete nonstarter in my current situation.
I gaze forlornly at the cookies on the floor.
Yeah, I’m still eating those tonight.
Tomorrow, I’ll talk to Ruby’s husband, Nick, the foreman at Wood Bros. Construction, and see if they need someone to sweep up.
At this point, I’ll take anything to pay the rent.
What to do about the oligarch’s thugs?
I have no idea.
CHAPTER TWO
Wade
My brother Buck left me with a mountain of paperwork, but I’m in a half-decent mood today. After all, I just found out I’m an uncle for the first time. How cool is that?
And how could I fault my big brother for falling behind on things at the business? The man has been understandably preoccupied for the last nine months leading up to the birth.
Besides, I owe him big time after acting like an ass to his then-girlfriend Grace when we’d first met. I didn’t trust Buck’s instincts about her talents at staging, and they both proved me wrong. Now that she’s my sister-in-law and a damn good stager — even by our sister’s standards — we’re good.
What’s not good is my handling of the office duties, try as I might. Buck has been away on family leave for less than three days, and I could use some help organizing this mess.
I sort through the piles and put invoices in one section, insurance forms in another, and receipts in another. Right. I still don’t know what to do with any of this other than simply hold down the fort until Buck returns from family leave.
I’m a doer. I tear things down and build things back up. I make kickass custom shelves and cabinets. I can restore hardwood floors, plant trees, and I know how to work a scroll saw. But make me write an email to a vendor, and I am at a loss.
I’m staring at my computer screen, trying to think of how to compose a help wanted ad for the town square bulletin board, when Nick, my foreman, opens the construction trailer door and knocks on the doorjamb.
“Hey boss. We have a problem.”
I glance up to see that the guy’s usual carefree demeanor is looking ill.
“Not you, too,” I joke. “No more having babies on this crew. I can’t handle anyone else leaving me twisting.”
Nick grimaces. “No, it’s not that. Though, to be honest, Claribel has been asking for a baby sibling for a while now, but that may not be in the cards for us.”
Oops. I just put my boot so far down my mouth it’s coming out of my asshole. “Sorry, man. I forgot.”
“No worries. I just wanted to tell you we have a problem with one of the new crew members. He’s real young and inexperienced. Doesn’t even know how to use a wheelbarrow and dumped some bricks on his foot. And the worst part is, he wasn’t wearing the regulation boots.”
“Ah shit, are you serious?”
Nick adds, “And he’s refusing to be seen by the doctor.”
I stand up. “Is he okay?”
Nick shrugs. “Yeah. I’m real worried about his foot, though. He needs to get it checked out, but he’s resistant.”
I scrub a hand through my hair. “This isn’t good. I’ll go talk to him. You stay here and fill out an incident report. Do you know how to file those?”
“Sure do,” Nick says.
“Great,” I say. “Where is this kid?”
“In the break area, putting his foot up. I’ll handle the phones here. The rest of the crew has everything covered.”
I find my way to the temporary tent out back that serves as a break area for the crew and immediately spot the little guy. His back is to me, and he has his foot elevated on a chair as he downs a bottle of water.
“How’s the foot?” I stand in front of the guy, arms crossed over my chest, ready to be the big, mean boss before I pack him off to the hospital. I’ll wait until his hospital bills are paid before I fire him. I don’t want to let anyone go who is willing to work, but I don’t want to get slapped with a fine for child labor.
But when that downturned face in the hard hat looks up at me, I forget all about the stern boss act. Sharp eyes look back at me from a soft-angled face with hair tucked inside the hard hat. This is not a young dude. This is a woman.
“My foot’s fine,” she says in a low-pitched voice.
I look at the file and back up at her. “You’re…Jeffrey?”
“Yep. I’m Jeffrey.”
I force myself not to smile at this blatant lie. “Jeffrey, how old are you?”
The kid thinks for a minute. “I’m 26.”
Twenty-six. Sure she is.
“Okay, Jeffrey. You’ve put me in a really awkward position, did you know that?”
She shakes her head frantically. “Please don’t fire me, Mr. Wood.”
Her sweetness tears at my chest. She must really be desperate for a job.
“Call me Wade.”
Out of nowhere, the kid bursts into tears, and her cheeks burn pink. Whoa. I assumed she was very young, but did Nick hire an actual middle school girl?
“Please don’t fire me! I know those guys can be hardasses, but they’re liars. You have to believe me.”
Weird thing to say, but alright. “Listen. Don’t worry about OSHA. We can handle the safety inspectors. You’re not the first person to be injured on the job.”
The girl looks confused. “Inspectors?”
I squint down at her. “How old are you? For real.”
