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Story: Reclaimed

“No, but if he’s the only one who can help Dylan through this transition, I can’t keep him from that, right? I can’t let my own anger get in the way of what Dylan needs.”

“Ace is really the only one who can help?”

“I think so,” I said.

“Ugh. I hate this.”

“Join the club.”

Cassidy sighed. “But, if that’s the best solution for Dylan, I think you’re right. I love that kid. I know he’s been having a hard time at school. If Ace can help him manage his dragon, I think it’s worth it.”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Don’t sound so shocked. Obviously, I’ll gut him if he hurts you or Dylan.”

“I’d gut him first,” I said with a smile. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I like it when you go protective mama-bear mode. Or should I say mama-dragon?”

“I’m not the dragon in the picture,” I said. “Sometimes I wish I was. It’d make this whole process a lot easier.”

“I know. But I think you’re making the right call, all things considered.”

“Thanks, Cass.” Upstairs, the music cut off, and I heard Dylan shuffling around. “I’ve got to run. I need to order some wings and try to get this kid to eat a vegetable.”

Cassidy laughed and wished me luck. I felt better after talking to her, but the reality still loomed over me like a thundercloud. A summer back in Lakeview. A place I hadn’t been in a decade.

Would I ever be ready to see Stephan again?

2

ACE

“Yeah. Yeah—just the body repair? We’re still on track for next week. Nope—no, we can’t speed it up. Right. We’ll see you next week. Thanks for calling Cole’s.”

Dropping the phone back into its cradle, I leaned back in my desk chair. I tipped my head to one side, then the other, cracking my neck. I’d been sitting at my desk for way too long now, but I was responsible for managing the shop’s invoices, so I’d be here for at least another hour or two.

I stood and stretched my arms over my head with a groan. Internally, my dragon stretched too, and I felt the rustle of his wings. Unfortunately, there was no time for a quick head-clearing flight, not until I finished all this paperwork.

Stepping forward, I looked out over the shop. My second-level office wasn’t big, but it had an immense glass window overlooking the shop floor below. From here, I watched my employees work. We’d been booked for weeks, and it didn’t look like it would be letting up anytime soon. On the far end, my guys were painting a Mustang a pearlescent green; in the middle a coupe was having its doors adjusted to butterfly-style; and close to the entrance a Nissan’s body was being lowered so much thedriver would be hard-pressed to get it out of the garage at all. My guys were skilled and fast. I paid well enough to attract the best mechanics and technicians in upstate New York. And on a beautiful day like this, I let them work with the garage doors flung open and classic rock blasting through the speakers.

I ran a tight ship, which was one of the reasons we were so booked. But it wasn’t just a body shop. That Mustang was a special order, and I had a lot of others like it.

I turned back to the desk and thumbed through the special orders. Each invoice was for a body repair or enhancement—a new trim, new rims, bumper fixes, or paint jobs. Each repair corresponded to the client’s special order—a half dozen handguns, a semi-automatic rifle, and all kinds of ammunition. The clients brought their cars in with cash tucked into certain compartments, and we stocked them with the ordered weapons.

I withdrew an invoice from the bottom of the pile and scanned the list. This sprawling order had come in the previous week. It was like this client wanted to do a taste-test of all the weapons we had to offer. It was a vetted referral, but something about it made my hackles rise.

I sat back down at my desk. When running a front like Cole’s, you couldn’t afford to ever let your guard down. That’s why I triple-checked all the referrals and managed our client base. The feds had been after us for years, but hadn’t managed to find any evidence of wrongdoing. But if they foundmerunning this? I’d be locked up again in a heartbeat, and this time, it’d be for a lot longer.

And those seven years had been a really long time.

I picked up the phone and dialed the number on the invoice.

“Mr. White?” I asked.

“Speaking.”

“This is Ace from Cole’s Body Shop. I’m calling about your recent order.”

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