Hendrix: Caldwell Brothers (The Caldwell Brothers Book 1)

I’m standing in front of the bar with a sledgehammer in my hand when Jagger pulls up.

“What the hell are you doing?” He hops out of his Dodge Charger and walks toward me.

“Taking out the front windows and the walls.”

“The walls?” he asks, grabbing the sledgehammer. “You know how many times we put these bitches back in?”

I laugh and nod. “They have been broken a few times, haven’t they?” Before I have time to say anymore, he swings the hammer, and then broken glass goes flying. “Fuck! Jesus, Jagger, safety fucking glasses!”

“Those things are for pussies.” He swings again and hits the wall.

I head to the truck and grab two pair of safety glasses and another sledgehammer. I hand him the glasses, and he rolls his eyes yet puts them on.

After spending a couple hours releasing a shit ton of frustration, the storefront is demolished. We fill the wheelbarrow then take the rubble to the dumpster out back.

“What the fuck possessed you to do this shit now? It’s February, man.”

“Finished the hardwood upstairs last Sunday and Monday. The railing is up. The place looks too fucking upscale. Gonna put a garage door in the front. When we’re open and it’s warm, it can stay up. When we are closed, ain’t no motherfucker gonna be breaking a window, that’s for sure.”

“A garage door?” he laughs at me.

“Think about it, man. Fucking perfect.” I step back and look at the gaping hole in the front of my place. “Looks good.”

“Are you out of your dammed mind?”

“Nah, think of the private parties we can have.” I smile at him. “Monday night cards?”

“No, shit. Morrison will love that.” He is catching on now.

“His ass may be able to win every other place he plays, but not here. We know his tells.” I laugh.

“We sure as hell do.”

*.*.*.*

By dark, Jagger and I have the garage door hung. It looks cool as fuck.

In the cities, they use those gates in front of storefronts, but I’m not trying to make it look like the hood any more than it already does down here. I sure as hell don’t want to keep replacing windows, though.

To the right is another entry door, allowing access when the large door is down

Consent is fucking required.

I laugh to myself and feel shit stir a bit in my jeans. The giggler was one hot piece of ass, and for some reason, I can’t get her out of my head.

I try to shake it off and decide I am sure as hell gonna have a sign made that says, ‘Consent is fucking required,’ when I finally get one that says, ‘Caldwell’s Dive,’ to replace the Hooligans sign of my dad’s.

*.*.*.*

I look up and laugh as Morrison struts into the bar. “Well, there he is. New do?”

I swear, not one of the three of us look alike, but you would think Momma was banging the delivery man when she got knocked up with Morrison. Jagger and I can pass as brothers, more on the basis of eye color than anything else. Morrison, though, he has blue eyes. Fucking pretty boy dresses like he is from uptown, too. “Gotta have swag,” he says when we bust his ass about it.

“You home for a while longer than expected?” Morrison’s choice of career gives him flexible hours and as he puts it ‘travel benefits.’

He takes off his jacket, blowing his hands to warm them. “Sure as fuck wish I was in Vegas right now. It’s cold as a witch’s tit in a brass bra out there, man.”

“What’s keeping you?”

He holds his hands up and rubs his thumb and fingers together. “Waiting on pay day.”

“You broke, man?” Morrison always has money. The fucker is a card shark and never loses. He has been banned from a few casinos because they thought he was counting cards, even though he wasn’t. He is just that damn good.

“Bet everything I had on a fight.” He smiles as I slide him a cup of coffee.

“And you haven’t been paid yet?”

“I bet a lot.” He winks.

“I see. Good for you, man, good for you.”

“When you gonna have entertainment in here?”

“Couple weeks probably,” I say as I sit on my stool behind the bar and take a drink.

“What are you gonna do to draw them in until then?” He smirks, and I know exactly what he is thinking.

“Nah, man.” I smirk back.

“We haven’t done a proper ladies’ night in years, Hendrix.”

A few years back, Momma and the old man took off for a week. They went to a casino or some shit, and I was left in charge. We didn’t have a band that night, since the old man wouldn’t allow it. Said we couldn’t be trusted. I needed bank and so did my brothers, and band nights were the big pay nights. Morrison had a date the next week with one of his highballing bitches, the kind who required flowers and dinner before they put out. I was trying to fix up my Nova with a new, small block engine. Jagger wanted to hire a trainer. As a result, we advertised a ladies’ night, and the place was packed.

Morrison was fucked up and ended up dancing on the bar. Then Jagger hopped up there, too, and both of them stripped down to their boxers. The crowd started chanting my name, and I had drunk just enough to make me say, “Fuck it.”

I threw the bar rag over my shoulder and decided to join the fun. I got up and grinded a bit, lost the boots, the socks, the shirt, and the broads were still begging. Jagger was turned around, twerking at the crowd or some shit, and I snapped his ass with a bar rag. Funny as hell. I still remember him being pissed until I handed him a shot.

About that time, I dropped the denim, and well, let’s just say, underwear isn’t my thing. The fucking chicks went crazy. I pulled the bar rag off my shoulders and covered up the crowned jewels of Caldwell then grinded some more.

“Not gonna happen.” I laugh as I tuck the memory back away.

“You worried mine is bigger than yours now?”

“I ain’t worried about shit.”

“Bullshit. This place has kept you busy as hell for a few months now. When’s the last time you got laid?”

I’m not one to kiss and tell, so I simply shake my head at him.

“Don’t you worry about my dick. Worry about your own.”

Jagger strolls in, smiling. “We on for tomorrow night? I just hung up a bunch of flyers. The Caldwell boys are back to providing Ladies’ Night Delight.”

“No, man, we aren’t.”

“That’s not what the flyers say.” Morrison laughs and fist pumps Jagger.

“Look, shit’s changed over the years, man.” I shake my head. “Laws and codes, man.”

“You got that door. Shut the bitch when it’s packed in here.”

I stand back, lean against the back bar, and cross my arms. “Don’t pull that shit on me again. I’ll let it happen this once, but not again.” They smirk at each other the same way they used to when they pulled the wool over Mom’s eyes. I suppose I was the oldest, and with that came responsibility and shit. “I’m not getting up on my bar.”

“Bullshit,” Jagger laughs. “All for one and one for all, man.”

“I own this place. It ain’t happening. Besides, I tend bar Thursday nights. No coverage, so don’t fucking push. Be happy I’m allowing it.”

I look up as a chick walks into the bar, holding the newest ‘Help Wanted’ sign. She is bundled up in what seems to be four or five scarves and an oversized coat. With her hat covering her head, it is hard to get a good look at her, but even in layers, it is not lost on me that she is a hot, little piece.

“Hi, I’m here to inquire about the position.”

Morrison’s lips turn up as he turns on his stool to give her his undivided attention. “What position are you applying for?”

“Um, any position is fine with me. I’ll take whatever you can give me.”

“I’ll give you whatever position you—”

I smack him in the head with the bar rag to shut him the hell up. “You have any experience?”

As soon as the words leave my lips, I regret them. My brothers both turn around, biting their tongues.

“Very limited, but I’m a real quick learner,” she says in a sugary sweet tone. Too sweet. She will get eaten alive in here.

“Really don’t have time to teach anyone—”

Her hand immediately goes to her ass, and I swear to fuck she rubs it. Is this some new trend and I missed it? First the broad at the fundraiser and now this chick with the ass rubbing.

“Well, shit, I do.” Morrison smirks as he turns back around to her. “You’re hir—”

“Morrison,” I cut him off. He continues anyway.

“Come back Thursday night, eight o’clock, and bring your friends. You still think you can handle any position we have to offer, you got yourself a job.”

My jaw is twitching from clamping it so tight. Before I can calm myself down enough not to scream at my brother, she smiles, turns, and all but runs out the door.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I snap at him.

“Getting you some help.” He winks. “If you don’t want to teach her the ropes,” he says as he grabs his dick, “I will.”

“First of all, if I hire someone, you don’t fucking touch them. Second of all”—I point to myself—“I hire my employees, got it?”

“Fuck, I don’t care. I just hope she comes back Thursday.” He laughs like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“If she does, I’m tagging in,” Jagger adds, only putting more fuel on the fire of my untamed aggression right now.

“You fuckers are sick.” I take a drink of my coffee and turn on the TV. Monday night football will be on soon, and my Lions are playing tonight.

Jagger gets up and walks behind the bar. “I’m making wings. You guys want some?”

The rest of the night, we sit at the bar, eating wings—our Monday night tradition with Mom. The old man was always taking off on Monday nights and going somewhere. Always said it was a card game, but I heard him telling Mom once that he needed a break from his responsibilities on Mondays. His responsibilities. That was a fucking joke.

As I look at my brothers, both seem happier than they have been in a long time. I’m sure Momma is proud of them.