Turbulent Intentions (Billionaire Aviators #1) - Melody Anne
Tires squealed as a sleek, silver Jaguar shot out onto the highway. An unsuspecting car cruising along slammed on its brakes just in time to avoid a wreck with the Jag. The four brothers sitting in the Jaguar didn’t give a damn about the commotion they were causing.
This wasn’t unusual.
They continued speeding along, trying to outrun the demons chasing them as they flew down the highway, hitting over a hundred miles an hour and continuing on, faster and faster.
It wasn’t quick enough. They kept on going until they hit the edge of town in Bay Harbor, Washington, where they found a dilapidated bar with a blinking neon sign that had some of the letters burned out.
Cooper, who was driving, jerked the steering wheel and came to an abrupt halt outside the run-down building. “Good enough,” he said. His fists clenched with the urge to hit something, or better yet, someone.
“Yep,” his brother replied from the backseat.
Getting out of the car, they made their way to the entrance, an undeniable swagger in their gait—a swagger that made people turn and watch them wherever they went. Though young, the Armstrong brothers already had a reputation in their small community for stirring up trouble.
When they entered a room, patrons would turn away, glancing back at them with a wary eye. The brothers were the first in for a fight and the last ones standing.
They were wealthy, and not above flashing their fat wallets, Rolex watches, and extravagant cars. They were also arrogant and hot-tempered, a foursome to both be leery of and look at with awe. Cooper was the oldest at twenty-four, each of his brothers one year, almost to the date, behind him: Nick at twenty-three, Maverick at twenty-two, and Ace, the baby, at twenty-one.
On this night, though, they were looking for more than just the usual trouble. They were out for blood, but the demon chasing them was relentless, and no matter how fast they moved, this was something they couldn’t outrun.
Their father was dying.
Maybe it was the feeling of helplessness or maybe, for once, it was not being the strongest ones in a room. Whatever it was, Cooper, Nick, Maverick, and Ace were scared, and because they wouldn’t admit that, they were trouble to anyone in their path.
This band of brothers had always been revered as much as they’d been feared. They were tall, lean, and had distinct green eyes that hid their innermost thoughts but shone with a sparkle that most couldn’t resist.
Walking indoors, Cooper sighed in anticipation. Smoke filled the air as loud music echoed off the walls. A few heads turned in their direction, and Cooper scoped them out, looking for a potential boxing partner.
The nervous energy rising off him in waves needed an outlet, so the first person that gave him the slightest reason would feel the wrath of his heartbreak, denial, and feeling of helplessness.
As if the patrons knew this group was up to no good, they cast their eyes downward, particularly annoying Cooper in their weakness to accept the challenge radiating off his entire body.
The boys ordered beers, then leaned against the bar, facing out as they scanned the crowd. None of them spoke for several moments, each lost in thought.
Cooper was thinking they might just have to give up on this place and find a new location when his gaze captured the angry look of a man shooting pool. Cooper smirked at the guy and practically saw steam rise from the man’s ears. The stranger began making his way toward them. Cooper’s fists clenched with the need to punch.
“You’re the Armstrong boys, right?”
The man was swaying as he stepped closer to them, his glazed-over eyes narrowed. Cooper stood at full attention. This just might be the huckleberry he’d been in search of.
“Yep,” Coop said, not altering his stance at all.
“I hear your daddy’s on his deathbed.” The man said the cold words with glee.
Maybe the man was too drunk to know exactly what he was doing, but instantly the four brothers stepped a bit closer to one another, their knuckles cracking, their collective breath hissing out.
“Maybe you shouldn’t listen to gossip,” Maverick said in a low growl.
“Oh, I don’t think it’s gossip. You see, your daddy has run over many real workingmen to get to the top of that mountain he’s built for himself. And now he’s getting the early death he deserves.”
Nick instantly stepped away from the bar, but Cooper shot his hand out and stopped him. “He was looking at me, Nick,”