Page 1 of Psycho

Chapter one

Psycho

Cool air brushed the back of my neck as I ducked under the hood of the minivan. Autumn had swept through town in a cascade of red, orange, and gold. Jack-o’-lanterns grinned from porches and windows. The crisp scent of impending snowfall lingered on the wind that gusted down from the mountain tops.

But the changing seasons didn’t slow the steady stream of clients filing in and out of Steele Repair Auto Shop all morning.

I liked the work, staying busy. I could lose myself in a machine for hours, piecing it together like a puzzle—gears and pistons, hydraulics and valves.

And it was a welcome distraction from the insomnia that plagued me. For three nights straight, I hadn’t slept a wink. Flashbacks kept me wide awake, ruminating in circles. Sleeping pills were useless—they just made me groggy on top of the agitation that I already experienced.

My vision blurred. A tremor seized my hands, and I curled my fingers into fists.

Too much caffeine again. Pumping it into my system so I wasn’t catatonic during my shift at the garage.

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting to regain focus.

“Uncle Psycho!”

I froze, listening. When I reached this level of sleep deprivation, it wasn’t unusual to start hallucinating weird shit that wasn’t even real.

Scrubbing the back of my neck, I returned my attention to the engine in front of me. The metal was solid beneath my palms, grounding me in the present moment.

When I was a kid, I watched my old man lose his mind to schizophrenia and alcoholism—a potent combination further aggravated by the stress of having a small child. He refused to get the help he needed, too wrapped up in his pride to bother with medication or treatment.

Then my mother ran away with another man.

And something in my father just…snapped.

His paranoia went off the deep end. His drinking made everything worse. Eventually, Child Protective Services took me away, placing me in the foster care system. And I never saw my father again.

But I lived the rest of my life with the fear lurking in the back of my mind…what if I turned out to be just like him one day?

“Uncle Psycho!”

I startled and banged my head against the hood of the van. Those voices were definitely real, I was sure of it now. Rubbing my throbbing skull, I carefully eased away from the car and glanced up.

Parked at the garage’s curb was Bruiser with The Reckless Order’s cage—a battered black utility van. She wasn’t pretty, but she was functional, reliable, and she got us where we needed to go.

Hades emerged from the passenger side and hauled the sliding door open. His kids tumbled out in a whirlwind of energy, making a beeline straight for me.

Mia was ten years old, and she looked like her mama, Jenny, with the same bright hazel eyes, chocolate brown hair, and a kind heart.

Casey was five years old, a carbon copy of his daddy, Hades, with tightly coiled jet black curls, and a firecracker attitude that would probably get him in trouble one day.

“Hey, little monsters,” I said, as they bounced around me like jumping beans.

“Do you have any candy for us, Uncle Psycho?” Casey asked, clinging to my leg.

“Uncle Bruiser said that carrot sticks taste better than candy,” Mia said. “But I don’t think he’s telling the truth.”

I snorted a laugh.

“You’re right. Uncle Bruiser is a rotten liar. Maybe we should teach him a lesson. What do you think?”

Mia and Casey snickered, their eyes glittering with mischief.

My heart squeezed to see these kids so happy, loved, and protected. Thank God their childhood was nothing like mine.