Bronze (Blackwings MC - Devil Springs Book 5)

by Teagan Brooks

  I groaned. “Coffee or alcohol? Your choice.”

  A knock at the door interrupted our conversation. I cocked my head to the side and looked at Frankie. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  “No,” she said slowly and shooed me with her hand. “Go see who it is.”

  I was in no way, shape, or form prepared for what I saw when I looked through the peephole. Yanking the door open, I squealed in delight and launched myself into his arms. “Bronze! What are you doing here?”

  “Coming to see my woman,” he rumbled and stepped into the room. In a flash, he dropped his bag and had me pinned against the wall seconds before his lips devoured mine—until the sound of a throat clearing had him pulling away from me and scanning the room.

  “Hello!” Frankie sang and wiggled her fingers in the air.

  “I didn’t know you’d have company,” he mumbled near my ear.

  “I don’t have ‘company.’ We’re sharing a room. This is my assistant and dear friend, Frankie.”

  Right on cue, there was a loud thump on the other side of the connecting door. I sighed in exasperation. “That’s what you get for lying to the man,” Frankie pointed out and got up to open the door.

  “It’s called a joke. Tell your pig to play along next time,” I retorted.

  “You know I don’t have any control over her. She does what she wants. And judging by the sound of that headbutt just now, I’d say she wants your man.” With that, she opened the door and unleashed the beast before I could give him a fair warning.

  “Brat! No!” I yelled and tried to block him while shoving Bronze into the bathroom. “Frankie! You’re going to get us kicked out of here. I told you not to bring him.”

  “Well, it would’ve been fine if your man hadn’t shown up. You know what a hussy he is when males are around,” Frankie countered as she tried to corral Brat. I cringed with every thump, rattle, and bump I heard.

  “I’m torn. I don’t know if I should ask why there’s a pig running around your hotel room or ask why you’re calling it a brat first?” Bronze teased.

  “Brat, short for bratwurst, is Frankie’s pet pig. Brat loves men. Loves them. So, until she gets that sassy little ham back into the other room, you’re better off in here.”

  “Okay, it’s safe to come out,” Frankie called.

  “Why did you let him into the room in the first place?” I asked curiously.

  “You think I did that on purpose? Bitch, please. I was going in there to put him in his crate for the night. Then, he almost sent me ass over teakettle when he got a whiff of your man and barreled into the room.”

  “How did you two manage to sneak him into the hotel without getting caught?” he asked and made himself comfortable on the bed.

  “Frankie put his crate on the luggage cart and covered it with a blanket. We rolled him in through the back door when no one was around.”

  Bronze burst into laughter, surprising both of us. “Y’all smuggled a pig in a blanket!”

  I joined in with him while Frankie rolled her eyes and tried not to crack a smile. I wasn’t having that. All it took was one well-timed snort from me and soda shot from her nose when she laughed while swallowing. “Damn it, Demon! Why must you always do that to me?”

  “At least you weren’t near your desk this time,” I pointed out.

  “This is my cue to return to my room. Please keep the fucking to a manageable noise level. And if you could wait, eh, say thirty minutes for my sleeping pill to kick in, that would be stellar.” She turned and pointed a finger at Bronze. “She has places to be and things to do tomorrow. Do not keep her up all night. She gets these bags under her eyes, and they show up in the pictures, and then—”

  “Good night, Frankie,” I said sharply and started escorting her to her room. “I've got my alarm set for eight o’clock. I’ll be ready to head out by nine.”

  “Did you hear that, mister man? We have to leave by nine in the morning to have time to set up. We cannot be late. The queen has spoken. Good night,” she said theatrically and closed the door behind her.

  "And that's Frankie," I said and joined him on the bed. "So, what’re you doing here?"

  He shrugged. "Josie told Layla about your book signing this weekend, and Layla insisted on keeping Blue so that I could surprise you.”

  “That was so thoughtful of her. Please thank her for me.”

  “You can thank her yourself the next time you see her,” he countered.

  “But I don’t know when that’s going to be, and I don’t want to be rude.”

  He slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me against his warm body. “Thought maybe you’d want to come back to Devil Springs with me after my fight next weekend. I have to work Monday through Friday, but you could use one of the extra rooms at my house or my office at the gym to write,” he offered.

  A smile from deep within my soul slowly appeared on my face. “Could I sit at one of the tables in the bookstore and write?”

  “Yeah, but can you work with Josie staring at you the whole time?” he joked.

  “Oh, stop. She was totally relaxed around me after five minutes. Actually, I would like to spend some time with her. She has a genuine love for books, and I’d like to get her thoughts on a couple of ideas I have,” I explained.

  “Sloane,” he rumbled and rolled me to my back. “I need an answer.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “To what? You haven’t asked me a question.”

  He buried his face in my neck and rubbed his beard all over my sensitive skin. “Stop it, you big bearded brat!”

  We both heard an unidentifiable sound and froze. “Thanks for yelling his name, Demon!” Frankie shouted through the door.

  “Sorry!” I yelled and slapped my hand over my mouth to stifle my giggles.

  “Oops,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “It’s okay. I know how to make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he said and proceeded to keep my mouth occupied for the next several hours.

  22

  I’d just pulled my jeans over my ass when Frankie burst into our room without warning. “Okay, Sloane, this shit’s getting freaky! A breakfast tray was delivered to my room, and there was a tray of fruit with Brat’s name on it! And I bet there’s a tray for you and one for Bronze sitting outside of your door right now.”

  Sloane started to move toward the door. “No fucking way,” I insisted and quickly moved in front of her to open the door myself. Sure enough, two breakfast trays were waiting for us right outside the door.

  “One of you needs to start talking and tell me what the fuck’s going on.”

  Sloane kept her mouth shut, but Frankie spoke up loud and clear. “I’m sorry, Sloane, but I’m telling him. He’s more than capable of protecting you if he knows,” Frankie said and turned to me. “She’s being bullied online, and we think she has a stalker.”

  “We don’t know either one of those for sure, particularly the online stuff,” she argued.

  I turned to Sloane, shocked that she hadn’t mentioned anything to me. Instead of focusing on that, I went into work mode and started grilling her for answers.

  From what I could get out of both girls, a few of Sloane’s social media accounts had been shut down for various reasons that weren’t explained by the administrators. Shortly after that began, she started receiving unexpected gifts. Most of the gifts arrived at events, but at least two had been delivered to her mother’s estate. Fortunately, none of the surprises were anything other than what they outwardly appeared to be—a nice gift.

  I rubbed my chin, just like all the other men in my family, and grinned as I carefully chose my words. “I know someone who can help you with the online issue if you’re interested. Actually, I know a few people who can help with this one,” I said and paused. “You should’ve said something about your stalker to someone way before now. I’m not necessarily saying me, because we didn’t know each other that well then, but you could’ve and should’ve told your father or your br
others. In the meantime, I’ll act as your security detail for this event, and then we’ll make sure you’ll have personal security at all of your future events.”

  “Um, not that I disagree with your plan, but I’d appreciate it if you’d include me on decisions that affect, well, me,” she said firmly.

  “It’s not in my nature to pose things as a question. Doesn’t mean what I say is the law. You can say no, or disagree, like you just did,” I explained.

  “Are you hearing this shit?” she asked Frankie. “Is that not the most alpha thing you’ve ever heard? ‘It’s not in my nature to pose things as a question.’”

  Frankie giggled. “It’s definitely up there in the top ten.”

  “Ladies,” I said and redirected the conversation. “We need to focus on Sloane’s security. Since we don’t have time to arrange shit, the best plan I’ve got is to keep you by my side at all times.”

  “I don’t have a problem with that,” Sloane practically purred.

  “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Do not eat the breakfast from the unknown trays and finish getting ready. We’ll get food on the way. I’ll call the organizer and tell her we need another spot at your table. I can explain why and have her sign an NDA when we get there. And I just sent a text to see if the pig sitter can come early. There. We have a plan. Move it or lose it,” she said and snapped her fingers before disappearing into her room.

  “I really don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” Sloane explained as she continued to get ready for the day. “We don’t have any proof that the gifts were from the same person. The only thing they’ve all had in common is that there’s never a note.” She paused before adding, “Correction. Two things in common—no note and no return address.”

  “It is something to worry about. There's a reason people don't sign their names to gifts, and more often than not, it's not for a good reason."

  “But none of the gifts were harmful or anything bad,” she argued.

  “Yet,” I said and turned to face her. “Are you checked in under your name?”

  “No, the rooms are in an alias my family frequently uses. Why?”

  “Is that something that’s widely known?”

  She shook her head. “It shouldn’t be.”

  “Then, how did your stalker know which rooms you were in, and specifically which one was yours and which one was Frankie’s?” I asked and waited for it to click.

  “You think someone’s watching me?” she gasped.

  “That’s what it looks like to me,” I told her honestly.

  After that, Sloane remained unusually quiet until we arrived at the event venue.

  “How many signings have you been to?” I asked, hoping to get her talking while I helped her set up her table.

  “I don’t know the exact number. Maybe ten,” she shrugged. “I usually go to three events a year, but I have a few more this year because several new events popped up that looked like fun.”

  “Are they all like this?”

  She laughed. “No, they’re not. This is one of the smaller events I attend. Most of the time, there’s a meet and greet the night before, the actual signing, a dinner or gathering after, and occasionally there’s an activity scheduled two days before the event for those who come in early.”

  I didn’t miss the way her voice slightly shook when she spoke. Placing my hands on her cheeks, I met her eyes, “Are you worried about your stalker?”

  She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t have anything to do with that. I always get nervous right before an event. I don’t think that will ever change—no matter how many I attend.”

  I didn’t think that was what was really bothering her, but I let it drop since they were about to allow the first set of readers into the event. When we first came down to set up her table, a long line of people waiting to get in had already formed at the entrance, so I was expecting a decent-size crowd once the doors finally opened. Clearly, Sloane and I had different definitions of a “small” event.

  I was right. Before long, a line had formed at Sloane’s table. Frankie spoke to the readers in line while she gathered orders and handled payments. I, on the other hand, sat back and never took my eyes off of Sloane.

  She was in her element. The genuine smile she wore on her face was broad and beautiful. It was obvious to anyone in the vicinity how much Sloane loved her job and cared about her readers. She spoke to everyone who came to her table, took pictures with those that asked, signed whatever was handed to her, and even rounded the table to hug several readers.

  Two particular women caught my attention when they arrived at Sloane’s table again. “This is the third time they’ve been by here,” I said low enough for only Frankie to hear.

  “There’s a reason for that,” Frankie replied cryptically.

  “Bronze, will you carry their books out to their car for them?” Sloane asked and pointed to the large box behind her chair.

  What was she thinking? There was no way in hell I was leaving her side, but I didn’t want to look like a jackass, especially in front of her fans, so I…misled them. “I would if I could,” I started and rubbed my hand over my scar. “I almost lost my life to a stab wound, and I was given very strict limits on the amount of weight I could lift when they released me from the hospital.”

  All four women gasped at my words. “Oh, no, no, no! We can’t have that,” Ginger insisted. “If you have smaller boxes, we can divide them up and make two trips to get them to the car.”

  Once they were gone and there was a lull in traffic, Sloane turned to me with narrowed eyes. “Why did you lie about not being able to carry their books?”

  I sat forward and held up one finger. “One—I’m not leaving you for any reason whatsoever while I’m in charge of your security. I don’t know them, and neither do you.” Pausing, I raised a second finger. “Two—I didn’t lie. I did almost lose my life from a stab wound, and the doctor did put strict limitations on the amount of weight I could lift. What I didn’t specify was when that happened.”

  It wasn’t long before she once again had a line at her table and returned her attention to her readers. Thankfully, there was no unusual activity, and I didn’t notice anyone that seemed suspicious to me. And I would have noticed because I was scanning for enemies like I was in an active war zone until Sloane turned to me with panic in her eyes. “I maybe, kinda, sorta forgot to tell you about the photo shoot I have scheduled this evening.”

  “Say what now?” I asked. Already on alert, her odd behavior did nothing but increase the tension.

  “Um, well, I-I,” she stammered.

  “She scheduled a boudoir-type photo shoot after the event, and she’s embarrassed to tell you,” Frankie blurted. I liked her, and the way she said what needed to be said, even if Sloane didn’t want to say it.

  I grinned devilishly. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

  “No! You can’t come!” Sloane all but shrieked.

  Moving closer, I pulled her to me. “That’s what you’ll be saying if you try to stop me.”

  “Fine, you can come,” she muttered and placed a kiss on my cheek. “But, I really do need to get packed up, so I have time to shower and redo my hair before my session.”

  “You’re still not going by yourself. Not after everything you told me this morning.”

  “I wasn’t going to go by myself. Frankie’s coming with me.”

  Frankie smiled. “He can come with me and Brat.”

  “How’s that going to work?” Sloane asked and arched a brow. “You won’t be able to keep that hog from humping his leg.”

  “Ah, shit! You’re right. I’ll be right back,” Frankie said and darted across the aisle to another table.

  “What’s she doing?”

  Sloane shrugged. “Probably going to see if Suzanne will watch Brat so you can come to the shoot with us.”

  “Does she need to go if I’m going?”

  Sloane laughed. “Yes, she does. She has her own session book
ed after mine.” I stared at her blankly and waited for more. “Oh,” she said, finally realizing the issue. “Frankie’s having some shots taken for her website and updating her headshots. She won’t care if you’re there.”

  “Suzanne and her husbutt are going to watch the ham!” Frankie announced in delight.

  I cleared my throat. “Why didn’t you leave the pig at home?”

  “Oh, one second, please,” she said and reached for her phone. “Let me show you what happens when an angry pig has a temper tantrum.”

  I scrolled through pictures of various degrees of destruction—including chewed up carpet, a destroyed laundry basket, and something that looked like an explosion of glitter. Shaking my head, I handed the phone back to her. “Enough said.”

  We arrived a few minutes early for Sloane’s appointment, which turned out to be a good thing because my presence changed the entire session.

  “Sloane! It’s so good to see you!” a woman greeted when we entered the room. When her eyes landed on me, she froze. “I didn’t know you were bringing a model.”

  “Oh, he’s not a model. Amy, this is Bronze, my friend, and he’s my security detail today. Bronze, this is Amy, the photographer,” she introduced.

  “Ain’t your fucking friend,” I rumbled against the top of her head while I pinched her ass cheek—hard—since I knew she wouldn’t appreciate me slapping it in front of her colleagues.

  Amy studied me for several long beats before she turned to Sloane and mumbled something I couldn’t clearly hear. Sloane’s reply was even harder to make out, but I felt the need to intervene when she started shaking her head, clearly disagreeing with Amy. “What’s going on, Sloane?”

  She turned to me with a smile on her face. “Everything’s fine. We were just discussing the plans before we begin.” Directing her attention to Amy, she added, “I’ll go ahead and get changed so we can get started.”

  With that, Sloane took my hand and led me to the bathroom. Or so I thought. “What kind of bathroom is this?”

  Sloane giggled. “We’re in the dressing room where the bride and bridesmaids get ready for the wedding. Amy likes to reserve bridal suites for these kinds of sessions,” she explained.