EDGE OF REASON

by Barker, Freya

  Honon and Paco thought the whole thing was hysterical, and spent the next half hour ribbing me, until I threw a few bills on the bar and stalked out of there. For the second time that night.

  Shee-it, the woman had me all turned upside down. So I steered clear.

  Until today.

  I didn’t think seeing her would have quite the impact it did. That dress helped. Those innocent eyes, over those sinful curves, almost did me in. Good thing she beelined it out of there before I could make a fool of myself in front of my sister.

  I stopped to have a smoke outside when the couple made their grand entrance, only peeking in a few minutes later to find Evan’s boss stumbling all over Jaimie.

  Those blue startled eyes looking up at me, her pink lips falling open when I turned her in my arms. Suddenly, none of my reservations mattered much when she felt so perfect against me.

  Over dinner, I touch her as much as I think I can get away with. I even drag her back on the dance floor a time or two, something my sister apparently finds hilarious.

  Although Jaimie eventually starts taking part in the conversation around the table, she’s yet to say a single word to me.

  “I’ll drop Jaimie later,” I tell Sandra, who just mentioned being ready to go home.

  “Perfect, I’ll just grab River and take her car,” her mother announces.

  “Excuse me,” Jaimie speaks up sharply, and all heads turn her way. “You’re talking about me like I’m not even here.” Her first dirty look goes to her mother, but the next is reserved for me.

  The fire shooting from her eyes has me instantly hard. Fuck, call me a fool, but I love that sharp tongue of hers.

  “I’m perfectly capable getting myself home. I’m thirty-eight, not twelve. I don’t need my mother and…” She seems momentarily lost for words, before finishing with, “…whatever you are, making plans for me.”

  “Okay,” her mother drawls, with an air of patience. “So you want to leave now too?”

  Jaimie swings her head around and bulges her eyes at her mother. “I didn’t say that.”

  Sandra throws her hands in the air. “Fine, figure it out by yourself, I’m getting River and heading home in your car. Come or stay, whatever you decide.”

  Jaimie sputters under her breath as her mother says her goodbyes. “I’ll stay until they cut the cake,” she finally says. “I won’t be long.”

  Not long turns out to be another couple of hours exercising patience for me, until I can finally escort her to my truck and help her in. The moment I slide behind the steering wheel, I lean over, wrap my hand around the back of her neck, and pull her close, covering her lips with mine. She gasps into my mouth and I take the opportunity to taste her deeply.

  Fuck me, she even tastes like vanilla.

  Her tongue is tentative as mine boldly sweeps her mouth, but one of her hands has found its way to the back of my head, holding me close. The sharp sting of her nails on my scalp tells me she’s as much into this as I am.

  When she moans softly down my throat, I break away from those sweet lips. I have no choice; otherwise, I’ll have her fucking riding me in the middle of the parking lot.

  “Holy shit,” she mumbles, touching a few fingers to her swollen lips.

  “Yup.”

  I press the heel of my hand against my dick, willing it back into submission before I start the engine. Fat chance of that happening.

  Shee-it.

  CHAPTER 6

  Trunk

  “YEAH,” I SNARL into the phone.

  My eyes stay on Jaimie, who is still breathing hard from the scorching kiss I just planted on her.

  “Are you still in town?” Ouray’s voice sounds rushed on the other end.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  Jaimie starts squirming, but I use my free arm and hips to keep her pinned against the wall next to her front door.

  “Security company called, silent alarm is going off at the gym. Cops are en route, could you meet them there? Bubba is on his way, but he’s coming from Cortez. You have a key, right?”

  I do have a key. Most of the brothers do. We have workout space in one of the garages at the compound, but in the winter months it gets pretty cold in there, so we head into town. I do most of my workouts during the night; I don’t sleep a lot.

  The gym is owned by the club, as is the yoga studio next door, and they’re only a few minutes away.

  “I’ll check it out.”

  I end the call and stuff the phone back in my pocket, before slipping a hand up Jaimie’s spine and into her hair. A slight tug brings her head back and I slam my mouth over hers, sweeping my tongue between her lips for a last taste.

  “I gotta go,” I mumble against her mouth when I come up for air. “Be in touch.”

  I’m already walking to the truck when she calls out.

  “Wait!” She shakes her head to clear it before focusing squinted eyes on me. “What the hell happened? What are we doing here?”

  “Don’t have time for that now, James. Like I said, I’ll be in touch.”

  Something tells me she doesn’t like my response when she throws me a dirty look before letting herself inside, immediately turning off the outside lights. No time to worry about that now.

  There are two patrol cars in the parking lot when I pull up to the building.

  “Are you Trunk?” one of the officers asks when I get out of my truck.

  “That’d be me. What’ve we got?”

  He walks ahead of me to where the bottom glass panel on the door to the gym has been knocked out. Glass is everywhere. “Stay behind us while we clear the place,” he says, pulling open the door that was left unlocked.

  I follow them inside. Before I have a chance to flick on the lights, I can already smell the wet paint.

  “Jesus.”

  Every wall, including the large mirror where the weights are stacked, is covered in red paint. Splashes, lightning bolts, tags and what looks like a fist with the middle finger extended.

  “Check this out,” one of the officers walks up to the boxing ring, where a huge red puddle is spreading over the canvass.

  “Shit. Must’ve been more than one,” I suggest, amazed at the amount of damage done in what couldn’t have been that long between the alarm going off and the cops getting here.

  “Two or three at least. Bunch of punks, probably. We’ve had some vandalism around town. May be the same kids.”

  “Hey, Conley!” the other officer yells from the back room. “Looks like they left out the back. Found a can.”

  Twenty minutes later, another patrol car has joined the first two outside the gym, and a female officer is taking pictures and collecting evidence, when Tony Ramirez walks in.

  “What’ve we got?” he directs at Officer Conley after only a nod my way.

  It’s not that he and I were ever what you’d call friends, but it’s clear I’m not his favorite person right now. Not that I give a fuck.

  While Conley fills Tony in, I slip outside to have a smoke. I pull out my phone to send a quick message to Kaga, when Bubba’s ancient Volvo 244 pulls into the parking lot.

  Bubba Williams is a former heavyweight boxing champ who manages the gym for Arrow’s Edge.

  “Fuck me,” he growls, taking in the broken glass in front of the door.

  “Wait ’til you see the inside.” I crush the butt under my boot before following him in.

  “Sonofabitch.” The other man stops in the middle of the gym, his eyes on the floor of the boxing ring.

  “Bubba.” Tony comes walking from the back of the building and shakes the hand of the big black man. It shouldn’t surprise me they know each other. A lot of local first responders prefer this gym to the two larger ones on the south side of town. “Have you had any troubles lately? Anyone come in and give you a hard time?”

  “No more than usual.”

  “Any idea—”

  Bubba holds up his hand to cut Tony off and tilts his head to the side. “Hear that?”
<
br />   I concentrate on listening, but all I hear is a sporadic ticking in the overhead pipes or maybe the ductwork.

  “Water running,” he clarifies. “Where’s that coming from?”

  We spread out to check any taps or toilets in the locker rooms and the small kitchen in the back. “Nothing in here,” Tony concludes.

  “There’s a tap at the back of the building,” Bubba suggests, already moving to the back door.

  Outside, the female officer is walking around with a flashlight, looking through the brush. She looks up when we step through the door.

  “Hey, watch where you’re going.”

  “It’s okay, Smith,” Tony calls out from behind me. “Have you noticed any water running?”

  The woman cocks a thumb over her shoulder. “Not sure where that hose is leading, but it’s feeding into something. I assumed an irrigation system or something.”

  Bubba is already on the move and curses loudly. “Those fuckers!”

  The plain garden hose looks like it was shoved in a vent at about shoulder height on the back of the yoga studio next door. Bubba yanks it out and I quickly turn off the tap.

  “Do you have a key?” I ask him and he holds up his key ring.

  There are a couple of inches of water on the floor when we walk in, and the hardwood floor moves under our feet.

  “I’m calling Ouray,” Bubba announces, pulling out his phone as I splash through the water to the back room, where I find a kitchenette with one of those stackable washer/dryer units against the far wall. The hose behind it feeds right to the vent visible on the outside.

  “What do you think?” I ask Ramirez when I step outside. “Look like just some kids to you?”

  He shakes his head slowly.

  “If I were you guys, I’d keep an eye out.”

  Jaimie

  I’ll be in touch, my ass.

  I feel like a goddamn yo-yo, being reeled in only to be flung away again. Been there, done that, and I didn’t even get a T-shirt.

  I knew he’d be bad for me. I just knew it.

  When he literally swept me off my feet, like some kind of movie hero, and carried me out of the bar, the thin shield I was holding up already started cracking. Granted, I kept a low profile after that embarrassing episode, but he was nowhere to be seen either.

  Then the wedding, that’s where he figuratively swept me off my feet; first on the dance floor and later with those soul-melting kisses. Only to disappear again.

  Tahlula and Evan got married almost three weeks ago. Asshole. Nineteen days since he pressed me up against my own damn porch and mauled me stupid—not that I’m counting.

  Luckily, I’ve been able to stick close to home, busy updating Tahlula’s website, dealing with a decent backlog in emails, and scheduling social media posts for the next few months. Unfortunately, I have to venture out this afternoon, and it’s snowing like mad.

  Tahlula has a conference call with her entire publishing team about the upcoming release of Mens Rea. She wants me there, which means I need to shovel the damn driveway so I can back my Honda out.

  The past few snowstorms Ollie plowed my driveway, but she’s not home. She, Joe, and the kids are off for a few weeks in the Bahamas, visiting Joe’s parents, so any snow clearing is on me.

  I dive down into the hallway closet to dig out my boots.

  “How about pork chops for dinner?” Mom calls from the kitchen.

  “I don’t care, Mom,” I snap, irritated as I pull stuff from the bottom of the closet that has become the catchall for stuff without a proper home. Newspapers, River’s baby carrier he’s long outgrown, an old diaper bag, a box, a sweater, and about ten pairs of flip-flops—as well as my boots.

  I toss everything back and am about to return the small box to the closet when I remember Joe’s son, Mason, dropping it off last month. It had been delivered to their place by accident. I toss it on the hall table instead and shove my feet into the boots.

  “You know…” Mom comes walking out of the kitchen and stops a few feet from me, her hands on her hips. “You’ve been in a foul mood for weeks. Snapping at me, impatient with River, grumbling and scowling the rest of the time. What on earth has gotten into you?”

  Suddenly flushed with guilt, I run my hands over my face. I know she’s right. “I’m sorry, Mom, it’s just…”

  “That boy? Trunk?”

  I snort. “Uhh, hardly a boy, Mom.”

  “I saw you, you know. The night of the wedding. Didn’t mean to spy, but I heard a phone ringing outside and looked out the window.”

  I blush at the thought my mother was a witness to that carnal kiss. It stole my breath and did a few other things to my body besides. “It was just…it didn’t mean anything.”

  “Bullhickey! You don’t fool me.”

  “Mom, I’ve gotta go,” I dismiss her, reaching for the door. “Otherwise, I’ll be late.”

  “So pork chops then,” she calls after me, and I can’t help smile.

  I give her a thumbs-up before I walk out the door.

  It’s coming down good. I pull the hood of my jacket up and tug on my gloves before making my way to the garage to grab the shovel. There has to be at least ten or so inches piled on my Honda already.

  It’s backbreaking work and I’m already sweating buckets underneath my coat, when I hear the sound of a car door closing and then footsteps crunching up the driveway.

  “Gimme that.”

  The next moment the shovel is yanked from my hands, and Trunk’s big form starts clearing the drive without even giving me a look. The heat underneath my thick coat ratchets up a notch and I swear steam starts coming from my ears.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He tosses a big pile of snow in the front yard before turning to me. “Tahlula called me. She said you were heading to her place for work, and she was worried you might not get out of your driveway.” As if that is satisfactory explanation, he turns his back to me and goes back to work.

  “So you’re only here because your sister sent you?”

  His shovel stops mid-scrape and he drops his head between his shoulders. “Shee-it.”

  “What makes you think I want you here if you don’t wanna be here?”

  He slowly turns around. “Been busy.”

  “That’s nice,” I snap. “But I don’t really care.” I step around him, snagging the shovel from his hands and attack the snow. “I’ve got this.”

  “Jaimie…”

  “Don’t ‘Jaimie’ me, Trunk. Let’s just go back to ignoring each other.”

  I push a pile of snow off to the side and turn back to the driveway, when I find him standing right in front of me. He grabs the shovel from my hand and tosses it in the snowbank, snagging me around the waist with his other arm.

  “You—” That’s all I manage before his mouth slams down on mine. The hard, closed-mouthed kiss is as effective as the hungry one from weeks ago was. My hands grab onto his biceps for stability, and his groan vibrates against my lips when my fingers dig in.

  “Fuck, James,” he mumbles when he lifts his mouth.

  It takes me a minute to find my equilibrium, but once I do, I don’t hesitate hauling back and punching him squarely in the gut. It’s like slamming your fist into a brick wall.

  “Fucking hell,” I yelp, tears stinging my eyes as I shake the pain from my hand. Then I twist from his hold and run back to the house before I make even more of a fool of myself.

  “He’s an asshole,” I tell Mom, who looks up when I come storming inside. I kick off my boots and shrug out of my coat before taking the stairs two at a time.

  By the time I get out of the shower, I’ve had my little private meltdown and quickly dig my phone out of my jeans pocket. My call goes straight into voicemail.

  “T? I’m running a little late. Just start without me, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  When I get downstairs, River is awake and playing on the floor.

  “Mama!” he cries out when he sees
me, stretching out his arms to be lifted.

  “Hey, kiddo.” I snuggle him in my arms, when Mom walks up.

  “What was that all about?” she asks, taking River from me.

  “He drives me mad, that’s all,” I share, grabbing my purse, and putting on my coat and boots. “I shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.”

  “Go. We’ll be fine.”

  I kiss River’s head, Mom’s cheek, and walk out the door.

  Both my SUV and the driveway are cleared of snow.

  CHAPTER 7

  Trunk

  “WHERE WERE YOU?”

  Ouray is waiting outside, having a smoke, when I drive up to the compound.

  Tensions have been high these past weeks. The vandalism to the gym and the yoga studio had only been the start of a series of what appears to be targeted problems plaguing the club.

  We’d still been cleaning up the paint and water damage when Justin—the manager at the Brewer’s Pub, another of the club’s businesses in town—called to let Ouray know the inspector had just shut the restaurant down for a host of critical health violations. Everything from unexplained rodent droppings in the bins of dry foods, reports of food poisoning from diners, to a sewer back up, had left a big damning Public Health Inspection warning on the front doors of the restaurant. In all its years in operation, the Brewer’s Pub had not received as much as a warning before.

  The last drop in the bucket had been a cockroach infestation at the River’s Edge Apartment building, also owned by the club.

  Within a month, the Arrow’s Edge’s reserves—already limited during the winter season—have been decimated. The short-term cost of clean up brought the club to its knees, and there’s no telling what the long-term impact might be.

  In short, we’re scrambling, to the point there’s talk of pooling some of our personal resources to keep the club afloat. Despite attempts at keeping the problems from the young ones currently in our care, the unrest among the brothers is filtering through to them, which is where I come in.

  “Had a stop to make before coming in,” I answer without further explanation. “What’s the latest?”