Bruised (Brody Brothers, #3)

by Stacy Gail

  “Wow.” His answering smile brightened the already sun-filled kitchen as he sauntered deeper into the room. “That’s a mighty fine-looking skirt you’re wearing, Miss Faircloth. You hold still long enough, and I’ll be able to tell whether or not your order of thongs came in.”

  In a flash, she spun back around to face him, a flush heating her face while her stomach clenched with a new kind of tension that had nothing to do with first-day butterflies. “You can damn well bet no self-respecting lady would ever wear saggy old granny panties under a tight little pencil skirt. I’d rather go commando.”

  “Yeah?” In two strides he was right up in her space, his eyes on hers while he somehow managed to suck up all the oxygen in the room. “Are you?”

  “None of your business.” To distract both of them from just how close he was—and how hot she suddenly felt with him so close—she tapped a finger on the mug he still held. “What’s this?”

  “A welcome-to-work gift, from Fin, Ry and me. Fin spotted it at the tradeshow up in Dallas. The moment I saw it, I had to have it for my Dallas.”

  “I’m not yours, but I get your meaning.” Absurdly touched that he’d thought her temp work was worthy of a gift, she took the offered mug and turned it around to see its inscription.

  I work for idiots.

  She burst out laughing, the sound ringing around the room. God love them, the Brodys had every right to think of themselves as modern-day kings of the world. But here, behind the scenes, she was coming to learn that they were just as fallible—and funny—as everyone else.

  How amazing.

  “Thank you, Brody.” Still chuckling, she cradled the mug to her chest, instantly in love with it beyond all reason. “This might be the best gift I’ve ever received from a bo—”

  The press of his mouth on hers interrupted her, and without a thought her body melted against his. Seriously, the man was that freaking good at kissing. One kiss from him and, bam—melted body, melted brain, and she wasn’t even going to think about what he did to her panties. He had mad skills when it came to seducing her mouth with his. And whether she wanted to admit it or not, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from wondering about what other skills he might have in the seducing department.

  When he finally raised his head, Dallas couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped her. Killian’s kisses were just that—sigh-worthy.

  “What was that for?” If she found out what had triggered him, maybe she could get him to do it again.

  “Your laugh.” Cupping her face in his hands, he seemed fascinated with her mouth, brushing it with the callused pad of his thumb. “All this time you’ve been here—months—and I’ve never heard you laugh. Not once.”

  Ah. “Well, most kidnap victims don’t generally laugh with their kidnappers—”

  “I’m sorry, Dallas.” He kissed her again, this time holding her face up to his as he silenced her yet again. Considering how he was doing it, though, she couldn’t find it in her to complain. “I haven’t said that before, have I? I’ve never apologized for grabbing you like a maniac.”

  “No, you haven’t.” But it was oddly sweet that he felt the need to do it now. “For what it’s worth, I understand why you did it. You thought your brother was dying. You panicked, knowing he needed help, so you bulldozed your way into my life, and got him help.”

  “Doesn’t matter what my motives were. In those few moments before you realized it was me taking you to Des, you were terrified. I’m the asshole responsible for making you feel that terror, and that’s unforgivable.”

  “Trust me, I’ve known worse terror than you.” That popped out before she knew what she was going to say, and too late, she bit her lips together. “And like you said, once I realized it was you, I knew I was safe. You weren’t going to harm the chick with the spare parts, after all.”

  “Worse terror than me?” His hands slipped to her shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze to the trapezius muscle ridge riding along her shoulders. She closed her eyes as the pained pleasure of a massage sifted through her system like a drug. “You know what you keep doing? You keep giving me little glimpses of who you are.”

  Her eyes blinked open. “Little glimpses?”

  “Yeah. Glimpses like...foster parents. Or that time when you said you’d think of Des being safe and happy, and that got you through...something. And just now, you’ve known worse terror than being kidnapped, and I can’t think of anything more terrifying than that.”

  Again, she rolled her lips between her teeth and bit down. Who knew they could go from smexy-hot to itchy-uncomfortable in less than a heartbeat? “Hm.”

  “I tried not to notice all these tantalizing glimpses. Hell, I tried not to notice anything about you, from the way you smell to the way you walk, to the way you know a little bit about everything, to how you’re loyal to people you barely know, like Des and Manny. But despite all that, there are very few things I know about you.”

  That was how she liked it. “I thought you hired a private investigator to find me.”

  “I did. He was able to track you down through your Social Security number. Took less than a week.”

  “Gee, don’t I feel safe. Some rando dude can dig up my Social and broadcast it to anyone who’s got the damn Benjamins to pay for it.” She grimaced, shaking her head. “So that’s all you know about me? About...anything?”

  “I wasn’t looking for a deep dive on who you are or where you’ve been for almost two decades. I just needed to have you located.”

  So he had no clue. Not that it mattered, but she wasn’t about to go digging up the past when half the time since she’d returned to Bitterthorn, she’d woken up screaming. Better to just bury those old ghosts and focus on the here and now.

  “There’s nothing huge or shameful in my past,” she said honestly, a corner of her mouth curling. It felt as derisive as her tone, but that wasn’t anything she could help. “Everyone has a story, Brody. Even you, the pampered crown prince of the insanely rich and powerful Texas Brodys.”

  “We’ve all got our battle scars, that’s true. And I’d be willing to bet that ours are remarkably similar, since those scars were made by the same explosion.”

  She nodded. “We were just on opposite sides of the blast.”

  “Yeah, we were. And generally speaking, I don’t like talking about my childhood scars any more than you do. But don’t expect me to continue to keep the questions to myself when you slip up and show me a glimpse of an old hurt. I’ve been holding back, because I’ve been doing my damnedest to keep my distance, and telling myself it’s none of my business. I’m done with that shit, because it is my business. As of now, you’re going to start sharing things with me.”

  Slowly her mouth sagged open at that grand pronouncement. “Wait. Is that an order?”

  “Not an order. I’m just telling you how life is going to go from here on in.”

  “News flash, bossy. That’s an order.” She huffed and tried to back him off with a glare. She probably would have had better luck at moving Mount Everest. “Who died and made you God?”

  “You called me the crown prince around here. Personally I like to think of myself as the king of all I survey. And what I’m currently surveying, with great enjoyment, is you. Better get to work, Spice,” he added when the phone from the newly created office space suddenly bleeped, the sound of it echoing through the house. “And by the way, welcome to Green Rock Ranch.”

  “Musical Thursday night was the best idea I’ve ever had.” Manny had to raise his voice over the din of a packed house, something Dallas had never seen since she started working at The Dive. “Gotta say, though, it puts a crimp in your waitressing duties. Can’t quite figure out how you can both play the piano and sing, and also wait tables. Maybe you could sing while taking orders?”

  Dallas stared at him. “I’m beginning to think you suffered a head injury during one of your tours, Manny.”

  “So that’s a no?”

  “That’s a no.” She
swept the room to see if she was needed anywhere, and spotted a couple tables waving her way. “Manny, hate to say it, but you need another warm body in here to make sure your patrons are taken care of. I’m already run off my feet and still I’ve got two tables that’ve got empties. Make that three,” she added, and pushed away from the bar. “I’m good, but not even I can be in three places at once.”

  “I’m not made of money, D,” he bellowed after her. “Tell ‘em to drink slower.”

  A businessman, Manny wasn’t, Dallas thought as she worked her way to her thirsty customers. But considering the tips that were coming in both from waitressing and from the two songs she’d played—Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” and Garth Brooks’s “Friends in Low Places”—had just about put her where she wanted to be when it came to getting some cheap wheels. As soon as the weekend rolled around, Celia had promised to take her to meet her friend Coe, who apparently already had something in mind for her.

  Just the prospect of having wheels again made her giddy.

  Life at Green Rock was also better than she could have imagined, considering the bad footing she’d started out on. Despite her initial nerves, the secretarial duties at Green Rock were fairly simple, thanks in part to familiarizing herself beforehand with the ranch’s setup and services they provided. After a few false starts, she’d even gotten the feel for what emails were legit business and what were cleverly disguised sales pitches from vendors looking for an in with the Brodys. By closing time on the first day, she’d had every business email answered, the bloodlines for the three Black Angus bulls memorized, and had managed to figure out how to send the Brody brothers the work-week schedule to each of their individual phones.

  In short, she was killing it.

  Her new employers weren’t all that thrilled when she knocked off early so she could head out to her waitressing job at The Dive, but she wasn’t about to let Manny down. Both jobs were temporary, but while she was in town she was going to do her best to make sure she kicked some serious work booty. That was how she’d lived her entire adult life, and she didn’t see any reason to change now.

  But still, enjoying her work life wasn’t what had her smiling like an idiot every time she turned around.

  Killian.

  Of course, the fact that Killian Brody had the capacity to make her smile was proof that she was insane. Worse, she smiled because of a very basic fact—she had the hots for him.

  Talk about a frigging plot twist.

  Never in a million years would she have imagined getting hot and bothered for one of the Brodys. Before her parents split up, she’d only heard of that family spoken of in terms of awe. They were 21st-century gods among men; they lived in a world far removed from the humdrum life of mere mortals. Even after hell had been unleashed into her world, she still hadn’t seen the Brodys as normal people. In her child’s mind, they had become the Evil Ones. They took and they took, and they never looked back at the trail of broken nobodies they’d left in their wake.

  That was the way they’d stayed in her mind until Killian had kissed her and invited her to “do him.”

  As crazy as it was, she couldn’t get that proposition out of her mind. She’d had exactly one serious romance to her name, and it had been forever ago. He’d been a fellow foster kid who’d landed at the dojo about a year after her. Surly and beaten down by life, he’d blossomed just as she had in that self-empowering home. By the time she’d aged out of foster care, she’d stayed on at the dojo while he’d gone on to become a plumber’s apprentice, and they’d seriously talked about getting married.

  That talk had never amounted to anything, something she realized now was a blessing. They’d both been too young and too hungry for stability, and that was no basis for marriage. More than that, they hadn’t loved each other enough to take that ultimate plunge. Because of that, they’d eventually gone their separate ways, and she’d never had any profound feelings for another man.

  Until now.

  That meant “doing” Killian was becoming a bigger and bigger possibility.

  No, scratch that.

  A probability.

  And she was weirdly okay with that.

  “Here we go with another round, ladies and gents.” Securing her tray in the crook of her arm, Dallas began offloading her liquid burdens. “A Sprite and a whole lot of gratitude for our designated driver, a rum and Diet Coke for the lady, a lager for gentleman number-one, and a Jack Daniels double shot with a beer chaser for gentleman number-two.”

  “Finally, I’m first at something when it comes to this guy.” The lager lover, a white-haired, bespectacled man with a pot belly and a face that never seemed to stop smiling, clapped a hand on the shoulder of the man he sat next to. “I swear, ever since high school you’ve beaten me to the punch on just about everything I can think of.”

  His old school chum, a wire-thin man with a face like a fox and a careful comb-over that didn’t hide his monk-like bald spot, sat back in his chair and preened. “What can I say, some guys have it, and some guys don’t.”

  The rum and coke order, a woman with high hair that had probably been that way since her high school days, playfully hit fox-face’s forearm. “And you were always having it back in the day.”

  Yeesh. Definitely her cue to leave. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “I don’t suppose you’re on the menu?” Fox-face gave her a leer that made the table laugh, albeit uncomfortably. “There’s enough room for you to scoot on in here and join the party.”

  Ugh. “I’m afraid I’m on duty with no back-up in sight. So, if that’s all—”

  “Aw, come on, live a little. We knew your mother, after all. She was cool, you know? Liked to party with the best of them. Don’t tell me you’re not like that.”

  Dallas froze, while the Sprite woman nervously cleared her throat. “Hey, come on now, Paul. Let’s not get personal, okay?”

  “I’m not getting personal, Edie, I’m just telling the truth. You’re Delphine’s kid, right? You look just like her.” The fox-face comb-over didn’t seem to know when to shut his noise hole as he grinned up at her. “I used to call her Del-Fine, because she was so fuckin’ fine, especially when she had a couple beers in her. I remember one time under the football field bleachers, Del-Fine went down on her knees and gave me the sweetest—”

  “That’s enough.” Jaw tight, Dallas glared pure death at the perv. “If you’ve got nothing left to order, I’m out.”

  “Now, now, come back here, we’re not done ordering yet, so you have to stay.”

  The Sprite order made a hissing sound. “For God’s sake, cut it out.”

  “What? I didn’t mean to get her...you know...hot.” Fox-face looked back at Dallas with a shit-eating grin, as if daring her to smack it right off his face. “Del-Fine always got hot, too. If you don’t believe me, just look what she did with ol’ Keir Brody. Her old man wasn’t enough for her, so she got Keir in the sack and bumped uglies with him until they made a baby. It’s not my fault for thinking her mini-me daughter’s the same way.”

  “You know what I’m thinking?” Dallas said, mouth tight. “I’m thinking you’re looking pretty hot yourself. Let me help you cool off.” Grabbing up his beer, she held it over his head and dumped it.

  SPLASH.

  “News flash—you’re a sick and pathetic perv who’s old enough to be my dad,” she yelled while the rest of the room went silent, watching the show. “You want to be a sick and pathetic perv in your own home, fine. But don’t you ever think you can bring your disgusting shit in here and think it’s okay. It’s not okay, you dirty old man.”

  He spluttered while his friends scattered to escape the splash of the beer shower. “Y-you...you fucking crazy cunt—”

  “I don’t like that kind of talk in my fine establishment.” Coming from around the bar, Manny had a baseball bat in hand with the name “PEACEMAKER” scrawled over it in fancy script. Not exactly original, but it got the point across. “You say something bad
to my friend Dallas?”

  Fox-face sputtered beer from his lips and wiped his face. “No. Fuck, no.”

  “Uh-huh.” Manny held up a hand when Dallas immediately tried to defend herself, and looked to the table. “Is that the story you’re all going to stick with? That your angelic pal over here didn’t do nothin’ to earn himself a beer bath?”

  A vague agreement with that assessment went around the table until the Sprite order made a sound of disgust.

  “No,” she announced, clearly furious. “He was absolutely horrible to this poor girl, and if I’d been in her shoes I would have smashed the damn mug over his head for good measure.”

  Fox-face, now looking more like a drowned fox, rounded on her with bared teeth. “Edie, you bitch, what the fuck—”

  “Shut up, Paul. You’re not BMOC anymore. You’re a half-assed insurance salesman who never made it out of Bitterthorn, and your favorite kind of fun is torturing anyone in the retail or service business, because they have to put up with your shit or risk getting fired. That’s how petty you are. Oh, and by the way, if I have to hear one more glory-days story about how you laid every girl in our class, I’m going to barf. I’m so sorry, honey,” she went on, turning to a wide-eyed Dallas. “There’s no excuse for what he said to you. It’s just that we all went to school with your mother, and... well. We all remember.”

  Those words echoed in Dallas’s head as Manny urged the troublemaker and his party toward the door, and life resumed inside The Dive. But the happy vibe she’d had at the start of her shift seemed a lifetime ago, and it was because of one inescapable reality.

  She was Dallas Faircloth.

  Delphine Faircloth’s daughter.

  And...