Someone stuck a short veil on a tacky crystal tiara in her hair. Around her neck hung a fugly necklace made of big, beads with an oversized plastic shot glass dangling from the end. When her mom walked forward with a small bouquet of silk flowers, she reached for them only to have her hands slapped away. “Turn around.” The humor in her ma’s voice blew Meghan’s mind. Before she knew what was happening, she’d been whirled around and nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt hands touching her butt.
Oh, my god! They were pinning the bouquet to her ass. This was … priceless.
“Ready, Freddy?” Angie quipped after she’d pirouetted in front of a mirror laughing hysterically.
“Showtime!” Lacey announced and then she was shoved through the door straight into a dark room with a spotlight. Trained on her.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a deep voice boomed over the loud system. Sounding very much like a WWE ringside announcer introducing a fight, the voice might belong to Uncle Ed, but she wasn’t sure. If it was, things just got surreal. “For the last time on her hometown soil, please give it up for Boston’s undisputed and forever reigning Ball-Busting Bitch,” Meghan shrieked with laughter when the crowd pounded on tables, chairs, and walls like a drum roll, “the lovely, the talented, the bodacious … Meghan Elizabeth O’Brien!”
The entire hall erupted with shouts and applause as she waved her hand like the Queen of England and walked into the spotlight. Just before she disappeared into the blinding light, she turned back to Angie and mouthed, “Thank you.” Desert Angel nodded then made the heart symbol with both hands before shooing her into the raucous crowd.
Before she took five steps, her father slid from the darkness and offered his arm. Oh, my god. She clutched her heart. “Dad.”
“There’s a lot of love in this room, Meggie.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You chose wisely, sweetheart. Now, go on out there and have the time of your life.”
They walked down the spotlight aisle to a table in the center of the dance floor. Pulling out her chair, Meghan sat down, laughed when she felt the reminder of the butt bouquet, and smiled at her da as he uncorked a bottle of champagne and poured her a glass. “You’re not driving, are you?” her policeman dad asked with a smirk.
“I have no idea. Am I?”
He laughed, patted her shoulder, and stepped back into the darkness. She could feel her heart pounding as she waited. When the spotlight swung to the big riser serving as a stage that ran across the back wall, she almost leaped from her seat when her Major walked up to a microphone.
“Thank you all for being here tonight,” he announced in his sexy stage voice. “For those tardy to the party … I would be the groom.” Wild applause, catcalls, and laughter rang out.
Resting his hands on top of the mic, he looked out at the gathering as the lights slowly brightened and the crowd became visible.
“If we were home in Arizona, this shindig would be going down at Whiskey Pete’s. Thanks to Dev, Mike, and Finn O’Brien for transforming Fireman’s Hall into a honky-tonk bar so my Justice crew could feel at home.”
More woot-woots were heard and from a corner of the makeshift bar, she saw and heard Deval holler, “Fucking cowboys.”
Some activity in the shadows behind Alex grabbed her attention. Parker was there with a guitar strapped on and a beer in his hand. Cam was also there and Drae too. Her mouth almost hit the floor when she spied Cristián Marquez and Father Ed off to the side tuning guitars. And then her dad climbed on stage and went to the keyboards. Next thing she knew, Brody was perched on a barstool near an enormous set of drums, and she saw Calder laughing as he knocked back a Guinness and spun a tambourine in his hand.
Holy. Fucking. Shit. This, whatever it turned out to be, was EPIC.
And then, well, then Alex morphed into Thunder Foot right before everyone’s eyes, and she’d never wanted him more. As he began to unbutton his crisp, white shirt, her eyes widened. What was he up to?
“Best part of having baby boomer parents? The fucking music.” Pulling his shirttails from the waistband of his jeans, he kept on removing his shirt. “See that old hippie over there with the bass guitar?” His father flipped him the bird and grinned as the ladies in the room made noises of appreciation. “My dad,” Alex drawled. “And the scary looking guy who reminds you of a cop?” Lots of “Ooooh’s,” sounded. “Well, he’s her dad and guess what … a cop!”
That was when the shirt came off and her sexy as fuck and totally hunky Major bared his impressively muscled chest with its perfect amount of body hair. The room erupted in lewd comments, shrieks of laughter, catcalls, and who knows what the hell else. He looked down from the stage right at her and smirked.
“Sis?” he asked and out from the shadows stepped Angie. She walked up to him, handed something off, and then took control of the microphone. “Don’t salivate too much, ladies,” she jested. “He may look good but, believe me, he’s still an asshole.”
Alex turned his back to the room as he slid what looked like a t-shirt over his head. As the dark shirt covered up his muscled back, Meghan grabbed her drink and inelegantly slugged half the glass in one attempt.
When he turned around and came back into the spotlight, nothing short of comical hell broke loose. The man made a pair of black jeans look hot. That was for damn sure. But when she saw what the t-shirt said, he went from hot to adorable in a heartbeat.
In big, stark white letters across his chest, it read Glenfiddich.
Meghan couldn’t help herself. It simply had to be done. Aware that her posse of ladies was setting up camp around her, she ignored them, scooped her hand around her mouth, and boomed as loud as she could, “Glenfiddich is for pussies.”
The entire room rang with laughter.
Alex grinned at her from the stage. “Where’d you get such a mouth, woman?”
Before she could shout an answer, her mother came from the shadows and completely knocked Meghan for a loop.
Throughout her entire life, she could only come up with a handful of times when her mother wore pants. She was skirts and dresses the whole way. Oh sure, she would wear shorts when they went camping, but what Meghan meant was that her mom wasn’t a fan of jeans. And she would rather slit her wrists than don a pantsuit. Sweats? Better have a hundred and four temperature and be sick as a dog. That her ma didn’t do pants was a constant in her life.
So when Maggie O’Brien waltzed on stage in black skin-tight Capri style leggings with a white collared and button-down blouse that she cinched with a wide belt, Meghan was stunned. The high-heeled shoe boots looked familiar and then she remembered seeing them in Angie’s stuff.
Joining Alex at the microphone, she wrapped her arm around his waist and gave everyone a wink. “Got it from me,” she said apologetically. Smiling sweetly, she gave the Major a clear once-over. “I’m afraid she’s correct, though.”
Do it, Mom, Meghan silently recited. Please, please. Do it!
As if she was calling bingo numbers in the church hall, Maggie O’Brien leaned into the microphone and announced in a clear voice, “Glenfiddich is for pussies.”
Alex roared with laughter as Meghan jumped up, rushed the stage, and threw up her hand for a mother-daughter high-five. Not one person watching this display of snarky profanity wasn’t laughing out loud.
Going back to her seat, she was floating on a happiness high when her Major went for the gold. “Now, I know this was a surprise for my bride, but I’m pretty sure if she could have prepared some comments, she’d want to say this.”
Aw. God, he was so cute. His mama done taught him his manners well. Thinking he was going to say something profound about their marriage, she grabbed onto her chair and rocked with glee when he looked over his shoulder at Calder and said, “Yo, dude. What the fuck. You gonna put a ring on it or what?”
Without missing a beat, he gave Parker a signature Marquez scowl. “And you. Fucking pervert. Either marry my sister and do it quick or it’s pistols at dawn in the desert.�
�
This time, Stephanie and Angie jumped up to offer Alex a high-five.
Then he put his hand up to shield his eyes from the spotlight and looked straight at her. “I do good, honey?”
She shouted, “You did very good, baby.”
“Okay then,” he drawled. “Let the wild rumpus begin.”
Parker moved the mic, a few words were exchanged with Alex’s dad as her alpha bad boy climbed behind a true rock star drum set and grinned. He counted out a beat, the stage lights set, and off they went.
HEATHER HAD SEEN some interesting stuff in her days, but nothing that even came close to this. The little sing-a-long Brody described was a full-throated, multi-genre concert that was unique, impressive, and a thousand times more professional than anything she imagined.
Sing-a-long, my ass. These people weren’t strangers to performing. Shit. Why’d she agree to be a part of this?
Because they asked her, that’s why. It seemed a lifetime ago when she hung out with friends and made the type of laughter these people shared. It felt good. No. It felt amazing. Brody called it when he said Justice was like nothing she’d known or could imagine. For the first time she was aware of, Heather wanted to belong. Wanted to be part of the joyful noise she’d been a guest to these last few days.
Being around loving, respectful relationships like the sort her parents had might have been the thing that turned her head around. All the men, from Meghan’s father and brothers to Alex’s priestly uncle, were simply extraordinary.
And the women? The women … shit. They defied description. Not a shrinking wallflower among them, Heather quickly learned that being the woman of an alpha Dom was not for the faint-hearted. Strong, fierce, and loyal to the bone, every female she met on this eye-opening adventure was someone she’d want as a friend. They weren’t doormats and displayed some strong opinions. Why in the world did she ever think that only a weak woman allowing herself to be manipulated was what men like these needed?
Lacey Cameron was gyrating and whirling at Heather’s side while the men ripped through “Summer of ‘69.” She loved losing herself as they danced. This group of people made her feel safe. Brody made her feel safe. Safe enough to express something as basic and fun as getting crazy on the dance floor.
“Heather, darlin’,” Stephanie drawled as she twirled up to them. “You keep dancing like that and a fist fight’s going to break out, shugah.”
Lacey nodded her agreement. Shouting over the music, she executed a perfect shimmy and gave Heather a sweet smirk. “Brody’s awfully cute up there. I don’t remember him singing with the guys before.”
She smiled. Yeah. He was more than cute.
“Have you noticed that gaggle of girls who came in with Dev’s firehouse buddies? The ones over there hanging by the side of the stage?” Heather’s eyes followed to where Lacey pointed. “Well, they’re practically wiping the sweat off his chest with their panties.”
“What?” Heather stopped dancing and stared. Three twenty-somethings were right where Lacey said. Posing and preening next to where Brody and Calder’s mic stands were. You have to be fucking kidding.
Stephanie was laughing. “Oh my word, Heather. You are delightful. Here you are, dancing up a storm while half the men in the room are sizing you up for conquest. But you’re so wrapped up in Brody that you didn’t notice his groupie squad any more than you picked up on the death rays that man is sending out to anyone looking at you.”
The song ended and they went in for a group hug. Heading back to the table where everyone stashed their purses and drinks, she was startled when Tori, Angie, and Meghan immediately launched into her with comments and questions.
“Does he always look at you like that?”
“I think he’s gonna put Finn’s lights out if the dude talks to you again.”
“Did you know the dog trainer could sing? I didn’t know.”
“How did the outfit reveal go?”
The last question came from Tori. When they all stopped and stared at her waiting for an answer, Heather realized that every single one of them was more than a little curious.
What could she say and still face all of them later? Did they know, or suspect, that an outfit like this was raw meat to a ravenous alpha? Looking around, she figured, Yep, they all knew.
Frankly, she was lucky to get out of the hotel in one piece. The little black dress took a whole new turn with what she was wearing. Short, tight, and outrageous with strategic mesh cutouts that left no doubt about her lingerie, she chose this one because it was young, not too slutty, and was easy to cover up with a coat.
When she’d come out of the small bedroom, she was so nervous that she dropped the bracelet she was putting on. Twice. Thinking back, it wasn’t very bright of her to bend over to pick the jewelry up off the floor. Especially not with Brody watching her from the sofa. The angle of his view must have been X-rated.
Before she straightened and got the bracelet on her wrist, he was on top of her. And he was growling in a way she’d never heard before. “Are you out of your mind?”
She’d jumped with fright and went to turn around, but he’d grabbed her from behind first.
“I hope for your sake you just forgot to wear panties. Because if this is on purpose, you and I are gonna talk.”
The second he’d restrained her, all of Heather’s senses went on high alert. He wasn’t mad—that wasn’t the vibe she got. He’d sounded astonished. And territorial. She’d worried that the outfit was a foolish error.
Lamely trying to pry his grip from her middle, she’d attempted to explain. “Um, well, this dress doesn’t, uh … allow for undergarments.”
“And you thought that would be okay with me?”
Something in his voice cut through the squawking narrative in her head. And then it hit her. He was turned on, and she was about to find out how much.
He’d muttered a bunch of shit about good girls being bad, and before she knew what was happening, she was over his knee with the dress pushed up to her waist. If anyone tried to convince her that getting your bare ass spanked was more fun than some internet puppies with a balloon, she’d have thought them crazy. Until it happened to her.
The spanking led to a ferocious fucking while he stood next to the bed and put her legs on his shoulders. When it was over, she couldn’t stand up. Far from horrified by what happened, she’d come several times and even apologized for being bad.
Well, shit. If being bad always ended that way, she was going to have a hard time finding a reason to be good. Watching him push his cock into those damn cotton briefs while it glistened with their fluids wrecked her for good. She was still helplessly staring as he pulled the zipper on his jeans up and fastened the belt buckle. She’d never forget the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes as she lay sprawled on the edge of the bed, dress around her waist, their shared release leaking from her body.
That was when she found out alphas could be gentlemen too. Well, sorta. Taking a washcloth from the bathroom, he matter-of-factly cleaned her up, pulled her off the bed, and then yanked the sexy cutout dress back into place.
As they left the hotel, he kept a firm grip on the hand she slid through his arm and also absolutely refused to let her wear the light duster coat which would offer at least some modesty. Walking through the lobby, she felt her sex throb with awareness as several people turned and watched them. Did it show that he’d just taught her quite the lesson?
Sliding into the backseat of the car hired to take them to the church, she’d been extra careful not to expose herself. When he’d followed her in and got settled, Brody turned and said, “Wear whatever you want, sweetheart. But know this. I do not share, and if you go out looking like sex in high heels, you’ll do so with my scent on your skin.” He smirked. “After I come in your pussy.”
Oh, yeah. She was going to share that—like never.
“So?” Tori urged.
She didn’t answer right away, so the feisty little woman just went ahead
and stirred the pot. With a flourishing wave, she pointed at Angie, Stephanie, Lacey, and Meghan. “Three bucks says he pinked her ass.”
Lacey laughed. “Jeez, Victoria. How ‘bout you make the bet about something we didn’t already know.”
Meghan elbowed her playfully. “C’mon. Tell us. You can say anything, you know. Hell, we’ve all been there. Even Barbie and her perfectly perfect ponytail have to admit it’s true.”
“Word,” Lacey drawled. “And while you’re at it, we’re dying to know. Are you going to be joining Brody when he comes back to the compound?”
“Oh, my god. You guys are good. Maybe too good.” She laughed. “I’ll have to get back to you about the whole Arizona thing and to answer your spanking inquiry? Sitting is optional right now and that’s all I’m giving up.” To her incredible surprise, they rushed her and hug her till she begged for air.
Stephanie said, “Oh my. I think we better pay attention. Heather, darlin’, looks like you’re up.”
What did that mean?
Parker was at the mic. “Got a real special treat in store. You’ve heard a lot about Family Justice over the last couple of days.” He was idly strumming as an instrument and microphone shuffle took place. “The newest Justice member to get a seat at the table is here, and he’d like to sing a bunch of sappy words to a real special lady.” He looked around and waited while people took their places, then turned back to the mic. “Okay, kids. Here he is, our official dog guru and resident book nerd, the one, the only, the ridiculously good-looking Mad Dog Brody Jensen.”
Mad dog?
The ladies were squealing with delight as her scruffy blond Adonis shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped up to the microphone. The enthusiastic whistles and applause were deafening.
Throwing Parker a sneer, he said, “Wouldn’t hurt your dumb ass to read a book or two.” Parker just laughed. “Anyway, Ernest Hemingway wrote, The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places. I’ve found that to be particularly true.”
Sanctuary (Family Justice Book 3) Page 44