by Jenika Snow
Viv shook her head and coughed while her mind clambered its way up from Smuttville. “Um…” Her heart thrummed to the point she thought her head would float off her shoulders, and her tongue was so dry it wouldn’t work right. “I think my sister’s passed out in there. I just want to get her home.”
Adonis knocked on the door and gave the knob a much firmer twist than Viv had. “Zeke, toss me the keys off the desk.”
Before either of the men could move, the lock on the door popped and the door creaked open a few inches. “Vivie?” Callie’s mascara-streaked face flashed a second before the door slipped shut again.
Months of training kicked in and Viv lurched forward, easing open the door and slipping inside. “I’ve got it now. Give me a minute to get her cleaned up and gather her stuff.”
Adonis blocked the door with his foot. The black, fancy cowboy boots probably cost more than a month’s mortgage payment, which seemed a shame considering it didn’t look like she’d be able to pay her next one. “You sure you don’t need help?”
“Nope.” She snatched a few towels out of the dispenser and wetted them, keeping one eye on Callie where she semi-dozed against the wall. “We’ve done this before. I just need a few minutes and a clear path.”
“All right. My name’s Trevor if you need me. You know where we are if you change your mind.” He eased his foot away, grinned and shook his head.
“Oh!” Viv caught the door before it could close all the way and pulled the bar tab out of her pocket. “My sister ran up a tab. Could you hold this at the bar for me and let me pay it after I get her out to the car? I need to grab my purse first.”
He backtracked, eyeballed Callie behind her, and crumpled the receipt. “I’d say you’ve already covered tonight.” He turned for the office. “We’ll call it even.”
Fantasy Man was still locked in place and glaring over one shoulder, the power behind his gaze as potent as the crackle and hum after a nearby lightning strike.
She ducked back into the bathroom and locked the door, her heart jackrabbiting right back up where it had been the first time he’d looked at her. She seriously needed to get a grip on her taste in men. Suits and education were a much safer choice. Manners and meaningful conversation. Not bloody T-shirts, smoky bars and panty-melting grins.
Snatching Callie’s purse off the counter, she let out a serrated breath, shook out the wadded wet towel, and started wiping the black streaks off her sister’s cheek. A man like him wouldn’t be interested in her anyway. At least, not the new and improved her. And the odds of them running into each other again in a city like Dallas were slim to none, so she may as well wrangle up her naughty thoughts and keep them in perspective.
On the bright side, she didn’t have to worry about the tab. Plus, she had a fresh new imaginary star for her next late-night rendezvous with BOB.
* * *
Damn if this hadn’t been the most problematic New Year’s Eve in history. It wasn’t Jace’s first knife wound, but getting it while pulling apart two high-powered, hotheaded drug dealers promised future complications he didn’t need. Add to that, two more customers arrested at his own club, Crossroads, in less than three days, and nonstop visits from the cops at The Den, and his New Year wasn’t exactly top-notch.
Thank God his brother Zeke wasn’t working trauma tonight or he’d have had to have Trev stitch him up. That motherfucker would’ve hacked the shit out of his tat.
“You ’bout done?” Jace said.
Zeke layered one last strip of tape in place and tossed the roll to the desk. “I am now.”
“Took you long enough.” Jace straightened up, tucked the toothpick he’d had pinched between his fingers into his mouth and rolled his shoulder. It was tight and throbbing like a son of a bitch, but not bad enough to keep him from day-to-day shit—assuming he didn’t have any more drug dealer run-ins.
“I don’t know. Our straitlaced partygoer didn’t seem to mind me taking my time.” Zeke packed his supplies into one of the locked cabinets, the same triage kit they kept at every residence or business they owned. It might have been overkill, but it sure as hell beat emergency rooms and sketchy conversations with police. “Thought for a minute there the sweet little thing was going to combust.”
“Sweet little thing my ass.” Trevor dropped into his desk chair, propped his booted feet on the corner of his desk, and fisted the remote control for the security vids mounted on the wall. “I’d bet my new G6 that woman’s got a titanium backbone and a mind that would whip both your asses into knots.”
Jace snatched a fresh white club T-shirt from Trev’s grand opening inventory and yanked it over his head, the wound in his shoulder screaming the whole time. “Based on what? Her courtroom getup or her uptight hairdo?”
“Like I judge by what people wear. You know me better than that.” Trev punched a few buttons, paused long enough to eyeball the new bartender he’d just hired ringing in an order on the register, then dropped the remote on the desk. “You ask me, you’re the one judging. Which is kind of the pot calling the kettle black.”
The setback hit its mark, the Haven tags he wore weighting his neck a little heavier, a reminder of their brotherhood and the code they lived by.
It’s not where a man comes from, or what he wears, that matters. It’s what he does with his life that counts.
Twenty-seven years he and Axel had lived by that mantra, dragging themselves out of the trailer park and into a brotherhood nothing but death would breach.
“He’s right,” Zeke said. “You’re letting Paul’s campaign crawl up your ass and it’s knockin’ you off course.”
Damn, but he hated it when his own mantras got tossed back at him. More so when he deserved it. He let out an exhausted huff and dropped down on the leather couch facing the string of monitors. “Play it again.”
Trevor shook his head but navigated the menu on the center screen anyway.
“Not sure why you’re doing this to yourself, man.” Zeke pulled three Modelos out of the stainless minifridge under the wet bar and popped the tops faster than any bartender. God knew he’d gotten enough experience working as one through med school. “Paul’s a politician with a grudge, nothing else. Watching this again is just self-inflicted pain. Focus on the real problem.”
Jace took the beer Zeke offered as the ten o’clock news story flashed on the screen. The third-string reporter’s too-bright smile and pageant hairdo screamed of a woman with zero experience but eager for a shot at a seat behind the anchor desk.
“Dallas’s popular club, Crossroads, is in the news again this New Year’s Eve as two additional patrons were arrested on charges of drug possession with intent to distribute. Undercover police are withholding names at this time, but allege both are part of a ring lead by Hugo Moreno, a dealer notorious in many Northeast Texas counties for peddling some of the most dangerous products on the street.”
“She’s not wrong on that score.” Zeke plopped on the other end of the couch and motioned to the screen with his bottle. “The number of ODs coming in at Baylor and Methodist the last six months have been through the roof. The guys from DPD swear most are tied to some designer shit coming out of Moreno’s labs.”
Trevor leaned in and planted his elbows on the desk, eyes to Jace. “You think Otter’s going to hold out long enough to waylay Moreno?”
If Jace knew the answer to that one, he’d be a lot less jumpy and minus one slash to his shoulder. Pushing one pharmaceutical genius out of his club by strong-arming him with another was a risky move at best, but it sure as shit beat ousting Moreno on his own. “Otter’s a good man with a calm head on his shoulders and a strong team. If he says he’ll only let weed in the place and keep Hugo at bay, I’m gonna give him all the backing he needs. DPD’s sure as hell not going to help. Not the ones in Paul’s pockets, anyway.”
“Paul doesn’t have any pockets,” Trev said
. “Only his daddy does.”
Right on cue, the camera cut to an interview with Paul Renner as reporters intercepted him leaving another political fundraiser.
“Councilman Renner, you’ve been very vocal in your run for U.S. Representative in supporting the Dallas Police Department’s efforts to crack down on drug crime, and have called out establishments such as Crossroads in midtown Dallas. Have you heard about the additional drug arrests there tonight, and do you have any comments?”
Renner frowned at the ground, a picture-perfect image of disappointment and concern. Like that dickhead hadn’t been trying to screw people since his first foray from the cradle.
“I continue to grow more concerned with establishments like those run by Jace Kennedy and his counterparts,” Renner said. “It seems they continually skirt justice and keep their seedy establishments open for business. It’s innocent citizens who end up paying the price, courted by heinous individuals peddling dangerous substances and amoral behavior. My primary goal, if elected to the House of Representatives, will be to promote legislation that makes it difficult for men like Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Moreno to escape justice.”
The toothpick between Jace’s teeth snapped in half. He tossed it to the coffee table in front of him and pulled another one of many stashed in the pocket of his jacket.
“It’s official, now.” Trevor raised his beer in salute and tipped his head. “You’re an amoral son of a bitch leading innocent citizens to ruin.”
Motion registered in one of the smaller security screens, the bathroom door outside Trevor’s office swinging open enough to let Little Miss and her seriously drunken sister ping-pong down the hallway. The two were about the same height, but you couldn’t have dressed two women more differently. Next to Little Miss, her sister was best suited for a biker bar, all tits, ass and wobbling heels. Not that she was bad to look at. She just lacked the natural, earthy grace of the sober one.
Damn it, he needed to pace. Or get laid. Just looking at the ass on Little Miss in tailored pants made him want to rut like a madman. Never mind the puzzle she presented. Trev wasn’t wrong—she had a shitload of backbone blazing through those doe-shaped eyes. The combination didn’t jive with her image. Nothing like a paradox to get his head spinning.
“Guess we found one way to get his head off Renner.” Zeke knocked back another gulp of his beer.
“What?” He back and forthed a glare between his brothers.
Trevor chuckled low and shifted the videos so Little Miss’s trek to the front of the bar sat center stage. “Zeke said the only thing you’ve done amoral was that freak show you put on with Kat and Darcy at last month’s barbecue.”
“Fuck you, Trev.”
“Fuck her, you mean,” Trev said. “No shame there, brother. You didn’t even see her up close. If you did, you sure as shit wouldn’t be sitting here rerunning sound bites of asshole Renner.”
“Hell, no,” Jace said. “A woman that uptight is the last thing I need. Or did you miss her casing not just Zeke patching up my shoulder, but the bloody shirt on the floor, too? You’ll be lucky if the cops don’t show from an anonymous tip called in.”
Little Miss and her sister stumbled into the front section of the bar, the sister’s arm curled around Little Miss’s neck in a way he’d bet would still hurt tomorrow morning.
Nope. Sweet hips, fiery eyes and a good dose of mystery or not, she was the last thing he needed right now.
Two men blocked Little Miss’s path.
The women stopped, and the drunk sister swayed enough it was a wonder she didn’t topple onto the table beside her.
One of the men palmed the back of Little Miss’s neck, and she jerked away.
Jace surged to his feet, grabbing his leather jacket off the table. “I’m headed to Haven. You hear more from Axel at Crossroads or get any more grief from the cops, let me know.”
Both men let out hardy guffaws and waved him off.
“Twenty bucks says our buttoned-up guest gets some help on the way out the door,” Trev said.
Zeke chimed in behind him. “Yeah, let us know if Sweet Cheeks tastes as good as she looks.”
Bastards. The sad thing was, Trev was about to score a twenty from Zeke, because Jace might not be willing to curl up with Little Miss, but he wasn’t watching men paw her either.
Copyright © 2017 by Rhenna Morgan
Acknowledgments
There are a lot of people I want to thank, but to keep this short I’d like to say a huge thank you to my editor Kerri. She has been wonderful and kind during this whole process, and a pleasure to work with.
About the Author
Jenika Snow is a USA TODAY bestselling author of erotic romance. She lives in the northeast and enjoys gloomy weather, as it’s the perfect time for writing. She can be found at the following sites:
Web: www.JenikaSnow.com
Instagram: @JenikaSnow
Facebook: www.Facebook.com/JenikaSnow
Twitter: @JenikaSnow
Newsletter: bit.ly/2dkihXD
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Get down and dirty with the lumberjacks in Jenika Snow’s Dirty Bits series:
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Don’t miss
MR. BLAKELY by K Webster
Available now!
It started as a job.
It turned into so much more.
Mr. Blakely is strict with his sons, but he’s soft and gentle with me.
The powerful businessman is something else entirely when we’re together.
Boss, teacher, lover…husband.
My hopes and dreams for the future have changed. I want—no, I need—him by my side.
The Dirty Bits from Carina Press: What you want, when you want it. Over-the-top sexy micro-romances designed to be read in an hour or two.
ISBN-13: 9781488097034
Hard Wood
Copyright © 2018 by Jenika Snow
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide Street West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.