The Beckett Boys- The Complete Series Box Set

by Olivia Chase

  She exhales hard. “I see.”

  “No offense, Red. Things just don’t work that way where I come from.”

  Her eyes grow distant. “I suppose that’s probably true.” Her voice sounds cold.

  Fuck. I’m screwing this up. I reach over and cup her knee. “I still want to see you again.”

  Her leg is tense under my hand. She slides it away and reaches for the passenger door. “I think I need to go.”

  I can’t believe she got spooked so easily. “Come on, Red.”

  “I think this was a mistake, Jamison.” She shakes her head sadly and gets out. And then she’s walking back to her vehicle.

  I’m trying to decide if there’s any point in going after her. But I don’t know what I would say.

  She ducks into her car and drives away.

  I was being honest—I don’t expect her to agree with me. But she took real offense to my words. I sit there for several minutes, watching the path she took, wondering how I managed to fuck that up so royally.

  And why I’m still so hungry to see her again despite knowing that she’s right. We could never possibly work out—it would be a disaster. But I also know that I’m not afraid of trouble. In fact, the one thing I know is I can handle trouble better than just about anyone.

  Jamison

  Over the next several days, I undertake a plan of action to get Claire to change her mind about seeing me. I know her full name and where she works, so on Monday, I send flowers to the law office she works at. In the card, I thank her for her hands-on personal service during her visit with me. Flirty, suggestive, and it lets her know I haven’t forgotten about her. I also add my cell phone number at the bottom.

  I don’t get a reply, but I don’t expect one. Not yet. That’s just the first round.

  I’ve never really gone all out like this in the past.

  Never had to, never wanted to. Until now, that is.

  Tuesday, I continue with the plan. I order a massive box of chocolates to be delivered. Then, on Wednesday, I send her one of those stress squeeze balls in the shape of a cop, plus a bottle of red wine. She seems like a red-wine kind of woman. With that gift, I add another card and quickly jot off:

  Wine is red,

  And I’m not PC.

  But maybe you’ll forgive me

  Before you get your degree

  Okay, it’s clear I’m the world’s shittiest poet, but I hope it makes her laugh. And it shows I listened to her, too, about her school stuff. I might not be a higher-education kind of person, but I respect that she is.

  I’m tired of people thinking I’m a lowlife scumbag, just because I grew up without the same opportunities and chances that everyone else takes for granted. I can almost guarantee Claire’s family had a nice house in one of the nice neighborhoods in Rock Bridge. She’s probably never even driven down my street.

  Bet her dad warned her about avoiding our “side of the tracks,” so to speak.

  I want to prove myself to her. And I crave her more than anyone else I’ve ever encountered. Every night I fall asleep wondering what she’s doing, if she’s thinking about me too. About what happened between us in the bluffs. I’m haunted by the warmth of her soft skin under my hands, under my mouth.

  I fucking want more.

  I’ve never had to chase a girl before. But Claire’s different. I can tell that much from our short time together. I’ll make the effort for her.

  Thursday, I have a mix CD I burned for her delivered to her work. I downloaded the cheesiest romantic songs I could find. I even drew a fucking heart on the cover and titled it Jamo –n- Red’s Super-Hot Sexxin Playlist. If this doesn’t make her cave, I’m pretty sure nothing will.

  Still no word.

  I’m tempted to call her office, but I want her to respond to my efforts in a more active sense. I want her to reach out to me. It takes all my effort to not keep checking my fucking cell phone during the day.

  What am I, a teenaged fucking girl mooning over a first love? Fuck this.

  Late Friday afternoon, I go down to the kitchen and whip open the fridge door. Stare blindly at the meager offerings—beer, questionable cheese, a sketchy container of whipped cream that no doubt was used for sexual purposes.

  No way did I misread Red’s desire for me that night at the bluffs. But clearly she meant what she said. That she doesn’t want to see me again.

  The thought deflates me. I grab a beer and go to the living room, plopping down on the couch. My mood is sour now. Fuck.

  I can’t stop thinking about Claire, about the way her lips tasted, the way her skin felt, her body molding to mine when I kissed her—the little sounds she made in her throat…

  And knowing I might not ever have her again, makes my hands want to curl into fists, my throat taste of acid.

  The twins are draped on worn chairs, with our half-brother Axel in the corner behind them giving an amazing, sexy mermaid tattoo to a buddy of ours. The buzz of the tattoo gun hums in the background.

  That fucker has real artistic talent, the only one besides our old man who really can give a decent tattoo. But having a tattoo parlor operating out of our house has always been a good way to keep our ears to the ground, make sure we don’t lose touch with neighborhood and the people in it.

  Our real money comes from the protection business. When people or businesses need help, they come to us…and they pay decent money for our muscle.

  “Who pissed in your beer?” Hale asks me, cracking open a fresh beer can and chugging a drink.

  I roll my eyes. I don’t want to get into it right now. They’d just bust my balls for letting myself feel something over a girl, anyway.

  I take a deep swig of my own beer. I’m even thinking like a teenaged fucking girl now. “Just leave it,” I tell Hale.

  Hudson studies my face. “How’s your shoulder doing?”

  “Fine.” I can shrug now without wanting to punch my own dick from the pain, so that’s progress. I kick my feet up on the battered coffee table and click on the TV. The news comes on, our local newscasters flashing their fake hair and fake tits and fake smiles.

  My brothers talk and laugh with each other around me. Things get more serious when the subject of Outlaws comes up again.

  “We can’t let them get away with this shit,” Hale says for the millionth time.

  “They’re not getting away with anything,” I remind them. “But we also aren’t just running up on them like a bunch of knuckleheads. We’re going to be smart about it.”

  “Smart is overrated,” Hudson offers, and Hale nods in agreement.

  “You know what Dad would do,” Zack says, standing nearby with his arms folded, as he half-watches Axel’s tattoo job progress.

  “Dad’s not running the show right now, and he hasn’t been for a long time,” I remind them.

  I see them exchange glances.

  My brothers have always been tough to manage—they’re all headstrong, and mostly they come from the same mentality as the old man. Butch liked to rattle cages and crack skulls.

  But no matter how many times I remind them that rattling cages and cracking skulls was exactly what got him locked up for the last ten years, they never seem to hear it. And so I constantly find myself having to defend the way I run things.

  Shit, it’s not like I’m a softie. I’ll get in the ring and fight—I just don’t want to do it unless it’s absolutely necessary. Sometimes you really can catch more flies with honey, but my brothers will never understand that.

  The conversation moves on to lighter topics—which means girls.

  My phone vibrates. I dig it out of my pocket, smiling as Zack describes his latest encounter with a woman he’s taken to describing as “The Clinger.” Apparently, he was forced to sneak out of her house, naked, carrying his clothes—because she literally would not let him go, and so he waited for her to fall asleep before making his escape.

  Checking my phone, I see that it’s a text from a number I don’t recognize.

/>   The CD mix was a nice touch, “Jamo.” Lol. I’m a huge fan of many of the songs on here. Listening to it right now.

  My pulse speeds up.

  It’s her.

  I grab my beer and jump up from the couch, leaving the living room for the privacy of my bedroom. I close the door behind me and scoot up on the bed until my back’s against the headboard. Kinda figured u might be, I type. I’m crushed u didn’t respond to my poem, though. Took me an hour to craft it. Not sure u appreciate the hard work that went into that fine piece of art.

  I can see the dots as she’s typing something in response. Then the message pops up. Maybe you should have tried a limerick, instead. I bet you know lots of rhymes for “Nantucket.”

  I chuckle. I’ll write a hundred shitty limericks for u if that’s what u want.

  I look forward to that. And thank you for the gifts, btw. I’m having the wine, too. It’s been a helluva week and I earned a little drinking. Just finished my final for my last class. The test was a total bitch, but I think I did well.

  Fuck yeah, Red. Good for u. I pause, then add, We should celebrate with dinner. And more wine.

  There’s a long pause. You’re persistent, aren’t you. lol

  I reply, Some would say that’s not a bad thing.

  We’re…really different, she writes. I don’t know if this is a good idea. I debated about it all week, if I’m honest with you.

  Okay, maybe it’s a terrible idea, I fire back. Maybe we’ll meet again and it turns out we’re a shitty fit. But at least you’ll get dinner out of it. And the pleasure of my delightful company.

  I’m shaking my head at you, Jamison. You can’t see it, but I am. LOL

  I laugh. Stop denying it. Just say yes.

  I wait for what seems like forever to get the response.

  Fine. Yes, okay, I’ll go out with you. But only because I see your potential as a world-famous poet and I want in on the gravy train early on.

  Fuck. I really like this woman’s sass. Plus, she just agreed to a date. My smile grows wider.

  I sit there and reread our conversation, then add her as a contact in my phone. I have half a mind to get her address, go over there tonight and fuck her until she screams. Taste every inch of her creamy body.

  But no. All good things can wait, and I’ve promised to take my time with Red.

  Still, a man can dream, and I know I’ll be dreaming of her tonight.

  My brothers wanted action on Outlaws, so I’ve given them some. The last few nights, we’ve engaged in some covert ops.

  Of course, it’s tactical action, not just the random slash and burn crap that they most wanted to do.

  But my brothers do have a point—we need to put some pressure on our cousins, break them down so that by the time we offer them a way out, they’ll beg us to let them hand over Outlaws.

  I head downstairs, sticking my phone in my back pocket. “You fuckers ready to go?” I ask my brothers.

  Axel is putting the finishing touches on the latest tattoo. It’s a good one. Looks like some kind of futuristic dragon blowing flames down this guy’s arm. Axel sprays it down with that green cleaning shit, wipes it, then bandages it up. The guy gives him a wad of cash, thumping him on the back, and takes off.

  Hudson and Hale stand. “Fuck yeah,” Hale says. He flashes a wicked grin. “Time to make the donuts, motherfuckers.”

  “I’ll text Zack to meet us there,” Hudson says, digging out his phone, his fingers flying over the surface of the screen.

  Not sure where Zack is—maybe back with The Clinger? Or some new girl. Could be anyone, but almost undeniably he’ll be with someone of the female persuasion.

  We hop on our bikes and cars and head to Outlaws. I go over our strategies in my head. We agreed ahead of time to not hurt anyone—if we’re going to be taking this place over, fucking people up isn’t the way to do it properly. My brothers understand the logic, even if they don’t always like it. Besides, they really just want to beat up our cousins, not some random customers.

  At the same time, hurting Outlaws means we have to do a few unsavory things. So we will scare their customers enough to hurt their bottom line.

  Just temporarily, until we take over and get the bar back on track again.

  Once we get to Outlaws, we basically set up camp, driving around the bar, heckling customers going in and out, setting up an intimidating presence, revving our engines, that sort of kiddie bullshit.

  Nothing too serious or dramatic, but it keeps my brothers happy and it does work.

  We do just enough to make a dent in the business, make folks think twice about coming back. And some of the posh types leave just when they see us hanging out around the outside of the bar.

  Outlaws has started to get popular with all kinds of folks, and a lot of the rich ones have no interest in going to a place where people like us hang out near the front door.

  At some point in the night, Smith comes outside and tells us to fuck off.

  We laugh and rev our engines and give him the finger. Smith tires of yelling and heads back inside after a few minutes.

  We know they aren’t gonna call the cops on us—it’s not the Beckett way. My cousins won’t go to the fucking cops anymore than we would.

  A little while later we have another incident.

  Someone decides he’s going to be a tough guy and tries to start shit with my brother Hale, walking over to us and shooting off his mouth.

  “Get the fuck outta here,” Hale growls. He shoots a glare at the guy, who has to be on steroids, wearing a gold watch and other cheesy jewelry. If I didn’t run such a tight ship, my brothers wouldn’t be averse to snatching his watch and necklace, but I don’t tolerate that kind of crap.

  “If you stay, you’re gonna get hurt,” Zack adds smoothly. “My brother is a fighter. He’ll tear you up. Your kind doesn’t belong here, you rich douchebag.”

  “The fuck did you say to me?” The guy moves to stand nose to nose with Hale and Zack. I can see both men’s muscles jumping with anticipation, bathed in the street lights above us.

  Hale bumps his chest against the man, and I see a vein popping out of ‘Roid Rage’s throat. The man growls.

  Hale growls louder as my other brothers move closer in anticipation of some fun.

  The man finally backs down, realizing he’s surrounded. “Fuck this place. I didn’t wanna be here anyway.” He strolls off and gets back in his Camaro, ripping out of the parking lot.

  Hudson and Hale high-five.

  I shake my head. “Focus, guys,” I say. At some point, our cousins will get fucking tired of our…negotiation tactics. “We have a long evening ahead of us.”

  But seeing how eager the boys are to engage has me a little unsettled. If we’re not careful, we’ll break my cousins, and the bar won’t be worth a turd by the time we get our hands on it.

  I run a hand through my hair and close my eyes momentarily. This shit with Outlaws is starting to stress me the fuck out. It’s like a powder keg waiting to explode and I might not be one holding the matches.

  “You know, when you asked me on a date, I didn’t expect this.” Claire turns her head to look at me with a wry smile.

  “What, you don’t like animals?” I can’t help but stare at her. Her bright red hair is pulled back in loose braids that wind around the crown of her head, and she glows in the midday sun.

  People are bustling around us, pushing kids in strollers, laughing and talking. It’s in the sixties outside, perfect for spending a day at the zoo. I knew it was the last thing she’d plan on, an activity that’s so vanilla and normal.

  Which is exactly why I chose it.

  Anything can be dirty if you want it to be, though. And Red’s about to find that out.

  I take her hand and lead her toward the elephants. Kids are yelling and waving at the massive beasts.

  Claire grabs her phone and takes some shots. Then she turns to me and takes a pic of me, too.

  “That’ll look great in a pos
ter above your bed,” I tease her.

  Her cheeks flush. “You’re so vain.”

  I lean over and let my lips brush against her ear. Her body is a breath from mine, just the tips of her nipples barely touching my chest. “Don’t be ashamed of wanting to touch yourself while looking at me. Maybe this afternoon I can give you something more concrete to think about.” With careful precision, I drift my fingers toward her waist and slide under her shirt. Brush her flesh and watch her shudder, her eyes fluttering closed.

  She swallows. “You’re so sure of yourself all the time, aren’t you.”

  “Not all the time. Not when it comes to you.” The admission slips out of me, surprising me. But it’s true. She unnerves me, makes me question myself in ways I never have before.

  Twenty-eight years I’ve been living my life, and then this woman slips in and turns the tables on me.

  Her hand reaches over and her fingers touch mine. She gives me a tentative smile. “I never really know what you’re going to say next,” she murmurs.

  There are a hundred things I want to say to her. I want to tell her how beautiful her green eyes are, how I fall into them when I look at her. How her hair catches the fire of the sun. How she makes my heart stutter, and my dick raging hard.

  But I’m no poet, as she and I both know. I shrug my good shoulder. “I’m a catch, what can I say.” I clench her fingers and let my thumb smooth the thin flesh of her inner wrist.

  Her lips part slightly.

  I tug her toward the next exhibit. “There are lots more things for us to explore, Claire.” The words are suggestive, and by the way she nibbles on her lower lip, I know she caught my meaning.

  We walk side by side, our hands locked. I love watching the slow sway of her body as she strolls. Completely not aware of herself at all, just moving. Not realizing how stunning she is. In the light, I can see the freckles on her cheeks. I want to touch every one of them. See if she has freckles on the rest of her body, too.

  My cock pulses at the thought of peeling down her jeans and pressing a kiss to her mound, letting my tongue touch every pale freckle on her skin one by one.