The Beckett Boys- The Complete Series Box Set

by Olivia Chase

  I still can’t believe he freehanded it. The man has real talent unlike any I’ve seen since Butch used to do ink here.

  Shit, he’s better than Butch ever was, if I’m being honest.

  Hale sits beside me, drinking a beer as Axel sprays the tattoo clean and has her examine it.

  “It’s perfect,” the customer says. “Thank you.”

  Axel beams. “My pleasure.” He cleans it off and covers it up for her, reminding her how to care for the tattoo while it heals. The woman leaves, giving Axel a big tip for the excellent job he did.

  I go to the kitchen and grab two beers, tossing one to Axel.

  “Thanks, man,” he says, giving me a nod of acknowledgement. He settles in the chair near the couch.

  Things go quiet. It’s so strange around the house without Jamison and Zack. But their presence is still here, like ghosts haunting us. I’m flooded with memories of growing up here with them, and now they’re gone, and pretty much dead to us.

  I’m fucking sick of this.

  “We’re running low on money,” Hale says with a sigh. “We need to step shit up around the neighborhood, get some cash coming in.”

  It doesn’t help things that we lost two people who were helping to bring in income. It’s down to the three of us now. Outnumbered. Outgunned.

  “I can try to get more tattoo clients,” Axel offers.

  But I’m done with this penny ante shit. “Okay, guys. We shouldn’t be working harder. We should be working smarter.” I lean back and kick my feet on the coffee table. “I have an idea.”

  Since Zack defected with Jamison to the enemy ranks, I’ve become the de facto head of the clan. Honestly, I never really cared for the strategies we were employing in our efforts to get Outlaws, but it wasn’t my call.

  Doing meathead shit like releasing rats, beating people up, and breaking things wasn’t going to be successful.

  Hale and Axel stare at me, waiting.

  I see I have their attention and continue. “I’ve taken some time to do a little research. There’s an empty building across the street from Outlaws that we can rent dirt cheap. I know someone who has connections to the building’s owner.” My brain is whirring as I flesh out my idea. “The game has changed, guys. We tried beating Smith and his brothers with brute force.”

  “And that was a fail,” Axel agrees, as Hale shoots him a look.

  “Let’s beat them at their own game, instead,” I offer.

  At my words, both of my brothers perk up.

  I can tell they’re finally ready for something new. Everyone’s been so depressed since Zack took off, and we need a change.

  “We’re going to open up a competing bar and take away all of Outlaws’ customers,” I tell them. “I’ve been reading a lot of material on how to run a successful bar. I feel confident we can do this.”

  Hale seems doubtful. He scratches his chin. “You sure about this?”

  “Absolutely. Outlaws is still weak from recent events. Their reputation has gone downhill. And they’re getting complacent, thinking they beat us. But after we’ve taken every last customer of theirs, Smith will beg us to take Outlaws off his hands. And then we’ll have two businesses instead of just one.”

  Axel is warming to the idea. I can tell. “It’s better than what we’ve been trying to do, that’s for sure.”

  “This will work, I promise,” I tell them boldly.

  “What about Butch?” Hale says. “He won’t like this.”

  “I’ll handle Butch,” I tell him.

  Axel sighs. “We can’t fuck around this time,” he says. “Running a real business is going to be hard work. It’s going to take a lot of cash to set up—“

  “I know what it will take. Leave the thinking and planning to me, boys.” I give them both a long look and they nod, showing their respect for my leadership.

  The truth is, I’ve always known that I’m smarter than most people. Not like I’m superior or anything—just that I can figure stuff out. Sometimes I just read a book and I can remember everything I read, even if I was hardly paying attention to it.

  Being a Beckett, being Butch’s kid, it makes it hard to use your brains. My dad always wanted us to use our fists, and I could do that too. So I’ve taken a back seat for years, bided my time, waited for when it would make sense to use my true skills.

  And now, finally, I see my moment has arrived.

  I want to succeed where Jamison and Zack failed. I want to prove that we Becketts aren’t just a bunch of crude brawlers with no brains and no common sense.

  I’m going to open a competing bar and I’m going to make Smith and Zack and all of them fall to their knees when we run them into the ground.

  Finally, for the first time in what feels like forever, I have energy and I feel good.

  I feel ready.

  This is the last thing they will ever see coming.

  The gang at Outlaws better be ready for a real fight this time, because we’re not stopping until we win.

  THE END

  HUDSON (The Beckett Boys, Book Six) by Olivia Chase

  Marissa

  What am I doing in this town?

  I take a deep breath, and let out a sigh.

  Stuffing the ibuprofen I picked up at a drugstore into my purse, I take my time strolling back to my motel room. The air is thick around here in midsummer, especially in early afternoon—who would have guessed that Michigan could get so warm? My black tank top is clinging to my damp torso, and I pull it away from my skin with a wide grimace. So gross.

  Hang in there, I tell myself. I won’t be in town long. Just need to save up a bit more money before I can move on to my next stop. A month or two of income should get me back on the road toward my ultimate destination.

  But for now, time to find a temp job.

  Birds are chirping on the tree-lined streets as I walk. Yeah, it’s warm and humid out, but at least Rock Bridge is pretty. I’ve only been in town a couple of days, but it’s filled with vivid green trees and lots of parks. When I get near the corner of the street, I notice there are two bars facing each other. The building on the opposite side of the street, Outlaws, seems pretty well established, with a half-full parking lot and loud music thumping through the walls. Maybe I can apply there for a job.

  I look at the bar on my side of the road, Fugitives.

  Kind of funny to have one bar named Outlaws and the other Fugitives across from each other. Maybe someone has a sense of humor.

  Curious, I approach Fugitives. The front door is wide open, and it appears empty of customers right now. Doesn’t seem like they’re open for business yet. Could they be hiring? I should probably try applying here, too. Increase my odds or whatever. I walk over to the bar’s entrance and peer inside. There’s a man, his back toward me, scrubbing down the bar top.

  A surprised hot flush works its way through my already heated body as I check him out. His jeans are snug, faded, and they cup his muscular thighs to perfection. His white T-shirt barely fits his broad arms. His dark blond hair is clipped.

  Then he turns around, his gaze roaming the room, and I lose my breath. He’s gorgeous. Absolute perfection. Firm jawline, blazing green eyes, lips that could drive you crazy and melt your body.

  Suddenly, his eyes meet mine.

  There’s a moment of attraction that slams me so hard that I can’t speak. A chemistry I never expected. I haven’t felt this strongly about a man from nothing but eye contact since…well…ever. But looking at this stranger, I am filled with dirty thoughts. I want him to throw me on top of that bar and rip my clothes off. And I have a feeling he could do the most wicked things to my body. Things I never could have imagined.

  Strangely enough, for a moment it looks like he feels that chemistry too, his body tight, his gaze hard on mine. I feel my nipples stiffen under his scrutiny, my lower belly clench. Holy hell. This man is sex personified.

  The man waves his hand to motion me in. Left, right, I remind myself, internally laughing at my
sudden wash of nerves that made me forget how to walk for a second.

  “Can I help you?” he asks me in a rough voice that sends small shivers fluttering across my skin. He’s so confident and self-assured that he both intimidates and arouses me.

  I’m a sweaty mess and not dressed for this, but no backing out now. I steel my nerves and plunge into the deep end of the pool. “Hi, I’m Marisa Wakefield, and I’m wondering if you’re hiring.”

  He quirks a brow and crosses his arms. “Hiring for what?”

  “Well, I have extensive experience in the bar and restaurant industry, everything from cooking to bussing tables to mixing drinks. I’d like a position as a bartender, preferably, but I could discuss other jobs if they’re available.”

  A small smile raises the right corner of his mouth. He steps toward me until we’re just a foot apart. From here, I can see the palest of stubble on his jaw, and a scar on his lower lip. “Oh, you could?”

  He’s teasing me. My heart gives a hard kick of nervousness. I draw my lower lip between my teeth and try to keep cool. “Yes, I could. I’m willing to put in the work, if I can get an interview.”

  The man tilts his head and eyes me. “You have good timing. I’m Hudson, part owner of the bar. Our grand opening is tomorrow. What is your experience?”

  Oh, shit. He’s interviewing me. Now.

  I stammer a little. “So, I don’t have my resume on me, but I worked at The Old-Time Tavern in Pittsburgh for the last five years. And I’ve been around kitchens and restaurants my entire life.” A bittersweet emotion fills my chest when I think about my grandma, showing me how to cook, teaching me the ins and outs of the restaurant business. She died when I was a teen, and the pain still hurts as much now as it did then. “I’m not seeking permanent work—I’m only around for a month or two. You could hire me on a trial basis and see what you think.” I shrug, as if to say, it doesn’t really matter either way. But in reality, I want this.

  Maybe I just want to be near him.

  “Where are you going after this?” he asks.

  “I’m making my way out west,” I say generically. “In the meantime, I’m willing to work hard and give you a helping hand. You might need it if you’re opening tomorrow, right?” I glance around the mostly empty bar. “I don’t see any other employees in here helping you get ready.”

  Hudson looks me up and down. “So you’re just passing through, Marissa?”

  Something about the way he murmurs my name makes my throat tighten. “I finished my degree and I’m going to go to California to find a job.” The way he’s paying close attention to my every word unnerves me a bit. I’m not used to that. Not at this intensity.

  Despite my earlier perception of his attraction to me, I can’t get a good read on him now, on what he thinks about me—his poker face is perfect.

  He’s also insanely sexy. The woven patterns of tattoos down his arms. The sexy mouth. Those bedroom eyes. God, he’s ridiculously dangerous. A woman could get in trouble with a guy like him.

  Silence falls for a moment between us. I try not to shift or give away what I’m feeling. I’m nervous all of a sudden, anxiety fluttering my stomach. I don’t know why, but I want this job. Badly. I’m drawn to him. Way more than I should be. This hasn’t become just about money anymore.

  “Can you start immediately?” Hudson asks.

  My heart hammers against my chest. “Um, yes. As in ‘right now’ immediately?”

  He eyes me darkly. “No time like the present.”

  Oh God, I got the position. Relief floods me. “So, do you have the paperwork handy? I can bring my resume tomorrow to fill out an application. But I do have my driver’s license on me if you want to photocopy it now, and I can fill out my tax forms.” I start to dig through my purse when his voice stops me.

  “No paperwork,” he insists. “Cash pay. And you’ll get to keep all your tips.”

  Interesting. I should feel sketchy about this arrangement, which is less than above board. But honestly, I’m only looking to make quick cash, and this will help. Plus, no taxes. “Okay.”

  Hudson walks over to the bar and flings a rag at me. “Good. You can start by helping me clean all the furniture.”

  He’s bossy, but I don’t argue with him. I need the cash…and this means more time in his proximity. So I stow my purse behind the bar and begin to scrub the tables.

  Which are beat-up and dingy. Same as the seat cushions and wooden frames—mismatched and ripped fabric, wobbly legs, scratched-up back. My excitement over my newfound luck turns into a hot burn of mortification in my chest. It’s obvious Hudson hasn’t had a lot of capital for this business—I can see the place is all reclaimed furniture, and the light brown paint on the walls, along with the mismatched décor, is rushed and poorly done with obvious brush strokes and thin spots that reveal dark red paint underneath. My grandma would have a fit over the shoddy work in here.

  I stay silent through cleaning half the tables, but then I can’t hold it in anymore. I clear my throat. “Um, so Hudson, I have a couple of thoughts.”

  He stills and looks over at me from where he’s sweeping the floor. “Oh?” There’s a deadly quietness in his voice.

  But I plunge ahead, determined that I can help. “I noticed…the décor is a bit outdated, and the chairs too,” I say as tactfully as possible. “Maybe we can do some fresh varnish on the woodwork, to match the color of the bar, and repaint the walls so they’re not so…”

  The sudden change in his demeanor makes my words trail off. Hudson stalks over to me, so close that I can feel his warm breath on my mouth. Is he going to kiss me? I can’t tell—his eyes are hooded and hard to read. But God help me, I want him to. I’ve never felt this alive and on fire before by someone. Never had that sudden, irrational desire to be naughty. My nipples peak again from his nearness.

  “Let me make sure something is clear,” he murmurs, and fresh goose bumps break out over my skin at the heat in his low voice. God, it’s insane how much he affects me without even having touched my skin.

  He continues in a cool voice. “I’m the boss, Marissa. You’re my employee. I’m not looking for any more partners. You’ll do the work I hire you to do. Do you understand me?”

  There’s something about the way he tells me he’s the boss that makes my pussy swell and flood the crotch of my panties with my arousal. I must be crazy, getting turned on by his words instead of being just mildly offended at his dismissal. But instead, this excites me in a dark way I don’t understand, something I’ve never experienced before. This man has a big chip on his shoulder, yes, but I find his intensity sexy beyond belief.

  Hudson is dangerous, all wrong for me, but I ache for him. How am I going to handle working for this man?

  In response to his comment, I give a stiff nod, trying not to let my sudden, ridiculous need show on my face. “Understood.”

  I’ll keep my mouth closed, despite all of my misgivings about the viability of this crazy rundown bar. As long as I get paid, I guess I can put up with it.

  He narrows his eyes, and I see for a split second that his gaze drops to my mouth. His lips thin, and he steps away. I’m both relieved and feeling the absence immediately. His responding nod is just as tight as mine was. “Once you’re done with the furniture,” he says, “I’d like you to work on pulling stock from the basement and filling the bar area. We have liquor and beer down there in boxes, ready to go. Then you can mop the floor and do some other tasks to clean things up. Should keep you busy for a while.”

  The mask is back on his face. So I shove down all my arousal and say in a neutral tone, “Okay.” A small, bratty part of me is tempted to add a “sir” on the end, but that might antagonize him enough to fire me before I really even begin.

  But I can’t help wonder what this guy’s story is. Has he ever run a bar or restaurant before? He doesn’t seem the type from what I can tell thus far.

  I spend the next couple of hours doing tasks around the main room, which has the
bonus effect of wiping away my earlier sexual rush. Cleaning everything as much as I can so it’s at least semi-ready for customers. Getting the bar area set up for tomorrow’s launch. Scrubbing down the two single bathrooms—which are gross as hell, but at least are tolerable once I finish scrubbing. I’m sweaty, but satisfied by my progress.

  When Hudson passes down the hallway and sees me cleaning the toilet bowl, he gives me a nod of approval. “Nice job. Looking good.”

  The words are simple, but they make me smile. At least he isn’t stingy with compliments. I can see his genuine appreciation for my efforts. “Thanks.”

  “You did a great job stocking up the bar, too. I can tell you know your way around one.”

  That stretches my smile into a wide grin. “I’m pretty handy. My grandma taught me everything I know. The Old-Time Tavern was her place.” And she worked me hard in there, for sure. I send a silent word of thanks to her for pushing me to aim for perfection.

  “Keep it up,” he murmurs in that sexy voice that makes me throb. With that, he goes back into the small office and closes the door.

  Hudson gives me a quick break to grab food, since apparently they aren’t going to provide customers more than small beer snacks like pretzels and peanuts, and none of that is in stock yet.

  I dash to the McDonalds a few blocks away, grab a chicken sandwich, then get back to work.

  Another hour or so ticks by as I continue my tasks, prepping the back of the bar for work tomorrow. Cleaning and lining up mismatched glassware, making sure the kegs are operational, arranging the liquor for top shelf and well—with the bulk of it being well drinks.

  Two men shove the main door open and walk into the main room, looking similar enough to Hudson that I’m certain they’re related—sexy, muscled, tattooed, with dark blond hair. The super-muscular one looks exactly like Hudson in the face. Wow. His features are dead-on similar. They have to be twins or something. The other guy is holding a brown grocery bag in his strong arms.

  When the men see me behind the bar, they stop and eye me, their brows furrowed.