The Beckett Boys- The Complete Series Box Set

by Olivia Chase

  Fuck that. If he can’t be honest with himself about how love changed him, made him turn his back on his family and weaken his dedication to his own neighborhood that needs him, I can at least continue to be honest. I won’t paste on a fake smile and pretend everything is okay.

  It isn’t.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Hale finally asks me. His nostrils are flaring. “It’s been nonstop attitude from you lately. I’m getting tired as fuck of dealing with it, bro.”

  I don’t answer, taking my time and having another sip of the beer. “Ahhh…” I say. I’m provoking him. Trying to get him to yell. To see if there are any signs of the old Hale left in the shell of the man he is now.

  When he reaches out to snag the beer from my hand, I clench it tighter, then push myself forward right into his face.

  Hale’s whole demeanor snaps to, alert, body tight with tension—there’s that predator instinct he used to have. Back before he got pussy-whipped and went soft. I can feel him shaking to control it, to hold it back. “You’re fucked up,” he says, then steps back. “You don’t wanna be here? Fine. Get the fuck out.”

  “You know why I don’t wanna be here?” I tell him. I make him wait until I drag another mouthful from the beer again to finish. “Because I’m ashamed of what this fucking place has become. And I don’t even recognize you anymore.” I can’t hide the hostility in my voice.

  Hale’s jaw ticks. “Fuck you, Axel. You’re doing an awful lot of judging for someone who hasn’t been in my shoes.”

  “No?” I drain the beer and plop the bottle on the desk. “You mean, having your brothers abandon you and your family because of women? Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know shit about that.”

  “You’ve got a serious chip on your shoulder,” he growls. “No one fucking abandoned you. I’m still here working at the bar, as are you. We’re around each other all the damn time.”

  “Oh, let me thank you for your graciousness,” I say with a deep, sweeping bow. “Keeping your bastard half-brother on as your slave to do all the menial tasks you can’t be bothered to do—so big of you.”

  I can see his body tense like he’s fighting the urge to hit me. Part of me wants him to. Just to pierce the armor and bring him back to who he used to be. A loyal man to the family. A guy who gave a fuck about the poor and disenfranchised in our neighborhood.

  Now he’s living in a fucking middle-class apartment with his fiancée.

  “You’re weak,” I tell him, shaking my head. “You forgot where you came from. You left all your principles behind for a piece of pretty tail.”

  “Don’t you ever fucking talk about her like that,” he growls. His fists are drawn up at his sides. “I will—”

  “You’ll what? Hug it out with me?” I chuckle. “Isn’t that how the new Hale works?” I narrow my eyes at him. Of all the Becketts, I was closest to this man. We understood each other, respected each other. He was a hothead, yes, but he was ethical, principled. And he cared.

  No one fucking cares about me anymore. I’m the leftover, the forgotten. The embodiment of our abandoned old neighborhood. Left behind in the past, a place too seedy and gritty to be seen in the light of day. No, not okay in my brothers’ new squeaky-clean lives.

  The truth of that has been stuck in my chest for months now, slowly blackening its way to my heart.

  “Get out before I do something I’ll regret,” Hale says between gritted teeth.

  “I fucking quit,” I tell him. That ache in my chest has tightened so much that I can barely breathe. I’m angry, and hurt, and fuck all of this. I don’t need them. They never were really my brothers anyway.

  I leave the office, not closing the door behind me, and grab the keys to my motorcycle. Hop on my bike and take off down the road. The fresh air should soothe me, but it doesn’t. I feel shattered inside.

  It’s all done. The last tie that held me close to any of my half-brothers, I cut it today for good. All I have left is the house—the final piece of who we used to be. And since my dad, Butch, isn’t going to get out of prison any time soon, it’ll be my sanctuary.

  Fuck all of them.

  Turns out after all of their lecturing about family, about honor, about staying tough and holding out for the way shit used to be done—the right way—I was the only one who really meant any of it. Who believed in the bullshit my family spouted all those years.

  I shift gears and speed the bike along faster. I don’t need them. The neighborhood can depend on me. I won’t abandon them. I’m no traitor.

  I take the long ride home. The warm wind is whipping through my short hair, and I try to take solace in the fact that I’m done with all of that bullshit now. Whatever. I know my place, and I know my worth to the Beckett family name. Even if no one else bothers to recognize it. I don’t need their fucking acknowledgment anyway. I’m not doing it for them. I’m doing it because I have pride.

  I pull in and park the bike. Hop off and head down the street. The sunlight is bold mid-afternoon, and a few skinny boys are playing at the far side of the dead-end street with a dirty kickball. I can hear them cussing at each other and find a quick flash of the first genuine smile of the day creeping on my face. This neighborhood is safe enough for them to be out because I make sure to still keep it that way.

  If I weren’t here to protect them, the gangs and thugs would have taken over. Drugs would be flowing everywhere on the streets. Elderly folk would be too afraid to leave their homes.

  Mrs. Barker, one of the oldest residents in the neighborhood, waves at me from where she’s planting bright-colored flowers in her front garden. “Hi, Axel.”

  I give her a nod and a tight smile; it’s all I got in me right now. Then I head down to my buddy Chris’s house. The concrete steps are crumbled and the paint is peeling on the siding, but he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s too busy being out living to worry about shit like that.

  Chris is my go-to guy when I need to shake shit off and have fun. Like right about now. I rap on his battered screen door, avoiding the ripped mesh in the middle.

  The door opens, and his slender face splits into a wide grin. He pats me on the shoulder. “’Sup, fucker? Looks like you need a drink.” He’s wearing a faded white tank top and jeans that hang loose on his skinny frame. For as much as he eats and drinks, he must have a high metabolism. I’ve seen him throw down three cheeseburgers in five minutes. But the guy never gains a pound. It’s crazy.

  “I need more than one drink, man. Pub crawl?” I just want to drink until the miserable feeling that has my stomach in a knot goes away. Fuck everyone else. They don’t matter. I gotta let it go.

  Chris nods, giving me a toothy smile. “Of course, man. Come on in. Give me a minute to get ready.”

  I take a drag on my sixth beer and sigh with pleasure. This is what I fucking needed. Alcohol is coursing through my veins, and the anger and hurt I felt earlier has been replaced by a numb bliss.

  I don’t care about the argument with Hale, about quitting the bar. In fact, I don’t give a shit about anything right now.

  “This place is packed,” Chris says. We’re sitting at the bar of a ritzy hotel that has a wide variety of brew on tap. When his gaze lands on a young blonde tucked away on the far end of the bar, he gives her a slow wink, and I watch a flush crawl up her cheeks in response. Despite being so scrawny, Chris has a charm about him that draws women to him. He’s always crawling with pussy when we go out…a fact I somehow managed to forget about again until now. “Mmm, I think I found tonight’s entertainment.”

  A loud round of cheering from the banquet hall across the hotel lobby draws my attention. I glance into the massive room and see clusters of tables decked in white cloth and massive floral centerpieces—a wedding party. The bride and groom are in the middle of the table of honor, with rich-looking people clad in designer outfits cheering and clapping as various members of the bridal party stand up and talk.

  God, what a bunch of fucknuts. I elbow Chris and nod toward t
he event.

  We watch for a moment while snooty assholes raise thin champagne flutes and wave them at the bride and groom, who are wearing clothes that likely cost more than my motorcycle.

  “I wonder how good their food is,” he murmurs.

  “It’s just overpriced dinner fare you could get at any restaurant around town.” Probably tiny portions anyway—plus, chefs love to put on airs and make shit sound fancier than it really is. Pomme frites? Just say French fries, jackhole.

  Then I see her and my brain freezes.

  It’s like everything just. Stops.

  Rich, auburn hair piled in loose curls on her head. Her dress is a dark, dark red, the stain of blood, a striking contrast to her creamy skin, exposed in her strapless gown. Her eyes are wide and bright, and there’s a look in them as she glances around the room that knocks the air out of my lungs.

  She’s fucking stunning. Stunning and totally out of my league.

  “Aaaaand seems like you just found your own entertainment for the night,” Chris murmurs. “Let’s go over and say hi, introduce ourselves. Least we can do is be gentlemanly, right?”

  We shoot each other glances. I’m wearing a plain black T-shirt, and Chris put on a flannel over his tank top. Jeans, motorcycle boots, scruffy faces. We’re certainly not in wedding mode.

  I laugh. “This is crazy. You know that, right?”

  He laughs too. “Fuck it, bro. Live for a night. Let’s see how the other side parties it up. At the very least, it’ll be a good time to make fun of them and steal some of their drinks.”

  “Fuck it,” I say in agreement.

  We throw money down on the bar top, and I chug the rest of my beer. Now that I’m out of the bar, I can hear soft wedding music playing in the background, bleeding into the lobby. People are up and mingling with each other, small clusters of pretention everywhere I look.

  I lost sight of the girl, but she’s in here. I’ll find her again. I just want to look up close in her eyes for a moment, see what color they are, feel what it’s like to have their weight on me. Her sexy mouth is so lush and full, and tempting as hell.

  “—just enchanting,” some old lady is saying to another old lady. She’s wearing a gown that has more pearls than I’ve ever seen in my entire life. “And the foie gras was exquisite. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Oh, I know I would,” Chris says, grabbing a champagne flute from a stunned server and chugging it. “A little on the salty side though, I thought.”

  The woman reels back and glares at him for the interruption. “I’m sorry, but do we know you?”

  “Not yet.” He gives her a saucy wink. “But get me another drink and I might be down for some fun.”

  I shake my head. “Dude. You’re insane.” Gotta love Chris for always being a fun time out.

  The old lady flusters and stutters on her words, then honest to God clutches her pearls and walks off, the other in tow.

  “You made her swoon,” I say. “That broad’s gonna need to change her panties now.”

  “I have a way with the ladies,” he says unabashedly. “I don’t discriminate. Oldies can be hotties too.”

  The champagne is fizzy and too sweet, and I don’t care. I take a swig of it and put the glass on a table by me. “Let’s hit the buffet.”

  As we walk, I can feel heated glares on me, people who are blatantly scandalized by me and my friend crashing their wedding. But I ignore them, keep my gaze searching for her. The woman with the dark red hair. I don’t give a fuck what these rich twats have to say about me. They don’t know me.

  “Axel,” Chris says, tugging my arm and pointing. “Look at that fucking cake. It’s, like, eight stories high.”

  The cake is massive and covered in creamy white frosting, layers upon layers of ornate decorations that must have taken ages to do. The artist in me takes a moment to look at it and appreciate the effort. Not my thing, as I focus on drawing and tattooing, but hey, we all have our own outlet.

  “Excuse me,” someone behind me says, tapping my shoulder.

  I spin around to see a tall, black-haired man staring at me. His jaw is chiseled and his nose is a perfect slope—how much did he spend in plastic surgery to get this look?

  I smirk at him.

  “Yeah, can I help you, man?” I say politely, as if I have every right in the world to be here.

  “Are you a guest?” His gaze rakes up and down me, his eyes proclaiming that he knows I’m not.

  “Of course I am. Don’t you remember me? We met last year at the Huffenstuffer reunion at the yacht club downtown,” I drawl, and Chris smothers a chortle at the made-up backstory. “The tartar sauce was out in the sun too long, and everyone got sick and puked their caviar over the side of the boat.” I shake my head. “Tragedy, really. So many lives lost that day. So much caviar wasted.”

  His eyes narrow, and another two men step up behind him. “You both need to get out of here. Right now. Or we’ll make you.”

  Chris steps forward and bumps his chest against the guy. Skinny he is, but Chris will seriously fight to the death. He’s a scrapper. “Oh? You’re going to make us? And how is that?”

  “Hey,” a lilting voice says, as a woman draws into our midst.

  Her.

  The mysterious redhead.

  She has her lower lip drawn between her teeth as she glances at the Three Stooges, shaking her head. “We don’t need to create a scene,” she says gently. “Let’s try talking first.” And when her blue-eyed gaze turns to mine for the first time and our eyes meet, I know from the furious thumping of my heart that I’m in deep fucking trouble.

  Kendra

  When I look over at the two wedding crashers, the air whooshes out of my chest, and I almost melt into a pile of goo on the tile floor. The man on the right is gorgeous. Like, dirty, manly, potently gorgeous. I’ve never seen such raw masculinity embodied before—his eyes are a rich hazel, and his dirty blond hair is mussed in that sexy way that makes me want to run my fingers through it. His lips are full, curled in a smirk. And he’s covered in tattoos.

  He’s a bad boy, one hundred percent.

  My lower belly throbs in response to his virility, and I fight the immediate, vivid reaction I have to him, pressing my hands to my stomach in an effort to calm myself. “Um. Hi. I’m Kendra.”

  Bastian snorts from beside me, a quiet sound that doesn’t go unnoticed by the hot guy’s friend, who narrows his eyes and him then gives a wide smile. I never really liked Bastian much, though he’s Georgianna’s new husband’s best friend. So when she asked me to be maid of honor, I couldn’t turn it down, despite the discomfort of having to be by his side most of the night.

  “I’m Axel,” the guy says. “Very pleased to meet you.”

  The way he says it makes my stomach do a backwards somersault and I feel goose bumps erupt over my entire body.

  “Kendra, we’re in the middle of something,” Bastian says in a gruff tone. “Let me handle this.”

  I want to tell Bastian that as far as I’m concerned, he can go right ahead and handle it, and then gleefully watch this tattooed bad boy whip Bastian’s arrogant butt in front of the entire wedding reception.

  However, Axel doesn’t even bother to look at him now. He keeps that hot, hard gaze on me, and I fight the urge to squirm. Something about that intensity is unreal. Have I ever been looked at this way in my entire life? Like I’m about to be devoured bite by bite? “We’ll leave,” he says to me, “if you come have one drink with me at the hotel bar.”

  As insane as it sounds, I’m tempted. This guy is absolutely not my type…which just makes him even more appealing for some crazy reason.

  “She isn’t going anywhere with you,” Bastian says, resting a hand on my lower back. Like he has a right to touch me. I stiffen and inch away.

  “One drink,” Axel reiterates, taking a solid step toward me. “Then you can come back and do the chicken dance and watch all these boring fucks get white-girl wasted.”

  I can’t hel
p the laugh that bursts out of me. “You’re blunt, aren’t you.”

  By the knowing look in his eyes, he can tell I’m weakening. I can’t help it. I’ve never been so instantly attracted to someone in my entire life. He’s dangerous, I can tell that much. My daddy would have a fit. Is that part of the appeal? I don’t know.

  “Yes, I am blunt,” he answers. “Especially when I want something.”

  “Don’t do it,” Bastian warns me. “These guys are trouble. You know better than to engage with someone like him, Kendra.”

  I turn to Bastian, steeling my jaw. Who the hell does he think he is? “Excuse me? I think I can make my own decisions just fine. Tell Georgianna I’ll be back in a little bit. I’m going to have a drink.” With that, I step toward Axel.

  He slides his hand to cup my upper arm, and the contact sends bolts of heat throughout me. Once we reach the bar, the other troublemaker leans in close to Axel, says something under his breath, and then heads to the far end of the bar.

  Axel leads me to a stool and helps me get on it. Despite his rough exterior, he’s got a charm about him, an attentiveness I wouldn’t have expected. It’s hard enough walking in these high heels, much less adding a slim-fitting bridesmaid dress in the mix. He assisted me without a second thought. “What’s your poison?” he asks.

  I can tell he’s the kind of man who will scrutinize me based on what I’m having, just guessing by the way he asks me that. Like it’ll give him a clue about who I am. I adjust in my seat and say, “Lagavulin, twelve-year, with one ice cube.”

  His eyebrow raises in surprise, and he gives me a nod of respect. “Scotch kinda girl. I can dig that.” He orders my drink and a Bulleit bourbon, neat, for himself. When our drinks arrive, we clink them together and sip in silence, each scrutinizing each other.

  “So do you always crash wedding parties on Saturday nights, or was this a special event for you?” I ask dryly, enjoying the flavor of the drink. Georgianna only had champagne, wine, and select snobby beers at the open bar, and while I enjoy those sometimes, I prefer a good scotch much more. Daddy taught me the value of quality liquor, that’s for sure.