The Mane Squeeze

by Shelly Laurenston

  Eventually, as if she’d somehow summoned her out of sheer will alone, the phone rang, and it was Roxy, checking in with Gwen as she liked to do when they were apart. As her mother rambled about the wonderful spa experience she was having with her sisters and wishing Gwen was there with her, Gwen suddenly heard herself say something she never thought she’d hear.

  “Ma?”

  “Yeah, baby-girl?”

  Gwen closed her eyes, swallowed, and took that step off the ledge, “I’m moving to New York with Blayne.”

  Lock tossed aside the empty beehive and scratched at a few of the bee stings on his arms and neck. “Who am I kidding? What am I going to do with a girl like her?”

  “We had this talk when we were fourteen. I even brought my brother’s Hustler for visual assistance.”

  “I don’t mean that, you dweeb. You didn’t see this girl. Not so much today, ’cause we were both naked, but at the wedding. She’s high maintenance.”

  “I thought you said she was an average Philly girl?”

  “Average Philly girl does not automatically translate into easy maintenance. She probably wants a lot of jewelry and a nice car.”

  “All of which you can now afford.”

  “That’s not the point. I don’t want somebody I have to buy.”

  “You don’t even know this woman and already you’re accusing her of being available for purchase?”

  “Because it makes me feel better that I’ll never get her!” Lock dropped listlessly against the tree. “She uses that shampoo,” he sighed.

  “What shampoo?”

  “The one with honey in it.”

  Ric’s eyes crossed. “Oh, my God.”

  “She was sitting in that tree, her leg bleeding out, and all I could think about was how good her hair smelled.”

  “Why was she sitting in a tree?”

  “She was hiding from the organ thieves.”

  Ric blinked. “Sorry?”

  “Do you really want me to explain it?”

  “Not particularly.”

  Lock stood, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I need to get her out of my head. That’s the bottom line.”

  Ric got to his feet and gave a quick all-over shake to get the dust and dirt off. “Think you can?”

  Lock shrugged and headed back toward the Van Holtz summerhouse. “Not really.”

  Gwen continued to rub her forehead and seriously considered mixing the heavy-duty pain meds with some tequila. Dangerous to her system? Yes. Able to temporarily wipe out the conversation she’d just had with her mother? Possibly.

  She should have waited. She should have waited until she was back home, her mother was back from that spa, and everyone was relaxed and calm. That’s what she should have done, but she also knew she couldn’t wait. If Gwen waited, she’d talk herself out of it. And, for the first time in a very long time, this was something she wanted more than her next breath.

  Hell. It was a future. Her future. And she was going to build it herself. How could she walk away from that?

  She couldn’t. Not now, not ever. But Gwen forgot how much damage her mother could do simply with words. The woman didn’t need claws or fangs, she had her mouth and the ability to wield Irish-Catholic guilt like a ninja sword.

  Sticking her cell phone in the back pocket of her denim shorts, Gwen thought again about getting those pain pills, but without the tequila. Debating on calling for assistance or actually getting off her ass, she was relieved when someone came out of the house—until Brendon stomped down the steps and faced her.

  He held up his cell phone. “Why did your mother just spend ten minutes yelling at me?”

  “Oh, my God.” Gwen dropped her head into her hands.

  “You’re moving to New York?”

  “Look, Brendon, I’m really sorry about—”

  “You’ll stay at my hotel.”

  Gwen stared up at him. Did he have to look so much like Mitch? And did he realize that looking like Mitch only made him a giant, big-maned target? Especially when he was giving her orders the way Mitch tried to do.

  “I appreciate the offer—”

  “It wasn’t an offer,” Brendon told her flatly. “If your mother is going to blame me for this—and my God, the yelling—then you’re staying at my hotel until we find you an acceptable place to live, in a neighborhood I’ve researched and approved.”

  That he’d researched and…“Actually, I’m gonna stay with Blayne.”

  “After Blayne finished squealing in joy about you moving, because apparently she didn’t know—and breaking her cell phone in half when your mother called her—she told me there was no way you two would ever room together after what happened on your senior class trip.”

  Gwen would kill that wolfdog if she weren’t her new business partner.

  “Brendon—”

  “I won’t have my little sister living in some rat-infested hellhole that I wouldn’t put my worst enemy in.”

  All right. That was it. “First off, I am not your little—”

  The front door banged open again, cutting off Gwen’s pointed but brutal words.

  “Hey, darlin’?” Gwen rolled her eyes in frustration as Brendon’s backwoods mate came out on the porch. “Where’s that fire extinguisher?”

  “Fire extinguisher?”

  “Dogs. Oven. You do the math.”

  “Again? Goddamnit! I can’t trust those dogs alone for two minutes.” He jogged up the porch stairs, patting Gwen on the shoulder as he passed her. “I’ll be right back.”

  As Brendon dashed inside, the screen door slamming shut behind him, Ronnie Lee sat down next to Gwen.

  After a full minute of silent seething, Gwen looked over at Ronnie. The She-wolf gave her that warm smile that always set Gwen’s teeth on edge. At some point in her life, Gwen would admit it wasn’t fair to take out her personal rage and anger on some helpless She-wolf, but she was cat and the canine was in her space. What exactly did the hillbilly expect to happen?

  “What the hell you lookin’ at?” Gwen snapped.

  Ronnie’s smile didn’t fade, although, it did become a tad brittle. “Now, I know it ain’t been easy puttin’ up with my Brendon. He can be a bossy so-and-so as only a male lion can be, but he’s doing what he thinks is best and he does that because he likes you so much and sees you as his little sister.”

  “I’m not his little sister. I’m not related to him. We have no blood ties. And I think it’s time he learned that. In fact, I think it’s time I explained it to him—directly.”

  “Now, darlin’, I’m gonna ask you not to do that. Don’t think for a second I don’t understand what you’ve been going through. I have three big brothers of my own. And Lord knows some days I just wanna kill ’em while they sleep. But it’s about family, and family is all that matters. You’ve got a man here who will protect you and care for you like he does his own twin. Like he does Mitch. So I’m gonna ask you, real nice, to take his offer for, let’s say, a month. You’ll get free room service, anything you could ever need with one phone call to that concierge guy, and free room and board in a suite that important and very wealthy dignitaries pay thousands and thousands of dollars for each night they stay. Now how that be?”

  Gwen remained silent a moment, let out a breath, and almost giddily replied, “No.” She didn’t say the word often unless medical personnel were involved, but holy shit was it liberating! Could she tattoo it on her forehead? Could she legally change her name to No O’Neill? This was great! This was wonderful!

  The She-wolf blinked. “No?”

  “Yeah. No. N. O. That spells no, in case you weren’t clear. And you wanna know why? ’Cause I’m tired of this. I’m tired of you. I’m tired of your hillbilly, down-home bullshit. I’m tired of your Brendon trying to be like Mitch. I’m tired of Mitch. I’m tired of my mother, her sisters, my uncles, the cousins. I’m tired of all of it. And that’s why this shit ends here. And you know what the first step in my new life’s gonna be? It’s gonna be
me going inside and telling your Brendon to shove that hotel up his fuckin’ ass. Because I don’t need him or his rich-boy hotel or his country-ass girlfriend who doesn’t seem to know the meaning of the word ‘shoes.’ So how that be, Deputy Dawg?”

  It happened fast. That linebacker-sized human body slamming into Gwen’s, the weight and force of it pinning her to the stair railing. Then Ronnie forced her left forearm against Gwen’s neck and slapped her left hand over Gwen’s mouth at the same time, stifling Gwen’s screams as Ronnie’s right hand reached down and gripped the back of Gwen’s wounded and still-healing leg.

  Gwen struggled to fight her off, but the She-wolf had pinned her in such a way she couldn’t move her arms and she had no leverage.

  “Stop squirming,” Ronnie Lee warned, “or I’ll—” the hand tightened on her calf again and Gwen screamed behind the hand covering her mouth. She also stopped moving.

  “Much better,” Ronnie said, cheery as ever. “Darlin’, I know from personal experience that changing your life is never easy. Especially when your family cares so much it smothers you. Trust me, I understand. But you need to understand that I want to keep Brendon Shaw happy. Because when he’s happy, I’m happy. And—” her smile never wavered, never lessened “—if you think for a New York second that I’m going to let some little half-breed, gutter cat get between me and my happiness, you are sadly mistaken. So when my Brendon comes back out here and offers you the room, you’re gonna take it. You’re gonna take it, you’re gonna say thank you—like a lady—and you’re gonna be damn happy about it. And if you don’t…I will sneak in to your room, hack your leg off in the middle of the night, and use it as a putter for when I go drunk-golfing with Sissy. Now do we understand each other?”

  Gwen’s answer was to scream again because the hillbilly bitch tightened her grip on Gwen’s leg.

  “I didn’t hear you, darlin’. What was that?”

  Ronnie squeezed again, but this time Gwen screamed out “Yes!”

  “Good.” Ronnie released her and stood, quickly and easily moving out of the way as Bren came back outside.

  “They’re unbelievable,” he grumbled, trotting back down the stairs. “‘What fire?’ he says. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she says. Canines.” He blinked when he saw Gwen bent over at the waist, holding her leg and crying.

  “Gwenie? Sweetie? What’s the matter?”

  “Her leg flared up,” Ronnie offered, sounding all sorts of concerned. “But the doctor warned that would happen throughout the day. Didn’t she, Gwenie?”

  Gwen nodded, gritting her teeth against the brutal pain.

  “I’ll get the pain pills.”

  “I’ll get ’em,” Ronnie offered before Brendon could step away. “You two talk.” She winked at Gwen and sauntered back into the house.

  Brendon crouched in front of Gwen, his big hand reaching up and gently brushing the tears from her face. “You poor thing. Maybe I should take you back to the medical center?”

  Christ! That was almost worse than the hillbilly! Almost. Gwen shook her head.

  “All right, all right. Don’t panic. We’ll get you your pills and let you rest on the couch. You’ll even have control of the TV remote.” He winked. “And then we’ll talk about you staying at the hotel when you move to New York. I promise it’ll be temporary but I know I’ll feel better if—”

  “I’ll take it,” Gwen said quickly, too quickly.

  “You will?”

  “Yeah. I’ll take it.” She nodded, desperately. “It’s fine. I’ll take it.”

  Surprised, Brendon grinned. “Wow. Okay.” He carefully reached under her legs and behind her back, easily lifting her off the porch stairs so he could carry her inside. “I have to say, though, Gwen,” he teased, “I definitely thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

  The male wolfdog fell to his back, the jaws clamped tight around his neck, the heavier animal holding him down against the blood-encrusted dirt floor. He slammed his claws into the throat of his opponent, tearing at the flesh, hoping to hit the arteries, but it didn’t seem to do any good. His opponent only squeezed harder until, with his windpipe crushed, he could no longer breathe. As he struggled, his body was swung back and forth, and from side to side until it was tossed across the floor and into the low wall surrounding the pit.

  As his life drained out onto the floor beneath him, he heard the roar of the crowd…

  CHAPTER 7

  Gwen stumbled out of bed and headed straight into the living room. She poured herself a cup of coffee and walked over to the window. She pressed a button and the drapes silently drew back. She smiled at the sight of the Manhattan skyline.

  After nearly six weeks, she’d thought she’d be bored by the same view every morning, but she wasn’t. It kind of felt like the entire world was at her feet, waiting for her. Stupid, but she enjoyed the delusion anyway.

  The sun was barely rising and she had a busy morning ahead in Jersey. She didn’t look forward to the traffic, but a job was a job. She and Blayne were doing better than anyone but Blayne’s dad expected. Plus leaving Philly had not been an easy task. Her Uncle Cally gave her a hard time for leaving the family and her mother acted like Gwen was moving out of the country and joining a cult.

  “I blame Blayne!” her mother had shouted dramatically, Gwen’s aunts shaking their heads in disgust and tsk-tsking all over the place.

  “You love Blayne,” Gwen had to remind her. “Any new friends I’ve brought home, you were quick to compare them to Blayne and they were always not good enough.”

  “She tricked me. Goddamn wolfdog!”

  “Ma.”

  Shoving that long and torturous argument out of her mind and lured by the delicious scent of food, Gwen wandered over to the small dining table and sat down. She pulled off the silver cover to one of the plates and smiled. Crispy French toast, bacon, sausage, and scrambled eggs. Then it hit her—she hadn’t ordered room service. She’d planned on grabbing a couple of donuts from the bakery next door to the office before she headed out.

  Where did this come from?

  The hotel room door slammed open, and suitcases were tossed inside, followed by her brother.

  “Don’t blame this on me!” he yelled at the empty doorway. “If you’d kept your trap shut, we wouldn’t be in this situation!”

  “Me?” a female voice yelled from the hallway. “Are you actually blaming me for this, Mitchell Shaw?”

  “Yes! I’m actually blaming you for this!”

  Mitchell O’Neill in Philly, Mitchell Shaw in New York, kicked the bags he’d just tossed down out of his way. He was uncharacteristically pissed as he tore off his leather bomber jacket and threw it on the couch.

  “Is it really that hard for you to listen to me—for once?”

  “I did listen to you!”

  Mitch came across the room toward Gwen. She watched him closely, ready to flee if she deemed it necessary. But instead of demanding to know what the hell she was doing in his hotel suite, he snatched a piece of French toast off her plate and dunked it into the serving bowl of maple syrup. “Only when it looked like we were about to go to prison!” He leaned down and kissed Gwen on the forehead. “Yo, little sis.”

  Gwen brushed her forehead against his chin in a proper Pride greeting, while forcing herself to remain calm. “Yo, Mitchie.” Christ, why was he here? He wasn’t supposed to be back in the states for another month, maybe two. “Closer to Christmas,” was what she’d last heard.

  It was not Christmas! Why was he here and it was not Christmas?

  Sissy Mae Smith, her big brother’s mate and Alpha Female of the New York Smith Pack, stumbled into the room loaded down with even more bags. “You pack like a woman,” she snarled when she finally dropped the luggage to the floor. “How can one man have so much conditioner?”

  His mouth filled with French toast, Mitch pointed at his hair and snarled, “Tawny mane! Do you think this shit stays this beautiful on its own? It needs care and
love! Which is more than I’m getting from you!”

  Storming over and swiping her own piece of French toast off Gwen’s plate and dunking it in the syrup, Sissy snapped, “Keep pissing me off, Mitchell Shaw, and you won’t get anything from me!” She shoved that French toast in her mouth and headed back toward the door. “As it is, you better learn to suck your own dick, ’cause you won’t be gettin’ nothin’ from this mouth!”

  “Hey! Do you mind? My baby sister is sitting right here!”

  “She’s twenty-five!”

  “I’m twenty-six.”

  “Who cares?” the canine bellowed before the door slammed closed after her.

  Letting out a sigh, Mitch dropped into the chair across from his sister. He glanced down at her breakfast plates, now with a hundred percent less French toast. “I thought I ordered more.” Mitch grabbed one of the suite phones and called down to room service.

  Okay, so he was back. No reason to panic because he was back. And he looked good. Better than he had the morning he’d gotten shot after Jess Ward’s wedding. Gwen still woke up in a cold sweat from time to time, the image of her brother lying on the floor of his hotel room in a lake of his own blood. She closed her eyes, not wanting to think about that. She didn’t want to think how close she’d been to losing the big idiot. Yeah, he was a pain in the ass. And yeah, he didn’t know when to cut it out—no matter what “it” may be. And yeah, he could sometimes be the most overbearing, overprotective, and overly delusional big brother on the planet.

  But he was her big brother, and Gwen loved the asshole even when he didn’t deserve it, so all that mattered to her was that Mitch was safe and very alive.

  Still…it wasn’t Christmas yet!

  After name-dropping Brendon, Mitch ordered several platters of waffles, French toast, and bacon, along with a vat of orange juice.