Rough & Tumble (The Haven Brotherhood) Read online

  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.

  Chapter 2

  Viv tightened her arm around Callie’s waist and shook off the not-so-shy behemoth of a man gripping the back of her neck. His height alone was enough to make him intimidating, but paired with his shaved head and leathers, the scary vibe packed an extra punch. “I appreciate the offer, but we’ll be fine.”

  “Ah, come on, darlin’.” He stepped closer and shot a quick, conspiratorial grin at his cohort in crime, a much smaller guy who more than made up in the shaggy hair department what Cue Ball was missing. “Just trying to help out. Can’t have a pretty thing like you out on the streets alone this time of night.”

  Stupid, stubborn men. One thing about guys who lived and breathed a hard life, they seemed to think the word no was a coy version of maybe. She feigned an innocent smile as best she could with Callie wrenching her neck. “Well, before I take you up on that, I should warn you, Callie’s probably about five minutes from puking on anything or anyone within a twenty-foot radius. Seeing as how I’m right next to her, that would include me. You still up for helping?”

  The mood killer worked even better than she expected, dousing the naughty gleam in both men’s eyes faster than the people at the table behind them downed their shots. The big guy stepped back and waved her through without another word.

  Viv half laughed and half scoffed, leaning into her first few steps to get some extra forward momentum.

  Callie staggered closer and nuzzled next to Viv, her words coming out in a drunken, sleepy slur. “Thanks for coming to get me, Vivie.” The scent of tequila and other things Viv didn’t want to contemplate blasted across her nose and riled what little was left of the snack she’d pilfered at the New Year’s Eve party. “You’re a good sister. I can always count on you.”

  An uncomfortable pang rattled in her chest, memories of coming home to an empty apartment when Mom and Dad should’ve been there clanging together all at once. Family was supposed to be there for one another. To love each other and have their backs, not leave them to grapple with life all alone. “Yeah, Callie. I’m here. Always.”

  The bouncer who’d let her in took one look at her sister and stepped out of hurling range. “See you found your girl.”

  “I did, thanks.” She shouldered the main door open and braced when Callie stumble-stepped down to the sidewalk. A little farther and she’d be home free, or at least in a place where she could battle the rest of the night barefoot in a comfy pair of sweats.

  Behind her, the bar door chunked open, and a few of the people crowded in front of the bar called out goodnights and wishes for a happy new year to whoever had come out.

  Viv stepped out onto Elm Street, Callie pinned to her hip.

  Midstride, Callie lurched and waved to someone across the street. “Stephanie!” The unexpected happy dance knocked them both off center. Callie fisted Viv’s hair in a last-ditch grasp to stay upright, but wrenched Viv’s neck before she went sideways.

  Viv stumbled, heels teetering on the blacktop and arms flailing for purchase.

  Callie smacked her head on the curb.

  Viv braced for her own impact, but strong arms caught her, her back connecting with a warm solid chest instead of the painful concrete she’d expected.

  A deep, rumbling voice rang out behind her. “Get Zeke and Trevor out here. See if Danny’s still around, too.”

  She clenched the leather-clad arms around her waist and fought to catch a steady breath.

  The bouncer hurried into the street and kneeled beside Callie, gently lifting her so her head rested on his lap.

  This fucking night. This horrid, embarrassing, fucking night. Behind her, murmurs and giggles from bystanders grew by the second. Her mind pushed for her to get up, deal with Callie, and get home where it was safe, but her body wouldn’t move, mortification and the flood of adrenaline rooting her in place.

  The man behind her tightened his hold as though he sensed her self-consciousness. “We got this, sugar.” The tiny movement made the leather of his jacket groan. His scent permeated her haze, a sea-meets-sun combination that made her think of Mediterranean islands and lazy days on the beach, not at all what she’d expect from a man coming out of the dive behind her. He sifted his fingers through her freed hair, moving it to one side of her neck, and a stray bobby pin clattered to the asphalt. “Your neck all right? Your sister gave it a hell of a snap.”

  That voice. Every word radiated through her, grated and deep like the rumbling bass of a stereo cranked up too loud.

  He stroked her nape, the touch confident and not the least bit platonic.

  Her senses leaped to attention, eager for more of the delicious contact. It was all she could do to hold back the moan lodged in the back of her throat. She swallowed and blew out a slow breath instead. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  He lifted her upright, and the muscles in his arms and chest flexed around her, tangling what was left of her reasonable thoughts into a hopeless knot.

  A man jogged up, hunkered down beside her sister, and opened up a leather duffel. Not just any man, the guy who’d stitched up the hottie in the office.

  She surged forward to intervene, but firm hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her back. “Give Zeke
a minute to check her out.”

  Viv twisted, ready to shout at whoever dared to hold her back—and froze. Her breath whooshed out of her like she’d hit the pavement after all.

  Fantasy Man grinned down at her, a toothpick anchored at the corner of his mouth. His tan spoke of far more hours in the sun than the surgeon general recommended, and his almost black eyes burned with a wicked gleam that promised loads of trouble. And not necessarily the good kind, judging by the vicious scar marking the corner of one eye.

  “Zeke’s a trauma doc,” he said. “Perks up like a bloodhound if anyone so much as stubs a toe.”

  Callie moaned, and Viv spun back around to find the doc prodding the back of her sister’s neck.

  “I know it hurts,” Zeke said. “Can you tell me your name?”

  “I don’t feel so good,” Callie said.

  Zeke carefully moved Callie’s head back and forth and side to side. “I imagine you don’t. Still want to know your name though.”

  “Callie.”

  “That’s a pretty name.” Zeke dug into his duffel and pulled out a penlight. “You know what day it is, Callie?”

  Callie’s eyes stayed shut, but she smiled like a kid at Christmas and threw her arms out to the side, damn near whacking Trevor as he sat on the curb beside her. “Happy New Year!”

  Trevor chuckled and shifted Callie away from the bouncer so she rested against his own chest. “I got her, Ivan. See if you can’t find the crowd something else to gawk at.”

  “You know where you’re at, Callie?” Zeke checked her sister’s pupils for responsiveness.

  As soon as Zeke pulled the light away, Callie blinked and focused on Viv. “I’m with Vivie.”

  Fantasy Man’s voice resonated beside Viv’s ear, the tone low enough it zinged from her neck to the base of her spine. “Vivie, huh?”

  A shudder racked her and she crossed her arms to combat the goose bumps popping up under her suit jacket.

  His arm slipped around her waist from behind and pulled her against his chest, his heat blasting straight through to her skin. “You okay?”