Phoenix (The Colton Cousins Book 1)

by Rebecca Rennick

  Getting as close to Braxton as I can without giving in to the urge to mortally injure him, I speak low and clear.

  “Touch her, and not even the Family Accords will be able to save you.”

  “Is that a threat, Mr. Colton?”

  “Not at all, just a friendly promise. If anything happens to Clover, I will not fucking hesitate just because your last name is Shaw.”

  Braxton smiles at me maliciously and takes another sip of his drink. I swear, if he does anything to Clover, I will not stop at breaking his bones like I did before. I will fucking kill him and finish it for good this time.

  “Hi, Nix.” Clover’s sweet voice chimes in over the thick tension between Braxton and me. “You two know each other?” Her confusion is obvious as she squints, and her eyes shift from me to Braxton and back to me.

  “Oh yeah. We’re old family friends.” I say, leaning back and smiling at Clover. She looks bewildered with a cute scrunch in her nose, trying to figure out what’s going on.

  “Oh, okay. Do you need another drink?” She offers, not realizing the conversation she just interrupted was about her.

  “Sure, that would be great. Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Before she turns to get my customary beer on tap, her shy smile pinkens her cheeks. When she returns, she slides the glass to me and bites her bottom lip. Damn, that red lipstick she wore tonight definitely works for me. Giving her a little wink, I take the beer and suck down a huge gulp. Turning to Braxton, I keep on the fake smile since Clover is watching us.

  “Braxton. I’ll be seeing you around.” Spreading warning through my words. I want him to know I’ll be watching him closely.

  “Phoenix, always a pleasure.” He nods as if giving me permission to leave. My grip tightens on my beer glass, but I keep my anger in check. Saying nothing more and returning to Arrow and my seat that he’s turned back right side up.

  “We need to keep an eye on him,” I tell Arrow as soon as I sit. “And an eye on her. I don’t trust the way he looks at her.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  I stay rooted in my seat with one eye on Braxton and the other on Clover. Not once do I move until I see Braxton leave around one am. I follow him out to make sure he’s actually leaving. Once I see him in his car driving away, I get in my truck and drive home. I need to punch something now before I take it out on someone in the bar.

  Chapter 25

  Clover

  T onight was weird. First, Nix staring at me all night, then Braxton shows up, and, of course, they know each other. There is definitely something more going on there. Nix looked ready to strangle someone when I walked over to them. Then Nix just up and disappeared without saying a word. Arrow didn’t even know he had left and had to close out their tab. It wasn’t until Beau and I returned home after closing that I knew Nix had made it home safe. Since his truck was in the garage next to his bike.

  When we enter the house, though, I don’t see Nix anywhere. I really hope he’s not in his room with another girl. That would crush the tiny bit of hope I now harbor for him, for us. As I’m getting ready to walk up the stairs, I hear loud thundering footsteps coming from the direction of their home gym. Bursting from the hall, Nix stomps into the foyer shirtless and sweating. He has white tape wrapped around his knuckles, but it’s starting to tear, and there are small smudges of red on the top. Is that his blood or someone else’s?

  His eyes are wild, and he’s practically fuming with anger. Why is he so angry? Beau is already halfway up the stairs when Nix storms in. He’s looking up at him now and just nods, returning his wild eyes to me. But I can’t take my eyes off him. I hear the faint sound of Beau going upstairs and closing his bedroom door.

  Shirtless and glistening with sweat, Nix’s jeans are slung low on his hips, and that prominent v is on display. Yum. Every muscle in his body is tight and tense from whatever workout he was doing in the gym. I’m still too stunned by the livid Nix practically devouring me with his eyes to move.

  “So, how was your conversation with Braxton?” He spits out.

  Well, that’s not what I thought he was going to say at all.

  “Why?” I know it’s not smart, but I can’t help myself. I can’t just answer him like a normal person.

  “Because Braxton Shaw is the lowest scum of the earth. And I want to know why he was talking to you.”

  “He was a perfect gentleman to me, unlike some other neanderthal I know. And he was talking to me because when he was in town last, he came into the bar. Said he would stop in next time he was in town. So, he did.” I don’t know why I like to push Nix’s buttons, but I can’t help the condescending tone I use when I answer. He can’t kiss me, then barely talk to me, then get mad when another guy flirts with me. Make up your mind, Nix.

  “Gentleman is not the word I would use to describe Braxton Shaw.”

  Shaw. He said that before, but I didn’t catch it. Isn’t Shaw one of the families in the Syndicate? Which one was it again?

  “You know him that well, do you?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. I know him better than most.” Nix’s answer is not one of elation, but one of disdain.

  Yup, Shaw was definitely one of the families. By Nix’s reaction, I’m guessing it was the one he doesn’t like very much. The ones who make all the narcotics.

  “You need to stay away from him, Clover. He’s dangerous and treats women like playthings, discarding them like trash when he’s finished with them. He has no respect for anyone.”

  “Oh, your one to talk, Mr. Man-whore—since when are you making all my decisions for me?”

  What? Why the hell did I just say that? If Nix thinks I should stay away from the drug-dealing mafia man, then I sure as shit am going to stay away from him. So, why am I still egging him on? I really am an idiot.

  “Since Braxton fucking Shaw set his sights on you.” Nix closes the ten feet of distance between us, and even sweaty and filthy, he still smells amazing. Which is why my brain must be broken, because then I say this.

  “And what if I don’t?” Oh great, now he’s going to blow a gasket. I can see the anger boiling in him and fuming from his ears like a fucking tea kettle.

  “You will,” He growls out at me, his chest puffing out like a peacocking alpha male. It almost makes me laugh, but I hold it in. Laughing would only make things worse. So instead, I place one hand on my hip and jut it out defiantly.

  “Stay away from him, Clover. He’s dangerous and not someone you want to fuck with.” He’s so serious. Something considerable must have gone down between the two for him to be this defensive and protective of me. My stomach does a little flip-flop thinking of him defending me. He wouldn’t do that unless he really did care for me.

  “Well, you’re dangerous. Should I not get mixed up with you?” Just to fuck with him a little more, I ask this in the sweetest innocent voice I can muster. Hoping it gets under his skin. Because apparently, I relish in his anger and crave an early death.

  A little of the anger leaves his face as he tries to compose some sort of response. But he can’t. I have actually managed to fluster the great Nix Colton speechless.

  I stop arguing, but I still want to fuck with him just a little more. I have no intentions of ignoring his warning, but I can’t just stop speaking to Braxton when he comes into the bar. That would just be rude, and I can’t snub my nose at the large tips he leaves. Last time it was a hundred. This time it was two. If the man wants to chat and leave a big ass tip, I’m not going to stop him. But I won’t go home with him.

  Closing the last of the space between us, I step right up to Nix. His chest heaving, and his nostrils flare with indignation. With my best defiant bedroom eyes, I look up at him through my lashes, which isn’t hard to do since he’s so freaking tall. Dragging my index finger down the center of his chest between two very powerful pecs—I have to clench my thighs together at the feel of him under my finger.

  “Make me.” I practically moan out. Then I do something that su
rprises even me. I suck his sweat off my finger, and I don’t know what I expected, but I did not expect to enjoy it. Yet I did. It was salty, sweet, and tasted of pure man. I have to actively force myself not to moan and close my eyes. So, before I do anything else reckless, I turn on my heels and start upstairs.

  “I’ll remember you said that little chipmunk.”

  There it is again. He called me chipmunk once before while I was freaking out. I couldn’t process it at the time, but I have no idea why he called me that. Maybe someday I’ll ask him…but not tonight. That would be giving him too much power in this interaction that I think I came out on top of. Even if he thinks I didn’t listen to him, I heard every word.

  That night I get off to fantasies of licking all that salty sweat off every part of Nix’s hot body.

  Chapter 26

  Phoenix

  S eeing Braxton Shaw in my bar, hitting on the object of my current obsession, causes my brain and body to go into overdrive. Every minute of the day, I’m tense, ready to rearrange someone’s face if they so much as fucking look at me wrong. Soon I may get the chance.

  Griffon called me, asking me to come into the office of CCS, Colton Coverage Security. Our private security firm is run by my father, Uncle Garrick, and now my brother Griffon.

  Gladly, I take the opportunity for a job that might offer me an outlet for my rage-induced protectiveness. If I can’t hurt Braxton, I’ll hurt someone else. My brother doesn’t disappoint. He has an enforcement job putting some low-life punks in their place. Recently they’ve been stepping out of line. Selling product in our territory that isn’t our own. That is a big no-no. We have to correct this outrageous disrespect and squash it before any others get the bright idea that they too can sell whatever the fuck they want on our streets.

  Before Griffon even gives me all the info on the punks and their location, my adrenaline rush has me cracking my knuckles. Internally pondering which techniques I want to use to teach them a lesson. Electrocution, waterboarding, pulling nails and teeth, breaking one bone at a time till they pass out—or vomit—sometimes they do that. If I duct tape their mouths, they could choke on their own puke. It’s amusing to watch the horror in their eyes as they struggle to breathe. I guess I’ll let the moment tell me what to do.

  “Who do you want to take with you?” Griffon asks as he pours a glass of scotch from his minibar.

  “Magnus and Sebastian.”

  Sitting in a leather chair across from his large and extremely well-organized desk, I watch my older brother. He meticulously wipes the rim of his crystal glass before arranging the crystal liquor bottles perfectly on the tray.

  Griffon is one weird motherfucker, and that’s something coming from me. He’s always so calm and collected. Nothing ever angers him or riles him up—literally, nothing. Even getting shot at, his heart rate stays low, and his response is precise and calculated. Comes in handy on certain jobs.

  For this job, I need anger, though, which is why I asked for Magnus and Seb. They appreciate my sense of unhinged punishment.

  “Done. I’ll send them the info you coordinate. It should be a fairly easy job. Let me know when it’s done. These guys are stepping on toes they shouldn’t.”

  “Is this a teach them a lesson or send a message kind of job?” I really hope it’s later. I might take my time and teach them a lesson first. There’s a little extra pent-up aggression in me these days. Lack of fucking and beating the shit out of people leaves me a little tense.

  I’m looking forward to releasing some of it on some fuck face’s face. Enforcing is my favorite part of my job.

  “Take your pick. They mean nothing to us.”

  My pick is C, all of the above. The boys and I are gonna have a little fun tonight.

  After coordinating with Seb and Magnus, I make sure to text Arrow to go to the bar tonight to watch Clover. I can’t leave her alone, even for one night with Braxton lurking around.

  We meet at Magnus’s place. Loading into his forest green Mercedes G Wagon, we head out to find tonight’s prey. We’ve come strapped and stocked with a few goodies for the evening’s events. A few brass knuckles, pliers, rope, metal bat, zip ties, bucket, towel, nail gun—ya know the basics. It’s always a roll of the dice on which tool will strike our fancy.

  The guys we’re looking for are supposedly squatting in some shit-hole abandoned house on the outskirts of town. Running their little operation from there. It seems they’re Tweakers turned dealers and didn’t get the memo about who they’re supposed to get their dope from. Selling second-rate toilet blow. We can’t have that in our town.

  Firstly, because we have an understanding with all the dealers we allow to sell on our turf. They sell only our drugs, or they lose the use of their legs. Secondly, we can’t have that shit on our streets and have people thinking it’s ours. Our stuff is top-notch quality grade A shit—no cheaply cut bricks in our inventory.

  Rolling up to a yellow pealing two-story house on a dark empty street, my cousins and I mentally and physically prepare ourselves.

  “What’s our plan, Nix?” Magnus asks from the back seat as he checks the mag of his gun and slides it into his shoulder harness. It’s double, and one magnum hangs from either side of his torso. Loaded and ready.

  “These shitheads are ants, and we’re the boot. Stomp on um.”

  Sliding the eight-inch hunting knife in its sheath on my belt, I grab the metal bat and step out of the car. My gun is securely strapped at my center back if needed, but I plan on taking my time. Just shooting them is no fun. That won’t help me work out the rage filling my insides till they boil.

  Sebastian and Magnus flank me as we make our way to the front door. Each carrying a weapon made for extending the pain of our fight. Seb has a massive wrench almost as large as my bat, and Magnus carries a sledgehammer. Most people wouldn’t wield such heavy objects as optional weapons, but me and my cousins aren’t exactly average. Neither is my bat. I may have filled the hollow metal with ball bearings. Her name is Betty, and she’s a big girl.

  Being as I’m the biggest of us, I have the great honor of kicking in the door. Music is flowing from the broken windows and smoke lightly billows out through tattered curtains. The sound of people talking, laughing hysterically, and moaning comes from the rat-infested hell hole. Not to mention the smell. It’s like a dead body has been broiling in a poorly ventilated apartment for three days. The plumbing must not be working. Neither is the electricity. The light we see is dim and flickers like candles and lanterns. There goes the electrocution idea.

  Reeling back, I lift my booted foot and kick the front door square in its center. Being ten million years old, the damn thing cracks from its hinges and falls into the room. Once we step through the door, all hell breaks loose. Skeleton thin girls shriek and start running. Some guys follow. But the ones that don’t, oh, they make my motha’ fuckin’ night.

  We come in swinging at anything that runs towards us. The night’s first customer is a tall, badly tattooed, greasy-haired dude with a pipe in his hand. Good. He doesn’t even get close. I can hit him with my arm’s reach and bat before he gets close enough to swing at me. I give him my backhand swing. Lifting Betty over my left shoulder, my muscles flex and tighten as I swing it back to my right straight-armed. Clipping him with the weighted end. Cracking him across the face, a few of his remaining teeth fly out of his mouth in a thick spray of blood. Pipe boy falls to the ground, and I’m already moving on to the next unlucky bastard that comes at me. Adrenaline pumping, nostrils flaring, and knuckles whitening as my grip tightens on Betty. It’s been too long since I’ve given a real good beating, and it feels so fucking good.

  We move swiftly through the house. Breaking faces and necks as we swing our heavy, long-armed weapons, I even get in a few stabs with my knife. Catching people in their kidneys and thighs. By the time we clear the house and find the ones in charge, who look like half of the Scooby Gang if the Scooby Gang ate tide pods and offered ten-dollar hand jobs in the
7/11 parking lot, we’re covered in blood splatter. Our shirts look like the wall of a crime scene on an episode of Criminal Minds. I guess in this situation, we would be the psychopaths they’re hunting. The only difference is, they would never find us.

  Since we get to do as we please with these whiny bitches, we decide to tie one up for each of us. Work out a little frustration and pent-up energy. Zip tying them to whatever chairs we find in the house. Since most were in the kitchen area, that’s where we set up. Lining up the three men in their chairs in the yellow linoleum dining area. Setting the duffle bag with our tools of the trade on the broken tile kitchen counter.

  Magnus wants to use his asshole junkie as a punching bag tonight. The devil inside coming out to play. Pure heated rage flares in his eyes as he swings left and right hooks at the man. Catching him in the gut every couple of hits. The guy is already swelling and turning multiple shades of purple, red and black.

  Sebastian, on the other hand, takes a different tactic. Holding a dirty razor blade in his hand, he works his way up to his man’s arms. Slicing thin long horizontal lines every inch or so. The man’s skin is starting to look like red and white tiger stripes.

  The screams and cries of the men fill the house, the now-empty house. Except for the fuckers we took down on the way in. Somewhere in the house, a radio plays classic rock music that I can’t discern—a perfect soundtrack to our night.

  My guy is tied to a rickety wooden chair in front of me. We are in the center of a sparsely candle-lit kitchen that probably used to be white but is now shit brown.

  “Please, man, we didn’t know.” He cries, talking around the blood in his mouth from where I smacked him with Betty. “I swear. We won’t sell it anymore.” Streams of tears track down his dirt and blood-covered face, dripping onto his torn t-shirt with some band name on it that I can’t make out.

  “Too late, dick face. Now you gotta pay the price for your insubordination.”

  “Damn, Nix. I didn’t know you knew big words.” Seb has paused his slicing to goad me on my vocabulary.