Broken Rules: A Rescuer Romance

by Gunn, Jenna

  “Long enough,” I reply over the rim of my coffee.

  The loathing is plain in his eyes.

  Ignoring his attempt to burn me down to the ground, I continue to eat.

  He glares—I finish my breakfast. Poor guy. He probably can’t figure out how the hell a man got inserted into his sister’s life so quickly— a man that’s now a burr in his side.

  While Anya does her thing getting ready for work, I thumb through some of the albums on the shelves in the living room. It’s a helluva collection. There must be five thousand albums here, maybe more.

  “I’m ready.” She says from the doorway.

  I follow her to her car, open the door for her. There’s really no doubt in my mind her brother is watching us through a slit in the blinds.

  “Thanks for breakfast.”

  She slides into the driver’s seat, her eyes holding mine. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry it was tense with Cam.”

  I wink at her. “I’m tough, I can take it.”

  “I’m not sure if he will be here tonight. If he is, maybe you should stay at your place.”

  The sting of her words sets me back. I glance away. For some reason, I thought I’d be here too. For her. That she’d want me here...

  Stupid for me to feel that way, really. Cameron does live here. Obviously I’ve made him uncomfortable.

  I draw some air into my squeezing lungs. “If that’s what you want.”

  13

  “Bye Rich. Thanks again for giving me time off for the interview.”

  He tosses up a hand. “You’ve saved my ass more than once.”

  In the car I smooth on some lip gloss, fluff my curls up. It feels weird to try to look sexy for a job interview.

  When I pull into the Fox Hole adult club, jitters twist my gut into a pretzel. The building is innocent enough. Brick, square, and windowless. There’s a big mechanical twirling sign on top in the shape of a giant Fox with tassels.

  God. I’ve dipped low.

  I’d have never thought about coming here, but Mave’s good friend strips here and makes serious bank.

  But I am not stripping. No way. No how. Not that my basic little boobs would bring in any bucks.

  Hell, they’d probably pay me not to strip.

  But maybe I can at least serve up drinks. I do have good legs....

  I wiggle my boobs up in my push-up bra for courage. A modest amount of cleavage stares back up at me for what I’ve got. Not too bad. This tank top drew Brandon’s eye so at least there is that.

  Brandon…

  He’s not going to like this one bit. I saw the look in his eyes when I said second job. That’s without him knowing it was a strip club. But they pay the best. And at least they have bouncers that will keep anyone from harassing me.

  I won’t keep the job long. Just enough to get the money for Cam.

  My eyes are down as I walk to the club entrance. That’s why I nearly slam into the side of a car that pulls in front of me. My heart nearly leaps out of my boobs as I stumble back. The nerve! Some reckless son of a…

  Oh no. The reckless son of a bitch is none other than Bishop Archer. He’s out of the car a second later and the look on his face says he’s got all kinds of crazy ideas in his head. Ideas he doesn’t like.

  The scowl on his face would scar kindergartners for life. “Why are you here?”

  “Bishop. Nice to see you too.” I move around his car, continuing toward the door.

  His hand lands on my shoulder. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  I glare at the fingers latched onto me. “I don’t have time to chitchat.”

  “Well, the faster you answer, the sooner we can move on.”

  I flash my don’t-you-dare-eyes at him. “Interviewing for a job.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticks. It’s too damn like Brandon’s. I have to look away.

  He pulls me backward away from the door. I sputter, dig my heels, but am no match for his size. Where are those bouncers when you need one?

  “You’ve lost your mind.” He growls.

  “Actually, no, this is brilliant. I need money fast. Dollars seem to fly in this place, so here I am.”

  Bishop’s so ticked he can’t even look at me. “Get in the car.”

  “You, Bishop Archer, or any other Archer for that matter are not telling me what to do. And besides I have my car here.”

  I re-poof my hair. “I gotta go.”

  I march right up to the door of the club. Dead set on getting the job.

  “Anya!”

  His face looks resigned when I glance back. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Fine, but hurry.” Instead of being pissed, relief washes over me. I didn’t want to admit it, but entering the dark bowels of an adult club for the first time by myself had me more nervous than I’d care to admit. I have no idea what might be inside that door, but I like knowing he’s got my back until I figure this out.

  The inside of the club is filled with a flood of purple light. Blinking, I try to get my balance. The music is not as loud as I thought it would be. A few waitresses are working the floor. Men… and even women are dotted at the tables around the building. There’s a giant stage in the center with four poles that stretch into the rafters.

  A purple velvet rope blocks our entry.

  So this is what a strip club looks like…minus the stripping, of course. I guess they must be between sets.

  The hostess greets us with a big friendly smile and an even bigger rack of boobs on display in green spandex bandeau. Somehow the thin strip of fabric is defying gravity.

  Dragging my eyes away from her Grand Canyon cleavage, I paste on a cheery smile. It feels like a stiff nervous smile as I speak. “Um, I’m Anya O’Reilly, I’m here to see Stu for an interview.”

  “That’s just great. We could really use the help.” Her eyes rove over Bishop appreciatively, “I can entertain your guest while you talk with Stu.”

  She sees me glance at Bishop, and likely reads my unease. She pats my arm. “Don’t worry, honey. He won’t drag you off to some dark dungeon office. He does the interview right over there.” She points at a booth in the far corner. “Your handsome man can hang at the bar over here with me.”

  Some of the tension eases out of my shoulders. I guess paranoid isn’t out of the ordinary here, and she makes it seem like no big deal.

  “I’ll let Stu know you’re here and come right back.”

  Her hips twist in figure eights as she moves across the room on the tallest high heels I’ve ever seen. Uh oh. If I have to wear something like that… my feet are used to flip-flops, not skyscrapers.

  Bishop is totally silent beside me. Which is not that unusual really—he’s not a chitty-chatty kind of guy. But this is quiet on a whole other level. This silence is wet-concrete heavy.

  I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. But I give him credit, he doesn’t drag me backwards out of the door.

  The man who appears around a corner looks just like a normal guy. Not sure what I expected. But he’s big, sure, and has tattoos covering his thick arms, but he is not wearing a Hefneresque smoking jacket. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that’s stretched over a muscular chest and jeans with rips in the knees. I’d expect this guy to be turning a wrench on a motorcycle, not running the Fox Hole. But hey, what do I know.

  He extends a hand to me, “Stu Baker.”

  “Anya O’Reilly.” His hand is gigantic and calloused. Yep motorcycle mechanic. Bishop shakes his hand briefly.

  “Kitten will make sure you’re taken care of while the young lady and I chat.”

  The blonde in the magic-green-thingy shows up right on time. Stu nods for Bishop to follow.

  We take a seat in the recessed booth. A girl appears on stage and the music starts to pulse. I feel my eyes go wide.

  She just...oh my god. How did she do that?

  A waitress appears in front of me wearing nothing but a see through black teddy and a pair of seven-inch silver stilettos. Her teeth are
as white as mountain snow in a smile as big as Texas. Um… so maybe I’m not waitress material.

  Quietly she drops off two ice cold, unopened bottles of water.

  I twist off the top. Appreciate that at least I’m not worried about getting roofied on top of my interview jitters.

  Stu’s smiling when I glance at him. “Newbie, huh?”

  My face burns hot as a coal. I wonder how that ridiculous blush looks under the purple light.

  “Uh, yeah. Sorry.” I mutter.

  Great. Blushing and now muttering. Not the way to get a job in a titty bar.

  Stu shrugs those mile wide shoulders. A smirk tilts up one corner of his mouth. “It won’t take long and you’ll be bored with it. I sure as shit am.”

  I fidget with my hands. My foot is trying to tap, but I wedge it under the table.

  “You ever waited tables before?”

  “No, sir. I have not. But I have a good memory.”

  He grins. “Well, I guess that helps.”

  His eyes fall to my boobs. The awkwardness of the moment strikes me and I giggle. “Is that part of the job interview?”

  He drums his finger on the tables and grins, acknowledging that he got busted. “Unusual to see a real pair around here.”

  “Well, everything about me is as real as it gets.”

  “What brings you in?”

  “What brings any girl in? Money.”

  He leans back in the seat, takes a long drink off his water, his dark, knowing eyes survey the club. “Money for some. Attention for others.”

  “I’d be fine without the attention. But the money I need.”

  He nods toward the bar where Bishop is sitting, keeping us in plain sight. “He your boyfriend?”

  “Friend.”

  “The Archer Brothers are good friends to have.”

  I can’t suppress the frown that knots up my brows. I should have known this small town was too small. “You know them?”

  “Went to school with Christian. Ran the roads plenty with the others too. Bishop is the quiet one.”

  “They are quite the family...”

  He smirks. “Different, all of them. Even the twins, different as fuck. Bishop had a nasty divorce, didn’t he?”

  Carefully I set my bottle down on the table. Is this some kind of fishing expedition? Bishop is very private about the D. I don’t even know all the details. “I think so,” I say.

  I so did not expect this conversation to turn into a discussion about the Archers.

  “He doesn’t want you to be here.” He says, tilting his chin toward Bishop. “That’s trouble.”

  “I’m a free woman to do as I please. He just came along to make sure it’s a legitimate job.”

  “Bishop knows me, knows I run a legitimate, safe business now. He’s in here because he’s not happy about your decision to come.”

  I huff, mumble under my breath, “Great, what will Brandon, think then.”

  The man’s dark grey eyes narrow on me. “Brandon Archer?”

  Gritting my teeth, I reply, yes. “The Brandon Archer.”

  “Are you his?”

  Grrrrr. “That sounds so… I don’t know. Like I’m owned by someone.”

  “Okay, let me rephrase this, are you seeing Brandon?”

  I nod.

  “Well, that concludes this interview.” He picks up his water bottle and slides out of the booth.

  “Wait!” I call. But he’s already moving away. He stops and turns back around. “You probably don’t want to come back in here.”

  Then he’s gone. His shoulders are tight as a stack of cinder block as he crosses the floor and disappears behind a closed door.

  14

  Tyson answers the phone in a tone that leaves no doubt he’s in a good mood. “Morning, bro.”

  I should be in a mood like that. I just had kitchen table sex with the most amazing woman I’ve ever known, but my mood is cloudy as a hurricane. Thanks to one fuckhead brother named Cameron.

  Dragging my whirling brain back to the task at hand, I say, “Hey. How’s it going?

  “I’m good, I just left the Emergency Room.”

  “That’s a weird combination of words...good and Emergency Room.”

  “Normally you’d be right, but I’m not the one getting stitches. That would be Jeremy. He gashed his foot on something in the water during a rescue. Me, on the other hand, I got to visit with one smoking hot ER doctor.”

  I chuckle. Let me guess, “Dr. Abby?”

  “Bingo.”

  “So, back to the reason I’m calling. Know anyone who’s into buying vintage music collections?”

  Ty starts humming, which always means he’s thinking. “Yeah. I do, actually.”

  “Put me in touch?”

  “Of course. I’ll text the number. The guy’s name is Arthur. And be warned, he’s a little weird. I think he lives in some past decade and only sticks his head into this one for a peek around.”

  Laughing, I say, “Sounds like just the guy I need to talk to.”

  “You find some old records?”

  “The girl I’m seeing has a big collection.”

  There’s a long, very pregnant silence on the other end. “Didn’t know you have a girlfriend. I wondered where you’ve been. Wouldn’t be the girl you got in a fight over, would it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, I’m happy for you. You staying at her place?”

  “Actually, I am. And at the moment I’m going to buy some plumbing and electrical supplies. Her place is a fucking disaster.”

  He laughs, “I’m sure she’s happy to have you taking care of that… and other things.”

  I grin. “Gotta go. Catch ya later.”

  The text from Ty comes in a few seconds later. I hit dial and speaker as I sit at a stoplight.

  Saying Arthur is weird is like saying ghost peppers are just warm.

  He talks like a nineteen eighties A-Ha song.

  While that is entertaining, the important thing is that he is very interested in seeing Anya’s collection.

  I disconnect the call just in time to arrive at Cove Electrical. Browsing the shelves of outlets, wire, and fixtures, I see quite a few things that would be a decade’s overdue upgrade for the place Anya lives in. But right now, I’m only replacing a few sockets with modern USB one that actually work.

  The man behind the counter rings me up. My mind wanders to Anya as I watch the passing traffic. Funny how you start to see cars like your girl’s at every turn once you start paying attention. My eyes focus on one across the road in another parking lot.

  It looks identical to her Prius.

  “Here you go, sir.”

  Without looking, I reach a hand out to take the bag from the clerk. I might have muttered thanks, but I’m not sure.

  The only thing in my focus is the car across those four lanes of traffic. What the hell am I seeing? All those other cars I saw were definitely not hers. But this one...

  Nothing makes sense—Anya’s car is in the parking lot of the Fox Hole.

  Quit freaking out.

  Maybe’s, it’s not her car.

  Looking more closely, I see the surfboard sticker on the rear window. Definitely her car.

  I wish like hell it wasn’t.

  A flush of cold runs through my gut.

  There is no fucking good reason Anya is in Stu Baker’s bar.

  I’m halfway across the lot of Cove Electrical when the door of the Fox Hole swings open and Anya walks out. The bright red of her curly hair is unmistakable, even though she’s two hundred yards away. My body breaks into a jog. Then—I see who she’s with.

  You might as well have stuck a rusty fucking dull knife in my gut, eviscerating me. All that ice water in my gut dumps down my legs, washes me down into the storm drain with it.

  Bishop Archer, my own damn brother, has his hand resting on Anya’s shoulder like he owns her.

  I stumble to a stop, my legs suddenly disjointed. Circuits in my brain and bod
y start shorting out.

  Just a few hours ago, she was breathing my name as I claimed her as mine.

  Fuck.

  This can’t be happening.

  No. This is not happening.

  But the truth is right in front of me. She really is with my brother at a strip club— and no less, the fucking dive owned by one of the few men in the world I hate, Stu Baker.

  Pieces start to fall in place. Bishop knows exactly why I detest Stu. He also knows I’d never go to the Fox Hole, the bastard’s business. It would be the perfect place to rendezvous without ever running into me.

  If I didn’t know that was Anya, I’d swear that was some other woman. I’ve never seen her dressed like that. Provocative. Her hair is… big. Her breasts are shoved high in her tight tank top. The jeans on her ass are painted on, far tighter than I’ve ever seen her wear.

  Everything points to a seedy fucking hookup.

  My throat constricts as she turns toward him. That knife that was in my gut is suddenly clawing at my throat.

  God. Do. Not. Let. Her. Kiss. Him.

  It’s like watching a train wreck. I’m stunned and unable to look away.

  I can’t see her face, but he’s nodding, then he shrugs. Is that a smile on his face?

  Jesus. My own damn brother.

  I should have known she was too good to be true.

  Half of me wants to pitch a raging, screaming fit in the middle of the road, and the other half of me wants to throw up.

  Everything in me locks up. My concrete legs barely carry me back to the truck. But I somehow land in the driver’s seat.

  Thank fuck, I went to Bryce’s office before I saw that, because there’s no way I can face another human being and be civil now. I’m blind and deaf, except for the pure blood red of my vision and the pounding pulse in my ears.

  A lamp falls off the entry table in my duplex when I slam the door. It felt good to bash the thing closed.

  15

  “Why would that man suddenly tell me that the interview was over because I mentioned the name Brandon Archer? He told me I shouldn’t come back.”

  Shock widens Bishop’s eyes for a second, then he grimaces. “Why did you talk to him about Brandon?”