HUDSON (The Beckett Boys, Book Six)

by Olivia Chase

  Well, I don’t care about that, either, I tell myself. He can be as hot as he wants. I don’t want to stay in this small town. I’m moving to the west coast, where I’m going to make something of myself. Where I will be in control of my future. No more depending on unreliable people. No more holding my breath waiting to figure out when I’m going to be forced out of my own home.

  I think back on those days and my stomach clenches.

  Knowing that the time was ticking down and I had to finish my degree before it did.

  But it happened. I’m on my own now.

  Mom chose my stepdad over me, who booted me the day after graduation. I have to get over it and let it go.

  A tight lump sits in my throat. I swallow a few times. Give a generic smile at the brothers’ talk. Nod and act like I know what they’re talking about. Pretend like I’m not deeply hurt by why my life is the shit storm it is now.

  Because my own mother loved a man more than she loved me. And he didn’t want me to be around. I was a drag, a drain on them. An interference.

  Unwanted.

  “You okay?” Hudson asks me, those astute eyes studying my face.

  I smooth my expression and give him a bland smile. The smile I’ve practiced for years. That says I don’t care about anything. That says no one can hurt me. That I’m numb. Nothing more than indifferent. “I’m fine.” I tip the bottle toward him, then take a big swig

  I can’t be hurt. I won’t let myself become vulnerable. Rock Bridge is a stepping stone toward my final destination, the place where I’ll feel like I make a difference in my own small way. Where my dreams will come true, and I’ll not be a burden, but needed. Impactful. Wanted.

  “Are we ready?” Axel asks Hudson. “Seems like we’re a little low on supplies, aren’t we?” He eyes the stock behind the bar with a brow raised. “Shouldn’t we get more varieties of liquor?”

  “How many people do you think are gonna show up?” Hale asks him with a scoffing laugh. “It’ll be our first night. We’re not gonna be flooded with customers.”

  “It’s going to be fine,” Hudson says smoothly. “We stick to the plan and it’ll work.”

  As the three men talk back and forth about the success of the first day, I look around again. Yes, we cleaned. It’s not quite so grungy anymore. But the bar still looks like a hole in the wall. The kind of townie joint where only the ruffians go. What have I gotten myself into?

  Is it smart of me to work here? Did I make a foolish move, accepting the job? I’m more than a little skeptical that these men will be in any shape to run a bar…or truly serve customers. None of these guys seems to know how a bar works, at least not from actual experience. How much work am I going to end up doing to ensure it doesn’t close in its first week?

  The bar across the street, Outlaws, looks a lot more inviting. Should I have applied there first? They seem more stable than this place. My rash impulse has gotten me in a few tight spots in the past. Now I’m feeling like a fool.

  Hudson looks at me, a sharp gaze in his eye like he can read my thoughts. My face burns. “Come in tomorrow morning to get ready for the grand opening,” he says. “We want to open at noon for our customers. That gives us plenty of time to prepare.”

  I swallow back a questioning reply. “Uh, okay.” Doubts are flooding me hard. This place is so not ready for tomorrow. It would take weeks of more work to get it there. But he doesn’t want to hear my thoughts, so I swallow them down. “So, um.” I clear my throat. “How am I going to get paid?” Given the sketchiness of this bar, it seems like a fair question. Can I even be certain I am going to get money for my hard work?

  If they don’t pay me, I’ll quit. Simple as that.

  Even if my boss is ridiculously hot.

  Hudson says smoothly, “You’ll get paid your hourly wage at the end of every week. Any tips you make each day are yours to keep, though.”

  I can read between the lines. I know that’s how most employment places work—you wait two or three weeks before you even get your first check. I doubt that Hudson and his brothers could even pay me quicker than that, though. From the look of things, it seems they’re operating on a budget so small that “shoestring” is too generous. I suspect they sank all their money into this venture…and likely they won’t be drawing much of a salary until it turns a profit.

  Until?

  There’s no chance this place turns a profit.

  Most restaurants and bars fail within the first year or two, even when they’re run by experienced people.

  This place has almost literally no chance to succeed.

  But despite my brain screaming it’s probably not smart to stick around, I’m curious about how things are going to go here, what’ll happen next.

  Not to mention that Hudson’s dark gaze is haunting me…making me want to see what happens next with him, too. There are a lot of layers to him—I can tell just by watching how he is. He’s tightly wound, in control. And I’m turned on by him, even if it’s awkward as hell to admit it.

  “Okay,” I tell him. “I’ll be here in the morning.”

  I know I’m agreeing to come back and work through the week until I get my first payment. I’ll be able to take my tips home daily, so that’ll help. Well, assuming any damn customers show up at this dump of a bar. I can’t help but worry if I’m being an idiot because I’m attracted to one of the owners. If I’m screwing myself due to my ridiculous bias.

  We drink our beers, with the brothers randomly chatting about things around town. Nothing serious. I don’t know the people they’re talking about, of course, so I just listen in silence and nurse my beer until the men seem ready to head out. I chug the rest, knowing my motel room is just a few blocks away. Thank God for convenience. At least I don’t have to push my poor, crappy car too hard to drive me around here. Maybe I can soon have enough money saved up to get it the tune-up it desperately needs.

  “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.” Hale thumps Hudson on the back. “You gonna go crash for a few hours?”

  Hudson shakes his head. “Too much shit to do still. I’ll take a quick nap on the couch in the office later if I get too tired.”

  Axel frowns and drains the rest of his beer, standing. “What do you want us to do now?”

  “Drop by the house and see how things are going in the neighborhood. We’ve been spending a lot of time here.” Hudson rubs his chin. “And…okay, maybe we should pick up a few more bottles of booze. Don’t go crazy though.”

  “We’ll handle it, bro,” Hale says. “Be back soon.”

  The brothers give me an awkward goodbye, nod at their brother, then exit the building.

  Hudson and I are left alone.

  I pick at the label of my beer bottle, trying to not thinking about how fucking good he looks. About how much I want to touch him. My body gets this embarrassing throb when I think about him stepping close to me. His breath huffing against my hair.

  My God, he’s sin incarnate. What am I doing here?

  “I need your contact information,” Hudson finally murmurs.

  My first reaction is to have a sudden rush of excitement about him wanting my phone number. But I quickly realize he means about work. Duh. Of course he does. When his cell phone is out of his pocket, I tell him my number and my hotel name and room. He doesn’t bat an eye. When he’s done typing, he puts his hand out for my phone. I give it to him, and he types in his cell phone number.

  “Is there anything else you need me to do?” I ask, though my body is screaming for a hot shower and sleep.

  “Nope. That’s all for tonight.”

  “Well, if you’re sure, I…guess I’m going to head out,” I say, draining my beer bottle and dumping it in the garbage. Maybe I can talk them into trying recycling. Probably better to not push it yet. Hudson is adamant about not accepting my ideas. Oh well. His loss.

  He murmurs, “See ya tomorrow.”

  Without looking back, I exit the bar and step into the warm night air. It caresses m
y bare skin, and I breathe deeply. This is Rock Bridge, Michigan. This is my life for at least the next month or two. I stare up for a moment at the star-speckled sky. I used to make wishes on stars. But that was a long time ago. Long before my life got all fucked up and crazy. Before I realized the only person who cared about me was my grandma, and she’s been gone for a while.

  I try to forget the old me and head toward my hotel room.

  Hudson

  I remain in my seat after Marissa leaves. My body is too tightly wound up—if I move right now, I’ll do something fucking stupid, like run after her and take that sexy, pouty mouth in a hot kiss. My dick is throbbing and my blood is rushing through my veins. Why am I so attracted to her? Other than her looks, of course. Big blue eyes, sexy mouth, soft brown hair that begs to be touched. Her tank top clung to her full breasts, and every time she bent over, I wanted to run my hand along her ass.

  But I’ve seen other pretty women in my life. Many of them. She feels different than them.

  Is it her innocence? Her determination? Her backbone? The impression that beneath it all, there’s something wild just waiting to be unleashed in her? All of the above? Something about her pulls me in.

  I grab another beer, dumping the empty, and crack it open. I’ve never been a player like my brothers. I do well enough with the opposite sex—never had a problem getting laid when I wanted to. But most of my sex is more perfunctory than anything. A way to release pent-up energy and nothing more.

  No attachment, no fuss, no stress. I’ve liked it that way.

  And then she walks through the door of Fugitives, and I realize something has been missing in my life. When we first locked eyes, I felt a stirring deep inside me. Dark impulses. Intensely sexual arousal to the point of my dick hurting to plunge in her. I’ve never had such a carnal reaction to a woman before. I feel drunk, intoxicated, tugged toward her in a way I’ve never even remotely experienced before. I want to possess her.

  But even more confusing, even more unusual, is the protectiveness. She screams innocence. And Rock Bridge has its fair share of wolves. I should know—I’ve dealt with enough of them. I can’t let them get to her.

  And all this is only after just having met her.

  I’m fucked. I hired her, this woman who tempts me in ways I shouldn’t feel. But I couldn’t let her walk out the door. I want to unravel her, to see what happens with this intense chemistry I feel when I look at her.

  I finish my beer, dump it, then get back to working, starting in the office. I can’t let this shit distract me right now. Tomorrow is the big day. The day we open our doors and hit Outlaws where it hurts—in the fucking wallet. Smith and his brothers are going to feel a new kind of pain. The previous tactics we attempted to obtain Outlaws, which is rightfully ours, didn’t work. Intimidation. Destruction.

  My older brothers ran things before. They were relying too much on muscle. But Smith is smart, and that means he requires a different approach.

  Hence, our competing bar.

  If he won’t hand Outlaws over, we’ll drive him out of business and make him beg us to take it off his hands.

  Then, the debt his father owed mine, Butch, will be fulfilled. His dad died before paying Butch back for the $15,000 seed money to start the bar. So it’s ours, fair and square. But Smith won’t give it up.

  I guess he’ll have to learn the hard way not to fuck with us.

  I hear the main door open, and my brothers come back in, squabbling about superficial bullshit as they empty bags of more liquor and put them on the shelves. From my seat in the office, I can see them shoving each other and cracking jokes at each other. Admittedly, it’s weird having only the two of them around nowadays.

  My chest gets tight when I think about our two oldest brothers, Jamison and Zack. Both fell in love and defected from our clan to be with their women. Both betrayed us. I think about the strange connection I have with Marissa. I can’t let it get to me. I won’t.

  I’m stronger than that. I’m smarter.

  But if I’m not careful, the Beckett tendency to give everything up for a woman could become my fate too.

  I don’t like even entertaining the thought.

  Hale pops into the office, one brow raised. He leans against the doorjamb, just eyeing me. Of all my brothers, my twin knows me the best. Even still, he doesn’t fully know me the way I suspect twins often know each other. No one does. “Marissa, huh?” he asks smoothly. “So…explain to me, why are we hiring someone when we can barely afford to keep the lights on?”

  I rest my elbows on the desk. “More customers will come in if a cute girl is serving drinks.” Which is true, of course. This conversation also brings her back up in my head…and the thought of guys coming into Fugitives specifically to ogle her makes me a little crazy just imagining it.

  Totally not good. I have to knock this bullshit off with this new girl and focus on keeping the bar running so we can kick the crap out of Outlaws.

  I know my face doesn’t betray how I feel. I’ve gotten good at wearing a mask.

  Hale studies me for another moment, then pushes off the doorjamb. “You’re the boss,” he says with a sardonic nod in my direction. “We’re gonna get the sound system hooked up.”

  My brothers work in the main room together while I stay in the office, staring down at the ledger and sorting out our budget. I did crash-course research on running a bar, devouring as many books and articles as I could find. I know the general aspects and feel confident enough that I can ensure it stays afloat. But I look at the bottom dollar amount of liquid cash we have left, and my stomach sinks.

  Not only because of how little it is, but because of how I managed to acquire the sum in the first place.

  I didn’t tell anyone that in order to get the cash to rent the space and get all the essentials needed—permits, furniture, inventory to stock the bar, and so on—I had to take out what is basically a second mortgage on the house.

  Of course, I couldn’t go to a real bank. Becketts don’t usually deal with banks, due to the admittedly delicate nature of how we earn our money. Before starting this bar, our business has been protecting the neighborhood by being paid hired help.

  Essentially muscle. Protection racket.

  Also, Axel does tattoos in our living room. Not to mention the house is owned by our dear father Butch, who’s sitting in prison.

  Instead, I went to the notorious loan shark who operates in a nearby city. Conor McAllister. Irish mafia. Dangerous man.

  But the McAllisters have a lot of respect for Butch, who has a strong enough reputation that even in jail, he’s feared. And Conor was the only person I knew of who had enough capital to finance our operation.

  I scratch my jaw, cringing when I think about the interest rate. It’s fucking outrageous. And if I don’t pay him every week—the principle I owe plus interest—Conor will take our house and the bar.

  Going to a man like Conor for the loan was a huge gamble, one I didn’t tell my brothers about, because if they knew it, they would have said no.

  Not to mention our dad would be furious with me for doing it. Hell, he doesn’t even know we’re opening this bar. Butch wants us to crack skulls and beat our cousins into submission, physically forcing them to hand over Outlaws. That’s his way. But that hasn’t worked.

  When the only tool you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. Sometimes, other tactics are necessary.

  I’ll tell Butch and my brothers about the loan when the time is right—when the bar is successful and Conor has been paid off. After Outlaws has been decimated and Fugitives is the victorious bar, when Smith has been humbled into giving over the deed, then I’ll come clean with everyone.

  My phone buzzes, interrupting my thoughts. I glance down at it.

  This is Marissa. I just realized I don’t know exactly what time you want me to come.

  Fuck. Innocent words that evoke very dirty thoughts. I can’t stop my fingers from typing back, That’s a loaded question, Marissa
…

  There’s a pause—the ellipses to show she’s typing start and stop like six times. I smirk, looking down at the phone. I’m playing with fire here. But right now, I can’t seem to fucking care.

  Finally, I get her response. You’re the boss. You tell me what you want from me.

  My cock rams against my zipper as I harden at her words. At the thought of her mouth sliding along my length. Fuck. Those sexy lips… I want you at ten, I write back. I’ve never really flirted in text with a woman before. But something about her makes me want to push the boundaries. Then I add, Wear a short skirt and tight top. And no panties.

  Fuck. I’m crossing so many lines right now. I can tell myself all I want that it’s just to help us make money. But the panties thing is for me. Solely me.

  A minute passes before I get a reply. I have a momentary knot in my chest, waiting, and then I get a two-word reply.

  Yes sir.

  I have to fuck her. The only big question now is when and where. Because if she were here, I’d bend her over and spank that ass for that sassy reply.

  Marissa is trouble, and I can’t deny I’m seriously attracted to her.

  But I also know I don’t want to stop, no matter what the danger might be.

  My brothers and I wrapped up at the bar around three o’clock in the morning, deciding to call it a night and crash a few hours.

  I crawl out of bed around eight, tired, tense, but more than ready to get this shit started. Months of preparation, stress, and it all comes down to today.

  The grand opening of Fugitives.

  Axel and Hale are still crashed out. They worked hard with me last night. I let them sleep and leave the house on my own. My drive to the bar is quiet, with my mind running in circles about everything that still has to be done today.

  I turn on all the lights and give the bar a hard look over. Marissa’s words yesterday about the improvements that need to be made around here stick out. I’m not fucking dumb, or blind. I know the place isn’t fancy, to put it delicately. But I also know what clientele I’m aiming for. I can always upgrade later. But I can’t wait forever to start making money.