Return of the Bad Boy

by Paige North

  My phone buzzes again, but I don’t feel like talking to her or anyone else right now, so I shut it off. No, wait, I do feel like talking to someone. I want to find Smith.

  When I came to him, scared and vulnerable, he believed me without a second thought. Didn’t ask me to even show him the note Roger left. No, he held me in his arms and let me cry and then he told me he was going to protect me.

  My legs are little unsteady as I rise from the couch. I comb my fingers through my sleep-mussed hair then make my way down the stairs to the bar’s entrance. I see Jax, who is startled to find me standing in the hallway.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, fighting with everything I have to sound even and not like I’m about to lose it. I can’t stop shaking. The stress of the text messages, of my mom, are weighing on me, and I just want to cry. “I need to speak to Smith if he’s available.”

  Jax’s brow furrows as he eyes me. He steps closer. “You okay?”

  My throat gets so tight I can’t even speak. I just look down at the ground and shake my head.

  “Fuck. Did that asshole ex of yours do something?” Jax says, his voice changing now.

  I hand him my phone and let him see the text messages.

  “Oh, hell no.” Jax’s voice raises. “Fuck that. No. We’ll find Smith and take care of this. That guy is gonna regret ever coming here to find you.”

  I look at Jax, who doesn’t know me, yet he too is standing by my side, and I burst into tears.

  He looks startled. “Shit. Did I say the wrong thing?” He scrubs a hand over his hair. “I’m trying to help. Sorry.”

  “No, I’m just…” I sniffle and blink. “I’m sorry. I’m stressed. This is difficult. Thank you for your help—I appreciate it. I don’t want to be a burden.”

  “The only burden is this motherfucker who’s going to quickly realize you don’t screw with us,” he says vehemently.

  And just like that, I’m enveloped into the lives of the Beckett boys. Jax waves Asher over as he walks by and pulls his brother aside, whispering to him. He shows him the texts.

  Asher’s face pinches in anger and he looks over at me. “Don’t you fucking worry about a thing,” he says to me hotly. “This shit don’t slide, not at all. We’ll take care of it.”

  “Take care of what?” Smith says, appearing behind the brothers. He takes one look at my face and storms over in front of me, gripping my arms. “What happened? Are you hurt?” He pulls back to eye me from head to toe. “Tell me.”

  Jax hands Smith my cell phone. Smith looks at it, his face unreadable but for the jaw line ticking as if he’s grinding his teeth. Smith doesn’t say anything at first.

  He gives me my phone back, then wraps me in his arms and strokes my hair. “Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry. I promise you we’ll make it all okay.”

  Enveloped in his warmth, surrounded by his brothers, in this moment I believe Smith. I feel overwhelmed by their protectiveness, these wild boys who have such a bad reputation yet such deep hearts. How is it no one sees this in them? It’s clear as day to me that they care strongly.

  After a few moments, I withdraw from Smith’s arms. “We should go to the police,” I say. “I didn’t want to before, but he texted me. They can trace that stuff, right? Find where it came from? I have evidence now of him trying to harass me.”

  Smith stiffens. “Um. Yeah, I guess we can.”

  “Is it not a good idea? I don’t know what else to do. You don’t think they’ll take me seriously?” Panic hits me. Where the hell can I turn if even the police can’t help me against Roger? How much can the Beckett brothers really do?

  The other two brothers stand there, staring at Smith. An unspoken message passes between the three of them.

  “What is it I don’t know? Are the cops corrupt or something?” I ask.

  Smith gives a dark laugh. “Aren’t all cops?”

  I blink. “Wow, that’s bitter.”

  “You gotta forgive him,” Jax says smoothly. “We’ve had some shitty run-ins with the local fuzz. They don’t exactly…like us.”

  “And since you’re associated with our family,” Asher continues, “they’ll probably give you shit for it.”

  Smith gives them both a heated stare, then turns to me. “Aubrey, we can go to the cops if you want. It’s your choice.”

  I stand there, emotions roiling in me. Part of me wants to go to the police and try, because I feel like that’s the responsible thing I should do as a citizen. And Smith will go with me even though he’s clearly uncomfortable with it. “Are they mad at you because of things you’ve done as kids?” I ask. It seems like this is something important to know, given the way they’re reacting.

  Smith takes my hand and leads me into the office, closing the door behind him. We sit on the beat-up couch in the corner of the room. “Look. Outlaws is having…problems. We’re a rough bar with a bad clientele, and not only that, we’re not making enough money to sustain our business for much longer. The police are trying to strong-arm us into closing, and people are coming in attempting to buy the bar. Probably to knock it down.” He’s even-toned as he tells me all of this.

  But I remember our talks about his dad. How much he misses the man. This bar is a connection to his father. Of course he wants to keep it.

  My heart bleeds for Smith’s struggle. He has to feel like the world is against him, given all the shit he’s going through. Yet here he is, trying to help me, putting himself in a situation to get harassed by the very people who are supposed to protect us.

  I reach over and cup his face with both hands, drawing him to me and kissing him. I want to help this man any way I can. I want him to know what it feels like to be supported. He’s spent so long being the backbone of his family. He needs someone to nurture him, too.

  Smith’s mouth opens and I tentatively slip my tongue inside. He groans, and the kiss deepens when he tilts his head, takes control. His hands reach down to my hips and he tugs me onto his lap.

  I can feel him already starting to get hard. God, can I ever get enough of this man? He makes me feel everything so vividly. Not just in bed, but outside of it. My pulse throbs in my body, and I feel my skin growing hot.

  We kiss for what feels like forever, our bodies pressed hard together, our hands roaming each other, just pouring everything out. Everything I’m feeling is bubbling right to the surface, and I want to drop my final walls and tell him how much he means to me. How I’m falling in love with him, despite my efforts to keep my heart protected.

  I wasn’t planning for this to happen, but it’s here. I can’t fight it, pretend this isn’t what is happening to me.

  When he pulls away, panting, I take a moment to breathe and collect myself. This isn’t the time to be spilling the beans on my feelings, I know. But God, I want to, if only to get this gigantic feeling out of me and out there. Some kind of weird self-torture, I guess. I don’t have a clue how he’d respond.

  Smith’s eyes are dark and hooded. “Damn if kissing you doesn’t make me forget just about everything.”

  “Well, don’t forget how to pour beer,” I tell him sassily, trying to get myself back under control. “We’re going to save your bar. No one is going to buy Outlaws. We’ll keep it in business, in Beckett hands, and help it thrive.”

  “Ah, so here’s where you pull out your checkbook and leave a massive donation to the cause,” he retorts in a dry tone.

  “No, smartass. Here’s where we brainstorm ideas to keep the business afloat until we can turn things around. Get you a better clientele. Freshen things up. Not make this place feel so…”

  Smith quirks a brow, waiting to hear what I’m going to say.

  “So…in need of a makeover,” I finish as gently as I can.

  He gives a chuckle, and his face lightens. “You’re upbeat, I’ll give you that. It’s surprising in the face of everything you’re dealing with right now.”

  “Easier to look at what’s on your plate than on mine,” I point out. “I have no idea what to d
o about my situation.” My lightness dampens a bit. Fucking Roger. Why can’t he just let me go?

  I know why. It’s because I was in his control, and controlling people hate losing that. Not to mention me leaving injured his pride. Roger is pissed at me.

  “Will you trust me to deal with your situation?” Smith asks me. There’s a weight in his eyes as he stares at me. I can tell there’s a lot more involved in this question. He’s asking me to trust his way of dealing with things. To trust that he isn’t like Roger, that he won’t treat me that way.

  “But you already have so much to do,” I tell him quietly. “I can’t put this on your shoulders, too.”

  “It would make me feel better if I could help you. I want to.” Simple words, but powerful.

  “Only if you let me help you with the bar.” It’s a fair exchange. My brain is already whirring with ideas on how they can make business stronger.

  He narrows his eyes.

  “Take it or leave it,” I reply. “Those are my terms.”

  A dimple pops up in his cheek as he gives me a crooked grin. “You’re quite a handful, aren’t you, Aubrey?” Smith’s chest rises and he gives a steady exhale. Something in him changes, just a bit, a small difference. The weight he carries around his eyes is gone.

  “You have no idea.” I laugh. I don’t know what he’s going to do, but I have to trust that Smith will be okay and he won’t do something insane or self-injuring. I reach over and take his hands, stroke the length of his fingers. “For your bar, I was first thinking you should talk to Aunt Sylvia.”

  He groans, then flips my hand over so he’s running his fingers along the creases of my palm. The gesture sends shivers skating across my skin. “She’ll rub it in about how bad the bar is doing.”

  I shake my head. “No she won’t. That woman loves you, Smith. She wants to help. Let her in—trust her. I bet she can help you come up with some food specials.” He opens his mouth to protest, but I press on. “Yes, you should have meals, even something easy to make. Drunk people like to eat, and eating means they’ll linger and thus buy more drinks.”

  He gives me a grudging shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “If I’m going to trust you, you have to trust me. My uncle owns a restaurant and he’s talked to me a little bit about how it works. I’m not an expert or anything, but he is—and he has good connections.” Connections that can help us iron out a game plan for Outlaws.

  I can tell it stings Smith’s pride a bit to have to rely on strangers for assistance. He doesn’t know my uncle. But he gives me a quick nod. “I’ll talk to Jax and Asher about it,” he says. “As they keep pointing out to me, they’re part owners of the bar. They should have a say in it.” He gives a chuckle. “I have a feeling they’ll be on board with the food idea, though. Asher’s been nagging for us to do so for a while.”

  I know that Smith and I are going to help each other. And together, we’ll sort all this shit out.

  Smith

  I get Aubrey settled back in upstairs, telling her I’ll be back up tonight and not to leave the apartment or answer the door for anyone. It’s obvious from the text messages that her crazy ex knows where I live, that he’s been following her. The thought makes my blood boil, and I want to choke the shit out of him.

  Unfuckingbelievable, his nerve.

  I have Aubrey’s cell phone in my pocket. I asked her to let me have it, and she gave it right to me. Her faith in me, her trust, makes me honored. After everything Roger has done to her, the way he’s violated her personal space, and yet she still believes that I’m not going to use access to her phone against her.

  I don’t know what I’ve done to earn her trust but I’m not going to fuck that up.

  Aubrey means too much to me. More than anyone else ever has.

  I head back to the bar and try to focus on my job. But a plan is brewing in the back of my mind. If he won’t show himself, I’ll draw him out. And her cell phone is the best way to do that.

  A guy like him is trying to provoke her into responding. It gives him control if he can get her to cave and answer him, whether it’s lashing out or defending herself. It opens the door to conversation and allows him to manipulate her. I’ve encountered more than one of this type in my life.

  What he doesn’t know is that he won’t be dealing with Aubrey anymore. He’ll deal with me. I’m not letting him anywhere near her.

  Jax comes over. “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s okay. Not as freaked out. I told her we’d handle it.”

  “Damn straight. That’s fucked up. No wonder she was upset. I bet you’re already planning how we’re going to kick his ass, aren’t you.” He laughs when he sees something in my eyes. “I knew it. You’re so easy to read. You’re totally falling for her.”

  I start to protest, to deny it. But it’s true. I can’t deny it. Aubrey has totally entranced me. She’s witty, spunky, and she doesn’t take my bullshit. She gives it right back when I start getting too much attitude. But she’s also beautiful and emotional and she opens herself right up to me.

  And in bed…

  “Yeah, okay, I do have feelings for her.”

  Jax gasps and looks up at the sky in an exaggerated fashion. When I just stare at him with my brow raised, he says, “I’m looking for the four horsemen to come galloping from heaven, because surely this is the end of times. This event was foretold in the Bible. Smith Beckett has fallen in love.”

  “Don’t make me have to hurt you, little brother.”

  We both grin, and he pats my shoulder. “I’m fucking happy for you, asshole. Being tied down is not for me, but hey, someone’s gotta populate the world with more of us sexy Becketts.”

  “Excuse me, I’d love a beer,” some girl calls out from the far end of the bar. She waves at him and bounces, her breasts heaving up and down with every move.

  “Ah, the siren’s call. I think I found tonight’s conquest.” He waggles his brows and sidles over to her, giving her his full-wattage smile.

  I just laugh. Jax is the wildest out of the three of us, by far. I can’t see him getting attached to a girl or being responsible in any way. Though he is trying harder at the bar; I’ll give him credit for that.

  I tug out Aubrey’s phone and pull up the texts from her ex. I feel the hot surge of anger sweep over me again, and I don’t try to swallow it down. This fucker will learn the hard way.

  I quickly tap out a text to him: Look, we have to talk. I don’t want to do this over phone.

  I continue slinging drinks and washing dishes and doing whatever else I need to do, waiting for his response. It’ll come—I know that much. Just a matter of when. He’ll take the bait, no doubt.

  I’m whistling as I straighten up around the bar. I’m almost joyous.

  When Asher comes over to check the taps and make sure the kegs aren’t empty, I give him a small nod of thanks. He gives one back and goes to leave, but I grab his upper arm.

  “Hey. Thanks for the help with Aubrey. And around here,” I tell him.

  He narrows his eyes, looking at me with suspicion. Not that I blame him—given how pissed I’ve been about him being here this summer, it probably seems like something’s up. But talking with Aubrey about all the good memories we had as kids, seeing him step up without question to help Aubrey out, made me realize I need to back off a bit. The decision was already made, and he’s here. Continuing to be pissed is only injuring myself.

  He finally sees that I mean what I say and gives a quick nod. “You’re welcome,” he says, then I see him smile proudly as he turns and walks away.

  I head back to the office to crunch numbers, mulling over Aubrey’s suggestion in the back of my head. After this shit with her ex is dealt with, I’ll bring the idea up to Jax and Asher. Food at the bar…not a bad idea. We’ll have to keep it limited at first, of course. I don’t want us getting overwhelmed. Maybe stuff that can be prepared in bulk ahead of time—dips and shit like that.

  She’s right though. Aunt Sylvia
will have good ideas on what I can do.

  What we can do.

  I have to stop viewing this bar as just mine. Not only is it too much to deal with, it’s causing issues with me and my brothers. If they want a bigger role, fine. I’ll give it to them. I can make Jax start with balancing us out every night.

  A wicked grin creases my face. I’m such a bastard—Jax hates doing anything with math. Too bad.

  My pocket buzzes, and I instantly snap to attention. It’s the pocket with Aubrey’s phone in it. Let’s see what he has to say.

  Yes, we do. You owe me an explanation. I need to know why you did this to me…

  To Us…

  Ah, he’s trying to play on my guilt—well, on Aubrey’s guilt. I write back, We should meet somewhere and talk instead of doing this over the phone. I fire off a location at the end of the message, asking to meet tomorrow morning at six—purportedly before “my” shift at the nursing home, and send it. Aubrey’s off work tomorrow, so she’ll be safe and sound up in my bed.

  Meeting up so early in the morning will likely keeps his suspicion from being aroused.

  A moment later, another buzz.

  I’m looking forward to hearing the TRUTH. I’ll be there.

  I put the phone away. Finish my work with a smooth calm that has swept over me. First things first, get this accounting work done. Close the bar out tonight. Then, tomorrow, I’ll deal with Aubrey’s ex.

  “No fucking way are you going alone,” Jax says as we finish cleaning the bar.

  It was a surprisingly quiet night—no fights, no drama. Which is good, because as keyed up as I am to get this shit done and meet with Aubrey’s ex, I probably would have gotten into trouble.

  Asher’s sweeping the floor while I’m restocking the booze in the bar to ensure we’re ready for tomorrow’s crowd.

  “I can handle this,” I tell Jax assuredly.

  He just eyes me and whips a dish towel over his shoulder. “I’m sure you can, but why would you? Besides, I’m just going to follow you anyway, so you might as well have us come.”