Living Fast: Steele Ridge Series

by Adrienne Giordano

  Talk about wow. Holy shit. Cute little Brynne who let her ex walk all over her had just told him off. In a grand way.

  In front of the Triple B.

  Oddly, it turned him on. What an asshole I am.

  “Brynne, hang on.”

  She started toward her store, moving fast in a quasi run-walk that did amazing things to her ass. He reached for her and she whipped her arm free.

  Faces appeared in the window of the Triple B, all of them watching the action.

  Great. The whole goddamned town would be buzzing with this.

  “No,” Brynne said. “Now I need a minute.” She stopped walking, flapped her arms. “No one is forcing you to stay here. If you want to leave, take that stupid job in Georgia and leave. Newsflash, Reid, this town didn't crumble without you and it won't crumble if you go. And we sure don't deserve to be treated like second-class citizens because you can't adjust to civilian life. Your family loves you, your friends love you. Why can't that be enough? Why can that never be enough for people?”

  Oh, hang on here. What the hell was she talking about?

  Never enough?

  He hadn't said that. Even if he felt it once in a while, he hadn't said it and definitely not to her.

  But, oh, shit.

  Her husband had dumped her. Left her for what she considered a skinnier, prettier, better-than-Brynne version of a wife.

  Leading her to believe she wasn't good enough.

  He'd hit a nerve. A big one. Probably the biggest one she had since her asshole husband didn't know a good woman when he had one.

  And right now, the way Brynne was glaring at him, apparently, Reid didn't know that either.

  * * *

  She left him on the sidewalk. Had to. Otherwise, she'd scratch his eyes out. Make him bleed like she'd never imagined making anyone bleed.

  What was it with the men in her life? They all wanted more. More, more, more. Boy, she knew how to pick 'em. No wonder she'd enacted the five-year plan. At this point, she should buy stock in a battery company because her vibrator would need all the juice it could get.

  Five damned years.

  Gah.

  “Brynne, wait.”

  No. Done waiting on men. She kept walking. Marched right to her shop's door and unlocked it. “No, Reid. We don't have to talk about this. I understand.” All too well. “Now, I need to deal with my banking.”

  Because that's what independent women did. They took care of themselves and didn't rely on men.

  “Reid!”

  Behind him, Maggie stormed the sidewalk, heading straight for him. Apparently, Brynne wasn't the only one who wanted a piece of him. He spun back, faced Maggie. Fabulous. Maggie could deal with the caveman while Brynne went inside and settled down.

  To think she'd almost given up her plan for Reid Steele. Puh-lease. What had she been smoking? He was the heartbreaker the plan insured against.

  Reid looked at a woman and her panties burned off. He didn't even have to touch. Just—whoops—panties gone.

  Good thing they'd had this little exchange and she’d got her mind right.

  Really good thing.

  She swung into the store, considered locking the door, then opted against it. Why be a child about it and lock him out? No. She'd be an adult and not resort to those antics.

  As much as she'd like to, she wouldn't.

  Stay strong, girl.

  Rather than leave her account number in the drawer, she kept the deposits slips and her checkbook upstairs. She trusted her part-timers, but people wandered in and out of the shop all day. Why leave her personal information lying around?

  She glanced back at Reid and Maggie, in deep conversation on the sidewalk. With them right in front of the store, she could duck upstairs and grab what she needed.

  She marched out the back door, up the outside steps to her apartment, and unlocked the crappy lock Reid complained about.

  On that, he was probably right. She'd get a locksmith over on Monday to take care of it. She withdrew her key and a flake of cheap brass coating hung off the lock. She hadn't noticed that before, but she could have chipped it when inserting her key at some point. Who knew?

  Once inside, she moved through the kitchen, down the tiny hallway, the worn carpet absorbing her steps as she made her way to the bedroom where she kept the banking info in the antique secretary that had been her grandmother's.

  Damn that Reid Steele.

  Just when she was starting to like him. Starting to? Ha. She liked him just fine. Had even fantasized about that big body on top of her.

  What woman in this town didn't?

  Gah!

  She beelined into her bedroom and…froze.

  A man in a black sweatshirt and jeans stood in front of her long dresser, his back to her, head tilted up to the ceiling.

  And moaning.

  What the hell?

  Panic slammed her, knocking her back a step.

  The man whipped around. His fly was open, his hand wrapped around his…ohmygod.

  Masturbating.

  In her underwear drawer.

  For a second, she couldn't move, just stood there, paralyzed, her feet like blocks of cement. Inside her sneakers, she wiggled her toes and her brain fired. Shooting commands at her immobile body. Move. Run.

  Go.

  She shot off down the hall, a howling scream flying from her mouth, making her throat ache.

  Behind her, something slammed and then a creak. The loose board under the carpet. He's close.

  Run.

  She ran harder, swerving into the kitchen. Door closed. Dammit. She'd lose time.

  Ow. Something gripped her. Yanked on her hair. She bucked back as hot, lancing pain shot into her scalp and down her neck.

  “Relax, bitch,” he said. “Tell me where that phone is and I'll go easy on you.”

  Phone, phone, phone. Nelson's phone. Had to be.

  God. What had her friend been into?

  He yanked again and she bumped him, her lower back connecting with his body where the hardness of his erection stabbed into her.

  Sickness tumbled in her stomach and another wave of panic took hold.

  Get out.

  She focused on the door, then slid her gaze over the sink to the kitchen drawer where she kept the sharp knives. Weapon.

  “I don't…have the phone.”

  Another yank.

  “Ow!” she screamed again, hoping someone would hear.

  This time he held on, wrapping her hair in his fist and pulling her head back. He leaned in, his upper body connecting with the back of her, his breath hot and nasty, the smell of onions reaching her as his lips touched her ear. “Lying bitches don't get treated right. And since you interrupted me, I got something for you.”

  All those self-defense segments she'd seen on television paraded in her mind. That one guy, from a women's safety organization. Fight, he'd said. Hard.

  And get a description.

  Her mind ticked back and she pictured him in front of her dresser. Baggy jeans that hung low on his hips. Black sweatshirt with a hood. White guy. Maybe mid-twenties. His hair. What color? Dark. She thought. How could she have missed that?

  She needed another look. She lifted her foot, kicked back, connected with bone, but her shoe slid, lessening the impact.

  “Ow,” the creep said, his voice flat and even. “That was stupid.”

  He yanked again, tightening his fist around her hair and sending shocks of pain down her neck. Ow, ow, ow.

  Scream, she thought, as he dragged her down the hallway. She started in again. Putting everything she had into the howls, praying Reid and Maggie were still out on the sidewalk just a floor below.

  Right outside her bedroom window.

  At the doorway, she grabbed on to the trim, wrapped both hands around it, and he yanked again. The pain, enormous and blinding, brought a bout of tears.

  Hang on. Don't let go.

  He stepped back, chopped at her wrist.

  Ha
ng on.

  She gripped tighter. At least until she heard the distinctive click-click of a gun being racked.

  Gun.

  And then it was against her temple.

  “Bitch, don't make me kill you.”

  Getting her attacker more wired wouldn't help her. She needed time. Time for Reid to get up those stairs and help her.

  She let go.

  For now.

  “Now we're talking.”

  He shoved her to the bed, momentum making her stumble and she landed half on the mattress, half off.

  “Good idea,” he said. “On the bed. And pull your pants down. I'm gonna give it to you good.”

  11

  Brynne screamed.

  Reid heard.

  In the middle of Mags stressing the need for them to come to an understanding about what had just happened in her office, she stopped talking. They both looked up at Brynne's window and a fierce blast of adrenaline pounded the inside of Reid's skull. He hauled ass, his body moving on instinct. Help her. Whatever it was, he'd get there.

  He swung the shop door open—she hadn't locked it—and sprinted to the back with Mags on his heels.

  “Let me go first,” she said.

  Fat chance.

  Ignoring his cousin, he took the back steps two at a time, his longer legs leaving Mags in the dust. He burst through the door into the tiny kitchen and Brynne let out a wail from the end of the hallway.

  Bedroom.

  Shit.

  Harsh stabs fired down his arms. Ignore it. He'd have to harness all the energy, channel it and make it work for him. Forcing his heart rate down, he ripped his sidearm from the holster.

  “Shut up, bitch.”

  Man's voice. One man. Could he assume that? No. If there were multiples, he'd have heard other voices. Maybe.

  One target.

  He'd work with that theory. For now.

  “Back,” Mags said quietly, drawing her Glock. “Don't be stupid. I'm the sheriff. Someone gets shot, I can explain it.”

  Point there.

  Goddammit.

  Using hand signals, she gestured left, down the hallway. Shadowing Mags, he crept along with juicy adrenaline charging his system and his mind zipping with possibilities. Stay alert. Don't get shot.

  “No!” Brynne screamed again.

  That's it. As much as Reid didn't want to irritate his already pissed cousin, this he couldn't do. Couldn't stand back and let whatever asshole was in Brynne's bedroom do who knew what. No way.

  Almost to the bedroom, he focused on the door, sped around Mags and—whoosh—swung into the room, weapon trained.

  A young guy in a sweatshirt stood over Brynne. And, Jesus, his pants were unzipped, his dick hanging out.

  He swung back, .38 raised and angled sideways like the fucking gangsta amateurs did in music videos.

  What an idiot. If he fired that thing the round would go straight through the wall.

  Brynne locked eyes with Reid. Half her body sagged off the mattress and the panic, the full-blown, face stretched, I'm-going-to-die look he'd seen way too many times in his life stung him.

  “Freeze!” Mags hollered.

  But the idiot's finger slid to the trigger, a slow movement either meant to intimidate or this guy didn't know what the hell he was doing with that weapon. Either way, it wasn't good.

  “Don't!” Mags said.

  But, ah shit.

  Boom, boom.

  He fired two shots, both of them zinging between Reid and Mags. From her spot on the bed, Brynne rolled and kicked out, knocking the gun from the guy's hand.

  “Freeze!” Mags said again.

  But the guy leaped, straight at Reid who hopped left. No good. The guy plowed into him, the two of them going over. Reid landed hard, his right arm taking the hit, and the blow knocked his .45 from his grip, sent it skittering across the floor.

  Shit.

  Bad guy still on top of him, he pounded his elbow into the guy's cheek. Three quick thrusts that sent his head snapping back. Reid shoved him off, jumped to his feet, drove a hammer-fist to the man's lower back and connected with bone. The guy howled, brought both hands around to the injured area on his back. Grab him. Reid slid an arm around the target's throat and yanked.

  “Get him on the floor!” Mags said.

  Reid lowered to one knee, dragging the douchebag with him, tightening his hold on his neck. Douchebag clawed at him, digging his fingers into Reid's forearm as he gagged. A gurgling sound erupted, but Reid tightened his grip. Come on, come on.

  Few more seconds and he'd be out.

  “Reid!” Mags hissed. “Let him go. Right now.”

  Her weapon still drawn, she nudged him on the hip with the toe of her boot. “Stop it. Right now. You'll kill him.”

  The guy's body went slack and he stopped fighting. There we go. Reid loosened his grip. “You gonna behave?”

  “Yeah,” he croaked.

  Reid let go, stepped back and held his hands wide while Mags moved in, weapon still on their target. Behind him, Brynne slumped to the floor. Child's pose, his yoga enthusiast buddy called it. Her shoulders hitched and she wrapped her hands around the back of her head, her body visibly shaking.

  “On your stomach,” Mags said. “Hands on your head. Don't do anything stupid while I cuff you.”

  Reid squatted next to Brynne. He made a move to touch her, to rub her back, but…no.

  Careful here, buddy. With the trauma she'd just experienced, a man trying to rape her, to control her, she might not think too kindly of another man putting hands on her.

  “Brynne?” he whispered. “It's me. Reid. Baby, you're safe now. Mags has him.”

  Brynne stayed hunched over, hands trembling and sheltering her head, and if Reid's temper hadn't already scraped a layer from his insides, well, seeing this sweet girl vulnerable and beaten down tore him up. Made his gut ache.

  He glanced over at Mags cuffing the jagoff who'd wisely decided to comply.

  Now, Reid wanted a piece of this guy again and angled toward him.

  “Reid, don't be stupid. I'll arrest you. Swear to God, I'll arrest you.”

  And she would. To keep him safe from himself, she'd lock his ass up.

  He jerked his head to the door. “Get him out of here.”

  One of Maggie's deputies, Glen, rushed into the room, his hat askew, his breaths coming hard. Old Glen needed to hit the gym if a flight of stairs put him in this condition.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Was on another call.”

  Mags motioned to their prisoner. “Take him to the jail. Put him in a holding cell.”

  “I get a phone call,” Jagoff croaked.

  “Yeah, you do. And as soon as I figure out what happened here, you'll get it.”

  While being escorted out, the jagoff looked back at Brynne still huddled on the floor, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

  Smirking.

  And, shit on a shingle, something in Reid's brain snapped and handcuffed or not, this asshole was gonna get a beatdown.

  Reid stood, headed right to the asshole, but—nope—Mags hopped in front of him. Just friggin' put herself in his line and shoved him back. “Don't give him what he wants.” She kept her hands on his chest, gave him another light shove. “He'll get you arrested, too. You want that?”

  Yes.

  Only because it would mean he got to kick the son of a bitch's ass.

  “Look at me,” Mags said. Reid met her gaze. “Please, Reid. Just let it go. I'll deal with him. I promise you.”

  And she would. He knew it. Mags would talk to whomever she had to and make sure this asshole went to prison.

  Reid looked over her shoulder at said asshole. “If you get out, you'd better hide. I'll find you. Come near this girl again and I'll bury you.”

  “Glen!” Mags snapped. “Get him out of here.”

  The deputy hustled their prisoner out and Mags dropped her hands. “Dammit, Reid. What are you doing? If something happens to that kid, we're screwed.
”

  “Oh, something'll happen to him and you won't have to arrest me.”

  Because he sure as hell wouldn't get caught.

  Reid dropped to his knees again, next to Brynne, set his hands on his thighs, still determined not to touch her unless she gave permission. But, Jesus, that was hard. To not hold her. To not offer some kind of comfort. It was an ache in his chest as she continued to crush her fingers over her head. Blue veins popped on the backs of her hands and the sick feeling in Reid's stomach railed at him. Trauma like this? It stayed. Squeezed so hard that it paralyzed. Mentally and physically.

  That's it. He had to touch her, bring her back from whatever alternate state she'd put herself into. Survival sometimes meant compartmentalizing. Living in a parallel universe.

  Avoidance? Sure. Why not?

  He didn't have a problem with it. Hell, without avoidance, he'd be locked in a mental ward or self-medicating to kill the pain.

  Mags unclipped her radio from her shoulder. “I'm calling an ambulance.”

  “Give her a second.”

  A couple of medics putting hands on her wouldn't help.

  He lifted his hand, let it hover just above her back. “Brynne?”

  No response. “Honey, I'm going to touch you. My hand on your back. Okay?”

  A long few seconds passed while his hand hung in the air. He counted down from ten. At one, he'd touch her.

  Eight, seven, six…

  She nodded. Whoa. Under her hands, her head definitely moved. He'd take that as permission and lowered his hand. She flinched. He'd kill that fucker who put her in this condition.

  “Honey,” he said, “can you sit up? Mags is here. She wants to make sure you're okay. We both do.”

  Mags was female. And in this instance, as much as it made him nuts that he couldn't protect her from this, Brynne might need a woman's help.

  And she'd get it.

  For once, he didn't care that he was dispensable.

  * * *

  Reid got there in time.

  He'd heard her scream and he'd…well…saved her.

  “Honey,” he said, his deep voice low and gentle and so unlike the cocky, sometimes commanding sometimes smart-ass one she'd heard from him.