Satisfaction

by Lexi Blake

  Bran’s eyes narrowed. “You want to delve into my childhood, Carly? Want to take a look into it so you can see if I’m the kind of man you deserve? I suppose you don’t want anyone nasty screwing up your perfect life, do you?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean you’re a woman who seeks perfection. You want everything to be pretty and neat and clean, and maybe I’m not that man. Maybe I’m good to go to bed with but not for anything else.”

  “Bran, don’t be ridiculous. We’re talking about what happened in that kitchen. You went crazy. You weren’t really here with me.”

  “I suppose your white knight would have defused the situation without violence,” he grumbled. “Your dream man would have been smart enough to talk the man down.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  He shrugged as if it was no big deal. “Hey, baby, if you think I’m going to lay down on your couch and open my soul to you, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

  “I want you to talk to me.” She watched the way his hands fisted at his sides.

  This wasn’t the Bran she knew, but then she had to wonder if she knew him at all. She’d fooled herself into thinking that the way a man acted correlated to who he was deep inside. A stupid mistake. One she seemed to make time and again.

  “No, you want me to tell you some deep dark secret. Do you think I don’t know this game, Carly? You want me to open up and let you in, and then anything I say can and will be used against me forever and ever amen.”

  She couldn’t stand the way he was looking at her. “It’s obvious something went wrong today. Can’t we talk about it?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. I want to move on, but you’re not going to let us, are you?”

  “Why are you being this way?” She couldn’t help the tears that welled. She stared at him through glassy eyes.

  He started to pace, like a tiger in a cage. “I had a rough day. I know you had one, too. I’m not saying you didn’t. But I tried to comfort you and all you can give me is a bunch of psychological crap that leads to one thing and one thing only—you deciding I’m not good enough.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  He stopped and put out a hand. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I made a mistake. I should have called the cops and let them handle it. Would you be standing here looking at me like I’m some kind of fucking monster if I’d done that? If I’d waited for the pros to come and save you?”

  “Of course not. I’m glad you saved me, but you were so brutal.”

  “That’s who I am.” He turned and faced her, all expression gone from his handsome face. “You want the real me? That’s him. Do you know why I wouldn’t touch you without a condom, Carly?”

  She shook her head. Maybe he was right and they were both too emotional to have this conversation. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I thought it didn’t, but it does. You saw the man with a massive trust fund, the one who smiles and seems so easygoing. The one who holds the door open for you and tries to treat you like a princess. But that’s not who I was, who I still can be. I thought you would see past that, but the first time I don’t behave the way you think I should, you look at me like I’m the scum of the earth.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing.” He was being so sensitive. She needed a few answers. Didn’t she deserve those?

  “Oh, yes, you are. You think I don’t know the look of a sanctimonious woman when I see one? Strippers. Hookers. That’s why I wouldn’t touch you without a condom. Do you have any idea how many hookers I’ve gone through?” Every word that came out of his mouth seemed laced with venom.

  Or toxin. Venom was something a predator was born with, but toxins leached into a person’s system. They moved slowly so the victim often didn’t know they were being poisoned.

  “No, I don’t know,” she replied quietly. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “I can’t, sweetheart. I lost count so long ago. It has to be at least a hundred. That’s right. I’ve slept with a hundred women and you let me touch your near-virginal body. I’m good at that at least. I’m good at making a woman come. I didn’t—” He stopped as though he’d been about to go somewhere he didn’t want to go.

  But toxins could be pulled from a system. They could be released. She moved toward him. “Go on. You didn’t what, Bran?”

  His eyes went cold. “I told you I’m not doing this.”

  “But if we don’t talk about it, it’s always there. You can’t get rid of it if you don’t talk about it. Please, Bran. I won’t think less of you. I promise. I want to be here for you. If we’re going to have any kind of a future, we have to discuss this. Drew says something happened to you.”

  “Drew has no right to talk about me to anyone outside my family. I told you this thing between us would last as long as we’re working together. I don’t intend to open my past to a woman who won’t be around in a few weeks. Do I make myself plain?”

  He was so cold. Bran was never cold. Bran was always warm. She nodded. “Yes, I understand. I thought . . .”

  “I know what you thought. You thought I’d change my mind. You thought if you slept with me that I would change my mind about ending the relationship when the job was done.” He shrugged. “I was never anything but honest with you. I told you what our boundaries were.”

  He had been honest with her, but she was fairly certain he wasn’t being honest with himself. Not at all. He was being cruel and that wasn’t who this man was.

  Or was it? Had she seen only his beauty and not the harsh truth underneath? Or was he putting walls up to protect himself because that was what he’d learned to do all those years ago?

  “Maybe we don’t need boundaries.”

  Bran shook his head. “Don’t make more of this than it is. Be smarter than that, Carly. You were right to be afraid of me. The only thing I love more than spending time with hookers is beating the shit out of people. I like it. I crave it. I go out and look for it. Drew’s done a good job in the last couple of years covering it up, but I’ve spent a lot of time cooling my heels in jail. How do you like that? You seem to have a type. Maybe I was wrong and you do want me. You seem to enjoy getting down in the mud, don’t you?”

  There was a knock on the door or she was sure Bran would have continued spewing his bile and vitriol. Drew and Taggart stood there in the doorway.

  “Hey,” Drew said quietly. “Are we interrupting something?”

  Bran’s expression went blank again. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I’ll be back late, Carly. Leave the blankets on the couch for me and set the damn alarm.”

  He strode out the door without another word.

  Drew turned to her. “What the hell happened?”

  She stared at the door where Bran had disappeared. She wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, but it felt bad. It felt like the end. “I wanted him to tell me why he’d done that.”

  Drew’s eyes closed briefly. “I told you he won’t talk about it. You can’t push him. He’s not dangerous. He needs time to come down. I’ll go and talk to him. He’ll be okay. You sit tight and don’t judge him harshly.”

  He ran out after his brother.

  And she was left alone with a massive hulk of Viking man.

  “Yeah, they pretty much did that. Uncomfortable, huh?” Taggart locked the door. “You know what makes everything better? Dinner. I’ve had to deal with mafia assholes and that creepy fucking chick and rabid puppies, and did anyone offer me a French fry? Nope. This evening is going to go so much more quickly if you cook and I eat. And you don’t cry. Because I don’t deal well with that. Should I get my wife on the phone? Or maybe you have some girlfriend you call when your boy toy goes all shitty on you. Could you ask her to bring some burgers or something?”

  Her heart ached and she wanted to sit down and cry, but what the hell was she
supposed to do? She turned toward the kitchen and began to do the only thing that made sense. She started to cook. She would find solace in it. Cooking made sense to her. She put the right ingredients in and they made something new, something that was more than the sum of its parts. Something that fed and nourished. She could do that.

  The door to the kitchen swung open.

  “You know he won’t bother you anymore,” Taggart said quietly.

  “Yes, I heard you had him murdered.”

  Taggart leaned against the counter, seemingly unworried about her accusation. “I didn’t have anyone killed. I merely presented his boss with the situation at hand. I happen to know a couple of mafia guys. Mine are all Russian but they tend to have the same mentality. The boss has to maintain a level of trust or people will turn him in to the cops. Mafia dons are not your typical blackmailers. They take what they believe they’re owed and walk away. He promised me he’s done with you. He now understands you’re no longer connected to your ex-husband.”

  She filled a pot with water and set it on the stove to boil. “That’s nice to know.”

  He was silent for a moment and it didn’t do her any good. It made her sink into her own misery. What had gone wrong? She’d been scared. She should have been able to talk to him about it. How could they have anything real if he couldn’t talk to her?

  She stared at the pot. The water shimmered as the heat started to reach it. According to Bran, they didn’t have anything at all. They ended the minute the job did, and it actually sounded like they’d ended the moment she’d questioned him.

  There wasn’t anything she could do if he wouldn’t admit something was wrong. She would be beating her head against a concrete wall.

  “He likely doesn’t want to be a rabid puppy.”

  She clenched her teeth and then forced herself to relax. “Don’t call him that.”

  “Why?” Taggart asked quietly. “It’s what he is. I don’t mean any disrespect by it. I’ve known a lot of men like Bran. They’re good men, but they saw too much, experienced something horrible. Sometimes many horrible things. Things they don’t think they can come back from. So they smile. They’re happy puppies most of the time. They want to fit in. They want to be petted and adored. And then something happens and they bite the hand that feeds them.”

  “It’s not important. It was only a fling. I made too much of it.” She found the pasta and set it to boil. Normally she would prefer to make her own, but she rarely had time for it. She found the lemon juice she kept on hand and butter and started her sauce.

  “If that’s true, then it’s good you know who he is now.” Taggart sat down at the kitchen table and started playing with his phone.

  “He’s not a bad man.” She couldn’t handle the silence. Even talking to someone she didn’t know was better than thinking about what Bran had said to her.

  “I didn’t say he was but he’s also not as harmless as Drew would have you believe. He would have killed that man tonight.”

  Her stomach sank. “You can’t be sure.”

  “Like I said, I’ve dealt with guys like Bran. They’re good men, but they’ve got something inside them that won’t let them find peace. They hold what happened to them inside. They’ll tell you it’s their burden, but they hoard it like it’s gold. I’m sure my shrink friend would tell you it’s a way to not admit what happened to themselves. But I think they’re scared. We don’t always see things logically. We place blame where there is none to be had and refuse to call out the truly guilty parties even when just saying it out loud would make things so much easier.”

  He was far deeper than he looked on the surface. Maybe all men were. She’d lived in a world of the superficial for so long she’d forgotten what it meant to look past the surface.

  “What happened to your rabid puppy?” She kept stirring even though the world was seen through a wall of tears. She couldn’t seem to help them.

  “Which one?” Taggart chuckled. He sobered quickly. “Some of them are still out there. Still smiling when it means nothing and snarling and attacking anyone who gets close. My brother was one of the happiest people I’ve ever known. Then something happened. Something awful and it damn near killed him. I think he would be one of those puppies today if not for one thing.”

  “What was that?”

  “The right woman.”

  “I can’t fix him,” Carly said quietly.

  “No, you can’t. But you can make him want to fix himself. You can give him a reason to change if you want. Or you can walk away and protect yourself. It’s your choice. He won’t make it easy for you. He’ll bite and scratch and he’ll do it with words, and those hurt so much fucking more than claws and fangs.”

  Her choice. It should be simple. She should walk away. She’d been hurt too many times. The last few years she’d been so numb, and there had been a certain peace in that.

  Suddenly Taggart was behind her, offering her a tissue. “I can stir that if you like. My brother’s a chef. I’ve learned a few things.”

  She stepped away and tried to dry her eyes.

  The big guy worked the wooden spoon like he knew what he was doing. “Think about it. I know from your files that you haven’t had an easy time.”

  “I should walk away.” Even though it made her heart hurt to think about it.

  “What would you tell your sister to do?” Taggart asked. “Sometimes that’s an easier way to look at it. You practically raised her. When I think about things now, I ask myself what I would want for my girls. If they came to me and asked what to do, what would I want for them? Not the outcome. You can’t predict the outcome. So all you can really do is ask how you would want them to behave. Would you tell your sister to be smart and cut her losses?”

  “It would depend on whether she loved the man or not.” On whether the man might be the love of her life.

  “And if she loved him? Would you tell her to be safe?”

  If Meri was standing in front of her, tears in her eyes, what would she say? “I would tell her to be brave.”

  “Then you have your answer.”

  Had Bran meant what he’d said? Or had it all been a way to distance himself, to hoard that pain so he didn’t have to face it?

  Was she the woman who could make him want to fix himself?

  The idea of him always being alone made her heart ache and she realized she was in love with him. Truly and fully, and there was no going back. She realized it because she became so certain that his happiness was more important to her than her own.

  It didn’t matter that he might not love her back. It was all right. Her love was meaningful. If she turned away, she made it less.

  Carly took a deep breath, her decision made. “I’ll take over again. Why don’t you grab the salad from the fridge?”

  He frowned. “Salad?”

  Men. “Yes, there’s also a lemon tart in there.”

  He groaned. “Women. You always draw us in with the good stuff and then make us eat salad. Have I told you the story of how I got a terrorist to talk just by feeding him kale?”

  It was going to be a long night. She stirred her sauce and hoped Bran was safe out there.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bran finished his . . . he wasn’t sure how many it was anymore. He finished the shot and slammed it down, nodding to the bartender to pour him another. His anger flared when he noticed the bartender’s eyes drift to the left as though waiting for permission to fill the request.

  “Hey, I’m a damn adult and if I want another shot, I’ll take one. Do you understand?”

  The bartender sighed and poured another measure of what had to be the nastiest rotgut whiskey in Central Florida. It burned down Bran’s throat, but that was kind of what he wanted.

  He needed to be reminded that while his brother might afford him the finer things, he was still rotgut whiskey waiting
to wreck someone’s life.

  “I believe he’s trying to ensure you don’t kill yourself with alcohol poisoning right here at his bar, brother,” Drew said. “They tend to frown on that sort of thing.”

  Naturally he couldn’t be left alone to drink himself to death in peace. He had big brother watching out for him. Drew had slid into the car beside him before Bran had thought to lock him out. Now he was fairly certain Drew had stolen the keys to the Jeep and he would be driven home by his perfect, sober brother. Drew would be able to sleep well knowing he’d taken care of his idiot sibling.

  Self-hatred welled inside him.

  Why had he said that shit to Carly? Who the hell had been talking? The words had flowed out of his mouth like noxious gas. He’d stood there and spewed a total load of bullshit her way because he would rather be the bad guy than the pathetic asshole who couldn’t handle his own rage.

  She wanted to talk. He didn’t do that. If she knew . . . Well, it didn’t matter now. She didn’t ever have to know what a piece of shit he was, and that was the way he wanted it.

  He’d made her cry, made her afraid. God, that hurt like nothing he’d felt before. Seeing her cry and knowing he was the reason for it left him hollow.

  “What time is it?” Not that he cared, but he had to go back to her place and he didn’t want to wake her.

  Would he even remember the damn code?

  “Late,” Drew said quietly, a mug of coffee in front of him. “But it’s all right. Taggart’s with her.”

  Shit. He’d left her with that snarky dude. Another thing she likely wouldn’t forgive him for.

  “Want to tell me why you chose this place instead of your usual?” It was the most words Drew had said since he’d gotten in the car.

  Drew tended to know when he didn’t want to talk. Unlike Carly.

  “It was close.” A lie, but then he was good at those tonight.

  “Nope. The closest place was the strip club we went to the night after you met her. You always go to strip clubs. Sometimes I think it’s because you need to feel as seedy and dirty as possible.”