by Karen Renee
I grinned. “I like that outlook.”
His chin dipped as he glared at me. “Not an outlook, woman. It’s the fuckin’ truth. Let’s go.”
We entered the building through a back door. A kitchen sat to our immediate left, a hallway to our right, and in front of us the hall opened to what appeared to be a large room. Brute slipped an arm around my shoulders and guided me into the kitchen. I leaned into his hold as we stopped. A woman in her fifties, with graying brown hair stood at the counter taking groceries out of re-usable bags.
“Sandy, this is Kenzie,” Brute said.
She turned around and a huge smile lit her face, her light brown eyes twinkling. “Hey, Kenzie. You must be the girl who’s kept our V.P. busy the last few days.”
Unease stole over me. Even though I’d noticed the ‘V.P.’ patch on his cut, I’d yet to consider his position in the club. Did he want to be the president, but was biding his time? How driven was he? I’d been married to a man consumed with ambition. I hadn’t picked up on that from Brute, but then again, I hadn’t picked up on it from Caleb starting out, either.
I shoved my curious thoughts aside and pasted a polite grin on my face. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you need any help?”
Her smile turned almost devious, then she pointed it at Brute. “She gonna make pot roast, too?”
“Sandy,” Brute said on a sigh.
Her expression turned knowing. “I knew Stephie needed Har’s cut just listening to them banter.” She looked at me, then back to Brute. “Way you hold on to her, I know she’s what you need.”
He exhaled hard. “Thought Joules had your ass in line? Where is he?”
She barked out a laugh. “No man’s gonna get me ‘in line,’ Brute. Nadia, at the custom leather shop, will love to hear about—”
“Woman, you need to stop,” Brute clipped out.
The harsh tone Brute used would’ve had me cowering, but Sandy kept eye contact with him. Her smile dimmed a touch, but the deviousness returned. “I’ll stop.” She looked at me. “Thanks for the offer to help, but I’m almost done.”
I nodded.
“Saw Har’s bike outside. Is Stephie here with him?”
“In the common room,” Sandy said.
I tried to break free from Brute’s hold, but he squeezed me closer.
“Don’t worry about Sandy, babe. She mothers all of us, even though she’s only eighteen years older than me and Har.”
“Okay,” I muttered.
We approached the bar, where two men and a woman were seated. I recognized Har, who’d moved my car yesterday afternoon. And I remembered the woman from the first time I saw Brute. On her other side, sat a man with light stubble, full lips, and brown eyes that were almost as gorgeous as Brute’s. I noticed the name patch on his cut read, “Roman.”
He slapped the bar with his large hand and laughed. Har and Stephanie glared at him. My eyes widened.
“Keep your mouth shut, Roman,” Brute said.
That brought Roman up short. “Oh no, man. Not a chance. Love it when I’m right, but anybody can see why you’ve fallen.”
Brute’s arm fell away and he stepped closer to the bar. “You say the word ‘fallen’ one more fuckin’ time, I’m wiping the floor with your face.”
Har stood from his stool, but Roman remained seated, aiming a flat expression at Brute.
Stephanie cut the silence. “I don’t know why these two are in a pissing contest, but I’m Stephanie. What’s your name?”
I gave her a timid smile. “Kenzie.”
Roman arched a brow at Brute. “Love being right, brother.”
Brute took a step forward, but I touched his arm. The anger in his eyes faded, but the hard set of his face remained.
“Let it go. Please?” I implored him.
His face softened and he sighed. “You’re trouble, Zee.”
I shook my head. “I’m not.”
“You drink beer?” Stephanie asked.
I grimaced. “I’ll take a water.”
She grinned. “You drink margaritas?”
After a reluctant nod, I asked, “Is it even lunchtime yet?”
For some reason this made Roman and Har laugh, but Stephanie widened her eyes at me. “Kenzie. It’s twelve-thirty, and anytime is good for margaritas. Assuming one doesn’t have to drive or go to work.”
“Miss Priss,” Har said in a warning tone.
She gave him a look. “All three of us heard Sandy giving Brute grief. I’m not going to add to that. I’m taking her to your room and watching that concert you insisted I turn off because you wanted to watch pro football and I had to come with you.”
“Who’s the artist?” I asked.
She grinned. “Prince.”
“Lead the way.”
“No,” Brute said.
I glared at him. In all our small talk, we’d somehow missed my love for all things Prince and the Revolution. I opened my mouth to argue with him, but he put a finger on my lips.
“You want to watch that with her, you do it in my room, not Har’s.”
I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “I don’t see what the difference is, but fine.”
His strong hand slid into the hair on the side of my head and he lowered his face to mine. “You gotta dial back the attitude here, babe.”
I opened my mouth, but he added, “Please.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
Stephanie walked toward us and Brute tipped his head at her. “Where are the margaritas, you mentioned?”
She looked to the man behind the bar, “Can you bring a pitcher to Brute’s room?”
Brute shook his head, but led us to his room, which was located off the hallway I noticed when we came inside.
He unlocked the door, and Stephanie strolled in ahead of me.
My surprise must have shown on my face. He grinned, then he dropped a short but sweet kiss on my lips. “Have fun.”
The guy behind the bar came into the room with two glasses and a pitcher of margaritas. He put them on a dresser. Since Stephanie was searching for the show on the television, I poured our drinks.
She’d found the concert, had gathered pillows from both beds (there were two queens in his room), and patted a spot next to her. “Time to party like it’s nineteen-ninety-nine.”
I grinned, handed her the other margarita glass, and made myself comfortable. “Were you even alive in ninety-nine?”
She gave me her side-eye. “I was seven, thank you very much.”
I laughed. “Fair enough.”
“What were you? Eight?”
“Nine,” I muttered around the rim of my glass.
She laughed at me.
“I’m surprised you dig Prince, Stephanie.”
She put her glass on a nightstand. “Good music is good music, Kenzie. But the best part of this show is Lenny Kravitz.”
I raised my glass a touch. “You got that right.”
As “Let’s Go Crazy” faded into the next song, Stephanie fidgeted. “Okay, this will be the only weird question I’m gonna ask. Especially since Sammy was my stepbrother, but I saw him kiss you at the casino.”
My stomach pitched and I turned wide eyes to her.
She chuckled. “Yeah, and my toes nearly curled with it. So, I gotta know, even if part of me doesn’t want to know, but does he kiss that good all the time?”
I burst with laughter, because that was the last thing I expected her to ask.
When my laughter died off and I let the question lie, she said flatly, “I’m serious.”
I wheezed with laughter again, but got myself together. “Yeah. He does, and it’s so good. Though, he claims I light up when he kisses me, but that’s too much flattery. It’s just him.”
She nodded. “I suspect you’re both right.”
Over an hour later, Brute came into the room. He looked at the screen, scowled, then shook his head. “Stephie, your old man’s waiting for you in his room.”
Stephie gave me a wry lo
ok, then glared at Brute. “You can just use Har’s name, Brute.”
He shrugged. “That’s what he is to you. Or would you prefer I call him your fiancé?”
She scrambled off the bed but pointed a finger at me as she slipped her sandals back on. “This was fun. Don’t be a stranger.”
I smiled and nodded.
After the door closed behind Stephie, Brute sat beside me. “You had fun?”
I grinned and looked at him. “Yeah.”
His eyes darted to the screen again. “Not sure what you see in a twenty-two-year-old concert.”
I looked at him with huge eyes. “I’d have loved to have been at that show.”
“Really?”
“What do you mean ‘really?’ It gets no better than Lenny Kravitz covering ‘American Woman,’... Oh, wait, it does get better. Lenny performing that song with Prince! How hot is that shit?”
He chuckled and I felt myself getting indignant, but he leaned so close I felt his breath.
“Thinkin’ I gotta redefine your notion of ‘hot,’ Zee. This morning should’ve done that, but I’ll enjoy showin’ you otherwise.”
Brute
SHE MADE A SLIGHT POUTY face at him, her baby-blue eyes staring at him hard. “You’re right. This morning was extreme on the hot factor.”
He slid closer to her. “Still think you could use a reminder.”
Her laughter filled the room and it was more music to his ears than any concert. Her hand patted his chest and her expression sobered. “I didn’t get a chance to ask you, but what’s with two beds? You’ve got a king at your apartment, but even though you have room for king in here, you’ve got two queens. Why?”
He stretched out flat on his back and used his arm at her waist to encourage her to do the same, next to him on the bed. His gut told him to pull her close, but he knew this could turn ugly so he would rather get her full reaction instead.
He shifted to his side so he could look in her eyes. “I have two beds for a couple of reasons. That bed is set up to restrain someone.”
Her eyes took on a faraway look. “Okay,” she said.
He waited until she focused on him again. “My brothers and I, we live and let live. You get that, right?”
“Of course. And just pointing out, I don’t think it’s anyone’s place to judge others—”
He chuckled. “’Bout to find out if you mean that, Zee.”
Her brows furrowed and she shifted to her side. “What do you mean?”
“I also have two beds because I used to share women with Har.”
She exhaled long and slow. “More than one, at the same time?”
He shook his head. “No. Just one, but that was at the same time.”
“Hmm,” she said, so low he almost missed it.
The longer the silence went on, the more conflicted he felt. Other women, not only would they not know about his past, but if he told them, he wouldn’t care what they thought about it. Dread settled in his gut, as he figured Kenzie wouldn’t want anything further to do with him.
“I’m surprised that you went that route with a threesome,” she said.
He stared into her eyes and saw no judgment there. The dread in his gut didn’t dissipate, though. “What do you mean?”
Her lips tipped up and she huffed out a chuckle. “Maybe this is a bad stereotype, but I thought most men only wanted threesomes with two women. I’m surprised—”
He put his finger to her lips. “Yeah. I get what you’re saying, Kenzie. Wasn’t really something we planned. It just happened the night we each earned our Riot patch. There was a sweet-butt who liked the looks of both of us, but she wanted double penetration.”
Her lips pressed together and the look on her face when she nodded was the first hint of judgment he caught from her. The dread intensified as anger began to well within him.
“All right, but do you and Har still do that, because Stephanie didn’t strike me as—”
“No. Har stopped years ago, for his own reasons.”
She looked him in the eyes. “So, you’re not still interested in that action, so to speak?”
His eyes narrowed. “Thought you didn’t judge others?”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t, but since I’m spending time with you, I want to make sure I know where you stand.”
“Where I stand?”
She dipped her chin to give him an ‘are-you-kidding-me’ look. “Yeah. I just met two of your brothers. Har may have changed his ways, but if you bring Roman in here, I’m not so sure I could handle that sort of thing. He’s hot and everything, but—”
His laughter overwhelmed him to the point he rolled toward Kenzie and buried his face in her neck. The dread and anger evaporated. He realized what he thought was judgment in her eyes must have been fear. When she put a tentative hand on his shoulder, he pulled himself together.
He leaned up. “No, Kenzie. I love sex, and I like kink, but I am not about to share you. No fuckin’ way.”
She nodded. “That’s good to know, but just out of curiosity, you’re not saying that because I’m a prude, comparatively speaking?”
He laughed, but dipped his chin to give her back the ‘are-you-kidding-me’ look. “Baby, you are not a prude. We got half a jar of marshmallow fluff to prove it.”
She chuckled. “Right.”
“So, you’re cool?”
The skin around her eyes crinkled with her grin. “Sure, I’m cool. But, you’re wrong. You will have to share me...”
His eyes widened and she smiled.
“With my daughter. Once we get to the point where you should meet her. If you want to, that is.”
This woman. She’d done it again. Took him on a pendulum swing of emotions in the span of five minutes. Dread and anger, to laughter, now back to dread with a dash of nervousness.
He rolled off her but stayed close. “You get her back tomorrow?”
Her lips pressed together. “Tuesday after school. I should check my phone since I wasn’t sure if our weeks go back to normal on Saturday again.”
His admiration of her grew. That dipshit ex-husband threw her schedule out of whack and she kept rolling with the punches. An asshole starts watching her because of him and she rolled with it. She didn’t freak out when his dad showed up unannounced, and most surprising of all, she didn’t give him shit about his past. She was too damn good to be true.
“May not have met him, but your ex is a massive dumb-ass.”
She scoffed. “What are you talking about?”
He brushed her hair behind her ear. “That fucker had you, married you, made a daughter with you and pushed you away. That—”
She shook her head, a demure smile pulling at her lips. “No, Brute. That’s oversimplifying it. Takes two to make a marriage work. Or fail, as the case may be.”
“You have problems with him in the bedroom? What caused your breakup?”
Her lips pursed briefly. “A faucet.”
He fought a chuckle. “You say ‘a faucet’?”
“Well, money, really.”
His head dipped since money could tear any relationship apart. “What does he do?”
“Consultant.”
“Don’t they make decent cake?”
She nodded. “Yeah, but the amount of money a couple has doesn’t mean they won’t have money problems, if they have differing attitudes on spending or saving.”
He did a slow deep nod. “Gotcha. He didn’t want to save for a rainy day?”
Again, she shook her head. “He didn’t want to spend money on a faucet that would make things easier. I couldn’t stand the original faucet. I’d just gone back to work, and it was a little thing, but it drove me crazy fighting with that damn faucet all the time. A leak came up, plumber said we needed a new faucet, I asked for one with a big curvy neck—”
“Gooseneck,” he muttered.
“Yeah, that’s what they call ’em, but he went and bought the standard-shaped faucet that cost fifteen dollars. I mean, it
was an extra thirty-five dollars for the one I wanted. It isn’t like you replace the damn things all the time. Conversely, you do use it all the time. Three times a day at a minimum, if you eat three squares and rinse your dishes before putting them in a dishwasher.”
She clammed up, and he knew she was hiding a rant.
“So you didn’t want a Moen,” he chuckled.
She sighed. “This stuff isn’t funny, Sam. Twists my stomach just thinking about it. But as you can guess, the kitchen faucet wasn’t the only expenditure where this issue cropped up.”
“Probably not, but—”
She stroked his shoulder. “No. When his tight-fisted ways impacted Aubrey, that was it. I understood having a child meant I had to change my exorbitant pre-pregnancy ways – and I did, gladly. But making sure my girl had what she needed when she needed it absolutely overrode any need to save all our pennies. Particularly since we had money to spare.”
He tried to remember the faucet in her kitchen, but since they spent so little time there Friday night, he couldn’t picture it. His eyes caught hers. “You get your gooseneck, baby?”
Her soft exhale and the look on her face said he’d touched her, but he hadn’t done shit yet. “It doesn’t matter.”
His face tightened. “The hell it doesn’t. You said it yourself. Use it three times a day minimum. As a man who’s overseen many kitchen renovations and receives marketing brochures from all the big manufacturers, I’ll tell you straight up, kitchen faucets account for around eighteen percent of the water used in your household. You want a certain kind of faucet, you should get it, because you’re gonna use the fuck outta that faucet.”
She giggled, and he wondered how many margaritas she and Stephanie drank before he came back. “Only you could talk about a kitchen faucet like that.”
Her wide smile and bright eyes were always a gut-punch, but in his bed at the clubhouse that punch twisted him up. His eyes slid to the side and he remembered the recent kitchen renovation with the separate galley area for drinks. That rich woman had been a stickler of the first order, and she’d changed her mind frequently, too, which meant he had an over-sized gooseneck faucet he wasn’t likely to off-load very soon.
