Chapter 28
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Erica
Brew’s apartment is exactly what I expected; broody, masculine, and tidy. Exceptionally tidy. I don’t know why, but I always imagined him to be a neat freak for some reason, and he doesn’t disappoint.
It’s industrial with polished wooden floors, high beams, the kitchen painted white with silver appliances, brick walls and the scent of pine and sandalwood everywhere. It’s like stepping into a bachelor pad who’s also a clean freak.
He’s watching me assess his place, his face a carefully curated mask. It’s hard to believe this same man just confessed his love for me only an hour ago. That’s not to say Brew is hot and cold, what you see is what you get. I’m slowly starting to understand that.
“It’s lovely,” I say.
His lips twitch. “Exactly what I was going for when I selected everythin’.”
I tremble with laughter. “What I meant to say was, you’ve done a really good job. Everything is exactly how I pictured it. You have a gift for aesthetics.”
“I can’t take all the heat. Deanna helped, in fact, she did most of the decorating.”
I wonder how many women he’s brought up to his apartment. Okay, not a great time to start thinking like that, but that is how my mind works. I never used to be a jealous person, but that all changed when I met him.
“It’s cozy,” I add.
“Is that code for somethin’?”
“Nope. It’s warm, like you.”
He snorts. “You’re the first person to tell me that I’m warm.”
“Now that I don’t believe.” I give him a cheeky smile.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“A cup of tea would be nice.”
He walks over to the kitchen, fills up the kettle and flicks it on.
I never in a million years imagined that a man like him would be making me a cup of tea, but watching him puttering around the kitchen is sexy.
He’s unassuming, and not even aware I’m checking him out. I wonder if he knows how to cook.
“Show me the letter.” They’re not demanding words, but he wants to see it.
“Just don’t blow a gasket,” I warn. “And before you ask, no, I do not have anything inside me left to give to that man.”
“Even forgiveness?” He knows how I work; letting bygones be bygones and all of that, but this is different.
“It’s not very Christian of me, but how can I?”
“You don’t have to do shit,” he says. “Some people just don’t deserve it.”
I level him with my gaze as he places his hands on the counter, palms down, and his eyes lift. “Do you forgive easily?” I ask.
“Nope.”
“Do you forgive at all?”
He shrugs. “Depends on what it is. I don’t do lyin’ or cheatin’, and if I’m gonna forgive someone, it better be for a damn good reason.”
“That’s fair.”
His jaw ticks when he adds, “Some people don’t deserve forgiveness.”
“Don’t you worry all that rage will eat you up inside?” I ask. “It can’t be good for you.”
“It’s served me just fine all these years. Those men knew what they were doin’.”
“That’s very true.” I fold my arms over my chest, hugging myself. “And you’re entitled to feel that way, but you also have to ask yourself if you’re happy.”
“I’m not unhappy, that’s kinda the same thing.”
I shake my head. “Not even close.”
He clears his throat and I know he’s changing the subject, something he’s perfected. “I’ve been thinkin’ about what we did.” I must look confused, because he adds, “at the gun range.”
Please, cheeks, don’t heat…
“Did you come up with any conclusions?” I raise a brow, trying not to let myself think about all of that.
“Yeah, I don’t like fuckin’ you with clothes on.”
I blink once, twice… Did he really just say that?
“Wow, don’t be shy about it.”
“You want me to be shy?” He wets his bottom lip, his eyes dropping to my mouth. “I can do that.”
“I doubt that’s possible, you’re too broody to ever act shy.”
“I meant in the bedroom.”
I put a hand over my mouth, stifling a laugh. “You’re kidding?”
“You think I can’t lie on my back and watch you ride me?”
Oh, my god.
I clear my throat, almost choking on my own saliva. “Wow, filters aren’t a thing with you, are they?”
“Better get used to my dirty mouth if we’re gonna do this,” he says.
I bite down on my lip. “What are we doing, exactly?”
“I’m better with my hands than with words.”
“Is that right?”
“You be the judge.”
He turns as I watch him pour the hot water into a mug, jiggling the teabag. “I’ve got half and half,” he says over his shoulder.
“Perfect.”
“Sugar?”
“I’m sweet enough.”
His shoulders shake with laughter and it makes my heart sing that I can make him laugh. He walks to the fridge, and I feel I’m edging just watching him. I want to reach out and touch him. I want to enjoy every inch of him, but it looks like he’s in no hurry to get his hands on me.
“You gonna show me the letter?”
I inhale, then rummage around in my bag. “I guess you should probably read it.”
He slides my tea across the counter as I hand him the letter.
His eyes are dark and I’m not sure I like what I see in them now.
I’ve come to realize that Brew is a possessive man, and not in an overbearing way.
In his eyes, I’m his, and he will do whatever it takes to protect me. “Just don’t get mad.”
“Not mad at you,” he grumbles, then he casts his eyes downward and begins to read.
After a few solid minutes, he lays the paper down on the countertop. “Son of a bitch.”
“I think we can both agree on the fact he’s delusional.”
“I made some calls,” he says out of nowhere. “About the possibility of his release, and I can’t say I’ve got great news. You know how lawyers are with technicalities.”
“That’s exactly what I don’t get,” I say. “He can get away with all of that, just on a whim. How is that fair?”
“It isn’t fair. Life is a fuckin’ hard, Mama, but I won’t let him get to you even if he does get out.”
“I know that, and I’m thankful for you and the club, but if he does get out, how can we live like this? Looking over our shoulders all the time?”
“Won’t be lookin’ over your shoulder for long,” he mutters.
I steel myself. “Brew?”
His eyes meet mine.
“I don’t want you to kill him.” I mean it, with every inch of my being. Steven may not be a good person, but I don’t want him dead. What I want is for him to stay in jail.
“That decision isn’t up to you.”
“But killing him would only put you in danger.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I know how to get things done.”
I puff air out of my cheeks. “I don’t even want to know what you mean by that.”
“Good, the less you know the better.”
“Brew, not everything has to end in murder.”
“Really?” He snorts. “Because I’m pretty sure that’s how it ends for most innocent people, people he helped traffic.”
I think about that part and I feel sick. Brew is right. But I still don’t feel right about knowing what will happen to Steven if he gets out.
“When he hurt innocent people, that’s when he gave up his rights,” Brew goes on. “I have no sympathy for him, or for anyone who could do that to another person. So if that makes me a murderer, or a vigilante, or whatever you wanna call me, then so be it. But I’ll always do what’s right.”
I take a sip of my tea, unable to meet his gaze. “What if you get hurt?”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t know that,” I whisper.
“I do know that, Erica. I was in Special Ops, I know what I’m doing.”
I rake my eyes over his huge form, looming over me, his hands pressed onto the counter as he watches me. I know I shouldn’t want him the way I do, but screw it, I do. Brew makes me feel safe when nobody else ever has, he makes all the boogie men go away. Even ones that really do exist in real life.
“I’m scared of you getting hurt, that’s natural when you care about someone.”
“I’m scared of somethin’ happenin’ to you, so I guess we’re at an impasse, again,” he says.
“What you don’t have to do is worry about me or my welfare, I can handle myself, and I’ll take care of you and Olive.”
I stand, unable to take any more of not touching him. I make my way into the kitchen and come up behind him, folding my arms around his huge body. “Thank you.”
“Don’t have to thank me, it’s what I do.”
“But you don’t know what it means to have a man I can lean on,” I say. “A part of me doesn’t want to. I want to do it all myself. I’ve looked after myself and Olive for a long time, but it’s still nice. You have my back. You’d never hurt me.”
He shifts, turning as I step back. “If anyone does hurt you, I’ll kill them.” His words aren’t forced, but they’re a promise. “Do you understand me?”
I nod. “I still don’t want you to ki—”
He puts one finger over my lips to quieten me. “I think we can find better use for that pretty mouth, don’t you?”
He replaces his finger with his mouth, caressing my lips as I moan, my eyes rolling into the back of my head when he reaches for my hips. I love having him close. I love how good he smells and how hard his body is. He’s big, and I get a thrill when he towers over me, possessing me with his body.
His mouth isn’t gentle and when I feel his tongue, I melt inside. I slide my hands up his abs, and over his pecs, that thrill only deepening when I touch his body.
“I guess we can,” I whisper, when we pull apart. I bite down on my lip as he watches me.
I’ve never done anything provocative, or acted so needy before, but with him I know my secrets are safe. I don’t want to be the good girl anymore, and it’s like he can sense that, especially when he says:
“You just wanna be bad, don’t you, angel?”
“When I’m with you, I want to be everything.”
The side of his mouth turns up. “You already are.”
I can’t help it, I want to feel his skin against mine. I rest my palm against his cheek. “You’re a conundrum, do you know that?”
“How so?”
I swallow. “You’re this big, gruff, overbearing man who has killed before, but deep inside you have this soft, nurturing center that has me coming back over and over again.”
He blinks once, then his eyebrows knit together. “How do you know me so well?”
I press my hand against his heart. “I know what’s in here.”
“Yet, you don’t want to run? Even when you know I have bitterness there?”
“I’m not making excuses for anybody, or for violence or bad behavior, but after what happened to Valencia, I get it. Our paths have held similar trauma, Brew, it’s one of the reasons we came together.”
“So I’m no longer a nomad, that’s what you’re sayin’?”
I shake my head. “I guess not.” I lean up on my tippy toes and press a kiss to his mouth. “But I don’t mind that so much.”
“You’re not gonna mind it when my face is buried in your pussy.”
“Such a way with words.” I yelp when he scoops me up, throwing me over his shoulder like a caveman, and walks out of the kitchen to what I’m assuming is his bedroom.
“Now I get to show you just how good I really am with my tongue.”