Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
“Where you been?”
Jake looked up as Brandon strode into the yard at the same time he did. Brandon tugged on his fly and grabbed a beer from someone as he strutted over.
Jake didn’t bother to lie. It was obvious he’d just come from the direction of Eva’s shop. “Checking with the tattoo chick on getting this thing done. She wasn’t out here so I figured she’d be willing to work. She wasn’t.”
Brandon snorted as he took a pull from the beer. He swallowed and wiped his lips on his sleeve.
“That bitch isn’t willing to do a lot of things. But I tell you one thing, she’s gonna suck my dick before too much longer. I’ve had just about enough of her prissy shit. Bitch thinks because she can work the ink like nobody else that she can call the shots like she owns the fucking place.”
“Fuck that,” Jake said, though his heartbeat accelerated. He’d wiped his mouth when he’d left Eva’s room. He could only hope he’d removed all traces of the dark wine lipstick she’d been wearing.
As if on cue, Brandon’s gaze narrowed. It was dark but the fire was blazing and the light from it illuminated their faces.
“Find you a woman, Jake?”
Jake shrugged. No sense lying about being in Eva’s room. “I tried to kiss her. She slapped the shit out of me.”
Brandon guffawed. “Sounds like Eva.” He tipped the neck of his bottle toward Jake. “But don’t do it again. Anyone gets to taste that bitch, it’s gonna be me.”
“Got it, boss.”
He didn’t like the way Brandon fixated on Eva.
It wasn’t a good thing. Jake remembered that Brandon used to slap his women around a bit, and Jake didn’t think the dude had changed.
A wave of revulsion washed over him. Why the fuck had he ever thought he’d belonged here?
These men were so opposed to everything he believed that he couldn’t imagine how he’d ever wanted to be one of them.
Because they were cool. Because you had nothing to look forward to back then.
Yeah, but still. Brandon Cox was a motherfucker who deserved to have his balls sliced off and fed to him, and yet he managed to stay out of prison and in business anyway.
Take tonight, for instance. A turf war over hookers and blow. Another gang thought they could come into BoS territory and pinch some of their suppliers. Brandon had responded with violent force.
“Man, you were indispensable tonight,” Brandon said. “If I’d known the military could be so fucking good, I’d have sent some of the guys to the army to learn a few things. Those skills of yours are off the hook, Jakey.”
He clapped Jake on the back. Jake grinned like he was pleased, though he’d rather use his skills on this man. “Yeah, handy shit they taught me in the Rangers.”
The Rangers had only been the beginning.
He’d worked his way into Delta Force, which wasn’t easy, and then onward to the Hostile Operations Team, which was damned near impossible unless you were the best of the best. He wasn’t just a soldier.
He was an elite special operator with the best fucking top-secret outfit the United States had.
“Think you can show some of the guys how you disarmed four men before they could get the jump on you?”
“Yeah, sure. But let’s do it when they’re sober.”
Brandon turned to look at the men and women scattered around the fire. Then he laughed and tossed back his beer. “Good plan.”
He slung an arm around Jake’s neck and hauled him toward a group of women. “Let’s get you laid tonight. You deserve it.”
It was the last thing in the world he wanted when his senses still reeled from kissing Eva Gray. He shot a glance at her window, wondering if she watched.
The curtain twitched as if she’d dropped it. He wanted to charge back in there and take her in his arms again, but it was too dangerous. Especially now that Brandon had told him Eva was off limits.
Brandon might have been patient with her, but his patience was running out. One wrong move, and Eva could end up dead.
And so could Jake.