Maverick (The Brash Brothers #9)

Chapter 1

1

MAVERICK

" T his is pathetic, right?"

I glance up from my phone at Colton's voice. He's watching Abby, who is sitting with the women across the room. She’s tucked in with Holly and the baby, looking all kinds of sad. Locking my phone and shoving it back in my pocket, I search the room for John, finally finding him sitting on the floor with Evie. They're deep in conversation, but his eyes stray to Abby and I see the longing and the pain in that gaze.

This is supposed to be a happy day. It's Mia's fourth birthday, the very first birthday that we get to throw for a child, and yeah, maybe we went a little overboard. But those blow up slides are really fucking fun.

Anyone would be happy just walking into this place. It looks like a birthday bomb went off, with streamers and glitter and balloons everywhere. But John went and shouted at Abby this morning, telling her to stop being his friend, which is colossally stupid, because Abby is funny as hell, and from what I can tell, a really good friend to John.

He needs good people in his life, and Abby is good people.

"I don't know if I'd say pathetic. Sad maybe?" John fucked up with her. It's a fact.

"He's in love with her," Nick says, tapping away one of the pink helium balloons, leaning a hip against the island.

"You sure about that?" I ask. Not that I'd be mad about it, or shocked for that matter. They live next to each other. He spends most of his waking time with her. But getting out of prison is not an easy road for anyone, and John is struggling, even if he's trying to act like he's not. Yeah, he seems to like her. But love? Can a man who’s just out of prison and trying to rebuild his life truly fall in love at the same time?

What am I saying? Of course he could.

"Yep. You should have seen his face after Abby walked away. He's fucked. I think he needs an intervention."

"Aw fuck. We're not doing that. You gotta stop watching that show. It never ends well." Nick and his fucking reality TV.

"Take that back," Nick says, gasping. "That show changes lives."

"If you corner him in a room and try to talk about feelings, he's going to freak the fuck out," Colton says, stopping in front of us, shoving a giant forkful of cake in his mouth.

"Where did you get that?" I ask, grabbing for the plate. Colton yells, yanks the plate to his face, and shovels the last of it in his mouth, giving me a satisfied grin.

"Ran, you should have ordered a bigger cake," Nick yells across the room. Ransom, leaning against a pillar, looking all kinds of happy, raises one brow and scans the wreckage that is the cake table. Shaking his head, he wanders over to us.

"It was three tiers. It's supposed to feed at least fifty people."

"And?" Nick and I ask at the same time. Seriously, he should know better by now.

Ransom just grins and shakes his head. "My fucking mistake. I won't make it again, promise."

Nick grunts, still looking put out. I get it. I feel the same way. You can never have too much cake. Never. My phone buzzes again in my pocket, and the muscles in my neck get tight. It'll keep. It's okay to be present with my family. I can’t solve anyone’s problems right this minute.

"John's got the feels for Abby. Nick thinks he needs an intervention."

Ransom scowls, and crosses his arms over his chest. "You have to stop watching that fucking show."

Colton and I trade glances, laughing. You know it's a problem when everyone's thinking the same thing.

Nick sputters and plants his hands on the counter. "Fine. But the point stands, assholes. He needs a little advice and some guy talk. So let's take him out and help him loosen up. Then, when he's nice and loose, we'll drop a truth bomb on him."

"Not your worst idea," Ransom says.

"He's right," Colton says, nodding seriously. "Your worst idea was putting twenty grand worth of military-grade night vision goggles into the dishwasher."

"Listen, it made sense at the time," Nick mumbles, scowling. "They were all smudged and shit."

Chuckling, Ransom slaps Nick on the back. "Take him to the club. Get a few drinks in him, and see what happens. I'll wrap things up here and head over later."

"Ooh," Colt says, eyes turning dreamy. "Chicken wings."

My stomach growls audibly. It's cake-hungry, but chicken wings will do in the meantime. "Yep. Good plan. Let's go." The buzzing in my pocket is distracting and I know I have to deal with it. "I'll meet you in the garage."

I excuse myself, waving at the ladies. My phone's persistent alerts keep me from heading over to sniff the top of baby Noah's head, so I'm grumpy by the time I head down the stairs and push into my apartment. I needed a baby fix.

I pull open my texts, and scroll through all the messages I've missed from Alexis.

He can’t do this can he

He can't just decide to take her whenever he wants right?

He still hasn't dropped her off

How can he just keep my baby?

Ah fuck.

I might wait to call some of my other pro-bono clients, but not Alex. She's not just a client. She works for me, and plus…she's got that cute little kid.

Who’s not at home safe and sound, where she should be.

No, I'm not going to wait to call her. I'll find the time.

I hit call, and she picks up right away. She's crying and in the background, so is the baby. She's home, thank fuck.

"When was he supposed to have her back?" I ask, rubbing a hand over my chest trying to loosen the ache there.

Alexis sniffles. "He brought her back ten minutes ago. She won't stop crying."

"How late was he?"

"Almost two hours. I was so scared. All I could think about was what if he takes off with her, and I never get to see her again? I can't live without my baby Mav. I just can't. Maybe I should take her and run somewhere he can't find us."

"No! Don't do that, Alex. Promise me. That would be an epic fuck up. If you do that, you'll lose Melanie. You have to give this time to play out. We've got a date with a judge next week. In the meantime, I'll report that he's late. It's going to look bad for him. Just let him keep fucking up, Alex."

"But…what if the judge decides that she's better off without me? I'm a stripper. It's not like I'm a good person."

"That's complete bullshit, Alex. You're a great person, you're a wonderful mom, and you're providing for your daughter. No judge is going to penalize you for that."

And if they try to, then we'll take the less legal route—not that I'm going to involve her in that.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Honey, I'm sure. Just trust me a little longer, okay?"

Another sniffle, then a heavy sigh. "Okay. I'm sorry to bother you. I really appreciate all your help."

"It's not a problem. Try to get some sleep okay? Cuddle that baby and just breathe."

"Okay. Goodnight Boss."

"Goodnight."

I drop into a chair at the dining table, head sagging. I'm tired. Really tired. Though that's not anything new. I think I've been tired for the last thirty years. It's tempting to just stay here, bow out of going to the club, hit the sack and sleep until next year.

But I won't.

Not just because they're going to my club, but because I like my family. I like being around them and I don't want to miss what's sure to be a great night. It's always a weirdly fun time when my brothers get together.

John and Abby getting together would be a really good thing. They both deserve happiness. And watching Nick lay some truth down on him could be fun, too. John's not the most communicative guy, but I know he feels deeply. It was there in the way he'd ask after his brother every time I went to visit him in prison. In the way he’d watch him when he figured no one was looking.

There is a deep well of love and protectiveness there.

Plus, I really want chicken wings.

Pulling up to my club, The Escape a little jolt of pride hits me. It's the first thing I've owned that's all mine. Everything else, every other business and commercial development we’re into, is something we own together.

But this club? All mine. It was a spur of the moment thing, and yeah it's added work onto my already full plate, but I don't regret it. I don't get to see the tangible benefits of my work at Brash. It's contracts and phone calls and negotiations.

But here? I make the decisions on health care, benefits, and what the uniforms look like. I chose the carpet and the lighting, and I know right away if I made the right decision.

It's not that Brash doesn't matter. It does. It's our legacy, it's our family, but in many ways, it's Ransom's vision we're driving toward. And yeah, it's a fucking awesome vision, so I'm all in.

But it's nice to have something that's just mine.

“You guys are going in there?” John asks.

“Yeah,” Nick says, nearly bouncing on his toes. “Come on. This is just what you need.”

“What I need? Why the fuck do you think you know what I need?” John's ornery voice makes me smile. Shouldn't the man be happy to come to a place like this? Women? Check. Booze? Check. What's not to love?

Dean, looking sharp in his custom suit, nods at the guys as they walk in, then tips his chin at me with a low "Boss." I give him a fist bump as I pass, and a ghost of a smile appears before he reverts back to Serious Bouncer. He's amazing at his job, not just at keeping the crowds in line, but at making sure the women feel safe. He's the only security staff I kept when I bought this place, and he's proven it was a smart move over and over. A down on his luck former Army Ranger, he was way too qualified for the job. Now, he's the head of security for the club and seems to be thriving.

Ahead of us, Colton's high-fiving Trixie, asking after her kid. Smiling up at him as she talks about her son, she leads us to our table near the back. It's a VIP booth, and the businessman in me should want to leave it free for some other well-paying customers, but the billionaire in me doesn't give a fuck. My brothers and I will make sure our waitress ends up with plenty of tips, and that's all that matters. I don’t depend on this place for a paycheck, so as long as the staff are getting paid, I don’t give a fuck if it makes one dollar more.

Trixie hands me a menu with a cheery "Boss," presses a kiss to my cheek then saunters off. I've asked her over and over not to call me that, but she won't stop because she knows I find it embarrassing. Yeah, I own the place, but she's the boss most of the time. She runs the damned place for me. She makes the day to day decisions, and calls me in for anything she considers above her pay grade, which isn't much.

“Boss?” John asks, scowling. “This your place?”

“Yeah. Bought it about a year ago.”

His eyebrows wing up. The scar across his face pulls white. “It’s a nice place. I didn’t know you were into stuff like this. Not that I’m judging. You just don’t seem like the kind of guy that would own a strip club.”

“It’s not a strip club,” Colton yells. I choke back a laugh because fuck, why is he yelling? And right in John's ear like that? He's gonna get punched. “It’s a dance club. They’re dancers.”

“That get naked,” John says, glaring at his brother. I haven't seen the two of them haul off and beat on each other yet, but it'll happen. As much as John might want a peaceful life, I think he's coming around to the idea that he's not going to get it. And honestly, he'd get bored as fuck living that simple life he imagined when he got out. The man spent eighteen years on a razor's edge in prison, being someone that commanded respect. Now he wants to just be left alone? Nah, that's not going to last very long.

“No, not anymore,” I say. Not that I have anything against strip clubs. That would be fucking twisted considering the way I grew up, but everyone keeping their bits covered, opened up the clientele quite a bit. It's a smart business move, and so far, the women are happy with it.

If they're happy, so am I.

“What am I missing?” John asks.

Nick leans forward, putting his menu on the table. “I don’t know why she gives us these. We always order the same thing.” He turns to John, putting his arm on the back of the booth, relaxed. “We came here almost two years ago. It was a weird night that involved a lot of alcohol.”

“On your part," I mutter. I was sober that night. Nick was decidedly not. And when we came in here, it was the last fucking thing I wanted to do.

But sometimes, you gotta go where life takes you.

Or in this case, where your drunk brother screams at you to take him.

“Fair. I was drunk as fuck. And I think we saw this place as we were driving past, and I begged to stop.” He gazes around the room. “It looked nothing like this back then. It was seedy. The floors were sticky. And there was sketchy shit going down.”

John looks at me sideways. “And you thought, wow, what a great investment?”

Grinning, I shake my head. "Nah, there was a little more to it than that."

Nick laughs. “No, that’s not how it went down. We were hanging out, drinking some watered-down whiskey, and a fight broke out. Miss Trixie over there was going toe to toe with the owner. A big ugly motherfucker. Apparently, their paychecks were bouncing at the bank. She was pissed.”

“She has a family to take care of." That little boy and her husband—nice guy, but he got hurt on the job years ago, so a lot of the financial weight has fallen on her. Her manager title with me came with a more than healthy pay bump, so she doesn't have to worry about making ends meet anymore.

None of the women here do.

“Yep. She does," Nick says. "So she’s going off on this guy, and he shoves her out of his way. He’s big, and she is not. She went flying. And Mav here lost his shit.”

“You?” John asks, brows raised. “I haven’t seen you lose your shit. Is that a regular occurrence?”

“No. It’s not. It just pushed some buttons.”

“What buttons?”

I lean back and study John. I've known him for a long time, so it's easy to forget he hasn't heard all our stories. “My mom was a stripper. I spent a lot of time in places like this,” I turn to the stage, imagining another stage, in a seedy club across town. It's still there, still operating, but I doubt anyone I know is still there. And after that night full of screaming and blood, I never went back. "The old version of this, when I was little. I don’t like seeing women being taken advantage of.”

His gaze is level serious. “I didn’t know that man.”

I shrug. “No reason for you to know.” I'm not ashamed of where I came from or of my mom. She did the best she could for me, despite the shitty hand life dealt her. But I know all too well what can happen to a woman in a place like this was.

“So you went postal on the guy, and what? Beat the shit out of him and took his club?”

“Basically,” I mutter. Not my finest moment, but I don't regret the end result. It was satisfying as fuck to knock that asshole out.

“Yeah,” Nick says, grinning. “We’ll just skip the part about a drug ring operating out of here, and Declan hacking the books, and Jonas tracking the money. The dude went to jail, and Mav scooped it up.”

Okay, that part was satisfying too. Yeah, hitting someone gives you that immediate gratification, but knowing he's lost everything and is behind bars now? That's even better.

“I guess you guys weren’t kidding when you said you do criminal shit sometimes.”

“The end justifies the means,” Jonas says, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“As long as the end is whatever suits you?”

Declan leans forward, frowning. “Technically, yeah, but everyone in here is way better off with Mav owning it. Look around you. This place is expensive. And it’s not a typical club.”

John gazes around the club, then his lips tighten. “Do your women know you come here?”

Kade chuckles and points at the table of women right at the front of the stage. The staff puts women there because it's got the best view, but also because it's easier for security to keep an eye on them. Women bring laughter, their friends…and wherever the women go, men follow. “Becca came here with some of the girls a few weeks ago and sat right there. Almost gave herself a concussion trying to spin on the pole.”

Micah grins. “Chicken wings.” He's still a man of few words. Yeah, he's able to speak longer sentences than he has in the past, but he doesn't need them to get his point across.

“Yep,” Zach says, leaning back. “The wings are pretty epic too. All the women have been here a time or two, and they all know we come here. If we’re not here, we’re at Cara’s club. And when they want a ladies night, they come here or go to Cara’s. It’s nice to go to the same places, so we don’t have to deal with any bullshit.”

Jonas nods, looking somewhere behind me. “The security here is tight. The women are safe here. Hi Cadence.”

“Well, if it isn’t the Brash dudes. Hey! Nice to see you.”

The bright, warm voice coming from beside me hits me like a truck, making every muscle in my body seize up. Something about it is achingly familiar.

“Cady? What are you doing here?” Nick asks, brow furrowed.

Her scent hits me first, fresh and earthy at the same time. Next, I take in the hair, a wild mane of blonde that almost looks like it's standing up on its own, waves and curls all tumbling together.

After that?

The curves.

So many curves.

I let the staff pick the uniforms for the servers. I figured if they were happy with them, there would be fewer complaints. They all agreed that the minimal coverage of the vest and booty shorts would mean better tips, and I had no problem with it.

But holy fuck, I'm rethinking that. Because this woman is going to give someone a heart attack. They're going to keel over right in the middle of my club, and that would be a serious mood killer. I can picture it now, some fifty-year-old suit, flat on his back, a dazed look on his face, and a fucking woody standing straight up in his pants.

Clenching all my muscles, I force the giggle determined to crawl up my throat, back down. A fucking giggle fit is not the first impression I planned on making with this woman. I haven't even seen her face but I already know I want to get to know her better.

Why does she seem so familiar, though?

That ass is unforgettable. Round, thick, and tight. And the glimpse of lush breasts straining the seams of the vest as she carefully unloads her tray makes my mouth feel like the Sahara.

"I'm working!" she says, voice sunny.

“What about the rescue?” Nick asks, looking confused. What rescue? Why does he seem to know her, and I don't?

She laughs and straightens, tucking the tray under her arm. Fuck, the face is better than the body. Wide brown eyes, thick lashes, a hint of freckles along her cheekbones, and a mouth too lush to be believed.

I want her to look at me. Enough with my brothers. I don't care how they know her. It doesn't matter. All that matters is she comes home with me tonight.

“I’m just making a little extra," she says, grinning. "I’m at the shelter in the daytime, and most of the nights, too. But things are a little tight right now.”

Jonas scowls. “I thought that we gave you a healthy donation.”

Her smile softens. “You did. You guys are amazing. I was able to help so many animals, and I fixed up the building.”

“You should be drawing a salary,” Jonas insists.

“I am. I do. I promise. I just had a few extra personal things pop up. Don’t worry. I’ve only been here a few days, but so far, it’s a great place to work.” She turns to Zach. “How’s your little girl?”

“She’s great. She likes to wake me up by licking my toes. She just sneaks right under the cover.” For a minute, just a minute, I think he's talking about Maya and again, there goes my imagination. Like, is that Zach's kink? Maybe he likes his woman to sneak up and suck a toe into her mouth.

It's a silly, uncomfortable thought, because it's Maya and I love her. But I could totally see Zach being a freak in the sheets. And women love him so much, they'd do just about anything with and for him. But my brain grinds back into gear and I realize he's talking about his dog. Cute little thing.

“She’s just the sweetest thing,” Cadence coos. “Anyone else looking for a dog? I have some wonderful animals right now. You should come on by. There’s only one that’s already claimed.” She winks at Nick, and he grins back.

Realization dawns, and with it, no small amount of horror. Fuck. I know who this is. I don't really remember her, I was too damned drunk, but I know. The woman that runs that rescue we donate to. The one that Zach adopted his dog from.

So much for first impressions. Fucked that one up a while ago.

Though maybe, she doesn't remember me. Could I be that lucky?

“And who are you, big guy?” she asks, turning to John. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I remember the rest of these guys, I think.” She taps me on the shoulder, and for the first time, our eyes lock. “Pretty sure you were the one singing Twinkle Twinkle to a Pomeranian.”

Aw fuckity fuck fuck. I don't remember much of that day, but none of it was smooth or attractive. We were helping Zach work out some shit, which lead to booze, then we all ended up at the rescue so he could talk to Maya. I woke up the next morning covered in dog hair, mouth tasting like ass, feeling like I should be embarrassed about something, but no idea what. Unfortunately, when we've had that much, that's not unusual. Thankfully, I don't remember most of the stupid shit I've done.

Other people do, obviously, but usually that doesn’t bother me. If I’ve done something cringeworthy, guaranteed one of my other brothers did too, so it was no big deal.

But this is way worse. This stunning woman had a front-row seat for my little show. So much for a great first impression.

What’s the plan here, counselor? Think fast fucker. What’s the plan? Deny, deny, deny. “Ah, I don’t actually remember. You run that rescue, the one Maya had us donate to?”

“That’s me,” she holds her hand to me, eyes dancing with warmth and humor. She's irresistible. “Cadence. My friends call me Cady. And can I just say, you have a lovely singing voice.” I take her hand in some mockery of a shake. I just hold it, stroking my thumb over the skin on the back of her hand, and pretend that this is the first time we're meeting. “If you ever wanna come by and sing to the dogs, or me, you just drop me a line. I can give you my number.”

Thank you baby Jesus, the saints, and anyone else up there. Maybe she’s got a thing for idiots. I don’t know, and I don’t care. I am so getting her number. Then I’m getting her in my bed, and then maybe we can get breakfast, and I can see where she lives and– Stop getting ahead of yourself asshole. You’ll scare her off.

Then Jonas opens his mouth and ruins it. “I’m sure he can find your number in the personnel records. You should call her Mav.”

Her own thumb starts a slow stroking on my hand, and all the blood is leaking out of my head to…other places.

“Personnel records?” she asks absently, looking down at me with a hazy grin.

“He owns this place,” Nick says casually. Cadence's hand tightens around mine, and her thumb makes one more slow stroke. Meeting my gaze, I see regret and resolve in hers.

“Aw shucks,” she mutters. “Well, nice to meet you, boss.” She pulls her hand away, then pulls an order pad out of her back pocket. “What can I get everyone?”

My brothers order a fuck of a lot of chicken wings, but all I can focus on is her. On her easy smiles and laughter, the casual way she handles them.

And the way that when she looks at me, her smile is friendly, with none of the suggestiveness from before. All my plans for the night, the weekend, and the next several decades go up in smoke. Okay, maybe it wasn't decades. I'm not an idiot. But I saw the possibilities. I felt them in a way I hadn't felt anything before.

She leaves to put in the order, and I sit, trying to figure out how to salvage the situation. Yeah she's an employee, but that's never stopped us before. Not when it really mattered anyway. Declan and Cara met at work. So did Jonas and Janey. Why not me?

Jonas calls my name, pulling me from my pity party. “What?”

“How did you not know she worked here?” Jonas asks, very slowly, like I just got knocked in the head. I hate it when he does that. If he were closer, I would flick him on the forehead. That would make me feel a little better.

“I own it, I don’t run it. Trixie handles the whole place. She’s the manager.” Yeah, I spend time here, but most of it is talking to Trixie. I'm only out on the floor if I'm here with my brothers. Any other time I’m here, I’m behind a desk in the back.

“So you don’t think she came here, wanting to work for you? Maybe she’s playing an angle?” John asks, looking all kinds of suspicious.

An angle? My stomach twists. It wouldn't be the first time. Men as rich as we are? We're targeted all the time, and the possibility that stunning woman is running a con in here just sucks all the color out of the room. Maybe she is, though. How did she end up here otherwise? Yeah, coincidences happen, but that’s a pretty fucking big coincidence.

“No,” Nick says firmly. “That’s not her. At all. That woman is a straight shooter, and one of the most dedicated people I’ve ever met. If she’s here, my guess is Bree or Maya mentioned the club to her. You heard her. She needs the work.” That’s a possibility. I know several of the women are volunteering there from time to time. It’s not out of the realm of possibility.

But she needs the work. She said so. And she made it really crystal clear that she's not going to be dating the boss. She's smart. She shouldn't. If I were her friend, I'd tell her it's a shitty idea. But I'm not her friend. I'm just a man that wants her, and the realization that I lost any chance with her a minute after meeting her, grates.

Searching the room for her, I spot her delivering beers to a table of suits. She's smiling with them too, flirting.

Maybe she's just a natural flirt. One of those women who love all men.

Maybe there was nothing special about me at all.