Chapter 2
JAGGER
My balls ache as I push to my feet. My vision blurs with agony and frustration, but I’m not sure which is greater.
I take it back. The agony wins out. Seriously, I think I might puke.
I haven’t been kneed in the balls since…
well, since I was fighting a group of guys and one decided to play dirty when they realized that even though the odds were stacked in their favor, they were still having their asses handed to them.
Even so, a shot to the groin was the last thing I expected. Especially from someone like her.
She’s a fighter. I’ll give her that much.
Cupping my balls, I let out a slow breath and try to blink past the black spots dotting my vision while the girl struggles in Ford’s arms. A sheen of panic paints her wide brown eyes.
It’s as if she’s finally realized how much she fucked up by coming here, let alone sneaking into my brother’s room, throwing a temper tantrum, and kneeing me in the balls.
Her eye color is even richer now. The dark espresso hits like a shot of caffeine.
As they dart around the room, I realize why the look feels familiar.
It reminds me of the helpless animals we used to snare when my dad would take me hunting with my brothers.
A timid little animal who knows she made a mistake and is about to be eaten alive because of it.
All it took was one wrong move to lead her here.
Sandwiched against my brother. His grip relentless.
As he waits for her executioner—me—to dole out her punishment.
“Big mistake, sweetheart,” Ford growls.
She squirms against him. “Let me go—”
“After a stunt like that?” Ford scoffs. “You’re not the brightest crayon in the box, are ya?”
Hawke shifts toward the door. His attention stays laser focused on the girl who seems to have thrown us all for a loop tonight. Blocking the exit with his body, he folds his arms and tilts his head. Seems he’s waiting, too. To see how I want to handle this. Handle her.
The once crisp bills are a wadded mess in my closed fist. Prying my fingers open, I stride closer to the pain in my ass still struggling in Ford’s arms.
“Let me go or I’lll—”
“Stop. Moving,” I warn.
Surprisingly, she does. Her pouty lips part, and she peers up at me. It’s as if she just realized I’m not still on my knees across the room from her. I’m right in front of her, commanding her attention like I do everything in my life.
“Apologize,” Ford demands.
She lets out a shaky breath but keeps quiet, determined to stand her ground.
Honestly, I’m impressed. Lifting the crumpled bills an inch from her nose, I let her eye the money, then slowly wrap my arm around her waist and tuck them into the back pocket of her jeans.
When my fingers graze the small swell of her ass, my cock twitches, surprising the hell out of me.
I wouldn’t exactly say the girl is my type.
Even so, I keep my expression locked down like I was raised to do.
“To be clear, you should probably work on your technique,” I tell her.
A little furrow forms between her brows. “What?”
“Here you go.” I pat her ass for good measure to prove a point. That she can say what she wants. Think what she wants. But I have the power to strip it all away with a simple snap of my fingers or pat of her ass. “You earned it,” I add, referring to the cash I tucked into her back pocket.
Panic swallows her confusion until utter hatred replaces it. “Fuck you.”
“You wish, Little Thief.” I bend even closer. “You. Wish.”
She raises her chin an inch higher. “Over my dead body.”
My mouth lifts. “Next time, I expect you to be a little softer. I like to work up to the finale.” My gaze slides to Ford. “Let her go.”
As soon as his grip loosens, she jerks away and reaches for her back pocket, but I grab her wrist, stopping her. “If I find out you do anything with the money except use it for yourself, I won’t be so accommodating. We clear?”
Her chest heaves before her head dips in the barest of nods.
“Good girl.”
I let her go, and she rubs at her wrist with her opposite hand.
Anxious. Scared. I tilt my head toward the exit, and Hawke steps aside, giving her room to leave.
Like a baby jackrabbit, she darts away, not bothering to look back or even close the bedroom door behind her as she races down the stairs toward the main floor.
Good. It lets me take in the view for a few seconds longer, even if she is a pain in the ass.
With a quiet click, Hawke closes the door and leans against it again.
“Who is she?” I ask.
“Violet,” Hawke answers. I quirk my brow, waiting for him to give me more intel, but he only shrugs. “You gave me two minutes.”
To be fair, I gave him a hell of a lot more time than two minutes. He just decided not to use it, choosing to tattle to Ford instead.
“How’d you know I lied?” I ask.
“You mean, how could I see through your bullshit when you said you were planning to fuck her tonight?” Hawke clarifies. A low chuckle rumbles past his throat. “Pretty sure you could be married to the love of your life, and you’d still keep your dick to yourself the night before a fight.”
Call me a superstitious bastard, but he’s right.
I never have sex before a fight. Sure, there’s nothing like a little post-orgasmic haze or whatever the hell you want to call it, but not at the expense of a win in the ring.
The added testosterone and pent-up frustration from keeping myself in check fuels me. Although, for a girl like her…
I scratch my jaw, turning to my youngest brother. “Ford?”
“Dad’s name is Reeves. Virgil Reeves.” He collapses onto the edge of Hawke’s bed. “Lost a bet last week, then doubled down for tonight’s event when he showed me he had the cash on him. Lost it all. Five grand.”
My nod is slow.
“Didn’t think she’d come up here and search our stuff,” he adds. “She’s a bold little thing, isn’t she?”
“Bold. Pain in the ass,” Hawke chimes in. “Semantics.”
A grin splits Ford’s face as hears his own words repeated back to him. “Exactly. At least your room’s clean.” He looks around the tidied space. “Doris get to you, too?”
Doris is our cleaning lady. And childhood nanny. And cook when she feels like it.
Hawke nods. “She was on a rampage this weekend. Took half my closet to Goodwill.” Eyeing me warily, Hawke pushes, “You think she’ll be back?”
“Doris?” Ford questions.
“The girl,” Hawke clarifies.
Violet. Right.
I lift a shoulder but stay quiet, unsure what to say, let alone what I want the answer to be.
I’ve never seen her before. Not in Harden Heights.
Not in The Drift. Not that it’s too surprising.
It’s a small town, but it isn’t that small.
There are plenty of people. Plenty of buyers, gamblers, participants, students, druggies.
Half the time, our parties are nothing but a sea of faceless people, willingly handing us their money in exchange for entertainment.
Even so, I feel like I would’ve at least recognized her.
Where the hell did she come from? Maybe Roman knows. Speaking of which.
“Where’s Roman?” I ask.
“Putting out another fire.” Hawke glances at my groin. “You good?”
“Not the ball fondling I would’ve chosen, but…”
Another grunt of amusement echoes from Ford before he sobers. “You know, I almost feel bad for her.”
“Almost?” Hawke challenges. Despite how well he hides it from everyone outside of this room, he’s always been the softest of the bunch. The one with Mom’s heart, unlike me and Ford. Yeah, we got our empathy from Titas Harden. Talk about getting the short end of the stick, but it has its perks.
Ford rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. Unless…” His words hang in the air as both he and Hawke pin me with their stares.
I know what they’re wondering. What they’re asking even if they won’t voice it aloud. If I wasn’t a prick, I’d consider it, but here we are.
“No,” I announce, solidifying my callousness with a look of indifference.
Hawke pulls back. “No?”
“All it takes is one exception,” I explain. “People will think we’ve gone soft, and everything we’ve built crumbles.”
“We’ve turned away a lot worse,” Ford adds as if justifying our lack of humanity. “Pregnancy, dead grandpa, losing their car.” He lifts a shoulder. “So, her dad stole from her. Life’s a bitch, but she can always make more money. Use it as a life lesson and all that shit.”
Hawke scoffs.
“What?” Ford asks.
“Okay, Dad,” Hawke points out.
“You know what I mean—”
“Life’s a bitch, but you can always make more money?” Hawke shakes his head, looking disgusted. “And people think you’re the nice one.”
Ford pushes himself to his feet. “I can be nice—”
“Yeah, if they’re willing to put out,” Hawke argues. He stands his ground while Ford gets up in his face.
“Enough,” I snap. “I’m not in the mood to play referee tonight.”
Hands raised, Ford backs off, putting some distance between him and Hawke.
“Thank you,” I grumble.
Ford mumbles, “No problem.”
“Says the guy who doesn’t feel like getting his ass kicked tonight,” Hawke interjects.
My scathing look cuts him off, and he presses his mouth into a thin line.
“What do you want me to do if the girl’s old man shows up for another bet?” Ford asks.
A migraine threatens to take hold from his simple question, but I only lift a shoulder in response. “I don’t know.”
“He’s proved he’s good for it,” Ford pushes.
Yeah, by stealing from his own daughter.
It reminds me of our father. The sonofabitch wouldn’t hesitate to take something from us if it helped him personally.
I shouldn’t care. I don’t care. It’s like Ford said, we’ve turned away people in shittier situations.
So why do I feel like a bastard? My guilt amplifies, but I shove it aside and pinch the bridge of my nose. “A bet’s a bet.”
“A bet’s a bet,” Ford repeats.
“Keep an eye on the girl for me, though,” I add.
“Why?” Hawke asks.
Excellent question.
“Or don’t,” I mutter. “I don’t even know.” With a sigh, I drop my hand to my side. “I’m going to bed.”
I start toward the exit, but Hawke blocks my path. “Jag, you good?”
I force myself to nod. “Yeah, I’m good.”