49. Brett
Brett
Roman’s muffled screaming is just background noise now—like shitty elevator music. Vito’s driving Claire’s tiny clown-car behind us, the girls safe in my backseat, and the whole town feels like it’s about to explode.
Perfect time to make a phone call.
I hit Michael’s number.
He picks up on the first ring.
“Tell me.”
“Get Krystal,” I say, voice low. “Get someone you trust watching her. Shit went a little sideways tonight.”
“A little?” Michael sounds like he’s two seconds from ripping someone’s throat out.
“No one’s dead,” I reassure him. “The whole thing went down. The council? In lockup. Redmond? In lockup. Roman? Well—Roman’s zip-tied in the backseat of my SUV.”
There’s a beat.
“You WHAT?”
“I’ll explain when I get there.”
In the background, I hear Kate’s soft voice, breathless—“I’m here, baby. Claire and I… we’re with Brett. We’re safe.”
I can feel Michael unclench through the phone.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Good. I’m coming?—”
“Uh, nope,” I interrupt. “You stay put until I get your signal. We don’t need the Feds thinking you bailed before the fireworks started.”
Then my second burner buzzes.
Guerrero’s number flashes across the screen.
I swear under my breath.
“Shit. Mikey—I gotta go. Guerrero’s calling.”
“What?”
Click.
I answer the other line. “What?”
Remi Guerrero growls, “I hear you kidnapped my girlfriend.”
My eyes roll so hard I almost go blind.
“I didn’t kidnap shit, motherfucker.”
“She was with ME last night,” Remi snarls.
“And she’s with ME tonight,” I fire back, voice full alpha. “She’s always been mine. Don’t try to take her back. You’re out and I’m in.”
A long, dangerous silence.
Then Remi hisses, “Claire and I are together.”
“Nope.” I pop the p. “She’s mine now. Possession is 9/1oths of the law and all that.” Before I can laugh, Claire smacks me in the shoulder.
I smirk. “My hand’s on her knee and my dick’s gonna be in her later tonight.”
Claire GASPS.
Then she SLAPS me—hard—across the face. “You’re so coarse. Not at all like Remi.”
I blink.
She blinks.
‘I love you.’ I mouth. So hot for this fucking girl. That slap was pure foreplay.
“The fuck is happening over there?” Remi growls. “CLAIRE??! I’l send Drew. I’ll kill him.”
“Baby… I knew you missed me.” I croon to Claire. “Gotta go Remi… I’ll send you a wedding invite. Smooches.” I made kissy noises while he curses me out and I end the call.
Claire’s still fuming from the slap she gave me, lips red, eyes wild. She looks like a pissed-off angel—my favorite kind.
“You’re a heathen,” she hisses at me. “An animal. A complete juvenile.”
I grin. “All facts. But you didn’t seem to mind when?—”
“Don’t.” She jabs a finger at me. “And Remi’s what? Hmmm? A gentleman? A man who—takes his time. Uses a fork when he eats… doesn’t chug scotch straight from the bottle.”
I snort so loud Vito glances at me in the rearview.
“Remi?” My brow cocks. “Baby, come on. He’s practically an old man compared to me.”
Claire scoffs. “He is not?—”
“He needs Viagra just to look at you,” I growl. “And even then he probably needs a pep talk and a prayer.”
Claire’s jaw drops. “brETT. Remi treated me like a lady.”
“He should’ve treated you like a woman,” I shoot back. “That’s your whole problem right there.”
She crosses her arms tight over her chest. “Well ,you dumped me.”
Oh, so that’s where this is going.
I drag a hand through my hair. “Take that up with Kate and Michael, babe. We were both collateral damage. Collateral. Damage.”
She glares at me through thick lashes. “Don’t ‘babe’ me.”
“But now,” I lean in, my voice dropping to a low rumble, “we’re free and clear to start up where we left off.”
Her breath catches — but then she snaps her walls back up fast.
“Oh, you think I’m just that easy?” Arms cross harder. “You think I’m just gonna fall into bed with you because you kissed me like a sinner behind a church?”
“Worked last time,” I mutter.
She kicks my seat.
“You’re gonna have to WORK for that shit, Brett. Do you hear me? I am NOT easy. I—” She pauses dramatically. “Remi wined and dined me.”
My blood pressure spikes.
“Enough about the old man,” I growl, low, dangerous.
She freezes.
Even Claire Donovan knows that tone.
I lean closer, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I don’t want to hear that motherfucker’s name again. Not from your lips. Not ever.”
She swallows, her chin lifting in stubborn defiance…but she doesn’t argue.
Not this time.
Not with that tone.
Not with me.
And inside the car, even with Roman zip-tied and cussing in the back seat, even with danger closing in from all sides—I swear Claire’s pulse gets louder.
And I fucking feel it.