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Footsteps made their way up to the front door, and as I suspected, Brayden didn’t hesitate to open it, figuring I was one of his neighbors or friends with the code or some shit.
As he swung the door wide, Brayden Fairchild came into view. Dressed in grey sweatpants and a red Westport University t-shirt that clung to his well-developed muscles, he appeared exactly what he was—a college jock living on Mom and Dad’s dime—and the second his brown eyes rose to connect with mine, he reared back and tried to slam the door.
Quick as a viper, I struck, slapping my palm on the door and shoving it open, my eyes zeroing in on him, taking his measure, and like any animal caught in the crosshairs of fight and flight, I could see a decision warring. Do I stay or do I go? Then, right before my eyes, Brayden grew a set of balls to match my own.
He clenched his teeth, and his jaw tightened to the point where it ticked as he took the two strides needed so he was out the door and on the porch opposite me.
“How’d you get in here?” he demanded as he pulled the door shut, widened his stance, and crossed his arms. A show of bravado if ever I saw one. But what he didn’t know was that, if I wanted, I could be inside his house without his knowledge, tracking down Jesse before they even realized I’d entered. He was lucky I’d given him the courtesy of coming to his front door.
Not in the least bit intimidated by this boy, I glanced over my shoulder to the winding drive. “You need better security.”
“What I need to do is call the police,” Brayden said. “You’ve got some nerve showing your face around here after what you did to him.”
“Where is he?” I asked, not caring in the slightest about his threat, now focused on my end game—finding Jesse.
“Somewhere you can’t get to him.”
The water from my soaked hoodie dripped down my temple as I glared at the human barricade between me and what I wanted, and I wasn’t above removing him if that was what was required.
“You need to fucking leave,” Brayden said through gritted teeth, and I almost felt sorry for him. He was trying so hard to be brave, but the way his eyes kept darting over my shoulder told me he was looking to see if he was as alone as he felt—and yes, he was.
“And if I don’t? You and what army are going to make me?” When he said nothing, I cocked my head. “Did you really think that gate of yours would keep me from him? Brayden, you know better than that.”
“Don’t talk to me like you fucking know me.”
I pushed my hood back, and as my soaked hair and face came into view, Brayden took a step back. That’s right, you little fucker, this is not the Wolfe you know. Best beware.
“Your name is Brayden Elliott Fairchild. You’re twenty-two years old and recently graduated with a communications degree from Westport University. You’re an only child and your parents came into wealth through their computer software company. You’re on track to follow in your father’s footsteps and aren’t happy about it, so you’re dragging your feet. You’re also a man whore. One who was recently granted membership to the Wolfe’s Den so you could stick your dick in both the men and women of my fine establishment. Trust me, I know you better than you know yourself.”
“So you did a background check—”
“I did three.”
“That doesn’t mean jackshit, and it still doesn’t change the fact that you aren’t getting inside and you aren’t going to see him.” Brayden narrowed his eyes, as his nervousness was replaced with misguided courage. “How’s it feel knowing he ran from you to come to me? I bet that really pisses you off. You don’t like people touching what’s yours, from what I’ve heard.”
It did piss me off, and the way he was goading me was also pissing me off. My irritation over what I’d allowed to happen yesterday had been eating at me all day, and then this fucker’s nerve to hang up on me had sent it to its boiling point, and now… Now he was just asking for me to fucking explode. “Where. Is. He?”
“Inside. But he doesn’t want to see you. So fuck off.”
I took a menacing step forward, and Brayden was smart enough to back the fuck up until he hit the door. I reached forward and took hold of his t-shirt. Both of his hands came up to grab at my wrist, but it wasn’t enough to stop me. I yanked him forward and snarled an inch from his face, “You know what’s good about a red t-shirt, Brayden? No one sees when you bleed.”
