Drake muttered a low curse, the words rolling from his tongue like thunder, his annoyance palpable. Violet glanced between them, these men with blood on their knuckles, scars ontheir faces, and menace in their bearing, and something inside her twisted in an unexpected way.
Fascination.
What interesting, uncommon dynamics.
Brighton’s Brute, however, looked one heartbeat away from committing a crime.
So this was what it looked like when siblings cared about each other? It was impossible not to grasp their underlying affection for one another. They cared. Perhaps not gently. Certainly not tenderly. But fiercely, loudly, with threats and scowls and protectiveness that she would never experience in her lifetime with her own brother. And that was perfectly fine. She had her shop and her hard-won freedom. She did not require such bonds.
Drake squeezed her wrist again. “I’m taking this little spitfire out for a night of fun.”
Violet nearly spit out air at that. Her gaze swung to Drake.
Spitfire?
No, she refused to be sidetracked by that. A night offun? What fun? She couldn’t possibly imagine anything with this man would be fun.
Liar.
But fun?
Why did she not mind the proverbial shiver trickling down her spine? Why did she not mind the burn of his fingers clamping around her wrist?
*
Bloody. Hell.
The moment Violet Sharpe stepped through the door dressed like provocation and shaped like every mistake a man mightwillingly make, Drake knew his evening had gone straight to hell.
Damn the woman.
Of all the nights for the little spitfire to waltz into their sanctum, she had chosenthisone. Of course, it would still have been inconvenient under normal circumstances since he disliked surprises, disliked deviation, disliked women in trousers staring at him with beautiful blue eyes as though they knew something he did not. But tonight? Tonight, her arrival would sound a horn through the ranks.
Straight to Maxen.
Not that he feared his brother.
Maxen was many things, unyielding, uncompromising—for the most part—and forged of iron, but he was also the backbone of their family. Without him, there would be no home, no dominion, no Fury brood. Without him, they would never have found each other. And for that reason alone, Drake rarely went against him. If ever.
Never had there been a cause either. Or a clashing circumstance big enough. Violet Sharpe, on the other hand... ah, she was a complication wrapped in a complication, tied with a bright little bow of more complication.
Not that even the woman herself posed the danger.
Nevertheless, she might or might not be connected to someone who had tried to end his life, and that within itself was threat enough. If Maxen found out, there would be hell to pay. Wrath would rain down. His ire would be enough for each and every brother to meddle in Drake’s affairs and distract them from their main purpose—keeping ears out for their uncle.
He couldn’t have that.
This was also why Reaper and Deveraux had kept his secret and also proved his point. They practically attached themselves to him. He’d had to slip out of his own home the day he usheredher to his dungeon. No matter what, Drake would rather solve the matter privately and discreetly. So what the hell did he do now? Pretend interest in the little spitfire? It wouldn’t be a lie. It wouldn’t be the full truth either. But it was the least of two troublesome situations.
He refused to acknowledge how her shirt shaped her, and how those sandy trousers hugged her legs, how her chin lifted in blazing defiance, eyes bright with a spark meant to challenge him.
“You’re taking her on a night of fun,frère?”How unlike youwas what Reaper didn’t say.
Damn it. Poor choice of words. “None of your damn business,” Drake ground out. “I don’t encroach on your nights of fun.”
“I don’t have nights of fun,” Reaper tossed back.
Violet arched a brow and made a turn for the door. “I can’t imagine what thisfunmight even be. Perhaps I should just head home.”
