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This man was about to reap all the benefits of Brooke’s therapy and hard-won control over her own life. Poor man.
She gave him the sweetest smile she could muster as she said, “You think so, huh?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
CURLY ALTERNATED HIS death glare between Jinx and Pulse over at the bar and Brooke seated next to him, sipping her beer and yakking with Ty. He still had no idea how she’d gotten the upper hand in their argument. One minute he was in complete control, refusing to let her anywhere near this shitshow, and the next, she was wearing a sugary smile and sweetly telling him to fuck off.
Two minutes later, she had Ty on the phone—of course, she’d known he owned the tire shop, goddammed small towns—and Ty was spilling the name of the bar and time they were meeting. When Curly had shown up at the tire shop ranting and raving at his cousin, Ty just laughed and asked how it was possible for him to be pussy-whipped without having access to the pussy.
Asshole.
Now the two of them chatted and laughed like they were fucking besties without a care in the world while Curly stewed over the five million ways the night could go wrong and harm could come to Brooke.
Fucking stubborn woman.
“Will you relax?” Tracker murmured from the other side of him. Loud rock music made it difficult to hear the man’s muffled comment. “You’re tense as fuck and gonna draw attention to us. Ty isn’t gonna home in on your territory, man.”
That had Curly scowling Tracker’s way. “What?”
“He’s not trying to move in on your girl. Trust me, she ain’t his type. He goes for the soft little bunnies. She’s got away too much spit and sass for him.”
“He can do whatever the fuck he wants. She’s not mine.”
Tracker snorted. “Okay, tell that to your pissed-off face.”
He flipped Tracker off. “I just don’t want her in the same room as Prick. Too much could go wrong.”
They had a table in the bar's back corner, shielded by dim light and hordes of patrons noisy. Seated at a high-top table, they managed a fair view of the bar once they craned their necks to see around the Saturday night crowd. Jinx and Pulse drank at the bar, conveniently seated next to Prick and his buddy, but had yet to engage him.
“Hey.” Tracker nudged his foot under the table. “You know we won’t let anything happen to her, right? If shit goes south here, I’ll get her out, promise. Your woman’s top priority.”
“She’s not my woman.” Maybe if he said it out loud enough times, he’d stop acting like she was his. Probably not. That wouldn’t happen until he stopped fantasizing about her while he was in bed, and in the shower, and once that afternoon on the couch. He was helpless to stop imagining all that feisty attitude turned into sexual desire. It gotten even worse after seeing her in that skimpy bikini.
Rolling his eyes, Tracker lifted his beer to his lips. “So you keep saying,” he whispered before taking a long swallow.
With a defeated sigh, Curly stared at the condensation running down his beer. “Thank you.”
Tracker nodded. “Got your back, prez. Always.”
Their gazes met, and Curly saw the sincerity in them. “You mean that.”
He hadn’t posed it as a question, yet Tracker answered. “Hundred fucking percent. When your own family is shit, your chosen one is important. I did some research on the Hell’s Handlers. Impressive club. Exactly what I’m looking for. This shit is serious to me.”
Curly held out a fist which Tracker tapped against his own.
And just like that, he gained a true brother. Felt damn good. Exactly what he’d been searching for.
“Look,” Brooke said, nudging him with her elbow. “Jinx is talking to Prick.”
He followed her gaze to the bar in time to see Jinx toss his head back and laugh like a look at something Prick said. Then he slapped Prick in the back and flagged down the bartender. After ordering another drink for Prick, the two seemed to get into a serious discussion.
“Let the games begin,” Ty muttered.
The four of them sat silently at the table, watching the interaction between Prick and Jinx. For his part, Pulse stayed on the outskirts of the conversation, interjecting occasionally but not playing a significant role.
Jinx was a natural. Where Pulse came across stiff and slightly uncomfortable, Jinx might as well have known Prick his entire life.
After a few minutes, a waitress appeared beside their table. “Such serious faces,” she said with a bright smile. “Something not to ya’lls’ liking?”
“We’re good,” Curly barked, which made Brooke roll her eyes.
“Another round please,” she said, sweet as could be.
“You got it, hon.” Their waitress, who had a high ponytail with purple hair hanging down to her ass, collected the empty bottles while eyeing him with suspicion. She returned within minutes, passing out the drinks and a dropping bowl of pretzels in the center of the table. “Flag me down if you need anything else, guys.”
