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“I’m counting on it,” Jenna grinned. “How do you feel about celebration sex?”
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Brick
Harley rolling to a stop, Brick dropped the stand and parked in his usual space. The tang of salt on the air always made him feel alive, and the early morning light bathed the port in a pink to orange tie-dyed glow.
People wondered how he did it. The same shit different day gig for years.
But Brick didn’t see monotony. He saw opportunity.
Port access kept one of Brick’s fingers on the pulse of the city and all his other fingers in all kinds of pies.
He figured he’d sold his soul a long time ago, so a few more sins wouldn’t hurt. And usually the shit he pulled off for the club did more to help the community than to harm it. So he’d killed a few motherfuckers over the years. They’d needed killing.
Brick made the steps leading up to his office when his cell phone chimed with a text from Talon.
Party tonight. Compound. Jenna’s got news.
Brick sent a thumbs up emoji, which kept him from actually having to compose words.
He was happy for his brother and the beauty that he’d found in the woman of his dreams. But Brick had no illusions that the same would happen for him.
Women around the club tended to be halfway afraid of him because of his reputation. But he had to admit, his intensity may have had something to do with it.
Sexually, he wasintense, and he knew it. Women were usually pretty into it, but then they started acting all clingy and trying to control him, and then Brick got twitchy, which meant that he got vicious, and then the women tried to play the victim card when they got their feelings hurt, so Brick was over the whole scene.
As a result, he wasn’t above paying for pussy when he needed it because then everyone involved managed expectations.
Brick tramped up the metal steps to his office and found a wooden crate sitting on the landing at the top.
“What the fuck?” Brick asked aloud.
Then he remembered Margo’s heads up about an overnight package, which he had not expected to take up half the walkway.
He checked the address label.
Yep, his delivery.
Brick unlocked the door to his office and dragged the crate inside. Then he got busy with a crowbar. He noticed the holes and wondered what in God’s name Margo had shipped over.
He pried the lid off and sifted through mounds of paper crinkles.
“Brick, that you?” a clipped British voice asked from the depths.
A small feminine hand grabbed his.
Brick’s heart lurched in his chest.
“Margo?” he asked, pulling her from the confines of the crate.
And just like Venus emerging from the waves, pure, radiant beauty stood up and dusted the crinkle paper from the all black she wore.
Brick stumbled back until his ass hit his desk, and then he just leaned against it and watched.
She stretched and then stepped out of the crate, “Solid ground. Thank God.”
Then she smiled, and the heart that had been galloping out of Brick’s chest nearly stopped.
