Getting Hot (Jail Bait Book 3) (8 page)

Chapter 9

Bran

I watch her go, but then remember the pervert poser. With Carol gone, I can’t leave the bar, so I pull out my phone and dial.

“What?” Lilah snaps when she connects.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“Why?”

I blow out a frustrated laugh. This woman yanks me around like no other. “Just humor me.”

“At the end of the block.”

“People on the sidewalk?”

There’s a pause. “Not really.”

“Is that a yes or no?”

“No.”

“Keep your eyes open and keep walking,” I tell her.

“What’s going on?” she asks, her irritation with me usurped by a thread of worry.

“I’m walking you home.”

A sigh blusters through the connection and I can almost hear her eye roll. “I told you I can take care of myself.”

“Then think of it as a favor to me.”

“You worry too much.”

I smile when her voice is softer, like a caress through the airwaves. “How far from your apartment are you?”

“Another block.”

“Can you see your door?”

“Not really. The streetlight at that end of the block is out.”

“Since when?” I ask, my skin prickling as my natural alarm system kicks in.

“I don’t know. A few days ago, I guess.”

“Do you have your key out?” I ask.

“Not yet.”

“Get it out and have it ready when you get there. I don’t want you fumbling for it at the door.”

“Wow, you’re really paranoid, aren’t you? Is that a skill they teach you in the Marines, or does it just come naturally?”

I’m an inch from bolting out of this bar and tracking her down. “Just do as I say.”

“Chill, Captain Caution. I’ve got my key in my hand.”

“Eyes on the sidewalk, and especially the storefronts and doorways,” I tell her. “And also, enlisted guys don’t get to be Captains in the Marine Corp.”

“Major Mayday?”

“Pay attention to your surroundings.”

“Sergeant Suspicion?”

“How far are you?”

“Almost there,” she says, the tease leaving her voice.

“Your key is ready?”

There’s a pause and the sound of scuffling. My heart skids to a stop in my chest. “Lilah!”

“Inside,” she says. “Locking the door behind me.”

I release the breath I was holding and will my heart rate out of the stratosphere. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Good night, Bran,” she says, and then she’s gone.

It’s another hour before the last group leaves and I lock up. I cash out my drawer and bring it back to Mom’s office. Everything’s shoved aside from the spot where Lilah’s ass was an hour ago and I run my hand over the smooth steel. She was everything I knew she’d be, honey and fire on my tongue and a volcano under my hands. I harden at just the memory of her.

But my first instinct was right. I shouldn’t have pushed her. Problem is, my second instinct, my libido, is definitely in charge when it comes to anything to do with Lilah. My balls ache just thinking about that tight body pressed all up the front of mine, clawing at me and grinding that hot wet pussy hard against my rock solid cock. What I told her is true. She wants this, and if she can get past the shit with her sister, it’s going to happen.

But I need to be more patient.

I take my last sweep of the place, shutting off lights as I go, then set the alarm and pull the front door closed behind me as I step onto the sidewalk. But before I turn, something hard comes down on my skull. I stagger and bright stars flash in the dark. I spin and the sidewalk tilts. In the second I fight for balance, a fist cracks off my jaw, knocking me back half a step.

“Not so fucking tough without your tanks and RPGs, are you baby killer?”

Blood trickles into my eye from my scalp and I wipe it away. But I don’t need to see to recognize Poser’s voice.

“Is he crying?” another voice says just as a baseball bat swings through the dark toward my face.

I duck and grab the arm holding it, flinging whoever it’s attached to hard against the side of the building with a heavy thud. Someone grabs my arm and yanks. I lift my elbow sharply at the blurry face and hear a satisfying crunch as bone connects with bone.

“Fuck!” the second voice screams, and the form in front of me collapses in a heap.

I blink to clear my eye and see Poser pull himself up from the sidewalk. His partner in crime is hunched on the sidewalk holding his face. Blood gushes between his fingers from the vicinity of his nose.

“I suggest you take off,” I say, getting my bearings and standing straighter.

Poser’s fists tighten at his sides and he holds his ground, but his buddy’s not so sure. He gains his feet and blinks at Poser, blood running down his face and dripping from his chin. I take the opportunity to elbow him again.

He screams as he turns and runs for a red sedan parked just down the street.

“Don’t you fucking think about it!” Poser shouts at his retreating form, but the coward doesn’t even slow down. He flings himself into the car and the tires squeal as he peals out.

Poser gives me one last glare, then leaps into the road. His buddy slows, but doesn’t stop, and Poser rips open the back door and scrambles in.

Only after they’re gone do I rub my head. The goose egg is already enormous. “Fuckers,” I mutter as I head up the block toward the Torino. I give her a quick once over and she looks unscathed, so I guess they didn’t know which car was mine. I tug my T-shirt over my head and wipe my bloody hands with it before pressing it to my head. Sweat and tears, absolutely, but no way I’m bleeding on my car.

When I get home, I pull into the carport and just sit here with my shirt pressed against my head, waiting for the bleeding to stop. When it does, I duck under the hood of the Torino, deciding she needs new plugs.

I contemplate calling the cops, but it’s not like they’re going to post anyone on the bar. In the end, I decide Poser’s not enough of a man to finish what he started. I doubt he’ll be back.

But there’s no fucking way that Lilah is ever walking home alone again.

At the thought, my mind goes to Ma’s office and all that sweet, wet heat in her mouth and between her legs. And when the sun comes up, I’m covered in grease and no closer to understanding how Lilah Morgan has me so twisted around her finger. All I know for sure is, I hope she never figures out how to untwist me.

Chapter 10

Lilah

Bran’s texted me twice since Saturday. I ignored him. But I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. It’s been four days and I’m still on fire.

I feel like I should be grossed out, kissing someone my sister has slept with, but the sick knot in my stomach has nothing to do with being grossed out and everything to do with knowing my willpower won’t last forever. The high I got from letting myself go with Bran was more intense than any drug I’ve ever tried. I feel the draw of addiction pulling at the root of me, demanding that I feed it. Now I know firsthand why Destiny’s holding out for Bran. He’s a drug that, once you’ve had a taste, is impossible to quit.

But I have to. Even if Bran never wants Destiny the way she wants him, I can’t do that to her.

Luckily, for the last two nights I’ve had a distraction. Lo made it through the Knockout Round last week. Monday and yesterday were live performances. She sang P!nk’s “U + Ur Hand” and kicked ass on the performance show last night, but now that it’s down to the final twenty, it’s live shows and audience voting, so it gets a little dicey.

Tonight is the Wednesday results show, and I settle into the corner of the couch and say a prayer to the music gods that she makes it through before clicking the remote. But the second I do, there’s a bright flash, then the screen goes dark.

“No!” I cry, bolting to my feet. I jab the remote at the TV and punch the power button at least a dozen more times to no avail.

Destiny skids to a stop in her bedroom door, panic in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

I move to the TV and bang my fist against the side a few times, because that’s what Dad used to do when his shit didn’t work. “
The Voice
starts in two minutes and the stupid TV won’t turn on!”

Destiny blows out a relieved sigh. “You scared the living shit out of me. I thought someone broke in or something.”

I throw a hand at the TV in exasperation. “It’s
The Voice
.”

She comes over and takes the remote from my hand. She clicks the power button then slaps the side of the TV. Apparently, we both learned electronics repair at our father’s knee. “Tiffany said it was on its last legs when she gave it to me.”

It, along with the double bed mattress and box spring in Destiny’s room and the kitchen table, were cast-offs from her friend, Tiffany, who had extra stuff to get rid of when she moved in with her boyfriend.

I glance at the clock and fresh jolt of panic catapults me toward the door. “I need to find a TV. Right now.”

“Where are you going?” Destiny calls as I yank the door open.

“Sam Hill!”

I fly down the stairs and nearly face plant into the door at the bottom when I lose my footing on the second to last stair. I catch myself and on the frame before I hit it because Bran is right. The rickety thing would blow right off the hinges without much provocation. I close it behind me and make sure it latches, then sprint toward the center of town.

Bran is leaning on the bar talking to Carol when I slam through the door. Both their heads pivot around when the door bangs off the wall. I instantly understand why he suggested I only come in on weekend nights when my wild glance flicks toward the TV and finds the tables between me and it totally empty. There is a guy on a barstool and a couple in the corner booth and that’s it. I blink at the episode of
Ink Masters
that’s playing and rush up to the bar.

“You okay?” Bran’s eyes flick past me to the door, looking for the stalker, no doubt.

“No!” I pant. But that’s when I see the shiner under his right eye and the purple bruise that the thick scruff on his jaw can’t fully hide. “What happened?”

He looks at Carol.

“She needs to know the truth,” she coaxes.

He takes a deep breath and his eyes find mine again, boring through me with their intensity. “Poser and his buddy ambushed me at closing Saturday. I need you to take me seriously when I tell you to be vigilant.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head and before I can think better of it, I’m touching his face. For the briefest second, his eyes flutter shut as my fingertips trail along his bruised jaw line. “Oh my god. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but those guys are fucked in the head, Lilah. I wouldn’t put it past them to try something. Promise me you’ll let me walk you home.”

“So they can do that to you again?” I say, my heart lodging in my throat. “No. I won’t.”

“They blindsided me,” he says with a solemn shake of his head. “My mistake. One I won’t be making again.”

“Listen to him, Lilah. He can handle those guys,” Carol says with a jerk of her thumb at the door. “But what he couldn’t handle is if something happened to you.”

Bran cuts her a sharp look.

She shrugs and turns for the couple in the booth. “Just calling it how I see it.”

“What are you doing here?” Bran asks me, irritation bleeding into his words. I’m not sure if he’s irritated at Carol or me, but either way, I feel a jolt of panic when I remember why I came.

“Turn it to
The Voice
!” I realize I’m yelling when Carol and the couple she’s talking to turn and looks at me. I feel my face scrunch in embarrassment. “Please,” I beg, lowering my voice several decibels. “My TV broke, and it’s the results show. I can’t miss it.”

“
The Voice
,” Bran says, one thick, dark brow arching skeptically.

“Please,” I implore.

He looks the question at me a moment longer before reaching under the bar for the remote. He flips channels until he finds it, then clicks off the stereo and un-mutes the TV.

I hike myself onto a barstool and breathe a sigh of relief when the warm up band is still playing.

“Why all the urgency?” Bran says from behind me.

When I turn to look at him, he’s sliding a glass across the bar toward me. I take a sip and find it’s my standard rum and Coke. “My best friend is competing.”

His eyes widen. “On the show?”

I nod. “She’s kickass.”

He glances up at the TV and smirks as the intro band wraps up. “On
The Voice
.”

He doesn’t believe me. “Google her. Her name is Shiloh Luck. She’s from San Francisco and she’s the only contestant to turn all four coaches’ chairs in her blind audition. She’s going to win.”

“That’s what it would say if I Googled her?” he says, his voice full of amusement. “That’s she’s going to win?”

“If it doesn’t, they don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.”

A smug smile lifts one corner of his mouth as he leans onto his palms. “Then why are you so worried about missing the results show? You already know what’s going to happen.”

“Shh!” I say as Carson Daly’s voice pulls me back to the TV.

I hear Bran chuckle behind me, but my eyes are glued to the screen as the remaining contestants are called up to the stage. My heart stalls in my chest when I see Lo lead the rest of the group into the spotlights. She’s dressed just as kickass as she sounds when she sings, in a strappy top, short ruffled skirt with sequins, and high boots. Her copper afro is tamed into tight corkscrews and her coffee-with-too-much-cream skin glows in the stage lights. She’s the smallest one out there, petite and at least three inches shorter than anyone else, but there’s no way anyone notices that. All she’s doing is standing there, and she’s got the biggest stage presence of the group. Even Carson Daly fades in her presence.

They mess with the stage lighting and cue the dramatic music. The atmosphere goes all suspenseful as we wait for him to name the first artist through to the finals.

When he says Lo’s name, my heart skips and I drop my head back in relief. She hugs the girl next to her and I wonder when she turned into a hugger. That’s new.

They cut to commercial and I sag in my seat, totally relieved.