Raw Deal (Larson Brothers #1)(24)

“If you want to keep it on the down low,” he said, “I can pick you up at your hotel after the limo takes you back. She doesn’t ever have to know.”

Oh, God, what was happening? Whatever it was, it had her heart hammering and her breath ragged. This man had upheaved her entire life; why would she give him the power to upheave it even more by going anywhere with him? She didn’t know why she trusted him, but she did. Implicitly.

Clearing her throat and getting a grasp on her breathing, she managed to smile and nod at him. If she were smart, she would sever any and all temptation at the root and take her ass back to the hotel with Rowan after the concert. Go to bed, get herself off, and go the hell to sleep.

But she would regret it. She would lie awake at night and wish she could change it. She was so sick of regret. “That sounds amazing,” she told him. “But . . . I mean, as long as I’m back in a few hours. Is that okay? In case Rowan needs anything.”

“Whenever you want to leave is fine,” he assured her. “It’ll take an hour to get there, though, and another to get back.”

If you come, she heard, you’ll be staying the night. “Yes. I mean . . . that’s fine.”

“Shoot me a text when you’re ready for me to come get you,” he said.

“Okay. I’ll do that.” Smiling at each other, they parted ways, but she had to sneak a peek over her shoulder at him walking away. And he caught her looking, because he was doing the same thing.

Shit! Snapping her head back around, she plowed through the bathroom door before she crashed into it, making a beeline for the sink to splash some cold water on her face.

What are you doing what are you doing what are you . . . ?

Damn if she knew. Her parents would disown her, Rowan might never speak to her again, Tommy was probably flipping in his grave. But she couldn’t shake this gnawing belief that Mike wasn’t the villain they had him pegged for. He was a fighter who’d fought for everything in his life. Tommy had been a fighter who had everything handed to him in life. He’d fought for glory. Mike had fought for survival; maybe he knew no other way.

Looking up at her reflection in the mirror, she found herself disheveled and rather pale. Her dark hair had lost most of its big, loose curl, falling in lazy waves. But her eyes were bright and full of anticipation.

Surely her brother couldn’t fault her for going after what would make her happy. Even if it was only for one night.





Chapter Eight


“Rowan is a little slice of heaven, ain’t she?” Zane asked, scrubbing at his wet hair with the towel draped around his neck.

“And pregnant,” Mike pointed out.

“So?”

“And widowed, thanks to me.”

“Your point is?”

“Come on, Z.”

“She can’t mourn forever.”

“No one said she should. But she’s still mourning now. Try to be a little less of an *.” Though you’re one to talk, motherf*cker, with the thoughts you’ve had about Savannah in the past hour. It didn’t matter; he could handle himself. It was his brother he worried about.

“Yeah, I could tell she is. She was trying to put it aside for a night, but I think she was having a hard time doing it.”

“I got that impression too.” Mike had seen her at the side of the stage. She’d looked like she was having the time of her life. He couldn’t blame the girl for wanting to let her hair down, he’d only wondered how genuine it was, or how much of it was put on for Savannah’s benefit.

All in all it made him feel like absolute shit.

“Why are you still doing this to yourself?”

Mike glanced up to find Zane’s gaze steady on him. His wasn’t as piercing or discerning as Damien’s, who had departed as the last chords reverberated through the arena, but it saw enough. “What?”

“You haven’t been half bad the last couple of weeks, but these girls show up and you’re all in your head again. Have you done enough now? Will you let it the f*ck go?”

“It won’t ever be enough.”

Zane grumbled something, scrubbed at his long hair again and looked around for his shirt. “You can’t bring the guy back.”

Mike shifted around in frustration, energy coursing along every nerve like fire. “You don’t f*cking say. I honestly didn’t realize that, Zane.”

“I can’t figure out your endgame on this.”

“Because there isn’t one. I’m responsible for their suffering. The endgame is I’ll do whatever I can for them whenever I can.”

“Even if all you ever get is a ‘thanks’ and ‘f*ck off.’”

“It’s not about what I’ll get.”

“Just seems kind of senseless. Do nice things, sure, but not at the expense of your own sanity. I also can’t see how you always being up in their business won’t bring back bad shit for them, too.”

Zane didn’t get it, but the bigger problem was that Mike couldn’t explain it. His younger brother was right, most likely. “I’m seeing Savannah after I leave here,” he admitted. “She’s going to text me when she’s ready.”

“Oh, no, man.”

“What?”