Bad Boy Brody(61)

“Brody!”

Someone gasped.

I didn’t know who. I didn’t care.

A storm was raging within Peter Kellerman, and his impassive guard slipped. He took a step toward me, trying to loom over me. He didn’t. We were the exact same height. He jerked his hands up. I didn’t flinch.

I wanted him to hit me. I could hit back.

But it was just an intimidation trick. He wanted me to cower in front of all these people.

I grinned and lifted an eyebrow mockingly. “My father used to do the same thing. It stopped working long ago.”

A vein popped out from the side of his neck. He ground out, “Get the fuck off my lands, boy.”

I didn’t move. “This is Morgan’s land, Morgan’s house.”

“I goddamn know whose land this is.” He almost spit on me. “I want you out of this house or I won’t give a shit about lawyers and courts. I will pound your face into the ground. You hear me?”

I held my hands up. I got what I wanted. The monster. Everyone goddamn knew who it was now.

No one said a word as I walked out of that house.





Morgan



Brody was hurting.

I hopped off Shiloh and scrambled over the patio as he walked up the front steps.

“What happened?”

I knew what was said in the house. I heard it. I wasn’t asking about that.

He shook his head, going to the bedroom and lying on the bed.

I stood in the doorway, staring down at him. “Brody.” I felt his pain. It sliced through me, along with a lot of anger. A ton of anger. “Brody. What happened?”

He let out a sigh, gazing at the ceiling. “They approved the new storyline. Peter and Matthew. Both of them. You’re being written into the movie.”

I sat next to him on the bed and touched his leg. “What else is going on?”

“What?”

He still wouldn’t look at me, so I scraped my nails lightly down his leg. It got his attention. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Aren’t you pissed at them?”

There. I looked at him closely. I saw the shadows in his eyes. There was anger for me, pain for me, but that wasn’t what was wrong. I climbed up over him on the bed. He leaned back, frowning as he watched me move to straddle him.

Slowly, I was stretched on top of him. Chest to chest. Groin to groin. I let my feet fall between his legs, and I propped my head up, resting on my hands.

I peered right down to him. “What’s going on with you?”

He groaned, closing his eyes. “I just went to bat for you, and you’re in here trying to slide into my thoughts.”

I didn’t hide my grin. I let it fully show.

Despite his arguing, he was enjoying this as much as I was.

I caught his hand in mine, lifting my head. “I like that you fought for me. I like that you hurt for me.” I caressed my finger up the middle of his palm.

His hand jerked, but I felt some of his tension starting to wane.

“But I can tell there’s other stuff.” I stretched over him, sensually moving my body until I had scooted farther up. I tapped him softly on the side of the head. “What is going on in there that has to do with you?”

He looked the other way. “You sound like a goddamn counselor.”

I took his chin and turned him back to me. “They sent me to a bunch of them. I’m glad something stuck.”

“Did you feel your privacy was intruded on too?”

I grinned again. “You’re like a wounded lion that is trying to be all growly at your own cub.”

That got a small laugh, and his hands went to my waist.

A tingle shot through me at the touch.

“You are not a cub. That’s for damned sure.” His thumb began to rub back and forth, and he trailed his other hand up and down my side, pushing underneath my shirt. “Your family stuff is bringing up my family shit. It gives me whiplash sometimes.”

“Kyle is haunting you?”

“No.” His hand kept moving, and the tingles were making me warm all over. “Yes.”

He let out another soft sigh as he stopped and then just hugged me to him. I rested my head on his chest, and his hand moved to smooth down my hair. It was another caress, but one from comfort, one that was soothing.

I closed my eyes, savoring the feeling.

He was lulling me, drawing me to him just from that touch.

Every time he held me, it made me never want to leave.

Still smoothing down my hair, he said, “He’s not haunting me, but the grief comes at me.”

I frowned slightly, feeling his heartbeat speed up.

Then it went back down, he murmured, “He called me before he died.” He stopped. His chest rose, and he held the deep breath.

I did the same. Waiting.

His chest lowered once more. “I keep hearing it, over and over. I keep reliving it.” He stopped smoothing down my hair, and I lifted my head.

I needed to see his eyes. I needed to see into him.

Raw torment looked back at me. I didn’t even see Brody. The anguish coated all of him, and my own emotions swelled to mirror his. Needing to distract myself from the pain that was too overwhelming, I chewed on the inside of my cheek. The physical pain cleared enough of the emotional pain that I could hear him again.