Fury on Fire (Devil's Rock #3)(31)

Also, in his mind, Faith’s mom had loved staying home and being a wife and mother. Dying young and leaving all that behind had not been her choice. It had been her greatest regret. For Faith to protest this seemed like an insult to her mother.

She tore off a hunk of bread and liberally lathered it with butter. She deserved carbs right now. Dad kept talking and she endured it, opting not to tell them about her date with Brendan. It might lift their hopes too much.

And then there was the matter of her neighbor. She didn’t expect to have to avoid the subject of him. Her family knew nothing about him. Her anonymous neighbor would not cross their minds. They would never bring him up. She had Doris’s word that she wouldn’t say anything to Hale about him. But Callaghan had been on her mind so much lately that it felt as though he were another thing she was hiding.

Then her brother went ahead and surprised her. As though he could read her mind, he asked, “Meet your neighbor yet?”

Hale poured a generous amount of gravy over his mashed potatoes. It rolled close to the edge of his plate, threatening to spill over onto her mother’s plaid green place mats. That much gravy would leave her bloated for a week, but not Hale. Her brother was six feet five inches of honed muscle. Her mother had always pointed to their Viking ancestry as the culprit for their great size.

“No,” she said. Too quickly.

“No?” He looked up. “You been in your place over a week now and you haven’t met your neighbor.”

Yeah, that sounded odd. “I’ve been working late.” She shrugged, then felt relief as that led her father into a diatribe about her working too long and not getting out there and meeting her future husband.

Suffice to say she was relieved when the meal ended. Dad and Hale chipped in and helped with the dishes, so cleanup went fast and she ducked out with an excuse about being tired.

She pulled up in her driveway and sat there for a moment, clenching her steering wheel and staring at her humble abode. She needed to get some potted plants or flowers for her front porch.

He gaze drifted to the emptiness that stretched along her neighboring porch. Not a potted plant or flower in sight. North’s bike was gone and she wondered where he could be. She supposed booty calls happened any night of the week . . . even on Sundays. He was probably out banging some girl with a name like Bambi.

That kind of thinking, of course, made her mentally slap herself. She needed to get accustomed to pulling into her driveway without thinking about her sexy neighbor.

Hard to do, especially considering last night. Their texting had taken another level. It went beyond dirty talk to I’m up for it if you are.

Of course, in no way could she entertain the idea of sleeping with her neighbor. That just had Bad Idea written all over it. And that wasn’t even touching on the fact that he was an ex-con. Even if she could see herself having a fling . . . she couldn’t have a fling with a guy like him.

She could almost hear Wendy’s voice in her head. That’s precisely the kind of guy you have a fling with.

She sighed, internally chatting back as though Wendy were in front of her. Fine. Maybe. Okay. But then she was left with the not-so-minor issue of living next door to the guy. If things took a turn for the bad, she couldn’t exactly avoid him.

After stepping inside her house, she locked the door behind her and rolled her neck, stretching out the tense muscles. She knew what she needed. A long bubble bath with a book. Something smutty. No, eighty-six that. A suspense novel. That sounded perfect.

Nodding, she pushed off her door and headed upstairs.



“We’re so glad you joined us for dinner.” Briar looked at him with her heart in her eyes. As though it was such a big f*cking deal that he came out to visit them at the old farmhouse.

And he supposed it was. He hadn’t done it in a while. He’d caved when she had texted him directly this morning, sending a picture of the chocolate cake she had made. A man couldn’t very well resist chocolate cake, could he?

Besides. Just because he didn’t have much in common with Knox anymore didn’t mean he didn’t care about his brother. He loved him. He just couldn’t be him—or anything like him. No matter how much Knox wanted that for him.

Still. He felt like a fraud sitting at Briar’s cloth-covered table, a spread before them bountiful enough to rival a Thanksgiving feast. Unbidden, he wondered if she knew Faith Walters. They were two of a kind. Good girls who liked to cook.

He forked another mouthful of mashed potatoes, saving himself from having to reply to Briar. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say anyway. He nodded, telling himself he just had to act the part of contented and well-adjusted for another hour and then he could go home. It’s what he did day to day. At his job. When he met with people who bought and commissioned his work. When he met with his PO. The only problem was that his brother was more observant than most people.

“How’s work?”

“Good.” He stabbed a bite of green beans. “Busy.”

“Still working on the custom bikes?”

“Yes.”

“Glad that you were able to learn a trade,” Knox said, referring to North’s welding. “At least something good came . . .” Knox’s voice faded at North’s swift look.

He wasn’t about to say anything good came out of his stint in Devil’s Rock. So he’d learned to weld while locked up. Big deal. If they hadn’t f*cked up and gotten sentenced to prison, he would have gone to college. He was good at math back then. He might have made something of himself. If his life hadn’t wildly swerved off course.