“Hey, what about my drink? You think you could take a break from your date over there to do your job, honey?”
Her eyes flickered relief for a moment, then darkened, becoming void of emotion. “Duty calls. Glad I could meet your expectations, Danger.” She reached for the shot glass I held, and I grabbed her hand, my out-of-character reaction surprising both of us. Hesitating a moment, she lifted her eyes and met mine in a battle of wills.
I could tell we were both at war with what would happen next; I contemplated the consequences of fucking one of Emilio’s employees. He seemed fond of this one, and the moment it was over, I’d have no choice but to have her fired.
Shifting her weight, she made the decision for both of us when she released her hand from my grip and pointed toward the douchebag two seats down, now glaring at us. “Let me know if you want another.”
As she poured a gin and tonic for the asshole who cock blocked me, I pulled three, twenty-dollar bills out of my wallet and placed them face down on the bar. The exorbitant tip wasn’t a handout, as I suspected she’d think after I left. I genuinely enjoyed her company. Which was exactly why I had to leave and never talk to her again.
She called me dangerous. If I was dangerous, she was fucking deadly.
My life revolved around the cartel, stray pussy, and money. I had no time for complications of anything else, and candy hair was a walking, talking complication. I knew in one touch, I had no business being near her. A woman like that could cause the destruction of a man like me.
While she argued with the dickbag about the amount of gin she shorted him, I slipped around the long end of the bar, through the kitchen, and out the back door. I cut myself off like a junkie jonesing for his next hit of short shorts and a-size-too-small tank top. After tonight, I knew I couldn’t afford the distraction.
Perfect drink or not, I was done with that girl.
So, I gave my business to every other bar in Houston and walked out of them pissed off and sober as hell for two months before I caved. However, I never returned to a barstool. Always sitting at one of the tables, I allowed young, annoying waitresses to serve me while I watched her flirt with a new man month after month until it got to be too much to take and stopped going altogether.
Some women were storms who blew into a man’s life and ruined his plans for the night. That woman was a hurricane who uprooted and flooded the very foundation of everything a man thought he knew.
Chapter Three
Brody
Present Day
After a third pencil lead broke on the Norris case deposition, I snapped the wood in half and threw it across the room. It hit the wall and skidded across the floor as I ran a sweaty palm across my unshaven chin.
When did shit get so out of control?
Everything piled on top of me, forcing my head underwater and my hand to the devil. I’d had no intention on bending to Val Carrera’s will, but he’d backed me into a corner. I’d lived in Houston long enough to know that a corner was the last place anyone wanted to be with the Carrera Cartel.
Working in the judicial system, I saw—first hand—what happened to men who crossed him. One day they were in our custody, the next, pieces of them fell out of a body bag. The constituents of Harris County elected me assistant district attorney to protect the community from men like Carrera. If they knew how much of my soul I’d sold to further my career, I wouldn’t have to worry about the election. I’d be lucky to bus tables at the Waffle House for the rest of my life.
“Harcourt, you coming to lunch, or what?”
Glancing up from my curled fists, I settled a hardened glare on one of the prosecuting attorneys from the fourth floor. Dressed in a crooked blue tie and a missing suit jacket, he held my office door open as if I’d extended an invitation. His sloppy appearance grated on my last nerve, and my fingers twitched, searching my desk for another pencil to break.
“Too much work to do,” I mumbled, rearranging the papers on my desk. “Get out.”
Glancing up from surfing the web on his phone, he lifted a dark eyebrow and smirked. “Who pissed in your corner office?”
I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest in a defensive gesture. On edge and in no mood for idle conversation, the last thing I wanted was to spend an hour trading locker-room stories and weekend plans with the subordinate assholes. I wasted little time under the illusion they were my friends. Every one of them had eyes on my job and only kissed my ass to stay in my good graces for when I became district attorney.
“No time for lunch. I’ve got press releases needing to go out. Some of us work for a living, Todd.”
“Ted.”
I honestly didn’t give a shit. I’d wasted half the day trying to figure out a way out of the hole I’d gotten into with the Mexicans. I’d never been shady in my life, much less illegal. Everyone knew about the Carreras, but just like any sane person, I ignored them when they came calling. I sure as hell rebuked their offers of help. Their golden ticket came attached with strings tied to a lifetime of misery.
Then the stress of the upcoming primary resulted in a moment of weakness that solidified a hell I’d regret for the rest of my life. A fifth of Jack on a night she’d decided to grow a set of morals and a standard, and I found myself in the backseat of an Escalade signing my name in blood.
“If there’s nothing else,” I grumbled, sending a flat expression his way, “I trust you can see yourself out.”
He answered with an eye roll. “Whatever.” He laughed, nodding to a herd of fellow fourth-floor assholes as they grumbled about being late. “Maybe you need to take off early and get some ass, man. Might make you less of one, and you may have a few friends.”
I waved his suggestion away as he laughed and joined the other hopefuls down the hall. Scowling at his audacity, I slammed papers onto the desk and swiveled my chair to stare out the wall of windows onto the city below. My city. The city that depended on me to keep them safe from the very people who bent me to their will and owned the next breath I took. How in the hell could I walk into a courtroom and look a jury in the face knowing I was no better than the criminals I prosecuted?
Rubbing my eyes with my thumb and forefinger, I mulled his words around in my head, letting them sink in. Dropping my hand, I stared down at the passing cars and congested lunchtime pedestrian traffic, the bright June sun reflecting harshly off the roofs of the buildings below my tenth-floor window. Closing my eyes, I cursed a string of late nights and insomnia, causing the attorney’s words to make too much sense.
I didn’t need more friends, but getting more ass sounded like the best suggestion I’d heard all day. Spinning back around, I picked my phone off my desk and hit the speed dial button, knowing the risk I took in calling her before two o’clock in the afternoon. The woman had two moods—ready to fuck, and ready to slice my balls off. At half past noon, I was just glad my boys were safely across town.
Five rings later, her throaty voice groaned along thinly held patience. “Somebody better be dead.”
“I had a thought.”
“Good for you. It’d better be about someone who’s dead, or I swear to God, I’ll rip your balls off, Brody.”
“What do you say I come over tonight?” I continued, ignoring her threat.