She licked her lips and squeezed her thighs together. And that simple flexing of muscles had him wanting to tear her jeans off and bury his face between her legs until she was panting and writhing and screaming his name. Like this morning.
Much as he’d told himself all the reasons to resist his attraction to her, facts were facts. He needed to be there for her—to protect, comfort, support. And he needed the redeeming light of her sunshine on his body, his heart, his soul. God, he just wanted her. Right or wrong.
Her fingers reached out and slowly dragged along his bottom lip. Masculine satisfaction roared through him at the desire in her eyes. He leaned in, wanting to taste her again.
Knock, knock, sounded against the doorjamb.
Rixey turned and found Jeremy standing in the doorway with some papers in his hands. Frowning, he turned the sheets around in his fingers and held them up. The sketch artist’s drawings from this morning and Louis’s sketches of the Church tats. “Someone want to explain why and how you have pictures of these gang tattoos? And what, if anything, they have to do with the obviously unhappy reunion of your team?”
Chapter 18
Becca looked from Jeremy to Nick, unsure what to say. A small sense of Oh shit slithered through her belly, because Jer’s questions made it clear Nick hadn’t filled him in on what was going on. Whatever his approach to this, though, it wasn’t for her to say. “Maybe I should—”
“Stay,” they both said.
She lowered back into her seat. “Oookay.”
Nick quickly cleaned up his table and supplies. “Here’s the deal,” he said. “You know about as much as you should probably know. Becca thinks she might’ve seen a tattoo like one of those on the guy who grabbed her.” He washed and dried his hands.
Jer scoffed. “Nick, these are gang tats. And not just any gang. The Church is about as bad as they get. Drugs, guns, prostitutes, you name it. What the hell?”
“How do you know so much about them?” Nick’s eyebrows slashed down.
“There are dozens of gangs in this city. They all use tattoos for identification. Most of them have guys do it in-house, others find tattoo parlors and sorta claim them for their gang. I never knowingly do a gang tattoo, but that means I have to be familiar with what they look like and who they represent.”
Damn, his brother was smart. Nick nodded, leaned against the counter, and crossed his arms. “Interesting, but I want to keep you out of this, Jeremy. You hear what I’m saying?”
“I think you’re the one who’s got a problem with his hearing. Whatever this is”—he held up the papers again—“you need to stay way clear of it.”
Lips pressed in a tight line, Nick landed his pale green gaze on her, and she hated that her situation might cause tension between them. Bad enough Jeremy was already mad at Nick for being late.
“I can’t,” Nick said. “We can’t.” He nodded to Becca.
Jeremy turned to her, and she saw in his face the moment it clicked. Her stomach squeezed. “The Church has your brother?” When she didn’t answer fast enough, he plowed forward. “What are the cops doing?” His face went pale. “Oooh, shit a fucking brick.” He dug his hand into his hair and flicked at the piercing on his lip. “This is why your team is here?”
Nick gave a tight nod.
“Why . . . what are you . . . ? I—”
“Cops involved in this are dirty, Jer. And that’s the last fucking thing I’m telling you.” Nick slipped the pages from his brother’s hand.
“What the hell are you talking about? I don’t deserve to know you’re playing Rambo out of my house?”
Becca rose, guilt sloshing into her stomach. She hadn’t just crashed into Nick’s life, had she? What if she’d brought danger right to Jeremy—and Jess’s—doorstep? Ears back, tail down, the puppy came to the doorway behind Jeremy and whined. After a moment, she laid down with her head on her paws against Jer’s foot.
“You deserve to know it all. But the less you know, the better. So you’re out.” Nick slashed a hand through the air, as if the debate had been decided.
Jeremy shook his hair out of his eyes and glared. “I’m not some fucking kid, Nick. I’m a thirty-one-year-old man. At the very least, you should’ve told me so I could keep an eye out for any kind of trouble. I may not be a soldier, but I could help—”
“You’re right. And maybe I should’ve said something more sooner, but we didn’t really know what we might be dealing with until this evening. And we’re still not a hundred percent sure. You’re not a kid. But here’s what you are: you’re a businessman, you’re an employer, you’re a homeowner. You have things to lose and people who count on you.”
“And you don’t?”
Nick stepped back and tossed the papers to the seat of a chair, then scrubbed his hands through his hair. They both had the tendency to do that, and she might’ve found the similarity endearing if it hadn’t been a reflection of their shared frustration right now. “A lot fucking less than you.”
The bottom dropped out of Becca’s stomach. He didn’t think he had anything to lose? Her and whatever they were or weren’t aside, how could he think that about himself? If Jeremy hadn’t been there, she would’ve run across the room, grabbed his face, and told him—
Jeremy’s hands fisted. “You sonofabitch. You and Katherine are the last family I have on this earth. Don’t you dare talk about yourself as if it wouldn’t matter if something happened to you. It would matter to me.”
At the strain in Jer’s voice, tears pooled in Becca’s eyes, and she looked to the ceiling to pinch them off.
Nick’s shoulders sagged and his voice had a sudden strain to it. “Jeremy—”
“I remember what it was like to get that phone call. You know, the one that said my big brother was in critical condition in a hospital following surgery to repair multiple gunshot wounds to the back. Been there, done that, burned the motherfucking T-shirt. I couldn’t do anything about that. I couldn’t help. But this? Now? I can. And you’re goddamned straight gonna let me.”
For a few tense minutes, they faced off across the room, arms crossed over their chests, pale green eyes narrowed and blazing. She wondered if they had any idea how similar they looked or, really, how much alike they were as men. Both strong, both protective of those they cared about, both stubborn to a fault. In that instant, Becca realized she didn’t just like Jeremy, she cared about him, too. And she could’ve hugged him for the way he cared about Nick.
She released a breath and stepped toward them. “Please don’t fight. I’m sorry,” she said, voice tight, sadness parked at the back of her throat.
“I don’t want to fight,” Jeremy said, expression stormy. “And don’t feel like you have to apologize, Becca. I’m not mad at you. If my brother was missing, I’d go to hell and back to find him, too.” Eyebrow arched, he eyeballed Nick. “But I also don’t want to be shut out.”
“Jesus, Jeremy,” Nick said, scratching at the scruff on his jaws. “I’m trying to protect you. Simple as.”
“It’s a flawed premise, bro. If this situation gets worse, you don’t think that has the chance of affecting me whether you tell me all the details now or not?”
“God . . . damnit.” He pounded a fist on the roll-away tabletop. “Shit we’re doing, we are breaking the law. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”