The Mane Attraction

  Sissy picked up her beer. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Can’t believe he had the guts to come back here,” Dee muttered.

  “And brought that sister of his.” Ronnie sneered. “I hate her. And I heard she hopes to make Gil Alpha.”

  Sissy snorted. “On what planet would that happen?”

  “Having a strong female at his side would definitely help with that.”

  What insulted Sissy most was the way they were staring at her, like they expected her to have a breakdown or something.

  “Do you really think I’m that pathetic?”

  When they didn’t answer, she slammed her beer bottle down. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

  “Sissy, wait. We didn’t say—”

  But she walked away before Ronnie could finish whatever the hell she had to say. She stopped by the bathroom and did what she had to do, but didn’t feel like going back to the table yet since she still wanted to punch someone in the face. She went out the back door and into the alley instead. As the door closed, Sissy heard noises coming from the Dumpster. She walked around it and stopped to stare at the wolf half in and half out.

  “Uncle Eggie!”

  Her uncle stumbled back from the Dumpster, his amber-colored eyes wide.

  “You know you’re not supposed to be Dumpster divin’.” If it wasn’t for her aunt and Dee-Ann, her uncle would be living on the streets somewhere. “Now scoot on home”—she motioned him away with her hands—“before someone comes out here and sees you.”

  His gaze briefly swung back to the Dumpster—who knew what he may have seen in there that he wanted—before he ran off into the woods. Her aunt should be grateful. Sissy had just saved her from having one more thing brought into her house that Eggie promised he’d do something with and never did.

  Sissy didn’t know how the females of her family put up with the males. Seemed like a lot of work for very little payoff.

  She walked over to the Dumpster and looked inside. The radio. It had to be the radio. Her uncle probably thought he could fix it and sell it on eBay or something.

  “Thinking about throwing yourself in?”

  Sissy yelped at Mitch’s voice. “Don’t sneak up on me.”

  “I came out here to make sure you were okay. You were the one staring longingly into a trash bin.”

  “I was not, I was just—oh! Forget it.” She turned and faced him. “What do you want anyway?”

  “You wanna dance?”

  Sissy frowned. “In the alley?”

  He flicked her forehead with his finger.

  “Ow.”

  “Not out here, buckethead.”

  “Buckethead?”

  “Inside.”

  “Are they playing real music or more of that karaoke crap?”

  “Why don’t you admit I’ve been robbed of my musical career because society can’t handle my innate sexuality?”

  “Or I could admit that you’re a nut job. But that would be redundant.” She headed toward the door, Mitch behind her.

  “Look at you, using big words like redundant.”

  While she opened the door with one hand, she swung at Mitch with the other. He caught it and laughed. “No sense of humor.”

  “Some would say.”

  She was nearly in the hallway when Mitch asked, “Who was that guy anyway?”

  Sissy stopped and turned back around. She immediately knew who he meant. “That was Gil Warren.”

  “The old boyfriend?”

  Sissy stepped back out into the alley, letting the door close behind her. “Yeah. The old boyfriend.”

  “You didn’t tell me he still lived here.”

  “I didn’t know. According to him, he’s moved back and planning to stay.” Sissy stuck her left hand in her shorts pocket since Mitch still held her right. “Why did you hit him with the ball?”

  Mitch studied her hand, his thumb rubbing across her knuckles. “You looked annoyed that he was bothering you.” He shrugged, his focus never leaving her hand. “And I didn’t like him talking to you. I didn’t want him looking at you. Basically, I hated him on sight.”

  Sissy swallowed. “I ... uh ... see.”

  He finally moved his gaze to her face. “You mad?”

  “Not even a little.” Then Sissy did what she’d been wanting to do for a long, long time. She went up on her toes and kissed Mitchell Shaw.

  Nothing dramatic or movie worthy. She didn’t shove her tongue down his throat or jump into his arms. She simply pressed her lips to his. Probably the sweetest, most chaste kiss she’d given to any man not a blood relative.

  But if she didn’t know better, she’d have thought she’d grabbed the man’s dick from the response she got.

  Suddenly, Mitch’s hands were digging into her hair, his mouth hot against hers as he pushed her up against the door. His tongue slid into her mouth, swirled around hers. Tasting, exploring. And Sissy felt her body melt like it never had before.

  Well that had been smooth. Yeah. Very nice, mauling Sissy in the back alley of a bar. But he’d never expected her to kiss him. He definitely had never expected to feel the explosion that came from what was nothing more than sweet, soft kiss. Probably no more than a “thank you” for handling that ex of hers. And here he was blowing it way out of proportion.

  But she tasted so damn good and smelled even better. It wasn’t really fair. He was only sorta human!

  Pull back. You need to pull back.

  In a minute. He’d definitely pull back in a minute. He promised himself.

  Then Sissy wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Her right leg wrapped around his, her bare foot sliding up and down his calf. Her tongue tangled with his, her fingers burrowing deep in his hair and holding him as she turned the tables and took his mouth with more passion than he’d experienced with anyone.

  When she abruptly dragged her mouth away, Mitch didn’t know what to do. Beg. He wasn’t above begging. Especially when his cock was pretty much ordering him to beg.

  Beg, damn you! Beg!

  Then Sissy pulled her body away, but she grabbed hold of his shirt. “Come on.” She stepped back, snatched the door open, and walked back into the club, dragging Mitch behind her. She stopped by the table where Ronnie sat on Bren’s lap and Dee was nowhere to be seen.

  Sissy swiped up the car keys and walked out, still dragging Mitch behind her.

  To the day he died, Mitch would never forget the expression on his brother’s face. Bren looked stunned and a little bit panicked to see Sissy dragging Mitch anywhere. It was kind of classic.

  Ronnie yawned.

  Once outside, Sissy shoved him toward the car. “Get in.”

  He knew by letting her drive, he was truly risking life and limb, but no one could get them back to the house faster, and he needed to be inside Sissy. He needed to feel what it was like to sink inside her and fuck her until they both couldn’t see straight. He needed that more than anything.

  Pete O’Farrell, Jr. walked out of the overpriced French restaurant and to his car, which they’d parked in the back alley. They always did this in case there was a reason to make a fast exit.

  One of his guys, a slow-witted behemoth called Meat, should have been waiting for him. As soon as he realized Meat was nowhere to be seen, Pete headed back to the restaurant. But she stood in front of the door.

  He’d heard about her. You couldn’t grow up in his neighborhood and not. Roxy O’Neill. She was strange, they’d say. Strange and sexy and dangerous. But no one knew why. They just knew to avoid her and her sisters.

  But he knew why she was here. To fight for the life of her son. Contrary to popular belief, Pete hadn’t put the contract on that cop’s head. Hell, that kid had done what no one else had been able to do ... get rid of his old man. True, for a while it looked like the cop would be able to take some of the most important guys in the crew down, but a good lawyer—like him—could find all sorts of reasons to get charges dropped. One thing after another
had made those charges go away over the last couple of years. You almost felt bad for the kid.

  But the problem with Petey’s charges was that the cop had witnessed it firsthand. Mitch Shaw had just happened to be at the wrong place at the right time and caught Petey O’Farrell cutting the throat of some little whore who’d made the mistake of threatening to go to Petey’s third wife about their affair. It was a typical stupid Petey O’Farrell move, and the cop happened to see it. Maybe if it hadn’t been a woman, the cop would have kept rolling undercover until he had more. But he’d lost it and nearly killed the old man. The guys had told Pete it was weird how Shaw had become ... different. He was always so good natured and laid back whenever Pete had spoken to him, so no one saw it coming. But somehow, the cop had managed to calm down and had busted the old man right there, blowing his cover for good.

  And for Pete, Jr... . life had turned beautiful.

  “Hello, Peter.”

  “Miss O’Neill.”

  “I was hoping you’d have a few minutes to talk to me.”

  He smiled. Shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. I’ve already had the cops at my firm, and I told them what I’m about to tell you ... I didn’t put a hit out on your son.”

  “And I believe that. And I know your father did.”

  “I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Shhh.” She waved her hand. “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about what you think.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t follow.”

  “If the hit went away, what would you do?”

  “Are you asking me if I want your son dead?”

  “I’m asking you what you’d risk to see him dead.”

  His smile returned. “Miss O’Neill—”

  The loud bang cut off his words, and he turned. They’d dropped Meat onto the roof of his car, and then ... it landed on him. It was big and gold and ... bloody.

  “I need you to answer my question, baby-boy. You see ...”

  And when Pete turned, there was another standing beside Roxy O’Neill, pushed up against her side, and then Pete heard this weird ... grumble, and he saw two more at the far end of the alley. And two males at the mouth of the alley. He knew they were male because they had those big manes.

  He could scream for help, but something told him they’d never give him the chance. He had a gun, but he knew he’d never reach it before they tore him apart.

  It was late ... no one was out.

  And who would believe this?

  “... I need to know if your father is my only problem ... or if you are too?”

  Shaking his head as the males neared him, Pete stammered out, “No, ma’am. It’s not me.”

  “That’s good, baby-boy. That’s good.” Then her hand was around his throat, and those big, red gaudy nails she had suddenly felt different—thicker, harder, sharper—and dug into his skin. With no effort on her part, she hauled him back until he hit the car. Meat’s head was right by Pete’s. If the guy was breathing now, he wouldn’t be for long.

  The one standing on Meat leaned over, and blood and drool leaked onto Pete’s forehead.

  “You know me,” Roxy said. “If nothing else, I know you’ve heard of me. And my boy means more to me than I could ever say. I’ll deal with your father—and you get to take over without any problems—and you make sure when the time is right that they all back off my baby-boy. Understand?”

  Pete swallowed and nodded his head.

  “Good. Because no matter what you try to do to me ... to my boy ... there will be more of us from all over. And it will be you they come looking for. You understand that, right?”

  He nodded.

  “I want to hear the words.”

  “Yes. I understand.”

  “Good.” She stepped away from him, and the rest of them all moved at once, slipping away into the darkness like they’d never been there. “I appreciate that we understand each other.” Her hand moved away from his throat, and he blinked because he could have sworn he saw claws or ... or ... something before those big, red gaudy nails came back.

  Then she was strutting down the alley, a simple gold purse hanging from her hand. “Good luck on taking over the business, Pete. I think you’ll be great. You’re definitely smarter than your old man ever was.”

  Then she was gone. And all that heavy French food came flying right back up.

  Sissy pushed her car to its limits as she tore through Smithtown trying to get home and get Mitch into bed ... or on the floor ... or anywhere she could get him.

  Once she made up her mind, Sissy didn’t waffle. She didn’t agonize over her decision. Or question if she was doing the right thing. Who had time for that? Plus, her body was making demands she needed to fulfill or die trying.

  She slammed to a stop in front of her parents’ house. Mitch unleashed his grip on the dashboard and relaxed back in the seat.

  Sissy didn’t know how long they were sitting there, but she finally turned in the seat to face him. “Is there a reason we’re still sitting here?”

  “Uh ... I didn’t want to rush you.”

  Sissy shoved his shoulder with both hands. “Out! Now!”

  Laughing, Mitch got out on his side, and Sissy snatched the key from the ignition and quickly pushed the driver’s side door open. Together, they headed up the porch steps. But when Sissy hit that top step, pain slammed through her foot, and she howled, immediately hopping on one leg while she grabbed her wounded foot.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Splinters!”

  Mitch put his hands on his hips. “You’re fucking with me right now, aren’t you?”

  Sissy leaned back against the porch rail and held her foot up to his face. “Splinters!” she yelled again.

  “Damn. Those are splinters.” Mitch gazed into her face. “Of course, if you insist on walking around barefoot—”

  “No one in Smithtown wears shoes in the summertime.”

  “Is that a law?”

  Sissy growled and started to hop into the house, but Mitch grabbed her under the knees and lifted her up. He only held her by her legs, though, and her head dangled dangerously close to the floor. She squealed, and Mitch gave her a shake.

  “Stop the whining. You need to toughen up.”

  Without unleashing her fangs, Sissy bit the back of his leg.

  “Do that again,” he playfully warned, “and I’m dropping you on your head. Now simmer down.”

  Mitch took her into the family room and dropped her on the couch in front of the TV. Sissy started to sit up, but Mitch pushed her back down by her forehead. She started swiping at him, and he batted at her hands while they kept their faces turned away from each other.

  When he got bored with that, he said, “Lie down and be quiet. Mr. Kitty is going to make you feel all better.”

  Sissy stopped struggling. “That sounds creepy—and wrong.”

  Mitch grabbed a blanket from another chair and began to pull it over her body.

  “It’s ninety degrees outside. I don’t need—”

  The blanket covered her face, and Sissy growled. Then he tucked the blanket tightly into the couch cushions so Sissy was temporarily trapped. She had to kick and fight to get the damn blanket off her, and by then, Mitch was back with the first aid kit from the first floor bathroom.

  She reached for her foot. “I can do this—”

  “No.” He slapped her hands away and lifted up her legs so he could sit on the couch. Then he dropped her legs back onto his lap.

  “Okay. Let’s see what we’ve got.” He lifted up her foot and said, “Well, what we’ve got here is a freakin’ boat.”

  “Really?” She slammed her heel against the side of his face, snapping his head to one side. “How big are they now, Mitch?”

  Rubbing the abused side of his face, “Dainty little elf feet?”

  “Exactly.”

  Sissy bit the inside of her mouth to stop from smiling. She didn’t know what it was about him, but the boy did ha
ve a way. She’d never really thought of felines as goofy, but Mitch was definitely goofy.

  “Is amputation out here? ’Cause we don’t want it to get infected.”

  “Mitchell ...”

  “Okay. Okay. No need to get testy. It was just one of the many options.” He pulled tweezers out of the kit and lifted her foot again, studying it closely. “It’s in kind of deep, so this will probably not be real pleasant.”

  “Have you met my mother?” Sissy asked. “I put my arm through a window once, and that woman just yanked—o www w!”

  “Done.” Mitch held up the trio of splinters.

  Glaring, Sissy reached for her foot again, and again he slapped her hands away. “Those hands are unclean.”

  “I washed them at the club. And is the iodine really necessary?” she demanded as he poured some on a cotton ball. “Isn’t there something in there with pain reliever already included?”

  “I’m sure there is.” He slapped the iodine-doused cotton ball against her foot. “But I prefer this,” he said over her yelp.

  Once cleaned and wrapped in a small bandage, Mitch dropped her foot back on his lap. “There. All done. Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “Not if you’re Dr. Mengele,” she muttered.

  “I hear that whining again.”

  Sissy let out a little growl before the pair fell silent, everything suddenly very awkward.

  Mitch gave a small shrug. “Guess after all that, the mood’s kinda broken, huh?”

  “Are you saying that because you lost your hard-on or because you again don’t want to rush me?”

  They both glanced down at his crotch.

  “So you’re worrying about rushing me.”

  “I just want you to be sure.”

  Frustrated, Sissy sat up and quickly straddled his waist. She grabbed fistfuls of his T-shirt and yanked him up until their faces were mere inches apart.

  “You know what I want, Mitchell?” And before he could answer, “To get laid. Preferably by you. If I weren’t sure, we wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be on your lap with a wet, unfulfilled pussy, and you wouldn’t have a healthy length of lead pipe in your pants. So stop being a tease, get your pants off, and give it up before I get testy.”