Give Me Hell

  “No wait. Lunch at Mr. Chow’s. You better ratchet up the charm so you can get us a table at such short notice.”

  “I can—”

  I cut him off again. I’m on a roll now. Full steam ahead. “We can follow that up with a trip to Zumbo’s patisserie. I’ve got a hankering for a donut soft serve cone.” That shit is an orgasmic diabetes attack. “With sprinkles.”

  “Okay,” Mitch says slowly. “Can I talk now?”

  My stomach sinks. I don’t want to talk. Mitch is always too reasonable, and too easy to forgive. I want to stew in my anger for years to come. I want to hold this over my brothers until the goddamn end of time. The apocalypse can bring zombies, acid rain, and the implosion of earth, and I will still go to my catastrophic death happily clinging to my wrath. They deserve no less.

  “I’ll let you talk,” I say, and he opens his mouth to speak, but I’m not finished. “On one condition.”

  His mouth snaps closed for a moment. Then he concedes with a nod. “Okay, what?”

  I give him a level stare. “Jake comes with us tomorrow.”

  If Mitch hesitates, I’ll know he still doesn’t like the thought of Jake and me together, and any kind of apology he gives will be moot.

  “Of course.” Mitch smirks. “That’s if he actually wants to go shopping with you.”

  There was no hesitation in his answer, and my heart thaws the slightest fraction. “Okay. Talk.”

  “Mac, honey?” Mum calls out. Her voice gets closer as she makes her way up the stairs. “Do you have the dress? The sooner we get to that stain the better.”

  Mitch steps to the side, allowing our mother through the bedroom door. I collect the dress from the timber rung of my old bed. She takes it, talking as she walks back out, expecting us to follow. I give my brother a sardonic shrug as I follow her while she chatters. “I got you a fresh plate of food and your father opened another bottle of wine. It’s resting on the table so get yourself another glass.”

  “Tomorrow,” Mitch says from behind as he follows us down the staircase.

  They always say tomorrow never comes, but to me the statement is illogical. Last night, ‘tomorrow’ was Sunday, and now it’s Sunday. Hence tomorrow came.

  And here we are, the four of us—because Jake readily agreed to the shopping trip and somehow Elijah got included too. It feels uncomfortable, like I’m wearing the wrong-sized jacket. I roll my shoulders, trying to disperse some tension.

  The day isn’t going well. In fact, it started out strained and is rapidly declining into downright torture.

  Mitch is being so obsessively accommodating it’s making my teeth grind. Jake is ignoring Mitch. When he isn’t, he subjects my brother to angry glares. And every time we walk inside another store, he heaves a resigned sigh. Shopping clearly makes him miserable. Too bad. This is what I do with my friends. If he doesn’t like it, he can find the nearest exit.

  And Elijah is being … well, weird. His expression toward Jake when he thinks I’m not watching is downright calculating. I don’t understand it. But with me he’s being overly solicitous, as if I’m an invalid on leave from the hospital.

  All of them are being painful, and I haven’t found a single dress I like. I’m ready to give up when I find the one. It’s deep red, yet still rich and vibrant. Strapless with a sweetheart neckline and barely breathable waistline, it drapes over my hips until it reaches the floor. Trying it on is a delicious Pretty Woman moment that I want to revel in until the end of time. Or at least a few more minutes.

  “Can I help zip you?” the sales lady calls through the door of the fitting room. Though, fitting room is an understatement; it’s large enough to hold a small settee, on which my handbag rests.

  “Give me a minute,” I call back.

  I slide the dress up my legs. Holding the back of it together, I use my other hand to unlatch the door. It opens but the saleslady has disappeared. Instead, Mitch steps inside the spacious enclosure. His big, stupid bulk makes the room claustrophobic.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss, grabbing the gaping front of the dress to make sure it covers my front. It causes the fabric to fall and gape at the back instead.

  “Zipping you,” he says, shutting and latching the door behind him. “Turn around.”

  I turn and face the mirror, shoulders tense. My brother stands behind me. He’s a head taller than I am so I can see him clearly. He makes quick work of the dress, zipping me together from my waist upwards in one swift movement.

  When he’s done, he rests warm palms on my bare shoulders and looks at me in the mirror. A faint smile rests on his lips. “It’s perfect.”

  An evil glint lights my eyes. “It’s six thousand dollars.”

  He flinches yet holds strong. “What can you do? The dress was made for you.”

  It was. My gaze runs the length of the dress and back up again before returning to Mitch. His eyes have softened and my heart gives a tiny bleat, causing my shoulders to slump a fraction. “You don’t have to buy it, Stitch.”

  His eyes soften further at the nickname. The use is familiar. Friendlier. Damn him. He does this all the time. His dumb soft heart is hard to deny.

  “I do,” he counters.

  “It’s too much. I would never really expect you to spend that kind of money.”

  “You look beautiful, Mac. I’m buying it.”

  My eyes shift back to the dress again. “Where would I wear it?”

  “Let Jake take care of that part.”

  I turn and his hands fall away from my shoulders. “We’re just friends.”

  Mitch has the nerve to laugh. “That’s a crock and you know it. Jake was made for you, just like that dress was.”

  The comment has the breath catching in my throat. It’s a statement I never expected from my brother. “Why do you think that?”

  “Because only a man stronger than Hercules could ever handle you, and his right hook just about put me in the ground.”

  “Jake punched you?” Of my three brothers, Mitch has the bulkiest muscle, the coolest temperament, and the strongest loyalty. Hurt what he loves and nothing will save you. You won’t even go down swinging because you’ll be too busy running for your life. Jake had managed to punch all that and come out unscathed? “Holy shit,” I breathe. “When did that happen?”

  “The night you were kidnapped,” Mitch replies, shifting around me toward the settee. “In the hospital parking lot. After he punched out Travis too.”

  “The night I was …” Shoving my oversized Burberry aside, he sits and stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankle and making himself comfortable. “What are you doing?”

  “Talking.”

  “Now?” I bleat, my mind still caught on Jake’s violent rampage.

  “Yes, now,” Mitch replies mildly. “We’re meeting Jake and Elijah at the Tavern in a bit so we have time.”

  “In a bit?”

  “Yes, in a bit.”

  “So they get to avoid shopping and your blabbering mouth and go toss back a beer, while you hold me hostage inside a fitting room wearing a six thousand dollar dress I can’t get out of?”

  “Basically, yes.”

  “I’m glad Jake punched you,” I hiss. I’m fuming at the trap, so when a light rap comes at the door and the sales lady calls out, “How’s it going in there?” I reply with, “Actually it’s not going so well.”

  “Oh?” she prompts.

  “I can’t seem to get the full effect of the dress without wearing heels,” I call out over the door. “Perhaps some Louboutins would help?”

  Glee tinges the edge of her reply. “We have a few in his latest collection that would suit. Shall I bring them?”

  Setting my jaw, I fix a hard glare on my brother. “Please.”

  Her footsteps are soundless on the plush carpet as she leaves. Silence settles around the fitting room as my gaze falls to my brother.

  “I’m sorry, Mac,” Mitch says quietly. “I interfered in your life. We all did. You’
re our little sister. No matter how strong or capable you may be, it’s our instinct to protect you. Sometimes we do that without thinking clearly. And at that point, straight after a car accident in which our little nephew or niece was lost …” He pauses. He sits forward in the seat. “Any one of us could have died, and we all kind of lost it.”

  My brother links his hands together and rests his elbows on his knees. “I know Romero told you he had people who wanted him dead. Just being around him was dangerous for you. Add in your fixation for danger, and it made you and Jake a volatile match. We feared for your life. So we acted in the only way we knew how. The only way we figured you would let it go without a fight.” He sighs heavily. “What we did wasn’t right. And it’s weighed on me, on all of us, ever since. But it was done. And yet somehow you and Jake managed to find your way back to each other. So no matter what we did to intervene, fate has determined otherwise for the two of you.”

  His apology doesn’t sound rehearsed. It’s sincere and irrefutable. I knew his words would worm their way beneath my skin. His ability to charm is effortless. It’s no doubt the reason Mitch was sent as a representative for the three of them.

  “Damn you,” I mutter. “Apologies don’t change shit, Mitchell Valentine.”

  “They don’t. But in my opinion they’re pretty damn important. Don’t you think?”

  They are but I don’t want to concede too quickly. I shrug and turn back to the mirror, studying the red dress with hands on my hips. “It’s a start.”

  A light tap comes at the fitting room door. “Are you ready for some shoes?”

  My eyes light up. “That’s a yes.”

  Mitch stands and tugs his wallet from the back pocket of his worn jeans. “And that’s my cue to get out of here.” Grabbing my hand, he turns it over and slaps the wallet onto my open palm like manna from Heaven. My fingers curl around the soft leather as he tells me his PIN for access. “Don’t clean me out, sweetheart,” he mutters as he opens the fitting room door and walks out.

  The sales lady fumbles the shoeboxes in her hand as she stares after him. She emits a longing sigh.

  I clear my throat purposefully.

  She spins quickly and loses her hold on the boxes. They tumble out in every direction. “Sorry,” she mumbles, crouching to collect the boxes. I go to help but I can’t bend in the dress for fear my organs will cave in. “Your boyfriend looks like someone familiar, that’s all.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend, he’s my brother.”

  “Oh.” She stands, eyes alight, her name badge proclaiming her as June. “Well maybe you wouldn’t mind passing on my—”

  I cut her off quickly, my mind going to Gabriella. Mitch has always belonged to her. Soon enough he’ll be reminded of that. My eyes narrow. It’s too late for you, June. “He’s taken.”

  June’s shoulders sag. “All the good ones are.”

  Jake materialises when June finishes boxing the dress. Combined with the buzzed hair and fitted vintage shirt, the leather jacket and the jeans, he looks like a thug. A sexy thug.

  Jesus Christ, Mackenzie Valentine. You’re trying to be friends again. Not sex him up.

  My sales lady emits another longing sigh and I swallow a growl. I angle myself to block his view as the last of the material disappears beneath layers of tissue paper. For some reason I don’t want him seeing the dress.

  “Almost done?”

  “Just about,” I say with glee as June enters the payment into the EFTPOS machine.

  He gives me a faint smile. “Spending all your brother’s money?”

  “Doing my best.”

  “Good.”

  “I thought we were meeting at the tavern when I finished. Am I taking too long?”

  “Nope. There was something I had to do.” June hands over the machine and I tap Mitch’s bank card to the Paypass device as he speaks. “I haven’t made it to the tavern yet.”

  My interest is piqued. “Oh?” I punch in the PIN and hand back the device. “What did you have to do?”

  He clears his throat. “Just some personal business.”

  I can’t stand being kept out of the loop. “What kind?”

  June hands over the boxes and credit card. She interrupts our conversation to inform me the receipt is tucked inside with the dress. Jake takes them from her before I can.

  “Thanks, June.”

  We walk off as I tuck the credit card back inside the wallet and pop it in my handbag.

  “Hope to see you again soon,” she calls out behind us.

  “The kind that’s none of your business,” he tells me, tucking the boxes under his left arm. He uses his right to link arms with mine.

  I huff. My shoulder brushes his as we make our way to the tavern. “Well, why mention you had something personal to do if you aren’t going to tell me what it is?”

  He gives me a mysterious smile, the cheeky kind that makes the reckless place between my legs throb like a bass drum. “You’ll find out in good time.”

  “Damn you, Jake Romero.”

  His grin deepens. “Keep talking dirty to me, Princess. I love it.”

  The throb escalates. “Yeah? Maybe I should tell you about how I think of you at night when I’m in bed touching myself.”

  Jake stumbles and I shout with laughter.

  “Jesus Christ,” he mumbles. “I need a cigarette.”

  My top lip curls in a sneer. “Fuck your cigarettes, Jake.”

  “I’d rather you fuck me,” he mutters beneath his breath.

  I can still hear it. Try and be friends again first? Yeah, that’s working out just great.

  MAC

  The next few months bring a new kind of trouble to our door in the form of Quinn Salisbury, our new band assistant.

  Considering trouble is my middle name, I’m all in. It’s a fresh start in my quest to become a member of the Badass Brigade. My brothers may be untrustworthy, lying wankers, but my dream to work in their firm hasn’t diminished.

  Though having three of them to deal with has me wondering what you call more than one wanker, in the same way you call more than one duck a gaggle of ducks. Henry, Evie, and I argued about it late one night with a few vodkas under our belts. A festival of wankers was our conclusive verdict. Wankfest for short.

  Anyway, the trouble with Quinn started not long after Jared returned from overseas and proclaimed his undying love for my best friend. He bought Evie a house in Bondi—a pretty beachside suburb north of our duplex in Coogee—and she folded like a cheap lawn chair.

  Clearly she was wearing her dick goggles because it was a shit house. I teased her about it profusely. “Blinded by the dick,” I crooned in her face to the tune of “Blinded by the Light” by Manfred Mann’s Earth Band. Henry would too. It was especially fun to do it while drunk. Evie would try to slap us but missed as we danced out of reach. She doesn’t know that Henry and I found the song under a secret playlist on her phone. It includes other such gems as “Africa” by Toto and “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey.

  Henry and I scream with hilarity each time we find a new song’s been added. Frankly, though, we’re just relieved she’s still around for us to tease after the shooting. It brought us closer together. Not close enough to share the past I have with Jake, but closer nonetheless.

  Jake and I reach some weird kind of limbo. It’s slowly becoming clear that we’re trying to go back to something we’ll never have again. Too much has happened. Not to mention the sexual tension. It’s hot enough to blister my skin. Our frustration levels peak. We snap at each other every other day. It doesn’t go unnoticed. But I don’t have time to deal with it. Work is too busy. The band has signed with Jettison Records, and Quinn has begun her employment. It gets off to a smooth start, but her life slides into a decline soon after.

  Quinn has a violent stepfather who was recently released from prison. A bitter, angry man, David hated my assistant. His plan was to show her just how much.

  We helped her arrange a Domestic Violence
Order, but its protection is minimal. It wasn’t safe for her to live alone. Considering Evie had recently moved to the shit house in Bondi, we moved Quinn into her old room.

  It’s not until the night before our flight to appear at the Melbourne Music Festival that I discover the level of trouble she’s in.

  It starts with me waking at three a.m. to an unusually loud thud. I sit up in bed, pushing hair off my face as I cock an ear, listening intently. A shriek soon follows, along with a banging crash.

  I roll to get up and encounter a huge lump of naked man. “Oomph!”

  The moonlit room reveals Jake. He’s sprawled like a starfish across every square inch of mattress. The giant tool promised he would get up and leave. I didn’t mention how much I wanted him to stay. Jake’s presence in my bed feels right. His dominance overpowers the room, and his warm heavy body lulls me into a restful sleep. Clearly Jake feels the same. He’s far too comfortable, and far too busy sleeping like the dead, to move. He would be useless in a midnight home invasion.

  I shoot him a dirty look as I climb over his body. My naked skin slides deliciously against his, yet he sleeps on, undisturbed.

  My satin slip is crumpled on the floor. I put it on. The cream fabric skates over my body until it reaches just below the curve of my backside. When I’m done tugging on the panties that had been flung clear across the room, I pad out the door to investigate the sound.

  JAKE

  My body ascends slowly to consciousness. Sex with Mac does that to me. It knocks me right the fuck out. I swipe a hand over my face, and my eyes open to tired slits. It’s still dark out. Good. That means it’s safe to sneak back next door without getting caught.

  I roll to my side. My plan is to glide my palm down the naked length of Mac’s back until I have a juicy handful of ass to squeeze. It will have to tide me over until our next sexual happenstance. My hand encounters air and falls flat, landing on cool sheets.

  Lifting my head, I frown and wrinkle my brow.

  Mac is nowhere to be seen, and the blinding glare of the clock shows a little after three a.m. in the morning.