Chapter One

The Road Leading Back

Grayson

Sitting at Carlin’s Cocktails, a little bar off the highway leading to Lake Hopatcong, I look out over the dance floor. There’s a band playing tonight. Little four-piece country band doing an okay job with some popular covers. They have the place packed, the floor full. I suppose that’s what they’re here for. They’re okay, but that’s not why I’m here.

Not hating. Hell, I made some bank doing that shit while traveling. No four-piece. Two-piece, just me and Glory, my guitar. Didn’t do it for the money. I did it for the fine, little pieces of ass it would drop at my feet. Ass with no strings. Best kind of ass out there. Why? Because love, marriage, forever, it’s a bunch of fucking horse shit.

I’m here because I need a break from my family. Sounds shitty, but it’s the truth. From as far back as I can remember, things have been fucking crazy. Never knew what was going to happen next. It was like living in a war zone.

Now...Now the air has cleared a bit. Found out some things that bring clarity. Plus, my brother Garrett popped the question to his girl tonight. I was asked to help him out by singing to her, so I did.

When we were younger, Garrett had horrible nightmares. He even slept under his bed for a couple years. Recently, I found out why. He was fucking abused by an old man who worked for our family. My brother Gage threw a rock and killed the man right in front of me. I never knew why until now, but that’s when my fucking nightmares began.

For the longest time, after I witnessed that, I was intimidated as fuck by Gage. Regardless, he was still my brother, and in order to function, I had to look at the man as a whole. Actions speak louder than words, and one fuck up, one thrown stone, doesn’t define a man. Not when every other thing he did in life was good. Not to mention he was the man of the family. Now knowing that horrible act was done for family, now I fucking look up to him even more.

Gage and Garrett, they worked out their baby momma drama and are at peace. Hell, they are all fucking happy. And here I am, waiting for the mother of all bombs to drop.

Oh, what a tangled web this family has weaved.

I take off my hat and set it on my knee before running my fingers through my hair then finish my beer. I set my empty glass on the bar and wait for a refill while I look around to find something to slip into tonight.

My eyes fix on the waif-sized blonde who is dancing with a total fucking tool. Flat brimmed hat, skinny jeans, a red shirt, and matching red sneakers. I laugh, wondering if the fucker looked in a mirror before leaving the house. Then I sigh because, looking around, I’m thinking women are no longer raising men. It’s all good. I know damn well Little Red Riding Bitch over there is thinking him and his tricked-out duds are a fucking turn on. I know better. Women want a man between their legs, and not some bitch whose focus is on looking like he just walked out of a magazine, emasculating men as a whole.

My species is in danger of extinction, which makes me like a fucking tiger. And like a tiger, I’m on the prowl tonight. Unlike the tiger, my prey doesn’t run, which makes the chase lame, but it all ends the same—her bent over.

The only fight I get these days is when the woman under me decides she wants to impress me by thinking she can fuck me. That ain’t happening.

When I’m fucking, it’s with three purposes: to get her off, leave a mark, and to come.

Men, real men, are hunters, gatherers, and providers. Women aren’t looking for that today, and I’m not about to be tied down by one who thinks she’s going to own my balls.

I watch the little waif look around. She’s bored with Little Red Riding Bitch and his fucking dancing shoes.

“Oh, man,” I hear right before I feel my back get soaked. “I’m so...” She stops talking when I turn around.

Well, what do we have here?

I look the bartender over, with her long, thick dark hair, beautiful fucking doe eyes, insanely perfect and lightly tanned skin, and curves. Sweet Jesus, she has curves.

“Fuck,” I groan as I look her up and down.

Her face turns red, and her voice is unsteady when she says, “I’m really sorry. I’ll give you something to change into. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m good, sweetheart. And between you and me, I would never apologize for getting you wet.” I take the bar rag from her hand and wipe up the mess. “Now, show me where to change.”

Her mouth is gaping silently, lips plump and deep red. I would love to lean over and take that mouth, but there’s a problem. My future sister-in-law fucking works here.

“I...umm...It’s...” she stammers.

Christ, she’s hot.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

She looks down. “Mandee.”

“Mandee”—I hold out my hand—“I’m Grayson.”

She looks at my hand, then up at me, then quickly back down again.

“Hi.” When she shakes my hand, her grip is weak. That right there gets me even hotter.

When she doesn’t let go, I don’t bother to, either.

“Mandee.” A guy a few stools down leans over the bar. “Babe, can I get a refill?”

“Suuure,” she says slowly, taking her hand away.

I look down at the guy who called her babe. He doesn’t look like much of a douche. He’s not undressing her with his eyes, he says thank you, and she doesn’t even look away when he talks to her. She knows him. Must be a relative.

When she walks away, I give a quick whistle and point to my shirt. She looks down then scans the bar. When her big brown eyes come back to mine, she nods toward the hallway. I walk down the length of the bar and follow her.

She grabs a key from her pocket and unlocks the door at the end. “Tee-shirts are in here. Again”—she pushes the door open—“I’m really sorry.”

“Mandee, it’s not a big deal at all. Only reason I’m taking you up on the offer to change shirts is I’m riding my bike tonight. Could get chilly.”

She pulls a little stool over to the built-in wall of shelves and reaches up high. Her black tee lifts and I see the small of her back. Two little, sexy as hell dimples are staring at me. I have the urge to put my hands around her waist, press my thumbs against them, and give them a rub. Instead, I reach behind me and pull my beer-drenched shirt over my head as she turns around and sees me.

Her mouth falls open slightly, and then she turns quickly and starts to fall.

“Oh, hell,” she whispers as she falls.

I catch her before she hits the ground. One hand lands on my chest, the other palms her face.

“Oh, dear God,” she groans as she tries to wiggle free.

I hold a little tighter. I like her in my arms. Won’t happen again, so I’m going to enjoy holding on to a girl who isn’t expecting to get fucked, and one who is uncomfortable being in a position like this.

Innocent as fuck.

She peers out at me through her fingers. “You’re gonna hurt your back.”

“Come again?” And again, and again, and again, I think to myself.

She squeezes her eyes shut again, hand still on my chest.

“You like the piercing?” I joke, since her little hand is covering it.

Like she’s been electrified by my words, she pulls her hand back and looks up at me. “Will you put me down?” she asks, her voice shaking.

I set her on her feet, placing my hands on her hips to steady her. “You good?”

Her eyes go from my piercing to my ink, and then slowly up to meet my eyes.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she says, stepping back.

She turns to bend down and grabs the shirt she dropped. Her ass, fine, fine, fine. An ass of a woman who may eat more than a fucking salad. She then stands, turns around, and looks up at me, eyes taking the same path: piercing, ink, eyes.

“You like?” I wave my hand over my body.

“Um, it’s interesting.” She flushes even more than before as she knots up the shirt that I have no desire to put on. Not with the way she’s looking me over.

I wait for her to say something, in no hurry to leave this room when she’s as enthralled with my looks as I am with hers.

“Bird wings? Angel?” she asks, rolling on the balls of her feet a little.

“Falcon wings, Mandee. I’m no angel.” I laugh.

She smiles and shakes her head. “My best friend is marrying a Falcon,” she tells me.

“Well, hell, when did that law pass?” I joke.

She smiles bigger now and tucks her thick chocolate hair behind her ear as she shakes her head. “His last name.”

Fuck.

“Phoenix?”

She looks up again and nods. “How did you...?” She pauses and points at my tattoo. “Are you...?”

“A Falcon?” I nod. “Yeah.”

“Grayson?” She smiles bigger.

“The one and only.” I put my hands in my damn pockets where they belong.

“I have no idea how I didn’t know.” Still smiling, she hands me the shirt. “I mean, you look a lot like them.”

“Well, I’m better looking.” I smirk.

“Yeah, but still—”

“Wait,” I say, giving the wrinkled shirt a shake. “So, you think I’m better looking than both my brothers?”

She palms her face again and giggles sweetly.

“It’s okay, Mandee.” I pull the shirt over my head and put one arm in at a time. “It’ll be our secret.” I pull the shirt down and look up.

She laughs at me. Can’t blame her, either. I look like a fucking idiot.

“So, you still think that after seeing me in a belly shirt?” I tease.

She shakes her head and turns, laughing, “You need a bigger size.”

She climbs up on the stool again, while I pull the shirt off, throw it on the nearby desk, and grip her hips as she reaches for a box. She looks back at me.

“You either let me hold you steady, or let me get the box, sweetheart. I’m taller and probably a lot stronger than you.”

I expect her to let me get it, but she doesn’t. She reaches up and grabs the box, while I hold her steady.

“Babe, you okay?”

She jumps when a man’s voice comes from behind us, causing the damn stool to tip. I quickly grab her and set her on the floor as the box comes down on my head.

“Oh, dear God, Blue.” She sighs. “You scared me.” She turns to me and looks up, “Are you okay?”

“I’m good.” I smile, picking shirts off my body.

“Blue, this is Grayson Falcon. Grayson, this is Blue,” she introduces us as she picks up the shirts from off the floor.

“Falcon, as in Falcon’s Landing?” He smiles cordially.

“My brother’s place, but close,” I say, trying to find a shirt.

“Well, that’s a relief. I found it a little odd my Mandee would come back here with a total stranger.” He audibly relaxes a touch.

His Mandee?

She looks up at me like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Again, I like it, seeming how I am the cookie jar her hand was on.

I wink and whisper, “Secret’s safe with me.”

She blushes a bit and smiles, holding up a shirt. “Size extra-large for an extra-large guy.”

On the tip of my tongue is “how did you know?” but then, well, then there’s Blue.

Her eyes widen, and I wink again.

“Buy you a drink?” I ask Blue.

“How can I say no to Phoenix’s brother-in-law?” He claps his hand on my bare shoulder.

“Easy, man,” I tell him.

He laughs as he takes his hand off my shoulder. “Oops, my bad.”

I pull the shirt over my head and glance out of the corner of my eye, seeing her looking at me.

There is definitely a two-way connection here.

Bad idea, skips over and over in my head like an old vinyl record as I follow Blue out to the bar, glancing back to see her locking the door. A bad idea never looked so fucking good.

I sit in the high back, swivel stool at the bar, and Blue sits next to me.

“So, Gage and Phoenix, huh?” He chuckles. “I called that one the first time I met him. Now Mandee’s planning a reception here next week for your other brother and...” He stops and looks down at his beer.

I know what he’s thinking. Gage’s ex. Garrett’s forever. I hate it. It’s really no one’s fucking business, but whatever. Can’t explain it away without exposing the past.

“Not a big deal.” I nod as I look up to see Mandee putting two drafts in front of us.

“No, man, I’m sorry. It’s complicated. I get it,” Blue says, as if he really does fucking get it.

I feel my jaw twitch, and flex my fingers before forcing myself to reach for the glass.

Mandee pushes it closer, quietly saying, “Blue, not anyone’s business.”

I look up, and she smiles. It’s sweet, honest, and sincere.

“I was just—”

“Dude, fucking drop it.” I force myself to laugh. “Shit happens.”

He forces a laugh, too.

When I look over at him, he holds his glass up. “Cheers to that.”

Not that I want to clink glasses with Blue—fucker rubs me the wrong way—yet I do.

As I take a drink, I look up at Mandee, who’s looking at me with a familiar smile. Mags, our nanny growing up, and for all intents and purposes, our second mother, gives me the same sort of smile when she’s feeling proud of my ability to keep my shit together.

Except Mags gave me a cookie or something sweet to eat after.

God help me, but I want to eat Mandee. Sweet, shy, sexy as fuck Mandee...but I can’t.