Friday morning, Brooke gets me out of classes for Trask’s hearing. I take the light rail to the courthouse with Stone and Ryker, none of us unloading what’s weighing heavily on our minds. The four of us have been thick as thieves for so many years that losing Trask would be as jarring as losing a limb.

Still, as much as it scares the shit out of me to think he could be sent away for life, I can’t stop obsessing over how close I was to burying my fingers inside Brooke the other night. She’s filled with so much goodness that I want to lick it right out of her.

It was bad enough I didn’t see her all day yesterday, only exchanged a few texts. Waiting another two days will be the worst kind of torture. Usually when I sleep with chicks, it’s about getting my rocks off and nothing more.

This is different.

She’s putting her career on the line to help keep a promise to someone she’s never met. All for a punk like me. It’s logical that I would want to do all kinds of things to her sweet little body to show my appreciation. There’s so much about her that fills the void in my chest—the way she actually gives a damn, and listens respectfully to everything I have to say. The way she took Sasha in without hesitation, and shows her nothing but kindness. The way she worries about my safety, and what would happen if King Marty came after me. The way I sense we share something more profound than the desire to bone each other like rabbits. The way she looks at me like I’m a man worthy of her.

Of course there’s a possibility that she may only be an obsession at this point. A forbidden play thing. Not like someone as put-together as Brooke would actually consider a homeless punk with nothing to offer as her boyfriend anyway. It’s not like I’m in any position to make a commitment to anyone.

Stone elbows me as we’re crossing the street to the courthouse. In his Sunday best of a white t-shirt and jeans without holes, chin-length hair slicked back, pale blue eyes lit with vengeance for our brother, people on the street probably think he just escaped from prison. It would explain why many of them scurry when they see him passing them.

“What the fuck’s with you?” he asks. “Been too long since you got your dick wet?"

“Trask didn’t fuckin’ do it,” I snarl, cutting Ryker a weary glance. “We all know he’s not that stupid. No way he’d shoot one of your uncle’s henchmen. Even if he did it in self-defense, he’s too smart to simply toss the gun in a nearby ditch.”

Ryker grunts in agreement. “Fingerprints don’t prove jack-shit.”

I quietly climb the courthouse steps at his side, somehow resisting the urge to remind him when someone as rich and powerful as his uncle is involved, arranging for prints to be planted would be a piece of cake. Until I possess solid evidence to prove that King Marty is somehow behind this, it’s not worth risking our friendship. Besides, I still don’t have any theories on why the old man would be doing this to Trask in the first place. I simply know all this is somehow related to whatever Terrance was doing at the school.

With the discovery of Brooke waiting outside the courtroom, black-rimmed glasses and tight ponytail, I almost forget why we’re here. My mouth tilts with a grin as I imagine what it will be like when I finally get to kiss the shit out of those pouty lips. She grins back at me for only a fleeting second, tearing her gaze away the second it turns into something more than friendly.

There was a flash of desire in those honied hazel eyes, pure and simple.

Don’t think I didn’t catch that, babydoll.

She greets my friends with a lone eyebrow lifted high above her glasses. It’s cute as shit. “You guys must be Ryker and Stone. I’m Rook’s social worker. You can call me Brooke.”

I’m thrown off my game hearing her casually addressing my friends, and calling me by my South Side nickname. How the fuck did she know that’s what the guys call me? I don’t remember it coming up in conversation. And I don’t like how it sounds on her lips given “Rook and Brooke” sounds like some kind of a lame ass joke, or a kid’s rhyme. The things I want to do to her body are no laughing matter.

“How ‘bout I call you sweetheart instead?” Stone bites out in the kind of dark, intimidating tone that usually scares women shitless.

My girl pushes her glasses up her nose, smiling brightly. “I’d prefer Brooke.”

Stone’s head jerks back with her response. I bite back a chuckle, damned if her confidence doesn’t make me hard as concrete. How the hell am I supposed to sit through a hearing at her side without hauling her off to the nearest janitor’s closet?

She spins around to the massive courthouse doors, pulling one open, and my eyes land on her perky ass. As if taunting me after what I said to her in the apartment, she’s wearing another skirt. This one is tight on her thighs and goes all the way down to her shins. The strappy heels she’s wearing makes my cock swell more until it’s downright painful. One hand clenched into a fist at my side, I quietly growl as I hold the door for her to pass through.

“That is one tight ass,” Stone comments behind me.

I jerk around, wanting to throttle him for looking at her in that way. Vibrating with anger, I shake my head. “Don’t fuckin’ think about it.”

He erases the distance between us, brows pulled together. “Or what? You gonna put me in the hospital next to your old man?”

Dickhead only wants to get a rise out of me, so I walk away. His deep chuckle follows me all the way into the courtroom. I catch up to Brooke, filing into a bench at her side. “Nice skirt,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “You’re really testing my limits.”

Her lips part slightly, and her eyes widen with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look. She doesn’t have a chance to respond before the doors beside the judge’s bench swing open to Trask being escorted by two large guards. The bright orange jumper looks ridiculously stupid on him, clashing with his rusted carrot hair. Eyes puffed, greenish hue of a bruise forming beneath one, it doesn’t appear he’s been sleeping much, and has already started a fight. Dumbass probably tried to prove himself to someone twice his size.

As Stone and Ryker settle in at the end of the bench, Trask takes a seat by his attorney. At first he catches my gaze, and I see a flash of gratitude in his almost-there smile. Then his eyes dart to something in the back of the courtroom, and his face pales to a sickly white. Whatever he saw, there’s no missing the fear settling in his clenched jaw, or the way his throat bobs with a hard swallow. Can’t say the last time I’ve seen him afraid of anything, unless it involved Sasha’s well-being.

An older judge with a shiny bald head settles behind the bench as a clerk rattles off the title of the case. Brooke’s attorney friend says something that makes Trask turn to the front of the courtroom. Uneasiness sloshes through my gut. Something’s off.

“How’s he holding up?” The slightest hint of a German accent curls around the words from the bench behind us, blending with the heavy odor of a cigar. Chills spill down my neck.

King Marty.

His presence never fails to suck the energy from a room like a black hole, striking fear in everyone daring to breathe the same air.

Ryker twists in his seat. “Uncle Marty? What are you doing here?”

“One of my boys is in trouble,” he answers with a condescending air. “I came to offer my support.”

Support? I want to scream at the fucker. No way I’m falling for his charm, or trusting that his intentions are anything other than sinister. It makes my insides crawl to hear he still considers us to be “his boys,” although I don’t fall under that category as much as the others.

The fact that Trask is suddenly afraid of a man he once considered to be an honorary uncle only confirms my suspicion. King Marty is as dirty as the neighborhood he rules over.

The exact same moment rage spikes through my veins, Brooke’s warm little fingers dig into my bicep as a silent warning not to react. I cross my other arm over my chest, looping the tips of our fingers together in a way that no one else could possibly see unless they purposely looked real fuckin’ hard.

Warmth flows through me with her touch, delivering the kind of comfort I haven’t experienced since I was a tiny snot-nosed brat with parents who gave a shit. In this moment I need her more than ever, and she somehow senses it.

As the judge spews an ass-load of legal jargon, Trask leans in to whisper something to his attorney. Can’t help but notice his fingers grip his chair so hard that his fingers are white. Whatever Trask has to say makes Brooke’s attorney-friend furious. So furious that he yells a little too loudly at Trask, “What? Are you kidding me? No!”

The judge stops his train of thought, scowling at the attorney. “Counsel, approach the bench.”

Both Trask’s attorney and the county’s attorney rise, shuffling over to the judge. Trask sits with his face in his hands, back hunched like he’s about to receive a life sentence.

“What’s goin’ on?” I whisper to Brooke.

“I don’t know,” she whispers back, squeezing my fingers.

As the three men continue a hushed conversation in the front of the courtroom, King Marty leans between me and Stone, the metallic odor of his breath as vile as blood. “I was pleased to hear you finally stood up to your old man, Rook. He always was a spineless bastard. Be sure to let me know if there’s anything I can do to ensure you aren’t returned to his care.”

I release Brooke’s hand and spin around on the bench, lifting an eyebrow. “You mean like pull the plug?”

The old man’s long, wrinkled face draws tight with a guttural laugh. If he wasn’t wearing a thousand-dollar suit with an even more valuable watch, and didn’t have the utmost respect of everyone in the city, he could be one of those old white-haired greeters at some shitty discount store. The urge to knock his perfectly symmetrical dentures into his throat spreads across my chest.

“Wasn’t fuckin’ joking,” I mutter through clenched teeth as I’m turning back around.

Trask’s attorney and the other guy with the complexion and hairline of a vampire return to their tables as the judge pulls his thin microphone closer. “This hearing is delayed until further notice. Court administration will send a new notice to all parties involved. We’re adjourned.” When the judge strikes the gavel on the bench-top, the crowd immediately begins to dissipate as they set up for the next case.

I shoot to my feet. “What’s going on?” I demand of no one in particular.

They escort Trask back out of the courtroom. A boulder crashes in my gut when he doesn’t bother glancing back my way. The sense that he’s terrified by whatever King Marty has over him lodges in my chest as he disappears behind the secure door.

When I turn, King Marty’s shaking the hand of some guy in a suit beside him, carrying on a conversation with a bright-ass smile like he just won the fucking election for president.

Before I lose my shit on the man I suspect to be behind all of this, I dart from the room.

* * *

I wake on my eighteenth birthday with the sound of some asshole pounding on the bedroom door. “The fuck,” I mutter into the feather pillow.

I push myself upright, head exploding with pain. Stone came over the night before. We got stupid on corn whiskey that tasted like shit while listening to music and musing over Trask’s doomed future. I didn’t get Stone involved in my King Marty theory, but I sensed he’s catching on when he started asking some of the same questions I’ve had.

The crappy booze wasn’t enough to dull my fears. It only made me eager as shit to see Brooke again. She sent a dozen texts after the hearing while I was in class, making sure I hadn’t done anything stupid. Jordan finally checked in with me on her behalf, and let me know she’d be by in the morning to take me by my old apartment.

“Liam?” she calls out in a voice sweeter than fucking honey. “You ready to go?”

I’d love to invite her in and show her just how “ready” I am to go with her. Spent half the night fantasizing about it after Stone left.

“Give me a minute,” I holler back, rubbing at my throbbing temples.

I throw on the only pair of jeans from home along with one of the gray t-shirts from Brooke before swiping deodorant over my pits. I slip into my shoes and meet her at the door, ready to drag her back into my bed upon first sight.

Pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, her big hazel eyes flicker up to meet my wild hair as I drink her in. Tight, torn jeans, white sweater, hair slicked back into the usual ponytail, short boots that make her a little taller than normal, sweet perfume that blocks out any other thoughts not involving her. She’s indisputably mouthwateringly delicious. Why couldn’t she just be some hot chick from school wanting to get laid?

“Mornin’,” I say, my voice still groggy with sleep.

“Happy birthday,” she breathes out in an equally strained tone. Then she clears her throat and gives me this crooked, cute-as-shit smile. “Rough night?”

She’s acknowledging my hangover, yet she doesn’t seem upset. Interesting. Each time I see her it’s as if she’s one step closer to seeing me as something other than a charity case.

Slipping through the doorway, I stop when our bodies are pressed together. She inhales sharply, heaving her tits into my chest in the process. My chest burns with a need to claim her.

Then our eyes collide. Her entire body trembles as I slowly lick my lips.

Leaning down, I stop when her hot, stuttered breath falls across my cheek. “The only rough thing about my night involved dreams of you.”

She makes a sexy little noise deep in her throat as I head down the hallway. I grin to myself. The bullshit games are over. She’s all mine to violate fifty different ways until she comes and comes again.

From the kitchen, Jordan regards me with squinted eyes as I enter. “Hey, birthday boy. You feelin’ alright?” Just like Brooke, he doesn’t seem ready to read me the riot act despite being clearly hungover.

I flash a thumbs up and a cheesy-ass smile. “Good as gold.”

His gaze switches over to Brooke when she shuffles in beside me. “You should stick around when you bring him back…help us celebrate his birthday. I’ll fire up the grill and make those cheesy potatoes you like.”

Eyes passing over to mine for a sliver of a second, she offers him a stiff smile. “That sounds awesome, but I have plans. Another time?”

I sense she’s worried about leaving Sasha alone. I’m more worried that I won’t get enough time with my sexy-as-fuck social worker before having to return to school Monday morning.

“That’s a shame,” I tell her, jamming my hands into my jeans pockets. “I’m planning to bring a friend by to meet Jordan. Sasha’s a real sweet girl—I’m sure you’d like her.”

From the heated glare she casts in my direction, I realize she’s trying to tell me she still doesn’t want Jordan involved with Sasha.

I give her a half-hearted shrug. “Guess you can meet her some other time.”

Brooke adjusts the strap of her purse as she turns back to Jordan. “On second thought, I can change my plans. I’d like to meet this friend. Count me in.” She opens the front door. “Let’s go, Liam. I’ll be in the car.”

Jordan clamps his hand on my shoulder before I can slip out after her. “Call me if you change your mind about needing help moving your things.”

I nod and slip outside. Brooke marches toward the street so quickly that I have to sprint to catch up. “I didn’t want you to have to miss out on a chance to hang with your old pal on my account,” I explain. “Sasha’s my responsibility.”

“She’s mine now too,” she says while unlocking the driver’s side of her crappy little foreign car. Piercing hazel eyes meet mine over the roof. “And I don’t appreciate you blindsiding me like that. Jordan took you in as a favor to me. I don’t want to betray him by placing him in danger of making King Marty’s shit list. Sasha’s better off at my place, catching up on episodes of Riverdale.”

“I’m sorry.” I hold a hand up as a peace offering. “Won’t happen again.”

She huffs, rolling her eyes and palming her damn hair. “Whatever. You may as well bring her now since you mentioned her to Jordan.”

While she slips into the car, I join her on the passenger’s side. Her body language remains rigid as she maneuvers onto the road. Between her tempting scent and the fact that we’re stuck next to each other like sardines, I become unreasonably agitated and begin fucking with the radio. It’s either that or I start fucking with that ponytail, then her body.

“Go back! I love that song!” she sings.

A deep grin pulls at my lips. I’d only skipped over the opening riff of “Lydia” because I figured she’d be more of a Bieber kind of girl. “You like Highly Suspect?”

“Jordan recently got me into them. I love any kind of rock.”

Well fuck me. The only way she could be any more perfect is if she were to confess she’s in a band. Picturing her in torn jeans, a cropped tank top, dark hair thrashing wildly around her while gripping a mic or stroking a guitar? Doesn’t get any fucking hotter than that.

“You should come hang out next time me and the guys have a gig,” I say. “We have a sound that isn’t too far off from theirs.” Then, remembering our drummer is in jail, I want to punch my fist through the dashboard. “I mean, once this bullshit with Trask is over.”

“It’ll be over soon,” she promises, reaching over the center counsel to squeeze my knee. “Pete told me that yesterday’s court hearing was postponed because Trask wanted to withdraw his not guilty plea, but Pete talked him back out of it. He found an expert that will testify to the fact that Trask’s fingerprints could’ve easily been planted, and Trask has a pretty solid alibi. They wouldn’t need to place blame on anyone, just prove the only evidence the prosecutor possess could be tainted. Pete says they’re missing a motive, so they’d be forced to throw the case out.”

Fuck yes. Although there’s no doubt in my mind Trask wanted to change his mind because King Marty’s presence at the hearing was meant as a silent threat, I didn’t dare dream it’d be over this quickly. Rather than pounding on the ceiling and howling like an idiot, I grab Brooke’s hand still resting on my knee and lock our fingers together. “Thank you…for everything.”

“Just doing my job.” She glances away from the road, beaming back at me with her plump lip caught between her teeth. Her innocence calls to me like a beacon begging to be destroyed. Yet I’m certain there’s so much more to the sexy brunette that she’s not telling me. There’s no other way to explain the vibe of kinship she projects whenever we’re alone.

Sexual energy buzzes through the car with the trajectory of a speeding bullet. I can’t wait any longer to get a taste of those sweet little lips.

I reach out to drag my finger along the smooth line of her jaw. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

Her eyebrows squish together as if she hasn’t heard the compliment before. How the hell could that be possible? How is she even single?

Then her gaze returns to the road, and she slips her hand out from mine to grip the steering wheel. Neither of us utters another word until several miles later when we’re parked outside my apartment complex, each of us staring up at the dilapidated building. Though I figured I’d eventually need to return to get my shit, I wasn’t ready for the rush of hatred that comes with the sight of what I called “home.”

“I can grab your things if you don’t want to go inside,” Brooke offers, removing the keys from the ignition.

“Nothing in there I haven’t seen before.”

I open the door and step out onto the sidewalk, ready to hurl when I’m met with the stench of the neighborhood. While I didn’t expect it to have changed any in a few days, I’m surprised by a sudden wave of nostalgia. How fucking twisted am I to miss a life that almost killed me?

Brooke’s right behind me, giving me this side-eyed expression like she’s expecting me to burst out in fucking tears. Grunting to myself, I collect her hand in mine and lead her into the building, putting myself between her and a bum that occupies the lobby.

Dread inflates my chest with every step we climb to the third floor. It’s not the fear of seeing the blood from where I almost killed my old man that’s getting to me as much as the fact that Brooke’s getting a glimpse into my shitty life. Then again, why should I give a fuck what this social worker thinks? She’s well aware I come from a broken home. She still allowed me to claim her hand outside like I’m her damn boyfriend.

Still, I’m holding my breath as I unlock the door to the past and guide her into my bedroom for a preview of my own personal hell.

Met with a clean carpet and the strong odor of disinfectant, I stop short. There’s merely a faded pink spot where my old man lay bleeding out.

“Your landlord let me in last night,” Brooke confesses, pushing past where my feet are planted in the doorway. “I cleaned up as much of the stain as I could. Even though you’re not planning to live here again, I didn’t think that was something you should be forced to deal with.”

A lump the size of Texas lodges in my throat. Outside of the guys in the band, no one’s ever done anything considerate for me. I doubt her job requires her to clean up attempted murder scenes after hours. Though I fucking hate that she was here when the neighborhood creeps are on the prowl, the gesture throws me for a dizzying loop. It was an incredibly brave thing to do. And stupid.

The things this woman does to me…I want to devour every last part of her, and make her body sing. I want to taste her lips so bad that I can’t deal with the amount of physical distance between us. Most of all, I want to lock her away where nothing can hurt her, or destroy everything that makes her better than the rest of us.

I move the rest of the way into the room, allowing the door to close with a click. “Don’t ever fuckin’ come to this neighborhood by yourself again,” I warn, too much of a pussy to properly thank her instead. “You don’t understand the kind of shit you could come across.”

She ignores me as she paces around the perimeter of my room, taking everything in with a curious gaze. Knots solidify in my gut as I try to imagine what she must see aside from the cracked plaster walls and water-stained ceiling. My room’s as minimally decorated as her apartment. The only sign that someone lives here comes in the form of messy bed sheets and piles of clothes scattered around the floor.

Her fingertips dust over the headstock of my bass. “How long have you been playing?”

“Almost five years. Music was the only thing that kept me going until I met Trask and the others. Once I convinced them to start the band, they began to depend on it just as much.”

“Did you take lessons?”

“Taught myself after we moved up here from Texas. I bussed tables at a diner for six months so I could buy it from a pawn shop.”

“That’s a lot of work for something that’s broken.”

I hold back a growl with the memory of my old man telling me music was for pussies before he threatened to break it to pieces. He got one good kick into the body, cracking it right down the center before I tackled him. I was more than happy when he took his anger out on me instead. “That was courtesy of my old man.”

I’m thankful when her eyes dart to my crumpled briefs on the floor. Doubt I could handle it if she gave me a sympathetic look right now.

“Do you have some kind of duffel bag? We can run by the laundromat before we hit the mall for some dress clothes. You can show the judge that you’re tying to live to higher standards…applying for a legitimate job, maybe filling out some college applications—”

I collapse against the wall and laugh in a deep, harsh sound. “College?” Guess she doesn’t understand me so well after all. Kids like me are lucky enough to survive another fuckin’ day without getting shot full of holes or having our skulls beat in. “You really think I can afford to go to fucking college? I can barely afford one meal a day! Look at this shit-hole!”

She comes at me, tipping her chin down a little. “I talked with several of your teachers, Liam. They all told me you’re incredibly smart, even though some mentioned you’re also a pain in the ass. I can help you search for scholarships that would get you the hell out of here—permanently. Just because you’re from the South Side doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a fair shot at a higher education.”

I shake my head, tired of the push-and-pull between us. There are times when I want to shake her just as much as I want to kiss the fuck outta her perfect little mouth. “What makes you think they’d take someone like me?”

“They took me.”

A muscle jumps in my jaw. “What the fuck does that matter?”

“It matters because I was once just like you.” She ducks her head, gazing down at her boots. “I grew up near Taylor and Main with an abusive father and a coward of a mother who stood by and let it happen. After I was sent to foster care, things got worse. I knew I had to get out of the South Side or it would be the death of me.” Her voice cracks when she meets my confounded stare. She reaches up, setting the palm of her hand over my racing heart. “I can’t stand the thought of that happening to you either.”

Violent flashes of light burst before my eyes.

Jesus H. Christ.

She’s a South Sider.

As her truth sinks in, sickness curdles through my gut. I despise the fact that we’re far more alike than I knew. I’d rather believe she grew up like something out of a fairytale, having a mom who braided flowers into her fuckin’ hair and a dad who bought her fancy dresses and goddamned ponies. At one point I’d even figured her parents had given her the expensive bracelet she’s always wearing.

Jaw seizing with a painful clench, I throw my fist into the wall. The painful burn of plaster cracking against my knuckles isn’t enough, so I do it again. And again. I hate that her father beat her the way mine had. I fucking hate the woman who brought her into this world for not standing up for her little girl. I want to gut whoever messed with her in foster care.

“Rook.” The whispered nickname sends a powerful wave of heat rushing through me.

The need to take her, to comfort her and mourn the fact that we had the same crappy start in life, sizzles through my veins.

I turn back to be devoured by those big, beautiful eyes. Carefully pulling her glasses from her face, I set them on my dresser. Then I collect the tears in the corners of her eyes with my thumb and she whimpers. Eyelids closing, she leans into me, silently pleading for more.

Fuck waiting. It’s time to make her mine.