Brook

The smell of pizza fills the room, much better than the smoke smell, and my stomach growls.

“It’s here, kid. Come get it,” Sage says as he walks in, followed by who I’m guessing is Kline. He’s tall, almost as tall as Sage, but skinny. Not an ounce of fat on him, and probably no muscle either. His goatee is thin and barely there, along with the pitiful mustache he has attempted to grow, and I realize he’s probably the same age as me, if not younger.

“Brook, this is Kline. Kline, this is Gin’s daughter.” He puts the emphasis on Gin, as if that would explain everything, but when I look over to Kline once again, I realize the reason for Sage’s stern voice. Kline quickly looks away from me as the blush on his cheeks spreads to his ears barely hidden under too shaggy brown hair.

“Here.” Sage drops down a couple twenties from his wallet. “Get out of here.” Sage glares the poor kid down as he chokes on his own tongue while thanking Sage for the tip and saying it was nice to meet me.

“That was rude,” I snap, grabbing a slice of pizza.

“Nah. What would’a been rude is to tell you to go put some damn clothes on ‘cause your tits are showing right through that thing you call a shirt in front of him,” he snaps and grabs his own slice before stomping out of the kitchen without even a glance at me. I follow. Because I can’t help it.

“I’m sure he has seen plenty of boobs in his time with the club,” I snark, and sit down on the chair angled so I’m able to look at him.

“Maybe so, but they don’t belong to Gin’s daughter,” he grumbles before taking another bite.

“They’re just boobs. Plenty of people have seen them.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“You are such an ass.” I roll my eyes, then get up from the chair to grab another slice as I finish off the piece in my hand. Glancing around the kitchen, my eyes zero in on the cabinet above the fridge—hopefully the one with booze. Mentally crossing my fingers, I go for it and almost clap my hands at my discovery. Vodka. My favorite. I’m not much of a drinker—I can’t even buy the stuff being twenty—but I do love a good buzz. Reaching up on my tiptoes, I grab the bottle down and search for a glass and ice. It would be awesome to have a slice of lemon, but I know I won’t find that around here, so I settle for straight vodka.

“The hell are you doing?” Sage comes in and takes the glass from my hand, sloshing the liquid over the brim.

“What the hell are you doing?” I snap, reaching for my stolen glass.

“You ain’t twenty-one yet,” he growls.

“You are such an asshole. Give it back! I deserve a drink!”

He shakes his head and starts drinking down the clear liquid, so I grab the bottle, uncap it, and start chugging while glaring at him. The liquor burns going down, and my chest heats, but I keep going—until he reaches out to grab me and the bottle is tossed to the floor with a thunk. If it weren’t for being plastic, there would be an even bigger mess in the kitchen besides spilled vodka. Not that it matters since Sage hauls me up in his arms as if I weigh nothing before he deposits me onto the couch with a grunt.

“You little fucking shit,” Sage growls over top of me. Leaning in on his arms, he puts his face in mine, so close, our breaths mingle together. “Why do you always have to back talk?” He grits his teeth, clearly pissed at me, but I can see the heat—the fire—in his eyes as he stares me down. I know I shouldn’t push him, but I want to, just to see how far he’ll go when it comes to punishing me.

“You know you like it,” I find myself saying, and immediately, he backs away. Only it isn’t to leave me. It’s to pull the belt from his loops on his jeans.

“You think I like it?” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before he shoves the coffee table out of the way and lifts me up, only to drop me on my knees to the floor, pushing my face into the couch. “You will count every fucking one,” he demands, right before the first crack of the leather comes down on my still covered ass.