Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“Slide King, I’m calling it.” Camdyn glared down at me, knife tattoo on his neck twitching with the way his pulse popped. “You’re out! Last out, my team is up to bat.”
“Yeah!” Carly, his daughter, called.
“What?” I shot into a seated position to glare at the seven-year-old munchkin. “You’re not even playing.”
“Am now. Me first.” She flashed a smile sharper than Camdyn’s attitude. Like father, like daughter.
“Carly’s first, when you numpties get a third out.” I shrugged, jumping to my feet. They were right. I was out.
But I didn’t have anyone to defend me.
My team consisted of my younger brother, Rory, who was no doubt doing another livestream to his millions of followers. At the same time, Baby Jake—twenty-five years old—stood at first base, drawing psycho blobs in the sand like one of his patients had taken over his body. No clue what inning we were in. No clue what baseball was.
Camdyn launched the ball straight at my thigh. Whack!
I stumbled. Legs buckled.
Red flashed.
And that was it. I charged him. Right in front of his daughter. So what? These nieces and nephews were wild anyway—half of them were Cam and Willow’s. We crashed into the dirt. Human freight trains. Little Brody tried to intercept. Big brothers? They fought for each other. Scum. As he charged, Rory body-checked him from the side—bouncing Brody back three feet.
“Okay, Romeo.” I grinned at my younger brother. “Didn’t know you had that smoke.”
Rory smirked, chin jutted toward Justice and Jordyn, my sisters-in-law. One held his phone, recording. Damn, social media op.
After a second, Jordyn handed Justice the phone and marched over. Her expression suggested she had something to say, even before she placed her hand on her hip.
“You entering the fight?” I smirked.
“Sorta,” Jordyn said. “Remember when we met at the cabin? Jamie threatened to break your legs for flirting with me?”
A round of laughter came from my brothers.
I addressed her seriously. “Forgive me, Jordyn. Had I known you’d be my sister-in-law …”
“Please listen. I’ll say this before Cutie Pie arrives. If you hurt her—”
“You’ll break my legs.”
“Just listen. I can’t break those muscular thighs—”
“JorJor, I’m standing right here.” Jamie scoffed.
“—so I’ll break your neck.” She stepped forward, neck craning to glare me in the eye. “Useful in your line of business, right?”
I sighed. Distracted by Jordyn’s protective skills, Camdyn’s fist smashed into my mouth. My head snapped back.
“You wanna go, Braveheart!” Camdyn bellowed, already switching to Scots, fists wild.
I snarled, dipped low, and headbutted him right in the bridge of his nose. Blood sprayed. He stumbled, blinking away the darkness.
Brody body slammed Camdyn into the dirt from behind, making the ground shake. “I was always Braveheart, you numpty nugget.” Then he rounded on me, growling, “Lach, you arse—”
Splash!
Ice water drenched us.
We froze.
Leith stood a few feet away, head cocked, hands in his pockets like he hadn’t just dumped an entire Gatorade cooler over our fight. “You good now?”
He hadn’t carried the cooler alone. Next to him stood Natasha. The perfect LA girl. Dodger cap. Jeans. White tee. Converse All Stars, a bright orange that represented the battle against leukemia. Her eyebrow lifted. “Is this normal?”
“Aye,” Leith said simply, before heading for the picnic tables.
“Welcome to Fight Club: Highland Edition!” Camdyn hollered, while his wife, Willow, held a tissue to his bloody nose. Sisterlocks swept over a shoulder. She dabbed at his face and muttered for him to cool it.
Justice approached, brushing grass chunks from Little Brody’s beard. “Oh, baby …”
I wiped blood from my lip. Natasha extended her hand. Was I some wuss in the rom-coms she loved? I popped to my feet, took her face in my hands, pressed my lips to hers—hard. Arms wrapping around her, I deepened the kiss. Never wanted to let go.
She gasped, dizzy from the kiss, or maybe the chaos of watching us. Probably both.
She caused the same reaction in me as well. Left me dazed because her hazel eyes shone so bright they pierced my soul.
Natasha licked her lips. “You’re full of adrenaline, aren’t you?”
“Yep.” I tugged her to me. Ready for round two.
“We’re not in hoodies,” she whispered, in between pressing her mouth to mine.
“Did you see the Scots stationed at every park entrance?” I gestured. “We’re more protected than our first date.” I’d rented out a rooftop spot in Los Angeles. No eyes. No cameras—at least not any that didn’t belong to Natasha. But now?
I wanted the cameras. The Pushy Paps. I wanted everyone to know about us.
“Yep. I saw the muscle posted at the fence.” Natasha glanced toward Signal Hill. “Still, this is not Resnov territory.”
“We can make it our territory.” Damn, what was I saying? I had nothing to do with any of our families’ illegal activities. “You ready to play?”
“Yep. Hope you don’t mind. I brought company.”
With her hand in mine, and her cheek against my bicep, we turned around.