“No.”

“If you’re saying no because you’re pouting, you might as well give it up because your hunger will win out. It always wins out.”

Dammit. She was right. Brendon felt starved for food, like he hadn’t eaten in months rather than a day or so.

“Fine. I’ll eat. But I still think you’re being cold about all this.”

Marissa made an impatient noise from the kitchen. “Why? Because I’m not crying and panicking over Mitch?”

Brendon followed her in. “Yes.”

“It’s called tough love. You should look into it.”

“No. It’s called cutting yourself off from your baby brother.”

“The kid’s a fuckup. He’s always been a fuckup. It’s not going to change.”

“He’s still our brother.”

“Tragically.”

Brendon shook his head. “Give it up, sis. I think you care but you don’t want me to know about it.”

“I care for few things in this world. You are lucky to be one of those few, but I can only stretch myself so far.”

Sitting down at her kitchen table, Brendon glanced out the big picture window that had an astounding view of the Manhattan skyline. Rissa’s apartment took up the entire top floor, but she owned the building. It still amazed Brendon when he thought about where they came from, their lives in Philly. The two of them getting into situations they probably should have done some jail time for. At least some community service. They didn’t talk about those days anymore. Some days it seemed Rissa liked to pretend those times never happened. That she and Brendon were somehow different from Mitch. They were different. They were lucky.

“I’m not giving up on him.”

“Whoop-de-fucking-do for you.” She slammed a plate full of her homemade lasagna in front of him. “Here. I made this last night. Should keep you until I finish making the ribs I have in the frig.”

“Thanks.” Picking up his fork, Brendon started inhaling—he wouldn’t say he actually ate in the dictionary sense of the word—the delicious food. So focused on his food, it took him a moment to realize he’d felt his sister’s lips kiss the top of his head.

Looking up from his meal, “What was that for?”

“For not getting your ass killed. Try and keep that theme going for me, will ya?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Brendon bent over his food again and didn’t let his sister see him smile. She cared. She cared more than she ever wanted to. About him and Mitch.

Chapter Four

H er plan had been a simple one. Spend the evening with her fellow She-wolves. Enjoy a beer or two and relax. But that fifth shot of tequila…that fifth shot of tequila did her in.

She should have known better. Wolvescouldn’t handle their liquor. You could call it their kryptonite. If Ronnie had been lucky, she would have spent the whole night throwing up in some fancy club’s bathroom. Luck, however, didn’t seem to be on her side these days. Because if she had any luck she’d be unable to speak.

“I mean, that mane of hair. I could spend hours letting him rub that mane all over my body.”

The three remaining She-wolves and Sissy nodded their heads. They’d lost the other five earlier in the evening when they wandered off to another club or back to the hotel.

“The man is gorgeous, there’s no doubt about that.” Sissy Mae poured Ronnie another shot of tequila. “What I don’t understand is why you didn’t make that move, darlin’. You had that big house all to yourself and a naked man desperate to get into your pants.”

“A desperate man sick as a dog. I’m sorry but I don’t think I could have handled that coyote ugly morning when he realized he’d fucked a wolf.”

“What makes you think he’d give a shit? A male is a male, sweetie.” Marty, a mated She-wolf about twenty years their senior, sipped her Russian vodka. “Trust me when I say wolf, lion, cheetah, jackal, or any of the other breeds don’t give a shit when a pussy is wet and willing.”

The females looked at Marty and she casually shrugged her shoulders. “What?”

Supposedly, Marty came with Bobby Ray only to help out, but Ronnie had the feeling Marty would stay. Her mate would go wherever she went, and she’d never gotten along too well with the Smith She-wolves her own age. Not surprising once Marty’s past came out. She’d lived on the wild side for years, mowing through most of the Smith Pack males before settling down with her one true love and having a few pups. She never discussed her past in detail, but a few tidbits she’d dropped here and there over the last few months they’d all been hanging together convinced Ronnie and Sissy that the woman hadn’t merely lived on the wild side, but instead owned prime real estate there.

Still, it gave Ronnie hope she could put her own wild times behind her and settle down with a mate who didn’t irritate her too much and some pups.

“Marty’s right, darlin’,” Sissy insisted. “You’re real pretty. Got good strong thighs. And you’ve got oral skills most men would kill for.”

Now everyone turned and looked at Sissy Mae.

“That’s lovely, Sissy,” Marty sighed out.

“I was only complimenting her.”

“Compliments like that create hookers.”

Ronnie waved her hands, accidentally slapping herself in the face. “It doesn’t matter. I’m no longer looking for the occasional sleeping arrangement. I’m looking for…for…”