Using the tips of her fingers, she turned Brendon’s head a bit so she could look at his neck. She grimaced, sucking the air in between her teeth. “Lord, boy. You really need to learn how to pull back when it’s your own kin.”

Mitch’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “And who are you exactly?”

“Be nice,” Brendon growled, his hands clenching into fists.

“Don’t start that shit again.” She stepped back. “Look, I’m right downstairs. Why don’t I—”

“No. You stay here.” Brendon grabbed his brother’s worn leather biker jacket and yanked him toward the door. “Don’t leave. I’ll be back.”

“Where the hell are we going?” Mitch demanded.

“I’m getting you a room and you’re staying the night. And don’t even think about giving me any shit about this.”

Pulling open the door, he shoved Mitch through it and toward the elevator. He glanced back at the She-wolf. “I’ll be back in a little while. Make yourself at home, but promise me you won’t leave.”

She opened her mouth to argue, he could see it on her face, so he added, “Promise me or I’ll start kicking his ass again, right here.”

His brother turned away from the elevator and snarled, “You wish—”

“Shut up.” Brendon snapped at his brother while staring at her. “Promise me.”

Exasperated, she rolled her eyes. “All right. All right. For the sake of family harmony, I’ll stay. But not like for twelve hours or something. My Pack might notice if I’m gone that long.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back.” He started to close the door, but he stepped back and looked at her. “One other thing.”

“Yeah?”

“What is your name?”

She looked torn between being amused, embarrassed, and appalled.

“Rhonda Lee Reed. Everybody calls me Ronnie Lee or Ronnie.”

“Anybody ever call you Ron?”

“Not and live to tell about it.”

Brendon grinned. Yup. He liked her.

“All right, Ronnie Lee. Make yourself at home and I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Yeah. Yeah. But you better have TV,” she mumbled as he closed his front door.

He walked over to his brother and the elevator doors slid open. Grabbing the younger man by the back of the neck, he threw him inside. “And that’s for trying to rip my throat out, you little shit.”

How she could initially miss the fifty-inch, flat-screen plasma TV attached to Shaw’s wall, she had no idea. Then again, his tongue down her throat and his hands on her tits might have had something to do with it.

Settling down onto the man’s butter-soft leather couch and picking up hisgargantuan remote to start flipping channels, Ronnie shook her head. He hadn’t even known her name. She almost fucked a man who didn’t even know her name. Lord, she hadn’t done something that trashy in a very long time.

So then why wasn’t she running for the exit instead of sitting on a lion’s couch, reprogramming his inadequately programmed remote?

Because…because she liked him. Stupid idiot that she was, she liked a cat. She liked a male who would never want more from her than a quick, anonymous fuck so he could tell his friends he did a She-wolf.

Even as she thought it, though, she realized that didn’t seem Shaw’s way. He could have anyone he wanted. Human or shifter. Any breed. But he wanted her. He made that clear in front of Bobby Ray’s room. She just couldn’t figure out if this was a mistake or not.

Then again, as long as she kept it simple, maybe it wouldn’t be. Maybe they could have a fun, meaningless fling. Lord knew it wouldn’t be her first.

Of course, if it was all so damn easy, why had her stomach tied itself into knots?

She should go. She should write a little note telling the cat thanks but no thanks. She should. Really.

Ronnie kept thinking that, too, even as she stretched her legs out on his couch and smiled when she realized she’d had the good fortune to catch some CSI reruns.

Brendon scrubbed his face and leaned back, staring at his brother. After three hours and two enormous sandwiches from the kitchen—he knew the kid hadn’t had a decent meal recently—he still didn’t know a damn thing.

“At least tell me why you showed up in my apartment after all this time.”

Mitch paused for a moment, truly contemplating his answer. Brendon knew that expression. Knew Mitch would only tell him enough truth to get Brendon off his back. He’d done it enough times before. Eventually, Mitch shrugged and took another bite. “Marissa left a message on my voice mail,” he grumbled around a mouthful of food.

“She did?”

“Yeah. And she was way pissed. She blames me for this, doesn’t she?”

“Don’t worry about her. So you came here to check on me?”

Mitch rolled his eyes. “If that helps you sleep better, bruh.”

“It’s nice to know you care.”

The middle finger salute given, Mitch went back to his steak sandwich. “So who did it?”

“Doogan brothers.” For a split second Brendon saw surprise register on his baby brother’s face before he quickly masked it. The kid had a talent for that.

“They killed Petrov before Christmas,” Brendon continued. “Shot him in the back of the head.”

“They used guns?” Mitch made a sound of disgust. “Tacky.”