back of the truck, talking animatedly with a beer in his hand. “You want one?” he asked as she approached.
“Brooke’s a lady,” Kellen said as he came around the other side. “She doesn’t want a beer.” He hauled a giant box of wine on top of the truck and poured her a glass of sweet red into a Dixie cup.
She would’ve rather had the beer, but she smiled her thanks and took the wine. And after the first few sips, it wasn’t that bad. God, they were so cute. It was funny seeing what these gruff men thought ladies wanted and needed. These big burly guys were killing her with how sweet they could be.
“Here, let me,” Tagan said from behind her, so close, she could feel his breath on her ear. She jumped, but relaxed as he pulled the robe from her shoulders, then offered his hand to help her into the back of the truck.
His hungry eyes ravished her slowly, and an approving smile ghosted his lips. “Damn, girl.”
It shouldn’t have sounded like a compliment, but the way he said it, her confidence surged. Kicking off her flip flops, she lowered into the make-shift hot tub with Brighton. Dear goodness, it felt so good on her stiff muscles. Her body hadn’t been acclimatized to hiking through the woods like she had last night, but this made up for it.
She almost spit out a gulp of boxed wine when she saw what Kellen was propping up on the side of Brighton’s mobile home. One of her paintings had been stapled to an old board of plywood.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was pitched high. “That’s my painting.”
“And it’s a really good painting,” Tagan said. “I mean, it’s amazing.”
The men around her agreed, mumbling and nodding their heads.
“The man in the painting is a dick face, though. Here.” Tagan handed her a set of warn darts.
She stared in horror at the sharp metal glistening in the setting sun and the fragile red and blue flights attached to the ends, shaking in the breeze. “What do you want me to do with these?”
Tagan jerked his head toward the oversize painting. It was one she’d done in black and white with a red slash mark across the middle of her attacker’s face. “There’s your board, Brooke. Dart the shit out of that douche-wagon so we can have a turn.”
Connor came sailing over the edge of the bed, splashing them all, and Haydan, Denison, and Bruiser followed. The tub was getting ridiculously crowded, but they didn’t seem to care. They splashed and laughed, all shirtless and layered with muscle. She heaved a sigh, disturbed that apparently the whole damned trailer park knew about Markus Sanger, the evil man who ruined her life. The moment should’ve felt serious and suffocating, but instead, the rough-housing and chaos around her took the sting off her painting on display.
“Like this,” Denison said, pulling a dart from her outstretched palm.
He chucked it at the board and hit Markus right in the emotionless eye. She had to admit, it did feel nice seeing it there, hanging out of his pupil.
“I’ve never thrown a dart before,” she admitted.
“Stand up,” Tagan said without hesitation.
Unsteadily, she did as she asked, the waves from the others lapping against her calves. Tagan pulled his shirt over his head, exposing the tattoo that had peeked out from under his sleeve earlier. It was an intricate tribal rendition of some sort of large animal. A bear, perhaps.
He was all cut biceps and rippling abs, and perfect strips of muscle arced over his hip bones. Curious scars covered his defined pecs, and Brooke had to make an effort to clack her mouth closed. Holy hell balls, Tagan was ripped.
Kellen was passing out beers to the boys, so thankfully they didn’t seem to notice her body was practically begging her to tackle the man. He pulled himself up on the oversized wheel and waded through the water until he stood just behind her, jeans still on and clinging just right to his lean legs.
“Like this,” he said, wrapping her fingers around
“Brooke’s a lady,” Kellen said as he came around the other side. “She doesn’t want a beer.” He hauled a giant box of wine on top of the truck and poured her a glass of sweet red into a Dixie cup.
She would’ve rather had the beer, but she smiled her thanks and took the wine. And after the first few sips, it wasn’t that bad. God, they were so cute. It was funny seeing what these gruff men thought ladies wanted and needed. These big burly guys were killing her with how sweet they could be.
“Here, let me,” Tagan said from behind her, so close, she could feel his breath on her ear. She jumped, but relaxed as he pulled the robe from her shoulders, then offered his hand to help her into the back of the truck.
His hungry eyes ravished her slowly, and an approving smile ghosted his lips. “Damn, girl.”
It shouldn’t have sounded like a compliment, but the way he said it, her confidence surged. Kicking off her flip flops, she lowered into the make-shift hot tub with Brighton. Dear goodness, it felt so good on her stiff muscles. Her body hadn’t been acclimatized to hiking through the woods like she had last night, but this made up for it.
She almost spit out a gulp of boxed wine when she saw what Kellen was propping up on the side of Brighton’s mobile home. One of her paintings had been stapled to an old board of plywood.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was pitched high. “That’s my painting.”
“And it’s a really good painting,” Tagan said. “I mean, it’s amazing.”
The men around her agreed, mumbling and nodding their heads.
“The man in the painting is a dick face, though. Here.” Tagan handed her a set of warn darts.
She stared in horror at the sharp metal glistening in the setting sun and the fragile red and blue flights attached to the ends, shaking in the breeze. “What do you want me to do with these?”
Tagan jerked his head toward the oversize painting. It was one she’d done in black and white with a red slash mark across the middle of her attacker’s face. “There’s your board, Brooke. Dart the shit out of that douche-wagon so we can have a turn.”
Connor came sailing over the edge of the bed, splashing them all, and Haydan, Denison, and Bruiser followed. The tub was getting ridiculously crowded, but they didn’t seem to care. They splashed and laughed, all shirtless and layered with muscle. She heaved a sigh, disturbed that apparently the whole damned trailer park knew about Markus Sanger, the evil man who ruined her life. The moment should’ve felt serious and suffocating, but instead, the rough-housing and chaos around her took the sting off her painting on display.
“Like this,” Denison said, pulling a dart from her outstretched palm.
He chucked it at the board and hit Markus right in the emotionless eye. She had to admit, it did feel nice seeing it there, hanging out of his pupil.
“I’ve never thrown a dart before,” she admitted.
“Stand up,” Tagan said without hesitation.
Unsteadily, she did as she asked, the waves from the others lapping against her calves. Tagan pulled his shirt over his head, exposing the tattoo that had peeked out from under his sleeve earlier. It was an intricate tribal rendition of some sort of large animal. A bear, perhaps.
He was all cut biceps and rippling abs, and perfect strips of muscle arced over his hip bones. Curious scars covered his defined pecs, and Brooke had to make an effort to clack her mouth closed. Holy hell balls, Tagan was ripped.
Kellen was passing out beers to the boys, so thankfully they didn’t seem to notice her body was practically begging her to tackle the man. He pulled himself up on the oversized wheel and waded through the water until he stood just behind her, jeans still on and clinging just right to his lean legs.
“Like this,” he said, wrapping her fingers around
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