the muscle of my chest. An electrical shock shot from my chest to my brain as the stitches from my bullet wound ripped. I sucked in a breath and grabbed his arm. He cried out, but I was far from finished. I twisted his hand back, listening for the fracture of muscle and bone. It sounded much like the snap, crackle, and pop of Rice Krispies without the milk. Tears ran down his alcohol-reddened cheeks, but only a small whimper squeaked from his lips. I eased him into the closest chair, my eyes never wavering from his friend. “What’s it going to be? You wanna take a shot like your boy here?” I released the guy’s arm. He fell forward smacking his head on the table. With a squeal, the blond guy turned and ran, tripping over his wing-tipped shoes. He grabbed his drunken friend’s good arm and pulled him along like a child.
Once they were out of sight, I slung my jacket over the back of the chair and sat down. I took a long drink of beer, its coldness satisfied part of my thirst, but a deeper hunger glared at me from across the table. Frankie’s eyes shot rage-filled darts in my direction.
“What?” I shrugged.
“Y ou didn’t need to step in.” She took a sip her drink. “I can handle myself.”
I knew that better than anyone did. “Why should you have all the fun?”
“ I hate when you do that.” Violently tugging at the choker around her neck, she added, “I don’t need or want your protection.”
“Whoa.” I held up a hand. “Don’t get pissed. I thought I was doing you a favor.”
“ Favors are the last thing I need from you,” she said. I frowned. What the fuck did she mean by that? Before I asked, she continued, “Sorry, I get tired of being treated like a kid sister. It’s bad enough with Mickey…”
“He loves you and doesn’t want anything to happen.”
“What’s your excuse?” She leaned in. The scent of her body and the Irish whiskey on her breath drifted around me, reminding me of warm, spring mornings in the city.
“I ’ve always wanted another sister,” I tried to lighten the mood. That wasn’t exactly true. I already had three, and for the most part, they drove me nuts, carrying on about PMS, men, and hair products.
Frankie flinched as if I’d slapped her. “That’s me. Everyone’s favorite sister.” She finished her drink in one quick gulp and stood, gathering up her discarded shoes and little black purse. “I’m going to bed.” I began to stand, but she placed a hand on my arm. “Finish your beer,” she said. It sounded like an order, but when I looked into her eyes, I got the sense it was more of a plea.
“Frankie,” I began. “I—”
“Forget it. ” She waved me off. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired.” She moved toward the exit. Tired of what, I wondered and hoped the answer wasn’t as complicated as I thought it might be.
Chapter 12
An hour later I unlocked the penthouse door. I still wasn’t sure what had set Frankie off. She’d been acting strange since I’d gotten out of prison; skittish, like I held the power to hurt her. I missed the old Frankie. The one who made sense. The bratty girl with a smart mouth. This newer, sexier version made me edgy.
E very lamp in the penthouse sparkled like a fucked up Christmas tree. The glare hurt my tired eyes. I flicked off the light closest to the door, and noticed that the smaller bedroom door was closed. A red lace bra hung on the doorknob. A much too large to be Frankie’s bra. Damn, Drew had company.
I glanced toward the second bedroom. The door was open. Frankie’s lay stretched across the bed, her skin glowing in the lamplight. She’d replaced her black dress with a tank top and boxer shorts, but still looked amazing. She flipped through a magazine, turning the pages with more force than necessary. Yep. Pissed. It was going to be a long night. I knocked on the doorframe. “Mind sharing?”
Her eyes went to Drew’s bedroom door. “Guess I don’t have much choice.” With a
Once they were out of sight, I slung my jacket over the back of the chair and sat down. I took a long drink of beer, its coldness satisfied part of my thirst, but a deeper hunger glared at me from across the table. Frankie’s eyes shot rage-filled darts in my direction.
“What?” I shrugged.
“Y ou didn’t need to step in.” She took a sip her drink. “I can handle myself.”
I knew that better than anyone did. “Why should you have all the fun?”
“ I hate when you do that.” Violently tugging at the choker around her neck, she added, “I don’t need or want your protection.”
“Whoa.” I held up a hand. “Don’t get pissed. I thought I was doing you a favor.”
“ Favors are the last thing I need from you,” she said. I frowned. What the fuck did she mean by that? Before I asked, she continued, “Sorry, I get tired of being treated like a kid sister. It’s bad enough with Mickey…”
“He loves you and doesn’t want anything to happen.”
“What’s your excuse?” She leaned in. The scent of her body and the Irish whiskey on her breath drifted around me, reminding me of warm, spring mornings in the city.
“I ’ve always wanted another sister,” I tried to lighten the mood. That wasn’t exactly true. I already had three, and for the most part, they drove me nuts, carrying on about PMS, men, and hair products.
Frankie flinched as if I’d slapped her. “That’s me. Everyone’s favorite sister.” She finished her drink in one quick gulp and stood, gathering up her discarded shoes and little black purse. “I’m going to bed.” I began to stand, but she placed a hand on my arm. “Finish your beer,” she said. It sounded like an order, but when I looked into her eyes, I got the sense it was more of a plea.
“Frankie,” I began. “I—”
“Forget it. ” She waved me off. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired.” She moved toward the exit. Tired of what, I wondered and hoped the answer wasn’t as complicated as I thought it might be.
Chapter 12
An hour later I unlocked the penthouse door. I still wasn’t sure what had set Frankie off. She’d been acting strange since I’d gotten out of prison; skittish, like I held the power to hurt her. I missed the old Frankie. The one who made sense. The bratty girl with a smart mouth. This newer, sexier version made me edgy.
E very lamp in the penthouse sparkled like a fucked up Christmas tree. The glare hurt my tired eyes. I flicked off the light closest to the door, and noticed that the smaller bedroom door was closed. A red lace bra hung on the doorknob. A much too large to be Frankie’s bra. Damn, Drew had company.
I glanced toward the second bedroom. The door was open. Frankie’s lay stretched across the bed, her skin glowing in the lamplight. She’d replaced her black dress with a tank top and boxer shorts, but still looked amazing. She flipped through a magazine, turning the pages with more force than necessary. Yep. Pissed. It was going to be a long night. I knocked on the doorframe. “Mind sharing?”
Her eyes went to Drew’s bedroom door. “Guess I don’t have much choice.” With a
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