Can't Hardly Breathe (The Original Heartbreakers #4)

“If you do what I say, when I say, we’ll get along just fine, guaranteed.”

She bristled. Perhaps she believed he was acting like a hardass. Too bad. He wasn’t acting. People could take him or leave him. He didn’t care about that, either.

“You should thank your lucky stars I’m a rational woman or you’d be curled in a fetal ball right now, sobbing for your momma. How about we split the difference and meet at ten thirty? Deal?” Once again she offered him a fine-boned hand.

Her nails were square-tipped and painted a soft pink. A surprise. As tough and sexy as she was, he expected blood red or jet-black. She had no scars, though a few callouses marred the tips of her fingers. On her wrist was a small but elaborate tattoo—a lock without a key, surrounded by ivy.

Unbidden, his gaze traveled over the rest of her, as if drawn by an irresistible force. Her hourglass figure sizzled with carnality, and he suspected everyone who’d ever looked at her had imagined her luscious curves stripped naked and spread over a bed. Or any flat surface.

He had certainly imagined it, on more than one occasion, and hated himself for it. He had no business desiring Ryanne Wade. The twenty-five year old single woman was the bane of his world: a bar owner who somehow drew him—his gaze, his presence. But he’d told her the truth. His friends loved her. She was close to Dorothea Mathis, who was engaged to one of his buds, Daniel Porter. She was also close to Lyndie Scott, who Brock Hudson, Jude’s only other bud, crushed on, hard. At the end of the day, Jude would do anything for the pair. Daniel and Brock had served overseas with him, had saved him so many times he’d added their names to the massive tattoo inked on his chest. They were his brothers-by-circumstance.

They, along with a rare few others, were the only people who mattered to him.

Jude forced his gaze to lift, meeting rich brown eyes so often filled with joy he could no longer understand. Those eyes were framed by curling lashes somehow sweet and sultry at once. Long dark hair surrounded a face as exquisite as the rest of her. She had smoky eyes, high cheekbones, a pert nose and pouty red lips.

Beauty, brains and bravery. The whole package.

“Well?” she demanded. “Judging by your silence, you’re blown away by my brilliance.”

“I’ll meet you at nine a.m., and not a minute later,” he croaked. Then he backed away, and motioned for her to get her ass inside. Any time she brought her “sassy tone” into a conversation, he had only one option: retreat. That tone did strange things to his insides. Twisted him up, sometimes even hollowed him out.

She stood in place for a long while, different emotions sweeping over her features. Anger, irritation, frustration, but also resolve. Decided his services were worth the hassle, after all?

When she trudged inside the bar, he followed close on her heels. As he moved, sharp, phantom pains shot through the calf he no longer possessed. He should go home, remove his prostheses and relax for the first time in...never mind. He didn’t know how to relax. He should work, the best distraction from his poisonous thoughts.

Ryanne maneuvered through the crowds, being sure to give her hips an extra sway. Whistles preceded her, and catcalls trailed her.

Jude cursed. Ignore her. Ignore everyone. He had a lot of work to do and a very short time to do it.

The Dushku motto: Don’t bend, break.

As soon as the family had moved into Blueberry Hill, only minutes from Jude’s home in Strawberry Valley, he’d done background checks on every member. His motto? Can’t be too careful.

Ryanne was in serious danger. Years ago, Dushku had moved into a small town in Texas and offered to buy every business in the area. Anyone who’d refused to sell had suffered a tragic fate; some were arrested for a crime they swore they’d never committed while others were injured in some kind of accident. Sure enough, Dushku had never been charged.

On edge, Jude counted the number of cameras and lights he would need, and tested the reliability of every lock. For anyone with a tire iron and a couple minutes of free time, breaking in would not be difficult.

How had the beautiful brunette survived as long as she had?

His gaze sought her once again. She’d settled into place behind the bar, her eyes on Daniel and Brock and flashing with merriment. Had anyone ever loved life with such abandon?

Jude’s rigid posture eased at the sight of his friends with his—with Ryanne. They would protect her when he couldn’t.

He forced is attention on the pair. Daniel had dark hair, light brown eyes, and a slight bump in the center of his nose from one too many breaks. He looked like the soldier he was: rough, tough and solid as a rock.

Brock looked rougher and tougher with multiple piercings and arms sleeved in tattoos. His jet-black hair was cut close to his scalp and a thick five o’clock shadow always darkened his jaw; that darkness was a complete contrast to the pale green eyes that often reflected suspicion, disdain and warped cheerfulness.

He’d grown up filthy rich, but as the old saying went, money hadn’t bought him happiness. Just like a lack of money hadn’t been the source of Jude’s problems. Wealth had nothing to do with emotion. They’d both had parents who couldn’t care less about their children.

Daniel hadn’t been rich or poor, and he’d had the kind of childhood most people could only dream about. He’d been born and bred in Strawberry Valley, Oklahoma, and he’d been adored by his parents. Cherished for the boy he’d been and the man he would become.

He was the reason Jude and Brock had moved to the speck-on-the-map small town. Anytime their group had gotten stuck in a shit storm in their tours overseas, waiting for escape or death—whichever came first—Daniel had spun fairytales.

Dude. Check it. Strawberry-scented air.

All the peace of a beach, but without sand in your ass-crack.

Magazine perfect. If there’s heaven on earth, it’s Strawberry Valley.

Unwilling to go back to Georgia, where he was stationed after joining the army, or Texas, where he grew up...where beloved and hated memories waited to torment him... Jude had moved to Oklahoma with his friend.

Daniel spotted him and waved him over. “There you are.”

Ryanne smiled with feline satisfaction, as if she’d discovered a particularly juicy secret.

A muscle clenched low in Jude’s gut. That smile...

Though he would rather avoid the bar owner until he’d calmed from whatever the hell she continued to do to him, he closed the distance. A wave of crackling heat drifted through his veins.

That. That was what she did to him. Set him on fire. Disgusted with himself, he gnashed his teeth.

Daniel patted him on the shoulder. “Ryanne said you’d taken off.”