My brothers never learn. Every single time this shit happens, I get on them for it, and every single time, the dickheads ignore me. Grabbing the offensive item, I stomp into the living room and stand in front the television where Marak and Allistar have their full attention on the football game.
Marak jumps to the side of the couch, craning his head to see around me. “What the fuck? Move, Maverick!”
“How many goddamn times do I have to tell you guys to put a new roll of paper towels on the holder when you take the last one?” With a flick of the wrist, the empty cardboard tube flies across the room and knocks Marak in the forehead with a satisfying pop.
Allistar snickers and points to Marak who tried to duck away too late. Marak pins me with a fixed stare. “Did you seriously just do that?”
My only reply is a single nod. He stands, probably ready to fight me, but my phone pings with a text message before he can. Marak pauses as I pull my phone out to check it, knowing it might be work and far more important than his shitty attempt at payback.
Shock runs through me when I find Taylor’s name as the sender. My heart squeezes, then picks up speed. Part of me hopes she only wants to chat, but I’m smart enough to know whatever she has to say probably isn’t good.
Taylor: Someone is sneaking around outside my house. What should I do?
My feet move before I finish reading the text from her. “Son of a bitch.”
At my exclamation, Allistar and Marak jump to their feet and follow me, calling out questions as we go.
“Taylor texted me,” I tell them, and they immediately shut up, waiting for me to elaborate. “Someone’s sneaking around her place, and she doesn’t know what to do.”
“Taylor Lewis? The girl from the raid?” Marak is a smart guy, sometimes he’s too smart for his own good. Yet, he can say the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard in my life.
Allistar sighs heavily as we all pull on our boots. “No, Taylor Swift. Who the hell else would it be?”
“You know Taylor Swift?” Marak’s comment earns him a smack upside the head by Allistar as he walks out the door.
Keys already in hand, I swipe my wallet from the table by the front door and rush to my truck. The three of us haul ass down the road toward Taylor’s apartment. We had to call a few friends to swing twenty-four-hour watch on her place, but it was worth it. There also may have been a time or two since we said goodbye I’ve driven by her place to make sure nothing suspicious was going on.
The only lead we managed to get on the guy after Taylor is an alias he uses. He’s gone by Paul Pearson for the past year, but we can’t find any record of him. We know it’s a fake name, but we can’t find any other information on the guy. When we released the sketch that Taylor did of the prick, the calls started to flood the bureau. People from Alaska, to North Carolina, and down to Texas claimed to know him or his whereabouts. None of the leads panned out, and we found ourselves back at square one.
Thinking of the text message from Taylor, I wonder if this Paul Pearson guy found her. Realization dawns that I never answered her message. While reaching into my pocket and grabbing my phone, I bark at Allistar who sits shotgun with me. “Text Taylor back. Tell her we’re on our way. Make sure she’s in a safe spot, and the doors and windows are all locked and tell her not to go near the windows. Ask if she’s able to call. Check if she called the police yet. Tell her—”
“Mav, calm down. I’ll see if she can call. If not, we’re only three minutes away now. We’ll be there before anyone can dispatch additional officers,” Allistar says as he texts, his eyes focused on the phone even as he helps me rationalize the situation. It isn’t often I have to be reined in by Allistar, but something about Taylor brings out my protective instincts and turns me into a fucking mess.
The final moments of the ride are silent. Allistar taps his thumb nervously on the side of my phone, frowning at the screen. As he waits for Taylor to answer, the worry in his eyes is enough for me to know that she hasn’t yet. Marak finally shuts the hell up with his rambling bullshit and remains silent in the back seat, staring straight ahead at the road. My knuckles turn white as I grip the wheel, swinging the truck half-assed into the driveway outside of Taylor’s apartment.
The three of us jump out on silent feet, drawing our weapons. The cop sitting on her house jumps from his car with his pistol drawn. He halts in his tracks when I hold up a hand to him. His eyes lock with mine and recognition dawns. He retreats to his patrol car, his attention going to the apartment windows and his stance on the defense. If anyone he doesn’t know comes out of Taylor’s apartment before we can get to them, he’ll take them down.
Marak and Allistar flank me as we silently make our way around the apartment. My hope was to sneak in the back entry. But the door has been knocked off track, and the screen is wide open—all indications that whatever went down, happened back here.
Upon entering, we scan the immediate area for any threat. To the right is a small kitchen with light wood cabinets, dark tile flooring, and dark laminate countertops. Aside from the lone coffee cup in the sink, the dishwasher swishing around as it runs through a cycle, and the quiet hum of the fridge, it appears that the kitchen is clear.
On the left, a round wooden dining table with four matching chairs sits covered in papers and textbooks. A can of Diet Coke rests abandoned in the middle of the table. Moving farther into the apartment, we enter the living room. It’s small, but a decent size for one person. The full-sized couch takes up the largest wall. With a large canvas painting of a moon over a body of water, the signature in the bottom corner catches my eye for a split second. It shouldn’t surprise me that Taylor painted the picture. She has incredible talent, which I remember from her sketch of Pearson. It must have taken a lot of time, and I can’t help but wonder if she’d paint something for our place.
A small flat screen television is mounted on the opposite wall. Pictures of Taylor with Evelyn, Michelle, Dylan, and her grandfather hang on either side of the television along with an older woman I don’t recognize, but I assume it’s her grandmother. A large window with drawn curtains takes up most of the far wall.
Marak gestures to the couch, and I follow his line of sight to a pellet gun lying across the cushions. Is she fucking serious? What was her plan, give the intruder a few pellet pokes while he comes to kidnap or murder her? I need to teach Taylor how to shoot a real goddamn gun. She needs to know how to defend herself.
We freeze in place when some screeching sounds come from down the hall. It didn’t sound like a female, but we don’t hesitate to rush toward the noise as another howl echoes through the apartment. We dash past a bathroom, a quick glance showing it empty. The last door in the hall leads to a bedroom. Pistols drawn, the three of us swing around the doorframe. My feet stop moving instantly at the sight before me. Marak and Allistar nearly run into my back, but luckily, they catch themselves and stumble around me instead. My eyes don’t leave the two people in front of me, but I know Marak and Allistar are just as shocked as I am.
“What in the holy hell is going on?” The sound of my voice draws the attention of Taylor and a half-naked Syn.
I’ve known Syn for a long time. We met back in elementary school, and we’ve been like brothers ever since. He’s a flirt, he’s a goof-off, and he loves to have fun and make people laugh.
But Syn is also known for getting himself into awkward situations. When we were in our freshman year of high school, he managed to break into the local petting zoo and steal an ostrich. He claims he didn’t mean to do it. He said he only wanted to see what the animals did when no one was around. Apparently, this particular ostrich seemed overly lonely, and Syn felt the need to bring him home. His mother almost had a heart attack. She called us to get the thing out of her house and back to the petting zoo before anyone knew it was missing. Allistar was out with Marak and me that night, so he got roped into helping. Marak, Syn, and I met Allistar a few months prior, and it was his first true Syn experience. He’s been by our side ever since.
The scene currently in front of me is a typical Syn experience, but no less shocking to walk in on. Syn, with only a pair of boxers on, lies face down on Taylor’s bed. The boxers may as well be gone because they’ve been pulled down, his ass in plain view.
While Syn shows his backside to the whole fucking world, Taylor straddles his thighs, leaning over his ass with a pair of tweezers in one hand and a blood-soaked wash rag in the other. Her big, round hazel eyes are almost comical as she looks up at the three of us, then back to Syn’s ass.
Marak must be thinking the same thing I am because he snorts, coughs, then gives up disguising his laughter. He points at Taylor and Syn, shaking his head as his entire body vibrates.
Taylor narrows her eyes in Marak’s direction, but the dumb ass is too busy holding his stomach and howling with laughter to notice. Syn sends a cheeky grin my way, wiggling his eyebrows up and down. My eyes turn to the ceiling, praying for the strength needed to refrain from smacking Syn upside his head.
“Relax, guys,” Syn huffs, pushing himself up to allow his elbows to hold his upper body off the bed. Having clearly not expected the move, the tweezers slip from Taylor’s fingers as she drops her hands dangerously low on Syn’s back to prevent herself from falling. Syn ignores the smack Taylor lands on his side as he addresses us, “She shot me, so I told her it’s her responsibility to fix me.”
“You shot him?” Allistar chokes, and it sounds like he’s desperate to smother his amusement.
Taylor rolls off Syn, flops onto her back beside him, and covers her eyes with her arm. “Someone just kill me now.”
“You already tried to kill me today, let’s not start a trend,” Syn jokes.
Marak rolls his eyes heavily. “I doubt she tried to kill you, but let’s put the attempted murder aside and figure out why you haven’t covered your ass yet.”
“Or better still, why is your ass on display in the first place?” Allistar adds.
Syn pulls his boxers over his ass and pushes himself into a sitting position. “I wanted to check on Taylor. She decided to try and kill me.” He bypasses the indecent exposure question altogether.
Taylor uncovers her eyes, rolling her head toward us and letting out a dramatic sigh. Her chest pushes out on the inhale, and my eyes go straight to it. In her tight little tank top, it’s hard to look away.
Her shouting is the only reason I’m able to bring myself out of a visual of Taylor without the top. “Oh my god, you’re such a damn baby! I did not try to kill you, Syn.”
“Okay, then if you weren’t trying to kill me, what were you trying to do?” Syn counters, spinning to face Taylor.
Taylor bolts up, moving closer to Syn. Her brow furrows, and her eyes narrow. Her cheeks turn red, and if I was Syn, I’d be a bit worried about the angry little kitten. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was supposed to be okay with people sneaking around my back porch, breaking my damn flower pots, and scaring the holy hell out of me. All while I have some psychopathic freak on the loose who wants me as a sex toy and not the good kind.”
Marak and Syn sputter and choke. Allistar drops his head forward, mumbling curse words under his breath. The only thing I can think about now is Taylor and sex. She’d probably slap me if she ever knew the shit I like to do in the bedroom. After what she went through, I’d never consider touching her anyway, not how I want to. Even though she may not have been abused sexually, the potential was real, and she’s probably ready to swear off men for the next twenty or so years.
Allistar clears his throat, gaining the attention of everyone. He focuses on Syn and raises a brow. “Why’d you break her flower pot?”
Leave it to Allistar to pick up on the least important part of this entire fucking situation. Taylor must be as exasperated as I am because she simply growls while Syn answers Allistar, “It was an accident, but it’s not like the plants were alive, anyway. I think I did them a favor by putting them out of their misery.”
“I resent that!” Taylor shouts, pushing Syn’s shoulder. “How do you know that flower pot didn’t belong to my great-great-great-great-grandmother or some crap like that?”
Syn scratches the back of his head, grinning slightly. “Because it had a department store sticker on it and looked almost brand-new.”
“You’re inspecting my crap while you snoop around outside my apartment?” Taylor asks. “Gosh, your social skills are off the charts.”
“At least I don’t shoot my guests in the ass and leg with a pellet gun!” Syn counters, hopping to his feet and pointing to the piece of taped gauze on his thigh. “This is going to scar, you know.”
“I’m only sorry I didn’t aim higher,” Taylor growls. Her eyes dart to his crotch then back to his eyes.
Syn takes a quick step back, grabs his jeans from the floor, and pulls them on quickly. “You’re vicious, woman.”
“Okay, enough you two.” My tone brings their banter to a halt.
Taylor pouts at me, and Syn finishes dressing himself. I know what Syn is going to say before he even opens his mouth. “She started it.”
“Why the fuck were you sneaking around her place, Syn?” Marak asks. He probably knows I was considering punching Syn and wanted to save him from it. “You had to know that was a dumb idea.”
Syn has the decency to look a little guilty. “I didn’t want to bother her. I was only going to check on her and head home. Had she not put the flower pot in the worst spot, I’d have been able to. But, I got shot instead.” He turns back to Taylor, who now has the tweezers and cloth in her hands while she heads for the doorway. “By the way, your aim is horrible.”
“Kiss my ass,” she calls back over her shoulder.
“Bend over, baby,” he shouts to ensure she hears him.
That same line has earned Syn more than one slap across the face, but Taylor simply giggles as she continues to walk down the hall. A girl with a sense of humor. Not at all something I’m used to.
The guys and I have our fun, we date, we take the edge off with some girl or another on occasion. But with work being so prominent and most women we meet demanding our full attention, we never have time to juggle both.
A few weeks back, Syn mentioned being sick of fucking around lately, and I agreed with him. Marak and Allistar are far from virginal, but they’ve never been into random hookups. Maybe in our early twenties and while in the military it was fine, but with me and Allistar being twenty-nine and Syn and Marak being twenty-eight, we don’t have the patience for bullshit anymore.
While I watch Taylor’s ass sway back and forth down the hall, I can’t help but wonder if she’d be demanding and full of bullshit. Somehow, I doubt it.