Any Day Now Read online

  ***

  Sadly, the moment that I got put inside the jail cell, I was no longer anywhere near as happy to be there anymore. I just felt tired.

  But that was mostly due to the fact that the man that’d done the arresting was no longer around.

  He’d been paged out on a call the moment that we got into the building, leaving me to get processed by the sweet, but definitely no push-over Dornet. He then had me escorted by an officer I vaguely recognized, but couldn’t quite pinpoint why, to the shared jail cell where I would be spending my next however long.

  The shared jail cell that was occupied by Twat Tiffany—apparently her real name seeing as she was a hooker. Rowdy Rhonda—the police gave her this name because apparently, she liked to get drunk and disorderly on days that end in Y.

  Oh, and the entirety of the bachelorette party that had come in and kicked the bachelor party’s ass. The gaggle of ladies that had gotten me here in the first place.

  I’d been sitting there for a good hour when I got my phone call.

  “You’re up.”

  I blinked and stood, my eyelids feeling like they were lined in sandpaper, and walked toward the open cell door that tattooed older-man hottie was holding open.

  “Why do I know you?” I asked curiously.

  The man’s eyes rose, but he studied me more carefully.

  “I’m not normally working this area, but the man that usually does had to go home because his wife’s in labor,” he said. “Have I arrested you before?”

  I snorted.

  “Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don’t make it a habit of getting caught,” I told him.

  His lips twitched. “Meaning, you do bad things, but you never do them in ways that will find you visiting the insides of a place like this?”

  I shrugged.

  He grinned and led me to the phone, and I grimaced.

  It’d been touched by so many people.

  There were likely germs all over it.

  I licked my lips and shrugged. “I… changed my mind. I don’t want to make a phone call.”

  Tattooed hottie frowned. “Why not?”

  I gestured toward the phone. “I’ll just go sit back in the cell and wait until my hearing tomorrow. I don’t really want to talk to my brother anyway.”

  My eyes went to the man’s chest and I saw that the little named etched onto his badge read ‘Perez.’

  I narrowed my eyes.

  Damn, that really did sound familiar.

  “Who’s your brother?” He paused. “And what’s wrong with the phone?”

  I shivered before saying, “Every single person that’s touched it tonight probably hasn’t washed their hands in hours. Not to mention y’all probably never even wipe it down. And, since there’s a freakin’ toilet in the jail cell and no fucking sink to wash our hands with, there’s probably even more than that. So no, I’ll just sit there all night, wait for the judge to see me in the morning, and leave it at that.” I took a deep breath. “And my brother’s name is Sam Mackenzie. Not to mention my brother-in-law is named James Allen, though he’s out of town so you might not want to bother him.”

  Something in the man’s eyes changed at the mention of that name.

  Without another word, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, flicked a few buttons with his massive tattooed thumbs, and then placed the phone to his ear.

  I watched, quite fascinated really, as the muscles on his throat worked, as well as the tattoos there.

  “Sam.” The man’s voice sounded in my ear. “It’s Michael. Got a girl here refusing to make a phone call because it’s dirty. But she says she’s your sister.”

  I could hear my brother’s growly voice, and I winced because likely I’d woken his butt up.

  It was well into one in the morning now, and likely he’d been asleep for hours.

  Michael’s attention snapped to me and his eyes narrowed. “Five-foot-three. Long, curly black hair. Attitude from hell. Refusal to touch shit because of germs.”

  A grin kicked up on Michael’s face. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

  Michael hung up his phone and shoved it back into his pocket.

  “So, on a scale of one to he’s really pissed, what was he at?” I asked.

  “Sam Mackenzie’s baby sister, the sweetest little girl I ever did see, getting arrested? Yeah, he wasn’t happy.” He paused. “I have to take you back to the cell. I’m sorry.”

  I shrugged. “You boys keep saying that tonight. Yet, none of you were there when the man refused to let me leave, and then his bodyguard tried to hurt me.”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  I told him what happened at the bar, and he looked pissed on my behalf.

  “You know who Rogan is, don’t you?” Michael asked as he opened the cell back up.

  “No freakin’ idea,” I mumbled. “But, sadly, there are about twenty witnesses saying that I was the instigator.”

  “That’s because Rogan Germain is an A-list actor here to film a movie. I think it’s called the Runweavers? I don’t know. But the police department has been doing some hella crowd control for them since they’ve been here,” Michael said as he opened the cell door.

  I went inside and turned to see him narrowing his eyes on the women. “You need anything, call out.”

  I wouldn’t.

  I could take care of myself.

  My brothers and father made sure of that.

  ***

  I was resting my eyes, trying valiantly not to lean my head against the dirty, dingy wall at my back, when I heard the steps.

  Sighing in relief that he’d finally arrived, I stood up and walked to the bars.

  Sam appeared seconds later with Saint.

  Michael was showing him something on his phone.

  My eyes went to the phone where Sam’s eyes were glued, and the more he watched, the tenser his jaw became.

  They both stopped at the front of the cell, and Rowdy Rhonda and Twat Tiffany cat-called.

  I grinned when Sam finally looked up. “It’s nice to know that you still got it, bro.”

  Sam’s eyes were hard as he said, “I don’t need a couple of drunk girls to let me know that I still got it, honey.”

  The arrogance of my brother.

  I grinned and crossed my arms, feeling a sudden chill.

  “I’m ready to go,” I said to him.

  Michael opened the door and gestured me out.

  “I’ll go with him, too!” Twat Tiffany called out.

  “Your twat done been used too many times for that man to ever take a second look at it,” one of the girls from the bridal party called out.

  And, since Twat Tiffany had been privy to the reason the ladies were in there in the first place, she didn’t rise to the bait that the woman had thrown at her.

  At least she had some sense.

  Sam reached forward and ran his hand down my arm, causing me to wince. “Oww.”

  Sam’s eyes went to my arm that was now sporting a rather impressive bruise.

  His jaw tightened.

  “She shouldn’t have been arrested,” Sam muttered to Saint.

  Michael shrugged. “Sadly, she was the one that started it. And the recipient of that punch does have the right to press charges. Did he deserve it? Yes. But he didn’t do anything wrong enough, at least outwardly, to deserve that. At least appearance-wise.”

  Sam grumbled something underneath his breath, then his eyes came to me. “You’re done working there.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll work there until I find something else.”

  “You have enough money in your account to quit. And Lynn will give you a nice severance package,” he offered.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll work there until I find something else.”

  This was a fun game that I always played with my brothers and father.

  I mean, I found a job, they made it worth my while to quit. Then I found one equally as offensive.

  It worked out so well that I was able to get my dream car, a 1970 Chevy Chevelle SS, from Sam. It was also how I got my back tattoo paid for by my other brother, Sebastian.

  One of these days, they’d offer me something really good, and I wouldn’t be able to turn them down.

  Sam and I walked out of the police station about ten minutes later, and I made sure to wash my hands before we left.

  I felt gross.

  Not only had I spent most of the night working, and sweating, I’d then had to sit in that hell hole for a couple of hours.

  Just as we were walking to Sam’s bike, a loud commotion from the side had both Sam and I turning to survey the crowd of people that were gathered there.

  And in the middle of it was Adam.

  His back was rippling, and he looked pissed as hell as he used his strong, muscular body to block a hole in the blockades that had been erected in the parking lot sometime after I’d arrived.

  “What’s all that about?” I asked, stopping myself from fanning my face at the way Adam looked holding people back with the strength in his body alone.

  “You punched a movie star in the face, Amelia,” Sam said. “Did you honestly think that people wouldn’t notice that? Or record it?”

  I hadn’t really thought about it at all.

  I didn’t know that the man was a fucking movie star.

  Not that knowing would’ve stopped me from decking the piece of shit.

  “I felt uncomfortable,” I told Sam. “Like seriously, the men were blocking me in. Three huge guys. What did you want me to do? Spread my legs…”

  “I wanted you to do exactly what you did,” he growled, stopping me before I could get too offensive. “Fucking asshole. It’ll die down.”

  It might.

  Or it might not.

  There was no telling.

  But I could definitely tell I was no longer the favorite person in Kilgore, Texas anymore.

  Oh well.

  “Take me to my car, please,” I said softly.

  Sam did as asked, and just before I got off of his bike, he stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

  “I’m proud of you, Amelia,” Sam said.

  I’d heard the words before, of course. But not often.

  More often I heard other things.

  Things like: you’re a pain in my ass, Amelia. Amelia, you need to learn more patience. Amelia, you shouldn’t work at a strip club. I told you so, Amelia. Amelia, you need to learn to fight your own battles. Amelia, why won’t you let us protect you? Amelia, why do you give me heart palpitations?

  I grinned at my brother, then, for good measure, I threw myself into his arms and wrapped my arms around him tight.

  “Love you,” he rumbled.

  “Love you, too,” I replied just before climbing into my car.

  He watched me go, his eyes on me the entire way out of the parking lot.

  Once getting to the main road, though, I didn’t turn left and head home.

  I turned right and headed somewhere completely different.

  Somewhere I probably shouldn’t be, but couldn’t stop myself from going.

  Chapter 6

  Pickle juice. Pickle popsicles. Pickle lip balm. Pickles are a girl’s best friend.

  -Text from Adam to Amelia

  Adam

  The night had been long.

  The early morning even longer.

  And by the time that I finally got off of my shift—four hours late—the last thing I wanted to do was deal with anybody.

  But, as I pulled up at my house and saw an unfamiliar car there, I realized that I would have to.

  Getting out, I made my way to the front porch, uncertain what to expect—or who, for that matter.

  But the moment that I was close enough, I realized that the woman sitting on my porch swing was welcome.

  Quite welcome.

  “I used my other car,” she said.

  “Your car?” I found myself saying. “You didn’t steal it?”

  She snorted. “I’ve already had my foray with the police today,” she said. “I don’t need a reason for another one.”

  I grunted and took a seat on the porch swing next to her. “Is this your car, or is the one that you drove to the shoot yours?”

  I could hear the laughter in her voice when she said, “They’re both mine. I just don’t leave my other baby in strip club parking lots for hours on end. The Chevelle is a weekend driver, or a weekday driver when I’m not working at a strip joint. That baby draws attention—men’s attention—I don’t want that, nor need that, when I’m walking out to my car alone.”

  I felt a sudden surge of anger and protectiveness at the thought of her leaving her place of business by herself—at any time of the day or night.

  “Don’t do that anymore,” I murmured softly. “The idea of you walking to your car by yourself isn’t sitting well with me.”

  She looked up at me as if to say, ‘aren’t you just too sweet.’

  “I’m serious,” I said. “Don’t do that anymore. Especially after the shit that went down today.”

  She sighed. “Did you know the man I punched was some big ass movie star?”

  I grinned. “Actually, yeah. I recognized him the moment that he came in the door. He’s played in a lot of superhero movies lately, and, let me just say, I’m kind of disappointed that he’s a dick.”

  Her face turned up toward mine. “You think he’s a dick?”

  I shrugged. “Baby, I was with you for hours the other day and managed not to get your fist in my face. And I wasn’t very nice.”

  She laughed, then stood up, and straddled me.

  A couple of seconds floated by as I thought about the warm, willing woman in my arms, then I decided ‘fuck it.’ I kissed her.

  By the time she pulled away, panting and breathless, I was already standing up and making my way to my front door.

  “I love that you think he’s a dick,” she said. “I love even more that you think he’s a dick because I wouldn’t punch someone unless they were.”

  I got the door open, walked into the living room, and closed the door behind me before replying.

  “You wouldn’t do something unless the asshole deserved it,” I said. “I was pretty dirty with you the other day. You could’ve been a lot stingier than you were. I’m sure you can take a lot of shit, but you know where to draw the line.”

  She leaned forward and drew my bottom lip between her lips.

  I moaned and squeezed her ass, pulling her to me tighter.

  She hissed and let out a breath, pulling back and looking down as she said, “That’s not your dick.”

  She poked my gun with her finger, and I pulled it out of its holster and set it nicely on the couch arm before propping her up beside it.

  “We doing this?” I asked, my belly tight with anticipation.

  God, I hoped she said yes.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this since I walked in the room for our photoshoot,” she whispered, her eyes hot and filled with need. “I can’t stop thinking about you. When I’m at work. At school. At home in bed. It doesn’t matter where I’m at, I just can’t let this go. I have to see where it leads.”

  I moved forward until my face was close to hers, then said, “It took everything I had not to rip my sweatpants down that day, pull out my cock, and rip those tiny fucking shorts at the crotch and drive inside of you.”

  She licked her lips, which in turn brought her tongue out to lick mine.

  I growled and moved backward.

  “Follow me to my room.”

  But before she did, she was up, out of my arms, and running toward the front door.

  I watched her with a sense of unease.

  Was she leaving?

  But she’d left the door open, and before I could take a step toward the door to follow her, she came back with something in her arms.

  “You have a jar of pickles on your porch,” she said softly, holding up the glass jar.

  I grinned and took it from her.

  “My mom bought some at Sam’s today. She dropped them off for me.” I looked down at her. “You tried to eat some, didn’t you?”

  She shrugged. “I couldn’t get the jar open.”

  I grinned and twisted the lid off, then pulled out a dill pickle for her.

  She took it, crunched down her teeth on it, and moaned.

  “God, I love pickles.”

  I loved watching her eat pickles.

  My God.

  To find a woman eating a goddamn pickle sexy was downright absurd.

  Yet… I was doing it.

  Watching her with a sense of longing, I reached into the jar for another pickle and handed it to her.

  She took it, bit into it, then moaned.

  That moan went straight to my cock.

  Her eyes gleamed with laughter at my reaction.

  “I really, really like pickles,” she amended her earlier statement.

  I took the jar of pickles to the bedroom with me, placing them on the nightstand.

  She followed, carrying my gun.

  My brows rose when she handed it to me, butt first.

  “You shouldn’t leave that lying around,” she murmured softly. “I mean, what if a bad guy gets in here while we’re doing it?”

  “We’re ‘doing’ it?” I grinned wickedly.

  She shrugged. “What else would you call it?”

  “Fucking?” I suggested. “It sounds less child-like.”

  She licked her lips again, then tore the t-shirt off over her head.

  I looked at her breasts that were encased in a black lace bra and felt every single ounce of my control leave the building.

  Almost on instinct, I reached forward and tugged one of those lacy cups down, exposing the most beautiful breast I’d ever seen.

  “My God,” I groaned before leaning in and licking the peak.

  She hissed, her hands clenching on my ears as she tugged me roughly closer.

  “Oh, shit,” she breathed. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  I grinned, loving the sound of her losing control, and sucked that tiny little peak into my mouth.

  Her groan of elation egged me on, swirling and licking and biting that peak until she was practically in a puddle at my feet.