Page 51 of Drawn Blue Lines

Collapsing against the wall, I braced the heels of my hands against my temples, forcing myself to remember what Brody Harcourt had done. We didn’t have a connection. What happened in that room was two dominants engaging in sexual warfare.

But I wasn’t about to win the battle just to lose the war.

At the end of the day, Brody and I would never trust each other. Our paths had tangled in such destructive ways that anything other than a shared goal between us was implausible. But even I wasn’t stupid enough to deny the obvious physical attraction between us. The chemistry we shared wasn’t just palpable—it was combustible. One touch was like flicking a lit match into a puddle of gasoline.

Brody fought it because he didn’t understand it, but I’d lived a life built on hypocrisy. It made perfect sense to me, which was why I knew eventually the storm would consume us.

Everyone equated passion with love, but hatred was a much stronger and more volatile emotion. It drew out our most primal response—the human instinct to control and punish. Desire and hatred were separated by only a fraction of a degree, and that was why neither of us would be satisfied until we’d torn each other to pieces.

We desired because we hated, and we hated because we resented.

I resented him for what he stole from me, and he resented me for forcing him out of the dark hole he’d buried himself in. Come tomorrow morning, there would be no estate to separate this chaotic storm brewing between us. Nothing but a road leading me back to a place I once called home.

And a choice to give up the man who claimed it, or give in to the man who destroyed it.

Chapter Sixteen

Brody

No one died during dinner.

It sounded ridiculous, but when you sat at the table of a man whose wife you used to fuck and sister you resurrected from the dead, a closer inspection of the pozole he served seemed warranted. Not to mention his most trusted confidante had done the exact opposite of what I’d asked and showed up for dessert with my sister and niece in tow.

So here we sat, three hours later, all gathered in what looked to be a botanical garden disguised as a backyard, still alive for the time being, assuming Adriana kept her mouth shut about my port deal with the Sinners and…other things.

Speaking of which…

Swirling the scotch in my hand, I sat back in the ornate hammock and took a long drink. “Are you serious about being a part of this family?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“A valid one. You have to know that this hostility between you and Eden can’t continue. Val won’t stand for it.”

“I was perfectly civil during la comida, just like you requested.”

I shot her a cynical stare and snorted. Either she didn’t catch the blatant sarcasm, or she chose to ignore it.

“Come on,” she groaned. “I even asked her to pass the salt nicely.”

“You said, ‘please pass the salt, whore.’”

“What? I said, please.”

She met my eye roll with a smirk and pushed her foot hard into the grass, all the muscles in her leg contracting. I tried not to look. Well, I tried not to let her see me look. After all, she was the woman who was threatening to ruin me, and I was the man trying to figure out a way to even the playing field. But I was still a man, and I dared any guy with blood still flowing to his dick to turn away from those long legs and curvy thighs that spilled out of tiny white shorts barely containing her ass.

“You all right there, counselor?”

I cleared my throat, shifting my eyes to her face. “Yeah. Just wondering what you plan on doing.”

“This.” Leaving us suspended for a moment, she watched for a reaction. When I offered her nothing, she kicked out her foot, smiling as we free fell into a hard arc.

Neither of us spoke as we watched everyone scattering around the grounds, enjoying what was left of the sunlight. My gaze bounced from my sister and niece to a few of Val’s top lieutenants to the first family of Mexico’s underground. However, Adriana’s eyes never left her brother. If persuasion could be attained by sheer willpower, she would’ve had him in her pocket five minutes ago.

“If you make him choose, Adriana, it won’t be you.”

She shook her head, strands of her dark hair sticking to her red lipstick. “We share the same blood. I’m his sister.”

“And she’s his wife,” I reminded her. “Not to mention the mother of his child. Besides their baby, there’s no one more important in his life. For Christ’s sake, he took a bullet for her.”

---