Page 95 of Rut Bar

When a drop of syrup lands on my chin, Anthony gathers it up with his thumb and sucks it into his mouth. “Every. Single. Bite. You’ll feel better once you’re fed properly.”

I hate to admit it, but he’s right. By the time I’m finished with the plate, I’m refreshed. The magic of carbs for hangovers and post heat is inexplicable.

The sweet, creamy coconut flavor sticks to my tongue for hours after. I end up craving them all day.

* * *

“Are you sure this is okay?”Brendan asks as Jamie stacks wood together in a pit he dug out of the sand with his hands. “We won’t get in trouble with the fire department?”

“We’re above the high tide line, so this part of the beach is still my property.” Jamie piles the split logs together, then stuffs twists of newspaper into the cracks. When he’s done, he wipes the sand from his hands and pats down his pants. “Oh, I forgot the lighter in the house.”

“Here.” Anthony fishes his lighter from his low-slung jeans and hands it over.

Jamie takes it, saying thanks, then leans forward on his knees and flicks the silver wheel until it catches on the third try. He touches the flame to a newspaper twist and we all watch patiently as one of the smaller logs catches.

After a few minutes, the fire grows. I tuck my windblown hair behind my ear and inch my toes closer to the bonfire’s heat. Despite being summer, the beach is cold at night. I borrowed one of Jamie’s warm oversized hoodies, but the cold sand is chilly against my ass.

Anthony sits down beside me and pulls out a new pack of cigarettes, smacking the bottom against his palm before unwrapping it and shoving the trash into his pocket. He pulls a cigarette free and lights it, or tries to. The wind makes it a struggle.

I cup my palms together and he leans over, using them as a shield until he finally gets his cigarette to light. He sucks in a drag and holds it, then lets out his breath with a puff of smoke, angling his head away from me so the wind doesn’t blow it in my face.

“Thanks, baby,” he says, his voice deep and rough from the smoke.

My stomach squirms, and I hate how much I love pleasing him. I’m unsettled by how much I enjoy it. What are they doing to me? This isn’t me. I’m not submissive. I’m not the omega who happily follows orders or does cute things like helping her boyfriend light his cigarette when it’s windy.

Wait… Boyfriend?

I swallow past the lump in my throat and hide my unease at the intrusive thought with brattiness. “I was tired of watching you struggle.”

“Hmm. Do you need more attention, baby?” Anthony asks. He flicks ash off the red end of his cigarette. “We were gonna have ourselves a nice, quiet night on the beach with wine and conversation. I thought you’d like to get to know Brendan more before we go back to Rut tomorrow, but if your needy pussy wants a pounding in the sand, then ass up, baby girl. We’ll be happy to oblige. I’ll spank that bratty bottom while I’m at it.”

Anthony grabs the open bottle of wine from its well in the cool sand and puts the lip to his mouth, slinging it back. I watch his throat bob as he swallows, the firelight flickering dark shadows across his face. The dark scruff of hair on his jaw and the way his hair hangs over his eyes lend him a dangerous air.

He’d do it too. I don’t know if he has an exhibitionist kink or if it’s a healthy disregard for the law, but I believe him when he says he’d fuck me into the ground regardless of who might walk by and see. My clit throbs, throwing in its two cents that it doesn’t quite hate that idea. I ignore it because I hit my sex quota for the month with three days of being spit roasted by these three men.

“I’d rather not get arrested for public indecency, thanks,” I tell him as I pry the wine bottle from his grip and bring the lip to my mouth. I take a smaller drink than he did, then pass it on to Jamie.

“You wouldn’t,” Jamie says between sips. “We’ve done it and we got caught once and nothing happened. Anthony’s family is connected.”

I frown and glance between them. “What doesthatmean?”

Anthony’s silent as he smokes, his focus on his cigarette. He flicks it, knocking a bit of ash free to flutter down over the crackling fire.

“Oh, uh… I’m not sure, actually.” Jamie scratches his head. “That’s what the officer said when he let us go and apologized for the misunderstanding.”

“You don’t know?” Brendan asks. All of our attention swivels to him, and his shoulders square from the extra scrutiny.

“You do?” I ask, one brow raised. We met Brendan a little more than a week ago. How does he know more about my bartender, who I’ve known for years than me?

“I’m sure Anthony would rather be the one to explain it,” Brendan says.

Anthony sighs and takes a deep drag, then flicks the butt of his cigarette into the fire. “My extended family is well connected.”

“Connected how?” I ask, still not understanding.

“The unsavory way. The kind I don’t get too involved in. The family business wasn’t for me, not after my dad died when I was eight and his death left my mom to raise five kids alone on one salary. I didn’t want to end up in prison or dead by forty. The cops know my family name, but they don’t know I’m not in the family business and I’m not exactly going to volunteer that information when it gets me out of speeding tickets.”

“They’re mafia,” I say, putting two and two together. His Italian ancestry. His uncle Tony. The fact that he’s worked for me for years and he’s never talked about them once before.

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