Page 54 of Off Limits
The deep, gravelly voice stopped her cold. A scraggly man stood at the rear of her Jeep, boxing her in between vehicles.
“Excuse me?” she asked, even though she’d heard him clearly.
She didn’t recognize him. His skin looked like sun-worn leather, a tangled mop of white hair clinging to his scalp. Deep shadowed eyes bore into hers.
He leaned on her Jeep, either trying to intimidate or just steady himself. His stained khakis were torn wide at the knee, exposing a dirty shin.
“I asked if you were the bitch my son is putting it to?” He slurred his words.
The stench hit her, alcohol, urine and unwashed skin. She gagged, fighting the rise of bile in her throat.
She’d never met Brady’s father. Could this be him? Her heart twisted in her chest for the man she loved. Was this the man who raised him? Her voice didn’t waver despite the chill that raced up her spine. “Who is your son?”
He chuckled. “Are you with my son?” He took a wobbly step forward. “You’re the woman I’ve seen him give goo-goo eyes to.”
She stiffened. If this was Brady’s father, when had he seen them together? They had been discreet until today. Had he been following Brady?
“I mean, I know he’s dipped his dick in plenty,” the man sneered, “but he doesn’t look at them the way he looks at you.”
She took a step back. The stench rolling off of him was unbearable, but it wasn’t just the way he smelled. It was the way he spoke. The way he stood. Like a threat.
She scanned her surroundings. She could hurdle the front end of the SUV next to her if she had to.
“I don’t know you.” She held her ground and raised a hand in his direction. “Back up before I call the police.”
“You are all the same.” He laughed. “A night in the drunk tank isn’t a bad place to be. Puts a roof over my head and a meal in my belly. You know Brady called the police on me last time I showed up here.”
When had Brady had a run-in with his father? He hadn’t mentioned seeing him. “So, youareBrady’s father?”
“And brains to boot,” his voice dripped with sarcasm. “You couldn’t tell from the resemblance?” He waved a shaky hand in front of his face and barked a laugh. “He and I are cut from the same cloth.”
That is something Brady used to say—but in a very different context. Looking at this man now, it was clear—they were nothing alike.
“Would you like me to get Brady for you?”
“Nah. He won’t do shit for me.” He stepped closer. “But maybe you will.”
Her pulse jumped. “What do you want?”
She reached one hand into her purse, feeling for her phone. But she didn’t look away. He was unstable and reeked of booze, desperation and something mean simmering just below his surface.
“I need money. What do you think?” He held out his hands. “I need enough to grab a hotel room for a few nights. Somewhere nice, preferably.” He snickered.
“I don’t have any money on me, but I can go inside the brewery and see if I can get you some cash.”
Her fingers moved quickly over her phone screen, calling Brady.
“Hey Princess. You here yet?”
“I am.”
“I asked you not to call that bastard,” the man barked.
“Jane? Where are you?” Brady’s voice sharpened.
“I’m in the parking lot. Your father is here.”
A heartbeat later, she heard the brewery door burst open. Brady came into view, charging toward them in slacks and a button-down, fury radiating from each step.
