Priceless (Forbidden Men 8)

“Hey, man.” I sent him a chin-bob greeting as I slid my phone back into my pocket. “You here to see Pick? I think he’s already gone home for the evening.” He’d been leaving early lately since his wife Eva was about to pop out their fourth kid.

“Actually, no.” He sat on a stool directly across from me. “I’m here for you.”

That got my attention. Frowning, I moved closer, studying his face to figure out what was up. Mason Lowe only came to me when he wanted the scoop on his little sister: if something important was happening with her, if she was acting particularly withdrawn or angry or scared, if she needed anything.

Admittedly, the guy was smart for coming to me because I always knew what she was up to. On occasion, it irritated me because she didn’t always want him knowing every detail of her life. I wasn’t here to spill her secrets—not anymore, anyway. So I usually only gave him just enough information to reassure him she was okay, or if she wasn’t okay, that she’d be okay because I’d take care of the problem. And that was usually enough for him.

But there was no reason for Lowe to approach me tonight, because there was nothing new going on in Sarah’s life.

Confused about why he wanted to talk to me, I leaned an elbow on the countertop. “What’s up?”

He glanced toward Julianna and when he saw she was still busy, he returned his attention to me. “So, who’s this guy?” he asked in a lower, confidential voice.

I tipped my head to the side, not following. “What guy?”

“The guy Sarah’s going on a date with.”

My jaw fell open. “Huh?”

“I know Reese told me to leave it alone and trust Sarah’s instincts, but this is my little sister we’re talking about. And if you think there’s anything even remotely off about him, I will shut this down right now.”

“Hold on a second.” I lifted a hand to stop him so I could have a second to think. Then I demanded, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Mason blinked, then squinted his eyes as if he were trying to read the inside of my head. Finally, he straightened, his eyebrows flying up. “You don’t know.”

I ground my teeth, growing impatient. “Know what?”

If this was about Sarah, of course I knew. I knew everything about her before anyone else ever learned it. She was my best fucking friend on earth, not anyone else’s.

Mason had to be misinformed.

But he sure the hell seemed to think he knew what he was talking about when he said, “Someone asked Sarah out on a date. And she said yes.”

SARAH

AGE 22

I had fallen asleep in the middle of studying the works of Edgar Allan Poe for an English assignment when I was jerked awake in the middle of the night by a tapping, as if someone was lightly rapping on my chamber...uh, window.

Yawning, I batted down the shirt that had somehow bunched a path halfway along my torso, then struggled upright so I could crawl to the other side of my bed and peer out the pane of glass.

Instead of quoting, “nevermore,” the raven-haired hottie standing just outside my bedroom pointed to the latch locking him out and mouthed the words, “Let me in.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. What a demandy-pants. You’d think a simple please would kill him.

As I got to work, letting him in, I noticed it was after two in the morning. He must’ve come here straight from the bar after he got off work.

My irritation over him rousing me from my sleep died flat. It wasn’t uncommon for Brandt to appear at my window, but he’d never showed up this late before. So as soon as I managed to jerk the window up, I was asking, “What’s wrong?”

Blue eyes swirled with an emotion I couldn’t read as he said, “Look out.”

I scooted out of the way while he grabbed the sides of the window and heaved himself inside. He landed as gracefully as a cat on my bed, then turned his back to me so he could shut the window. The muscles in his shoulders looked tense; I wanted to reach out and touch them, ease whatever was bothering him.

“Brandt?”

He sighed and hung his head, then busied himself by kicking off his shoes and ripping the black Forbidden Nightclub hoodie over his head until he was wearing nothing but a worn Superman shirt, blue jeans, and white socks. As he tossed the hoodie onto the seat of my wheelchair sitting vacant next to the bed, he finally gave me his attention.

Blinking as if startled, he said, “You’re still in your clothes.”