Lock You Down (Rivers Brothers 2)

I could feel Krissy's eyes on me as I went, could sense them moving back over toward Reagan as well, trying to figure out what had gone on, why her boss was stiff as a board, why I was storming out.

I had a feeling she didn't know the whole truth either, that Reagan had her secrets buried deep.

Luckily for me, I was a stubborn fuck. If I set my mind to something, I would get the job done.

And the new job?

Get Reagan alone.

Then get her to open up.

After that, convince her to move on with her life.

Maybe with me.

Even if a large part of me was trying to say it was too soon for things like that, to even think them.

That said, there had never been a woman who had managed to pierce in and stick under my skin the way she had.

I figured that meant something.

Feelings, yeah, they weren't my wheelhouse. Outside of wanting to fuck her, I couldn't explain the almost compulsive need to get to know her, to get closer to her, to spend more time with her.

All I knew was it was there.

Unavoidable.

Annoying in its insistence.

A splinter that couldn't be ignored.

Normally, my instinct would be to grab a pair of tweezers, pluck that fucking thing right out.

But as I drove home, as I tried to formulate a plan to carry through, I was starting to understand that there wasn't a single part of me that wanted to extract it.

I wanted it there.

I wanted it to be a part of me.

Which meant I wanted her to be a part of my life.

And that, well, that was borderline fucking cheesy wasn't it?

My brothers would never let me live this down.

Even that wasn't enough of a deterrent.

Because the fact of the matter was, I wanted Reagan.

And I was going to get her to see that she could have that too.

Because King was right.

If I could find someone who was willing to put up with my moody ass, I had to lock that shit down.NINENixonMuch like her office building, I found myself surprised by Reagan's home.

Not the sprawling, perfectly manicured mansion that I was sure she could afford.

Nope.

She lived in the top floor of a warehouse that had been turned into apartments about a decade before, still made of its ugly metal exterior, still with real glass windows that likely made heating bills insane, with those black window dividers, with the lifted bottom to make room for a parking garage. Which, while likely convenient for the tenants and their guests, was dark and creepy and a great place to get mugged.

Mugged because it wasn't even in a decent area of town.

No, if anything, it was a sketchy area full of crumbling houses, shady-looking storefronts, and a bunch of guys just standing around looking up to no good.

My first thought was one of unexpected protectiveness.

I wasn't really that guy.

Yeah, I gave a shit about the women in my life. My sister. My extended family. But I never felt like it was my job to tell them where to live, where to frequent, how to conduct their lives.

But as I drove into the unguarded parking garage, I envisioned storming up to her place and demanding she move the fuck out and over to someplace safer.

Yeah, that shit would need to be analyzed. Later.

One thing at a time.

I parked next to her Tesla, wondering what other car in the lot might be hers, what vehicle she'd been using to thwart me all week.

Locking my car, I moved toward the back entrance, feeling rage bubble up when I found the lock broken, letting just anyone walk in off the street. Yeah, it worked in my favor, but I couldn't help but think of one of those Machine Gun Kelly lookalikes out front deciding to go see what kind of trouble they could get into in the apartment building. And finding themselves at Reagan's door.

The anger was still bubbling in me as I rode up the elevator, as I came to stand in front of her door, as I hit the bell.

It only amplified when she opened the fucking door without asking who it was.

"You need to call your fucking landlord," I declared as soon as the door was open.

Reagan stood there changed out of her more formal work clothes, wearing a simple light pink and white flower-patterned one-piece thing that chicks liked to wear. The ones that were short of the thigh, so much so that if they stooped down, their asses hung out the back.

I suddenly wanted to find a reason to make her bend over.

And I couldn't help but realize that with an outfit like that, if you slid it off her shoulders, it would slip right to the floor in one movement.

Fuck.

No.

I had to focus on one thing at a time.

"Ah... why?" she asked, eyes squinting.