1
Axel
A scream rips through my dream, wrenching my body straight up in bed. There must be a murderer here. Another scream pierces the air and the hair on the back of my neck stands straight up. Throwing the covers off my boxer-brief covered form, I lunge out of my warm safe haven, and yank the door open with a snarl. When I find whoever the person screaming is, and they’re not being murdered, I just might do the honors.
My whole body aches from working all day. I’ve been looking forward to my bed since the moment I woke up from it the day before. I follow the screaming outside to our backyard. At least I won’t have to clean the tile. I can just hose off the murder scene and get back to my mattress faster.
You always want to think of the positive in these situations.
The mayhem seems to be coming from next door. It looks like the place has been bought, by screamers.
Fucking great.
“Hey.” My voice booms with frustration. I don’t bother to hide it. I’m tired, sore, and cranky. As soon as I shut this asshole up I can get back to bed. If I get it done fast enough it might still be warm.
I’m not normally an asshole, but my brothers and I have not only been working nights at our regular job, we’ve also been working our asses off getting ready to take over our club. All I want to do is crawl back in bed and sleep the day away, but first, I have to shut the banshee up.
“Some people are trying to sleep,” I say, peering over the fence. And as soon as I do, I know I’ve made a huge mistake. This is what happens when you’re exhausted, you aren’t able to assess the situation you’re in before acting out. And not only am I exhausted, I’m an asshole. A huge one.
A tiny little girl in a pink bathing suit runs around in the early morning, having the time of her life in the sprinkler. Well, she was having the time of her life, until her dickhead neighbor yelled at her. Shit.
Her brown eyes glaze over with tears and her bottom lip trembles. I rake a hand through my hair. The teary-eyed little girl runs over to an older woman I hadn’t even noticed was standing there. The woman scoops the child up and kisses the top of her head before shooting me a death glare,
“I’m sorry,” I apologize.
The little girl has her blonde head buried in her savior’s neck. Her savior looks to be in her early fifties, and is beautiful except for the anger in her eyes as she glares at me.
“Sorry for what?” another woman, the younger replica of the lady holding the little girl, walks out through the sliding glass door with a sippy cup in her hand. She glances at the crying child and then back to me. “What did you do?” she snarls as she picks up the little girl and cradles her.
“He yelled.” A pudgy little finger points directly at me, the accusation loud and clear. I bump my forehead on the fence post, wishing I’d just pulled the blankets over my head instead of coming out here.
When I pick up my head, the woman’s long tan legs are eating up the distance between us as she marches over to me. My tiny victim is wrapped around her, staring at me. Her finger still out and pointed in my direction. I try to get myself together before she reaches me, but I’m having a difficult time. I want to blame it on exhaustion, but she is the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. And that’s saying something because every night at work I’m bombarded by sexy women who try desperately to impress me. But this one beats them all.