Shane (Mallick Brothers 1)

So staying away from Shane was my best bet.

Getting into a car with him would be a very, very bad idea.

“Jesus Christ, Lea, it’s crazy out here. Get in the fucking truck and let me take you home.”

“Don’t,” I snapped when he stalked over to me and went to reach for my arm. “I said leave, Shane. I’m fine.”

“Don’t be a pain in the…”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” I snapped, pushing into his chest, annoyed at him not because he was going to call me a pain in the ass, but because I was feeling a bit used and a lot rejected, no matter how wrong it was for me to feel that way. And, well, I got pissy when I felt that way.

“Christ, woman, you need some anger management classes,” he said, lips twitching.

“I don’t need anger management. I need you to stop pissing me off!” I snapped, moving to shove at him again only to find my wrist snagged. He used it to quickly pull me toward his truck. He yanked the door open, grabbed my hips, and tossed me inside.

“Stay,” he said, slamming the door and rounding the hood to the driver’s side. “Put your seatbelt on or I’ll do it for you,” he said, cranking up the heat.

“I don’t know what your problem…” I started, snapping my belt and turning to face him, throwing some of my sopping hair over my shoulder.

“My problem is you’re being too stubborn to accept some help when you need it. So sit there, shut it, and let me help you.” With that, he snapped his own belt and put the car in drive.

Again, not in the direction of my apartment.

“I really don’t recommend kidnapping me right now,” I said, crossing my arms and staring at his profile.

“You can’t go back to that shithole in this weather,” he said, not bothering to look at me.

“That shithole is where I live. And a place you own, if you remember.”

“Yeah, and it could very likely blow over or catch fire tonight. So you’re not going there.”

“You don’t get to make that decision for me.”

“I already did.”

“Shane…”

“No, Lea.”

“Listen, I’m really not the kind of woman you can go all alpha-asshole on.”

The truck pulled to a stop outside an old warehouse and Shane cut the engine. “Baby, I’m not going to force you to do shit. I live here,” he said, gesturing toward the warehouse. “Come up. Get changed into something dry. Get some coffee. Or, go right ahead and go on foot. It’s about three times the distance now and shit just seems to keep getting crazier out here. But that’s your choice.”

He opened his door, jumped down, and slammed it.

And as I watched a garbage can fly across the street, throwing trash everywhere, yeah, I really didn’t think it would be smart to go on foot.

On a very exaggerated, long-suffering sigh, I reached for my door and yanked it open. Shane paused at the end of the outside staircase that was something more than a fire escape, but only because none of the parts folded up, waiting for me. Like he didn’t have even the tiniest doubt that I would do anything but follow.

“Slippery metal stairs, really?” I asked, raising my voice because the wind was at the point where it was making it hard to hear.

“We could go through the stairs from the first floor, but they’re half-rotten and I’m pretty sure there is an entire rat ecosystem going on down there.”

“Lovely,” I drawled as I stopped right in front of him. “What?” I asked when he just stood there.

“Go on.”

“Why do I have to go first?”

“Because I want to watch your ass,” he said with an eye roll. “To make sure you don’t fall. Now, go.”

A little thrown by both the remark and the good, old-fashioned manners, I hesitated until he reached out and gave me a tiny little push. With that, I climbed, both hands grabbing the railings on either side as I looked down to watch my feet on the slippery grates.

“Right here,” Shane said, reaching out and slinging an arm around my hips, stopping me. He stuck a key into a lock and pushed the door open, then scooted inside. “Hold up,” he said, letting his arm fall and moving away form me, leaving me to try to force my eyes to adjust to the complete darkness so I could get an idea of where I was standing. If the bottom floor had rotten stairs and a rat infestation, I didn’t exactly have high hopes for this floor.

I could hear Shane shuffling around for a second, cursing as he rammed into something. Then a small lantern flickered on, illuminating a good ten feet around Shane who was standing in a kitchen that was cut off from the rest of the space by an L-shaped counter with what looked to be slate countertops. “Literal hurricane lamps,” he said, sounding amused. “My mother’s housewarming gift,” he explained, picking up the glass container with an enclosed flame and sloshing red oil in the bottom. “She was convinced every house should have one or two. I was really hoping it was the one God damn time in my life that she was wrong about something.” He paused in front of me, the shadow the light was casting on his face making the hollows of his cheeks look deeper, his eyes brighter. It was a way too appealing combination. “Want to get changed into something dry?”