Page 46 of 12 Months of Mayhem

“You planning on celebrating, or are you too busy tearing your guy a new one?” she asks, her tone light, but there’s a challenge hidden in her words.

“Depends,” I reply, my lips curving into a smirk. “You sticking around?”

She chuckles, the sound low and rich. “Someone’s got to keep you in line, don’t they?”

Tracker clears his throat, his discomfort palpable. “Uh, I’ll… just head out. Let you two… talk.” He takes two steps then looks at Brandy. “He needs someone to watch over him. Someone clocked him in the back of the head and good. Doc says to wake him every couple of hours, and if he seems worse, to take him to the ER.” Tracker nods once and stalks away.

Brandy raises a brow, amused. “Still scaring the hell out of your men, I see.”

“Only the ones who deserve it.”

Her laugh is louder this time, more genuine, and it settles something deep inside me. Suddenly, all the shit from tonight doesn’t seem so bad.

Brandy closes the gap between us, her warmth radiating as my arms slide around her waist like they’ve always belonged there. She tilts her head, a knowing look in her eyes, and her lips curve into that teasing smile that drives me crazy.

“Can I take you home?” she asks softly, her voice wrapping around me like a balm for the night’s chaos.

I close my eyes, exhaling a long breath before slightly shaking my head. “No. The police have closed it.”

When I open my eyes, her bemused smile hasn’t wavered. There’s a spark of curiosity behind it, but she doesn’t press. “It’s a long story, and I don’t feel like telling it right now.”

Her hand rises, soft fingers brushing along the stubble on my jaw before she cups the side of my face. The touch is so tender it makes my chest tighten.

“You look tired,” she murmurs, her thumb brushing my cheek.

“It’s been a day,” I admit, my voice quieter than I intended, the weight of it all finally catching up with me.

“Worse than last year?” she asks, tilting her head, her hair falls in waves catching the faint light.

I huff out a dry laugh, shaking my head. “Last year, I didn’t get to go home with the girl.”

She leans in, her forehead resting lightly against mine. “Well, then, Whiskey…” she whispers, her breath warm against my lips, “… tonight might just be your lucky night.”

Brandy takes my hand, her fingers threading through mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Without a word, she guides me down the street. The night air is cool, but her warmth lingers against my side as we walk.

When we reach a car, I blink at the sleek black Mercedes convertible waiting under the dim glow of a streetlamp. She pauses, looking at me with a smirk as she fishes the keys out of her pocket.

“This yours?” I ask, arching a brow.

“Of course,” she says with a laugh, unlocking the car with a soft chirp. “I figured you’d appreciate the ride.”

I chuckle, running a hand over the hood. “Not exactly what I expected from a girl like you.”

Brandy grins, opening the driver’s side door. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Whiskey. And what did you expect? A bus?” She leans on the edge of the door. “I’ve got a house on the outskirts of town. Quiet, plenty of space. Thought you might like to crash there for the night.”

“You don’t have to do that, Brandy.”

“I know,” she says softly, tilting her head. “But I want to.”

She climbs into the driver’s seat, and I slide into the passenger side. The leather interior is cool against my skin. The car purrs to life with a low, satisfying rumble. Brandy glances over at me, her grin still firmly in place.

As we pull onto the street, I glance at her, the weight of the night lifting more with every mile we put between us and the chaos. “Happy St. Patrick’s Day,” I murmur, my voice carrying a hint of amusement.

She spares me a quick look, her lips twitching into a smile.

Who would have thought?

Whiskey and Brandy—together…

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