A Twist of Wyrd (The Ways of Wyrd Book 1) Read online

  “Do you prefer that people call you Mac?”

  He shook his head. “Not necessarily. What would you like to call me?”

  Talk about a loaded question.

  “Trygg. I like Trygg.” I grabbed my drink and took a long swallow.

  “I like Bryn.” He winked.

  I choked on my drink. “Gack.”

  What the eff was gack?

  If we were standing in a dojo, dressed in gis, about to beat each other to a bloody pulp, I’d be one hundred percent calm, cool, and collected. Apparently, sitting on a barstool in a cocktail dress, trying to make flirty small talk with this man turned me into a blathering idiot with all the grace of a headless chicken. And now my boobs were dripping with Long Island iced tea because I completely forgot that I couldn’t speak and swallow liquid at the same time.

  Someone please just kill me.

  A roar from the crowd jolted me back to my senses. Time to extricate myself from this embarrassing and completely un-me-like situation. “I’m going back to my seat. Thanks for the drink.”

  “Wait.”

  He stood, blocking my way, and I couldn’t keep my gaze from skimming his body again. My perusal lurched to a stop at the gun in the shoulder holster under his suit jacket. Finally, my body snapped to attention. As beautiful as this man was, he was an Outlander and he was dangerous. He also worked for an equally dangerous mobster. All this glitz and glamour shouldn’t distract me from the spilled blood underneath it.

  Disgusted and angry at myself for letting his looks distract me, I attacked. “So, did you use your shady connections to find and gun down those two guys from yesterday?”

  The warmth drained from his gaze. His left hand balled into a fist and his right ducked under his jacket. By the time he touched the Glock, I was already flipping off my heels.

  CHAPTER 9

  TRYGG

  I really didn’t need this shit.

  Bad enough that I’d literally burned my nose out tracking those two motherfuckers who had tried to kill Mordechai—and there was no longer any doubt in my mind that their aim had been murder, not robbery—now I stood at the bar with a stiletto jammed against my carotid and a hard-on in my pants.

  Why did I continue offering myself up for this woman’s abuse?

  I glanced down at her chest. My mouth watered. Right. I was dying to lick every inch of her. Also my rock-hard cock said I was a liar if I denied being turned the fuck on by her aggression. I didn’t have a submissive bone in my body, but the thought of letting this woman take control of me for one hot, sweaty night made me harder than I’ve ever been in my life.

  It didn’t help that the monster in my head was locked onto her like a laser sight.

  I tried to look bored, like she couldn’t feel the lie. “Safety is on. I was just gonna release the mag and show you it’s full.”

  No, that’s not my gun in my pants. And yes, baby, I’m very glad to see you.

  I pushed the release button and she caught the magazine with her left hand, still holding the stiletto against my neck with her right.

  “Uh. Do I need to call security?” Jack asked from behind the bar.

  Bryn didn’t even spare him a glance, so I answered. “I am security.”

  “Riiiiight, but—”

  “We’re fine, Jack. Go wipe down some glasses.”

  “Whatever, dude. If you wanna get your fine ass kicked by a woman, far be it from me to stop you.”

  If I didn’t have an impromptu shank riding my neck, I would have been offended by the diss. Instead, I gave him the side-eye until he held up his hands and backed away. Bryn finally looked at the magazine in her hand. I used ETS mags so she could clearly see through the hard plastic that it was full.

  “I don’t carry extra bullets, but I have two equally full mags in my inside jacket pocket. You’re welcome to look.”

  She slapped the hand holding the mag against my chest, felt around for the extras I mentioned, and then ground them into my pec. Apparently, being proven wrong made her testy.

  “So, I’m supposed to believe that you haven’t reloaded your mags in the past twenty-four hours?”

  “I haven’t even changed my clothes in the past twenty-four hours.” She scoped out my ensemble. “If you want a closer look, I can strip.”

  That wasn’t completely true. I had swapped out my bloody suit for a clean one. They were identical, though, because fuck fashion.

  The stiletto heel dug into my neck a little harder then she backed away. “Not necessary.”

  The way she clutched her sexy shank said one wrong move and she’d turn me into a brain-dead unicorn. At this point, it would be an improvement. Not like I was using my gray matter anyway.

  “Can I drink my beer without you beating me with your shoe again?”

  “Do what you want.” I arched a brow at her and she snarled at me. “With your drink. I’m going back to Mordechai’s box.”

  “You here with a date?”

  The Monster growled, the sound distant, but still intrusive. I cringed. Mordechai and I had run through an intense meditation routine after we’d returned from the warehouse. He’d assumed that my loss of control was due to my concern for him. I hadn’t corrected him, but if I had another episode tonight, here with Bryn, he’d easily see the common denominator and insist that I stay away from her. He’d be right.

  Was being right worth not seeing her again, though?

  Last night, I would have said yes. She was a connection to my past that I didn’t want or need. Tonight, I found it hard—pun definitely intended—to resist her particular brand of vulnerability and belligerence. Her twitchy, almost PTSD-like reactions made sense given her history. Nothing I couldn’t handle. If ever I had a type, Bryn Ullman was it. I wanted her.

  So did the Monster.

  That concerned me. The last thing I wanted to do was go back to fighting that thing every second of every day. Perhaps a little indulgence, for both of us, would soothe my headaches.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I’m not here with a date. I’m here with Dezi, joining Mordechai and his girlfriend and son.”

  She slipped on her shoes and headed for the door.

  “You didn’t finish your drink,” I reminded her.

  “Not thirsty anymore,” she tossed over her shoulder.

  Goddamn it.

  “You’d have more fun watching the fight with me than with them, you know.”

  She stopped and turned around. “What makes you think that?”

  Atta girl. Now, come on back here.

  “Because Mordechai and DG aren’t like us. You’re a fighter. I’m a fighter. They’re just spectators. They don’t understand what it’s like to fight for your life.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. Had I gone too far? Shown that I knew too much about her?

  “Stay with me, Bryn. I’ll be good. I promise.”

  I was lying out of my ass and she knew it, but she wavered, working out the pros and cons of granting my request.

  “How can we watch from here?”

  “Jack, turn on the feed from the cage.”

  “Seriously, dude?” he whined.

  “The lady wants to watch the fight.” My glare promised him a world of hurt if he cock-blocked me.

  He rolled his eyes, but reached for the remote and switched the channel on the TV behind the bar. Bryn walked back and slid onto the stool she’d vacated.

  “There’s no sound, so we won’t hear the announcer’s comments,” I said.

  Mordechai taped and sold a collection of DVDs at the end of the year, complete with commentary from some ex-MMA fighter. The feed we watched broadcasted from one of several cameras around the cage.

  “Hope that’s not a deal breaker.” I gave her my best panty-melting smile.

  She shook her head. “Not at all. I hate listening to some talking head prattle on about what the fighters should or shouldn’t be doing at any given moment in the fight. Everyone fights their own fig
ht. Critiques are for afterwards and only to improve on one’s skills.”

  “Exactly. There are a multitude of ways to deal with an attack. Experience, mental acuity, and physical capabilities decide how a fighter reacts. There’s no perfect response, no matter what some people would like to believe.” The surprise in my tone was a little too obvious, but she just smirked.

  “What do you know about tonight’s fighters?”

  “Vlad is the one with the pudge around the middle,” I said. “Parkins is all muscle, and faster.”

  She nodded absently, eyes glued to the TV as the two men traded punches. “He’s not only faster. He’s smarter. Parkins is anticipating Vlad’s attacks.”

  “Yes.” Another surprise from her. “He follows Jeet Kune Do.”

  “Makes sense. He’s very fluid.” She sipped at her drink and watched for several more minutes. “He has a tell. Fortunately for him, Vlad hasn’t picked up on it.”

  I’d noticed a long time ago that every time Parkins was about to throw a punch, he dropped the opposite shoulder just a bit. Only a really sharp set of eyes, or someone with considerable personal fighting experience, would have picked up on it.

  “What’s his tell?” I played dumb because I wanted to know if she’d really seen it. And yeah, maybe to fluff her ego just a bit. Like she needed that.

  “He drops the opposite shoulder before he throws a punch. It’s barely noticeable.”

  “And yet you caught it.”

  Goddamn. She was extraordinary. She shrugged at me, but a small smile tugged at her lips. She was enjoying herself as much as I was.

  “Paying attention keeps you alive.”

  “Why would you need to worry about that?”

  The smile dropped from her lips and I regretted asking the question. I already knew the answer because I knew her history and why she’d worry about staying safe and alive. What I didn’t know was how much danger she might still be in or why I even cared. At one point in time, I would have hurt her myself, just because of her family.

  “This is the best Long Island I’ve ever tasted.” She deflected.

  “I’d never steer you wrong.” I winked at her. “Not when it comes to alcohol that is.”

  Her big laugh and head shake surprised me. When I flirted so blatantly, most women either blushed and looked away or they lowered their chins and gave me one of those come hither looks through their eyelashes. That’s how I knew if I had a good girl or a naughty one on my hands. My personal version of a sorting hat.

  I had no idea what to do with a woman who threatened to kill me one moment and chortled at me the next. Actually, that wasn’t true. I knew exactly what I wanted to do right this second.

  “Come dance with me.” I stood up and held my hand out to her.

  I wanted… No. I needed her body against mine more than I’d ever needed anything in my life.

  She cocked her head and stared at me for a moment before lifting her hand from her drink. That’s it, baby. Just put your hand in mine and I’ll take care of the rest. Just a couple more inches. Was she moving in slow motion?

  Fuck. I wanted to pounce on her and carry her upstairs to my rooms, but I knew better. That aggressive facade hid a wary fawn and she sensed the wolf that clawed inside me, wanting to get to her. One wrong move and she’d bolt or pull another gun on me. If I was lucky, she’d pull the stiletto.

  “Bryn, I missed you up in the box. Shall we head back?” DG’s unwelcome voice interrupted us.

  You gotta be kidding me. Twice in twenty-four hours? I normally went days without talking to DG and now here he was ruining my night again and trying to put a claim on Bryn.

  Not in this lifetime.

  “You’re not his date, right?” I ignored DG and spoke to Bryn.

  “No. Like I said, Dezi and I are here as Mordechai’s guests.”

  “Good.” I smirked at DG over my shoulder. “She’s with me right now. I’ll drop her off after we finish dancing over at the Stage. Maybe.”

  Bryn looked as annoyed with him as I felt, which lent extra cockiness to my tone. I held my hand out, but she didn’t move. Instead, she arched her brow and flattened those plush lips into a tight line.

  Uh, oh. I drew my hand back and covered my carotid.

  “She can speak for herself,” Bryn said, then looked at Hinterland junior. “DG, I’ll come back to the box when I’m finished speaking with Mr. Mackenzie.” She turned back to me and her blue-eyed gaze sucked the air right out of my lungs. “And I’m not dancing with you. My feet hurt.”

  “I give amazing foot rubs.” I refused to let her get away from me, even if I had to wrap my bloody corpse around her ankles.

  Her lips twitched. “I’m sure you’ve had lots of practice, but I’ll pass.”

  I sat back down and chugged my Guinness. Jack slid a shot of Jameson across the bar to me, grinning like the jackass I often called him. Tonight, however, he’d earned a huge damn tip from me. Massive. His timing was impeccable.

  DG sighed. “Jack, call me when she’s ready and I’ll come back down for her.”

  Bryn’s eyes narrowed again.

  Inside, I fist pumped and bellowed in victory. I cleared my throat to draw her attention back to me. “I’m sure you’re capable of making your way back to the box on your own, Bryn, but I’d be honored to escort you whenever you’re ready.”

  “Whatever.” DG snorted and walked away.

  And that’s how a real man does it, son.

  “Parkins isn’t the only one who telegraphs like crazy,” Bryn said, rolling her eyes.

  “Whur?” Smooth. Real smooth.

  “You’re on the ropes, champ. Really close to a TKO.” She sipped her drink and looked at me, waiting.

  If she gave me any more rope, I’d hang myself. A trickle of sweat dripped down the back of my neck. I slammed back the Jameson for some courage. Jack slid me another one and shook his head like I was a disappointment to men everywhere.

  “Apparently, I’m not as practiced as I thought. Perhaps, you could show me a few moves?” I gave her my contrite little boy grin and prayed to Freyja it was enough.

  She shook her head and laughed. “Not the kind you’d like.”

  I winked at her. I was contrite, not whipped. “Sure you won’t dance with me? Jack would happily watch your shoes for you. Right, Jack?”

  “I might wear them if they’re pretty enough,” Jack called out, never missing a beat even though his back was turned to us.

  Bryn busted out that big laugh again. “Getting too close to you would be a mistake.”

  “I thought we agreed that you’re safe with me.”

  I took the chance and slid my hand under hers, caressed the tops of her fingers with my thumb. It was the simplest of touches, but my heart pounded like I’d just finished a ten mile run. I expected the Monster to flip out, but it remained silent. Total peace in my head.

  God, I wanted to kiss her so badly I ached. And she looked like maybe she wanted to kiss me, too. If I just leaned in—

  “Hey, babe. Hate to interrupt you when you’re about to get your freak on, but your phone is buzzing the shit out of my purse.”

  I groaned. Of course her friend showed up now.

  Bryn reversed her lean and frowned. “Where is it on the Dezi scale?”

  “Nuclear.”

  “Dezi scale?” I looked between the two women.

  Bryn held out her hand and Dezi slapped the smartphone into her palm.

  “It’s how we rate callback urgency,” Dezi said.

  “It was Patterson,” Bryn said, scrolling with her thumb. “I need to call him back. Excuse me.”

  “Sure. I’ll pump Dezi for info while you’re gone.”

  I winked at Dezi like I was kidding, but I was dead serious. I wanted to know who the fuck Patterson was and why he was blowing up Bryn’s phone. Not that I had the right to know.

  And why did I give a shit anyway? Relationships weren’t my thing. Hit it and quit it. That MO worked just fine for
me.

  Dezi slid onto Bryn’s stool and gave my hand a pat. “Patterson is work.”

  Fucking hell. Was I an open book to everyone in the whole goddamned universe? I pretended not to care, but who knew if I pulled that off either. Probably not.

  “So.” I slammed back my second Jameson and flipped the glass over. I didn’t need any more alcohol. “The Dezi scale?”

  “Right. After business hours, when a call comes in, I rank them on the Dezi scale. First call from someone is a return-it-later ranking. Twice is a just-double-checking to see if you’re there. Three times is got-some-juicy-gossip-to-share. I may or may not pick up for that, depends on what I have going on, if you know what I mean.” She winked at me.

  I grinned. “Got ya. And more than three?”

  “After three, it’s four alarm territory and I pick up regardless.”

  “How many times did they ring?”

  “Six.”

  CHAPTER 10

  BRYN

  “Sheriff Patterson, what can I do for you?” I said into the phone.

  “I need you at a crime scene in Green, Bryn.” He sounded rattled. Normally, Bill Patterson was a rock.

  “Sure. What’s going on?”

  “I’ll explain everything when you get down here. Main Street marina.”

  “On my way.”

  I clicked off the call and slapped the wall. Mordechai had insisted upon sending a car for us tonight, so my Challenger was at home. This is why I always drove. Now, I was stuck depending on the kindness of a mobster. Once I got to the crime scene, there would be lights everywhere, but until then I’d be in the dark with no weapons.

  Could this evening get any worse?

  I went back to the bar where Dezi was sitting in my seat, drinking my drink, and chatting up my guy.

  Not your guy, Ullman.

  “I need to get to Main Street marina. Think Mordechai would have his driver take me?” I asked Dezi.

  “I’m sure he would have, but he left with Mist. I told him that we’d take a taxi home later, but DG volunteered to drive us. I think he’s going to ask you out. I told him that I had a boyfriend.” Dezi cringed.