The last thing that I wanted was to drag Kole's name through the mud because of my poor decision making. She had recently gone through hell, doing so willingly so she could live somewhat of a normal life, and she was just getting over it. Now here I was, the prodigal sister screwing it up. Again. Like I screwed up everything else. The whole reason my father had chosen to put all of his eggs in the Kole basket, no matter how convoluted those efforts were.

  Stray. That. Dirty work. Mine. Fuck up. Now at least one of those things was true.

  "Ya think I ain't smart enough to put two 'n' two tagether, Miss? I might not know much but Kole with a K and Kennedy with a K with the same las' name ain't justa coincidence. Don't take no college degree to go figurin' that one out…"

  Griff stirred beside me, digging into his pocket and pulling out a hundred dollar bill. "You didn't see either of us," he said forcefully, slapping the money onto the countertop.

  Smiley eyeballed him, knowing full well he still had the upper hand. "Come ta think of it, I remember seein' someone like ya on the front page of tha news…"

  Griff pulled five more bills out of his pocket and plopped them onto the counter, Smiley's eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree. He grabbed for the cash greedily before his hands were stilled by Griff's - a hand that doubled his in size. And by the look on Smiley's face, they were making him a little more than uncomfortable.

  "You didn't see us," Griff repeated, taking his time to repeat each word slowly as to make sure that Smiley comprehended. "Understood?" Griff questioned, his tone serious, strong and authoritative. There was no denying the meaning behind the question: If you talk, I will hurt you worse than I am now.

  "Well now ya ain't gotta get all forceful. I weren't plannin' on tellin' no one," he lied, pulling his hand out from underneath Griff's before quickly pocketing the money. "Hope you didn't spend all your money though. I bet somethin' like that costs a purty penny. 'Bout as purty as the car that jest dropped her off," he said, looking past us and out into the parking lot. Griff's old Ford sat just outside the door, the one working streetlight beaming down dully over top it.

  "I'm not a-"

  Griff left my side and leaned across the countertop, grabbing Smiley by the rim of his repulsive t-shirt and pulling him in nose-to-nose. "If you know what's good for you, you'll keep your mouth shut or your face will have the same fate as your hands. You got that?"

  Smiley nodded.

  "Good," Griff said, letting go of his shirt. He grabbed my hand, surprising me by lacing his fingers into mine - I suppose for dramatic flair - before pulling me towards the door. He opened the glass and metal forcefully, ushering me back outside into the August heat.

  "I'll get your things," he said before turning to go back inside. The unexpected thud of the door behind me sent me running the rest of the way to the truck. "And never talk to a lady like that," he barked - a final warning of sorts - as he barreled out of the front door, throwing my things into the back and taking his place in the driver's seat.

  "Griff-"

  "Kennedy, don't talk. Not yet. I'm too fucking pissed right now."

  I had good enough sense to obey, although I wanted desperately to make a snide remark about his foul language.

  *****

  We drove along in silence, the absence of any light but the truck's headlights creating a darkness that surrounded me, consumed me. I fought to keep the silence before us, certain that I'd go and say something stupid if I didn't. I should've been doing nothing short of thanking him for saving my life, but because I was far too impulsive and just as reckless, all I could feel was annoyance.

  Annoyed that he had demanded that I keep quiet. Annoyed that I had put myself in the position in the first place. Annoyed that he had been the one to save me.

  Where was Tom Cruise when you needed him? Jumping on couches. So, never mind.

  Most of all, I was annoyed that I still hadn't forgiven him for all of the things that he'd done, none of which he had an obligation to actually be sorry for. Like witnessing my decision to sleep with his brother, my fault. Like seeing my breasts for example, my fault. Like making me get the stupid warm fuzzies by just looking at me, my fault. Okay, maybe not entirely my fault, but…But I wanted him to feel remorse, to realize my frustrations, to feel something.

  Wanted it badly, I realized.

  The fact that I wanted him to apologize for crimes that weren't technically crimes was the derivative of my annoyance. To further add to this annoyance was the fact that he'd made me take notice without even trying. Normally, I made it a mission to make a man work for it, for my attention, for my affections, but Griff Callahan had gone from someone I had never met, to a man that I couldn't shake. "What gives?" I mumbled, surprised to hear the sound of my voice cut into the silence.

  "So you do always talk out loud when you're angry," he noted, a humorous tone in his voice. Even through the darkness I could see the smile creep onto his face.

  "Don't," I blurted out, irritated that he seemed to have gotten over his own annoyance and that he thought that he could dictate the mood.

  "Don't what?" he questioned defensively.

  "Don't come at me with that patronizing tone," I warned. "And wipe that smug smile off of your face. What in the hell were you doing anyway?"

  "What do you mean?" he questioned, his eyes fixed firmly on the road.

  "Oh, you know what I mean," I said, scowling through the darkness at the dashboard. "Back there. Playing hero," I added, realizing that I was on the verge of shouting. I dialed it back a notch. "What were you doing? Following me? You some kind of stalker?"

  He slammed on the brakes in the middle of the road, rubber and tar doing a nasty dance as it, no doubt, left behind a quarter of a mile of skid marks. I jolted forward, grabbing for the dash, my wrists jarring in the process.

  "Jesus," I grumbled, scowling deeper but this time aiming it towards him.

  "Yes, Jesus," Griff said, pulling over to the side of the road with a little more care. He made a show of ripping himself free of his seatbelt and exiting the truck. He planned to pull me out of the car and shake some sense into me. I knew enough about anger from having Bernie Masters as a father to know, and both his face and his body language were showing every sign. I saved him the effort by getting out and meeting him halfway. I didn't stop until we were standing toe-to-toe, face-to-face.

  "You want to know what I was doing back there?" he questioned, pointing back towards the road. "You blind, or just too stupid to notice that I was saving your ass?!?"

  "My ass didn't need saving," I lied, crossing defensive arms over my chest. My reply was as far from the truth as they came. If he hadn't shown up when he did, I'd be back at the motel trying to figure out how to burp Smiley right about now.

  "Apparently it did," he countered, stepping forward. "You were two seconds away from being fucked by a creep for a pay-by-the-hour motel room. That sound like fun to you?" he growled.

  "I didn't think-"

  "Ugh, God. You and Mick," he said, the heels of his palms coming up to cover his eyes, gently messaging the sockets. "You didn't think? No, you didn't," he said as his arms came down in an exaggerated motion that left them outstretched by his sides.

  "I didn't ask you to follow me," I defended, trying to gain some momentum in an argument that I was clearly losing. "And, I've already told you this, but I'm nothing like Mick."

  "You're right. Because one of you has a dick and the other has a vagina."

  "Well, thank you Captain Obvious. Are you sure you know which one of us is which?"

  "And I'm not entirely sure which is worse," he said, completely ignoring my snarky comeback.

  "Well, I can tell you what it's like to have a vagina, but as far as a dick's concerned," I said shrugging, "that's uncharted territory."

  "You're like arguing with a wall."

  "I'll take that as a compliment."

  "Jesus Christ, what am I doing?" he mumbled, running his thick fingers through his hair.

  My brain went precisely where it shouldn't - straight into the gutter. How in the hell was I possibly supposed to manage being snarky when all my mind wanted to do was think about things that I'd like to let him do with those fingers? "Ughh dammit-to-hell!"

  "What?" he questioned, confusion splayed across his face.

  "What?"

  "You said dammit-to-hell," he pointed out.

  I was beyond appreciative that it was dark outside and we were still at least fifteen miles from anywhere, because I blushed ten shades of red. "No I didn't."

  "Look, never mind, Kennedy. Just get back in the truck," he said sighing. He ran another frustrated hand through his dark hair, pinching the ends together between his fingers.

  "Okay, but you're the one who got out in the first place."

  I was up against the front of the truck quicker than I could blink, my back pressing backwards onto the hot hood. My body betrayed me, hungrily arching up to meet his.

  Oh, sweet Lord! Is that an erection?

  "I barely know you and you drive me crazy. Why can't you just shut that sweet mouth of yours? Why can't you refrain from saying all of those smart-aleck, sexy things?" he growled from above me, his mouth inches from mine.

  My wrists began to ache as his fingers dug into the skin. His hands wrapped around them tightly, squeezing as they held my arms captive above my head. My heart pounded heavily in my chest as my eyes traced the outline of his lips.

  I felt the nip of his teeth on my lower lip, causing me to squirm beneath him. Instead of pushing him away, as I was certain had been my intention, I had somehow managed to wrap my legs around his lean waist.

  His hands wound into my hair and tugged hard, arching my neck up towards his mouth. I was frozen like a deer in headlights, my breath labored, as I tried to predict his next move. No one had ever surprised me, caught me off guard more than this man. I couldn't quite put a finger on what was different about him. What drew me to him over all the others? What magnetic force did he create that pulled me so strongly towards him that I was unable to stop it?

  "Why do you care? Why did you follow me? Us?" I questioned, realizing my apparent misstep of bringing up Mick.

  He thrust his angry hips forward, frustrated eyes zeroing in on mine. Those blue orbs of steely ice were dangerous when prodded, no doubt about it.

  "I don't care, but I followed you because I knew Mick would do something completely heartless like dropping you off at a crummy place like that one. The question is, why did you agree? And why didn't you tell me - us - that you had a famous sister? What else are you hiding?"

  "Nothing," I said truthfully, feeling the weight of the moment sneak up on me. "I'm not hiding anything!" I said, exasperated. I don't know what possessed me but I leaned up, nipping hard enough on his lower lip to draw blood. My lips covered the red dot that beaded on the surface as my tongue skimmed over the assaulted area.

  He reeled away from me, his hand coming up to touch his lip. I noted the bruised knuckles from the contact with the wall earlier.

  "What'd you do that for?" His tongue thrust to the backside of his lip, pushing it out further as his fingers dabbed at the area again.

  "My sister is no one's business," I shouted, trying to fight the disappointment that the absence of his body brought. I slid off of the hood, readjusting my clothes…and my nerves. "I don't owe you anything. I don't owe anyone, anything!"

  "If it were a different situation, you'd be right. But it's not. You just so happened to wake up in my house and insinuate some things in front of my," he paused, rethinking his words, "in front of Felicia. So from where I stand, you have inserted yourself into my life - no matter the circumstances that got you there - and I deserve to know who's sleeping underneath my roof."

  "I'm no longer sleeping under your roof," I pointed out. I had to fight like hell to stop myself from asking why he hadn't referred to Felicia as his girlfriend. It didn't make sense. But then again, none of this was supposed to make sense because none of this was supposed to have happened.

  "You're damn right you're not," he seethed. "Now get in the damned truck, Kennedy."

  I thought seriously about kicking the front bumper of his precious Ford. It would serve him right, him being such a prick and all, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. And if he thought that this argument was over, then he was wrong. Dead wrong.

  "If you don't care, then why even follow Mick? Who cares what happens to the stranger who showed up in your home? If I'm such a nuisance? Huh?" I questioned, egging him on, baiting him. "Shouldn't you have seen this series of events as a relief?" My hands flew towards his chest and I was pushing him backwards before I could refrain myself.

  His hand wrapped around mine once more, his eyes turning downright lethal. "I'll repeat, I don't care about you," he said, his words cutting fairly deep. I tried to pretend that they didn't, but they did, and I didn't quite know how to process my reaction just yet. "But I just so happen to have a soft spot for people who Mick leaves in his wake."

  "Why?" I questioned, attempting to fight back tears. Whatever I had expected him to say, whatever I had wanted, it hadn't been that. It was too honest for the moment and I was still too raw. "Why?" I demanded again when he didn't answer, a stray tear sliding down my cheek.

  His hand flew up to the side of my face so quickly that I thought he meant to slap me. I recoiled, but found myself being steadied by his other hand. He wiped at the tear, staring at me so intently I thought I'd melt right there into the concrete. "Because I'm one of them. He's messed up my life enough and I don't want it to happen to anyone else," he said softly, looking just as vulnerable as I felt. "Now, please, get in the truck."

  I was too speechless to fight back, turning instead and resuming my spot as passenger.

  Chapter Six

  We closed in on Broadway, the bright lights of the city greeting us, leaving a hollow, empty feeling that I didn't anticipate. I had thought the return to the city would bring me some peace, clear my muddled mess of a mind so that I could think, but it didn't. Hoards of people were pouring into and out of bars, bands were beginning their sets, alcohol was beginning to flow freely, the city brimming with life - all things that I loved about Nashville, all things that were happening without me.

  We passed the entrance to Broadway, turning instead down a back alley just beyond it. The roadway was tightly sandwiched in between the backside of buildings on either side. If by happenstance another car were to be traveling down the path at the same time, we'd have to reverse our way out of the situation.

  Griff maneuvered the truck into a tight parking space notched into the backside of the building, my eyes scanning the six inches between the truck and the brick and mortar on the other side of my door. Unless I had somehow lost the pesky ten pounds I'd been trying to lose since birth, there was no way I'd be able to climb out on my side.

  "Griff…"

  He was already tugging at my wrist, beckoning me towards the driver's side of the truck. My foot caught the shifter, flinging me forward. I released an unattractive oomph as my face came into contact with leather. Craning my neck upwards, I came face-to-face with Griff's crotch. Still hard. My body lay dumbly still, despite every internal alarm that I had going off at a deafening volume, and my traitor eyes glued themselves to the section of his jeans that stood barrier between me and him and it.

  "Come on," he griped, snapping me from the trance.

  I scowled, struggling to gather my clumsy limbs. He didn't have to like the situation, but he sure as hell didn't need to be so bitchy about it either. It wasn't like I wanted to be in this position. No, I wanted to be back on tour making peanuts, being a nobody and wearing pleather skirts.

  He helped me maneuver the rest of the way out of the truck because clearly I was incapable of doing it on my own. What in the hell was wrong with me? Letting a simple kiss throw me off of my game? It wasn't the first time I had felt a penis, and I hoped like hell that it wouldn't be the last, but it definitely shouldn't have made me a clumsy, uncoordinated mess.

  I needed to get it together, right my brain. I was on a fast-track to getting into more trouble than I was capable of getting myself out of. When you shot from the hip, problem solving was a valuable skill to have. And up until recently, I would've considered myself highly skilled in that department. But now? Now I couldn't seem to get my mind out of the gutter long enough to make any sort of intelligent decision at all.

  We made our way towards an industrial looking door at the back of the building. A very nondescript plaque was bolted into the wall to the left that read: Callahan's. I fought back the confusion that wanted to ask the question, instead focusing on Griff's fingers as he fumbled with a ring of keys. Gutter. My thoughts shifted as his hand touched my back and ushered me inside.

  He pointed towards a set of stairs that began at the end of a hallway. "Take those stairs to the second floor. When you reach the top, there's a keypad. Type in 2009."

  "2009?"

  "It's the year Dad died." He frowned, his blue eyes icing over. "Just do it. I'll be up in a minute."

  "Where are you going?" I questioned, hating that my voice sounded interested. I didn't want him to know that I felt anything. Period. He'd told me - twice - that he didn't care, so why should I?

  His jaw muscles flexed, something I was beginning to realize that he did as an effort to mask frustration. I bit back the urge to regurgitate an article I'd read recently about grinding your teeth and how it could ultimately lead to TMJ.

  "If you must know, I'm going to stop in on the bar. Make sure everything's running smoothly," he said, his thumb hitching backwards, pointing in the direction of what I realized was another door.

  "The bar?"

  "Yes, the bar."

  "I didn't know you owned a bar," I said innocently. His admission had piqued my interest, probably because I'd spent most of my youth in bars.

  "Well, considering the length of time that you've known me and the fact that, out of the few conversations that we've had it was never mentioned, you wouldn't."

  My mouth closed dejectedly over a response. I was fairly certain that I'd just learned what it felt like to be a guy in a bar approaching a group of women with some lame attempt at starting a conversation and being denied. Ouch.