Claim (Fury Brothers #5)

2. Beau

2

BEAU

T he young woman looked up at me with the biggest blue eyes I’d ever seen.

“Thanks,” she said.

She had a surprisingly smoky voice.

“I hate assholes like that,” I told her.

She nodded. She had dyed, mousey-brown hair that was pulled back in a braid. I could tell the color wasn’t natural, because it was all one color, with no variation. She had a cute face with a button nose.

“Can I buy you a coffee, as a thank you?” she asked hesitantly. She waved at the seat across from her.

“Thought you didn’t want any company?”

“Not his company.” She shook her head. “Sorry, you probably just want to finish your dinner alone. Thanks, again.”

I eyed her. There was something so alone about her. I’d seen the look plenty of times before, when I’d been growing up as a kid in foster care, and now with the foster kids I trained at my gym.

“Let me get my stuff.”

I’d finished my burger, so I grabbed my newspaper and coffee mug. I waved to the waitress and slipped into the seat across from the waif.

I’d clocked her when she’d first entered the diner, and initially, I’d thought she was a teenager. But now, up close, I guessed she was probably in her early twenties. Young, but she had a gritty look in her eyes.

She was no delicate flower.

My boxing career had taught me to gauge a person’s grit and determination quickly. It was why I’d been so good at fighting.

My instincts told me that this woman had plenty of resilience, and she didn’t give up easily.

“I’m Beau.”

She hesitated. “Bell.”

It probably wasn’t her real name. She was clearly in trouble, or trying to outrun trouble.

“Where you headed, Bell?”

“Florida.”

I nodded. “I’m on my way home to New Orleans. Had a business trip in Houston.”

Some of the guys I trained in my gym had fought in a competition in Houston. I’d decided to drive instead of fly, and take my newly restored car for a spin. I’d left the boxing competition this evening, but after I’d crossed the Louisiana border, I’d decided to find a hotel for the night, and drive the rest of the way home in the morning. Maybe get off the Interstate, and take a scenic route through the wetlands.

I could have found a nice hotel—I had the money—but I’d decided to go old school and find a motel where I could keep my car out front.

“I’ve always wanted to visit New Orleans.” Bell toyed with her coffee mug. “It sounds great.”

I laughed briefly. “Most people usually focus on the crime rate and the hurricanes.”

Her lips quirked. “I think of Bourbon Street, Mardi Gras, Cajun food, the bayou.”

“It has all those things. I think it’s a great city.”

My brothers and I did our best to help make it better. We were all successful, and tried to give back. We donated a lot of money to local charities and causes. We kept our little corner of New Orleans—a city block of the Arts/Warehouse District—crime free.

We weren’t afraid to tangle with assholes who stepped onto our turf. I flexed my hand under the table. We all had our businesses and homes there, and we did what we had to do to protect it. Yes, we’d done well for five abandoned boys who’d met in foster care.

Who’d shed blood, and had each other’s backs.

Older, uglier memories stirred. I let them. I never forgot where I came from.

Or who I came from.

“So, what’s in Florida?”

“The beach.” Bell smiled.

It lit up her face and my breath caught. Damn, she was beautiful when she smiled. I cleared my throat.

“I like the beach,” she continued.

“Plenty to like—sand, warm sun, cold beers. Although there are sharks and sunburn. Once, I was on vacation with my brothers. A fin popped up in the water, and I’ve never seen my brother Reath swim so fast. Turned out it was a dolphin.”

Bell laughed, then looked startled, like she hadn’t laughed very much lately. “How many brothers do you have?”

“Four.”

“ Four . Wow. I bet your place was rowdy growing up.”

I lifted my chin, but didn’t mention foster care. Our last foster home hadn’t been pretty. Harvey Tucker had liked to beat boys in the name of discipline. Really, he’d just been a sadistic asshole.

“You have siblings?” I asked.

Her gaze dropped. “No. It was just me and my mom.”

Our coffee got refilled, and I kept the conversation light. Whenever things got too personal, Bell got skittish. We talked more about New Orleans, music, movies. I wasn’t much of a talker usually, but it was easy with her.

She was young and fresh, and clearly educated, despite the well-worn clothes. She should be starting her career and dating and going out with girlfriends, not doing whatever it was she was doing.

“We’re closing up soon,” Karen called out.

I lifted my chin. “Thanks.”

Bell was biting her lip, and looking outside. The drizzle of rain had increased to a steady shower. I knew the forecast said it was going to get worse.

“You staying at the motel next door?” I glanced out the window and could just see my car. “The place isn’t fancy, but it’s clean.”

“Um, the bus is coming through in a couple of hours.”

I stiffened. The diner was closing, and it was raining. Where the hell was she going to wait?

She carefully counted out some cash and left it on the table, then gathered up her backpack. She pulled it over her shoulder.

I dropped some cash beside hers on the table and followed her outside.

Just then, there was a violent crack of thunder, and lightning filled the sky. The heavens opened and rain poured down in a torrent.

“Oh no.” Bell’s hair was drenched in seconds.

“Come on.” I took her arm, and jogged toward the motel.

We huddled under the walkway outside my room. Our clothes were saturated, and the rain hammered down around us.

Shit . It didn’t look like it was going to let up any time soon.