Branded by Laura Wright

inside of her.
    With a groan, she pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. If Blue hadn’t called . . . Lord, if Blue hadn’t called . . . They’d have slept together, she was sure of it. And what would that have meant? She was supposed to have Blue’s back, not the back . . . and the front, and the sides, and the face of the man who was trying to take them all down.
    This time when she groaned, she buried her face against her knees.
    As much as you’re trying to melt into this bed and disappear from the realities of this situation, you can’t.
    Tomorrow she was going to have to face this—face him. Tell him she was drunk and not thinking clearly. Tell him that what had happened between them was a mistake. Never to be repeated again.
    Scooting off the bed, she went to the door and closed it. Locked it. Then peeled off the dress that had started it all.

Seven
    Cole had hit twenty miles today and his thighs were burning like a sonofabitch. He growled as he left the country road and headed into town. Just the way he liked it. Pushing his body to the absolute limit was a high and all, but it was the pain that really flipped the switch inside of him. Whether it came from a killer run, a punch to the kidneys, or a knee to the temple, he’d realized long ago pain was the best and only way to deal with his emotional rage.
    Before that, before the UFC ring, he’d wondered if jail might be the place for him. Locked up. Someone else controlling his emotions and his actions.
    Even at seven a.m., the small town of River Black was hopping. The sun blazed overhead, already too damn hot for being awake only an hour. The market, bank, and post office had a steady stream of customers coming in and going out;same for the RB Feed and Tack. It was strange to be back home, the pain of the past already taking hold, reaching inside his chest and pulling out his guts. And the longer he remained, the harder it was going to get.
    Maybe he should just sell his share of the Triple C to Deacon and get out. Get back to his training. After all, none of this shit mattered to him. So Everett had another kid, cheated on their mom . . . Who the hell cared? Relationships were for suckers, and happily-ever-afters lasted as long as the sex remained hot.
    In just four short weeks, Cole had the match of a lifetime. The biggest one of his career. That’s what mattered. The match. The win.
    Realizing too late what street he’d just turned down, Cole jogged toward Marabelle’s Diner. That gut inside him, the gut that had been turned inside out and upside down over the past twenty-four hours, now shrank to the size of a fucking nail head. Marabelle’s had been the last place his family had eaten together. Breakfast, maybe an hour later than it was now, Cole thought. And a few hours before his mother had asked him and his brothers to take Cass to the movies.
    His eyes cut to the packed diner, noticing the new sign, the new paint, the new patio. Cole was about to kick up speed and leave the place and its memories in the dust when he spotted Jamessitting outside on that new patio. He was at a table for two, no food in front of him, but a couple of coffee cups. And there was a dark-haired woman across from him.
    Cole wasn’t sure, but he thought he recognized her. For a second, he contemplated jogging over and saying hello, but just at that moment, James glanced up and spotted him. There was no look of embarrassment or shame on the man’s face, but there was also no sign of an invitation to join them or even acknowledge them. In fact, after a second or two, James turned back to face the woman.
    Cole kept on running. Damn, James had always been so fucking secretive about his life and where he was in his head. But in the past year, things had gotten worse. He and Cole had talked maybe once a month or so since they walked out of River Black ten years ago,