PULSE: A Stepbrother Romance by Sarah Sparrows

    “Out-of-towner,
eh? Might not be the place for you tonight.”

 
    I assessed
him quickly. The immediate conclusion was that this guy was built like a brick shithouse…and
could probably take a punch like one. He stood close to a foot shorter than me,
but he was a stocky little bastard – broad shoulders, bulky arms, tight
abdominals under a thin shirt. Didn’t look like he’d skipped ‘leg day’ either
– with those tree trunk thighs, he could probably land a truly vicious
kick. Thick jet-black hair ran down to his shoulders, flowing around his meaty
throat, and his dark eyes peered menacingly at mine. This was a guy with a
hair-trigger temper, but he could keep his anger in check.

 
    In short, I
liked the guy.

 
    A
self-assured grin flashed across my lips. “Much obliged for the warning. I’ll
not be giving you any trouble tonight.”

 
    The bouncer
looked me up and down. Without the smallest hint of emotion, he handed me back
my card. “See to it that you don’t, stranger.”

 
    I gave him a
subtle, respectful nod, stepping around him into the bar. Across the throng of
bar tops and a small crowd around the dartboard, I spotted my friend in the
corner. It wasn’t hard to miss him – with his optimized physique and
imposing height, the bodybuilder could probably knock the bouncer out with a
single, well-timed punch.

 
    It wouldn’t
be the first time I’d seen him do it.

 
      “Welcome back, Bonesaw,” Darren grinned,
using the cage fighter nickname that the fans had unceremoniously given me. I’d
built quite the following here in Pensacola before I’d moved on… Knowing how on
edge I usually was, he had picked the table furthest into the corner, and left
me the chair that faced into the crowd.

 
    Just the way
I liked it.

 
    It was a
defensible position. No surprises.

 
    Darren
motioned towards the Miller Lite that had been waiting for me, but I overlooked
it and watched the drunken men and their barflies.

 
    “Aw, shit,
that’s right. You don’t do domestic, do you?”

 
    “Domestic
beer tastes like cold piss,” I reminded him with a condescending smile, my eyes
on the bottle in his hand. “But it’s fine. I don’t need one tonight anyway. I’m
riding.”

 
    “Fair enough,”
he nodded, taking a swig of his own premium bottle of frigid urination –
the classic Budweiser. “I’ve got to ask, man…what brings you back to Pensacola?
You haven’t been here in a little while, eh? Not since I saw you last?”

 
    “No,” I
agreed. “Not for about three years now.”

 
    “Right,”
Darren nodded. Another swig of beer.

 
    “My stepsister
is here,” I told him. “I’m keeping an eye on her. Doing a favor for my father.”

 
    “Your
sister?” He eyed me with a smile. “Didn’t even know you had one. Look at the
dreaded Bonesaw…from cage fighter to bodyguard in no time flat! But that’s what
family’ll do for a man, right? Always got to stick to the priorities…”

 
    “How the
mighty have fallen.” I couldn’t help but grin too. Of course, nobody begrudged
a fighter looking out for his family – particularly a sister. Even in the
underground side of the cage-fighting community, there was a certain code of
honor – a respect that was
given and expected.

 
    “So, how long
are you going to be down?”

 
    “The rest of
the summer.”

 
    “Cool. What
are you planning to do with yourself?”

 
    “I haven’t
quite decided,” I answered. It was true – the options were wide open in a
place like this. “Does Luke still have New Horizons?”

 
    “Barely,”
Darren laughed. “I don’t know how he’s
held onto it as long as he has…when we left, I wasn’t sure he could keep the
old cage together. We almost bet some money on that, remember? I’d be buying
you beers all summer!”

 
    “Yeah, I
remember,” I smiled. “Glad the place is still around. Summer’s a long time out
of the cage. Thought I