Mission: Without a Trace - Nicole Edwards Page 0,35

on his arm.

A woman who was not JJ.

He was quick on his feet, marching past the waitress on his way out the door. He didn’t slow down, not even when he slammed through the doors and out into the night. Behind him, he heard the conversation dim, a couple of shouts directed at him, then footsteps in his wake.

Brantley ignored everyone except for the motherfucker making a quick dash to his car.

“Dante,” he shouted.

Dante stopped at his fancy BMW, but not before tucking away the redhead he’d brought with him. Before she was practically shoved into the car, Brantley met her surprised eyes. She had no idea what was going on, clearly. Or perhaps she was that good of an actress.

Not that it fucking mattered.

“Look, man, I’ve got no beef with you,” Dante said, his voice low. “We’re leaving.”

“Where’s JJ?” Brantley inquired, holding the other man’s stare.

Dante started to open his mouth, closed it quickly as he peered over Brantley’s shoulder. “Could we do this another time?”

Brantley glanced back to see some of his cousins and all three of his brothers had stepped outside.

“Where’s JJ?” he repeated, turning back to Dante.

“I don’t know. Probably at home.”

“Who’s she?” he asked, nodding his head toward the car.

“My assistant.”

“Your assistant?” Brantley nodded. “Do you always take your assistants out on Saturday night?”

Dante swallowed hard. “That’s none of your business, Brantley.”

“So that’s a yes?”

Before he could stop himself, Brantley’s hand shot out, taking a handful of Dante’s shirt in his fist. He yanked the fucker forward, got nearly nose to nose with him.

“You fucking bastard,” he growled. “You son of a bitch.”

“It’s not what you think,” Dante stammered.

“No? Then why the fuck’d you run outta the bar before you came in? In fact, why the fuck are you here at all? You don’t live in Coyote Ridge, Dante. This isn’t your stompin’ ground anymore. Were you hopin’ JJ would find out?”

Dante’s eyes narrowed. “Mine and JJ’s relationship is none of your business.”

“It is when you make it my fuckin’ business. You’re whorin’ around on her again.” Brantley shoved him back, sending Dante careening into the car.

Before Brantley could descend, two sets of hands landed on him, both pulling him back.

“Not here,” Trey said firmly.

Brantley tried to shrug him off. It didn’t work.

“You stay away from JJ,” Brantley snapped, lunging forward. “You hurt her, Dante, I will come after you. That’s a fuckin’ promise.”

“Might take this as the opportunity to get the hell on,” Trey told Dante. “Now.”

Dante moved around the car, yanked open the door, and all but dove inside.

Brantley was seething. Enough that he hadn’t realized the other set of hands attempting to hold him back belonged to Reese. When he turned and came face-to-face with the man, he nearly snarled. Instead, he shoved Reese back and stomped back toward the bar.

“Let me take you home,” Killian offered. “Designated driver and all.”

“Need to close out my tab,” he muttered.

“Got it taken care of,” Trey said, stepping up to his side. “Head home. And don’t you dare fuckin’ go after that asshole, Brantley. You do and I’ll kick your ass myself.”

For Trey to think that was even a possibility would’ve been amusing, if, you know, he wasn’t seeing red.

***

Reese probably should’ve left when he arrived at Moonshiners and realized Brantley was there.

He definitely should’ve minded his own fucking business when Brantley went after Dante.

Yet here he was, in Moonshiners, his mind on the fierce expression on Brantley’s face when he realized Reese had been out there with him.

No doubt about it, that had hurt.

Not so much the shove but the disdain he’d seen in Brantley’s eyes… That was a knife to the chest. Then again, what the hell did he expect? He was the one who’d walked out last night, calling a halt to what they’d had between them. He was an idiot, no one would dispute that. He had panicked and given up on the best damn thing he’d found in … perhaps ever. It killed him that he didn’t have the balls to own up to that relationship, to give Brantley what he truly deserved. If he could—

“What’s up, bro?”

Reese glanced over to his left, noticed Zane Walker had stepped up to the bar. The other man rested his forearms on the top, hung his boot heel on the bar at the bottom, and waved Rafe over to order another beer.

“Not a whole helluva lot,” Reese answered.

“I just figured the world was comin’ to an end or some shit,” Zane said. “What