Five Brothers Read Online Penelope Douglas

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, New Adult Tags Authors: Penelope Douglas Advertisement

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Why the hell couldn’t Trace finish the lawn? Or put the mower away? He’s almost twenty-one now. Macon shouldn’t have to stay on his ass over everything.

I reach the top of the landing, seeing steam seep through the crack in the bathroom door, and I hear the shower going.

But he doesn’t have the lights on. What’s he doing in the dark?

I glance one door down, at his closed bedroom door. His parents’ old room.

She did it in there. In the room where he now sleeps every night.

I approach the bathroom.

He’s okay. He’s always been moody. Kind of scary. He’s never been happy. Or smiley. Or conversational.

I lean in, trying to hear a change in the fall of water. Something signaling he’s washing or shampooing, but there’s no change.

I place my hand against the wooden door, debating if I should push it open enough to see, but just then, it swings open, and I pop up straight. Macon walks out, stalking right up to me.

I back up. “Sorry,” I say. “Sorry.”

He stares down at me, wearing only a towel around his waist, but he’s not wet yet. The shower still runs. Shit. Does he know I was following him?

“Just making sure you’re here.” I try to swallow, but my mouth is like sandpaper. “Your food is—”

I point off somewhere as I look up at him, but I lose my train of thought at his hard gaze. He takes a step closer, and fear grips me. I’m alone in the house with him.

And he has someone he kidnapped locked in the storage container behind his house.

I drop my eyes, his glare hammering me into the ground.

But then … the pulse between my thighs thumps hard once, and I expel every ounce of breath in my lungs, nearly groaning.

Spinning around, I run, trying not to stumble down the stairs as his eyes burn my back. I get to the bottom, grab the handle, and yank open the front door, dashing out into the yard.

I take a few steps and glance behind me, relieved he’s not on my tail with that rope, ready to strangle me and drag my body back inside, because I’ve seen too much.

And then I draw in a deep breath, and after a few seconds, roll my eyes.

Jesus. Seriously, Krisjen? Way to overreact.

Rumors are rumors. I’ve never seen evidence that he’s done half the things people say, much less killed someone. And he may be doing something wrong by holding that man against his will in the backyard, but he’s doing it for the right reasons. Most people in the Bay can’t afford rehab.

It’s none of my business.

I must’ve looked like an idiot to him, though. The fear is suddenly gone, now replaced with embarrassment. I shouldn’t have gone in the house. That was stupid.

He just looked …

Incredible.

In the backyard, he looked vulnerable. Like something was squeezing his insides, and he was alone, and everything hurt him. Like things are hard for him, and why did it never occur to me that they were? No one notices his pain.

After a glance back at the house, where all the lights are off, I walk to the bar, not wanting to leave now.

But I pick up the pace, jogging faster, because Iris told me to hurry and is probably wondering where the hell I am.

As soon as I open the door to the bar, some old Avenged Sevenfold song blasts from the speakers, the party already underway. I leave my small hoodie on, the temperature well below the eighty-five I prefer, and jump behind the bar, grabbing a dish towel and shining up the glasses sitting on the rack to dry. One by one, I stack them on the shelves.

“You can leave, actually,” I hear behind me. “I’ll help.”

I look over my shoulder, seeing Aracely tying an apron around her waist. The crowd of people behind her talks loudly, and I spot Trace and Dallas in the mix. Army walks in the door, minus his kid, wearing a fresh black T-shirt. I can tell because the fold lines are still a little bit visible. His arms are tanner. They’ve had a full day.

“I’ll stick around for a bit,” I tell her.

“I don’t want to share tips.”

“You don’t have to.”

I’m not staying long enough to make a lot of tips anyway.

I face her, folding the towel and setting it down. She looks unamused that I’m not letting this turn into a fight. We should get drunk together.

“Hey,” someone calls out down the bar.

I quickly fill a glass with ice, pour a shot of Jack, and grab the soda hose, topping off the drink with Diet Coke. I stick a straw in and slide the glass across the bar to Aracely. “On me,” I tell her.

I don’t give her a chance to tell me to go fuck myself.

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