Brendon (Alluring Indulgence #8)(86)
Author: Nicole Edwards

“I’m gonna let you in the house, but let me say this. If you hurt Cheyenne … No! Hold up. I’m still talkin’, damn it. Shut up and listen.”

“Okay, so that fuse was lit, it just happened to be slow burning,” Cheyenne said aloud to no one in particular.

“Like I said, I’m gonna let you in, but if you hurt her in any way, say anything nasty, do anything I don’t approve of, I’ll throw both your asses out in the front yard. And I’ll be the one to call the cops. Understand?”

Cheyenne didn’t listen to the response, instead opting to run back to the kitchen. Truth was, she didn’t want to see her parents. Not right now. Not with so much other craziness taking place in her world, but she’d known they would eventually find her. They always did.

Like now.

“Cheyenne.”

Turning at the sound of her name, Cheyenne came face-to-face with her mother and father. They looked … Hmmm. Cheyenne couldn’t place what was different about them but it was definitely something.

Not their clothes. They were still wearing high-end pieces—one of their many splurges.

Her father’s dark hair was perfectly styled, his angular jaw cleanly shaven. His emerald green eyes keen as always as he glanced around the room, pretending that he wasn’t checking out her things.

Francine—known to her friends as Frankie—looked tired, but that wasn’t unusual. Cheyenne was pretty sure that keeping up with her father was a full-time job, one Frankie gladly volunteered for. Her mother hadn’t had much of a choice, Cheyenne had learned early on in life. Paul Montgomery was a player of the worst kind. When he wanted a woman, he had her. Granted, he invited Frankie into the bed, so Cheyenne figured her mother felt that as long as he was including her in his escapades, she could overlook his infidelity.

To each his own and all that.

And maybe that was the biggest reason Cheyenne refused to be shared between two men. She had no intention of sharing her man with anyone else. Ever.

Despite the dark circles under her eyes, Francine looked nicely put together. Her long sandy brown hair was straight as a board, her light brown eyes as observant as Paul’s as they roamed the kitchen from floor to ceiling.

“Care to introduce us to your …” Francine’s crude brown gaze lingered on Brendon a little too long for Cheyenne’s comfort.

“This is Brendon Walker. Brendon, you’ve met my parents, Francine and Paul Montgomery.”

“Frankie,” her mother corrected.

“Frankie,” Cheyenne stated, rolling her eyes so only Brendon could see. She knew that at a very young forty-five, Cheyenne’s mother was having a difficult time with getting older, so much so that she thought the nickname Frankie made her seem younger.

Whatever.

Brendon didn’t greet them, simply nodded his head as he moved to stand behind Cheyenne, his hands resting on her shoulders as he pulled her up against him.

“Would you like some coffee?” Cheyenne offered, knowing that now that her parents were there, they wouldn’t leave until they were damn well good and ready.

“That’d be nice of you,” Paul said, the underlying loathing in his tone lingering in the air between them.

“I’ll get it,” Brendon said, turning to retrieve mugs from the cabinet, leaving Cheyenne to face her parents alone.

“The place looks nice,” her mother said. “Mind if we sit down? Or is there somewhere you’d prefer us common folk to be?”

Cheyenne’s hands balled into fists. She’d known her mother’s snide comments would be along soon enough.

“Not gonna happen,” Brendon growled from behind her. “You treat her with respect or you show yourselves out.”

To Cheyenne’s surprise, Paul patted Frankie’s hand, whispering something to her before leading her to the kitchen table. Cheyenne chose to sit on a bar stool, turning it to face her parents. Close, but not too close.

“So why’re you here?” she asked.

“To see you, of course,” Paul responded. “We’ve been so worried about you.”

Brendon set a mug in front of Cheyenne and then delivered two more to the kitchen table. He took the last one and came to stand beside her once again. He looked cool and collected, but Cheyenne could feel the tension radiating from him.

“I went to talk to Grams,” Paul said.

Cheyenne tried to hide the tension that locked up her shoulders, but she was pretty sure even Scrap would’ve noticed, if he’d been paying an ounce of attention. Which he wasn’t. He was sitting on the floor near Brendon’s feet, watching the two strangers at the table.