The Beauty and the Brawler Read Online Free PDF

coffee, gently picked Samara up, and carried her across the small space and sat her down. “Do you want to be a prison mom?” he calmly asked.
              “No.”
              “Then you can’t kill him.”
              “But—”
              “No.”
              “Paz, he—”
              “I know.”
              “And—”
              “I understand, but the answer is still no.”
              “I just want to—”
              “No.”
              Samara stomped her foot and growled as Trip’s chuckles grew louder and louder. “Asshole.”
              Trip grinned. “But I’m a pretty asshole.” He blew her a kiss. “Because of me, our baby will be beautiful. You should be grateful.”
              Paz caught her before she made it over the table, fingers curled into claws once again, and threatened the other man. “I will unleash her on you.”
              Spreading his arms wide, Trip replied, “She’s a little moody because I gave all the details of our torrid affair without her here.”
              Samara stilled and softly spoke. “I’m going to kill you, Obadiah Jacob Latimore the Third.” His grin melted at the use of his given name. “I’m going to kill you then tell everyone about your life as Real Steel.”
              Paz looked between the two of them. “Real Steel?”
              “Oh, Sammie, c’mon!”
              Her head cocked as she began to hum a tune Trip was all too familiar with. They didn’t call her Sammie the Voice for nothing.
              Trip pointed at her. “You swore you wouldn’t!”
              “What am I missing here?” Paz queried.
              “Oh, nothing much,” Samara retorted casually. “Just Trip’s old career choice as a—”
              “I’ll take it back I swear!” He waved his arms. “I’ll make sure everyone in the building knows I’m full of shit!”
              Behind her, Paz snorted. “My friend, it’s far too late for that. Everyone already knows.” He raised his brows towards Samara. “Lucy, you have some ’splaining to do.”
              She pouted a little. “Can’t we just continue with our regular daily routine?”
              His lips twitched. “Cute...but no.”
              Flopping back into her chair, she placed a hand to her forehead. “I can’t handle this kind of stress. I’m with child.”
              It was Trip who pulled her hand away from her face. “Sweetheart, it’s six a.m., I had to drink shitty lounge coffee, and your breasts are not on display for my enjoyment.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You should be thankful we aren’t passing you from knee to knee by now and tanning your ass.”
              Samara’s shoulders slumped. It was going to be a long day.
     
    ***
              Manfred, the smell of food, and a home that didn’t look like a tornado and hurricane had a fuckfest in her living room gwere the things Samara noticed upon opening her front door. This meant one of two things; she had a really domestic, possibly homicidal stalker in her condo or... Nyssa was here.
              Her sister was the only logical explanation to the change in her home because her mother didn’t have a key to her place—thank God — and her father wasn’t a big fan of New York as a whole. Plus, she smelled mustard-fried chicken breast. And the only person who fed Samara’s addiction to mustard-fried chicken breast was Nyssa. Out of the two of them, she was the one who managed to be efficient in the kitchen. Everything Samara made had a slight Cajunfeel to it. It was arguable that she should be grateful her sister cooked. Arguable didn’t mean she would be grateful.
              “Please, for the love of all that’s holy, let it be a domestic,