The Mane Attraction

Book 3: Pride Series

by Shelly Laurenston

Genres: Paranormal Romance; Humorous Fantasy; Fantasy Romance

Synopsis

Weddings have the strangest effect on people. How else to explain the fact that Sissy Mae Smith woke up in Mitch Shaw's bed the morning after her brother Bobby Ray tied the knot? Or that gunmen are trying to kill Mitch, and Sissy Mae now has to escort a bleeding, stubborn, yet still incredibly sexy lion shifter to her Tennessee Pack's turf to keep him safe? It doesn't help that Mitch's appraising gaze makes her feel like the most desirable creature on earth, or that the ultimate stray cat is suddenly acting all kinds of possessive.



Mitch is an undercover cop who's about to testify against some dangerous ex-associates. Even more worrisome, he's harbouring hot, X-rated fantasies about the fast-talking little canine-and he has to deal with every male in Sissy Mae's Pack sniffing around her in a way that makes his hackles rise. Mitch has his pride, and he intends to show Sissy Mae that when a lion sets out to make you his mate, the only thing to do is purr, roll over, and enjoy one hell of a ride.

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

It was hard to think about death at a wedding.

Yet he was managing it pretty well.

And it wasn’t because he was bored or the bride didn’t look beautiful or the venue wasn’t amazing. It was because of that damn call.

One call and his mind was filled with images of death. His death. But it wasn’t every day a man got a call that informed him there was a two-million-dollar bounty on his head. All that money for his big lion head.

He should be wallowing in depression. He should be having one of his panic attacks when he couldn’t breathe or see straight. He should be doing what any normal human being—normal being relative since he could shift from human to feline in about thirty seconds or so—would be doing when finding out someone wanted him or her dead so badly.

But he couldn’t be depressed, he couldn’t panic. Not now. Not with that staring him in the face.

Okay. So it wasn’t right in his face, but if he dropped to his knees and crawled over to it ... his face could be right there. Now that was something worthy of wallowing in.

Happily wallowing.

“You’re staring at my ass again, aren’t you?”

Normally when coldbusted this way by a woman, Mitchell Patrick Ryan O’Neill Shaw would begin some serious lying. He knew females well enough to know there were times when a man had to lie or risk losing important parts of himself. But every once in a while, if a man was lucky enough, someone would come along who went past the whole male-female flirting dynamic. And that someone was Sissy Mae Smith.

They didn’t start off as friends. Not surprising since she stole his damn jacket. He’d lent it to her underdressed friend—at least she’d been underdressed at that moment—and Sissy had done what scavenger wolves did ... she took it for herself. But Mitch was feline—king of the jungle and all that—so he took the damn thing back. That led to Sissy wrapping herself around Mitch like a monkey and demanding he, “Enjoy your taste of nirvana, bitch!”

To be honest, he really hadn’t known what to make of her at that point, but Sissy had a way of making people feel like they’d known her for twenty years. She’d walk into the security office where they both worked for her brother—a job that kept him busy and out of trouble until he had to go back to Philly to testify—and drop into Mitch’s lap like she belonged there. Then she’d say something along the lines of, “I know my beauty is enthralling, but do you think men realize I have substance, too?” or “Would you take me more seriously if I weren’t so pretty?” But it was when she would find him wandering his brother’s hotel in the middle of the night that he realized how much he liked her. She’d never ask him questions like, “Why are you sweating and jumping at everything that remotely sounds like a gunshot?” and instead, she would drag him off to some late night diner for what she referred to as “breakfast and mocking.”

And it was over one of those breakfasts that Mitch realized Sissy had become one of his best friends.

“Yes, I’m staring at your ass,” he told her as plainly as she’d asked, “but I can’t help it. It keeps talking to me.”

He wasn’t kidding either. It was the way that stupid bridesmaid dress hung off her that was making him crazy. It was a millimeter too tight around her ass, and he couldn’t do anything but stare.

Like most shifter females from the Smith Pack, Sissy was a lot of woman. Strong, powerful, built. She could take down perps better than most linebackers could take down a quarterback. He’d seen her take a punch to the face and then kick the living shit out of the guy who’d done it. He’d also seen her whine over her stubbed toe. Sissy would never be a supermodel but that’s what Mitch liked about her. You took Sissy to bed, you never had to worry about breaking her.

She was pretty, too. She looked a lot like her big brother, but her features were softer, her fighting scars a little less dramatic. She kept her dark hair in a shaggy layered cut that teasingly covered and illuminated sharp, light brown eyes and well-defined cheekbones. The hairstyle appeared casual and easily maintained, but Mitch had grown up in a house with women, and his mother, a former registered nurse, now owned her own salon chain. He knew a three-hundred-dollar cut when he saw one. But the designer shoes on her feet were her first and only pair. Same thing with the designer gown. Sissy liked to be comfortable and look comfortable, and she wasn’t afraid to put in a little work to get that across.

Yeah, Mitch liked that she was a walking, talking contradiction. A backwoods hillbilly who’d traveled the world and understood more cultures than some PhDs. A woman who’d barely finished high school but still managed to earn and keep the respect of people with multiple degrees. A shit-starter who lived to torture anyone stupid enough to get caught in her web but who would die to protect her family and friends.

Sissy had turned out to be everything he expected and nothing like he’d thought.

So it seemed inevitable they’d end up in bed together, at least for one night, but then Sissy had suddenly looked at him one day and said in her straightforward way, “You know, I like you too much to ever fuck you.” Sissy wasn’t much for vague euphemisms. In her world, if you were “sleeping together,” you weren’t doing something right. “Sex” was for prostitutes. And “making love” was for people who never got out of the missionary position.

And in some bizarre way, Sissy’s blunt pronouncement made complete sense to Mitch, and he’d shockingly agreed. They’d been best friends ever since.

Of course, that was before she put on that damn dress. Now he was all distracted and horny, and Sissy had no one to blame but herself and her good-size ass.

“Did you say my ass was talking to you?”

“Yup.”

It had talked to him all through the ceremony and now while they were being forced to take pictures under the burning Long Island, New York, midday sun. A simple thing like taking pictures had turned into a good hour for Mitch to stare at her ass some more.

The whole event was out of control really. Such a huge wedding for two people who couldn’t care less about marriage. There were fifteen people on the groom’s side and fifteen on the bride’s, an interesting mix of males and females—and breeds. Cats and canines comingling. Maybe not happily but politely. Sissy stood up with her brother, and Mitch had ended up on the bride’s side.

It had taken him by surprise when the bride had asked him. Why would she want him in her wedding? And that’s exactly what he’d asked her. She’d smiled up at him, those big, brown wild dog eyes of hers making him feel all protective of her, and then she’d told him, “Because, dude, you’re our karaoke king, and we worship at your altar.”

The bride was an odd girl. But adorable as only a canine could be.

But really, how many shifter weddings would he ever be invited to? Unlike many full-humans, his kind kept their commitments once they made them so wasting money on a big wedding or bothering with all the paperwork usually amounted to a complete waste of time. Of course, getting shifters—male and female—to make the commitment was often like pulling teeth, but once trapped, they were in for the long haul.

Of course, Bobby Ray Smith, Alpha Male of the New York Smith Pack and local hillbilly, wasn’t marrying just anybody. He was marrying Jessica Ann Ward, Alpha of the Kuznetsov Wild Dog Pack and worshipped geek hottie. And a wedding like this didn’t happen every day ... or millennium, for that matter. So to be part of it was kind of an honor for Mitch. Add in that Jess’s Pack was as rich as Bill Gates, and you had a wedding on par with a Kennedy event.

In fact, the wedding was taking place at an actual castle. And Mitch didn’t even have to pay for anything. His tux, shoes, the attempted haircut—already grown back out to his full mane in less than twenty-four hours—all paid for. Rooms in seriously expensive hotels down the road had also been booked. He knew the food would be stupendous, and there was apparently a room called the Chocolate Room. Chocolate was the theme for the entire wedding, but there would be desserts of all kinds in that one room. There was also the Gambling Room, the Gaming Room, and the Sing Your Heart Out Room for the karaoke fans.

Yeah. He liked how these wild dogs lived. They knew how to enjoy life and felt no shame when caught chasing their tails.

But now he had to get through all these pictures. One after the other with a goofy smile on his face.

While the bride and groom took pictures with the groom’s parents, Sissy Mae turned to face him. “Did you just say my ass was talking to you?”

“Again. It’s talking to me again.”

“Again. I see.”

Standing next to him, Sissy leaned her shoulder against his. With those heels on—that she’d been complaining about for days—she was nearly as tall as Mitch. “And what does my ass say to you exactly?”

“I don’t know. It’s speaking in tongues.”

Sissy’s laugh rang out across the Long Island acreage surrounding the castle. But it quickly faded when a voice snapped beside her, “Sissy Mae, try not to embarrass your brother today. If you can manage that for once.”

Yup, there went that twitch. It was a small one, right in the corner of her left eye, and most people probably never noticed it. But Mitch had been hanging out a long time with Sissy, and he’d learned her facial expressions because a certain expression would probably be the only warning he got before she started some shit. But that twitch was new and only seemed to happen when her mother was around.

“Think you can do something useful,” her mother went on, “and help Jessica Ann change her gown now that we’re done with the photos?”

“Why? Has she lost the use of her arms?”

The thing that was kind of scary about Sissy’s mother was that she didn’t get hysterical and mad like most mothers who fought with their daughters. Instead, she got this frightening little smirk on her face and stepped close so that she was only inches from her child.

Softly, she said, “Get up them steps and help your sister-in-law before I make you wish I’d left you at the pound.”

Sissy sighed. “If only not being your daughter was remotely true, there would be a reason to live.”

“Well, Lord knows I wouldn’t want to give you that spark of hope.”

“I’ll take her,” Mitch volunteered, grabbing Sissy’s hand and pulling her toward the door the rest of the females had gone through.

Most of the time, Mitch loved watching family strife from a distance. But he knew when two deadly predators were squaring off, and if someone told him to put money on who’d win between Sissy and her mother ... well, Mitch wouldn’t know.

Sissy had youth, and she was wicked fast when she wanted to be. He’d worked with her long enough to know the damage she could do. Especially if you pissed her off.

But there was something in her mother’s eyes. Something hard and dangerous that Sissy didn’t have. At least not yet. And since Mitch had actually been invited to the bachelorette party, he felt a certain loyalty to making sure Jess’s day stayed perfect. He didn’t want her having to worry about blood on the walls of her lovely wedding venue.

“Explain to me again how matricide is illegal in some states,” Sissy growled from behind him as he pulled her toward the enormous staircase.

“In all states. Plus, I think there are some moral restrictions around it, too.”

“That’s not fair. Clearly, these lawmakers haven’t met my mother.”

“I wouldn’t know. Besides, this is all so foreign to me,” he explained once they hit the top step. “My mother loves me and would do anything for me, so I’ve never had a desire to kill her.”

Light brown eyes abruptly narrowed. “Throw that in my face again, and your sweet momma will be nursing your mauled body back to health.”

“Sweet talker.”

They neared the set of rooms that had been set aside for the bride and her bridesmaids. Mitch heard all the giggling and felt right at home. He’d been raised by women. His mother’s Pride had taken good care of him throughout his childhood. They had taught him a lot over the years, and what they couldn’t teach, there’d always been a male or two around the house to help out. Then the day after he’d turned eighteen, one of his aunts walked into the kitchen where he stood leaning against the counter, downing a bowl of cereal. She stared at him like she’d never seen him before and demanded, “Are you still here?” He knew then it was time to move on. He’d always be welcome in his mother’s house, but it would never be his Pride.

And Mitch had never done the Pride thing. He’d been the only male offspring in a house run by hard-core Philadelphia girls who spoke pretty freely. So he’d known at a young age how Pride females really felt about the males who ate their food and got them knocked up, and Mitch didn’t want that.

But being a nomad had its benefits, and he liked that the only enemies he had were the ones he made himself. Joining up with a group was a little too “gang mentality” for him. How these Packs of canines did it, Mitch had no idea. The wolves seemed to tolerate it as their lot in lives. The wild dogs seemed to love it.

Mitch stopped short when Sissy refused to go any farther.

“You can’t make me go in there,” she said as the giggling and laughing became louder and more hysterical.

He turned to face her. “Not still holding that punch over her head, are you, Sissy?”

“No. And stop reminding me about that.” Sissy and the bride had a colorful history from years past, and Mitch took delight in torturing Sissy with it.

She stepped closer and whispered, “They’re all so ... so ...”

“Girly?”

“Golden Retrievery.”

Mitch laughed and continued to drag Sissy toward the door. “You guys are family now. That means you help out.”

They stopped in front of the open double doors and stared in fascination at the suite full of wild dogs chanting, “Jess! Jess! Jess!”

And Jess, in wild dog form, chased her tail in circles over and over and over again.

Mitch glanced at Sissy, and she didn’t even bother to hide her embarrassment.

“Well,” he pushed. “Get on in there.”

She pulled her hand away. “There has got to be a bar around here somewhere.” She walked off, and Mitch turned back to Jess. She’d stop spinning, but now she stumbled all over the room because she was dizzy.

As she sat down hard, her legs going out from under her, the other wild dogs caught sight of Mitch.

“Mitch!” they all cheered, and grinning, Mitch walked inside.

Sissy walked up to her best friend, throwing her arm around Ronnie Lee Reed’s neck. “Did you scout the area?”

“Yup. Two full bars in the front of the ballroom, two in the back, and three others scattered near the gaming and karaoke rooms.”

“Karaoke?” Sissy shuddered. “Make it stop.”

“Yeah. But there’s Texas Hold ’Em and blackjack in the gaming room.”

“Thank the Lord for small favors.” She glanced around. “Seen the old heifer?”

“I haven’t seen either old heifer in a while. But you know how they like to stalk their prey, waiting until we’re at our most vulnerable before pouncing.”

“I’m in hell, Ronnie Lee. Absolute hell.”

Her momma had been in town for three weeks ... three of the longest weeks in Sissy’s entire life. She didn’t know what was up her momma’s ass, but the woman had been riding Sissy from the day she’d arrived in New York, and Sissy’s patience was running thin.

“At least your momma clearly states what her problems are with you. Mine just keeps sighing at me and shaking her head.”

“I don’t know. After the last three weeks of constant Janie Mae chatter, disappointed sighs sound pretty good. And when’s dinner? I’m gettin’ hungry.”

“Another half hour at least. Maybe you could go back up and gently coax the bride to dress faster.”

“I am not going back up there. You’re asking too much. Besides, Mitch is up there. He’ll get her to move along.”

Mitch held one end of the rope, and the wild dogs held the other. With one leg crossed over the other, he rested his left elbow on his knee and studied his nails.

“Pull!” They did, and Mitch didn’t budge.

“Ladies, aren’t you getting a little embarrassed by this?”

“No!” they all yelled. He wasn’t exactly surprised. African wild dogs had high embarrassment thresholds.

Jess, who hadn’t participated—this time—in the game of tug, sat down next to Mitch. She wore a satin robe and not much else.

“How you doing, beautiful?”

“Fine. Glad that part is over.”

He glanced at her flat belly and asked his daily question since finding out she was pregnant with Smitty’s love child, “And how’s Mitch Junior?”

Jess shook her head. “You have got to stop calling her that. Smitty will have your head.”

“But I love watching how red his face gets.” He looked at the clock on the wall. “You better get dressed. There’s still more to your day.”

She rolled her eyes. From what Mitch could tell, Jess hadn’t had much to do with arranging this wedding other than to insist on the Karaoke Room and no real flowers at the ceremony or the reception since she was violently allergic. From the flowers on the tables to the bride’s bouquet, all were fake flowers but so artfully done, he wouldn’t have known if someone hadn’t said something about it.

“I haven’t seen the other dress. Put it on, and I’ll see if I can give it the Mitch seal of approval.”

“Okay.” She glanced longingly at the rope and the She-dogs still attached to it.

“No, Jess. You can’t play tug.”

She gave a cute little growl before storming off. “My day my ass!”

“I knew you’d be back here. Hidin’.”

Sissy smiled up at her daddy. She wasn’t surprised he’d found her in the back of the kitchen, hiding in the room the staff used to take breaks. He knew his daughter better than most people realized. But they’d always been close. “You’re one of the few who don’t piss me off, Shug,” he used to tell her when she was only five. Bubba Ray Smith was a unique good ol’ boy, but Sissy loved her father and would destroy anyone who messed with him.

“I’m not hiding. I’m taking a much needed break.” She stood and hugged her father. “Hey, Daddy.”

“Hey, Shug.” He always called her that when they were alone. It was his pet name for her. He started off calling her Sugar, but when she’d turned four or so, he’d gotten lazy and shortened it to Shug. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m trying, Daddy. I really am. But she’s pushing me.” Like always.

“You gotta stop letting her get to you.” Her father pulled out the chair for her, and Sissy sat down, her father taking the chair next to hers. “She pushes you because she wants you to be the best.”

“The best at what? Matricide?”

“That ain’t funny, and you know it.”

It was kind of funny.

“You’re grown now, Shug. You can’t let her get to you anymore. You’ve got your own Pack, and you don’t even live at home anymore. Although I’d never stop you from moving back if ya want.” And she heard the hope in his voice. It broke her heart and made her feel very loved.

“You know I can’t come back, Daddy. Not to live.” She smiled. “But at least I’m in the States now.”

“Yeah. That’s true. And here I know my little girl’s safe.”

Yeah, her father still saw her that way. His baby girl. Sweet, delicate, his princess. Of course, everyone else knew better. And most women would be annoyed, wondering why their fathers didn’t see them as adults who could manage their own lives. That wasn’t her father, though. Sissy never felt like he thought less of her. He’d trusted her to handle most things when everyone else still treated her like a kid. So no matter where she went or how far away she was, she was Bubba Smith’s baby girl, and she always would be. It didn’t bother her because she didn’t doubt herself as a woman or a She-wolf. You couldn’t when you were Alpha. You couldn’t afford to.

“I was real worried you’d stay over there in Asia, and then I didn’t know what I’d do without my baby girl.”

Because God forbid the man would actually leave the country.

“What’s outside of America that’s all that interesting?” he’d grumble. The fact he was taking an actual vacation starting tomorrow still amazed her. Her mother must have had to work some major Lewis Mojo to make that happen.

“Do your old man a favor, Shug,” he said, taking her hand.

“Anything, Daddy.”

“Don’t get into it with your momma today. Promise me.”

“But—”

“Promise me, Sissy Mae.” Okay. He’d pulled out the full name. Not Shug or darlin’ girl or any of his other nicknames. So he was serious.

To Sissy’s surprise—and especially to her brother’s surprise—this wedding meant a lot to Daddy, and she wouldn’t ruin it for him. She’d simply avoid the heifer. Hell, she’d been doing it since grade school, what was one more day?

“I promise, Daddy.”

He leaned in close and kissed her forehead. “That’s my Shug.”

“Your tits will fall out.”

Jess blinked big, brown dog eyes at him. “What are you talking about?” She looked down at the sleeveless ivory dress she had on. Her ceremony dress had cost a small fortune. This one, specifically for the reception, cost a lot less. Like a mini fortune.

“I’ve seen you dance, Jess. Your tits are going to fall out.”

Jess took a step back and stretched her arms out. “Nipple check.”

The She-dogs surged forward and stared intently at the dress.

“I see nothing,” Sabina stated as if her word was the only one that counted. Sabina was Russian, Jess’s second in command and the one whom the pack had been named after, and she had the sexiest accent Mitch had heard in a while. “You are wrong,” she told Mitch.

“I’m not wrong.” He moved behind Jess, placing his hands on her sides. He lifted her up and shook her around for a few seconds. As he knew she would, Jess giggled like a six-year-old.

When he put her back down on the ground, the wild dogs took another look.

“Nipples, my friends,” May announced. Maylin was Mitch’s other favorite wild dog. Originally from somewhere in Alabama, she was cute, Asian, and thought he was “just a darlin’ sweetie!” Unfortunately both females were thoroughly mated. And they had a ton of kids each to prove it. What did one do with so many children? It’s not like you could put them to work in a factory to earn their pay—some considered that wrong.

“We have nipples,” May finished.

Mitch rested his chin on Jess’s shoulder and looked down. “How bad is it? I should examine the area closely. It’s all right, sweetie. I’m a cop.”

Jess reached back and slapped at his face. “You’re disgusting,” she laughed.

The dressmaker, who they had at the wedding for just such situations—who can afford that?—was summoned to the bride’s suite.

Mitch sat in a chair and watched them add matching satin straps to her dress so that it would stay up. Still sleeveless but much safer.

“Better?” Jess asked while she stood in front of him.

He leaned up and put his face right against her breasts. “Give me a moment to investigate.”

“Or,” a really angry voice snarled next to him, “I could tear your throat out now, and we can have a wedding and a funeral.”

Without actually moving away, Mitch turned his head and looked into the angry wolf eyes of Bobby Ray Smith, Smitty to his friends.

“Don’t get mad at me because I’m only trying to be helpful.”

That got Mitch a flash of wolf fangs before Jess pushed Smitty away.

“If either of you get blood on my dress, there will be hell to pay,” she told them.

“Sissy Mae!”

Sissy turned from the bar and faced her most favorite aunts in the world. Her mother’s sisters, but she didn’t hold that against them.

Squealing, she threw herself into their arms, and her aunts hugged her and showed her she wasn’t a complete failure, no matter what her mother said.

“Look at you, darlin’ girl. Ain’t you as pretty as a picture!” her Aunt Francine, the oldest of the Lewis sisters, exclaimed.

“Thank you.” Her momma had told her to lose a few pounds. “I have to admit, I was afraid of what the wild dogs would come up with for the gowns. Especially when I saw Jessie Ann’s wedding gown.” It wasn’t that the bride’s gown wasn’t beautiful. But it probably fit in a bit better in the year 1066.

Leave it to Jessie Ann to go for the weird.

Sissy pulled back from her aunts.

“I like that color on you, though,” Francine told her. “Although brown at a wedding ...”

“It’s not brown,” Sissy explained because she’d heard it ten thousand times in the past six months. “It’s chocolate. Dark chocolate. Seventy-two percent—”

“Stop.” Francine held her hand up. “I can’t listen to any of that.”

Sissy laughed. “Leave it to Bobby Ray to catch himself a Jessie Ann.”

“Has she forgiven you?” Roberta, the next oldest, asked.

“She says she has, but I don’t believe her. I come in the room, she finds a way to leave it.”

“No one to blame but yourself on that, Sissy Mae.” Francine never let Sissy forget anything. “You tortured that little thing something fierce.”

“Torture is a harsh word. Accurate,” she added, “but harsh.”

Sissy smiled warmly at her Aunt Darla, the youngest of the sisters. “How’s my Uncle Eggie? I wish he’d come.”

“Aw, darlin’, you know better than that. My man is not good in crowds.” And Darla wasn’t much better.

“He’s probably in a Dumpster somewhere in Smithtown.”

“He better not be,” Darla playfully growled. “I warned him I better not find him in one again.”

“And Dee-Ann?” Sissy asked about her favorite cousin, Darla and Eggie’s only child.

Darla opened her mouth, then shrugged. “Honest, darlin’. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“I wouldn’t worry, Aunt Darla. I’m sure Dee-Ann’s just fine.” At least Sissy hoped so. She loved her cousin, but Dee worked for the government and whatever she did kept her away from her family and out of touch for way too long in Sissy’s estimation.

“So ...” Aunt Janette asked, her eyes bright, “when are you coming home, Sissy Mae?”

“Aww. Do you miss me?”

“Sure ... and some cat heifers need another smack-down.”

Typical. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on, Sissy—”

“No, Aunt Janette.” Sissy shook her head for emphasis. “I told you before never again, and I meant it.”

“Ungrateful.”

“Am not, and stop trying to use guilt.”

“Now,” Francine cut in, “when are we gonna get our Sissy Mae settled?”

“Uh ...”

But before panic could set in fully at that ugly question, Mitch suddenly grabbed her from behind.

“Excuse me, ladies. I need to use Sissy as my human shield.”

He lifted her up, and not surprisingly, she was abruptly face to face with her brother.

Sissy sighed when she saw her brother’s scowl. “What did he do now?”

“The boy needs to keep his hands to himself.”

“Actually, my hands weren’t involved at all.”

Bobby Ray reached around her, trying to grab Mitch’s throat.

“Now ya’ll stop it, right now! Bobby Ray, go on. Dinner will be soon, and you need to drag that bride of yours away from the other Pound Puppies.”

“Stop calling them that. And remember what I told you, boy.”

After her brother stalked away, Sissy slapped at Mitch’s hands. “Let me down right now, Mitchell Patrick Ryan O’Neill Shaw.”

“Uh-oh,” he said to her aunts while placing her on the ground. “She used my full name. That means I’m in trouble.”

“I thought the rules were set?” Sissy faced him, and she barely stopped her frown. Not for what Mitch had done. Hell, that was downright tame. No, it was because Mitch had been looking ... she couldn’t explain it. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was losing weight. He was smaller than his half-brother, Brendon, but she had the feeling that w. . .