Free Bold by Nicola Marsh

She nodded at Kurt. “Nice meeting you.”
    She bent low to whisper in Zane’s ear, “If you refrain from killing the dumbass, I’ll reward you later. Promise?”
    “Promise.” Zane nodded and grinned, feeling like the luckiest guy in the bar as every male gaze fixed on Chantal’s sexy butt as she sashayed out.
    “You’re a fast worker,” Kurt said. “Barely in the country and you hook up with a…local.”
    Zane didn’t like the pause. “What were you going to say?”
    Kurt sniggered. “Come on, man, you’re not that naive.” He jerked his thumb at the door. “The way she walks? Pretty fucking obvious she’s a stripper.”
    Zane would’ve been on him in a second if it weren’t for two things: he’d vowed to leave the last three years behind, when he’d act first, think later, and he’d promised Chantal not to kill him. Fortunately, when he made a promise, he stuck to it. Unlike dear old dad, who hadn’t kept the marriage vow he’d made in Australia, and had ended up fathering a dickhead like Kurt.
    “She owns a club in Vegas. She doesn’t strip.”
    “You sure about that?” Kurt held his beer up in a toast. “No shame if she does, man. We’ve all been there. Goes with the territory of playing ball.”
    Zane gulped half his beer in one shot, needing to chill before he reneged on his promise not to kill.
    “If you think we’re going to bond over locker room bullshit, think again,” Zane said, eyeballing his butthead brother. “We’re nothing alike.”
    “Is that so?” Kurt leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Okay, let’s cut the shit. Dad dumps the fact I have two half brothers on me a week ago. One of them’s a high profile footballer in Australia. He’s coming over to meet us, like we’re all expected to join hands and sing hymns or some such shit. And you expect me to be doing fucking cartwheels?”
    Kurt’s eyes narrowed, but it didn’t hide a glint of jealousy. “I know Dad got you a tryout with the LA Owls as a kicker. Which means you’re now on my turf. And take it from me, hanging out with a woman like Chantal won’t help your cause.”
    God, Zane hated this self-absorbed, sanctimonious prick.
    “My cause?”
    “Making it in the big league over here.” Kurt sipped at his beer, annoyingly casual when Zane was seething inside. “What kind of club does she own?”
    “Burlesque.”
    Kurt shrugged, his inherent cockiness making Zane’s fingers curl into a fist. “I rest my case.”
    “Burlesque isn’t stripping.”
    “Yeah, yeah, it’s art .” Kurt scoffed. “Where we come from, bumpkin, when a girl gets her gear off and shows her tits, whether they’re covered in pasties or not, it’s stripping. And there have been too many scandals lately involving footballers and strippers, so if you want a chance in Hades of making it here, you need to distance yourself from her.”
    Fury swept through Zane, swift and scorching and blinding him to everything except how much he’d like to wrap his hands around Kurt’s redneck and squeeze hard.
    “Who says I want to make it here?” He kept his voice deliberately cool, ignoring the rage threatening to spill over. “I came here to meet my family .” He sneered. “And look how that fucking turned out. Wyatt’s the only one who’s man enough to give it a shot.”
    Zane carefully placed his beer on the table and stood. “He’s got balls, which is more than I can say for you and dear old Dad .”
    To his surprise, Kurt slumped, his overt cockiness fading. “Wyatt’s a good guy. I’m the prick of the family, but I guess you’ve already figured that out.”
    “No shit, Sherlock.” Zane rocked on the balls of his feet, torn between wanting to storm out and staying to see if Kurt actually had an ounce of decency in him.
    “I’ve handled this all wrong. Sorry.” Kurt held out his hand. “If you stick around, I’ll shut the fuck up.”
    Zane should leave. He wanted to, but something in Kurt’s steady