Jack Brewer Kickin It Novels & Stories

Jake grimaced at the coffee machine, stirring a Nescafé sachet into hot water that smelled like burnt tyres. “Ouch,” he muttered after a sip, wincing. Footsteps. Dr. Kimberly Watkins slid past, eyes on a tablet, lips moving as she read. “It’s impossible to have a heartbeat like that…” “Hey, Kim. Got a moment?” Jake said. She stopped, looked up. He looked wrecked—jet-lagged, strung out, running on fumes.

"What can I say? She’s got me whipped." Knox let out a low laugh and shook his head. "Well, your girl is free to do whatever she wants back here. What’s your name, pretty?" "Jenna," I said, stepping fully behind the counter and sliding my jacket off. "Alright, Jenna. Welcome to the pit," Knox said, tossing a clean rag onto the wood next to me. "If you really know how to mix, the people drink vodka-cranberries, bourbon on the rocks, and whatever beer is in those tubs. Keep the line moving."

"And said you wouldn't be able to come so here we are." "How did you know? I only cancelled a moment ago." Calen smirks, "Like I said, insufferable." "I brought a few beers," Jake announces. Jake works as senior executive at one of our other operations and yet he always finds a way to come over here, same with Gideon, despite being an Alpha himself he will galavant from his pack to mine repeatedly. Jake slams the bear cans onto the table and pulls out a seat. I raise an eyebrow. "Hmm, Day drinking?"

I nodded and shook his hand again. We headed back out. “Well, I don’t want pussy tonight so I’m going for a drink.” Paul told me, making me laugh. “Sure thing.” I headed back out with Creek and Paul. “What do you drink?” he asked us. “IPA usually. He sniggered. “We don’t have that shit here. We’ve got Jack, Jameson and Jim. You can have it with ice or water if you’re a pussy.” He raised his eyebrow, a silent dare for one of us to ask for water. “I’ll have water with mine.” Paul smirked. Creek looked him up and down, a smirk growing on his face. I watched in amusement as the men seemed to take each other in. “I’ll have Jack with ice.” I ordered, interrupting the staring contest they had going

It had a red straw hanging out of the top of it and it was smoking like it was a campfire. “Thanks. I’ll get this round, guys,” Jacobs said and pulled twenty dollars out of his pocket. “Keep the change.” “Thanks,” Becky said and left. Matt’s eyes went cross as he picked up his beer and stared at the smoking glass in front of Jacobs. “So, Axel,” Williamson began with a smirk. “Are you really going to drink that?” “I don’t see why not. It is . . . unique,” Jacobs said. Matt took a long draw from his beer mug to keep from laughing. Becky came back and sat down a bowl of peanuts and a basket full of condoms on the table.

JAX I wind my fingers around the necks of the empty beer bottles on the table, carrying three in each hand and walking into the kitchen to discard them. “Thanks, man,” Reid grumbles, pressing his foot on the pedal of the stainless-steel garbage can to pop the lid open. The bottles clatter together as I toss them inside. “No problem. Wish those guys didn’t have to take off already, I could use a few more brewskis after that shitshow.”

My ribs screamed with every breath—courtesy of Derek's boots three nights ago in that motel parking lot outside Tucson. "You cannot run forever, Jenna," he had said, his voice cold as winter. "I will find you again." But I had run. Again. A rumble split the air. Deep. Mechanical. The kind that made your bones vibrate. I lifted my head and saw them. Six motorcycles rolling down Main Street like they owned it. Leather. Chrome. The devil's head patch on their backs—red eyes, fangs bared. Devil's Reign MC. My blood turned to ice.

“So, Renly forced you to smoke some tobacco. Is your kid gonna come knocking on my door to force me to binge on some nasty beer?” “You’re gonna drink sooner or later, bud, but it ain’t gonna be like that. Javier isn’t half as ambitious as your pup. He’s an *ss. Slow as a mule too. If you don’t hit him, he ain’t never gonna hit you. But you can’t spell jack*ss without *ss, so if you force his hand? Boy, oh boy, he’s gonna be such a gigantic pain that even I won’t be able to stop him. You’ll be on your own when that happens, bud.”

Jaxon POV After the women kicked the men out of the common area to start planning the Luna Ceremony, my father decided to take a small nap and Brayden wanted to go unpack his bags. Jett and I went to my office and got a drink. “What do you want, bro?” I asked Jett. “Blanton’s. Give me the good stuff, man.’ I poured him two finger widths and then I decided to get the Elijah Craig for me. Ever since Sable said my scent to her is smoky bourbon, I have turned my taste to Elijah Craig. My brother also noted the change.

"Pissed as a fart, wearing nothing but a Superman cape and Union Jack boxers." Sophia snorted, nearly dropping her spatula. "You're taking the piss." "Honest to God," Jake insisted, raising his free hand. "He slams his fist on the bar and demands – in the worst American accent you've ever heard – 'Barkeep! Your finest ale for America's greatest hero!'" "No fucking way," Sophia giggled, flipping the steaks. "What'd you do?" Jake grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. "Poured him a glass of apple juice. Told him it was our special 'Hero Brew.' Bloke chugged it and ran off yelling about saving the Queen."