When I hear somebody sigh, “Life is hard,” I am always tempted to ask, “Compared to what?” ~ Sydney J. Harris

How long had Hawk been stuck in this damn billionaire’s mansion in Brazil? He tried to count off the days. Almost two weeks? Seemed like fucking forever.

Last week, the Hermitage would’ve celebrated the Fourth of July. Not with fireworks since sunset was around 11:30, and the sky just didn’t want to darken. But there would’ve been grilled salmon and various dishes from the garden’s produce. Vegetables grew like crazy when the sun barely set. JJ probably made a cake decorated for the holiday, so Aric would’ve been on a sugar high. Hawk could almost hear his giggles.

No matter how crazy the kid got, Kit would still look at her boy with those soft eyes.

Jesus, he missed them. All of them. Especially Kit and Aric.

How the fuck had that happened?

Growling under his breath, he picked up his eReader and paged to where he’d lost the thread of the story.

A few minutes later, Zander deVries walked into the two-bedroom suite they shared. The hard ass ex-merc was laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Hawk growled.

“The cook thinks we’re brothers.”

“Yeah?” Hawk eyed his friend. They were the same general build—thickly muscled and 6’2”. They both had short, dark blond hair. Hawk had a trim beard. Both were fair skinned with deep tans and light eyes, though deVries’ were grayish-green rather than blue. “Maybe.”

Although deVries had grown his hair out to look less like a bodyguard, an observant pro might ID him from the way he moved and the cold, evaluating gaze.

Another way they were similar, Hawk admitted.

“You know, if you want to be my brother”—deVries grinned—“you’ll need a whip.”

“Fuck no. Get me a beer instead.”

“Bro, sadists have more fun.” Laughing, deVries retrieved beers from the small fridge.

“Hard pass.” That was another result of a crappy childhood and abusive father—the thought of hurting someone for fun was nauseating.

To each his own, and, at least, deVries didn’t play his BDSM games without full consent. “I’ve got enough brothers, thanks.”

“You got good brothers.” At Hawk’s look of surprise, deVries added, “Met them at Mako’s funeral. I was there, guarding Zachary Grayson.”

“Right. Bull mentioned the doc had a bodyguard.” Hawk hadn’t even heard about Mako’s death until after he returned from a merc assignment. “The sarge probably enjoyed having a gunfight at his wake.”

“It did get lively.” After handing over a beer, deVries dropped onto the fancy-ass sofa.

Hawk nodded his thanks for the drink. “How’s the client?”

“He’ll be up and around soon. Until then, we’re stuck here with nada to do. Dammit, who ever heard of getting pneumonia in the summer?”