Fighting to Forgive

Fighting - 2

by

J.B. Salsbury

To my readers, with love and infinite gratitude.

It’s your support that gives my story wings.

Prologue

It’s almost midnight, but I can’t sleep. The pounding of adrenaline still floods my veins. Riding high on the rush from earlier today, I stare at my ceiling while Iron Maiden’s “Wicker Man” blares through my headphones. My fingers drum against my Discman in perfect time with Nicko McBrian’s snare hits.

I force my mind to the mundane world of freshman year of high school, finals, and which cheerleader I’m asking to the homecoming game, but even that doesn’t calm me. My thoughts keep going back to this afternoon. I breathe through the rush of excitement.

It was stupid. Sneaking around made it more exciting, but if I get caught… No, next time I’ll take better precautions. I can’t risk—Boom!

My bedroom door flies open and slams against the wall. Oh shit! I rip off my headphones and jump to my feet. Light pours in from the hallway. Shadows of men, hunched low to the ground, filter into the room. My heart slams against my ribs, and icy fear rockets through me. I try to run, but strong hands seize me at every limb.

“No.” I buck hard against the hold. This can’t be happening.

“Fighting will make it worse.” A man, his face masked by the dark, tightens his grip.

It’s a dream; it has to be. My head spins, and I search for consciousness. Wake up. Pain from the violent hold on my body confirms my fear. This is real. My legs shudder with each panicked breath.

“Help!” I lean toward the open door, praying my parents can hear me.

A shove to my legs drops me to my knees. I try to punch, but a man pulls my arms tight behind my back. The cool metal of handcuffs surrounds my wrists.

“Dad.” My voice cracks. “Mom, Braeden.” I thrash. My shoulders burn. “Let me go.”

I don’t understand. Where is everyone? Did these guys get to my family first?

Dread and fear chip away at my strength. I swallow against the ache in my throat. I’m outnumbered, outmuscled, and overpowered, but I refuse to sag into their hold.

“What did you do to my family?” I can barely hear my own words over my heaving breath.

“Hang in there, kid,” says the man at my back, too casual to be comforting.

This is bad. “Take whatever you want. I won’t call the cops, just let us go.”

The dense silhouette of a man fills the doorway. I squint into the darkness, fearing the worst. Is this the one who’ll finish me off? He steps farther into the room, and I drop my head back to see his face.

Oh, thank God.

“Dad.” I try to break free, to get to him, but I’m held in place. “Help me, they’re holding me.” The words tumble from my lips before what’s going on around me sinks in.

I stop struggling.

My dad’s not helping me. And the men who busted into my bedroom don’t seem surprised to see him. My blood turns ice cold, and a chill runs through my body.

He’s sending me away.

“Dad?” I search his face for compassion but find nothing close. “Don’t do this.”

He warned me this would happen. Threatened to send me off if I didn’t stop.

A flash of what my future holds lies in the compassionless faces that study me now. Trained monkeys who live by orders, brainwashed to give up their free will. That’s what he wants from me. Fuck no. I jerk hard, and my joints burn in resistance.

“Stop fighting, son.” My dad steps closer and squats to eye level.

The spice of his cologne rolls my stomach as my vision adjusts to his nearness. His military-approved haircut only makes his square jaw seem more angular. His mouth is a rigid line held so tight that the muscles in his cheek jump. The usual dark green of his eyes looks almost black, and I struggle to hold his stare. He studies me for a few seconds then grimaces. Even though it’s a look he gives often, it’s still upsetting.

“You crying, Blake?”

“No, sir.” I sniff back the tears that burn behind my nose and try to hide the fear that pollutes my veins.

“The hell you aren’t, son.” He shakes his head. “And herein lies the problem.” His words are mumbled. He pushes to standing then paces back and forth. “I won’t tolerate my teenage pussy-ass excuse for a son crying like a girl.”

The room fills with the snorted laughter of the soldiers holding me. Even as my cheeks flame, I ball my hands into fists, and my muscles go rigid. My tears dry, and the roar of my pulse thunders in my ears.

“As if that shit you do in your free time isn’t gay enough, now I got you crying?” He’s not asking a question.

“I quit, sir. I told you that.” I stare at the floor and hope he doesn’t see my lie. The truth is, I can’t quit. His threats to send me away and to beat the urges out of me haven’t cured me. I’m helpless against the draw. But how did he find out? I was so careful.

He steps in front of me, and I can feel his eyes on my head. “A liar and a pussy.” He’s on the verge of losing his temper, and experience has proven, that’s never a good thing. “You’re just like your mother.”

My mom. She’s the only one who knows. My head struggles for clarity. Why would she rat me out?

Then, I notice her small figure just outside the doorway. She watches helplessly, her hands wrapped around her stomach and her shoulders shaking in silent sobs. Present, but completely powerless.

I try to lock eyes with her, but I can’t see her features well enough in the dark room. “Mom, why…?” My questions freeze on my lips. She won’t have anything to say. She never does when it comes to him.

I’ve always been the strong one, taking every blow in my dad’s verbal assaults with my chin held high, proving that I can handle it. It’s the best way I can protect her.

I suck in a deep breath and throw my shoulders back. If she thinks I’m okay, then she’ll stop crying. Convincing her that I want what he has planned for me will make this easier on her.

“There’s no looking to your mommy to save you. Not this time. How long has she been lying for you, Blake?” When I don’t answer, he shoves his steel-toed boot into my shoulder.

I rock back but refuse to fall. My usual plan is to diffuse his anger by apologizing and stroking his ego. But here, in the middle of the night, being held by a team of my dad’s men, with the knowledge that where I’m going I’ll be free of his daily taunts… I’m done eating his shit.

His intimidations may have worked on me before, but I’m not his puppet, jumping with every pulled string. Heat coils behind my sternum and stokes the smoldering embers kept hidden for years into a flame. I drop my gaze to the green shag carpet and breathe deeply, allowing my anger to fester.

“It was only a matter of time before you got caught. This sneaking around behind my back won’t be tolerated.” He crushes tracks in the rug with his combat boots just like he stomps through life, breaking spirits and leaving victims in his wake. First my mom, now me, and my brother will no doubt be next.

“My men here are gonna take you to a place where soldiers are made. Won’t have a choice but to man up around this crew. You hear me, boy?”

Rage pulses from my chest, through my veins, and coils my muscles.

“I asked you a question, faggot. Answer me.” His demand for my cooperation echoes off the walls.

I cringe at the sound of my mom’s whimpering. He won’t be ignored. One chance to cooperate is all I get. It’s all any of us have ever gotten. I’m pushing him too far.

For the first time, I don’t care. My breath hits hard, and my nose flares to keep up with my intake of oxygen.

“Answer me, you sorry son of a bitch!” He puts the sole of his boot to my chest and shoves. “Weak, just like your mother.”

My body lists, but I’m numb to his abuse. I tilt my chin up and lock eyes with him, glaring so hard my eyes burn. “She’s strong enough to put up with your shit.”

He smiles and laughs, but nothing about his expression says he thinks it’s funny. “Little momma’s boy. Still holding on to that woman’s apron strings. Pathetic.”

Those words, like lighter fluid to my resentment, kindle the flames into a raging inferno. My teeth grind, and fury shreds through me.

My dad waves me off with a flick of his wrist. “Get him out of my face.”

“Yes, sir,” his minions say in unison, taking orders from the colonel like the good little disciples that they are.

They’d probably slit their own throats if the order was given.

That will never be me.

I’m pulled to my feet by my biceps and walked to the door. My mom hurries out of the way to let us pass. She’s clutching her robe to her neck, her usual pretty face splotchy and wet with tears. Her light brown hair looks as if she’s been running her hands through it for hours. My chest clenches at the pain I see in her eyes.

I lean back. “Hold on.”

They ignore me and continue to move me through the house.

“I just want to say goodbye.” I dig my bare feet into the carpet.

“Duke?” Her soft-spoken calling of my dad’s name brings us to a stop.

The asshole rolls his eyes, but he waves off his men. “Stand down.”

She takes a few steps toward me but stops just shy of arm’s length. “Blake…” Her chin quivers, and tears shine in her blue eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Shame twists in my gut. “It’s okay, Mom.” I should have never involved her in my sneaking around. “Don’t cry. I’ll be all right.”

She moves close enough to cup my cheek. She no longer hugs me because my dad said it makes us weak. “Be strong, Blake.”

No I love you, but instead, be strong.

It’s harsh, but this is what we’ve come to. In order to thrive in this family, we need to conform. And strength trumps emotion.

I work my mouth into a smile. “Always.”

My dad must have given the nod, since a hand clinches my elbow. I say goodbye to my mom then allow myself to be guided through the house. I don’t see my brother anywhere, but chances are he’s been ordered to stay behind a closed door. He’s much better at obeying than I am.

I’m push-walked out the front door. It’s a cool night. The wet ocean air whips and curls around my face, and I take my final breaths of it, knowing that I’ll be in the desert soon. My dad leads us to the open double doors of a black van. Once there, a hand from behind puts pressure on my head, trying to get me to duck and climb in.

I force my spine straight so they can’t fold me into the van. “Sir, one thing before I go?”

My dad looks down at me through narrowed eyes. “What is it? You’ve got a long drive ahead of you.”

I step close, grateful that my last growth spurt put me just a few inches shorter than him. “I just want to say…” With a quick step back for momentum, I slam my forehead into his nose. Stars dance behind my eyes.

He doubles over with a howl, putting his hands to his face. Blood pours through his fingers.

A smile curls my lips. Damn, that felt good. The quick high dissolves as I’m pulled back and shoved face first to the concrete driveway. The rough soles of combat boots press into my back and hold me down, crushing my ribs.

My dad groans and stumbles on his feet. “Hold him up, boys.” His pained grunt makes whatever’s about to happen totally worth it.

I’m hauled up by my T-shirt and shoved forward.

His face is red, colored by fury and blood, and inches from mine. “’Bout time I taught you a lesson.” Standing back, he raises his fist.

Knowing the unavoidable is on its way, I decide to leave him with a parting thought. “Fuck you, Dad.”

Pain explodes in my jaw. The world spins and goes black.

One

Thirteen years later…

Blake

“I’d like to make a toast.” I’m drunk as hell, feeling zero pain. The club’s crowded and humming with energy, just like every other club in town tonight.

It’s New Year’s Eve in Las-motherfucking-Vegas.

I climb my barstool and stagger-stand on the bar. So ready to put this fucked up year behind me, I check the countdown clock—fifty-two minutes. I raise my glass, and the crowd below cheers.

Yeah, bitches. You all love my ass.

“Here’s to a new year. May it be filled with knockout punches in the octagon.” I lock eyes with two chicks at my feet. They’ve been hanging on me all night, rubbing me ready and begging for it. I wink. “And knockout babes in your bed.” I squint into the crowd, looking for the band, and find them huddled next to the stage. “And cheers to my boy, Rex.” Holding my drink high, I motion to his band, Ataxia. “Make rock and roll history, brother.” With one last thrust of my glass into the air, I toss back two fingers of whiskey and savor the burn.

Everyone in the club follows suit, finishing in a symphony of hollered agreement. I hop off the bar and into the tentacle arms of my admirers.

“Great toast, baby,” the platinum-haired beauty to my right says as she rubs her body against mine.

I bend down, sliding my tongue into her eager mouth and grabbing a fistful of her ass. Nothing gets a second girl’s interest like pure, hot, jealousy. And sure ’nuff, her friend presses herself to my side and slides her hand down my stomach to the waistband of my pants.

I’m numb and can’t taste or feel much. But my dick roars to life, searching for somewhere hot and wet. It’s not even midnight yet, and I’m trashed. If I don’t get these girls home and naked soon, I may pass out before getting laid.

“Dude, get a room. Or at least find a dark corner.”

I pull back from my blurry make-out session and focus my drunken gaze on Caleb and the new guy—what’s his name? Caleb invited him out tonight. He moved here from a beach town, and being a transplant, he had nowhere to ring in the New Year. He’s supposed to be the next hot-shit UFL fighter. Looks like a lifeguard from Baywatch to me.

“You assholes jealous?” I tuck a girl under each arm and lean against the bar.

The guys laugh, but I don’t miss the flash of envy in their eyes.

Rex and his drummer, Talon, show up with a few girls in tow. They’re all hot, dressed in barely-there clothes for easy access, and asking all sorts of naughty questions with their eyes.

One of the many things I love about Vegas is that there’s no shortage of women who’re looking for the no-strings kind of hook-ups I’m all about.

Fuck, I love my life.

“Great set, T-Rex,” I say, and mean it.

Ataxia is the perfect combination of old school and melodic punk rock. And Rex, that fucker can write a song.

“Thanks, man.” Rex shifts his gaze around the group. “Where’s Jonah? I thought you said him and Ray were coming by.”

A burst of laughter unexpectedly flies from my lips. “Yeah right. That dude’s been shacked up with his new wife at home since they got back from Bora Bora. I bet they haven’t worn clothes more than a few times since they’ve been married.”

Not that I blame the bastard. Raven’s not only hot, but she’s tough. The shit she went through last fall at the cabin… no typical woman could have done what she did. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Women are weak. Raven’s an anomaly.

I blink and shake my head against my conflicting thoughts. While I’m happy for the pussy-whipped Jonah, I’m glad that ain’t me. Raven carries more baggage than Boeing. He acts like it’s a damn pleasure to lug that weight around. No thank you.

I’m no fool to the ways of women. And I’d prefer to stick with the ones that are cool with casual sex without complications.

Speaking of which, my enthusiastic dates for the evening are getting restless, the strokes of their wandering hands growing even more bold.

“You girls hungry? I got something in my pocket that should fill you up.”

The blonde moans and licks her lips before running them along my neck. Her friend tosses her chestnut curls over her shoulder, a look of jealousy flaring in her eyes.

I smile and pull her to my side, leaning in to speak in her ear. “Don’t worry, babe. There’s plenty of me to go around.” In an effort to punctuate my words, I grab her ass and grind her against my thigh.

She slides her hand into the back pocket of my jeans. “Both of us?” she asks, with what sounds like a mixture of curiosity and excitement.

“Yeah, both of you.” I pull back to meet her eyes. “It’s a New Year. Try something new. You’ll be glad you did.”

It doesn’t matter if she agrees or not. There’re a handful of women who would take her place. A few I can see from where I’m standing, the rest an easy speed dial away.

She chews her lip, thinking it over.

The blonde has made her way to my mouth, grabbing my chin to pull me to her parted lips. Vodka on her tongue mixes with the sugary flavor of her lip-gloss. I sink into her kiss, making sure to give decision girl a visual that she won’t soon forget, a taste of what she’ll be missing.

Before long decision girl is tugging on my arm. I break the kiss and give her my ear.

She flexes her hand that’s still in my back pocket, and she runs her other up my chest. “I’m in.”

“Great news, babe.” I study her expression. Everything about her body language says she wants to go home with me, but something in her eyes puts my alcohol-flooded mind on alert. “You ready?” I press her, testing.

“Yeah, just let me hit the ladies room and make a phone call. I’ll be right back.”

She pushes up on her tiptoes, going for my lips.

I turn my head, taking her kiss on the cheek. “Phone call? Let me guess, husband?”

She recoils, her eyebrows pinching together. “No.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” She looks around then leans into my ear. “I have to call my sitter. Let her know I’ll be late.”

This shit ain’t happening. “Whoa, whoa.” I hold up my hand. I don’t need any more information than that. “No.”

“No?” Her mouth hangs open.

“Um, more like hell no.”

“I don’t—”

“Sorry, babe. You’re good looking, but I’ve got to send you packing.”

She gasps and pulls her hand from my back pocket. “I… I…”

“Yo, Baywatch,” I call out to the new guy, motioning for him to come over. He’s what I would think most girls would find attractive. A little too pretty, but muscled enough to look straight.

“What’s up, Blake?” He eyes the young mother who’s still standing there stiff and offended.

“I want to introduce you to…” I’m not hiding the fact that I don’t know her name. I swing my gaze to her and wait.

She glares at me. “Alana.”

“This is Baywatch.” I put pressure on her lower back, pushing her to him.

Baywatch looks pleased with his gift. “Hey, it’s nice to meet—”

Alana jerks her head around. “You’re a dick.”

I shrug.

The blonde at my side watches me brush off her friend. “Alana, are you okay?”

Nothing will kill my buzz faster than a nasty chick fight. It’s not personal. Hell, I’m probably doing the girl a favor. I’m definitely doing her kid a favor. Girl with a mouth to feed doesn’t need to be paying a babysitter overtime so she can go home with a dude that’ll fuck her and never call her again.

I murmur a quick “Be right back” and move to the opposite side of the bar, where Rex and the boys are hanging out. Baywatch isn’t far behind me. Apparently, chick fights aren’t his thing either. Maybe he deserves more credit than I gave him.

“What happened, B? You strike out?” Rex says.

He’s teasing. He knows I never go home alone on a holiday.

“Biding my time, Rex. Night’s still young and full of possibility.”

“I don’t get it.” Baywatch’s voice is laced with disapproval. “Those chicks were hot. And you just… walked away.”

“Blake’s got selective taste. He’s always blowing off the hot ones for the hotter ones.” Rex laughs and takes a pull off his beer. The groupies at his side seem to have taken on a sudden interest in our conversation.

“What’s your secret?” New guy steps up, genuine curiosity in his eyes. But fuck, what’s his name?

“You want to know my secret, Baywatch?” I’m totally fucking with this guy. There is no secret.

Truth is, I have no clue why nailing chicks is easy. It might have something to do with the fact that I only go for the ones who may as well have a bright green “Enter” sign hanging from their belt loops. I don’t like a challenge. The easier, the better. Taking a chick out on a date and investing time in getting to know her is not how I operate. Sure, even some of the easier girls can get clingy, but I make it clear it’s only about the sex. If they hold on to ideas about having a future with me, that’s their problem.

Fact is, a decent looking guy who can’t get any play is probably humping up the wrong tree.

“Fuck, yeah.” Baywatch nods and—is he taking notes?

Caleb laughs. “This shit ought to be good.”

“Okay.” I flag down the bartender for a beer and turn to my eager student. “When you come to a place like this, what’re you looking for?”

He slides his gaze to a group of girls at the bar. “Meet girls.”

“Ah-ha.” I point in his face. “There it is. To meet girls.” Shaking my head, I lean back against the bar. “That’s your problem.”

Baywatch drops his shoulders. “That’s it? That doesn’t even make sense.” He throws his arms out. “Every guy here is out to meet girls.”

“No, that’s where you’re wrong. Me? I’m here to find a chick… or two… who I can take home and bang until I pass out from dehydration.”

His eyebrows pinch together. “What’s the difference?”

“The difference, young Hasselhoff, is that meeting girls implies time. Buying her a drink, asking her about her fucking job, learning that she has a sister in Chicago she hasn’t seen since Christmas, and having to listen to her talk about her ex-boyfriend and how he broke her innocent little heart.”

“So what you’re saying is I should just walk up to a girl and tell her I’m interested in meaningless sex for one night? That works?”

“Dude, have you been listening to a single word I’ve said?” I slug back half my fresh beer. I’m giving this guy valuable information, and he’s only picking up on the outline. “No, you compliment her. Make her feel like the sexiest woman in the room. Don’t ask her about her life. You don’t really care, and women are smart as shit. They pick up on your insincerity. Give her the fantasy.”

I give the novice a second to absorb the chick-getting info-bomb I dropped in his lap. Rex, Caleb, and the other guys from the band all watch—Mason! That’s his name.

“And that works?” His face is screwed tight.

“No. After you give her the fantasy, then you tell her you want to take her home and do things to her body that will make her scream so loud she’ll lose her voice.”

The guys all bust up laughing, but a few girls in the groupie-huddle inch closer to me. My eyes lock on a hot redhead. Her shy smile is a total front. She’s down for a good time.

I take her in from her fuck-me heels to her fake tits. She’ll do. I motion for her to come closer, and she complies. Damn, I dig a woman who’ll obey.

“Your tricks won’t work on me,” she purrs, sliding her cocktail straw between her lips.

“My tricks, huh? I only play games in one place, and that’s by invitation only.”

She runs her teeth along her lower lip. Yeah, she wants the invite. In the mood to have a little fun, I decide I’m going to make her beg for it. I turn my back on her, happy to see another girl, this one with blond hair and long legs.

“Damn, you’re fucking gorgeous,” I say, making sure to keep my eyes locked on hers.

She ducks her chin and smiles. “Thank you.”

Easy. This girl clearly isn’t used to being complimented.

I run my finger along her arm from shoulder to wrist and smile at her responding shiver. “What’s your name?”

“Faye.” She smiles, flashing the silver from a tongue piercing, and takes a pull from her cocktail straw.

“Well, fuck me.” Literally. “What’s a girl like you doing in a dirty mind like mine?”

She bursts into laughter, and I tug her to me.

Bitches in a barrel.

I turn back and see Mason with his mouth wide open and his arms hanging at his sides. Rex, Caleb, and the guys are all nodding and laughing.

Happy New Year to me, motherfuckers.

* * *

I’m hot, and my body feels heavy and pinned down. I squint into the bright light and slam my eyes shut. Ouch. My head throbs and rolls. A sharp twist in my stomach has me moaning. Fuck.

I try again, opening one eye slowly, then the other. Holy shit.

I’m in my room, on my bed, and my legs are immobile. I look down the length of my body, which isn’t even covered by a sheet. A tangle of bodies covers my king-sized bed. I drop my head back and close my eyes, praying like hell I can remember what went on here last night.

Damn, I shouldn’t have kept drinking. I remember leaving the club and jumping in a cab with some girls. Two, right? I pinch the bridge of my nose. Ah, shit. Three. All three girls from last night.

Pushing up to my elbows, I count the legs to make sure. All of them are long, slender, toned, and hairless. Except one. Oh shit. Please—I wiggle my toes, and the toes on the hairy leg wiggle. Thank God. I drop back to the bed, my heart racing. I rub my eyes with my fists, which only intensifies my headache and steals my breath.

I’m never drinking again.

A sleepy, feminine groan sounds from around my hip, then another from near my stomach. And with that, the entire girl-pile comes to life, arms and legs detangling from the human dream catcher.

I hear a small gasp, and one of the girls hops up. I watch through one eye as the blonde races around the bed, picking up pieces of clothing and throwing them back to the ground. It’s funny, but when my lips curve into a smile—fucking hell—it quickly fades. All the booze I drank last night continues to torture me.

My phone explodes in a violent ring from my bedside table. Ouch! Shit. The sound gets the girls moving and sitting up.

“Mmm-ello?”

Faye is up and shoving her arm in a balled-up piece of black fabric. Nope, wrong shirt. She tosses it on the bed and searches the floor. A grin tugs at my lips.

“Dude, you better be up, fuckface,” Jonah growls from the other end of the phone.

I lower the volume to save myself from the crippling pain. “Shit, it’s New Year’s day. I’m sleeping in. And so should you.”

“I’m pulling up to your place now. Remember, we’re going to the New Year’s picnic at Raven’s Nest.”

“That’s not ’til one.”

I’m sidetracked as I watch the girls exchange clothes along with awkward glances.

“It’s twelve-thirty.”

Fuckin’ hell.

“Get’chur ass up. Raven and I’ll be up in a minute.” He disconnects the call before I have a chance to reply.

I toss my phone on the empty pillow next to me. Placing my arms behind my head, I enjoy the view of the room full of naked women as they sort through their clothes, stumble over their shoes, and get dressed.

What I’m sure is an evil smile dances across my face. “Ladies, take your time. I could watch this all day.”

The blonde—Sara or Sandra—giggles, and the brunette drops to all fours looking under the bed.

After a quick call for a cab to escort last night’s entertainment home, I get up and throw on my boxers. Better unlock the front door for Jonah or the asshole will break it down. I did promise him I’d be at the party today. It means a lot to Raven, and after everything that girl’s been through these last few months, Jonah would kill anyone who got in the way of her happiness.

I take a quick leak then head down the hallway. Ginger, the brunette with legs that go on forever, is jiggling the knob of a locked door.

“You lost?”

Her eyes find mine, and I watch her once confident demeanor fall into an embarrassed frown.

“What do you need, babe?” I lean my shoulder against the wall just shy of the doorframe.

“Oh, I thought it might be a bathroom.” She studies the door for a moment then swings her gaze to mine. “Do you have a roommate?”

“Nope.”

She studies the door again then drops her eyebrows in confusion. “Wait, then what’s in there?”

I wag my finger and shake my head. “Top secret.” I step into her space, gliding my fingertips along her cheek and down the side of her neck. “If I told you, I’d have to punish you.”

She shivers, and a smile that screams anxious anticipation cuts through her earlier embarrassment. It’s obvious what she’s thinking. She’s experienced my kinky nature first hand. But I’ll never open that room up to anyone. Mainly because it’s none of their business, but also because I’m ashamed.

“Bathroom’s down the hall to your left.” I kiss her cheek and head to the front door.

“So, you like to play?” Her voice carries the sound of intrigue and lust.

I freeze mid-step, not turning around to face her. “More than anything.” Next to fighting, the room is the only thing that helps me decompress. If I didn’t have my career and my passion, I’d end up like him.

A loud banging shakes me from my standstill. “Chill the fuck out. I’m coming.” That’s what she said, multiple times. I smile at how quickly my memory of last night washes away the haunting thoughts associated with the room.

I swing open the door to see Jonah and his wife, Raven, hand in hand.

Jonah hooks her shoulder, pulling her body to his side. “Come on, Blake. You knew I was with my girl. Get some clothes on before you scare her.”

“I ain’t got nothing she hasn’t seen before. Although…” I smirk in her direction. “Mine’s bigger.”

Her cheeks flame to match her bright pink, long-sleeved shirt. She laughs, making Jonah scowl so hard I can feel it.

A laugh bursts from my throat. Damn, I’m still drunk. “Fuck, man. Calm down.”

Jonah pushes past me with Raven in tow. They stop in the foyer, and the sound of Raven clearing her throat fills the quiet.

After shutting the door, I turn and see why. Two of the three girls from last night face off with my friends. “Oh, um… Faye, and…”—I’m feeling lucky, so I take a guess—“Sara, these are my friends, Jonah and Raven.”

The girls stare at Jonah like I just introduced them to Channing Tatum. Raven moves closer to his side and wraps her arm around his waist in an act of possession.

I hold open the front door. “They were just leaving, right girls?”

With a few mumbled “nice-to-meet-you’s”, they scurry out the door. I give them each a parting kiss, thankful that my raging headache is holding back my libido.

Closing the door behind them, I turn to Raven and Jonah, who are both watching me with a mix of amusement and disgust.

“What?” I stretch my arms high and yawn. “I had to ring in the New Year properly.”

“Hope you got it out of your system, bro. Training for your fight with ‘The Fade’ starts first thing tomorrow.”

I rub my aching head. “Good. That’s about how long it’ll take me to sober up.” A grin tugs at my lips. “And recover from my extracurricular activities.”

Jonah laughs humorlessly. “You better be careful, man, or your shit’ll fall off and—”

The sound of a door slamming sends their gaze toward the hallway. Ginger strolls out and freezes at the sight of my guests.

I do a quick introduction. “Jonah and Raven are here to pick me up.”

Ginger takes her cue like a good little one-night stand. “Oh, right. Well, you guys have a happy New Year.”

I open the door for her. “You too.”

She mouths, “Call me,” and slips a piece of paper into my palm. After shutting the door, I take a peek at her handwritten note.

If you’re looking for a playmate, I’m game.

Her phone number’s there too, along with a fresh lipstick kiss. Nice. She’ll never get in the room, but I like that she’s open to play. I make a mental note to add her number to my phone for a rainy day.

Only twelve hours into the new year and I’ve got a no-strings playmate at the ready, and the fight of my career to train for that will put me up for title contention.

Yep, this year’s promising big things.

And nothing short of a damn tsunami in the desert will get in my way.

Two

Layla

New year, new career.

I can do this.

I shove my hand between two hangers in the tiny closet overflowing with my clothes. The apartment’s crap because I’m broke. But at least I brought a few nice things from my old life. Wearing designer clothes will be the perfect way to veil my poverty.

I grab a pair of black pants then toss them on the bed to look for a top. It’s colder in the desert than I thought it’d be. It’s nothing like a Seattle winter, but there’s a bite in the air that calls for long sleeves.

Red silk blouse. Perfect. I’ll need a power color to make a strong impression.

I slide my towel off my body and shiver from the chill in the room, or possibly my nerves. Slacks in hand, I sit on the edge of the bed to get—

Black pants are for fat girls.

The sound of his voice knocks around in my head as if he were standing two feet away. My stomach cramps then rolls. With the offending pants halfway up my leg, I shake my head.

No. I won’t let him ruin this for me.

I shove my other foot into the other pants leg—dammit. I gaze down at my body and feel my confidence drain. I’m 110 pounds, far from overweight. Although, I suppose I could lose a little around my waist. Maybe I should start doing a few more sit-ups before bed—no.

I rip the pants off and toss them to the floor. He’s doing it again. He’s not even here, and I’m questioning myself. Baby steps. Today isn’t the day to tackle my black pants issue. I can’t show up at my new job feeling like a whipped dog.

Without looking, I reach into the closet and grab an outfit. Anything will be better than wearing his memory.

“Elle, ten minutes,” I shout towards the hallway while sliding on a cream-colored sweater dress.

“Duh. I’ve been ready for the last ten,” she says from what sounds like the kitchen.

Who knew raising a teenager would be so much fun? I don’t remember sassing my parents this badly at sixteen. Coming home pregnant, yes. Sass, not so much.

I squint at my reflection in the murky glass of the old full-length mirror that came with the apartment. Business casual and fashion forward. After all, the Universal Fighting League isn’t some stuffy corporate establishment. From what I could tell from the pictures online, it seems like a pretty hip place.

I yank my hair up into an extreme ponytail at the crown of my head then wrap it into a tight bun. It’s important that no pieces of hair escape, or I’ll end up twirling them obsessively, like I always do when I’m nervous. I finish by spraying a cloud of hairspray that’s so thick it makes me cough.

You look like a bimbo when you twirl your hair.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I breathe deeply to block out his voice. How long until his constant taunts fade?

I want to come across as confident and capable. Chewing my bottom lip, I look through my closet again. Maybe an accessory will help. A scarf? No. Suit jacket? Too hot. I turn away from my closet and find exactly what I’m looking for on my bedside table. Thick-rimmed tortoiseshell glasses.

I slide them on and give my reflection another once-over. Perfect. I’m ready.

While walking the short distance from my bedroom to the kitchen, I push back the resurfacing butterflies. One of the benefits of a 700 square foot apartment is that everything’s only a few steps away.

“I get off at five. Since we’re still new in town, I’d like for you to come back here after school and hang out until you have to pick me up.” I grab the things I’ll need for the day and pile them on the small chrome and yellow table that seats two.

Elle’s leaning against the stove, one hand on her slender hip. She shrugs her shoulder that’s carrying the weight of her messenger bag. “Fine.”

Purse, keys, water bottle, and nutrition bar. Check. “Did you pack a lunch?”

“No. That’s for dorks. I’ll eat there.” She grabs an energy drink from the fridge.

“I hate those things. You should get your energy from healthy food and exercise. Not caffeine.”

“That’s such shit,” she mumbles to the floor.

“Elle, seriously? Watch the langua—”

“You drink coffee for breakfast.”

“That’s different.”

“Whatever.” She uses that affected tone that makes me want to shake her.

After locking up, we head down the stairs into the parking lot, where our 1991 Ford Bronco is waiting. We got it the day we rolled into Vegas. It was parked on a street corner with a price painted on the windshield. One phone call later, and it was ours.

“Mom, come on,” Elle says, and unlocks the driver’s side door.

First official day of our new lives.

I hop into the passenger side and listen as Elle tries to get the truck started. On the third try, it finally starts.

We drive toward the UFL Training Center. Since we only have one car, it makes more sense for Elle to drop me off and pick me up. She seems happy about the arrangement. I guess being picked up and dropped off by your mom when starting a new school mid-year is equivalent to social suicide.

After one wrong freeway exit and a missed turn, we finally arrive in the parking lot of my new job. I have a job. My nerves flutter behind my ribcage.

I check my watch. Thirty minutes early. “So you’ll pick me up at five?”

“Yeah.” Elle smoothes her long dark hair and checks her dramatic make up in the rearview mirror. I should tell her to tone it down, but she might be nervous. I wouldn’t want to make her any more self-conscious than she already is. Not on the first day at a new school.

“Elle.”

Her crystal-blue eyes dart to mine, and she gives me an annoyed look. “What?”

“Are you okay? I mean, you’re going to a new high school in a new city. Is there anything—”

“Ugh! No. I’m fine. Please, just go to work. I can handle it.”

Nope, she’s not nervous. She’s pissed. She may not say it outright, but how could she not be? I pulled her away from everything she knew. All her friends, and what little family we still had. I chew the inside of my cheek. Did I do the right thing by leaving?

“Look, I know you’re mad at me, but—”

“Stop.” She holds her palm up to my face. “Just go.”

I exhale a long breath, resolving to deal with her another day, when things have mellowed out. Maybe after she settles in a bit, makes some new friends.

Grabbing my things, I hop down from the car. “Have a good day, Elle. I love you.”

She turns up the radio before I’m finished. I shut the door and watch until her taillights disappear down the street.

I’ve completely ruined her life. Screwed her up in the worst ways, and I have no one to blame but myself. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I won’t cry. Not today.

New year. New career. New me.

I suck in a deep breath and hold my head high. Being a mess on the inside doesn’t mean I have to be a mess on the outside. Putting on a show is something I’ve mastered. And even though I earned this job, having applied online and interviewed over the phone, everything in me says I’m not good enough. My stomach churns with anxiety.

Stop it. They think I’m worth hiring. It’s about time I believe I am. Or at least fake it until I feel it.

After one more strengthening breath, I push through the double doors. Heavy metal music pumps from speakers in a modern lobby that smells like expensive furniture and rubber mats. Multiple flat screen televisions flicker with clips from UFL fights, one in particular showing different knockout punches on a loop. I cringe at the violent hits and turn my eyes to the reception desk.

A pretty girl with strawberry-blond hair, who looks to be in her twenties, greets me with a tight smile.

Shoulders back, chin up, think confidence. “Hi, I’m Layla Moorehead. I’m here to meet Mr. Gibbs?”

She blinks at me with big hazel eyes. I watch while she looks back and forth between a piece of paper in front of her and her computer screen. Her eyebrows slam together.

This isn’t good. Mr. Gibbs should be expecting me. Am I in the right place? I slide my eyes back to the door where the words “UFL Training Center” are painted in bright orange on the glass.

Yep, this is it.

Maybe I should pull up his last email on my phone. I could have gotten the date wrong. I shift, move my purse strap to my other shoulder, and begin digging for my phone. The cavernous depths of my purse seem to have swallowed it. I push deeper, and suddenly the bag is weightless. Before I know what’s happening, my purse and its contents clack against the treated concrete floor.

“Crap.” I watch as my water bottle and several other personal items roll across the floor in every direction.

Broken purse strap. Lovely start to my day.

I kneel down and rake my things into the bag, making sure to shove the tampons in first before anyone sees them.

“Seriously? Is this really happening?” My voice is soft, but its high pitch must reveal my frustration. “Stupid purse.” I get down on all fours to retrieve a runaway lipstick that rolled under a nearby couch. Cheek to the floor, arm outstretched, I feel under the couch. My fingertips barely touch it. Come on, just another inch. I push my arm farther beneath, my shoulder hitting the base of the couch. Almost got it—Ah-ha!

“You alright down there, Mouse?”

I freeze at the sound of the deep, booming voice behind me. How must I look from this angle? Ass up, head down. I practically groan at being caught in such a ridiculous position.

Lipstick in hand, I scramble to my feet. “Yep, I’m good.” I hold the lipstick tube out and push my glasses up on my nose. “Just lost—” Holy huge guy. My breath catches in my lungs as I face off with the owner of the baritone voice.

He’s at least a foot taller than me. His legs are so long that the white stripes running down the sides of his warm-up pants seem to go on forever. My eyes linger on the fabric, which is baggy and clingy in all the right places. My face instantly heats as I move my eyes from his legs to his chest. A grey long-sleeved thermal shirt accentuates his broad upper body, his muscles straining against the cotton.

“You forgot this.” He flashes a crooked smile that softens the hard angles of his jaw. His high cheekbones are set below the most striking pair of green eyes that whisper all kinds of dangerous. And dirty.

I clear my throat and reach for the object he’s holding—oh my gosh! I snatch the tampon from his hand, its crinkling paper sound igniting my cheeks even more. So much for acting confident. I’m a mess, and I can only pray that my glasses help to hide a little of my embarrassment. Burying the offending object deep into my purse, I consider running out of the lobby and calling in sick. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help. Wouldn’t want you to get caught without those.” He runs a hand across his upper lip, trying to cover a smile and failing horribly. “Could get messy.”

The tension in my jaw goes slack. He didn’t just say that. Jerk.

So he saw me on the floor with my ass in the air… and handed me a tampon. He probably thinks I’m some silly girl that he can push around with his good looks and that panty-melting smile. But I won’t cower to his presumptions.

I glare into his bright green eyes and straighten to my full five-foot-three, and a half thanks to my high-heeled boots, hoping to feel less intimidated. It’s impossible. But he doesn’t need to know that. “Have you ever heard of Emily Post? She’s an expert on etiquette. You might want to look her up.”

“Yeah?” He rubs his chin, making a show that he’s considering what I said. He lifts one eyebrow. “She single?”

I prop both hands on my hips and run an overly obvious gaze from his black athletic shoes to his eyes. “Maybe, but she’d only date a gentleman.”

He lifts his chin, then bites and releases his lip. “I could be a gentleman. I like role play.”

Adding sexy banter to the list of things this guy is good at, next to tampon retrieval, I make a mental note to stay the hell away from him. With an exaggerated roll of my eyes that I hope he’s smart enough to notice, I turn my back on the giant.

Clutching my broken bag, I wait on the girl to buzz me in, or whatever she has to do to get me away from this arrogant ass.

“Hmm, yeah. You’re not on the visitors list.” She shrugs like I should just grab my scraps of purse and leave.

On the inside, I’d be happy to slink away with what little is left of my pride. But my life doesn’t afford those luxuries. Not anymore. This is my only chance to move on.

“If you’ll get Mr. Gibbs on the phone, I’m sure he’ll vouch for me. My name is Lay—”

“Don’t worry, Vanessa. I got this.”

I drop my head and groan. He’s still here?

Whirling around to face him, I plan on telling him that he can go about his business and that I can take care of my damn self. But he’s standing no more than a foot away, and his eyes, which are the color of spring grass, penetrate mine. They’re intense, and… amused? He’s smiling, but only slightly. I narrow my gaze. His grin expands.

“Is there something you find particularly funny?”

He doesn’t answer, but continues to study my face. His eyes roam from my mouth to my neck and then back. What’s this guy’s problem?

I wave my hand in front of him. “Hello? Yo habla English?”

The side of his mouth lifts, and his eyes sparkle.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“Not a cat.” He takes a step closer. “But I’d give it to a mouse.”

He called me “Mouse” earlier. “What the hell does that mean?” I shift my loose belongings in my arms and dig for my phone. Anything to take my attention from the man towering above me. “Look, if you two won’t call Mr. Gibbs…” Shoveling junk to the side, I search every crevice of my purse. Where is it? Ah, there it is. I yank out my phone and scroll through my contacts. “I’ll call him myself.”

My phone is snagged from my hand. “Wha—”

“He’s not who you want.”

“You just… I can’t believe you just…” I thrust my hand forward and stomp my foot. “Give me my phone.” This guy has some nerve. I wish I could smack that smile from his face.

He plops my phone into my hand. “Come with me. I’ll take you to tryouts.” His voice no longer drags with a teasing tone, but is laced with sincerity, as if he’s really trying to help.

I don’t know if I should trust him. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t even… who are you?”

“Whoever you want me to be, Mouse.” And he’s back to teasing.

“Look, Mr…?” Why is he smiling? I follow his eyes to my—oh my gosh.

He’s staring at my boobs.

I cross my arms at my chest and cock my hip. “I’m here for a job.”

His eyes flare as he stares at my breasts that I’ve now propped up on my forearms for his viewing pleasure.

I drop my arms and scowl. Ugh, why do I feel naked right now?

“Oh, I know why you’re here,” he says with a deep chuckle.

“No you don’t.” I’ve barely managed to get a word in.

“Mm-hm.”

“Fine, Mr. Mindreader. Why am I here?”

“Follow me.”

I don’t like him ordering me around, but I’ve got less than ten minutes before I’ll be considered late. Maybe if I follow him in I’ll be able to find someone to help me locate Mr. Gibbs.

I slide my pile of broken purse pieces from the reception desk. “Well, aren’t you…” Impossible. Annoying. Conceited. A groan rumbles up my throat. “Fine.”

“Some women call me fine, I prefer handsome.” He walks down a hallway, motioning for me to follow. “Sexy works too, or you can call me Blake.”

What is he, a friggin’ comedian? This guy’s so full of himself. It’s not like he’s some big shot fighter… oh no. Realization dawns in a face-flaming instant, and my one stroke of good luck is that I’m behind him so he can’t see me. He’s one of the UFL’s top fighters.

Blake Daniels, nicknamed “The Snake” for his submissions. Jiu-Jitsu black belt, fighting for the UFL since 2006, middleweight title contender. I read all about him in the prep email Mr. Gibbs sent me.

Blake has a big fight coming up. It’s the reason Mr. Gibbs wanted me to start right after the New Year so I could learn the ropes as the fight night approaches.

No more mouthing off to one of the UFL’s golden boys. I follow him into a warehouse-like gym, my mouth tightly shut. He greets a few other guys by name. I recognize some of them, and run through their stats in my head.

He pushes through a door and into a smaller room. The wall is lined with mirrors, and there’s a group of girls sitting at a table. One is sitting on top of it.

“Hey, Blake,” the girls sing in unison.

I shake my head at the seductive tone in their voices.

Guys like Blake Daniels are bad news. Breaking hearts with a look, no doubt.

“Ladies. I found this one lost in the lobby. Thought I’d escort her in.” He looks around the room, his eyebrows low. “Where’s everyone else?”

“No tryouts today.” The blonde who was sitting on the table hops off and struts toward us.

What tryouts?

“Hm. Well, you guys should get, uh…” He looks down at me. “What’s your name, Mouse?”

What is up with that nickname?

I glare up at him. “Stop calling me that.” I face the blonde and her two sidekicks. “I’m not here for tryouts for, um, whatever you—”

“Cage Girls,” a redhead girl says.

I point at her, glad somebody finally let me in on what’s going on. “Cage Girls. Right, I’m not here for that. Mr. Gibbs hired—”

“You’re not here for tryouts? With that hot little body?” Blake’s compliment has me shifting on my feet.

“No, or thank you, I guess, but no. I’m Mr. Gibbs’s new assistant.” I shove my hand toward Blake, acting firm and professional. Confident. “Layla Moorehead.”

His expression is blank, giving nothing away but a slight twitch of his lips. “What did you say?” He ignores my proffered hand.

I pull it back and clutch my bag to my body. “Mr. Gibbs hired me to—”

“No, I heard that.” His lips curve up on one side. “What’s your name?”

“Layla. Moorehead.”

He throws his head back with a laugh so loud and deep it resonates off the walls. “Fuckin’ A, Mouse. That’s the best name for a chick I’ve ever heard.”

Oh, here we go. I should have known a man like this would have the sense of humor of an eighth grader. I rub my temples, pushing back the oncoming headache. “Are you finished,” I say as dryly as I possibly can, but most likely not loud enough to be heard through his howling.

“That’s some funny shit.” He catches his breath after his fit of laughter. “Wait, let me guess.” He scratches his cheek, which is covered by the perfect amount of stubble. “You’re a stripper, right?”

What. An. Asshole.

Three

Blake

No shit. Layla Moorehead?

This babe’s hot as hell, and she’s named after sex and blowjobs. That’s a combination impossible to ignore. And that’s not where the dick-swell stops. The chick has attitude. Most girls do the blush-and-duck when I tease them. Miss Sex and More Head gave it right back. I like that.

“So you’re the new executive assistant Taylor’s been blabbing about?” Damn, guess I won’t be seeing that gorgeous body in a Cage Girl uniform after all. Not that the tight sweater dress she’s wearing leaves much to the imagination. And fuck me if she doesn’t smell downright edible.

She wiggles her nose and then pushes her glasses up with her middle finger. I squint toward her and grin. She just flipped me off like grade school kids do. Yep, seriously diggin’ the attitude.

“I guess I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She checks her fancy wristwatch. “I’m late.”

She walks past me, and the scent of vanilla from her sunshine-blond hair penetrates my senses. I resist the urge to lick my lips and sample the air. She smells like she looks. Delicate and irresistible.

I enjoy the show, watching the tight curves of her body roll beneath the fabric of her dress as she heads toward the wrong door. She reaches for the handle that opens into a large storage room and yanks hard. It’s locked. Instead of walking away when it doesn’t budge, she yanks again. She squeaks in frustration, just like she did in the lobby when I found her on her knees with that fine ass in the air.

Hands on my hips, I watch and wait. And grin like a fool. This girl is fucking hilarious. She tugs again, like maybe the sheer will of wanting to escape will magically open the door. The Cage Girls giggle.

“Mouse. Wrong door, sweetheart.”

She spins around, fast and angry, a long piece of her shining hair falling from its ballet girl bun and dancing down her face. She pushes it back only to have it fall right back down. Fuck, this girl is cute.

I point to the door she needs, and she straightens her shoulders. Cradling her broken bag in her arms, she marches toward the door, throws it open, and disappears behind it.

“Too bad,” Melinda, the captain of the Cage Girls, says. “She would have made a great CG. A little short, but perfect body.”

“Hmm.” I’m smiling at the door that Mouse just left through. “Yeah, too bad.”

What’s a shame is that Layla’s too locked up in her head. She’s fun as hell to play with, and her body alone promises a different kind of excitement. But there’s one thing I know about girls like Miss Moorehead—they’re more chore than whore. But I’ll enjoy the eye-gasm I get every time I pass by that sweet piece.

After tossing the Cage Girls a quick later, I make my way to the weight room, the place I was headed before I got sidetracked by Taylor’s new hire. The place is practically empty except for Rex and the boys, who’re already lifting.

“Late, bitch.” Owen’s spotting the new kid, Mason, on the bench press.

“Had to show Taylor’s new assistant around.” I pull my thermal over my head and toss it aside, leaving me in my sleeveless undershirt.

“Finally. That guy needed to get rid of Helga years ago.” Rex curls his weights, talking to my reflection in the mirror.

“Her name was Heidi, dumbass.” I stop at the bench and glare at Mason.

He hops up, and I take my place under the bar.

“She acted like a Helga. Fuckin’ girl was as slow as a ninety-year-old woman on muscle relaxers.”

Owen throws on a couple more weights and locks them on the bar. I brace my shoulders against the bench and then push up and out, steadying the bar that’s loaded to 300 pounds. I drop the weight to my chest and thrust it back up.

Owen hovers at the bar. “What’s she like?” He looks down at me. “The new one.”

I grind through a few more reps and slam the bar back onto the rack.

What’s she like? Hot, cute, and full of attitude. Her eyes are the color of dark chocolate, sultry and exotic, the complete opposite of her bubblegum-blonde good looks. Getting lost in those eyes would be easy, but there was something else there. Even with her sexy librarian glasses, I could see it. The disconnect in her gaze, like she was talking to a wall rather than a human being. If I had to guess, I’d say she carries a lot of shit on those perfectly toned shoulders.

I shrug. “Cool, I guess. Seems smarter than the last one, that’s for sure.”

I shake my arms out and prepare for my second set.

“Good. Maybe she’ll help Gibbs pull his head out of his ass. He’s becoming a media slut. That shit that went down with Jonah gave him a freakin’ hard-on with all the national coverage it brought.” Rex drops his weights and rounds the leg press machine.

“Yeah, I heard about that. Sucks for ‘The Assassin’ and his wife.” Mason sits on a bench across from mine, his eyebrows pinched together. “What’s he doing with the media?”

Owen clears his throat. “He’s less about the sport and more about the attention. Letting bitches backstage before a fight, joint promotions with the female team. Shit, yesterday he had a film crew in here talking about taping our training sessions for a reality show.”

Mason’s eyes grow wide, and he shakes his head. “None of that sounds bad.”

I finish my second set, sit up with my elbows on my knees, and face him. “It ain’t good. A fighter needs focus. His head needs to be clear, not filled with the complications that unnecessary attention brings. Not messed up about how he’s being portrayed on some piece of shit TV show.” I lean in closer to Baywatch. “You here to fight or are you here to get your damn face on TV with the Kardashians?”

He nods. “Here to fight.”

“Damn straight you are.”

“But hanging with the Kardashians doesn’t sound too bad either.”

I scrub my face with my hands. This guy has got to be kidding. I’m a motherfucking jiu-jitsu black belt. The Brazilian founders of the sport are probably shittin’ their gi’s at the direction the sport is taking.

MMA, going to Hollywood in a shit can.

Choosing to ignore Baywatch’s stupid comment, I set up the weights to do some dead lifts. My first day back to training after some well-deserved time off, I’m hitting it hard. Fight night will be here shortly, and there’s no way I’ll be satisfied with anything other than a win.

“Dude, hold up. I’ll spot you,” Owen calls from across the room.

“I’m good.” I squat low and find my footing. Counting three quick breaths, I throw my weight under the bar, and push the 450 pounds to my chest. I drop it and repeat, three, four, five—.

A sharp pain twists in my back. Motherfuck. I drop the heavy bar to the mat and bend over, hands on my knees, wheezing through the pain.

“You all right, man?” Rex is the closest to me, and I’m grateful everyone else is far enough away that they don’t seem to notice my doubled-over pain-fold.

I grind my teeth and stand straight. “Yeah, man.”

What was I thinking, taking that much weight after two weeks off? I grab my water bottle and head to the treadmill, hoping to walk this shit off. Every step is torture, rocketing pain from my lower back to my ass.

Well, shit. So much for starting the New Year strong.

Layla

Irritating prick.

He thought I was a stripper. Maybe things are different in Vegas, but where I come from, assuming a woman dances naked for money is not a compliment. And the way he smiled—like he could see right through to my soul, and found it hilarious. Who does that?

After wandering around and asking for directions, I’m finally in the right place. I walk down a hallway lined with empty executive offices. At the end of the hallway there’s a reception area with an empty desk and a closed door with a gold plaque.

Mr. Taylor Gibbs, CEO

I smooth my dress and straighten my shoulders. The morning threw me a few speed bumps in the form of Blake Daniels, but all is not lost. Pushing past my most recent upset, I focus on my original plan.

Confidence. Even if it’s fake.

Eyes closed, I take a deep breath.

New year. New career. New life—what is that? The sound of an angry voice filters out from behind the door.

I step back, afraid to knock and interrupt, or worse, have the anger turned on me. The words are garbled, but the voices are definitely male. I contemplate going back down to the lobby and waiting, but my morning detour has made me late, and that’s a horrible first impression. I decide to sit at the desk, which I’m sure is mine, and wait it out there so I can pop in as soon as they’re done.

Aggressive murmurs continue for a few more minutes until finally the door swings open. I jump up from my chair and smile.

Two men come out of the office. They don’t see me at first, so I take quick inventory. They’re both average height, but whereas one of them is nicely dressed in a collared shirt and slacks, the other looks scruffy. His wiry salt and pepper hair is disheveled and a little too long, and his Hawaiian shirt and cargo pants look like they could use an ironing.

The cleaner of the two must catch sight of me from the corner of his eye. He jerks his head to face me, and I see a tinge of anger in his expression before he wipes it away. “Oh, hey.” His eyes dart to the clock on the wall.

Damn, he’s going to know I’m late.

“You must be Mrs. Moore—”

“Miss.” I hold out my hand. “Layla’s fine. It’s nice to meet you. Mr. Gibbs, right?”

He shakes my hand and smiles. “Yes, and thanks for being on time. I apologize for not meeting you in the lobby.” Shifting on his feet, he clears his throat. “Last minute meeting.”

A moment of uncomfortable silence passes between us as I wait to be introduced to the man in the Hawaiian shirt.

“Hi, I’m Michael Xavier,” the man says. He slicks back his hair with one hand while offering his other.

“Yes, Z is our new doctor on staff. He’ll be treating the athletes and working with the trainers.” Mr. Gibbs explains how the last doctor left to practice family medicine in Arizona and how Doc Z is taking his place.

This guy is a doctor? Well that’s probably what the fight was about. He clearly needs a more professional look, or at least a cleaner one.

“The two of you will be working together from time to time. If I’m not available, he’s instructed to report to you.”

To me? The cool air from the room burns my eyes. I’m not blinking. “I’m not qualified to—”

“Don’t sweat it.” He claps the doctor on the back. “He’ll do all the work. You just sign the dotted line.”

“I uh—”

“It was nice to meet you Miss—”

My eyes return to the greasy doctor. “Layla.”

“Layla. See you around.” Doc Z turns and walks away.

“All right.” Mr. Gibbs claps his hands. “I don’t have anyone to train you, so I’m afraid this will be a-learn-as-you-go situation.” His bright blue eyes sparkle against his tan skin. Judging by the gray hair in his sideburns, I’d guess he’s in his fifties, and although he’s a little short, I’d think most women would consider him attractive.

“That’d be great.”

“Come on. I’ll show you the main training space.” He motions for me to follow him into the warehouse-style room that I walked through earlier.

The sound of rap music and men’s voices fill the air. Now that I’m not on a frantic search, I notice the smell of sweat and spice. Not a bad sweat smell, just one that reminds me I’m surrounded by men. Padded bags, equipment, and mats line the large space, and in the middle, sitting like a crown jewel, is an enormous octagon.

“Left is the men’s locker room and medical facilities, right is the ladies locker room.” He points down a hallway. “Random offices and meeting rooms.”

Motioning for me to follow, he heads toward a set of double doors. “And in here we have a state-of-the-art weight training facility.”

The rumble of deep voices and rock music sounds from behind the set of doors. He swings it open and walks through with me on his heels. I’m caught up in the tour when my eyes land on the figure of a man. The sight of him makes me freeze in place.

Dammit. It’s him. Blake’s standing there with a couple of guys. I couldn’t describe the other guys because my eyes are glued to Blake’s bare arms. I thought they looked superb beneath his long sleeves, but uncovered—I can’t swallow. He looks better than real, like a weight training Ken doll, all hard lines and sinewy curves. His shoulder cuts flow with an elegant masculinity down to his biceps and triceps, which are bulging and glistening with sweat.

His eyes meet mine in the mirror. Even at this distance, I’m sucked into the deep green nirvana of his stare. My heart rate speeds up, and a slow, steady smile curls his perfect lips.

Everything about you screams easy.

The voice in my head slashes through the spell. Blinking to clear the haze, I curse the debilitating abuse that haunts me still.

“…available to you as well.” Mr. Gibbs stands smiling at me, and I register what was apparently the tail end of a longer sentence.

“Excuse me?”

He narrows his eyes at me, and I stand a bit taller, hoping he doesn’t mistake my drifting away for a moment as incompetence.

“The gym. It’s available to you as well.” He raises his eyebrows. “Do you work out?”

“Sure.” In my old life, working out was the only way I could work off my anxiety. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Great. Let’s move on to—”

“I see you found our little mouse.”

My skin flames at the nearness of his voice, and my stomach tumbles.

“Ah, perfect. Blake Daniels, I’d like you to meet Lay—”

“We’ve met.” His eyes are locked on mine, and my glasses slide down what feels like the entire length of my face. I wiggle my nose to get them back into place. He smiles, his gaze bouncing back and forth from my eyes to my lips.

I glare at Blake, quickly remembering that he may be the best-looking man I’ve ever seen, but he’s still a jackass. “Yes, Mr. Daniels was very helpful this morning.” Not.

He dips his chin and rubs the back of his neck. Is he embarrassed? Well, maybe this guy has a heart after all.

“Looks like you found your way okay,” he says, motioning to Gibbs, who is talking to a good-looking guy with dark skin and arms bigger than my waist.

“No thanks to you,” I whisper and bite down hard to keep from calling him a dick.

“Owen, Rex, and Mason, this is my new assistant, Mrs. Layla Moorehead.”

“Layla.” I correct him, and then shake hands with the guys, mentally running their stats.

Owen Miller, MMA champion on the National circuit, retired fighter, current trainer. Rex T-Rex Carter, kickboxing champion and former Olympian, known for his superhuman leg strength. And the UFL’s most recent acquisition, Mason “Mayhem” Mahoney, all-state college wrestler and jiu-jitsu red belt.

“It’s nice to meet you all. I’m…”

Blake’s still standing in the same spot, and his eyes spear me with a glare. I cringe beneath its weight and forget what I was going to say. What’s his problem?

“Layla will be your contact for all things when I’m unavailable.”

I’m grateful for Mr. Gibbs’s interruption, but I can’t drag my eyes away from what looks to be a seething Blake.

“She’ll be taking on more responsibility than Heidi did.”

Suddenly I remember what I was going to say. “I’m looking forward to the opportunity—”

“Shit, you already got the job.” Blake’s comment makes the guys chuckle. “This ain’t an interview.”

His sudden change in personality makes me fidget. He’s not teasing, he’s pissed. As I drop my gaze to the floor, a stubborn piece of hair falls into my face. I smooth it back and hope to hide my embarrassment. “Of course.” Be confident. I lift my head and straighten my shoulders. “You’re right. I apologize—”

“Apologize?” Blake looks at me, and I don’t miss the flash of disappointment in his eyes.

What did I do wrong? And why on earth do I care what this guy thinks? He’s the worst kind a jerk. Cocky, arrogant, and condescending. I glare at him, and he meets my eyes with an unwavering scowl. Staring at each other, we lock into a battle that I refuse to lose.

“I’m going to get Layla started, so I’ll see you guys at the meeting later this afternoon,” Gibbs says.

Blake’s gaze moves away from me.

Ha. I win. I exhale a deep, gratifying sigh and remind myself that sticking my tongue out does not scream professionalism.

The guys mumble their goodbyes, and I follow Mr. Gibbs from the weight room, grateful to be free from the stifling presence of Blake Daniels.

“Wish I could tell you things will get better, but they won’t. Professional fighters aren’t the warmest bunch. Sooner you get used to it, the better.”

I smile and choose not to share that I just out-intimidated one of those fighters in a staring contest. Oh great, now I’m thinking like an eight-year-old.

“Nothing they can throw will surprise me.” Asshole jerks are my forté.

* * *

My eyes ache as I read through what feels like the eight millionth document to be filed. It’s been a long day of organizing paperwork, the perfect way to detox from my hectic morning.

After my run-in with Blake in the weight room, things have gone smoothly, and I’m falling into the job well. Other than fielding phone calls for Mr. Gibbs and filling file cabinets, the afternoon has been uneventful.

I check the clock on my computer screen. It’s almost five, and I want to wait outside for Elle so she doesn’t have to come in and hunt me down. I log out and organize my desk so that I can get right back to work first thing tomorrow morning. Footfalls sound from down the hallway, and I pray to the gods of executive assistants that it’s not Mr. Gibbs with more paperwork.

A big guy, obviously a fighter, makes his way to my desk. He wears his baseball hat crooked, off center just enough to look cool, and cocked low over one eye. I can’t tell who it is, and my heart races until I notice black hair sticking out from the sides of the hat. Not Blake. Phew.

Earlier today, I had the energy to put on my confident wares, but exhaustion has set in, and I don’t think I could stand up to him now. The last thing I want is to expose my insecurities. Especially to a guy like him.

“Hey.” He steps up to my desk.

This is one of the guys I met in the weight room.

“Hey. Rex, right?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and his lip ring shines against the backdrop of his straight, white teeth.

Huh. He didn’t have that lip ring in earlier. I tilt my head. Or the one in his eyebrow. This guy has a unique style.

“Mr. Gibbs is gone for the day.” I point over my shoulder to the empty office. “I might be able to help you, but I’m still so new I—”

“That’s cool.” He shrugs. “I’m actually here to talk to you.” He turns his head and digs in his back pocket.

My eyes go directly to an orange, red, and blue tattoo that snakes up the side of his neck. Part of it disappears beneath his sweatshirt, but I can tell that it’s a dragon.

He turns back to me, and I’m forced to pull my eyes from his body art. He drops a bright yellow folded piece of paper on my desk. “That’s my band.”

“Oh.” I pick it up and unfold it. “You’re in a band?”

“Yeah. I know you’re new in town, and I thought you’d—”

“How do you know that?” I cringe, and immediately wish like hell I could take back my outburst. Hiding things from people will be much easier if I don’t act like I have something to hide. “I mean, I don’t remember telling anyone that.” I try to force a playful laugh, but it sounds anything but.

His eyes move to the side of my head.

A loose strand of my hair is quadruple wrapped around my index finger. I didn’t even realize I was doing it. With a quick shake, I free it and tuck it behind my ear.

He points down the hallway. “Taylor put up a memo in the locker room announcing your addition to the team, and it said you moved here from Seattle.”

“Oh, right.” I lean back in my chair, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose to study the flyer Rex gave me. “Ataxia” is printed across the top in letters that look like they’re dripping. Dates and club names are listed beneath it.

“I figure you probably don’t have a huge social circle yet, so thought I’d drop by a flyer. Maybe you could hit up our next gig.”

“Looks interesting.” My heart warms at his thoughtfulness. I don’t have any friends in Vegas. And I love music. Live music is even better. Not that I have a ton of experience with concerts, but I’ve always been curious. “What kind of music do you play?”

“Melodic punk rock. Don’t know if it’s your thing, but it’ll give you an excuse to get out. Meet some people.”

“Sure.” A smile tugs at my lips. He’s like a big city boy with small-town charm. “Thanks.”

“Sunday night’s at The Blackout. We get a pretty good crowd.”

I clear my throat. “How long have you been in a band?”

“Been playing local clubs for a few years.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. “Fighting comes first. Music second.”

“Well, thanks for this.” I hold up the band flyer. “I’ll definitely check it out.”

“Right on.” He rolls his lip ring between his teeth then releases it. “See ya tomorrow, Layla.”

“Good night.” I watch him walk away, both surprised and excited to have plans.

Nothing says roots like a job and plans with friends. The warm feeling of belonging floods my chest. I take a deep breath and allow the sensation to sink in and penetrate the frigid chill of aimlessness that I’ve felt for years.

I’m determined to make this new life of ours beautiful. I can’t accept anything less. Not again.

Four

Blake

“Damn, I’m fuckin’ full.” I lean back in my chair, propping my weight on its back legs. “That was great, baby girl.”

Raven looks to her husband, one eyebrow raised. “See? I told you I could learn how to cook.” She tosses her napkin at him, and he catches it mid-flight.

“Baby, it’s spaghetti. I was cookin’ this shit when I was thirteen,” Jonah says, but his smile gives away his true feelings. He’s proud of his girl.

She stands and grabs my plate. “I’m glad you liked it, Blake.”

“I never said I didn’t like it.” He pulls her into his lap and nuzzles her neck, making her squeal. “Best spaghetti I’ve ever had.”

I avert my gaze with a roll of my eyes.

After a few giggles and playful kicks, she gets him to let her go. She grabs his plate, and he runs his hand along her belly. Something passes between them, not through words but a look, and whatever it is has them both smiling like dumbasses.

What is it with couples?

Jonah pulls his girl close for one more kiss before she heads off to the kitchen.

“You two done, or should I head out? I’m getting a bellyache from all this sugary sweet bullshit.” I’m still not used to seeing Jonah all wrapped up with a chick. He was my wingman for years, and now he’s Mr. Raven.

Married, just like Mrs. Moorehead. That’s how Taylor introduced the little mouse today in the weight room. Not miss, but missus. She’s fucking married. I can’t believe I didn’t see that shit earlier. She wasn’t wearing a ring—probably forgot it on the table next to the bed that she shares with Mr. Moorehead. Lucky fucking bastard.

Hearing that she’s married pissed me off. What I can’t figure out is why? I mean, she’s hot, and cute, and fiery in a way that makes me want to tame her, but I decided early on I wasn’t going to put on my best moves. Too much work.

Then again, I don’t like being told I can’t have something. And knowing that she’s off limits just turned Mrs. Moorehead into something forbidden. Fuck, if I—

“Did you hear me, bitch?” Jonah chucks a piece of garlic bread across the table, nailing me in the head. “Wake up.” I throw it back harder, but he deflects it with a swipe of his arm. “You ready to get serious about training? Your fight against Wade isn’t far away.”

I glare at my friend and then lean in. A pinch twists in my lower back. I put my forearms on the table to hold my weight, hoping he won’t notice. “Real funny, ass. You know I’m serious about training.”

Stretching his arms over his head, he locks his hands behind his neck. “You’re going to have to hit it harder than usual. Rumor has it Wade’s been watching your tapes. Plays that shit in his bedroom when he hits the sack, wakes up to it every morning. He’s eating, sleeping, and living your game.”

I shrug and lean back in my chair. The stabbing pain in my back flares again. “Waste of time.” I fight to take a deep breath. Fuck.

“You all right, dude?”

“Fucked up my back today deadlifting.” I dig fingers into my aching spine.

“You gonna get that shit checked out?”

The sharp spasm mellows, and I take in a full breath. “Yeah. I’ll take some anti-inflammatory pills. If it’s not better in a few days, I’ll go see the Doc.”

“Why not go in tomorrow? Get a jumpstart on that shit. Hate to see you go down over something stupid, like pride.”

“Pride? You know as well as I do that I will pound Wade’s ass, jacked-up back and all. His game’s fuckin’ pre-school compared to—” My phone vibrates in my pocket.

Jonah laughs to himself. “Yeah, no pride there.”

I scowl at my dickhead friend then check the caller ID. “Shit, it’s Brae. I better take this.”

I stand and walk across the room to the back door, thankful that being on my feet eases the pressure on my back. “Brae. What up, man? Happy New Year.”

“Same to you, bro. How’s the desert?” My little brother’s voice is a welcome sound. I don’t get to talk to him often, and when I do, I’m reminded of how much I dig the guy.

“Nice and dry.” I walk out back and sit on a lounger, poolside. “What’s up with you? How’s things on base?”

He laughs low. “Same. Southern Cali never changes. Camp Pendleton’s quiet. Dad’s keeping me close.”

Yeah, I bet he is. Asshole wants us to man up, be members of the few and proud. But when combat time rolls around, he can’t let his boy go overseas. At first, I assumed it was because he didn’t want to see us get hurt, but he’d have to give a shit for that to be the case. No, everything with my dad is about control. And I’m sure his keeping my brother stateside is no different.

“You gonna make it to my fight?”

“I’ll try. I really want to. But Dad knows about it. Heard him pissin’ and moanin’ about shit. He’ll probably come up with some bullshit booter-duty for me that weekend.”

I’ll never understand why my brother tolerates our piece of shit dad. I got out of there as soon as I could. The second I got discharged from the Corps, I ran like hell to Vegas.

No use in arguing with Brae. He’s set on pleasing the General.

“Right. Well, you’re twenty-one now. Vegas is your playground. If you ever make it out, I’ll show you how the other half lives.”

“I’d like that, man.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Getting a little sick of this place.”

I’m thankful we’re not face-to-face so he can’t see my grimace. Chances are, Braeden only sticks around to play shield to my mom. Just like I did until I was dragged out in the middle of the night and dropped off at military school.

“How’s Mom?” I want to know but cringe waiting for his answer.

He blows out a long breath. “Same.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“She misses you. Maybe you could give her a call sometime.”

My stomach drops at the mere mention of talking to my mom. I went from being a protective kid to a resentful adult. The conflicting feelings I have toward her make me irritable and… fuck! “Yeah, I’ll do that.” No, I won’t. “But, uh… until I do, tell her I’m good, okay? Tell her I… that I’m happy.” It’s so messed up that I can’t say I love my mom. It’s just so fucking complicated and easier left alone, locked away with the rest of my secrets.

Safe from the prying, judgmental eyes of others.

“Will do.” He clears his throat. “I better run.”

I rub my forehead and try to push back the wave of shitty thoughts that are taking over. “Alright, bro. If you ever feel like getting out of there, you can come live with me in Vegas. You’ll always have a home with me, ya hear?”

“Yeah, I know.” He’s quiet.

The silence hangs between us. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am—what our lives would be like if I’d just obeyed our dad back then. Does Braeden blame me for where he is today? Locked on some military base, taking orders?

“Catch ya later, Brae.”

The phone call ends. I stare into the black night, contemplating my ugly childhood. Giving up on dreams, throwing away the things that I enjoyed, things I was good at, all so that I could keep peace in my house. Protect my mom and brother.

A lot of good that shit did them.

I’ve heard men end up just like their fathers. Whether they like it or not, the DNA demands it. I hate that I see him in me, in the rage that draws me to the octagon, the need to have control over my life, my refusal to let anyone influence what I do. But unlike my dad, I’d never subject a kid, or a woman, to that kind of life. Lord knows I’ve seen how that turns out.

No attachments. No risk. No pain.

I jam my fists into my eye sockets. Talking to my brother always brings back the things that keep me awake at night.

My dad thought he could exorcise me of those demons by shipping me off. He was wrong. First thing I did when I got my own place was take back that part of my life he robbed me of. And now it’s the only thing that brings me peace when my head goes down these fucked up paths.

Party’s over. I need to get the hell out of here and to the only place that can bring those evils to heel.

The room.

Layla

“Breakfast for dinner. Yum.” Elle pushes her eggs and bacon around her plate, avoiding my eyes.

“I get my first paycheck in two weeks. Until then, we have to live on a budget.” I fork a bite into my mouth.

It’s funny how these eggs taste better than any others I’ve had. I know now what it means to appreciate the simple things. Like food. And health and work.

In my old life, I had a walk-in pantry full of food, but it all tasted the same. A clean bill of health but always felt sick. And work—well, my job was to stay home and keep house. And it was a gorgeous house. But it felt like a prison cell.

“Have you talked to him?” Elle is staring at me, her head tilted, eyebrows low.

“Who?”

She slides her eyes to the ceiling then back to mine. “Dad. You were just thinking about him, weren’t you?”

How’d she know?

“You always get that look.” She motions to me with her fork. “Lost or empty when you think about him.”

I study my plate, hoping she doesn’t notice how uneasy I am about her ability to read my expression. I wonder what else she’s figured out.

“I wasn’t thinking about him. But I was thinking about our old life.”

“Do you… miss it?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Do you?”

She stabs at her eggs then drops her fork. “I don’t miss listening to you and Dad fight.”

I drop my head and close my eyes. Shit. There’ll be a day when I can talk about this with her, but now is not it. Every day is a battle to maintain the illusion that I’m strong and can handle taking care of us on my own. This conversation will expose how weak I really am.

“I bet you miss your friends.” Changing the subject is my way to skirt the difficult subject. “Leaving school halfway through the year was hard on you, I know.”

She glares at me. “What are you talking about? I only had a couple friends, and neither of them has even called me since before Christmas break.” She holds her head in her hands and grips her hair.

Even with the past behind us, I’m constantly reliving my mistakes. The biggest being that Elle had to endure a life with parents who weren’t in love, who barely spoke to each other. When they did, it was through verbal insults or an attitude of indifference. The guilt presses into my sternum.

I take a deep breath, hoping to relieve regret’s suffocating pressure. I remind myself that there’s one thing I always made sure to protect her from. The one thing that finally sent me running scared. If only I would have left sooner. I may have saved myself from years of—

“Mom?” Her voice trembles.

She studies my face, searching, when a cool, wet drop slides down my cheek. Dammit. “I’m okay.” I wipe it away and force a shaky smile.

“Why are you crying?” There’s a pleading in her voice, but I can’t tell her how bad things really were. I have to keep that a secret.

I dab my cheek with my napkin. “I’m just tired. I haven’t had a real job since I was fifteen.” A weak laugh falls from my lips. “It’s exhausting.”

Elle glares at me then slams her palms on the table. “I’m going to bed.” The metallic scrape of her chair against the linoleum grates in my ears. She stomps off to her room and slams the door.

I’ve lost her. And I want her back. But I don’t have a clue how to do that.

You’re a horrible mother.

For once, the voice in my head makes sense. So I answer, first internally, and then aloud. “I know.”

* * *

It’s the end of my first week working at the UFL Training Center, and I’ve been catching on quickly. I’ve impressed Mr. Gibbs by implementing a new filing system that is easy to use and puts all the paperwork in actual drawers. Something that, from what I can tell, Taylor hasn’t done in the last ten years.

He’s off site all day for various meetings. A list of things to do sits on my desk. I pick it up, ready to end the week strong, and start at number one.

New promotional t-shirts need to be handed out to the fighters. A big box sits next to my desk—that must be them. I rummage through and see that they’re bundled in plastic. Each bundle contains three shirts and has a fighter’s initials scribbled on it in Sharpie.

“Easy enough,” I say and check off number one with a gratifying swipe of my pen.

Dropping my list on the desk, I stare at the box, grateful it’s on a dolly. That’ll make moving the box in heels much easier and a little more graceful. The instructions say that the shirts need to go into their drop-boxes, but I don’t know where those are.

I pick up the phone and make a quick call to Vanessa at the reception desk. She’s warmed up to me in the last few days, in that she no longer scowls at me when I walk past her every morning. She just flat-out ignores me.

With the phone pinched between my ear and my shoulder, I read my to-do list one more time to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Nope. Nothing about the location of the drop-boxes.

“What is it?” Vanessa says, her attitude proving the multi-line phone system gave me away.

“Good morning, Vanessa. How’s your day going?”

The silence on the phone grows thick. Okaaay.

“I have to put some things into the drop-boxes? Can you tell me where those are?”

She exhales hard, making sure to communicate her irritation. “Locker room.”

No. They can’t be there. That would mean I’d have to go inside where all the guys are showering and changing and… wait a second.

“Yeah, right. Look, I know you’re busy, so am I. If you could just tell me where the boxes are—”

“Locker. Room.” Click.

Did she hang up on me? “Hello?” No reply. I hang up the phone. “What a bitch.”

I study the shirt bundles, chewing my nails, contemplating. What’s the worst that can happen? Sticking my head into the guy’s locker room for a quick peek won’t hurt anyone. If she’s lying, I’ll find help elsewhere. If not, I guess I’ll owe Miss Crabby Pants a thank you.

“I have to do my job.” Groaning, I wrestle the dolly around and drag it down the hallway. It’s still early, and I’m hoping I can get in and out of the locker room before the guys break from training to shower.

It’s quiet in the main training room. Huh, maybe they’re taking the morning off. I take a chance and scurry to the locker room door. With my back to the two-way door, I start to push through when a thought stops me. I don’t know the proper etiquette for a woman in a men’s locker room. Even if there’s only one guy inside, I should let him know I’m there. Is there a code? Something I can yell as I walk in that announces a woman’s presence? What would that be? Beaver in the wood shop? Eww, no. There’s got to be something. Estrogen intruder?

Oh, whatever.

I shove the rest of the way through the door and shimmy my box in with me. The smell of spice and dirty socks mixes to numb my good sense. “Fire in the hole!” The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them. Stupid.

A short hallway opens up to a huge room lined with lockers. And my worst fear comes to life. Three fighters. Two shirtless, one in nothing but a small, white towel.

I try to avert my eyes, to blink, to do anything, but I fail. Miserably.

“Layla, what’s up, girl?” Owen smiles in my direction.

I concentrate on his face, hoping to direct my thoughts away from his enormous chest. My weak eyes are no match for the glory of his naked torso, and my mouth goes dry as I openly gawk. So this is what it feels like to be a guy.

“Owen, hi. I’m here… with my box.”

A short laugh from Caleb and I’m stuck on his naked torso. Freakin’ hell. What do they feed these guys? Look away, Layla. My gaze slides to my feet.

Someone clears his throat. “Your box, huh?”

Annnd, I’m back to Caleb’s chest. I nod, trying to force my eyes to his face. I succeed for the most part.

“Well, come on in.” Owen gives me his back while he fishes around in his locker for something. Probably a shirt. It’s then that I decide to petition Mr. Gibbs to have a strict no-shirt policy in the training center.

“You coming to the show tonight, Layla?” Rex, the one in the towel, has his head down, and I take a moment to appreciate his artwork. Not his body. Nope. Not at all.

His arms are covered in tattoos from his wrist to his neck. His chest and ribs also have ink, but I don’t take time to study them. I’m distracted by the silvery glint coming from each one of his well-formed pecs. Nipple piercings.

A gasp escapes from my throat. His eyes meet mine, and heat rises in my cheeks. I look away and walk to the opposite end of the room with my dolly.

Rex laughs. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I run my hand along my head, smoothing loose hairs back into my ponytail. “Yes. I’ll be there.”

“Sweet.” I hear the metal clank of a locker door opening.

Is he putting clothes on? Eyes forward. Don’t peek.

Staring at a wall of cubby-like boxes, I try hard to ignore the conversations behind me and focus on my task. I will not turn around.

Each box has a gold nameplate with a fighter’s name on it. The t-shirts only have initials. This will take my higher functioning brain. Focus.

One by one, I read a fighter’s name and match it with the appropriate packaged shirts. Eventually, the three guys filter out of the room, giving their versions of goodbye until I’m finally alone without distraction.

I hear the door behind me open occasionally, but I keep my back turned to avoid any uncomfortable conversation about my being in a man-only zone.

“T.B.” I search the cubbies until I find Trent Barker.

Shirts in. Next.

J.S. for Jonah Slade. Easy. Next.

The shirts get distributed quickly, and I relax knowing I’ll be out of there soon. Halfway through my task, I grab the next bundle.

“B.D.” I suppress a growl.

Thank goodness my interaction with Blake Daniels has been minimal my first week here. I stick to my desk, and he sticks to the training room. The few times I’ve seen him, we both do a great job ignoring each other.

“B.D., B.D., B.D….” Where is his name? I squat down, making sure to squeeze my knees together and turn to the side to avoid splitting my pencil skirt. His name isn’t down here either. “B.D.” I stand back up, my thighs quivering with the effort. Monday I’m wearing pants.

“That’s me, Mouse.”

I squeal and jump. The deep voice is so close to my ear, his hot breath tickles my skin.

Whirling around, I scowl. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The side of his mouth lifts. “Oh, now you’re back to street talkin’, huh?”

“Street talk… what?”

He puts his hands on his hips. “When I found you in the lobby you were street talkin’, then in front of Taylor you were all business. Surprised I got you back, Mouse. Thought I’d lost you to uptight corporate ass-kissing.”

I gasp, loud. “I do not ass-kiss.”

“The fuck you don’t.”

“You’re…”

“What?” He steps in close, his deep green eyes locked on mine.

I shake away the foggy feeling his proximity brings. “Crude.”

His lips twitch. “Crude?” Narrowing his eyes, he tilts his head. “You kiss your husband with that mouth?”

Recoiling from his question, I regain my composure as best I can and scowl. “I don’t have a husband. Not that that’s any of your business.”

His expression softens. “No husband?”

I’m not going to repeat myself.

I shove his t-shirt bundle into his chest, not at all noticing how incredibly hard it is. “Here. These are yours, B.D.”

He holds my hand to his chest, the folded tees being the only thing keeping me from flattening my palm against the heat of his body. My stomach flutters, the vibrations stirring my blood. What is it with me? It’s like I’m bait for cocky assholes.

“You want to know what B.D. stands for?” His eyes travel from my lips to my cheeks and back. My skin warms. “Do I make you nervous, Mouse?” His eyes look deep into mine, and I’m helpless to pull them away.

I want to scream that he makes me furious, but he holds even my speech captive.

“No husband.” He takes a step back, releasing his hold.

I blink, the connection severed by the distance between our bodies and the cold indifference in his eyes.

He tilts his head, and that panty-dropping crooked smile that radiates bad-boy like nothing I’ve ever seen lights his face. “Big Dick.”

“Excuse me?” My voice screeches and echoes throughout the room. I throw back an arm to steady my weight against the wall. Why am I so wobbly?

“B.D.” He chuckles to himself, turns, and walks to the back of the locker room and out of sight.

I stand and stare. What in the fuck just happened here? My mouth is dry, and my arms are tingling, my belly still tumbling.

He caught me off guard. I didn’t have a chance to put up my barrier, to put on the full armor of my confidence and my snark. Then he got close. Those eyes, full lips, and high cheekbones. No, I’m not attracted to that jerk.

I haul what’s left in my box onto the dolly and decide that finishing the job later sounds better than throwing myself at a guy I can’t stand.

This is wrong. I’m sick. I’ve been in a horrible relationship for so long I don’t even know what healthy attraction is.

I need to make new friends, meet new people. Tonight, I’m going to the bar for Rex’s show. Anything to get my mind off Big Dick.

Five

Blake

Fast and hard, exactly how I like it. The driving beat forces back my nagging thoughts. The pressures of life dissolve with a simple power chord or double bass hit. I break down each sound, mentally assigning it into its own category. I memorize without even trying. That’s the way it’s always been. Effortless.

“Hey, B. What’s up, man?” Caleb squeezes in next to me at the bar. “Fuck, I’m late. How long have they been playing?” He tilts his head toward the stage, where Ataxia is shredding.

“’Bout thirty minutes.” I take a swig of my beer, grateful for his interruption.

“Shit. I thought I’d get here in time for the first set.” He waves over the bartender and orders himself a drink.

I’m tired. After talking to my brother the other night, I’ve gotten shit for sleep. “I’ll take a double Jack. Neat.” A few of these should help knock me out.

The bartender nods and busies himself with our order.

Sorting through all the things I’m thinking and feeling, I’ve determined the mind-fucking culprit is anger. I’m mad that my dad’s a dick. Pissed that I had to give up things that were important to me. Resentful that I spent the first fifteen years of my life protecting a woman who couldn’t keep a fucking secret. Furious that my brother’s still stuck under my dad’s thumb.

The rest of my beer goes down in one chug. Ataxia drops a key, and Rex’s voice fills the room to explain they’ll be taking a break, but will be back for a final set.

“I thought you were training.” Caleb motions to the fresh drink the bartender placed in front of me.

“I am.” What’s he, my fuckin’ keeper? “What’s it to you?”

“Seems you should probably lay off the hard stuff before your fight. Wade’s been training like a maniac, man.”

Slamming the glass on the bar, I turn to face him. First Jonah, now Caleb? “You think I don’t know that? Shit, everyone in our camp’s been reminding me.”

He’s right. But between the shit in my head and the pain in my back, I need a little liquid painkiller. The new doc has me drinking protein shakes with some super-powered, medical-grade glucosamine and popping pills with ingredients that I can’t pronounce, but it ain’t helping.

I hold my head in my hands. It’s time to go see the doc about getting some real treatment. I hate admitting to my weakness. Any guy with a pair does. But Jonah had a point. I can’t pass up a shot at the title because I’m too prideful to get help. I hate it when he’s right.

I take another hit off my drink, but it tastes bitter. I ball up my napkin and toss it into the glass, where it soaks up the remaining Jack.

Fighting is my life. I need to pull my shit together. Nothing is more important. Including the pussy-ass pity party I’ve been throwing myself. No time to dwell on the shit I can’t change.

I turn my back on the bar and face the crowded club. Caleb gives me my moment of silence while I contemplate getting the fuck out of this place.

It’s then that I notice someone familiar across the room. Sitting at a high-top table alone, is a chick smiling and laughing with a waitress. How do I know her? Her blond hair is loose and wavy over her shoulders. A long-sleeved black shirt hugs her curves and makes her golden locks stand out like a beacon in a sea of darkness. I squint and study her face as she tosses her hair, laughing. Holy shit.

I tilt my face towards Caleb, not taking my eyes off her. “Be right back.”

“Sure, man.”

I walk towards her, afraid she’ll disappear if I blink. She doesn’t notice me until I’m at her table. Her chocolate brown eyes go wide, and her lips part.

“Haven’t we met before?”

She shuts her gaping mouth and throws back her shoulders. The side of her mouth lifts, and her eyes sparkle. “Yeah, I work at the VD clinic.”

The waitress coughs to muffle her laugh.

Layla. The woman is an enigma. Fierce in one breath, shy in the next. Timid yet confident. A pint-sized package, she spews attitude like a pro. But now she’s fucking with the master.

“Mouse.”

She sits up tall, something I’ve noticed she does often, probably trying to make her five-foot-nothing frame look intimidating. “Snake.”

“I’ve never seen a woman come back from a Blake come-on,” Mac, the waitress, says with a laugh.

Layla’s eyes narrow. “You two know each other?”

Mac smiles and rocks her shoulder into my arm. “Yep. All the UFL boys come in here when Ataxia plays.” She looks at me. “I’m going to get Layla’s drink. You want anything?”

“No. I’m good.”

“Cool. Be right back.” She grabs her tray and scurries off.

Layla drops her head and uses her short straw to play with the ice in her empty glass. “Shouldn’t be surprised.” Her words are mumbled beneath her breath.

“Surprised by what?”

Her gaze darts to mine. Yeah, Mouse. I heard you.

I pull out the chair next to her and notice her skin-tight jeans and black high-heel shoes before I sit. Damn. I’d give anything to watch her walk away in this get-up.

“Oh please, have a seat why don’t you.” She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms at her ribs. A mistake she’s made before.

My eyes drift down the length of her hair to her perfectly pert breasts.

“Do you mind?” She hooks her fingers beneath my chin, pulling up gently. “My eyes are up here.”

“Not looking at your eyes.”

“No shit.” Her sarcasm is thick and makes me grin.

I bite my lip to avoid giving away the fact that I find her big attitude a total turn on.

“What do you want, Blake? You obviously came over here for a reason.”

Fuck. Why did I come over here? This girl is not my typical lay. Granted, she’s hot as hell, but I can see that the baggage she carries runs deep. I can tell by the way her carefree smile disappears the second a man walks into the room. The way shadows move over her features when I flirt. She’s been hurt by someone—my guess is badly. And the last thing I need is to be picking up the pieces of some other guy’s mess.

“Wanted to see what you thought of the show.”

She blinks, surprised maybe? “Oh. Um… I think they’re really good. I liked the three-part harmony on that last song they played.”

Three-part harmony? “You like music?”

She shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”

“Favorite band?”

Her eyes drop to her lap then move to the stage. “I like rock.” I watch her hand glide through the silky waves of her long hair. Her fingers sift in and pull out a small section, which she twirls in rhythmic rolls around her forefinger. “Older stuff.”

I’m transfixed by her hair twisting, and for a second I wonder what it must feel like. My mind imagines its satiny waves brushing against my stomach, teasing my skin as it trails down to—

“Metallica.”

Say what? “You’re kidding.”

Her bow-shaped lips break into smile. “No. Their Black album is a classic. Their best work, hands down.”

She did not just say that. Can’t blame the girl for not knowing she’s walking into massacre. “No way.” I shake my head. “And Justice for All is their best album. No comparison.”

She slams her palms to the table. “Bullshit! You can’t deny the musical magic that is ‘Enter Sandman’.”

“Metal fans everywhere just dropped dead.”

Her dark brown eyes grow even bigger. “‘Nothing Else Matters’ was groundbreaking for the metal world. The Black album single-handedly brought metal mainstream.” Her voice ends with a high pitch of frustration.

“Mainstream? That shit’s baby metal compared to a song like ‘Blackened’. Lars changes meter like five times in that song. It’s metal perfection.” I shrug, knowing I won that debate. No one can argue Lars Ulrich isn’t a percussion god.

“Three words, Daniels.” She holds up her hand and wiggles three fingers. “‘Through the Never.’” She raises one eyebrow along with one side of her mouth.

Touché. The girl knows her music.

I turn my chair toward her and lean in for the kill. “All right. Finish this sentence, Mouse. Metallica is…?”

“Easy.” She rests her elbow on the table, bending forward so that her delicate vanilla scent penetrates my senses. “James Hetfield.”

Blinking, I clear my head and then fall back into my chair, rubbing my eyes. “No, you’re so wrong. Lars Ulrich’s drumming is the fuckin’ glue that holds that band together.”

She shakes her head, making her hair dance around her shoulders. “You’re insane if you think Hetfield isn’t the heart and soul of Metallica. You wouldn’t even have And Justice for All if it weren’t for him, and you know it.”

“The hell I do.” The grin on my face makes my cheeks ache. When was the last time I’ve been this open?

The light sound of her laughter envelops me. This chick is crazy. Fun, but crazy.

“Here ya go, Layla,” Mac says as she puts a clear drink on the table. “You sure you’re cool, Blake?”

“Yeah, babe.”

I’m still stuck in the fuzzy bubble Layla and I created through our mutual love of Metallica, so I don’t notice the change in her expression until I look for it. Her eyes are shadowed and cold. She’s not smiling anymore, and her jaw is firm, her chin raised.

What the hell? I look around then back at her. What’d I miss?

She takes a sip of her drink, and as she wraps her lips around the cocktail straw, I notice that her upper lip is plumper than her lower one. I wonder if her mouth tastes as sweet as she smells. If her lips are as soft as they look.

“Stop it.” Her deep dark eyes meet mine. “I don’t like it when you do that.”

I’m still recovering from the whiplash of her mood swing. “Do what?”

“Look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to add me to your list of available vaginas.”

I check over my left shoulder, then my right. “You’re talking to me, right?” I point to my chest and decide I’m not at all happy with her accusation.

“Of course I’m—”

“Just wanted to make sure you were talking to me. Because now that I know you were talking to me,” I point to my chest, “I can tell you that you’re fucking crazy.”

Her mouth drops open then slams shut. “Oh puleaze. I caught you staring at my boobs.”

“You think a man stares at your boobs, it means he wants to fuck you? You’re wrong.”

And to think I actually considered it. This is exactly why I don’t date chicks with issues. It’s like walking a minefield. You take one step out of line, and all their baggage comes flying out in a flurry of shit talk. Fuck this.

“Right. Just like dear sweet Mac over there.” She tilts her head toward Mac at the bar. “I’m sure she thought you were charming and good looking. Now she’s nothing more than a goopy condom in your trashcan. You good-looking guys are all the same. Burning through women, caring about nothing except who to stick your dick in next.”

“Shit, Mouse.” I motion to her drink. “You drunk?”

“You wish.”

“What makes you think I slept with Mac?”

“Are you seriously going to try to tell me you didn’t?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I didn’t.”

“Bull. Shit.” Fire flares behind her eyes as they burn into mine.

I don’t need to justify myself to anyone. I made the decision a long time ago never to let another person define me again. This life is mine. Sometimes it’s shitty and messed up, but it’s still mine. And what if I had boned Mac? Hell, what if I nailed every girl in this bar? Why does she care?

I’m not wasting a single second on a girl that is exactly the type I’ve resolved to avoid.

I push back from the table and stand. “Whoever he is, the one that fucked you up?”

Her expression goes slack and her face pales. No comeback for that one, eh Mouse?

“Good for him for getting the fuck away from you.”

She jerks at my words. Her body looks smaller as she sinks into her seat, eyes shining with moisture, as if I knocked down her confident disguise to reveal the broken woman beneath. It’s a look I’ve seen in my mom’s expression more times than I’d like to remember.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the destruction I’ve caused. A feeling of heaviness crushes my chest. At what point did I become him?

I turn and walk away before I can throw myself at her feet, begging for her forgiveness. I don’t know why I got so pissed. Usually I can blow someone off with some off-color remark. But I had no control. Fuck, I sounded just like my dad.

Ah, shit. Disgust and self-hatred have me quickening my pace. I turned into my asshole dad… over a girl? One I don’t even want. We had a moment of fun, but the fact that I enjoyed the company of a girl when her face wasn’t buried in my crotch is proof positive that my head is fucked up.

Shoving my way out of the club and into the parking lot, I avoid the voice in my head that tells me she’s right. I didn’t sleep with Mac, but I have hooked up with most of The Blackout’s waitresses. Burning through women, sure, but only the willing ones.

I climb into my Jeep and punch out a quick text to Rex that I had to run and I’d catch him later. I can’t stand to be in the same room as Layla right now. And it has nothing to do with feeling like a complete dickhead for making her cry. No. I’ll keep telling myself it has nothing at all to do with that.

Layla

I’m a complete bitch.

What came over me? One second I was having a blast talking about music, and the next I was unleashing the psycho. I prop my elbows on the table and grab my hair at the roots with both hands.

“Layla?” Mac says from my side. “You doin’ okay?”

I’ve only known her for a couple hours, and already she’s my closest friend. How pathetic is that?

I tilt my face up, meeting her unique, caramel-colored eyes. “Can I ask you something? It’s personal.”

She drags a chair out from under the table and sits across from me. “Ask away.”

Hoping for some insta-courage, I down the rest of my drink. “Have you and Blake, um, you know?”

Her nose crunches up and she purses her lips. “No. No way.” Shaking her head, her eyes dart to the stage.

I follow her stare to Rex, who is tuning his guitar and adjusting the levels on his amp.

She’s still shaking her head when she looks back at me. “I’m not like that.”

Shit. I offended her. My first and only girlfriend in Vegas, and I dissolved the friendship in one night. That’s got to be a record.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine. Blake has a reputation around town. It’s normal that you’d think I’d slept with him. I am female.” Her eyes drift back to Rex. “Blake isn’t my type.”

Silence hovers in the space between us.

What is up with these two? “And Rex is.”

Her face turns back to mine, eyes wide and jaw slack. “What?”

“Mac. It’s so obvious.”

The hint of an awkward smile ticks her lips. “He’s a cool guy. And I love his music.” She folds a cocktail napkin obsessively into squares. “But I’m pretty sure he’s taken.”

I squint my eyes toward the stage. “Really? I thought he was single.”

That’s a stupid thing to say. I know nothing about Rex. But it’s in his mannerisms. He doesn’t come across as a guy who goes home to the same girl every night.

“Thanks for coming out…” The deep timbre of Rex’s voice fills the room, followed by skilled picking of an electric guitar. “We’re Ataxia, and we’ll be making love to your senses tonight.” The crowd erupts in cheers. The deep thumping of the bass drum joins the guitar, and the bass follows suit. “So sit back and enjoy the foreplay.”

Mac leans in. “I better get back to work.” She yells to be heard over the music. With one last look at Rex, she swings her gaze to mine. There’s a softness in her eyes, sympathy or sadness maybe. It disappears before I can decide which. She mouths I’ll check on you later. I nod and she walks away, her midnight curls bouncing with each step.

The band explodes into a song. Club patrons jump to their feet to scream and sing along. The music is amazing. The energy infuses the air on a molecular level.

But I’m fixated on the empty seat at my side.

Talking about Metallica with genuine smiles and interest, he wasn’t the cocky jerk he was before. He seemed more real. I made the ultimate mistake by letting my guard down. Allowed myself to be myself for a minute. And then I got freaked out. It’s not his fault. He’s a playboy, and he makes no promises about being otherwise. He called Mac “babe”, and he became the old Blake in my eyes.

So I chased him away.

Backed him into a corner with my accusations. And he retaliated. Figured me out, exposed my weakness, and made me vulnerable. Then he delivered the punishing blow.

He’s probably right. I’m a little crazy, broken, and a mess. But who wouldn’t be after what I’ve been through.

Don’t act like you didn’t want it.

My stomach pitches as the voice fights to bust into my thoughts. I bite the inside of my mouth and try to push the voice of the past back.

You’ll never get rid of me.

That may be true. But I’ll sure as hell try.

With a toss of my cocktail straw, I throw back the rest of my double vodka and soda. Drinking until I pass out should shut the fucker up. Or at the very least, make me forget. Even if only for one night.

Six

Blake

“Doc Z?” I stick my head into the small office located inside the locker room. He’s only here a few days a week, and I want to catch him before my back gets worse.

He looks up and slicks a wave of thick, gray hair off his forehead. “Blake, come on in.”

I weave around a few random boxes on the floor. The walls are bare where the last doctor’s framed medical degrees and sports medicine certifications once hung. I guess he hasn’t unpacked yet. His desk is empty except for a computer and a few short stacks of paperwork.

“Sorry to bother you.” I take a seat on the other side of his desk. “My back still hurts like a motherfucker.”

“Yeah, lumbar strains can be a bitch.” He types some shit into a computer. “The supplement shakes aren’t helping? Or the pills?”

“Yeah, they are. I think. But I’m training hard. I need something stronger than that natural shit you’ve got me on.”

He scratches his chin. “Of course.”

“Can you fix me?”

He laughs. “Fixing will take time. Time you don’t have. But I can keep you pain free until the fight. I’ll give you some cortisone shots. That, along with the shakes—”

“Don’t care. Whatever it takes to train.”

“You sure? The cortisone will make it so you can’t feel the pain, but it won’t prevent further injury.”

I shrug. “What choice do I have?”

He studies me through narrowed eyes. “Good point.”

“Have you got time to do the shots now? Sooner the better.”

After a quick flip through some pages of what I assume to be his planner, he nods. “Yeah. Meet me in the treatment room in thirty.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

* * *

“Come on! Hit it!” Owen yells from behind the heavy bag. He’s been talking shit since we started. “What in the fuck is wrong with you? My nanna hits harder than this.”

I drop my gloved hands to my side. “I’m hittin’ it hard. Put your face there and tell me if it hurts, dickhead.”

My back cramps, but it’s bearable after my session with the doc. He said it takes about two days for the cortisone to hit its highest potency, but that I should feel some immediate relief. The pinch is still there, but my mobility has improved.

“Man, Wade’s been—”

“Fuck Wade. I’ll destroy him on fight night.” I hear the confidence in my voice, but a trickling doubt sets in. I kick it back. As soon as the shots deaden the pain completely, I’ll train harder and make everyone who gave me shit send me a formal apology.

“Show me you’ll destroy him.” Owen throws his shoulder into the bag to brace it. “Let’s go!”

Opening my stance, I throw my weight into my punches, over and over again, until Owen is satisfied and backs off the bag. We move through a few different drills. Kicks, sweeps, and combinations. The aching in my back dissolves, and I’m itching to push myself harder.

“I want… to spar,” I say, catching my breath.

“Rex is waiting for you in the octagon.” He pulls his phone from his pocket. “Shit, it’s Nikki. I’ve got to take this. I’ll meet you guys there.”

Owen walks toward the locker room, and I jog to the octagon, trying to keep my body loose and my blood thrumming.

Rex is there, leaning up against the chain link of the cage. “Where the hell did you run off to last night?”

Last night. Shit. I haven’t thought about Layla all morning. Or the shattered look on her face when I turned my back and walked out of the club. Thanks a lot, asshole. “Had to be here early. Didn’t want to drink too much.” I sniff and drag a towel across my sweaty forehead.

Rex tilts his head and studies my face. “What’s her name?”

“Fuck you talkin’ about?”

He laughs. “The girl who scared you off last night. Talon said he saw you getting into it with a smokin’ hot chick.”

I shake my head. He’s right about the smokin’ hot part. What he’s missing is the crazy-as-a-celibate-on-Viagra part.

“She didn’t scare me off.” Shit. I scared myself.

Even pissed—hell, especially pissed—that woman is addicting. I stayed up half the night wondering what happened to her. I imagined breaking every single bone of the fucker that broke her. I drafted my apology to her over and over in my head. What I said was a low blow. I exposed her past, something she’s clearly wounded by, and shanked her with it. I attacked her weakness. Just like my dad. Fuck.

“Whatever you say.” He rolls his head around on his neck. “You ready to—”

“Hell-oooo? Does anyone in this place know where I can find my mom?”

Our heads swivel in unison to the direction of the girl’s voice. Mom?

She must’ve taken our moment of distraction as an invitation because she smiles and walks toward us. “Hi. I’m looking for my mom. Can either of you tell me where she is? That lady at the front desk didn’t know her tits from her toes.”

I choke on a swell of laughter. “Sorry, kiddo. You must have the wrong place.”

I can’t think of a single girl who works here who’s old enough to have a kid. Especially one in her teens.

She rolls her eyes and throws out a hip. “Nope. This is the place. I drop her off every morning and pick her up every night. I should know.”

Drops her off and picks her up every night? It’s not one of the Cage Girls. They’re only here a couple days a week. Vanessa is single. No kids. That only leaves—no fucking way.

I grab onto the chain link, speaking through the cage. “Who’s your mom, kiddo?”

“Lay—”

“Elle?” Layla’s voice sounds panicked as she hurries across the room to the teenager.

“Mom!” Elle spins around, her long, straight, and very dark hair flying with the force of her movement. “That piece of shit car broke down. Do you know how embarrassing it is to try and start your car in a parking lot full of assholes laughing at you?”

Layla’s face ignites in a bright red blush. “Watch your mouth.”

She motions to Rex and me in the octagon. “Mom, I’m pretty sure these guys have heard it all before. Jeez.”

“That’s not the point. You’re sixteen years old.” She’s trying to keep her voice down, but I’m hanging on every word.

Did she say sixteen? That’s impossible. Layla doesn’t look old enough to have a teenage daughter.

“Did you not hear what I said? I’m telling you our only car is toast, and you’re worried about me saying shit in front of a couple of rough-neck fighters?”

“Axelle Rose. That’s enough.”

No. She. Fucking. Didn’t. She named her daughter after the lead singer of Guns N’ Roses. I feel the weight of my jaw as my mouth hangs wide open.

“I had to bum a ride off a guy from school just to get here. Luckily he’s super sweet, or I’d probably be dead right now.”

Layla’s face pinches in disapproval. “Dammit. You should have called me from school. I could’ve sent a cab.”

Nothing about this is okay. I piece together the things I’m learning. Young mom, broken by a man, living alone with a teenage daughter. I flex my fists and grind my teeth.

Before I’m even aware of what I’m doing, I’m moving toward them. “Who brought you here?”

Axelle tilts her head, motioning to the lobby. “A guy from school. Said he wouldn’t leave until I found my mom.”

“And your car?”

“School parking lot.”

I direct my next question to Layla. “You have any roadside assistance, triple A?”

She studies her feet and shakes her head.

“Right. Give me a second to get cleaned up.”

“Blake, this isn’t your problem to—”

I glare hard at Layla, silencing her immediately. “Don’t.” I look up at Rex. “I need a couple hours.”

Rex gives me a chin lift and a wicked smile. Dick.

I walk toward the locker room to get changed but stop when a hand grabs my elbow. I growl in irritation as I turn around. “What?”

Layla pulls her hand off at my reaction. “Blake, I need to apologize. Last night…” She rolls her fingers into the hem of her shirt. “I was wrong. I accused you and attacked you, and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

I watch her dark eyelashes flutter behind her librarian-style glasses. Her eyes are puffy, like she needs a good night’s sleep, and her hair is raked in to a messy ball at the back of her head. She doesn’t look any less gorgeous, but she’s not as put together as usual. Guilt washes over me. I was brutal to her last night. No doubt my words brought up shit she’s been trying to forget. They probably kept her up most the night. And she has a kid she needs to take care of. Damn, I’m such an ass.

She clears her throat and her eyes move back to mine, searching. “You’re still mad. I understand.” Her voice is despondent, lacking the confidence of its usual sass.

“Mouse, last night was my fault. That bullshit, me being a dick, that wasn’t about you. It’s me who’s sorry.”

“It’s cool. I accused you of sleeping with Mac. I was out of line.”

We could play apology pong all day, but I need to get her car taken care of so that I can get back to training. Despite the responsibilities demanding my attention, I can’t drag myself away from her. Man, that sounds weak.

“So we both fucked up,” she says. “That makes us even.”

I’d take everything she said last night a thousand times over if it meant I got to keep those few moments with her talking about music, our easy conversation and her unguarded smile. During those moments there wasn’t a hint of the tough-girl façade she usually wears. Even now, the mask is gone. Her eyes are soft, blinking and apologetic, revealing the weak woman that lives behind the armor.

“Let’s take care of your car.” It’s the least I can do after the verbal daggers I tossed last night.

Her eyebrows pinch together. She rolls her lips between her teeth and nods.

“I’ll meet you girls in the lobby.”

She turns back to her daughter. Her arms are tucked in tight to her body, making her seem small and vulnerable. I flash back to my childhood—my dad picking away at my mom until she was no more than a vapor of the woman she used to be. Tiny. Weak. Victimized. Remorse and a sense of responsibility flood my brain, both familiar and unwelcome.

I change as quickly as I can. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can mentally bitch-slap myself back to indifference.

In the lobby, Layla and Axelle are standing with a teenage boy and… Jonah?

“…you come by Monday through Friday after school, we’ll find something to keep you busy.” The tail end of Jonah’s sentence catches my attention.

“Great! Thanks, Assassin.” The lanky kid shakes Jonah’s hand.

“What’s up?” I’m talking to Jonah, but my eyes are fixed on the messy-headed boy.

“Blake, this is Killian. He’s a fan and a friend of Layla’s daughter. I met him last year at the airport. He’s a fuck—er—friggin’ walking Wikipedia of MMA knowledge.”

Axelle bounces on her toes and claps her hands. “The Assassin said he’d let Killian come train here if he helps out with shit.”

“Axelle,” Layla hisses to her daughter, who responds to the reprimand by rolling her eyes.

“Sounds good to me.” I step into Killian’s space. “Thanks for taking care of things. I think we’ve got it from here.”

“Sure thing, Snake.” He shuffles on his feet. “Oh, and you’re going to crush Wade ‘The Fade’ Fuller. His ground game is hopeless. Remember when he fought The Reaper back in ‘09 and couldn’t get side control, as messed up as The Reaper was? Pathetic, man.”

Jonah raises his eyebrows and tilts his head toward Killian.

I nod. “Damn, kid. I remember that fight. The Fade showed his ass big time.”

Killian shrugs and fidgets with his car keys. “Yeah, he doesn’t stand a chance against your submissions. Especially that triangle hold. It’s the best I’ve seen in MMA.”

Jonah mumbles something about his being better.

“Thanks. You really know your shit.”

Layla groans and throws her palm to her forehead. Axelle giggles.

“Killian, with your height, you’d be in the same weight class as Blake. You’d learn a lot from watching him.”

“That’s awesome. Well, I better go.” Killian turns to Axelle with a grin. “See you tomorrow, Elle.”

They say their goodbyes, and Jonah excuses himself to take a phone call.

“First things first. Let’s get your car to the shop.” I pull out my phone, dial, and push send.

The phone rings twice, and then she answers. “Hey, Blake. What’s up?”

“Baby girl, I’ve got a job for you.”

Seven

Layla

Baby girl? Oh, great. He’s enlisting the help of one of his many. I groan deeply and curse my shitty luck.

After a quick conversation that mostly involves him giving the location, make, and model of our car, he hangs up the phone.

Elle squeals like a groupie when she sees Blake’s black Rubicon in the lot. “We get to ride in that?”

“How the heck do we get in it?” I say, making sure I keep my voice low so Blake can’t hear.

The thing is lifted high on tires that are almost as tall as I am. Its dark-tinted windows blend in with the coal-colored paint. He opens the passenger side doors and waits for us to load up.

Climbing in is easier than I thought, but once inside, I’m surrounded by the woodsy scent of his aftershave. After last night, I decided that I’d accept a friendship with Blake, but I’d never allow my head to go where my body leads when Blake’s close. Engulfed in the aroma of pine trees and bark after a good rain, I’m squirming in my seat.

He fires up the engine and pulls onto the main road. The stereo is playing AFI’s “Silver and Cold”, and I’m singing along in my head.

“AFI and Metallica?” he says, and gives me a quick peek before turning his eyes back to the road.

“Um… what?” The mention of Metallica brings back our conversation from last night, and how easily we fell into a light-hearted debate about the metal band. And the ease in which I forgot my place and let down my guard.

He points to his stereo. “You like AFI.”

I swing my gaze out the window, hoping to avoid another conversation that might end like last night’s. “Oh, I don’t really—”

“You were humming.”

My shoulders tense to my ears. I was freakin’ humming? Not the best way to show my apathy. “They’re okay.”

“Mom listens to AFI when she cleans. She has at least four of their CDs.” Thank you for the outing, Elle.

The rest of the car ride is silent. Blake never talks about music again and stares straight ahead. I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He’s leaning back, one arm stretched out to the steering wheel, the other cocked, resting outside the open window. His large, muscular thighs are open and relaxed, filling out his jeans to perfection.

That’s the type of thing I told myself I’d stop noticing about him. And yet…

The effort it takes to try to come up with a list of Blake’s unattractive qualities takes a lot of concentration, and suddenly we’re parking in the lot of an auto body shop. “Guy’s Garage” is painted in blue letters outside the industrial-style building.

We all climb down from his car and follow him into the multi-car garage.

That’s when I see her. A young woman, probably not much older than Elle, comes from around the front end of a truck. Her dark hair is piled high on her head, messy but somehow put together. Her long, slender frame is covered in blue work overalls, which are unzipped at the top to reveal a bright yellow shirt. That’s got to be baby girl.

“Wow,” Elle whispers from over my shoulder.

My jaw falls open when I notice the color of her eyes, a unique mix of blue and green like I’ve never seen. A pale scar slices through one of her eyebrows. Where most scars would hinder a person’s beauty, this one only enhances her unique look. She’s the type of girl I’d picture Blake with. Young, and girl-crush gorgeous.

“Baby girl.” Blake leans in and whispers something in her ear.

Whatever it is has her giggling. Probably all manner of inappropriate.

My chest tightens with something that feels like—but absolutely cannot be—jealousy.

“Layla and Axelle, this is my friend, Raven.”

Friend, yeah right. Fuck-buddy’s more like it.

The gorgeous girl steps around and holds out her hand.

I grab it and shake. “Nice to meet you, Raven.”

“You too, Layla. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

My eyes skate to Blake and then back to her. “Really?”

“Sure.” She smiles warmly.

Hmm, that’s strange. I didn’t know talking about your boss’s new assistant was popular pillow talk.

I listen, or act like I’m listening, as Blake fills Raven in on my situation.

“…they’ll need a loaner until you get their truck running.” He finishes with a shrug and a grin.

“No, please.” My cheeks burn. Paying for the repairs will take all our money, so there’s no way I can afford a rental car. But I don’t want his help, and I really don’t want his girlfriend to get pissed that he’s negotiating deals for me. “I couldn’t ask for that. Just the repair on the truck will be fine.”

“Mouse, you need a car. You need to get to work and Axelle to school. Repairs could take days.” He looks at Raven. “Am I right?”

“Of course,” she says, her bright eyes warm with generosity. “Blake wants you to have a loaner, so we’ll get you one. No charge.”

Charming girls out of more than their panties, I add free car rentals to the list.

As much as I could use the help, it feels dirty to accept. “Blake, it’s sweet that you want to help, but I’m not comfortable—”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just a car rental,” he says with a flat tone of annoyance.

“No, it’s more than that.” I try to communicate with my eyes that I don’t want anything from his girlfriend, or naked playmate—whoever she is.

“It’s not.” He presses his lips together in a tight line.

I throw my shoulders back and look him in the eye. “It is. I said no thank you.” Lifting my eyebrows, I give a tiny nod, hoping he gets that I’m trying to save him from an uncomfortable situation with his baby girlfriend.

His face is blank. He studies my expression. I widen my eyes and smile. His eyes narrow. Ugh. Men suck at non-verbal communication.

I drop my head back in defeat and fight the urge to throw my hands up and scream. “Raven, your um, Blake, is a nice guy, but I can’t accept—”

“Come on.” He grabs hold of my hand and drags me across the lot.

Two distinct giggles come from Elle and Raven, and I look over my shoulder to see them smiling. What in the hell’s so funny?

He walks me around to the back of his Jeep so that we’re hidden from onlookers.

“Let me go.” When I yank against his hold, he grips me tighter. “Blake, seriously. This is nuts.”

“We need to talk.” He lets go of my arm. Taking me by my shoulders, he positions me so that my butt settles against his rear bumper. With one firm flick, his sunglasses are off. He hooks them on the neck of his blue t-shirt then crosses his arms at his chest. “Cut the shit.”

“Shit?”

“At the training center you were all apologies and fuckin’ cute as hell. We get here, and you start throwin’ up walls. Just like last night.” He takes a step closer. “So tell me, Mouse. What the fuck?”

“I’m not throwing up walls. I can’t afford—”

“Nu-uh. No. You do not make this shit about money. Last night you went whack-job on me, and that had nothing to do with money.”

I drop my gaze and study my feet. Last night it was Mac, and now Raven. I can’t explain why the thought of him with different women pisses me off. Mainly because I can’t figure it out myself. Men were not part of the plan after I left. Especially not men like Blake Daniels.

“I don’t know.” It’s a stupid reply, but it’s the truth. I stare at his shoulder, not wanting to get sidetracked by his eyes.

“You don’t know.”

Quiet tension festers between us. He runs his hand over his short-cropped hair to the back of his neck.

“Blake, I can’t afford a rental.”

“You won’t be payin’.” His clipped tone of frustration reignites my anger.

I may not have the answers to why the thought of him sleeping with the beautiful mechanic has me pissed, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m pissed.

“I know that, Blake. Trust me. I know exactly how she’ll take payment.”

Two steps and he’s in my face. The heat from his car presses into my back.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem? You’re the one who uses your dick like a credit card.”

He stares me down, his emerald eyes digging deep. “What did he do to you?”

I suck in a ragged breath.

“Can’t be much older than thirty, got a sixteen-year-old daughter. Alone in a new town. No man around to fix your car.” His words are spoken in soft whispers, like he’s talking to himself. “You’re always on guard, like the next guy might destroy you with a look.”

My chest heaves as I scramble for air. His eyes search mine, and I’m unable to speak while locked in his gaze.

“Shadows. I can see ’em dancing in there.” His expression is pinched with what looks like concern. “Shit, Mouse. What’d he do?”

He lays his palm on his Jeep beside my head and leans in, his tall body curving over mine. I don’t answer, afraid my voice might break, or I’ll show a weakness I can’t afford to expose.

I told myself I’d stay away from guys like Blake. It’s because of my fascination with the wrong type of guy that I ended up a teenage mother. Not that I’d change what happened that night. Everything that happened after, yes. But not that night.

That night brought me Axelle. And her, I’ll never regret.

Blake

I’m so close to her perfect pink lips. A slight shift of my body weight and my mouth would be on hers. A small gust of wind carries the vanilla scent of her skin, and calls to my senses. My dick is achingly hard, pressing to get closer to her. And with most girls, I do just that. But not this one.

She has responsibilities. The life of another human being depends on her. And then there’s her past. A failed marriage doesn’t leave a woman without scars. I’m not a guy who listens to women’s problems and cuddles them until they feel better. I don’t promise to right another dude’s wrongs. And this is no exception.

There’s no denying this chick does something to me. Her strength and attitude call to me on a physical level. And there are moments when she forgets to reinforce her tough-girl exterior and leaves herself exposed. Fuck if those glimpses don’t make me want to possess her and become the man she needs.

Her pupils dilate against the near-black color of her eyes. She’s not oblivious to the energy that’s whipping up between us. At this distance, and without the barrier of her glasses, I can make out a girlish sprinkling of freckles across her nose that defies the stubborn set of her shoulders. Her mouth parts, either to say something or accommodate her breathing. My heart races. If I could lean in, have one taste.

I lick my lips. Her eyes flare. Fucking hot.

“Mouse.” My voice sounds gravelly with hunger.

The reasons I don’t hook up with women who have kids fade to the background, giving control to my desire. The rise and fall of her chest, flushed cheeks, and wide eyes transform the mountain of my issues into an anthill.

She lifts her hand tentatively, holding her palm inches from my chest. Her eyes ask the question. Please, fuck yes, touch me. She places her hand against my pec. The warmth from her feminine touch sears my skin, and I fight the urge to plunder her mouth—to hell with the fallout.

“Blake…” My name slides from her lips. “You don’t want to do this.”

The fuck I don’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but in this moment, I’ve never wanted a girl more. My blood feels jagged as it rips through my veins. Muscles tense beneath my skin, itching with restlessness to touch her. I lock down the urge to flex my hips into her and show her exactly what she does to me.

“Last night, what you said? You were right, I’m broken.” Her fingers dig in and grab hold of my shirt. “You’d only hurt me.”

I take a deep breath, and close my eyes. As much as I want this girl naked, I can’t allow myself the selfish gratification. She’s a mother, and as far as I can tell all that her daughter has. Fucking her up will have lasting consequences even an asshole like me can’t live with.

I step back to clear my head. Her hand falls to her side, and I immediately miss her touch. The distance is little help, but it’s enough that her scent weakens, allowing me to think logically again.

I’ll help her, this one time, and that should be enough to satisfy my erratic thoughts. My instincts will always push me to protect a weak woman. And there’s nothing weaker in the world than a woman alone with a kid. That’s all this is. My history influences my behavior. I’ve beaten back this shit for the past twelve years. I can do it again. After today.

“Let me do this for you.” I scrub my hand over my hair, trying to think of a way to convince her that doesn’t involve my mouth all over her body. What I wouldn’t do to torture her with pleasure until she submits. No, help her and move the fuck on. I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. “You need the help. Let me give it to you.”

She searches my face, and I hope she doesn’t see anything that betrays me. After a few seconds, she nods. “Sure, okay. That’d be great.”

A slow grin tugs at my lips. “Really?”

She shrugs with a timid smile. “I told myself when I moved out here that I’d never rely on a man again. So just this once, okay?” She picks at her nails. “I’ve got to figure out a way to make it on my own. It’s important to me.” Her voice trails off to a whisper.

I want to reach out and pull her into my arms, but I know I won’t be able to stop there. And whatever I’m feeling, I have to fight. There’s so much more on the line than hurt feelings between two adults.

“If I can’t… I…” She curls into herself. “I can’t go back.” Her murmured words catch me off guard.

“Why not?” Shit. I broke my number-one rule with women. Don’t invest. Chanting the two words in my head like a mantra doesn’t keep me from imagining what may have happened to her and Axelle. Heat boils in my chest.

Worry and fear etch into her pretty face. “He’ll make me—”

“Mom!”

Fuck.

Axelle swings around to the back of the Jeep. “The truck’s here. Some dude named Leo towed it in. Oh, and you’re going to shit when you see our loaner car.” She’s clearly excited, hopping and clapping her hands.

“Elle. Stop cussing,” Layla says.

Axelle laughs, dismissing her mom’s reprimand. “Oh lighten up.”

A strange feeling, like a mix of irritation and possession, floods my veins at the blatant disrespect Axelle shows her mom. I can’t get involved any more than I already have. But I’m suddenly worried for Layla and her daughter’s relationship. This family needs a man in it. A good man. Hell, a decent man would be better than no man. And a kid needs a dad.

My dad’s face, twisted with fury and spitting ugly, comes rushing to the surface. I shake away the image before it solidifies. The reality check is enough to bring me back to my cardinal rule. I’m not investing.

For my safety. And for theirs.

“Let’s get a move on. I gotta get back to training.”

I head back to the garage, not waiting for them to catch up. Jonah’s there with his girl beneath his arm. I hear Layla’s sharp intake of breath from behind me. Oh, now she gets it.

That’s the second woman she’s accused me of banging, and both times she was wrong. I’d gloat if my head wasn’t so fucked up.

Jonah’s gunmetal gray ’69 Camaro is parked out front. He grins at Layla. “My wife told me you needed a loaner.”

“Oh, yeah.” Layla looks at me, and even in my peripheral vision, I can see the blush of her embarrassment.

What’s that saying? Never assume, because it makes you look and feel like a jackass idiot? Something like that.

“We have a few extra cars at home. Thought you might be able to use one.” Jonah motions with his head to the Camaro parked behind him.

He dangles the keys in front her face. Axelle squeals, but Layla locks her hands behind her back and shakes her head. “I can’t. I uh…” Her eyes move from the keys to the car and back again. “It’s, wow, but…”

Hell, I’ve never met a more stubborn woman in all my life. “Mouse. Remember what we talked about. Take the fucking keys.”

She swings her gaze over to me.

I nod. “Take ‘em.”

And holy shit. There it is. A huge grin, carefree and unguarded, spreads across her gorgeous face. Last night at The Blackout, talking about Metallica, I saw one similar. And fuck me if it isn’t the sweetest damn thing I’ve ever seen.

“I’ll take it. Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Sl—”

“No, please. First name basis.” Raven curls into her husband’s side.

“Thank you, guys.”

Jonah tosses her the keys. “Right, well Blake and I need to get back to training. Layla and Elle, enjoy the ride. If I know my woman, she’ll have your truck back together in no time. That is, unless she talks you into a rebuild.”

Raven’s eyes get big. “Oh, that would be cool. Throw on some forty-inch tires, a six-inch lift, and a paint job?” She looks between Layla and Axelle. “How do you feel about flames?”

“Flames are hot!”Axelle says. She starts going back and forth with Raven about color combinations.

Layla stays silent and looks oblivious to the chatter going on around her. Her eyes are unfocused, as if her mind is off somewhere else. What’s going on in that head of hers? Maybe I’ll drag her back to my car and make her tell me what she never finished saying about her ex. Something’s bothering her—Dammit, what the fuck is wrong with me?

I need to get the hell away. “You ready?”

Jonah kisses his girl goodbye, and I give a general peace-out to the group. Halfway to my car, I overhear Axelle telling her mom she has to be at school early tomorrow for tutoring. “That means I can’t take you to work.”

“That’s fine. You can drop me off at work before you go.”

“Mom, that’s an hour and a half early.”

“So what. Life’s about adjusting and making sacrifices.”

Don’t do it, dude. Do not fucking do it. “Mouse, I’ll pick you up at eight.”

I did it.

“Oh, no. It’s fine. I’ll—”

“Take the help, Layla.” I lock eyes with hers. “Seriously. This shit is not a big deal.”

“Okay, Blake.”

I turn around and continue to my car. I’m pissed and stoked as hell. Playing chauffeur to a chick with baggage, and a kid.

Fuck me. I’m gonna regret this.

Eight

Layla

I’m back at work after the trip to the garage, and I can’t stop grinning. Sure, I compromised and let Blake negotiate my rental. But really, it was Jonah who hooked that up. It shouldn’t make a difference, but it does. It feels less dependent. I mean, if anything, I’m helping him and Raven out by using a car that would be collecting dust. Yeah, that makes complete sense.

What doesn’t make sense is that for a brief moment behind Blake’s car, I allowed myself to consider what it would be like to be kissed by him. At one point it seemed like he might try, but all I could think was that Raven might get jealous and do something crazy like poke holes in my gas tank. It wasn’t until later I realized what an idiot I was for assuming that Blake was having some sort of a sexual relationship with Raven, when she’s Jonah’s wife. My cheeks burn at the memory.

The shame of accusing Blake of two love affairs with two different women made me acquiesce and accept the help. Those moments of weakness were totally worth the full-blown euphoria of driving that Camaro—windows down, music up, and the roar of the engine vibrating my vital organs. Invigorating would be an understatement. I’m watching the clock, eager for the chance to get back into that thing. Tonight I’m taking the long way home.

I’m straightening up my desk, preparing to leave for the night, when the phone at my desk rings. “Taylor Gibbs’s office, this is—”

“Layla, it’s Xavier.”

“Hey, Z. What’s up?”

“I need your signature on a few things. You want to come down to my office, or should I come to you?”

I check the clock. Almost five. “I’m on my way out. I’ll come down.”

“Great.”

Grabbing my things, I head to his office. Luckily, the room is at the opposite end of the locker room from the showers, or coming down here would make my job very uncomfortable. Pushing the door open, I keep my eyes to the ground and make a beeline to the back room.

His office door is open a crack. I knock lightly and push my way in.

He’s sitting behind his desk. “Layla, that was fast.” Papers rustle as he slides them into his top drawer.

“Oh, yeah. I’m in a rush to get home.” Not really, more like a rush to drive the kick-ass hot rod that’s waiting for me in the lot.

He sorts through a short stack of papers, pulling out a few and handing them to me. “Just need a signature on these treatment forms.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Routine red tape.”

I grab a pen off his desk then flip through the papers, giving each a brief scan. Pharmaceutical orders. I’ve seen similar order forms before, and even recognize the company logo belonging to of the big pharm companies that’s putting the smaller ones out of business. It was a topic I heard about often in my old life. The thought gives me the creepy crawlies. I sign quickly and drop the pen. “That it?”

He looks them over. “Sure is. Thanks.”

After a smile and a friendly good-bye, I leave the office. I keep my head low and make my way back through the locker room, using the tile on the floor and my peripheral vision to find my way. I’m halfway to the door when I slam into a solid wall of muscle.

I throw my hands up against a knotted abdomen covered in a cotton T-shirt. Thank God, I didn’t run into one of the guys naked. “Sorry. Shoot, I’m so sorry.”

“Why?”

I swallow a breath at the familiar voice. Blake.

“I stepped in front of you.” The rolling bass of Blake’s words draws my gaze up.

His stare is severe, despite his blank expression.

I take a step back and drop my hands. “Hey.”

He lifts his chin in greeting.

“Listen, I uh… didn’t get a chance to thank you properly at the garage. You’re right. I need to be better about accepting help. So…” So what? How do I thank him? A handshake seems too formal. A hug?

He stands still, his eyebrows raised.

I awkwardly open my arms. “Um…” I push up to my tiptoes and move in for a hug.

He leans back fractionally, and, in a moment of terror, I wonder if a hug is too personal. Too late now.

Even on my tiptoes, my arms don’t reach his thick, corded neck. I lock my hands at his nape and pull him in. He leans down, the raw strength of his powerful arms wrap around my waist and tug me close. I’m practically lifted off my feet as he holds me to his body. His firm chest presses against mine, the heat of his skin penetrates my thin sweater and coils deep in my belly.

The safety of his strength and the warmth of his touch, combined with the clean, spicy scent of his skin, would be any girl’s happy place. With my cheek pressed to his shoulder, I bite my lip against a moan. How something can feel so good and be so, so bad, I’ll never know.

I pull away, and he releases me easily. “Thanks.”

His eyes do that thing where they travel from my lips to my hairline. Like he’s looking at a steak and doesn’t know which bite to take first.

A slow shiver crawls down my spine.

“Your place.” His strange statement has my cheeks burning.

My place. As in… no, that’s not what he means. Is it? What would I do if it was? “What?”

“Your address.” He doesn’t take his eyes off mine. “For tomorrow.”

Uncomfortable laughter shoots from my lips. “Yes. Of course.” I dig in my purse looking for a piece of paper and a—oh, found a pen. “One second here. If I could just find something to write on.”

He puffs out what sounds like an impatient breath. With one yank, he has the pen in his hand, and one move later, my hand is in his. “Text it to me.”

A little buzzed from the combination of his big hand consuming mine and the subtle forest smell I’m beginning to associate with only him, I bob my head affirmatively as he scribbles something on my palm.

He drops my hand and pops the pen into my purse. “Eight AM.”

“Um… eight, that… good. I’ll uh…” I struggle to get the words out, but he’s already turned and disappeared behind a row of steel lockers.

What the hell was that? One minute the guy treats me like a friend and the next a burden. And the almost kiss behind his Jeep today is the whipped topping on this mind-fuck sundae.

I shake off the awkward exchange. Whatever is or isn’t happening between us isn’t worth my overthinking. His actions prove he’s a friend. That’s enough for me.

Blake

It’s late, and I’m still up. I read the text that came in a few hours ago one more time.

237 N. Tulum Dr. #290 See you in the a.m. Layla

Shortly after I added her number to my contact list, right below Lanette and above Leah, I punched her address into MapQuest. She’s in one of the worst neighborhoods in Vegas.

If I was a good guy, I’d drive over there right now, pack up all their shit, and take them to a hotel until they find somewhere safer. I groan and rub my forehead, my brain feeling like a party mix of compulsion and annoyance.

Something ain’t right. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to tune this girl out. I’ve done it countless times in the past. All I have to do is decide not to care. But no matter how many times I make that decision, Layla Moorehead continues to grate against my determination.

Fuck. I push up from the lounger on my patio and head back inside. My back is completely numb now from the good doc’s cortisone injections, but I don’t want to take any chances. I grab a Gatorade from the fridge and throw back a handful of Doc’s prescription holistic crap.

Standing in the kitchen, I look around my condo. The lights of the Las Vegas strip blaze in the distance. The floor-to-vaulted-ceiling windows do nothing to ease the feeling of being shrink-wrapped in my own skin. I’m edgy, ticking, and on the verge of explosion.

Just like my dad. Pissed off, irritable, ready to take on the world with my bare knuckles.

Maybe it’s the fight coming up. That has to be it. I can’t stand to entertain the alternative. But the possibility lingers.

And for whatever reason, Layla’s presence in my life seems to aggravate the situation. Holding her in my arms, her fragile little body pressed in close from chest to hip. Vanilla spice curling through my senses and practically dropping me to my knees. Fuck. I was a half a second away from pushing her back against a wall and tasting that sweet mouth.

My words from the night before come flooding back. Good for him for getting the fuck away from you.

She’s too fragile. Broken in a way that makes a guy like me Riddex to my emotionally fractured Mouse.

Attacking Layla’s weak spot at the club, reeling her in just to kick her in the gut, was a typical Duke Daniels move. And as desperate as I am to avoid becoming even a shadow of a man like that, it’s out of my control. I’m furious at how easily I become what I hate the most.

And I’m bitter as hell that there was someone in my life who should’ve protected us, but didn’t. If only my mom would’ve done her job as a parent and left his ass in order to protect us from the verbal abuse. But no, it was me who protected her. Always. She was so damn weak.

My head pounds. This feeling-sorry-for-myself shit has got to stop. I move through my living room and down the hallway. Stopping at the only locked door in the house, I reach up and pull down the single key hidden on top of the doorframe.

I unlock the door and push into the dark room. It’s windowless and soundproof. Without turning on a single light, I know where everything is. My mind has memorized it. I move deeper inside, allowing the scent of maple, rosewood, and mahogany to soothe my damning thoughts. Ready to purge the negative shit coursing through my veins, I take a seat and let the tension melt into the floor.

There in the dark, hidden from even myself, I drown in the one indulgence that has never let me down.

Layla

“Ouch, shit.” I shove my finger in my mouth, cooling the burn from the toaster that I just stuck my finger in to fish out my breakfast. That’s what I get for being in a hurry.

Blake will be here to pick me up at eight, and I want to make sure I’m ready. He’s going out of his way to help me out, and the least I can do is be waiting when he gets here.

After the way he acted in the locker room yesterday, I wouldn’t be surprised if he comes up with an excuse to get out of taking me to work. Flat tire. Out of gas. Sleepover guest he’s not ready to kick from his bed. Lucky girl.

The thought brings me back to our talk at his Jeep, his big body hovered over mine. How the smell of his skin seemed to heighten my senses. I was acutely aware of the heat rolling off his body and the muscles balled up tight beneath his tan skin. And so close… so, so close to—I shake free the images of what being with him would be like.

It’ll never happen, not even for one night. Why would a young, handsome guy like Blake go for a woman like me when he has his pick from all the available girls in Vegas? What I’d assumed was flirting was probably nothing more than a bad boy with a hero complex. Maybe doing a good deed for a person down on their luck helps him justify his less-than-respectable lifestyle.

“Hey everyone, it’s take the poor single mom to work day,” I say in an affected voice while slathering peanut butter on my half-burnt toast.

Why he’s helping me out is irrelevant. He’s doing me a huge favor, and rather than dissect his motives, I’ll focus on being grateful.

I shuffle back to my room, dragging my sock-clad feet against the linoleum. Damn nightmares kept me up most the night, and the lack of sleep is doing nothing for my hustle. If Elle hadn’t popped in to say goodbye before she left for school, I’d probably still be asleep.

Back in my room, my phone is lit up with a new text.

Leaving now. Be there in ten. BD ;)

“B.D. and a winkie face. Look who’s back to being Mr. Funny.” I place my phone on the bathroom counter. I’m still smiling at his silly text when the first part of it sinks in. Crap. Ten minutes?

I race around my room, throwing work clothes on the bed and doing my best to keep a steady hand while doing my face. Running a brush through my semi-dry hair, I snag a bra and pair of panties from my drawer and toss them on the bed to join my work outfit. “Shoes.” I whirl around to my closet and—the doorbell rings.

Shit! Has it been ten minutes?

Even though I’m no longer in a hurry, I fly down the hall and fling the door open like there’s a Publisher’s Clearing House check the size of a small car waiting on the other side.

Nope. Not that. What’s waiting on the other side of my door is way better.

Blake. He’s wearing a black, zip-up hoodie and a pair of worn-out denim jeans that hug his muscular thighs just right.

“Mornin’, Mouse.” He holds up one of two insulated cups. “Thought you could use a coffee.”

I blink at his words. Then, remembering my manners, I step back to hold the door open. “Thank you. Come on in.”

He stares at my feet, and I realize I’ve been so concerned with what he’s wearing, I didn’t think about what I’m wearing. Shit.

Suddenly my threadbare T-shirt and fleece shorts feel indecent. But that’s not where he’s looking. He’s studying my feet, or rather my oversized, very pink, scrunched-up socks.

“What the hell you got on your feet, Mouse?” A crooked smile plays at his lips.

“Socks.” I tuck one foot behind my calf.

“Yeah, I got that. But you’re in Vegas. Those things were made for a snowstorm.”

“My feet get cold.” I step back, trying to hide my feet behind the open door.

His eyes swing up to mine, his near-smile wiped clean. “Huh.”

“Come in.”

He steps past me, his scent dragging by in a brutal tease.

I take a deep breath of the cool air from outside before I shut the door, locking myself inside with him and his mouthwatering smell. “I’ll be out in a minute. Let me finish getting dress—”

“Mouse, sit.”

I turn to see Blake in my kitchen, motioning for me to sit at the table. “We should probably get—”

“We have time.”

“O-Kay.” I sit down at the tiny two-seat table, across from him. The room seems to shrink to half its size with a man like Blake in the room. I pick up the coffee in front of me and take a sip. Mmm, so good. It’s been so long since I’ve indulged in the expensive coffee shop stuff.

Blake leans back in his seat, his head tilted to the side, observing. I sip my drink, the uncomfortable silence tingling my skin.

“So this is where you live.” His casual statement matches his body language.

I look around, ashamed of our meager home. “Yeah. For now. I’m hoping to get some money saved to move to a better place.”

He looks around the space, then back at me, his expression blank. “How long?”

“Until we move?”

He nods.

“Six months? Nine? Depends.”

He drums his fingers against the tabletop. “On what?”

“My paychecks.”

The beat of his fingers gets louder. “What about Axelle’s dad? You’ve got to be getting some child support or—”

I shake my head, silencing him. “No. I’m getting nothing from him. That was the deal.” My shoulders are tight, my lower back pushed off the seat back, as my false self-confidence works to hide my unease.

No longer relaxed, he leans forward, his forearm resting on the table. “What was the deal?”

“Blake, you don’t want to sit here and listen to my sob story.” Clearing my throat, I try to imitate the confident tone Blake uses when he talks. “I’m sure you can figure it out. Let’s just say Elle and I are on our own. Completely.”

“What about your parents? Axelle’s grandparents? Don’t they—”

“No. They don’t.” I stab my fingers into my hair and flex.

“I’m trying to understand why in the motherfucking hell you and your girl are out here alone and not one person gives a shit. Can you explain that to me? I wish you would. ’Cause then I wouldn’t be sittin’ up all night trying to figure out what the hell makes you, you.”

I lean back and slouch down in my seat. As much of a cocky asshole Blake can be, he sounds genuinely concerned. And thanks to him, my car is in the shop and my daughter’s driving the most amazing piece of American Hot Rod around. I suppose I could let him in.

I trace the logo on my coffee cup with my thumb. “My parents were in their forties when they had me. Their only child got pregnant at sixteen, didn’t do much for their stress levels. Dad had a heart attack about five years ago, and they moved to a retirement home in Florida. I told myself I’d never burden them with my problems again. They deserve better.”

The muscle in his jaw ticks. He crosses his arms, sandwiching his hands between his ribs and his biceps.

“They think Stewart and I parted on good terms and I moved to Las Vegas with his consent. I called to let them know we got here okay, haven’t heard from them since.” I count back. That was three weeks ago. “Growing old is doing a number on their memory. Probably forgot they have a daughter and a grandkid.” I laugh, but it’s not funny.

Blake drops his chin to his chest, a low rumble rolling from his throat.

“It’s okay. I’m happy to live here, work hard, and start over. I just want to give Elle the kind of life she deserves.”

Emotion swirls behind his bright, moss-colored eyes as they stare deeply into mine. He tilts his head. “You left… for her?”

My breath catches at the shift in his questions, from curious to super personal. But the desperate look in his eyes, the way his brows are pulled in, like he needs my answer more than air, tugs at my heart. “We had a horrible, loveless marriage. Those are painful for everyone involved, but it’s the kids who suffer the—”

“You left to protect her. He hurt you?” he whispers.

Without permission to do so, my head bobs slowly. “Yeah, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Fuck me.” The fierce curse shoots from his lips in a hiss. He drops his head into his hands, kneading his eyes with the heel of his palms.

Strong reaction from a guy I hardly know. He probably thinks Stewart slapped us around. “It’s not like he hit us or anything.” The abuse I suffered at the hands of my husband wasn’t the kind that left physical scars.

His hands move from his forehead to the back of his neck and lock there. “Go get dressed, Mouse.”

“Blake, don’t think—”

“Go. Now.” He orders me away, and something tells me it’s more for my protection than needing to get to work.

His eyes blaze with a hatred that I’ve only ever seen in my husband. But this isn’t scary. It’s comforting. God, I’m sick.

I hurry from the table and head for my room.

“Layla.”

I stop and look over my shoulder.

“Wear your hair down.”

That sounded like an order. I feel my eyes narrow. I don’t take orders from men. Not anymore. And never again.

I don’t respond, but walk straight to my bathroom and grab the tightest ponytail holder I can find.

Blake

I’ve survived a lot of bullshit in my life. A raging asshole father. One of the toughest military schools in the country. The Marines. But none of that compares to the fight I’m engaged in now. My body is humming with homicidal thoughts.

Not only does Layla’s little fucking confession have me envisioning her and her kid at the hands of some prick, but she’s flipped my damn world on its axis with her reasons for leaving. Protecting her daughter. Pulling up stakes, living in a shit hole with no money, starting over… all for her kid.

Her story laughs in the face of my preconceived ideas of women. She didn’t show weakness, but immense strength. She wasn’t selfish, but gave up her comforts for another. Granted, her husband was a dick, but staying is taking the easy way out. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Layla chose the fight, the struggle, and the sacrifice.

All the times I prayed my mom would take us out of there, to live free from the control of my fuckface dad. She never stuck up for us, demanded a better life for her boys, fought to right the wrongs—damn. I need to pull it together.

Pacing the small living room does diddly-shit for my anger. It’s only a reminder of how these girls live in a shabby and inadequate apartment, alone to fend for themselves. There’s one ratty-looking couch, a small tube TV with rabbit ears, and cheesy plastic blinds on the windows with—I run my hand along the window frame. No locks. It’s unlikely anyone can crawl up to the second-story window, but if for some reason they had a ladder or—

“I’m ready.”

The sound of her voice spins me around. Facing her, I catch myself to avoid stumbling back as I take in her appearance. A skin-tight, pale-pink sweater clings to her body, the soft fabric enticing my fingers to touch. Her chocolate skirt is shorter than the knee-length ones I’ve seen her in before. This one skims her slender thighs, which are wrapped in patterned stockings that make me curious to know how far up they go. Do they stop at her thighs, held on by a sexy garter? Fuck me, this woman is a knockout. The T-shirt and pink socks had me hard as steel, but this is sex-on-a-desk hot.

“Your hair.” A smirk pulls at my lips. Not loose and flowing like I asked, but pulled back into a tight ponytail. Holy hell, her defiance only makes my dick harder.

She grins, throws out a heeled foot, and cocks a hip. “I don’t take orders.”

I glare at her and move across the room, stopping less than a foot away. She sways a bit but quickly recovers. Her bright brown eyes fix on mine, and she juts out her chin. My mouse is a rebel.

I sink my teeth into my lower lip to avoid the full-blown smile that’s surfacing. Her eyes flare, and I see it. For the first time, it’s unmistakable. Desire.

“So many sides to you, Mouse.” Clumsy and awkward, confident when she needs to be, insecure about the past, nervous when I get close. All the sides I’m diggin’, and each one just as hot as the other. But attraction is one thing, translating that attraction to real life is something else. And right now, if we don’t get out in public, I may throw my no-kids, no-baggage rule straight out this second story window.

“Let’s roll.” I sidestep her to the door, pull it wide, and hold it open. She doesn’t follow immediately, but studies the crappy popcorn ceiling for a few seconds before taking my lead and heading out.

Doesn’t take orders, huh? I can work with that. Just have to make her believe she’s not taking them, when she most certainly will be. My mind goes to a billion dirty places until we’re in the Rubicon.

She picks up the binder that holds my CDs and flips through the pages. “You have great taste in music.” She tilts her head to the side and squints to read the titles before turning to another page.

“No glasses today?” I’ve noticed she doesn’t always wear them. Not that I care. Hot librarian or doe-eyed babe, both looks are sexy as hell.

She closes the CD binder, and her eyes dart to mine before she shrugs and focuses out the window. “I usually only wear them when I read or watch movies.”

Silence simmers between us. Visions of her reading in my bed or watching a movie wrapped in my arms wearing nothing but her glasses flicker behind my eyes. I shift, suddenly restless in my seat. I’ve always been a horny prick, but lately I’m getting a stiffy from the friction of the wind. My libido is all out of whack. First her fluffy pink socks, and now her reading—wait.

When was the last time I got laid?

That’s got to be the problem. I make a mental note to take care of that ASAP. With all the pressure of the fight coming up, my back being fucked five-ways to Friday, and family shit poking at me, I could use a little extracurricular release.

And sure as shit, relieving the sexual tension will make being around Layla a lot easier.

We park in the lot of the training center and hop down from the Jeep. I click the alarm and find her waiting for me by the back end.

Her fingers are twisted in a tendril of hair from her ponytail. “Um… I wanted to say thanks, again, for helping me out.” Her gaze swings to the training center’s front door then back to me. “I don’t have any friends. But, this feels like something a friend would do, and I just want to say…” She lifts her eyes to mine. “Thank you. It’s nice to have a friend.”

That’s the first time I’ve ever gotten the “I just want to be friends talk”. Other than feeling like I’ve just been kicked in the gut, that wasn’t so bad.

“Sure thing, Mouse.”

A soft smile pulls at her lips before she walks away. I watch the roll of her hips and the way her ass swings in the opposite direction of the sway of her hair.

Yeah, I’m definitely going to have to get laid tonight.

Nine

Layla

“Bye, Mom!” Elle shouts from the kitchen.

“Oh, hold on! I want to meet—” The sound of the front door slamming cuts me off. “Or not.”

Elle and a girlfriend from school are hitting up a double feature at the theater tonight. It works out great for me, because I’m headed back to The Blackout to meet up with Mac. She’d told me that she always works on the nights Ataxia plays. And according to the band flyer Rex hooked me up with, they have a show there tonight. Blake’s been a good friend, but I need a girlfriend to gab and gossip with. Mac’s the closest thing I have to that, and having a drink and listening to good music is a bonus.

Deciding to go for casual, I throw on my favorite pair of old jeans with holes in the knees. I should’ve gotten rid of them years ago, but they’re so comfortable and do wonders for my butt. A long-sleeved thermal shirt, Pantera concert tee, black belt and biker boots. I’m ready.

I sit at the bottom of the steps, eyeing the Camaro. Much as I’d love to cruise that beauty around town tonight, I might have a few drinks. Crashing a classic car that belongs to a man whose nickname is “The Assassin” doesn’t sound like a smart move.

A white cab with fare prices printed on the door pulls up. Right on time.

The drive to The Blackout is a short one. Pushing through the entrance and into the dark club, I spot Mac immediately. She’s behind the bar, slinging drinks like they’re an extension of her body. I weave through the few people and random tables and saddle up. She’s taking cash from a guy, so I sit and patiently wait for her to see me. The band is already setting up on stage, and it looks like they’re minutes away from starting.

“What can I get—oh hey, Layla! How are you?” She stands up on something so that she can fold her body over the bar top and pull me into a hug.

“I’m great. I thought you’d be on tonight, so I stopped by for a drink.”

She shrugs one shoulder while pouring drinks. “They have me behind the bar tonight. I’m glad you’re here. Wednesdays are never busy, so I’m usually standing around, bored.”

“Perfect, now I can keep you company.” I order a Corona and sit back while she grabs my beer.

The bar fills up, but it’s nothing close to how crowded it was the first night I was in. Girls suited up in their most eye-catching, flesh-baring clothes huddle around the stage.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” With a head tilt, Mac motions to the girls who’re clearly the masters of attracting a horny male. “Be a miracle if you could find one virgin in this town. You know, they’ve considered changing the name to Sex Vegas.”

“Wouldn’t be a bad idea. I’ve never seen so many beautiful people in one place.” Beautiful and young. I take a swing of my beer. You’d never see this kind of thing in Seattle, but then again, if you’re not wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, you’re freezing your ass off.

“Nah, it’s an optical illusion caused by the sun and copious amounts of silicone.” She squints her eyes at something just over my shoulder and then shakes her head. “Ah, wouldn’t be an orgy without ‘The Snake’.”

Huh? My stomach drops to my toes. I follow the direction of her mirthful glare and choke on my own spit. Blake is standing off to the side of the stage. And he’s not alone. He’s leaning into a very tall, extremely gorgeous blonde, and she’s got her hand behind his neck.

I try to turn my head, to pull my eyes away, but they stay super-glued to the couple. His lips are moving, and his head is tilted along with his smile. She’s nodding, her lip wedged between her teeth as if she’s biting back the urge kiss him. Yep, he’s definitely sweet-talking her panties off.

Ha. Like she’s wearing any.

He leans in close and whispers in her ear. Her lips move, and whatever she says brings his hand to her hair. With a few passes of his thumb against her jaw, he coaxes her lips closer to his. Oh, God. He’s going to kiss her.

Again, I try to avert my gaze. Unable to break the hypnosis, I watch in animal-documentary slow motion as he tightens his fingers in her hair and pulls her to his mouth. She melts into his hold, and he dissolves the space between them. Every muscle in my body goes rigid, and my chest constricts.

I scan the room, searching for something, anything to look at, but my eyes gravitate back like heat-seeking missiles. And holy hell is there heat. It’s practically peeling the paint off the walls. His huge body presses her back, pinning her with his hips. His hands move over her body like he’s memorizing every curve.

I’ve never been kissed like that. Stewart never kissed me at all unless he was between my legs, grunting like a rooting pig. My heart pinches painfully.

“Layla?” Mac’s voice gets my attention.

“Hmm?” I blink a few times and take a long pull of my beer. No longer facing Blake and his female companion, I imagine where they’re at in terms of bases. My guess is second.

Mac’s unique tawny-colored eyes study mine. “You okay?” She motions to her own face but nods toward me. “You went pale.”

I wave her off and swallow the last of my beer. Boy, that went down fast. “Nah, I’m fine.” Although my back feels like it’s on fire from the intensity of what’s going on behind me.

Mac’s eyes move over my shoulder. Her face scrunches up. “Oh, God. Those two need a condom. Fast.”

I blow a slow breath out my mouth. Gosh dammit. What is wrong with me? Why does this hurt so badly? We’re just friends, but the way I’ve respond to the mere thought of him with a girl isn’t healthy. And seeing the eyeball-burning live version is like having my guts ripped out, William Wallace style.

Mac drops another beer down in front of me, and I make quick work of the golden liquid. Anything to keep from turning around. Ataxia starts their first set, and as much as I’d like to watch them, I can’t bring myself to face what might be going on behind me.

“It’s okay. You can turn around now.”

I peek up into sympathetic eyes. We’ve only just met, but I can’t help but feel like she knows more than I’ve told her.

“He’s gone. Left just a minute ago.”

Rolling my lips between my teeth, I wonder if I can ask the question that’s clawing at my skull without giving myself away. “Did he leave alone?”

Her expression softens with what looks like sadness. “No.”

I nod once, twice, three… Oh no, I’m doing the crazy quick nods. The kind I do right before I’m about to cry. This is so stupid. Why on earth would I cry? We aren’t together. Even if there was a possibility of us hooking up, that would be a twelve-degree fuck-up on my end. I’m here to focus on rebuilding my life with my daughter. Not to gallivant around with a guy, albeit a seriously hot guy, from my work. On top of that, there are probably strict rules that discourage interoffice dating. I can’t risk losing my job.

But my eyes still burn as I wonder what it would be like to be on the receiving end of Blake’s attention. I’ve felt only a sliver of what he gave that girl tonight, and I was light headed. Maybe that’s all it is. Not Blake the man, but the way he makes me feel. I’ve never been looked at the way he looks at me. Like I’m some forbidden indulgence he’s been deprived of his whole life.

And if that’s the case, what does that say about me? That I’d be willing to cast aside my future, my plan to rebuild a life for Elle, all because some guy makes me feel wanted. I fist my hands into my hair. Ugh, I’m sicker than I thought.

“Mac, I need a shot of…” I study the bottles. “Whatever you got. Just, make it strong.”

She chews the inside of her mouth, her thoughtful eyes on me. “I’ve got just the thing.” Whirling around, she grabs a bottle.

Within minutes I’ve downed three shots of what I’m pretty sure is some fancy-ass kind of tequila. My head feels light, but my thoughts have turned to dead weight. Dammit.

I blink to focus and suddenly feel suffocated in the crowded bar. Fresh air.

Digging through my wallet for cash, I curse my impulsiveness. Those shots probably cost me a week’s worth of food.

“Layla, no.” Mac shakes her head, dropping a full drink in front of my heavily pierced neighbor at the bar. “It’s on the house.”

Oh, thank God. “Are you sure?”

She smiles, but there’s sadness in her eyes. Great. Now she feels sorry for me. I need to get out of here.

I drop a twenty on the bar and tell Mac goodnight. On my way out, I wave to Rex on stage, and he rewards me with a lip-ringed smile.

Now he’s a nice guy. I’ve been here for two of his shows and have yet to see him all over a girl. It’s possible to practice some self-control.

Unlike a certain someone who I’m not thinking about at all.

Once free from the stifling club environment, I take a deep pull of fresh, cool desert air. Fresh might be an exaggeration. But the chilly winter temps help to clear my head. I need to sober up. Across the parking lot, I spot a bench. Perfect place to wait for a cab. I weave my way through the cars to—

The sound of a woman’s keening makes my body stiffen. I look around, but can’t see anyone except for the small cluster of smokers huddled at the far end of the building, in the opposite direction. I scan the lot, hold my breath, and concentrate on my hearing. Another soft moan and I’m moving, following the sound. Scouring the surrounding area, I tiptoe through rows of cars, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Oh God.” The murmured voice again, this time a little louder and closer.

A deep grumble filters from a nearby SUV. I duck down low and creep up to the car.

The woman screeches. Oh no. Panic floods my system. Visions flash behind my eyes. The struggle. The fear. The pain of being taken against my will.

I’m at the door, my hand moving on its own to grasp the handle.

The deep voice again. Another female whimper.

I swing open the car door and lean into the backseat. “No!” The word flies, powered by the ferocity of my anger. The door bounces back from my aggressive yank, slamming against my thighs and pinching my legs.

“What the fuck?” The angered roar of the rapist ricochets off the windows.

I grab at the back of his jeans. “Leave her alone!”

My fingers burn, digging into denim as I struggle to pull him off.

“Crazy bitch, get out!” the victim says, her voice not at all panicked, but pissed.

Blinking away the fog, my eyes adjust to the dome light in the car. A pretty blonde girl frantically covers her naked body, pulling her bra down and sliding on her panties. The rapist is up, buttoning his jeans and righting his shirt. My eyes are painfully wide and firmly fixed on the man’s familiar green glare.

Shit.

“Blake…” His name slides from my lips on a whisper.

“What are you doing?” The girl’s pretty face twists in anger. “Get out!”

I scramble backwards, out of the backseat. Stumbling, my butt hits the car parked next to the SUV. I just stormed in on Blake’s make-out session like a fucking lunatic. He already thinks I’m crazy. I just proved him right. Oh, God!

His tall, wide body folds out of the back of the car. He’s fastening his belt—were they? Oh. My. God!

“I… I’m sorry Blake… I didn’t—”

He steps into my space, his jaw clenched tight. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

What’s wrong with me? Where do I begin? I roll my lips between my teeth and shake my head. The urge to run, to get the hell away from the embarrassment, is overwhelming, but I can’t move. It’s like my feet are sunk in concrete.

The horror of my past mixes with total humiliation. My eyes burn. Rivers of emotion stream down my face. I’d blame the alcohol if that little surprise hadn’t sobered me up completely.

The blond from the club pulls her shirt on over her head and leans toward me. “You’re a fucking psycho!”

“I’m sor—”

“Hey!” Blake turns his back to me and faces the girl, his body blocking my view of her. “Don’t talk to her. Don’t even look at her. Understand?”

He’s sticking up for me?

“She jumped all over us in my car. How can you defend her?” The girl’s high-pitched shriek draws the attention of a few people by the front door.

Great. An audience.

I try to sidestep away on shaky legs, ignoring the sickening twist that plagues my belly.

“I’ll take care of her. You get yourself together.” Blake’s voice is low, clearly trying to avoid any more attention.

“She saw us…” She’s speaking softly so that I can’t hear, but the words I do pick up on are unmistakable. “… inside me.”

Crap. I knew it. A spasm rocks my chest so hard that I grasp my neck. My lungs struggle for breath. He was having sex in the backseat of a car.

A sob rips from my throat. I’ve got to get out of here. “I’m really sorry, you guys.”

I turn and make my way… away. My eyes follow the asphalt forward, no clue which direction I’m walking. Salty tears burn my nose, and I’m grateful no one can see my breakdown. What was I thinking? Nausea threatens to upheave my tequila shots. I breathe in through my nose and out my mouth, trying to calm my overactive gut. I mistook her cries of pleasure for cries of pain. The memories flicker behind my eyes, the burn from his hold, his weight on my chest, still so vivid and—

“Mouse.”

Blake grabs my arm from behind. I thrash out of his hold and flip around. He flinches and holds up his hands, running his gaze from my neck to my hairline, his eyebrows pinched together.

I wipe my cheeks and try to calm my galloping heart. “I’m fine. I’m fine, Blake. Really. I’m sorry and… I’m fine—”

“Stop saying that. You’re not fine.” He drops his hands, but steps in close. “Hell, look at you.”

“These”—I make another attempt to dry my face—“have nothing to do with you.”

“Then tell me. What the hell happened back there?” He motions in the direction of the SUV that’s pulling out of the parking spot.

How can I tell him the truth? I already feel like a pathetic loser.

“It’s no big deal—”

“Mouse.” He says my nickname with a growl, and judging by the determination in his eyes, he isn’t giving up anytime soon.

I exhale and drop my head. This is so humiliating. What’s worse, letting him in on my issues or having him think I broke up his backseat date because I’m certifiably insane? Maybe it’s better that he think I’m nuts. The truth is so much worse than his assumptions.

Clearing my throat, I shift uncomfortably on my feet. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Don’t care.”

“Blake, please. You don’t want to know.”

His gaze swings up to the stars for a few seconds, then back to me. “The fuck I don’t. You just ripped the backdoor off a car like you were about to commit murder. Your fuckin’ eyes were practically glowing, you were so pissed. And then the tears? I may not want to know, but you fuckin’ owe me an explanation.”

Well, when he puts it like that…

I sift my shaking fingers into the ends of my hair and twirl, hoping to hide my nerves. “I heard her screaming.”

He tilts his head and leans forward. “What?”

I clear my throat. “She was screaming.”

His narrow glare turns soft. “No, Mouse. She wasn’t.”

“She was.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and fight to keep eye contact. “I heard her.”

He studies my face, eyes roaming from my cheeks to my lips. “What did he do to you?” His question is barely audible.

The hurt is so intense it swells and billows behind my ribs. I want to say it, scream it, and hope it relieves the stifling confinement of my shame. “Nothing that wasn’t within his right. He was… my husband, after all.”

He steps back, putting distance between our bodies. “Are you saying…” He shakes his head side to side. “No.”

Confused by his words, I keep my mouth shut, fighting the urge to dump my rotting and rancid dirty laundry at his feet.

“He raped you.”

Those three simple words strung together pull at a deep part of my denial. “Not rape if it’s your husband.”

Ten

Blake

“The fuck it’s not!” Cocksucking asshole. I’ll kill him. I shove my hands deep into my pockets, hoping to God I don’t put my fists through every car window in this piece-of-shit parking lot.

“Blake?” The concern in her soft voice calls me away from my plan-o’-destruction.

I’m breathing hard, like I just pulled out of a fifteen minute round with Wanderlei Silva. My heart’s pounding, injecting volcanic blood straight to my muscles. Frantic, I search for a target, eager to take a fucker down for the offense of simply breathing.

My control slips. Shit. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Sweat beads on my skin. I run my hand over my head and flex my fingers. I’m a loaded gun, cocked and trigger-happy.

“Blake.” Her voice is firmer now. “You’re shaking.” She moves in close, her eyebrows dropped low over her dark eyes.

I hold my hand up, keeping her back. Safe. “Give me a minute.”

This is fucked. I can’t think straight.

A few deep breaths. In… out… in… out. Hanging on by a nut hair, I search for a distraction. Anything to take my mind off the fact that Layla was raped, probably repeatedly, by some fuckhead. Probably some douche with a hard-on for pushing people around. His wife, the mother of his child? Dammit!

My chest rumbles as a growl claws up my throat. I need something, anything, to redirect my thoughts. My eyes dart around, cars, the neon sign, her shirt. “Pantera.” I breathe the word, grasping for a lifeline, a change of subject.

She tugs at the hem, peering down at the bright red letters printed on her chest. “Oh, yeah. I didn’t actually go to the concert. Elle was a baby when they came to Seattle. I had a friend get me the shirt.”

I grunt, acknowledging that I heard her.

She smoothes the worn cotton fabric against her flat stomach. “You like Pantera?”

“Mm-hm.” Fuck, that’s better. I sound more man than animal now. Progress.

Running her finger below her eye, she shrugs. “Reinventing the Steel was by far their best album.”

What? “No fuckin’ way.” I lock my gaze on her sparkling eyes. “That album was their biggest fail. Nothin’ but an overproduced hunk of crap made for critics. It wasn’t even—what’s so funny?”

Fuck me if the sight of her tear-streaked face, red eyes, and big white grin doesn’t have me fighting a smile.

“You’re right. Reinventing the Steel is crap.” Her eyes dance and soften. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

I take my first full breath, and feel my shoulders unwind. “Did I pass?”

She pulls her top lip into her mouth with her tongue, a grin still playing across her lips, and nods.

Kicking my foot out, I allow her smile to soothe me, and lean back against a parked car. “Their best album was—”

“Vulgar Display of Power.” She sniffs as if it’s no big deal that she robbed me of those exact words.

I lose the battle with my lips and smirk. “Yeah.”

And with that, my heart rate is back to normal, my mind clear. That crap about her husband isn’t cool, and I’d still like to pull a series of fist-meet-face action on the douche-bag, but at least I’m not in danger of hurting anyone around me.

Fuckin’ DNA. I’ve always loved fighting, the power that surges through my body with every punch. It’s addicting. But this shit’s been happening outside of the octagon more than I’m comfortable with. It’s like some dormant cells straight from the General suddenly came to life. As if the shit he pulled in the past didn’t fuck me up enough, his cyborg cells are kickin’ in to finish the job.

“I need to call a cab.” Her voice pulls me from my biological Armageddon.

The light from her phone casts a blue glow against her face and hair. Her perfect teeth tug on her lower lip while she scrolls through her directory.

Damn, she’s beautiful. “Don’t go.”

She recoils slightly. Shit. I scrub my face with my hands. No clue why I’m asking her to stay. But the thought of watching her drive away makes my skin itch and my bones ache.

For the first time, it’s not all about wanting to fuck her. I’d be a disgrace to the male species if I didn’t entertain the idea once or twelve times. But this feels different. It’s like wanting to hit replay on my favorite song, or watch ten more minutes of a good flick. I’m not ready for it to end. “Where’s Axelle?”

She pulls a long strand of hair over her shoulder and twirls the end. “Double feature at The Cineplex.”

“Let’s go somewhere. You and me.”

Her eyes get wide and dart to where the SUV was parked earlier. “Oh… uh…”

“Just to hang out.” I hold my hands up and put on my most innocent face. Yeah, right. Like I have an innocent face. A laugh catches in my throat. “Really, on my honor.”

She ducks her chin and giggles, the trilling sound of her laughter settling against every inch of my skin. “Oh, yeah, I saw you and your honor in full force earlier tonight.”

“I’ll keep my honor in its zipper cage. Promise.” And fuck, but for the first time in a long time, I mean it. Getting Layla naked isn’t the priority. Shocker.

“Okay, sure. Where do you want to go?”

Anywhere. As long as it’s with you.

Layla

“Oh my gosh, Blake. This is… wow.” My mouth is hanging open as we walk into the living room of Blake’s condo. Ha! Condo is a joke of a word that doesn’t do justice to this place.

The open floor plan allows me to see everything from the kitchen to the dining room to the sunken living room. Clearly lacking a woman’s touch, everything is sleek dark leather, granite, and stainless steel.

But what gives this place the wow-factor is the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city. I drop my purse on the real leather couch—I know it’s real because I can smell it—and move across the room. Pressing my face up against the glass, the steam from my breath turns the bright twinkling lights of the Las Vegas strip into abstract watercolors.

The sound of the wall sliding open jerks my face from the window. “The glass wall opens?” I stand back and watch in fascination as the glass folds in panels, dissolving the line between inside and outside.

“It’s a nice night. Let’s sit on the patio.” He smiles, ignoring my question.

“But…” I point from floor to ceiling. “The wall just… like… poof… disappears.” Even I can hear the excitement in my voice, but who cares? This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.

With a tilt of his head, he motions for me to follow him to a set of gorgeous teak lounge chairs complete with perfectly white, overstuffed cushions. We take our separate seats. Not wanting to put my dirty shoes on the cushions, I kick off my biker boots. He doesn’t need to take his shoes off as his long legs take up the entire length of the seat, leaving his feet to hang off the end.

“How tall are you?” The question rolls off my tongue in such a casual way that I forget I’m in the home of a virtual stranger.

“Six-two.”

Wow. That’s super tall. A whole foot taller than me.

We sit in silence, our eyes cast out into the night, the cool air still and relaxing. My mind drifts, taking a reprieve from the usual crap that eats away at me daily. I lay my head back and think about how long it’s been since I’ve been this comfortable around a man. Alone. Gosh, years. And even back then I—

“I’m not into her.” Blake’s words are distant, but direct.

My face instantly heats at the reminder of what happened earlier tonight. How could I forget? Somewhere between Blake’s freak-out in the parking lot and our peaceful patio sitting, I’d pushed my embarrassing interruption from my mind. Self-preservation has me hopeful that I’d misunderstood his statement. “Into who?”

“The girl I was… the blonde. I’m not into her.” He avoids making eye contact and studies the colored lights. “It was a hook-up. That’s it.”

It was worth a try. “You don’t need to explain. It’s none of my business who you… you know.” This is so uncomfortable.

He nods a couple times then drops his head back against the cushion. “Yeah, I know. Still wanted to tell you.”

“Why?” I speak the question and grimace. Didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“Fuck if I know.” He takes this opportunity to lock his eyes with mine, and even in the dark, with the only light coming from the stars and distant exterior lighting, I can see the intensity in his emerald gaze.

Like always, when he sets his eyes on mine, I’m helpless to look away. Heat gathers beneath my skin, all over my body. My cheeks, my chest, and places a lot lower simmer and liquefy under his visual assault. He tilts his head, pressing his temple deeper into the cushion.

I reach in deep, trying to pull up the image of him in the back of the SUV. If anything can zap me back to reality, it should be that, but it’s like a dream I can’t remember. There, but fuzzy. The fire in his eyes when he towered over me in the parking lot comes back clearly. He didn’t break eye contact then, and he’s not now. I wet my lips, trying to cool my heated skin.

He takes a sharp intake of breath and looks away. “So, uh… tell me about him. Axelle’s dad.”

Talk about a mood killer. I blink a few times and return my eyes to the lights. “What do you want to know?” Hell, I already told him the worst part, and he didn’t run off screaming. Nothing to hide now.

“How’d you meet?” It’s an icebreaker question, but it sounds like he forced the words through his teeth.

“High school. He was the big guy on campus. Football all-state whatever, debate extraordinaire, student government blah, blah, blah.”

“Hm. No Pantera or Metallica worship? Doesn’t sound like your type.”

“Exactly. He’s not my type, never was. I always went for the bad boys, the dropouts and druggies. I hated guys like Stewart. Putting on an impressive show, but behind closed doors…” Memories of exactly what happened behind closed doors trickle through the cracks in my protective mental wall.

“His name is Stew.”

“Stewart. Yeah.”

“Stew.”

I nod.

“Stew Moorehead.”

The crooked smile on Blake’s face, along with the way he said Stewart’s name, strikes something deep inside. An uncontrollable giggle erupts from deep in my chest. I try to muffle it with my hand but end up snorting with laughter until I can finally reclaim myself.

He doesn’t laugh with me but grins. “So if you two were so different, how’d you end up…”

Making a baby? I finish his question in my head. “I’d just turned sixteen. Saved up for two years to put a down payment on a car. Babysitting, cleaning houses, collecting cans… you name it, I did it. Finally, I had enough money saved to get the sickest ’78 Trans-Am.”

Blake’s handsome face splits with a huge smile.

I sit up, cross-legged, and face him. “It was cobalt blue. Like something out of a Mötley Crüe video. It literally purred when I hit the gas.”

He chuckles. “I bet.”

“There was a huge party. I was crushing on Trip Miller, this shaggy-haired rocker kid.” I lean in, excitement tickling my stomach, just like it did that night, hours before my fate was sealed by my stupidity. “He was a bad-boy. You know, faded metal T-shirts, tattoos made with a straight pin and Bic ink.” I’m lost in the memory and not paying attention to Blake as I relive my past.

“I rolled up in my Trans-Am, wearing skin-tight dove grey jeans, my black monkey boots, and a Whitesnake T-shirt that I cut and shredded myself.” I laugh at how hot I thought I looked. “I knew that night would be the night I’d win over Trip.”

I’ll never forget walking in and seeing Stewart there with all his friends, drunk as hell. I should’ve turned around and gone home. But if I had, I wouldn’t have Elle.

“And did you?” Blake’s deep rumbling voice calls my eyes to his.

“No. I drank and flirted with Trip. Far as I can remember, he played hard to get.” My mind cranks back to how much I drank in an attempt to show him I was a wild-child like him. And somewhere between the beers and the shots, things got fuzzy. “I don’t remember much. Only waking up naked, a blanket thrown over my body, next to Stewart in the back of his 4Runner.”

He swings his long legs off the lounger, turns toward me, and leans in. “Pretty fucked up. Dudes know when a chick’s too hammered to consent. He should’ve left you alone.” The anger in his voice is unmistakable.

I make sure to hold his stare. “Yeah,” I whisper.

He studies the ground, his elbows on his knees, hands hanging between his legs. “Someone should have kicked his ass.”

“It’s not all his fault. I knew better than to drink that much.” Even now, I remember the cold that seeped into my body, the aching between my legs. The disgust I felt at having lost my virginity and not remembering a thing. “I was such an idiot.”

“The fuck you were.” His growled words make me jump. “That pussy-ass bitch knew exactly what he was doing. You call the cops?”

Cops? Why? To announce to the Seattle PD that I’m a teenage slut? “No.”

He drops his head into his hands with a muttered “Fuck me.” He passes his big palms over his cropped hair a few times, looking away. Then, with a groan, he’s back to my eyes. “Where the hell was your dad? He had to know that fart-suckin’ douche-bag took more than you wanted to give him.”

“After I found out I was pregnant, my dad’s the one who encouraged us to get married. He’s from a different generation.” I can’t take the disappointment in Blake’s eyes. Suddenly the frayed strings of my jeans become interesting. “Told me I had to make it right.”

“Make it right? You’ve got to be shittin’ me.” He’s up and pacing the length of his deck. “What is it with dads and their daughters? First Raven, now you,” he mumbles to himself. “Not a fucking decent one out there. Should be protecting their girls, not sending them into the arms of a predator. Shit.”

“I don’t regret it.”

His glare swings to mine, eyebrows pinched.

“That night brought me Elle.”

A tenderness that starts at his mouth bleeds across to his jaw and up, relaxing his expression. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

He steps back to his lounger and sits on the end. His shoulders are still tense, and he doesn’t recline. “Why do you call her Elle?”

“After I found out I was pregnant, my parents flipped out. They dragged me to Stewart’s house.” I twirl a piece of hair around my finger. “It was so embarrassing. Listening to our parents talk about…” My cheeks heat. Even sixteen years later, the memory is still so vivid. “They decided we needed to get married. Holding up appearances and all. Stewart was on his way to taking over his dad’s pharmaceutical company. Didn’t want the messy scandal of an illegitimate child running through the papers.”

Blake’s face is hard, his expression blank.

“I had no choice. They took my choices away from me.”

The big fighter across from me flinches. Actually flinches. He recovers fast, the impassive expression back in place.

“The day I gave birth to Elle, I knew it was the end of my choices. But…” I drop my face, peek up at him from beneath my lashes, and smile. “I had one more to make. Her name.”

He nods.

“Naming her Axelle Rose was my big ‘fuck you’.” I giggle and cover my mouth, a little ashamed at how I used my daughter to get to my parents.

“You rebel.” His lips twitch, and something that looks like pride shines behind his eyes. “That’s fuckin’ beautiful.”

“Yeah, it was. It felt really good. If you could have seen their faces when I told them I named my daughter Axelle Rose.” I double over, holding my stomach as a wave of hysteria hits me hard. “Stewart’s… mom…” Unable to finish my sentence through the laughter, I suck in a deep breath and regain my calm. “No one would call her Axelle. They called her Elle. Guess it stuck.”

He runs his thumb over his eyebrow. “Took a lot of strength. Becoming a mom in high school.”

I shrug. “You’d be amazed the things you’re capable of when you have no other choice.” Both good and bad.

A low grumble of approval, and then silence. We sit like that for a while, each of us wrapped up in our own thoughts. Not an awkward What the hell do I say now silence, but a Felt good to unload that pile of bricks silence.

I haven’t told that story in… well, ever.

After a few more minutes, I check my watch. Almost midnight. “I better get back.”

He reaches over and grabs my boots, handing them to me. I slide them on and settle my feet on the ground. He offers his hand and pulls me up. Standing only inches away, he doesn’t drop my hand. I tilt my head back to look at his face.

He’s not smiling.

Blake

Punch something. As soon as her perfect ass walks out of my door, I’m going to punch something.

It’s taken every damn thing I have not to pound my patio furniture into kindling.

Sixteen. Drunk. And totally fuckin’ vulnerable.

Staring down at her now, a grown woman, she’s the picture of innocence. All big brown eyes and pouty lips. And this woman has been through some shit. The kind of shit that changes a person forever, and rewrites the grand plan of who she’s supposed to become. All so some horny teenage kid could get his dick wet at a party. Probably showin’ off for his crew of walking hard-ons. If Layla was even a tenth of the beauty she is now, she must’ve had those boys following her around for years before they finally got her drunk enough for a chance. The second he got the stumbling-drunk green light, that motherfu—

“Thanks for understanding… ya know…. everything.” She fidgets, and her eyes look everywhere but at me. “Sorry about busting up your plans.”

“Plans?” I blink and try to clear the image of a teenage Layla, broken and alone.

Her cheeks flush pink. “The parking lot? Thanks for being so cool about it.”

“It’s not the first time a good-looking woman has pulled me away from a chick.” I internally groan, my attempt at humor only making me look like a bigger jackass.

But I can’t tell her the truth. That the only reason I hooked up with that chick was because she looked a little like Layla. She’d never understand that being around her makes me feel like I’m caged, ripping at my skin to get to her.

Layla pulling me away from that girl did me a favor. Although she looked a lot like Layla, she didn’t smell like the sweet vanilla that makes my mouth water. She didn’t throw sass or give me the attitude that makes my dick hard. Once I got the girl alone, all I wanted to do was get rid of her.

“Whatever.” She holds up her hand. “Again, not my business.”

No, but why do I wish like hell it was?

We stroll in silence down to the car, and then drive to her house. It’s quiet in the Rubicon except for the sound of Lagwagon as it fills the vacant space. Her apartment complex is dark, most of the security lights in need of new bulbs. I grind my teeth as I imagine her and Axelle making the trek from the lot to the stairs at night. Alone.

I park the Rubicon and hop out to walk around to her door.

She’s already out. “I’ve got it from here.”

“I’m walking you up.” I make it a point to lock eyes with her, daring her to argue.

Shrugging her purse onto her shoulder, her lips curl into a smile. “That’s very chivalrous of you.”

“I am chivalrous.” Fuck. Why did that sound so defensive?

I never gave a second thought to the way women see me. They like what they see, they let me know. They don’t? No sweat off my sac. Don’t remember ever having a lack of women ready and available.

But for some reason, Layla’s opinion matters. She’s implied I have no honor and that I’m not a gentleman. Her assumptions aren’t far from the truth. This is just the first time that I wished she wasn’t right. And why is that?

She lifts one eyebrow and tilts her head. “You’re chivalrous?” The sound of her tapping boot against the pavement pounds along with the throb in my chest. I’m overcome with the urge to prove her right. Show her that I’m an asshole by taking that sweet mouth like I’ve wanted to since we met. Not giving her the option to say no. Turning her objections into needy moans.

Maybe if I kiss her thoroughly enough, she’ll forget her opinion of me. Or maybe I’ll prove her point. Either way, I win.

I jerk my head toward the stairs. “Let’s get you inside. It’s late.”

Walking to her door, I guide her up with my hand on her lower back. She flashes a shy smile that has my heart hammering. After she unlocks the door, I follow in behind her.

I turn on the light in her kitchen and living room. “Axelle home?”

Her gaze swings to the digital clock on the stove. “She’d better be.”

“Go check. I’ll wait.”

She moves down the hallway, and I check the rooms and windows. Everything looks good and locked up tight.

“Yeah, she’s asleep.” Her whispered words come out with a yawn.

Her wide-open mouth, pink tongue, and full lips pull me in. I move toward her, eyes locked on hers. “Good.”

She watches me, curiosity etched in her expression. “Um… so…”

I lick my lips, hoping she gets my intention loud and clear. “So…”

Panic sparks in her eyes. Her body tenses, and she rolls her lips between her teeth. She doesn’t want this.

I freeze and drop my gaze to the floor, feeling like a complete ass. “Right. Lock up after I leave.”

She exhales hard, a small smile back on her face. Is that… relief? Fuck me.

“Will do. Thanks for the ride.”

A grunt is all I can manage. If I had the balls, I’d roar in her face that it’s not fair. Not cool that she’s as fucking mouth-watering as she is, but also every single thing I told myself to stay away from. And it should be a crime that a girl who is unbelievably perfect, like she was designed on the storyboard of male imagination, should be fun to talk to. Interesting. Smart. And so damn entertaining that I’d pick her company over any one of my bros.

I head down to my car, mentally dropkicking myself for being such a tool. This whole time I thought we’d been feeling the same thing. I’ve seen it. I know I have. The desire in her eyes. The slight parting of her lips when I get close. Her nervous smile when I flirt.

Shit. This ends here. No more thoughts of the unpredictable beauty. From here on, I’m all about my fight.

The only constant that I can rely on.

Eleven

Layla

Weekends are the worst. Not many people count down the minutes until the workweek begins. I do.

Before, weekends were hard because of Stewart. He’d be home, ragging about the house not being clean enough or complaining that I didn’t get his favored brand of whatever. When we moved, I thought weekends would be an adventure. A chance for Elle and I to explore our new city. But it seems my teenage daughter has had better luck making friends. She’s gone more than she’s here.

With the grocery shopping done and the laundry folded, I sit on the couch and stare at the TV. It’s not even on. I drop my head to the back of the couch and curse my free time. It’s in these moments, when I’m not actively engaged in some routine activity, that I think about Blake.

Last weekend, after our talk on his patio, I thought we’d become friends. He showed genuine interest when I talked about my life. He even seemed protective when he dropped me off, storming through the apartment flipping on lights and scaring away the shadows.

Then he tried to kiss me. Or, I think that’s what he was going to do. He moved to me with a look in his eyes that said if I didn’t want it, I’d better run. And I wanted it, just not like that. Just hours before, he’d had those delicious-looking lips all over another girl, not to mention his other parts. I panicked, and since then, everything’s been different.

At work, he’s less than an acquaintance, and barely acknowledges my existence. He goes out of his way to avoid me by ducking into the locker room when I’m around or sliding around a corner when I approach.

I hate to admit it, but I miss him. It’s not that I miss the way he looks at me, with his head tilted and a smile tugging at his perfect mouth, a look that makes me feel like I’m being eaten alive… in a good way. And it’s not that I miss the way he swoops in when I need help. I just miss him.

“Stupid and pathetic,” I whisper to no one.

With a body like yours, no one cares that you’re stupid.

I slam my eyes shut. “Leave me alone.”

The room is quiet except for the sound of my deep breathing. The memory of Blake’s face in the back of the SUV, eyes blazing mad and his full lips locked in a hard line. I throw my forearm over my eyes.

Gee, can’t imagine why he’d be avoiding me after—oh! I jump at the sound of my phone vibrating on the faux-wood coffee table. Probably Elle texting to tell me not to wait up. Phone call from an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Layla?” asks the perky, female caller.

“This is she.”

“It’s Raven, from Guy’s Garage… um, Raven Slade?”

“Oh, yeah. Hey, Raven.”

“Just calling to let you know your Bronco’s ready to be picked up.”

“Great. I thought it’d take forever to get the part you ordered.”

“Yeah, well, we would’ve had it to you sooner, but Blake insisted we check everything.”

I sit up straight at the mention of Blake’s name.

“He also made sure the crew down here knew it was a priority. Listen, it didn’t start because the fuel injector was thrashed. We replaced that, along with your timing belts. We checked the tires. They look pretty good, but I went ahead and rotated them. You’ve probably got a few thousand more miles before you need a new set. We changed your oil, air filter, and oil filter. I checked the battery. It could stand to be replaced, so I went ahead and did that. Oh, and your back left brake light was out. Threw in a new one.”

My mouth is hanging wide open, and I’m staring at nothing across the room.

“Layla? You there?”

“Uh…” Well, shit. I’m sure Blake thought he was doing me a favor, but there’s no way I can pay for all that, and it’s not like she can reverse the work she’s done. “I uh… don’t know what to say.”

“How about say that you’ll be here in ten to pick it up?”

“Sure. Yeah. Ten.”

“Great. See ya soon.”

The call ends, but I remain stuck in place on my couch, the phone to my ear. I contemplate calling Blake and asking him what I should do. He did say I wouldn’t have to pay for the use of a rental, which makes walking in there with not enough money even more of an insult. Besides, if his behavior over the last week is any indication, he probably won’t answer my call.

Out of options, I push off the couch and grab the Camaro keys. With less than a hundred bucks to last me until payday and zero available on my credit card, I’m going to have to beg for them to let me make payments. So humiliating.

* * *

“You look like what’s-her-face.” The silver-haired man who introduced himself as Guy of Guy’s Garage snaps his fingers, his bright blue eyes on me. “She’s the little one. On that show Nashville.” His hands brace the countertop, and he drops his head. “What in the hell is that little girl’s name?”

Raven shakes her head and rolls her striking blue-green eyes. “Don’t mind him. He could be here for hours trying to figure it out.”

“Come on, Ray. You know who I’m talking about, right? She’s got a man’s name… Harlen, er, Haman, Hayden!” He shoves his big, oil-caked finger, into my face. “Hayden Panteen-tiere or some French shit. You’re tiny, just like her.”

The smile I’d been trying to hide breaks free. “Thank you. I’ve never been compared to her before, but I’ll take it.”

“Hot damn, girl. You’re her with brown eyes.” His gruff compliment warms my cheeks.

Raven shakes her head, directing a warm smile to the older man. “You need to lay off the nighttime drama and try some documentaries or something.”

He slams his hands on the counter, making me jump. “Tell me you don’t see it, Ray.”

She squints and studies my face. “I guess. I mean, she’s tiny and blonde.”

“Ha. See, I was right.”

She hooks her arm in mine. “Let’s get you to your truck. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than talk crappy TV with Guy.”

Yeah, I wish. Sad thing is, that’s the most fun I’ve had since… Nope. Not thinking about him.

She leads me out of the small office, a little bell above the door jingling as we pass through. “Nice meeting you, Guy.” I wave to him over my shoulder.

“Hey, can you speak with a southern accent?” He tosses his question across the room and out the open door.

I shake my head and laugh along with Raven as the door closes behind us.

The bright afternoon sun hits my eyes, and I squint into the parking lot. Shining and looking better than it did when I got it, which isn’t hard to do, sits the Bronco.

“Raven, wow. It looks like a different car.”

She shrugs and looks away. “Yeah well, we had it detailed and waxed for you.”

Oh, for crying out loud. Another thing to add to my list of IOU’s. “I’m sorry, but… look, I appreciate all the work you’ve done, but I can’t afford any of this. I realize this is what you do, and you were trying to hook me up, but.” I shake my head. “Is there a payment plan I could get on, or maybe—”

“It’s been taken care of.”

My eyes dart to the Bronco and back to Raven. That had to have cost a fortune. “By who?” I ask, but something tells me I already know.

“Blake. He insisted we get it in tip-top shape, no matter the cost.” Her smile is warm and a little too knowing.

I pull at the ends of my hair and flip them around my finger. “You’re not kidding.”

She shakes her head, the knowing grin getting even bigger. “No. I’m dead serious.”

“Why would he do that?” Granted, he must have agreed to this before he started avoiding me, but that makes all this even more ridiculous. Who takes care of the repair costs for a woman he doesn’t even know, or speak to?

A quick laugh bursts from her mouth. “I was just as shocked as you are, trust me.”

“Blake doesn’t strike me as a philanthropist.”

Her expression turns thoughtful. “Not usually. But, I think if you got to know him, he’d surprise you.”

Hard to get to know someone who won’t talk to me. Anymore.

I thank Raven and hand over the keys to her Camaro. We laugh and fall into easy conversation over our mutual love of classic hot rods. I thought she’d explode out of her skin when I told her about my old Trans-Am.

“I better let you get back to work.” I hop into the Bronco. “Thanks again, for everything.”

“We should grab a drink sometime,” Raven says as I reach to close the door.

That would eliminate another weekend without plans. “Sure. I’d like that.”

“Perfect. How about Friday night? I’ll bring my friend Eve.” Her bright eyes twinkle at the mention of her friend. “You two would get along great.”

Being invited into the inner circle between girlfriends is a huge honor. How could I say no?

“Awesome! Friday it is.”

Driving away, my heart feels full. Between Raven’s offer of friendship and Blake’s generosity—even if it happened before he decided to hate me—I feel hopeful about my future here. I groan when I’m hit with what I’m going to have to do on Monday. I can’t imagine how much all this work cost, but I’ll have to chase Blake down to thank him and of course offer to pay him back. The thought of talking to him again sends butterflies throughout my body.

Guess I’m not ready for the weekend to end after all.

Blake

Shirt off, face down, shorts and boxer briefs tugged low on my hips, Doc Z administers another round of cortisone to my back. Seems I must be immune or something. The shots only buy me a few days relief.

“I’m upping the dose here.”

A sharp pinch and then a burn forces my eyes to clench shut. My mind takes me to her.

It’s been over a week since she was at my house. Five days at the training center trying to stay away, avoiding her when she’s around. It’s not easy when she’s everywhere I look.

And is it just me, or is there a sudden fucking influx of blondes in Vegas? Shit, they’re everywhere I turn. I’ve had to limit my exposure, going from training to home, with one outing to Red Betty’s to see Ataxia play.

Lucky me, Rex doesn’t have a show at The Blackout until this weekend. I’ll be skipping out on that face-to-face. Now that Layla’s buddy-buddy with Mac, I’m taking a pass on those shows. Sure as shit, she’ll be there, dressed like a rock goddess in all her casual hotness that no girl can pull off like she can.

Fuck. I rein in my thoughts to avoid an uncomfortable situation with my dick and the good doc.

“It’s a guessing game with the doses. You keep up on the pills and the shakes. Those should help.” The doctor’s murmured instructions are the same he’s been drilling into me for the past two weeks. At least it takes my mind off her.

“I’m on it. Shakes and pills.”

“Done here.” Doc Z crosses the room. The sound of him shuffling medical shit followed by the snap of his latex gloves signals I’m good to go.

I right myself and pull on my T-shirt. “Thanks for staying late to hook me up.”

The shot takes time to kick in, but already I feel amped. Other than the annoyance of my back, my training has been spot on. Even after hours of sparring, I’m breathing well and have energy to spare. Most days I have to spend an hour on the treadmill to burn the shit off. Wade’s a jackass if he thinks he can take me. I’m in the best shape of my life.

I wave off Doc Z then head into the locker room. It’s seven thirty at night. The place is deserted. I grab my iPod from my locker and decide to hit some weights before I crash for the night.

Walking across the training room, I take in the posters on the walls. The fighters, both past and present, who’ve left their mark on the sport—the warriors who dedicated their lives to the advancement of MMA. To think how far it’s come—from the world of underground fighting to cable television, and now mainstream. Fuck, if Gibbs gets his way we’ll all be made into dolls to be sold next to those boy band dolls—what the hell?

The light in the weight room is on. I thought I was the only one here. Cool, I’ll have a spotter.

I push through the doors and—holy shit—I’m met with a sight that sucks the oxygen from my lungs.

Facing away from me, she’s at the bench. One knee on, one hand on, the other foot on the floor. Her back is arched, and her black spandex-covered ass is pushed out in a dick-throbbing invitation.

Her elbow set firmly at her hip, she rocks her arm up and down in perfectly executed triceps curls. Her form-fitting tank top displays the long, lean muscles of her upper arm with each rep. Sweat glistens on her creamy skin, and the tiny grunts that seep from her pouty lips have me shifting in my shorts.

I’m suspended. Light-headed from the visual assault. The things I would do if she were mine. My eyes devour every inch of her body. I imagine myself creeping in behind her, digging my fingers into her hips as I grind myself against her ass to show her exactly what she does to me. It’d be so easy. Removing those tiny shorts to get to what’s underneath. All I’d have to do is bend her over—

“Oh my gosh, Blake! You scared the ever-loving shit out of me.” Her eyes are locked on mine through the floor-to-ceiling mirrors in front of her. She drops the weight and pushes herself up, placing a hand on her chest.

My gaze moves from her shocked face to her hand that is resting between her tits.

“Blake.” There’s scolding in the way she says my name, but I can’t pull my eyes away from her heaving breasts.

Her black workout top is cut in a low V. It must have some kind of push-up padding. Her breasts are pressed together to create the perfect valley that begs for my mouth.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” She drops her hand to place it on her cocked hip.

My eyes slide up the supple flesh of her neck, over her full pink lips, and stop at her glare.

“Ah, there he is.” She flashes a smile. “You finished?”

“Mouse, sweetheart, I haven’t even started.” I run my teeth along my lower lip, trying to ease the burn of wanting to be all over her.

She turns from the mirror toward me, her face stone. But her chest is rising and falling faster than it was when I walked in. Keeping my focus on her eyes, which is nearly impossible given her half-naked state, I prowl forward. Her breath quickens, so much so that her shoulders are moving along with her chest.

I move in close without touching. Her lips are parted, and her breath is coming in pants, sucking me in along with the air in the room. A light sheen of sweat on her skin intensifies her vanilla scent and sends my body into a raging state of arousal. If she so much as swayed toward me, she’d feel it. Fuck, I wish she would.

“Your workout? You haven’t started…” She tilts her chin up high to keep eye contact with me, and she stutters in her attempt to clarify my words.

Staying away from her was a mistake. Hanging out with her was like subjecting myself to poison little by little in order to build up an immunity. Instead of helping me, my avoiding her only made me more susceptible.

She’s irresistible in a way I’ve never felt before. Her draw is so intense that I notice every detail—every freckle, the delicate curve of her jawline, and the way her pulse thumps beneath the tender skin of her neck. My stomach clenches, and pressure builds between my legs.

“Blake?” Her voice hitches. The lust burning between us so palpable it’s scenting the air.

“Fuck.” I lick my lips. “I need to taste you.” Sliding my hand behind her neck, I sift my fingers into her hair below her loose ponytail.

The weight of her head falls into my hand as she gives herself over to me. With a pounding behind my ribs, I lean down while pulling her up. “One taste.” The desperate pleading in my voice sounds foreign in my ears.

I grip her hair. Her eyes flutter open, the brown so deep it’s hard to tell the difference between the iris and the pupil.

“Ask for it,” I demand and fight getting lost, drowning completely, in her lustful stare.

Her thick, dark lashes flutter as if they’re trying to stay open. “Ask?”

“Won’t do it without your permission, sweetheart.”

Something heavy flares in her eyes before she pushes it away. “Please.” Her plea is voiced on a whimper.

A jolt races up my spine. She’s begging, but I need to hear the words. “Please what, Mouse?”

“Kiss me.”

With fuckin’ pleasure.

I reach down and cup her ass, and a gasp of surprise seeps from her lips. Her palms lay flat against my chest, her fingers finding purchase in my shirt. Pulling her close, I slide my thigh between her legs. I flex my hips into the heat of her body. So fucking hot.

Taking her mouth in a slow caress, her soft lips ignite my craving. With a gentle pull from my grip on her hair, she tilts her head, allowing my control of the kiss. As much as I want to take over her mouth, to dominate her, I force myself to stay in control. I run my tongue along the seam of her mouth, a silent but unmistakable request. A moan rolls up from her throat and her lips part.

Here’s my taste. And what a fucking unbelievable taste it is.

Her wet mouth combined with the sweetness on her tongue explodes in my gut. I dig my fingers into her ass, pressing her down against my thigh. I know I’m pushing it, but it’s impossible to hold myself back. And fuck me, she grinds into me with her eager little body, rubbing her breasts against my chest and her inner thighs against mine. I suck her tongue deep, trying to consume all the sweet from her wet flesh like the starving man that I’ve been.

It’s not enough. I want more.

Our mouths move together, synchronized in perfect rhythm. Overcome, I nip at her lip, pulling with my teeth then soothing the ache with my tongue. Her hands slide down to dip beneath my shirt. She pushes her hands up, the soft skin of her palms skating along my abs to my chest, leaving behind a trail of goose bumps. Skin to skin, no barrier between us, she must feel my heart hammering.

My body roars to take her. To bury in deep and lose myself forever. But I promised her one taste. As much as I’d love to spend the next few days ravishing her body, showing her what it’s capable of feeling, I won’t take advantage.

Slowing the kiss, I suck at her lips before moving down her jawline. The fragrance of her skin concentrated below her ear sends a groan of need from my chest. She arches her neck, opening up to me. The combination of her sweet skin and the salt of her sweat makes me hunger to taste her everywhere. I lazily glide my lips from her collarbone to her ear, trailing the tip of my tongue along her pulse.

I can’t help pulling her earlobe between my teeth. “Fuckin’ hell, Mouse. You’ll be the death of me,” I whisper and rest my forehead against hers.

The room is quiet except for the sound of our heavy breathing. I hold her close, reluctant to let her go, knowing that this is my only chance to have her in this way. I close my eyes and absorb the feel of her body in my arms. She’s so small and breakable, I’m overcome with the need to protect her. But that’s not my job. She doesn’t belong to me and never will.

“Why now?”

Her question brings my head back and my eyes to hers.

“You’ve been avoiding me. So, why now?”

She deserves an answer. A really fucking good answer. Truth is, I’m a pussy.

I move my hand from her hair and cup her nape. “I want you. But I’m no good for you.”

Her head bobs. “I thought, the other night when I shared all that stuff, I thought I scared you off.”

“No. But the shit I felt when you opened up like that wasn’t right.” How do I explain my unhealthy attraction? The fact is that a woman alone in the world, with a kid, brings out a primal urge to protect. It’s the ugly leftover from my past. Years of taking care of my mom and little brother, and throwing myself up as a barrier between them and the General, made me a slave. And I’m nobody’s bitch. “You, Axelle, you girls deserve steady. I’ll never be that guy.”

“But… that kiss.” She studies the spot where her hands rest unseen beneath my shirt. Her eyebrows pinch together like she’s seeing me for the first time. And she doesn’t look happy about what she sees.

“The kiss was hot, Mouse.” Hottest damn kiss I’ve ever experienced, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Her hands drop from my chest, and she pulls against my hold. “Let me go.”

“Can’t do that, sweetheart.” I flex my fingers at her neck and hip.

“Blake.” She glares at me, and I watch the violent storm build in her eyes. “Let. Me. Go.”

I should, and I will, eventually. But knowing that this is the last time I’ll hold her this close and feel her soft skin beneath my palm, I’ll milk the clock and soak up every second. “Just wanted a taste. Didn’t know how good it’d be.”

She rocks back with a grunt, but I hold her flush to my body. After a second of resistance, she sags in my arms. “Blake…” Her whispered refusal dies on her lips along with her fight. She leans her weight into me and grips the sides of my T-shirt.

My eyes slide shut, and I’m stuck somewhere between What the fuck and There is a God. Holding her like this, feeling her give herself over to me like she did before our kiss—Fuck. If I let myself feel what I’m burying deep, I don’t think I’ll let her go. Ever.

I lean down and bury my nose in her hair, my thumb tracing circles on the bare skin of her lower back. So soft, so fuckin’ sweet, so—oomph!

Sharp pain explodes between my legs. I double over, holding my balls, and drop to my knees. Shiiit.

“Next time a woman tells you to let go? Let. Go.”

Her purple and black Nikes walking away are all I see from my fetal position on the floor. I pinch my eyes shut with a groan and roll as the pain surges from my nuts into my stomach. Motherfuck. I swallow hard, fighting my gut’s attempt to jump out my mouth. My lungs burn and struggle as I suck air through my nose and grind my teeth.

I curl up tight and prepare for the ten minutes of hell that I’ll have to endure before I can chase after her. Or, fuck, at this point it might be better to quit while I’m down.

Twelve

Layla

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I let him kiss me. He doesn’t so much as look at me for almost a week, and I let him kiss me. Even worse, I begged him to. It took him ten seconds to get me right where he wanted me. Ten seconds before he changed my world, had me skating on rainbows and seeing stars, only to knock me down. You girls need steady? I’ll never be that guy?

And where in the hell is the cereal?

The crack of my kitchen cupboard slamming shut gives me little relief. Not as much as seeing Blake squirm on the floor of the weight room like a dying animal. Ass-fucking-hole.

I stomp down the hallway to Elle’s room. “Elle, did you eat all the—?” Her room’s empty. “Elle?”

It’s almost nine on a school night. I wrack my mind, which is slushy from the kiss I still feel in my damn toes. Killian was supposed to bring her home. Or did she tell me she had plans after school, and I forgot? Maybe they went to a movie or had a late study group. No, I specifically remember her telling me she’d be home. If there was a change of plans, she would’ve called.

I tug my phone from the pocket of my sweatshirt. No new calls, no texts. I scroll to her number and press send.

Voicemail. Shit.

“Elle, it’s Mom. Where are you? Call me as soon as you get this.”

Heart pounding, hands shaking, I grab my keys off the kitchen counter. I’m halfway down the stairs to my car when I realize I have no clue where to look for her. I don’t know where Killian lives. Do I even have his number?

Dropping down, I sit on the step, my head between my hands. Deep breaths.

Good thing you’re infertile. You can’t even handle the one kid we have.

“Please, no. Not now.” Brought to my emotional knees. I’m not strong enough to fight the mental assault. I thought I could do this. I thought I could take care of us. No food in the cupboards, I’m having to take handouts, and I’m losing track of my daughter. I dig my hands into my hair and tug. The stinging pain on my scalp pulls me back to my reality. Where could she be?

I lift my gaze and clear my head. Jonah, he might be able to get ahold of Killian. But how do I get in touch with Jonah? I flip open my phone and scroll through my contacts to Raven’s cell number. I’m about to hit send when the rumbling of a truck engine grabs my attention.

Is it her? I push my ass off the step and down the stairs, resolving to hug her to death and then kill her.

Oh no.

The black Rubicon’s headlights flash off, the driver’s side door opens. Blake. And just like every other time I see him, I’m struck silent. His narrowed glare , rigid jaw, and solid frame targets me. He prowls forward. The ferocity of his gait sends my feet a few steps back in retreat. Running into the bottom step, I swing out my arm to catch myself from falling back onto the stairs.

Oh, God. He’s really mad. His green eyes burn into mine while his huge body closes in.

I walk backward one step at a time until I’m at his eye level.

He steps up to me and then stops. “Mouse.” His scowl moves from my hair to my cheeks, and relaxes into something softer by the time he meets my eyes. “What the fuck?” His voice is absent of its earlier irritation. “You okay?”

I blink at his sudden concern, surprised he didn’t call me out for kicking him in the balls. “No.”

He brings his hands to either side of my neck, forcing me to look at him. His thumbs run along my cheekbones. “Talk to me.”

“Elle. She’s not home. I don’t know where she is.”

Fire flares behind his green eyes. “She usually home by now?”

I nod into his hands.

“Did you talk to her after she got home from school today?”

“No. She’s been getting rides home from Killian, and sometimes they’ll grab a bite to eat or go study, but she always calls to let me know.”

“And tonight?”

“No call. Nothing.”

“Up.” He moves his hold from my face to my hips, turning me to guide me up the stairs.

I scurry up to my apartment, Blake following behind me.

Before he’s even inside, he has the phone to his ear. “Hey man, you got Killer’s number?”

I grab a piece of paper and a pen out of the junk drawer and hand them to Blake.

“It’s for Layla. She’s looking for Axelle.” He scribbles a few things on the paper. “Nah. We got it. But I’ll let you know.” He smiles at me in a way that I’m sure is supposed to be comforting, but the hint of fury that still works behind his eyes makes me squirm. “Later.”

His eyes drop to his phone. He punches in numbers then brings it to his ear. “Killian. It’s Blake. Listen, you take Axelle home today?”

I move in close and lean my ear toward the phone. Blake’s arm wraps around my shoulder and pulls me to his side. Gosh, that feels good. I nuzzle in, dropping my worry for what he might think the action implies, and soak up his comfort.

Killian’s voice mumbles through the cell phone, but I can’t understand a word. I peer up at Blake. “What’s he saying? I can’t hear him.” Panic throbs behind my ribs.

“You sure about that?” The arm around my shoulder pulls me tighter, and he nods. “Right. Thanks, man.”

He ends the call and shoves his phone into his pocket.

“What?” I pull back and cross my arms over my stomach, suddenly freezing cold. “Did he take her home?”

“Let’s sit.” He moves me into the living room and sits on the couch.

“I don’t want to sit, Blake.” Why do I need to sit? My head gets light, and my teeth chatter. “Is it bad? Are you afraid I’ll pass out? Just tell me, I’m freaking out here.”

“Come here.” He holds out his hand.

I don’t move.

“Everything’s okay, just come here.”

Closing the space between us, I grab his hand and he pulls me onto his lap.

The thought that I’m sitting on Blake’s lap in my living room tickles at the back of my mind, but the thought is shoved aside by my panic. “There. Now tell me what’s going on?”

He pushes my hair over my shoulder and lets his hand rest against my back. “Killian didn’t take her home today.”

“What!” I push off Blake’s lap, but he grabs my hips and pulls me back down.

“Sweetheart, calm down. You’re not doing your girl any favors by freakin’ the fuck out.”

“Okay, fine. Just tell me where she is.”

“He said she’s been hanging out with some different kids lately.”

Different kids?

“Guess she’s been ditching Killian after school and getting rides from a girl named Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn. I’ve never heard her talk about any girl named Brooklyn.” She talks about a group of girls she’s made friends with, but they go see movies and go out for ice cream. “So she’s probably with her. Did Killian give you a number?”

A slight grimace twists his mouth. “Problem is, Killian doesn’t hang with that crew. According to him, they’re troublemakers.”

I feel my expression fall and my jaw go slack. My stomach turns and sours. “Oh no.”

“She’ll be fine, Mouse.” He sounds so sure. How can he be so sure? “But sounds like you girls need to have a mother-daughter heart-to-heart.”

I shake my head. “She doesn’t listen to me. She hates me.”

“Impossible.”

“No, I’m serious.” I groan and pinch closed my eyes. “It’s too late. I’ve lost her.”

He hooks my chin with his fingers, forcing me to look in his eyes. “It’s never too late.”

“You don’t understand—”

“I do. My dad’s a dick of epic proportions. He’s never been anything but a dick. Ever. You love your girl, she’s gotta feel it. She’s pissed. She’ll get over it. But she needs you. Do not give up on her.”

I stare at his handsome face, absorbing his words said with so much conviction it’s impossible not to believe him.

“I don’t know what to do.”

He runs his hand up my back. “You’ll figure it out.”

“She’s rebellious. She makes bad choices. I don’t want her to end up…” I exhale and fight the guilt that wells up at what I’m about to say. “Like me.”

“There are worse things than ending up like you, Mouse. I’m sure you talk to her, you’ll—Click.

The sound of the front door has us both on our feet. I rush to the kitchen to see Elle stumbling in through the door.

She sways on her feet, jiggling the door handle. “Stupid fucking keeeey.”

Worry and relief fuel my anger, and I cross the kitchen to get in her face. “Are you drunk?”

My question sends her body around so fast that she falls back against the wall. Her bloodshot eyes, rimmed in an obnoxious amount of black eyeliner, go wide over my shoulder. The heat of Blake’s presence behind me and his support make me stand taller. He literally has my back. “Answer me.”

Her sloppy eyes slide to mine. “Chill, Momma, chill.”

“Aw, fuck,” he murmurs for only my ears.

Aw fuck is right.

“It’s nine o’clock. On a school night.” There’s so much I want to say, but my mind scrambles to grasp just one coherent thought. “It’s not safe, Axelle. You’re a child, and you’re drunk. I trusted you.”

She glares at me and pushes off the wall. “Yeah, and I trusted you.”

That doesn’t make any sense. It must be the drunk talking. “Go to bed. You’re not making any sense.”

Her head rolls around on her shoulders. “Really, Mom? How about the fact that you sat on your ass. Doing nothing. Make sense?”

“What are you talking about?” I throw my arm out to indicate our home. “I’ve been working my butt off.”

She steps up, putting her nose just inches from my face. “Maybe you need to work harder.”

I blink through the stench of liquor on her breath when I feel Blake’s bicep press against my shoulder.

Damn, he’s hearing all this. He needs to leave. I need to end this. “Go sleep it off, Axelle. You don’t have the slightest clue what you’re talking about.”

For a second her eyes clear and she gives me a biting, deep-blue glare. “Don’t I?” She coughs up a laugh. “Not a baby anymore, Momma. All those years… you thought I didn’t know?” With a slow swipe of her eyes from my head to my ankles and back, she smiles. “You’re so fucking pathetic.”

“Enough.” Blake steps between us. “Bed. Now.” He grabs Elle’s arm and drags her to the mouth of the short hallway.

She rips her arm from his hold. “Fine, He-Man. That’s what I was gonna do anyway.” Her body ping-pongs down the hallway to her room, where she slams the door behind her with a muttered curse.

I stand there stunned but not at all surprised to hear her voice her feelings. I assumed she felt that way. Doesn’t make hearing it from her mouth any easier, though. It also doesn’t help that those exact words flowed from Stewart’s mouth frequently, oftentimes in front of her. Despite all my efforts to shield her from the ugliness of our life, she managed to have a front-row seat to the worst of it.

Blake’s standing with his back to me. His hands are on his hips, his face pointed to the floor. Shame and anger funnel within me. If I didn’t hate Stewart enough already, I despise him now.

I was convinced that leaving would solve my problems. But geographical distance doesn’t mean shit when the poison is imbedded so deep within that it’s become part of us. The destruction he left behind sabotages not only our relationship with each other, but ultimately our future.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” There has to be something more I can say, something more poignant, but that’s all I can manage.

Words of eloquence were never your strong suit.

Fuck you, Stewart.

Blake faces me, and there’s a tenderness in his eyes that’s hard to look at. “She’s drunk. I’m sure she didn’t mean—”

“I deserved it.”

“No, Mouse. You didn’t.”

The loathing creeps in. My own destructive thoughts attack what little self-esteem I’ve managed to build. “You don’t know me.”

He dissolves the space between us. “I want to know you. Tell me.”

He has no idea what he’s asking. Busting the locks and tearing the chains off the vault that stores all my humiliation would be like reliving it. I’m not strong enough.

“I’m not doing this. Not with you. Not now.” I storm past him into the hallway and to my room. My eyes burn, but not with sadness as much as frustration. Because I’d give anything to purge my soul of the ugly secrets I’m hiding. I kick the door shut with my foot but swing around when I don’t hear it slam. I should have known.

Blake’s big body stands in the doorway. “Yes, you are.”

I lean toward him and point in his face. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“No, you’re right. Don’t do it ’cause I’m telling you to. Do it because it’ll help.”

“Leave.” I force an edge in my voice.

His lips twitch, and his eyes lock on mine as he steps into the room and closes the door behind him. “Sweetheart, you don’t scare me. Don’t forget, I saw your moves earlier tonight. That shit will not get past me again. So you yell, take it out on me, I can take it. But when you’re done, you’re going to talk. You feel me?”

Blake

She stares at me, unblinking. The long, thick waves of her hair drape her face. No make-up, tired eyes, and yet she’s strikingly beautiful.

I’m in so much trouble. I know I should back out of here, climb in my car, point it towards home, and never look back. But if there is one thing I’m sure of, more sure of than my own name, it’s that in this moment nothing could drag me away.

“If you knew the things that I put her through…” Her whispered words taper off, and she drops her chin.

“I don’t know much, sweetheart, but from what you’ve told me about…”—fuck, I can’t say the asshole’s name—“him, whatever you did, it was so you could survive.”

She lifts her face to lock eyes with me.

“If a man murders for the sake of enjoying the kill, that’s homicide. Punishable by death. But if a man murders to protect his family, that’s justice. Commendable. Same crime, but circumstances decide whether it’s right or wrong.” I give it a second to sink in.

With her shoulders slumped, she sits on the edge of her bed. I study her small room. Tan carpet, beige walls, the only color in the place is Layla’s bright red bed comforter and orange and yellow pillows.

I lean against her dresser, making sure to keep my distance, because I know if I get too close, I won’t be able to keep from pulling her into my arms. Silence is thick in the air, but so is her contemplation. Her fingers knot in her hair, and her eyes dart around the room.

I wait her out.

“I put myself through hell because I thought I was doing the right thing for Elle. For years, I bit my tongue and grinned, hoping to give her the illusion of a good life.” She pulls at her hair. “God, I was so wrong.”

As much as I want to comfort her and tell her that we all make mistakes, the guilt and pain she feels seems deeper than any words can fix.

“I never wanted it,” she says to her lap, so quietly I barely hear her. “Not one time. Not the first, not the last, and not the times in between.”

I grind my molars together and clench my hands into fists. I’ve got to calm down. This is what I asked for. Don’t fuck it up now by blowing shit up in here.

“He’d hold me down, cover my face with his hand or a pillow.” Her hand slides up to cup her neck. “I couldn’t breathe. As bad as it felt and as scared as I was, that’s the thing I remember most. His chest pressing down against my ribs or my back while he took me over and over—”

A fierce growl fills the room. Her wide eyes dart to mine. Shit.

“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “Go on.” Damn. That sounded more like a threat than a gentle nudge.

She nods, but keeps her eyes on me. “He told me if I made a noise, any noise at all, Elle would hear. As hard as it was to be smothered, I welcomed it. To the verge of almost passing out, but I’d do it to protect her.” She looks away. “I’ve made so many mistakes. Every choice I made was because I thought it was best for her. Turns out I—ugh.” Rubbing her face, she shakes her head.

That’s enough fucking soul baring for the night. I can’t take another word. Years of sexual abuse by the man who was supposed to be her fucking protector, her failsafe, the man whose job it was to stand guard against the rest of the world to make sure, to guarantee, that his woman was safe and protected. I rub my eyes hard, breathing deeply and counting to ten.

…nine…ten. “Mouse, you and Axelle have been through some shit. You may have walked away from all that, but you’re still feeling it, and it’s clear she’s still feeling it.”

She takes an audible breath.

I cross the space between us and kneel in front of her. “There’s a place. It’s only for women, and I think you two could, I don’t know, talk to someone.”

“Like counseling?”

“Yeah, kinda like that.”

She shakes her head. “My insurance doesn’t kick in for another two months, and paying out of pocket isn’t—”

“It won’t cost you—”

“No, Blake. I can’t accept any more charity from you. You’ve done enough with the car.”

Fucking Raven. That was supposed to stay a secret. Chicks always stick together.

“Seems I need to have a talk about what it means to keep a secret with Mrs. Slade.”

“I wanted to thank you for that, but you were avoiding me. And when I saw you in the weight room, well…” Her cheeks and neck flush red.

“Well? You took me out with that kickass flying knee.”

Her soft giggle penetrates the room along with my chest, spreading warmth behind my ribs. “I had to teach you a lesson.”

I chuckle. “Fuck, Mouse. Next time give me a three count… final warning… something.”

The sound of our laughter swirls around us, and in a moment of delirium, I can’t help but think we laugh well together.

I place my hand on her knee and squeeze. “Raven went through some shit last year. She opened a non-profit place called Raven’s Nest. They provide this kind of stuff to women and kids who’ve been through similar shit. It’s free.”

Her thick eyelashes flutter over her glistening eyes, and she nods.

“I could make a call—”

“I’ll do it.” Her reply comes out quickly, as if she’d made up her mind a while ago. “Raven and I are going out this weekend. I’ll talk to her then.”

They’re going out? Cool. “Okay.”

I stand up and step back. Being so close to her, in her bedroom while she’s sitting on the bed, is doing fucked-up things to my body. As much as I want to stay, to crawl into bed and hold her in my arms while she sleeps, I know I need to bolt. Get the fuck out before I say or do something I can’t take back.

“You cool?”

She stands and gathers her hair together, pulling the wavy locks in a bunch over one shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Elle’s out for the night, I’m sure. She’ll have me to face in the morning, along with a nasty hangover.”

Digging my hands deep into my pockets so that I don’t use them to pull her closer or tip her mouth toward mine, I step toward her bedroom door. “You have my number. Call me if you need anything. Doesn’t matter what time.”

We move to her front door, and the air crackles with expectation. Not going to kiss her, not going to kiss her.

I pull open the door and step out. “Goodnight.”

She stands in the doorway, her hands shoved in her sweatshirt pockets. “Goodnight, Blake. Thanks again. I don’t know what I would’ve done tonight if you hadn’t come by.”

“What are friends for?” Shit. That sucked. “See you tomorrow.”

I turn and head to my car before she closes the door. If I stand there for another second, I’m not going to be responsible for what kind of naked happens next.

She’s got an ugly past, a teenage kid who’s working through some crap, and a serious case of the emotional yo-yos. The whole situation screams trouble. Annoyance. Waste of time.

But all I hear is, Don’t let her go.

Thirteen

Blake

“You’re kickin’ ass, man. I’ve never seen you so quick.” Rex sidles up to me at my locker. “Been sparring partners for what, seven years? You’re in the best shape of your life.”

I shrug it off like it’s no big deal, but inside I’m celebrating. I’ve been busting my ass to get in shape for this fight. Winning this fight against Wade puts me up for title contention. And there’s no way I’ll accept anything less than a victory.

“Fuck three weeks. You fought Wade tonight, he’d be KO’d first round.”

“Thanks, man. And sorry about…” I motion to the purple bruise on his ribs that’s starting to take on some pretty nasty red tones.

That crazy fucker looks down and rubs his hand along the injury, pushing in and wincing. “Nah. That was a perfect middle roundhouse. Shit felt good.” He’s smiling like he means it.

I shake my head, grinning. “You’re a crazy motherfucker.”

Throwing on my clothes with a mean endorphin buzz, my mind wanders back to Layla. Things are getting hectic with the fight coming up and the promotional stuff that has Gibbs’s ass in a twist. I’m sure these things have been keeping her locked in her office. It’s not unusual that I’d go a day without seeing her, but I thought she’d come find me today.

I hope like hell she and Axelle had a good talk this morning. It took everything I had not to drive to her apartment and hide out, listening for breaking glass and girlie screams.

I would’ve done it if I hadn’t kept myself up all night going over all the reasons why I can’t get involved. Her shit has nothing to do with me, and I got more involved than I should’ve last night. Dragging Axelle to the hallway when she disrespected her mom was probably a step farther than I should’ve gone. But hell if I was going to stand there and listen to someone call my woman pathetic.

My woman? My friend. Not my woman.

Sleep deprivation has my mind stumbling over itself. I head out and check the clock on the wall in the training center. It’s almost five, and I haven’t seen her once. I change direction and walk back toward the offices. My feet move faster at the prospect of seeing her, and I mentally smack myself for breaking under the anticipation.

Don’t get involved. Just ask her how things went this morning. That’s a reasonable question. A friendly question.

I round the corner to her desk. It’s empty. I flip through a stack of messages on her desk and see some from yesterday and some today.

With a quick knock, I walk into Taylor’s office. He’s kicked back, with his feet on his desk top, ankles crossed, phone to his ear. He smiles, drops his feet, and holds up one finger. “Yeah, Z. I got it. Gotta go.” He replaces the phone to its cradle. “What’s up, Blake?”

I walk in a few steps then turn and point over my shoulder. “You see Layla around?”

“No. She called in this morning.” He shuffles through a stack of papers on his desk. “She sounded like she’d been drinking razor blades.”

My gut churns. “She sick?”

He nods but doesn’t look up from his desk of disorganized crap. “Yeah. She said she needed a couple days.”

I thank Taylor and turn to head out.

“Wait, have a seat.”

Layla calling in sick has me panicked. I wonder if she really is sick or if she had a rough night with Axelle that turned into an even rougher morning. I want to get out to call her or go by and check. The last thing I want to do is sit.

“Saturday. We’re throwing a UFL party at Flesh. I need you to show your face.”

“Sure. Let me know what time.”

“From noon to five. There’ll be some semi-celebrities there. I’m working on getting a few Playboy Playmates to drop by.” He wags his eyebrows and licks his lips like a hungry lion ready to gorge on fresh meat. “Lots of publicity.”

This guy would sell his dick if it meant getting the UFL some airtime on national television or headlines in the tabloids.

I roll my eyes to the ceiling. “Playmates? You really think that’s necessary?”

“Celebrities equal media attention, Blake. We need all we can get.”

“Not really.”

His eyes narrow on me. “Yes. Really.” He tilts his head. “You suddenly some kind of expert on running a professional MMA organization?”

“No. But you’re more about the attention than you are the sport.” My adrenaline is sky-high. I’m worried about Layla and clearly transferring my frustration to my boss, which isn’t a smart thing to do.

“Attention is great for the sport. Any attention.” He shrugs and leans back in his chair. “Look at what Dominick Morretti’s death did for the UFL. We sold out season tickets—”

“Jonah’s wife was forced to kill her own father, and you’re happy about filling your pockets?” My arms tense and I sit up, ready to launch myself across the desk and rip Taylor’s throat out.

“I capitalized on a tragedy for the sake of the sport.”

I step up to his desk, and he stands. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like this has a damn thing to do with the sport.”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Look, Blake, you work for me, you agree to my terms and how I run this organization. You don’t like it, we can terminate your contract after the fight.”

I considered his suggestion before he mentioned my fight. He knew he’d hit a nerve by bringing up my chance at the title. I’ll play this shit his way, but it doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it. “Flesh, Saturday, noon.”

He flashes a satisfied smile. “Yes, and if you can find it within yourself to show some of those celebrity women some attention, that wouldn’t hurt.”

Fuck me. I’m not having this conversation. I’ve got to get out of here. “Sure thing, boss.”

“Great.” He dips his head back to his desk, letting me know I’m dismissed.

Without saying goodbye, I head straight to my truck, with one destination in mind. I tell myself that I’m going to check on her because she’s sick, not because I’m worried about her and her daughter. It has nothing to do with simply wanting to look at her. And it has fuck-all to do with the fact that I almost knocked out my boss and lost my job, but breathing her air makes me calm.

Nope. Not at all.

Layla

I crack my eyes open. It’s dark. Grabbing a pillow, I pull it to my chest and ball up tight. My throat’s on fire, and my head is pounding. The comforter that covers me does little to quell the chill of my fevered body. I crave some fever medication but lack the energy to get up and get it.

My eyelids fall closed when I catch the faint sound of murmured voices. Staring at my closed bedroom door, I convince myself I must be hallucinating.

I haven’t been out of bed all day except once to use the bathroom. I don’t even know if Elle made it to school today. Mother of the Year award should be on its way. I rub my eyes then freeze as a deep male voice filters through the wall. Surely, after everything that happened last night, she wouldn’t have the nerve to invite a friend over. She’s grounded for the rest of her life.

The Advil container on my bedside is empty, along with my water glass. I lay there for a minute, gathering up the strength to roll out of bed and walk the three yards down the hall to the kitchen. After what seems like an hour, I’m up. I wrap my terry cloth robe around my hunched-over, aching body. My feet are cold, but I’m too weak to hunt for socks.

As I move toward the kitchen, the voices and laughter become more distinguishable. I’m more than ready to kick out the high school intruder, but when I see who’s in the kitchen, I stop and stare.

“Hey, Mom. How’re you feeling?” Elle’s concerned voice does nothing to shatter my frozen frame. “Blake and I were just making dinner. You hungry?” She spins back to the stove and stirs whatever’s on the flame.

Blake’s eyes settle on me. I can’t imagine what he sees. I’ve been tossing in bed all night and apparently all day, with horrible fever sweats. I’m sure my hair is a ratted mess, my face probably pale, and my eyes bloodshot. I must look disgusting.

I reach up to smooth my hair. “I didn’t—” Ouch. My palm presses against my throat.

“Ah hell, Mouse.” He moves toward me. “Back to bed. I’ll bring you some shi—er… stuff for your throat.” He turns me around by my shoulders with his big hands and directs me back to my room.

“Blake, I’m…” I shake my head. Damn, it hurts to talk.

“Yeah, I know. You’re fine, you can take care of yourself, blah-bullshitty-blah-blah. Save it.” He pulls back my comforter, and I crawl in bed. “Robe.” He holds out his hand. “You’ve got a fever. You’ll overheat in that shit.”

I untie the belt and roll to get it off, lifting my hips and sliding it toward him. He doesn’t take it. I look up and realize why.

His eyes are locked hard on my hips. In my haste to remove my robe, I’d forgotten that I’m wearing nothing more than a white tank top and white cotton panties.

I shove the robe at him again, but his eyes stay firm on me.

“Hey.” At the sound of my scratchy voice, he looks up at my eyes. I point at his face and shake my finger back and forth.

A sly smile pulls at his lips, and something about it makes me smile too. He’s never been the type to hide his gawking, or even be embarrassed about it. On some level, I know I should be offended, but no one’s ever looked at me the way Blake does, and I like it. More than I should.

“Sorry, Mouse.” His gaze makes one slow pass of my body. “Can’t help what happens when you put it out there like that.”

I drop my head to the pillow, suddenly drained. He snags the robe and covers me to my neck with the thin sheet, tucking it in so I’m swaddled.

He runs his palm over my forehead, clearing the ratted hair from my face, then feels my temperature. “Fever. Be right back.” He leans down and drops a quick kiss to the top of my head.

My eyes drift closed as I soak in the comfort that radiates from his tender show of affection. Since seventeen, I’ve been the caretaker. It’s been so long since someone’s taken care of me. As badly as I want to prove that I’m strong and can stand on my own, I’m not strong enough to fight off his attention.

Maybe I’m not as crazy as I thought. A tiny grin pulls at my lips. I mean, who in their right mind would turn down Blake Daniels as a nurse?

Blake

I’m moving fast on a singular thought—get the hell out of that bedroom before I do something stupid.

How the hell a woman can be so sick and look as hot as she does is unnatural. Her hair wild and loose, just how I’d imagine it looks after marathon sex. Her cheeks pink with fever, lips swollen, watery eyes shining. Fuck.

And when did white cotton panties become sexy? The way they hung low on her narrow hips, pulled taught between her hipbones, screaming for my lips to run along the seam. Her white tank top rode up above her belly button when she wiggled free from her robe. Chilled from fever, her nipples raked across the thin and very see-through fabric. Pink and perfect.

My dick throbs behind my zipper. Only a sick bastard would consider having sex with a woman in Layla’s condition. Come on, man. Rise above it.

“I think it’s ready,” Axelle says from the stove. “Mmm, smells really good.”

“It is.” I grab a couple bowls. “Family recipe.” I ladle some homemade noodle soup into the bowls, handing one to her. “Here. It’s great for hangovers.”

Her eyes go wide on me. “I’m not—”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. Eat.”

She looks down at her soup, stirs it a couple times, and then moves to the kitchen table to eat.

I grab the new carton of orange juice from the fridge and fill a small glass. Advil and NyQuil in hand, I start for the hallway.

“Is she pissed?”

Axelle’s soft-spoken question has me turning back.

“You know, at me?”

“No. She’s worried.”

She nods, her eyes still glued to her soup. “She doesn’t get it.”

If anyone understands the rebellious nature of a sixteen-year-old, it’s Layla. Her story about how Axelle got here proves that. “So? Explain it. Make her get it.”

She nods again, and I move down the hall to Layla’s room. I don’t know how much Layla’s shared with Axelle about the night she became pregnant, but something tells me her daughter may find herself in the same situation if these two don’t tackle their shit soon. It’s not my business, but if I were the man in their lives, I’d lock their asses in a room, sit guard at the door, and make sure they settled the crap between them.

Stepping up to the bed, I watch her sleep. She’s curled up in a tight ball, the thin sheet doing little to mask the gentle curve of her hip. Her hair’s tossed around her face, eyelids closed, and lips parted.

Beautiful.

I set the soup and juice on her bedside table and sit on the edge of the bed. “Mouse?”

Her eyes flutter open.

“Can you sit up for me?”

She nods and scoots up. I put some pillows against the headboard and she leans against them.

Placing the bowl in her lap, she holds it with two hands.

“Noodle soup. Eat.”

I watch her bring a bite to her lips and blow on it before sliding the spoon between her lips. Stop being a perv, asshole.

“Mmm, really good.” A weak smile pulls at her lips.

“Yeah. It works, too. My mom swears by it.”

Her eyes move from the soup to my face. She raises her eyebrows.

“She made it for us when we were kids. My brother and I would pretend to be sick just so she’d make it.”

Tender eyes fix on mine, listening. I nod for her to keep eating, and she spoons another bite into her mouth.

“It would piss my dad off to no end to see his sons moaning like we were on death’s doorstep for our mom’s attention. She knew we were faking, but she always gave us what we wanted. Setting us up in front of the TV with pillows and blankets, serving us soup like we were invalids.” Warmth spreads throughout my chest.

“She sounds cool.”

My smile falls, and my pleasant thoughts turn sour. “I guess.” I pop pills from their foiled cases, avoiding her eyes. “She tried, but when my dad finally had enough of her making pussies out of his sons, he put her in her place.” I bite down hard and feel my jaw tick. All those years I watched helplessly while my mom was belittled and berated for being a mother to her boys. I’d fuck up just to get him to turn his anger from her to me. I thought that we were on the same team, that we’d have each other’s backs against my dad. But when it came down to it, she crumbled beneath his iron fist and gave away my biggest secret.

“Blake? You okay?”

Her weak voice drags me back from my thoughts. I nod and drop some pills next to her juice. “Fine.”

She stares at me through narrowed eyes as if there’s a question she’s contemplating, but instead, she takes another bite. “So, you made this for me?”

“Sure. It’s good and… you know, you’re sick.” I shrug one shoulder, a little worried that my cooking might come off as seriously desperate and pathetic. “I take it you and Axelle haven’t spoken since last night.”

Dropping her spoon into her bowl, she shakes her head.

I tell her about my brief convo with Axelle in the kitchen. “She’s a good kid. Don’t be too hard on her.”

I move the empty bowl to her bedside table and hand her the juice.

“She’s a great kid.” Her eyes sparkle more than they did earlier. She swipes at her cheek. “I just want her to be okay.”

“I know. And she will be.” The vulnerability in her eyes is almost unbearable. I run my thumb along her cheek. “But first, you need to get better.” Snagging the pills off the table, I hold them up. “Open.”

She licks her lips and they part slightly. Her tongue rests against her lower lip, and I fight the urge to lean in and suck it into my mouth. Blinking away my inappropriate thoughts, I drop the pills onto her tongue and watch her throat work as she gulps them down. The simple movement reminds me of what it felt like to run my lips against her neck. So soft and sweet.

“I hope you don’t get it,” she says, yanking me from my memory.

“Huh?” Damn, I sound like a dumbass.

“My cold. We um… you know, kissed yesterday. Remember?”

Do I remember? Fuck yeah, I remember.

I rub my hand over my face with a groan. That kiss.

“Don’t worry, Blake. I’m a big girl. You don’t have to worry about me getting, you know, clingy, or having expectations.” She slumps down onto her pillow and pulls her comforter up to her chin. “It was a mistake.”

What the hell?That’s not what I’m worried about. I don’t think I’d mind her having expectations. Nope, wouldn’t mind at all. But a mistake? She regrets it.

My chest cramps, pain blooming behind my ribs. “Doc Z has me on every herbal concoction there is. I think I’ll be cool.”

That’s all I have to say? How about, fuck no, it wasn’t a mistake. And expect it to happen again. Soon.

I don’t know what this feeling is. It’s so new, foreign. Is it… rejection?

Fuck this. Why the hell do I care if she regrets our kiss? This was never supposed to be anything more than attraction and a little harmless flirting. My head feels like it’s about to explode. I need to get the fuck out of here. I busy myself with gathering up her dishes.

She sinks deeper into the bed. “Blake?”

“Hmm?” Snap out of it, pussy.

“I owe you. A lot.”

“Sure, Mouse. I’ll let you know when it’s time to pay up.”

She flashes a tiny smile. “Thanks.” Her eyes drift shut, and she snuggles under her comforter.

I click off the light and rush out of the room like I’m being chased. Axelle’s in the living room watching TV. I clean up quickly, throwing the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and the leftover soup in the fridge. I decide against a last peek in on Layla and grab my keys. “I’m out, kiddo. You gonna be okay?”

She nods a few times and waves goodbye. Not hung-over, my ass.

“Lock up behind me.”

She nods again. Shit, what is it with teenagers and eye contact?

“Axelle.”

Her eyes dart to mine.

“Lock up.”

“I will.” She doesn’t move.

“Now. Up.”

She groans and pushes off the couch.

Fuckin’ teenagers. How does Layla do it? “Good girl.”

After leaving the apartment, I stand outside the door until I hear all the locks click. Shaking my head, I walk to my car, wondering for the dozenth time in as many days what in the motherfucking hell is wrong with me.

Fourteen

Layla

“Mom?” Elle’s voice pulls me from sleep.

I sit up and swallow, relieved that the burning ache in my throat has died down. “Hey, what time is it?”

“Seven-fifteen.” She’s dressed for school with her backpack on. “I was just leaving and wanted to say bye.”

“Do you have a minute?” I pat the spot next to me and smooth the knotted bed sheets.

She sits, and from the way she’s hanging her head, my guess is she knows what’s coming.

“Elle, I’m sorry.”

Her wide eyes flash to mine.

“Things have been difficult for you. I know that. I just wish I knew how to fix it.”

She drops her gaze to her lap.

“You know, when I was your age, I got drunk at parties.”

“You did?”

I hate telling her what a fuck-up I was, but pretending to be someone I wasn’t is what got us here in the first place. “Yeah. I wanted to stand out, be different, make my own rules.” I shrug. “Thing is, drinking never gave me any of those things. It only led me to make horrible choices that hurt my parents, and myself.”

She nods behind the thick veil of her hair, but doesn’t offer anything else.

“You remember Raven from the garage?”

Her head tilts back, and she looks at me. “Yeah.”

“She has a place, I guess, where we can go. Talk to some people that might be able to help.”

“That’s my punishment?” A grimace tightens her pretty face. “You’re sending me to therapy?”

“No, not you. Us. Together. And it’s not punishment.” I know from experience that when parents pull in the reins, it only makes the child fight harder to get free. “I think it might help.” I want her to be on board, so I throw out a last ditch effort to win her over on the idea. “Blake said it might help.”

“Really?” The wonder in her voice makes me smile. “He said that?”

“He did.”

She chews on her lip.

I sift my fingers through the ends of her hair, and for a second she’s five years old and still my baby. “It wouldn’t hurt to give it a try.”

“All right, I’ll give it a try.”

I blow out a long breath, the relief relaxing my shoulders. “Great. We’ll talk more tonight, after dinner. I’ll make that pasta you like.”

She stands and shrugs on her backpack. “Okay, but we should probably use all the stuff that’s in the fridge first, you know, before it goes bad.”

“What stuff in the fridge?”

“Blake stocked the fridge.” For the first time since she walked in, I catch the ghost of a smile. “He even got ice cream. Nice guy.”

“He is.” The car, then the soup, and now the food. And to top it off, he’s responsible for her smile.

A flutter of excitement jumps in my belly. Blake is so different from what I’d originally thought. Behind the hot guy with the tough-as-nails, fuck-the-world attitude, there’s a caring man who buys ice cream and makes his mom’s soup.

Last night, when he was talking about his dad, I was reminded of Stew. The taunts, the verbal abuse, and the control. A heavy feeling settles in my chest. Maybe Blake and I aren’t that different after all but are bonded by our struggles, like two sides to the same destruction.

Or maybe I’m just desperate to make sense of the dangerous feelings that swirl just below the surface when he’s around.

In the words of Ozzy Osbourne, I’m going off the rails on a crazy train. And crazy never felt so good.

Blake

There’s usually nothing fantastic about a Thursday at the training center. Most days start with a workout, followed by sparring and an occasional meeting thrown in the mix. But this particular Thursday is different.

I’m grinning like an idiot as I dig clean clothes out of my gym bag. My back is numb, and the sparring session I just had with Jonah was one of the best I’ve had in a long time. But that’s not what’s making this day better than most.

It’s Layla. She’s back.

After three days without seeing her face, I’m jumping out of my skin for a glimpse. Leaving her house after the night I dropped off groceries and made her soup, I gave myself a grade-A mental bitch slap. I stayed away from her after that, but getting an update from Killian as to how she was feeling fueled my unhealthy obsession. I still plan on keeping my distance, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy watching her from that distance.

Shit, I’m a stalker. Disgust curls in my gut.

“You ready to head to the meeting?” Jonah’s showered and throwing on his shirt.

I stuff my sweat-soaked training clothes into my workout bag and toss it into the locker. “I am now.”

“Wade’s camp will be here in a week. Think you can keep it cool until the fight?” He slams his locker door shut and turns to lean against it.

“As long as the fuck-stick stays out of my way, I’ll be good.”

We head to the conference room. Rex and Owen are already there. My stomach flips as I search the room for the familiar face that’s been making a guest appearance in my dirtiest dreams. She’s not here yet.

We all drop into our seats around the table. After a few minutes of talking about nothing important, Gibbs strolls through the door. Following behind Gibbs and looking sexy as hell, is Layla. I tilt my head for a better view, and she gives me a shy smile.

She’s rockin’ a pair of black dress pants and a red silk shirt. The torturous top is unbuttoned just enough to tease my dick to life. Professional and fuckable. I shift in my seat and try to squelch the urge to stand up and pull her in for a hug. My eyes keep getting drawn to her hair. She left it down today, the way I like it.

Gibbs starts off talking about the fight week agenda. Layla pulls her lip between her teeth as she scribbles notes into her planner. Just watching her, I can feel a tooth-baring grin pull at my lips—Ouch!

I rub my shin that Owen kicked beneath the table. He mouths, “Pay attention.” I glare at him then swing my gaze to Gibbs, wrestling to keep my focus on what he’s saying.

“We’ve got some promotional stuff coming up,” Gibbs says, and grabs a sheet of paper from Layla. “I’ll need you guys to put on your attention-getting best, if you know what I mean.”

Jonah, Rex, and Caleb all grumble their response.

Rather than sit here and listen to Gibbs talk about how badly he needs us to make fools out of ourselves in public to get in the hottest gossip magazines, I’m back to staring at Layla.

She was gorgeous when she was sick in bed, but she looks even better now that the glow of health is back. After I got home that night, it took forty-five minutes in the room to take the edge off my lustful imaginings. Usually a quick trip to Zeus’s Playground would do the job, but the thought of being with another girl feels dishonest. Not dishonest toward Layla, but like I’m cheating myself. Like using a breadcrumb to satisfy starvation. Which is ridiculous, but no less a fact.

I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do about my attraction to this woman. Maybe I can’t get her out of my head because she’s not throwing herself at me. Could it be that simple, a silly case of cat and mouse? Snake and mouse. Yeah, that sounds more like it. And everyone knows who wins in that game.

“…but Layla will be there in my absence—”

“What?” Just the sound of her name from another man is enough to make me mental. I clear my throat and try to shrug off the fact that I wasn’t listening to a damn word Gibbs has said for the past who-knows-how-long.

“He’s talking about Flesh,” Rex answers from across the table. He’s slouched down in his chair with his elbows propped on the armrests, looking at me with an annoying-ass smile.

I glare at him and then turn my attention to Gibbs. “What about Layla and Flesh?”

“I’ll be out of town this weekend, and I need this publicity party to run smoothly. I’ve asked Layla to be there and make sure that happens.” He says it in such an everyday way, like he didn’t just verbally taser my adrenal glands.

“You can’t send Layla to Flesh.” My resolve is absolute. In the hundred different ways I play it out in my head, she doesn’t belong there.

“Blake, I’m happy to go. It’s not a big deal.” Her light voice carries a hint of uncertainty.

I lean toward her, resting my forearms on the table. “Do you even know what goes on at a place like Flesh?”

She blinks rapidly as if I caught her off guard, but doesn’t respond.

“It’s an adult pool. Topless. As in, the women don’t wear them.”

She recoils, but quickly recovers and leans in toward me. “You think I can’t handle a few naked boobs? Hate to state the obvious, Blake, but that’s something I see on a daily basis.”

The guys make no attempt to muffle their laughter. Bastards.

Jonah shrugs, fighting a smile. “She’s got a point, Blake.”

I glare him. “So bring Raven.”

His smile dies and his jaw gets tight. “Fuck no.”

Yeah, now who’s laughing?

Sitting back in my chair, fairly confident that I just made my point, I study Layla. She’s glaring at me, her mouth in a tight line as if she’s fighting to hold back what’s behind her teeth.

“Dude, you can’t compare sending a man’s wife to Flesh with sending a female UFL employee.” Caleb shakes his head. “Not the same.”

Holy shit, I compared Layla to Raven. What the fuck does that mean?

“Appreciate your concern for my assistant, but she’s got a job to do and that includes going to Flesh. Now, I have a teleconference in”—he checks his watch—“shit, three minutes.” He gathers his things and mumbles something to Layla. “Grab a schedule on your way out.” He scurries out of the room.

She drops a stack of papers in the middle of the table, and all the guys grab one except me. My eyes stay on her.

The thought of her at that pool surrounded by bare-breasted women, horny guys looking for action, mix that up with liberal amounts of alcohol. That’s an orgy waiting to happen. Layla’s fucking smokin’ hot and radiates an innocence that gives assholes ideas. Yeah, this shit ain’t happening.

“You’re not going.” The words come flying from my mouth and still the movement in the room.

“Excuse me?” She stands, places her palms on the tabletop, and leans forward. I’d make a wise crack about the perfect cleavage shot she’s giving me, but I’m too pissed.

I copy her confrontational stance, daring her to fucking try me. “You heard me.”

Her eyes flash with fury. “You don’t tell me what to do, Blake. This is my job.”

“Don’t give a shit. You’re not going.”

She slams one palm to the table. “Why are you fighting me on this?”

I don’t know. I can’t tell her the truth—that she and Axelle bring out a basic male instinct to protect. Even in my head, that sounds insane. This is why I stay away from women with kids. To keep my guardian complex locked up and avoid the feeling of betrayal when all my efforts aren’t returned. Just like with my mom the night she ratted me out. Dammit. I’m not doing this shit.

“Fine.” I drop my head back. “I give up. You’ll see for yourself.” Straightening from the table, my lips pull into a snarl. “But don’t come crying to me when you get mauled by assholes looking for an easy lay.”

Her sharp gasp is the last thing I hear before I storm out of the room.

Charging down the hall and into the training center, I shove past people in my way. The locker room looms in the distance like a safe haven. I throw open the door and march toward the showers. It’s the safest place I can think of to pull myself together because there’s nothing to break.

Even fully clothed, I contemplate dousing my dumb ass with freezing cold water to take the edge off my agitation. What the fuck was that? One minute I’m all smiles and happy thoughts, and the next I’m aggressive as hell. I remember my dad pulling shit like this. Blowing his lid over something like a bad grade or an unmade bed.

The murderous beat of my blood pounds in my head. I lean my forehead against the cold tile and wonder if head butting the shower wall will alleviate some of the tension.

“I get it.”

My eyes swivel in the direction of Jonah’s voice. He’s leaning up against the wall, arms crossed at his chest.

I turn around, slide my back down the wall, and sit.

He has no clue. His dad was Ward freakin’ Cleaver until the day he died. “No. You don’t.” I hold my head in my hands.

“You’re into her.”

I exhale hard and bury my fists in my eye sockets. Into her? Fuck. Yeah.

“I’d lose my shit at the thought of Raven going to Flesh.” I hear Jonah step toward me. “But it’s Layla’s job, man. She’s got a kid to feed. Good news is, she won’t be there alone. We’ll all be there. Make sure no one fucks with her.”

I nod into my hands, my heart rate slowing.

“But B, man, you owe that poor girl an apology. Had to be embarrassing, you nutting up on her like that in front of us.”

“Fuck, I know.” I want to ask him to knock me out. I’d do it myself if I could. “Something’s not right. I’m jumping out of my skin.”

He squats down to my eye level. “Dude, just admit it. You’re falling for a chick.”

“Fuck you.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Suit yourself. She’s hot, sweet as hell. You deny this, you’re missin’ out.”

Not at all enjoying his reference to my woman being hot, I scowl. “You think you’re telling me something I don’t know? I don’t want to be a dick to her. It just keeps happening. I’m fucked up.”

He shrugs and shakes his head. “You’re holding back a monster by keeping in your feelings. That’d make any man go crazy.”

Maybe he’s right. Denying the pull could be what’s making me act like an ass. But allowing myself to feel what I’ve been pushing down deep means… fuck, I have no clue. What I do know is that being a part of Layla and Axelle’s life means responsibility. I won’t let myself give in to the possibility of what might be if I’m not committed to making it happen. And then there’s my past to wrestle with. The anger, the control, my secret. What if they walk away? Could I handle that kind of loss? That’s what I’ve got to figure out.

I look up from my huddled ball of shame. “You know where she is?”

He tosses a quick look over his shoulder. “Last I saw, she was outside with Rex and Caleb.”

“Fuck.” I push up from the ground. “I’ll make it right.”

He claps me on the shoulder as I pass by. “Good. And think about what I said.”

Yeah, yeah.

Walking through the locker room feels like a death march. The thought that Layla’s mad at me is enough to make me sick. But the idea that she may not forgive me is one too painful to consider.

I find her sitting in a chair just outside the locker room door. Rex and Caleb aren’t with her, and she doesn’t look like she’s been crying. Thank God.

She stands and moves toward me, concern etched into her gorgeous face. “Blake, what happened back there?”

I stop a foot away from her, making sure not to reach out and pull her to me until I know we’re okay. “I’m really sorry, Mouse. I have no excuse other than I’m an asshole.”

Her eyebrows drop low over her blinking lashes.

“I have this impulse to keep you and Axelle safe.” I run my hand over my head, hoping she doesn’t think I’m as pathetic as I sound. “I’m not saying it’s okay, I’m just trying to get you to understand.”

She nods over and over. Her eyes are wide and staring at me, or through me. Not a word is coming from her lips. Did I spook her? She’s still nodding.

“Mouse?”

Her eyes focus on me and shine with moisture.

“Ah, fuck. I’m sorry.” I reach for her and pull her in for a hug. My stomach jumps in surprise when her arms go around my waist and hug me tight. I hold her head against my chest and nuzzle her hair. “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

As if timing is out to fuck me, Jonah comes strolling out of the locker room. He takes a second to study our position before a smile cuts through his serious expression. I glare at him, but can’t help a small grin from pulling at my lips.

Damn, I hate it when he’s right.

He shakes his head and walks away.

“Let me take you out tomorrow night,” I say into her hair.

“I can’t.” She pushes out of the hug, but I keep my arms around her. “I have plans tonight.”

“Plans?” The word vibrates from my chest. Adrenaline once again roars through my veins.

She places her palms on my chest and tilts her head back to look at me. “I told you the other day. I’m going out with Raven.”

Oh, thank fuck. “Where’re you girls going?”

“We thought we’d grab some dinner, maybe go watch Ataxia. It won’t be a late night since I have to work Saturday at, um, you know.” A pink hue colors her cheeks.

The publicity party at Flesh. Like I could forget. “All right, Mouse.” I place a quick kiss on her head and release her from my hold. “Another time then.”

A flash of disappointment registers in her expression. I wrestle with the urge to grin like a kid.

She picks at the logo on my tee. “So I’ll see you tomorrow, right? At the—”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” Watching over you and wishing like hell I could lock you away to keep you safe.

“Maybe we could, you know, go grab a bite after?”

Battle lost, I grin. “You askin’ me out?”

She smacks my chest, and the bell-like sound of her laughter trickles from her lips and straight to my gut. “You said you wanted to go out.”

I flatten her hand against my chest and hold her to me. “Oh, I do.” Cupping her jaw, I run my thumb along her bottom lip. So plump and kissable… fuck, I’d bite it if I could. “I’m just fuckin’ with you, Mouse.”

Her eyes dart to the side, like she’s looking to see who’s watching. “Blake—”

“Don’t worry, I won’t kiss you again unless you ask.”

The disappointment is back, but this time it lingers. My chest swells with satisfaction. She wants this.

And I’d be a lying fool if I said I didn’t want it too.

Fifteen

Layla

“He did what?” Raven slams down her glass, sending cranberry juice over the lip. “In front of Taylor?”

I take a quick look around the restaurant where we’ve been eating, drinking, and gabbing for the last hour. With an apologetic smile to the couple one table over, I sip my wine. “No, he’d left. But Jonah and the guys were all there.”

“Oh, I’m so having a talk with him.” She pulls out her cell phone.

I reach over and cover her dialing hand. “No, you can’t. We already talked about it.”

Her aquamarine eyes narrow at me. “Please tell me he apologized.”

“Yeah, he did.” I smile at the memory of him explaining himself. I’d never seen him look so vulnerable. “It was really sweet.”

Her pinched expression smoothes. “He means well. These guys aren’t used to feeling anything for a woman beyond sex.”

I run my fingertip along the stem of my wine glass. “You think Blake feels something for me?”

She snorts and looks at me like I’d just asked her if the sky is blue. “You’re kidding, right? He’s not the type who goes out of his way for just anyone.”

Memories from the night when Elle came home drunk infiltrate my thoughts. His quiet support when I spoke about my marriage, and his advice on how to deal with Elle. Which reminds me…

“I hope it’s okay, but Blake told me about your place. Raven’s Nest?”

She nods.

We talked earlier about what brought me to Vegas, and I gave her the Cliff’s Notes version of my old life.

“I’m sure you can imagine after our move and my divorce, Elle’s been having a hard time adjusting. Blake suggested that we check out your place, maybe get some counseling.”

She doesn’t say anything, and nerves have me rushing to fill the dead air between us. “I’m so afraid that if I don’t jump on getting help, it’ll be too late. It may already be too late, but I have to try.”

She stares at me, unmoving for a few seconds, and then blinks. “That’s a good idea. We have some great therapists on staff.” Phone in hand, she taps something onto the screen. “There. I sent you the contact info. Ask for Milena. That’s my mom.”

Her mom? “Great. Thank you. I know it’s probably weird me asking you for all this help, first my car, now this, but—”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m happy to do it. It’s nice to see a mom who cares enough about her relationship with her daughter to fight for it.” The sadness in her eyes is hard to look at. “I get it, Layla. Things haven’t always been good between my mom and me, but we’re working on repairing old wounds.”

“Are you sure that’s possible? I mean, some hurts run deep. What if the damage is too much?”

She stares out the window, her finger brushing absent-mindedly across her scarred eyebrow. I’ve heard whispers of her story at work, that her father kidnapped her before she was forced to kill him. It’s amazing to look at this young woman today. Despite all that she’s been through, here she is. Laughing, smiling, living. Moving on.

Shaking her head, she turns back to me. She smiles and takes a sip of her drink. “You know, I have to believe that forgiveness is possible for even the worst offenses. If not, then what’s the point in it all? Everything shapes who you are, who your daughter will become. And even the bad can be used for good.”

“I hope you’re right. I really do.”

“I know I’m right. I’ve lived it.” She tilts her head to fix her eyes on mine, and I see the faith in her gaze. “It’ll all work out for the best. Don’t give up until it does.”

I focus on my wine and consider her words. I could leave it at that, but in the end, curiosity gets the best of me. “What happened between you and your—” Before I can ask for more details, a beautiful blonde with thick bangs comes and flops down in the booth beside Raven.

“Fuck, finally. Sorry I’m late.” She drops her head back against the high-back seat. “I thought my shift would never end.”

Raven smiles at the woman, the shadows in her eyes from our earlier discussion now gone. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” She shoves her with her shoulder. “Eve, this is my friend Layla. Layla, my overly dramatic friend Eve.”

Eve rolls her head on her shoulders and meets my eyes. “Hey—wow! You’re gorgeous!”

My cheeks heat, and I smile at the ballsy girl. “Thank you. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Propping her head on her hand, she leans in. “Are you single?”

“Eve!” Raven says, her eyes bulging and her mouth slack.

“What?” She looks from Raven back to me. “So? Are you?”

Raven shakes her head and groans. “She’s with Blake.”

What? “No, I’m—”

“Really?” Eve looks as surprised as I feel by Raven’s announcement.

“Yes. She’s still coming to terms with it, but yes.”

I’m shaking my head “No”, but my body is screaming in agreement.

Eve shrugs and slumps back in her chair. “Damn, all the hot chicks are taken.”

Raven rolls her eyes. “She got burned pretty bad, now she swears she’s off men forever.” She turns her body in the booth to face her friend. “Eve, you’re not gay. You like men.”

“I need a drink.” She leans over to inspect Raven’s glass. “What are you drinking?” Eve takes a sniff of the red juice. “Is this a vodka cranberry, minus the vodka?”

Raven’s cheeks flush pink, and she fidgets in her seat. “Yeah. So, I’m driving.”

“No, you’re not. We’re taking a cab.” An uncomfortable silence passes between the two friends, and for a second I wish I could melt into my seat and disappear.

Eve turns her body completely so that she’s facing Raven head on. “You’re lying. I can tell. You’re doing that…”—she rolls her hand and wiggles her fingers in the air—“fidgety thing you do.”

Raven rolls her straw between her fingers. “I’m not lying, I—”

“Holy shit! Holy fucking shit, you’re pregnant!” Eve darts out of the booth and jumps up and down. “Don’t lie to me, bitch!” She points at Raven. “You are!”

Raven buries her face in her hands, her shoulders bouncing with what I think is laughter. Or, is she crying?

“Hey, are you okay?” I ask Raven, ignoring the mixture of excited curse words that pour from Eve.

Raven looks up, smiling.

Oh, phew.

“She’s psychotic.” Raven smiles and now that I take a closer look, she does have that glow. I’m surprised I didn’t see it earlier. There’s only one thing that causes a woman to shine like that.

“You are.” A grin brought on by her contagious joy tugs at my lips.

“Sit down and stop making a scene.” She leans over and yanks Eve back into the booth.

“Fess up, Rave.” Eve crosses her arms in an I-won’t-tolerate-bullshit way.

Raven looks back and forth between us, and we lean in, hanging on for an answer.

She gnaws the inside of her mouth, her eyes sparkling. “I’m not sure.”

Eve throws her hands in the air. “What do you mean, you’re not sure?”

“Did you skip a period?” I’m trying to speak softly to avoid listening ears, but loud enough to be heard over Raven’s boisterous friend.

“I did, but it’s only been a few days.”

I grab my purse and slide out of the booth. “Come on. We’re getting you a pregnancy test.”

“Fuck yeah, I knew I liked this chick.” Eve slides out behind me, Raven giggling behind her.

* * *

An hour and one very interesting visit to the drugstore public restroom later, we’re at The Blackout. Mac just delivered our drinks and hung out for a little to shoot the breeze. We’re huddled around a high-top table, our eyes on each other, taking long sips from our drinks.

I smile around my straw, trying to keep my eyes on stage where Ataxia is setting up. Eve’s smiling too, her head rocking back and forth in disbelief.

Someone needs to say something. From the moment we left the drugstore and hopped in a cab, no one’s talked about it.

“Lookin’ good ladies,” says a guy from the table next to us.

They haven’t been discreet about their gawking, but what started as appreciative staring has escalated to catcalls. Annoying.

“You know them?” I break the silence at our table.

Raven and Eve turn in unison, then turn back, shaking their heads.

The guys smile our way, and one even holds up his drink in an air-cheers. “Let us know if you get lonely. We’d be happy to keep three beautiful—” His eyes move to something just over our heads, and his face pales.

What the hell?

And that’s when I feel it.

An electricity charges the air. The kind that makes girls stand taller and men slink in their seats as if a predator’s on approach. The tension in the air is palpable, and all eyes are aimed just past our table. I swing around and—of course.

Strolling toward us like they own not only the club but the air in it, is a group of UFL fighters. Jonah and Blake are up front with Caleb, and Mason is at their back. They walk with a swagger that makes even the homo-curious Eve push out her breasts. What is it about a good-looking man that makes a woman’s breasts take on a life of their own?

They saunter toward us. Jonah’s eyes are on Raven, and Blake’s are on me. I suck down the rest of my drink in the seconds it takes for him to step into my space, the sound of my gurgling straw greeting his approach.

“Hey, Mouse. Think we could get in on girls’ night out?” He throws his arm over my shoulder and hugs me to his side. The smell of rain and woods makes my head swim.

I tilt my head up to look into his perfect, handsome face. “Depends. You comfortable talking about menstruation?”

“Nope.” He dips his head, motioning to Jonah. “But that bitch is. I’m sure him and Raven are on the same cycle by now.”

“One more word about my girl’s cycle and I’ll cycle my fist through your jaw,” Jonah says from his place behind his wife. He runs his hands down her arms and kisses her neck.

Blake laughs at the verbal jab.

“Dudes crashing ladies night. Awesome.” Eve’s sarcasm draws the attention of the table.

Blake grins her way. “Quit your bitchin’. You come to The Blackout, you had to expect we’d be here. Next time hit up the drag club. Won’t find our asses anywhere near that shit.”

“Whatever.” She flicks her straw to point at Mason. “Who’s the new guy?”

He takes his cue and slides in next to Eve, his bright white smile shining along with his equally bright eyes.

“Baywatch, this is Eve.” Blake nods across the table. “Eve, Baywatch.”

“Name’s Mason.” He corrects then shakes her hand. “Did it hurt?”

She brings herself closer to him, tilting her head. “Excuse me?”

Mason winks at Blake, then swings his gaze back to Eve. “Did it hurt? Falling from heaven?”

“Aw, fuck.” Blake shakes with silent laughter against my shoulder.

“Are you for real?” Eve’s answering smile looks less than offended.

If I had to guess, I’d say she’s not as put-off by men as she’d like to be.

“Yeah, angel. I’m real. Real lucky I’m not blind.” He steps back and runs his eyes up and down her body.

She giggles, actually giggles.

Caleb smacks his hand on the table. “I’ll grab some drinks. You ladies want another round?”

I pull my eyes off Eve and Mason. “Sure, Mac knows what we’re drinking.”

He nods and walks off.

“You having a good time, Mouse?” Blake murmurs against my temple.

A shiver cascades down my spine. “Mm-hm.”

“You girls getting hammered tonight or what?” Jonah switches positions with Raven so that he’s sitting, and pulls her onto his lap. “I like it when you’re tipsy.”

She slaps his arm playfully. “No, we’re not getting hammered.”

Eve raises her hand. “I’m getting hammered.”

“What part of “girls’ night out” didn’t you understand?” Raven says to her husband.

“Hey, we wanted to see Rex play. If you want, we can move to the other side of the club.” Jonah’s arms visibly flex around her waist, betraying his words.

She kisses his right cheek then the left. “No way.”

“Raven, why don’t you tell Jonah what we did after dinner?” Eve’s teasing grin is met with a scowl from her friend.

Blake nudges my side. “What did you girls do?”

“Huh?” I look up into his eyes and see the sexy smile playing on his lips. “Oh, ah…”

I look at Raven for rescue. She stares back at me with eyes as big as beach balls.

“Layla’s vodka soda, Eve’s cosmo, and Raven’s cranberry juice.” Caleb drops the drinks in their respective places in front of us, and a waitress follows behind him with four beers for the guys.

“Baby, I thought you’d be buzzed by now.” Jonah runs his fingers through her hair. “Cranberry juice? Have a drink, I’ll drive you home.”

Oh, no. The cranberry juice was the kiss of death with Eve.

“Yeah, Rave. Have a drink. Jonah will—oh, wait!” Eve slaps her forehead. “You can’t.” She laughs to herself.

“Eve, shut up.” Raven’s reprimand has little effect on her.

“What’s going on, baby? You sick?” His questions are heavy with concern.

“No. I’m not sick.” Raven places her hand on Jonah’s cheek and runs her thumb along his eyebrow.

Jonah’s eyes get dark and bore into his wife’s. Blake pulls me close, his hand gliding up into my hair. The tension swirls between everyone at the table, and I wonder how long until someone blurts it out. It better be soon or, going by the tense set of his jaw, Jonah may lose it.

“I wanted to tell you when we were alone, but since some people can’t keep their big fat mouth shut…”

We all lean in. Even knowing what she’s about to say, I feel like I’m waiting for a surprise.

She frames his face with her hands. With a kiss on his lips, she moves to his ear and whispers.

Blake’s lips are at my ear. “What’s going—”

“Shh!” I shush him and lean in closer to the couple.

Everyone’s silent. Watching.

She pulls back, eyebrows raised at her husband. He looks at her briefly and then drops his forehead to her chest. She holds him close, her fingers running through his hair as she whispers something private. He nods a few times into her hold, presumably affirming her words. He nuzzles in deeper and she accepts him, cradling his head like she will their newborn baby.

In this beautiful moment between two people who are devoted to each other and connected through their shared love, I’m overwhelmed with sadness. As a witness to the moment that will forever change their lives, I can’t help but feel envy. Being so in love with someone that you don’t know where you start and they end. Joy over the idea of new life, a living, breathing, physical manifestation of the love you share for one another. The support of a soul partner that will protect you, and keep you and your unborn child safe and healthy until they breathe their last breath.

“Layla.” Eve hands me a napkin and motions to her face.

Shit. I dab away the couple of tears that ran loose on me and smile through my somber thoughts.

“You okay, Mouse?” Blake kisses my head, and I nod against his lips.

“Yeah. It’s just really sweet, that’s all.”

“What’s really sweet? I can’t figure out what the hell’s going on.”

I laugh and tilt my head up to his smiling face. “Ask them.”

“Yo, what the fuck’s going on?” Blake yells, breaking up the romantic moment.

I slap his chest. “Shut up.”

Jonah kisses his wife and looks around the table. The most shocking smile I’ve ever seen on a man is etched into his face. “We’re having a baby.”

Blake

Well, fuck me. I knew they were in a hurry, but I didn’t expect that so soon. I don’t get it. Why the urgent need to start a family? If I ever get married, I don’t think I’d be ready to share my bride with a kid. Wait, bride? Kid? What the hell’s wrong with me?

“Congrats, man.” I shake Jonah’s hand. “Happy for you.”

Layla leans into me and her arm tightens around my waist. My eyes roll to the ceiling without her noticing. What is it with women and babies? It’s like an airborne infection that spreads instantly and makes chicks get all weepy.

Just the thought of being a father, having that kind of responsibility over another human… shit, I’m barely taking care of myself. Chances are, I’d end up being a prick dad. One who controls, who sets ridiculously high expectations, who dominates by the sheer strength of my voice. I’m not cut out for parenthood.

But neither was Jonah, until Raven.

When Raven came into the guy’s life, it’s like he saw the world through a different pair of shades. At the time, I thought he was an idiot, but now that I’ve seen him with his girl, I get it. For the first time ever, I get the appeal of being in a committed relationship. Having someone to eat, sleep, and laugh with every day. Someone who asks about your day and genuinely cares about the answer. A best friend who I can share my secrets with, free of judgment.

I look down at Layla while she goes back and forth with Raven about girlie baby shit. Layla’s funny and relaxed, with just the right amount of fuck-you attitude. Gorgeous in a way that makes my chest throb harder than my dick. Now there’s a revelation.

Damn. With all her baggage and her hang-ups, I’m falling for this girl.

“I hate to be a party pooper, guys. But I have to work tomorrow.” The sound of Layla’s voice pulls me back from my head.

“Oh, right. The promo party at Flesh.” Raven’s eyes dart between Layla and me, like she’s waiting for me to blow up and start tossing tables.

But I’ve got other plans.

“I’ll take you home.” I pull her up from her seat and wait while she gives everyone hugs good night.

The douchebag-dicks at a nearby table rake their hungry eyes over her tight little body. I glare in their direction, quickly realizing that they’re not the only ones checking her out. Three other dudes standing at the bar are doing the same. It’s like she’s north, and no matter where she moves their needle-dick-compasses follow. Fuck.

Ready to get her the hell out of here, I move to grab her hand. She’s hugging Caleb, and I bite back a growl when I catch Mason checking out her ass. He smiles at me before he wipes the grin from his face. Yeah, bitch. Not yours.

A voice deep inside my head yells she’s not mine either.

That shit’s changing. Tonight.

Impatiently, I grab her hand to pull her out of the club and into the parking lot.

“Blake.” In her high heels, she struggles to keep my quickened pace. “Slow down.”

I can’t. There’s something I need to do. And nothing outside of a brick wall thrown between us is going to stop me. Hell, not even that.

When my car’s a few yards away, I hit unlock on my fob.

The few steps seem like miles as urgency pushes me forward. At the car, I move us both to the driver’s side.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?”

I swing the door open, hoping it will give us a sliver of privacy, and turn her to me. Moving in, I press her back against the driver’s seat and shove my hands into her loose, silken hair.

“Ask me.” My growled demand makes her jump.

“Blake, I don’t under—”

I touch my forehead to hers and force myself under control. “Torture. Being so close. Smelling you all over with the taste of your kiss still on my tongue. Standing by while motherfuckers check you out. Knowing that they’re dreaming about what I know to be better than anything their wildest fantasies could come up with. Fuck, it’s killin’ me.”

Her eyelids flutter, and her breathing’s shallow. “Oh my God.”

“Mouse, I won’t do it unless you ask. The shit from your past rides you hard. I see that. But fuck, I’m dying here.” I fist my hands in her hair and tilt her head back. My lips hover over hers so that I’m drinking in her heated breath. “Tell me it’s okay.”

“Yes.” Her mouth is so close, her lips brush against mine at her spoken word.

“Yes what?” I slide my parted lips along hers. “What do you want?”

“Please, Blake. Kiss me.”

Sixteen

Blake

Thank God. I cover her mouth with mine. She moans against my tongue. A rumble of satisfaction rips from my throat. I suck her bottom lip, and the sweet taste floods my senses. Her wet mouth, combined with the velvety caress of her tongue, grips my gut.

My abdominal muscles flex, and I press her deeper into the driver’s seat. She grips my shirt at my hips, holding on as I curve my body over hers. Everything about her seems small and delicate, but her kiss is fevered as she matches every stroke. She arches her back, pushing her breasts up so that they rub against my ribs. An intense yearning boils beneath my skin. To touch, taste, and experience every inch of her body, inside and out.

I slide my hand from her hair to her neck, all the while plundering her delicious mouth. My palm itches to run along her peaked nipple. Moving my hand lower, I stop just above the swell of her breast, unwilling to go a step farther without her spoken permission. She squirms beneath me, her body begging for what I’m holding back. Fucking perfect.

I rein in my frenzy and summon the strength to break the kiss. Her eyes seem almost black in the dark as they question mine. Impatient, I nip at her upper lip. “Ask.”

She blinks, her gaze darting to where my fingertips rest against the slope of her collarbone. “Touch me.” Her simple request dissolves with a moan.

I smile against her lips. “Good girl.”

My mouth devours hers in a rewarding kiss. She hooks the waistband of my boxers, and her small fingers feel like fire as they run against my skin. The tempting fragrance of vanilla fills my nose and teases my hunger for more.

I pull back a fraction to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen, and her eyes closed. As much as I want to shove my hands—shit, my head—up her shirt, I need to know that she’s okay. If things move too fast, I could lose her. “Look at me.”

Molten lust colors her deep brown gaze.

The heel of my hand runs along the swell of her breast. She sucks in a quick breath, but I only see longing in her eyes. I move farther down and feel the firm tip of her nipple against my palm. The thin layers of fabric between us do nothing to hide the heat of her aroused flesh. My abs flex with the uncontrollable need to bury myself inside her. It’s never been this hard to hold back, and never this important that I do.

I study the depths of her eyes, hidden behind lust-heavy lids. My thumb circles gentle passes across her nipple, and she drops them closed.

“Open,” I whisper.

She bites her lip, and her eyes flare with passion. I can’t fight my smile. Doesn’t take orders, my ass.

After a few light drags of my palm, I squeeze her breast gently, rolling her nipple between my fingers. Convinced that she’s okay, I move back in. Her mouth opens to me instantly. Famished, I tilt my head, delving in, exploring every contour of her mouth with an eager pull of my lips. Her tongue rolls against mine. So fucking sweet.

Minutes or hours or years, time dissolves as we fall into each other’s kiss. My body is alive, vibrating with a wild need to claim her. I position my leg between hers and bite back a roar of satisfaction at the fire I feel against my thigh. Her hips roll against me, searching for the relief that I’d give her now if I could. But not here, not like this.

I move to her neck and absorb her racing pulse against my tongue. “I want you.”

“Mmm…” She tilts her head, allowing me full access to her throat.

“Where’s Axelle?”

“Home.”

That’s not going to work. My place. “When’s your curfew?”

“Eleven.”

It’s pure torture, but I drag my hand away from her breast and reach for my phone to check the time. Nine forty-five. “I’ll have you home by then.” I motion to the passenger seat. “Hop in.”

She rolls her lips between her teeth, her expression tense.

Shit. She’s spooked. This isn’t some one-night-stand that I picked up in a bar. She needs gentle, which means I’ve got to tame my shit. “Mouse.” I step back and give her some space. “Your choice. No hard feelings.”

With her arms crossed over her stomach, she studies me through narrowed eyes. I hold my hands up and take one more step back. I know her past haunts her, makes her question my motives. The last thing I want to do is scare her away.

Handling a woman this fragile is more difficult than I thought it’d be. But with her, it doesn’t feel like work. It’s like coaxing open the petals of a flower. What the fuck? I grimace and tell myself the next time a thought like that pops into my head, I’m begging Layla for another flying knee to the ’nads. Shit.

“Sure.” She gives me a timid smile, but her arms are still locked protectively in place. “As long as I’m back by eleven.”

I reach for her hand, and when she takes mine, I relax a little. A quick trip to the passenger side, and I open the door and watch her climb in. Her tempting body’s wrapped in tight jeans and a low-cut shirt that showcases her curves to perfection. Damn.

On the drive to my house, I think of all the reasons I shouldn’t have sex with her. As obvious as the reasons seemed only minutes ago, they’re getting less and less relevant as we near my place. They fade to mere static as we push through my front door, and by the time, she’s sitting on my couch—why wouldn’t I sleep with her?

“You want something to drink?” I say from the kitchen, grabbing myself a bottled water.

“No, uh… no thanks.” She pulls all of her hair over one shoulder and twirls a long strand. Her eyes move around the room, but fail to land on me.

I grab her a bottled water anyway and bring it to her. When I set it down on the glass coffee table, she jumps. Did she change her mind?

Dropping down next to her, I prop my feet on the tabletop. “You want to talk about it?”

She turns toward me, her eyes wide. “About what?”

“This.” I motion between us. “I think it might help you relax.”

“I don’t know. I’m…” She drops her eyes to her lap.

“I’ll start. I dig you. You’ve most likely figured that out by now.”

She peeks up from beneath her eyelashes.

“Not gonna lie, I’d give anything to have you naked in my bed.”

She blushes and bites her lip. At least she didn’t run screaming.

“I don’t think you’re ready for that.” Elbow on the armrest, I lean my head in my hand. “Fuck, not sure I’m ready for that. But now you know my intentions. I like you. I don’t need it all right away. I want you to trust me, and I’ll wait for as long as it takes to earn it.”

As the words pour from my lips, my mind struggles to keep up. That was some deep shit. And every bit of it I meant. It’s not what I’m used to telling women. I’m usually giving the speech about no-strings or expectations. This is new.

She clears her throat and faces me on the couch. “I appreciate you taking your time, but I’m not as fragile as you think. I can’t guarantee anything, but I’d like to see where this goes.”

I reach over and hold her hand, surprised when she interweaves our fingers in her lap.

“That sounds like a good place to start.” I study our connection and smile at how big my hand looks wrapped around hers. The memory of what her perfect fingers felt like earlier tonight, sliding into my boxers, reignites my blood. “Come here, Mouse.”

I reach over and pull her onto my lap. She moves her leg so that she’s straddling my hips. For the first time ever, I’m nervous. My boundary lines aren’t clearly drawn, and I’m blind when it comes to her. But I need to get her home soon, and I plan on taking advantage of every minute.

Starting at her knees, I run my hands up her thighs to her waist and push up under her shirt. The bare skin of her back against my fingertips makes me groan. Damn, if she feels this good here, how will it be when I get to touch her everywhere?

Her small hands rest on my biceps then move up to lock behind my neck. “Blake, I’m not very experienced—”

“No, not talking about the past. Not when we’re like this.” I run my hands up her ribs to her bra and back down. “Just me and you, Mouse. No one from the past. When we’re like this, it’s us. Only us.”

She nods and leans forward, holding her lips just short of mine. “Kiss me.”

And with those simple words, we’re back to where we left off. Our mouths move together as if no time has passed. I grip her waist, trying hard not to move her up to my rock-hard dick. She runs her fingers along my scalp, her nails dragging, and if I’m not careful, I might blow. I nip her lower lip, move down her chin to her neck, and suck at her tender flesh. She moans and rolls her hips, sliding forward so that her heat presses right where I need it most.

“Fuck, I want to touch you.” I move my hands up her ribs and wait for my invitation.

She arches her back and rolls against my dick. “Touch me.”

I move my hand up over her breast, and pull the satin of her bra down to expose her bare nipple. The weight of her breast falls into the palm of my hand, like pure silk, warm and smooth. “Damn, sweetheart. You’re so soft.” I’m lost in sensations. Her tongue in my mouth, fingers biting into my arms, heat covering my lap as she rubs against me in invitation.

“Touch me, Blake.” She moans, and her breath hitches when I knead her breast.

“I’m touchin’ you, baby.”

“No, Blake.” She grinds down against me, and I groan my approval. “Down here.”

Oh, fuck yeah.

Layla

“Off.” Blake flips me to my back on the couch. His hands work quickly to pop the button of my jeans.

My body’s on fire, burning from the inside out. Still, I’m desperate for more heat. I should be nervous or scared. Instead, I think if he doesn’t hurry, I’ll die. He tugs the denim down my legs, and I lift my hips to assist him. I’m hypersensitive, every fiber dragging against my skin rocketing my arousal. Relieved of my jeans, he pulls me back on his lap. I gaze down at my thighs spread open over his hips. The only thing covering me from the waist down is a thin strip of black satin.

He caresses my thighs, and his gaze locks on mine. “You have no idea how fucking gorgeous you look right now.”

I run my fingertips across his mouth. He lazily parts his lips, his tongue wetting the lower one, and I’m mesmerized. The slick heat of his moistened lip sends shockwaves of pleasure between my legs. He sucks the tip of my middle finger, biting the pad before releasing it. Wanting to taste him on my skin, I put my finger into my mouth.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” His fingers dig into my bare hips.

I savor our mingled flavor as it launches another wave of arousal down low. “Put your hands on me, Blake.” Asking for what I want is strange for me, and I’m running on lust and instinct. With a deliberate roll of my hips, I tempt his hands to move.

“Damn, Mouse. Talking like that, moving the way you do? You’re going to destroy me.” He growls and takes my mouth in a brutal kiss.

And like every kiss before, my thoughts scramble. Every pass of his tongue and pull of his teeth has me giving myself over to his will. A servant to his masterful touch.

His fingers run along the front of my panties, stoking the flames of my desire. I kiss him harder, tilting my head and taking him deep, asking without words. More. Still he teases, giving me only flutters of his touch. Building up within me, an earth-shattering wave is coaxed higher, but held back. The tension is maddening.

I break the kiss on a groan. “I need your fingers, Snake. Please.”

He pulls back, and there’s a fragility in his eyes that makes me catch my breath.

“Call me that again.” His expression’s so tender it makes my chest cramp.

I cup his face between my hands. “Snake.”

“Fuck. Love the sound of you callin’ me that.” He dips two fingers beneath my panties and presses in deep.

“Yes.” My head drops back, and I roll my hips.

I’ve never felt anything like this. The freedom to ask for what I want. The safety to let go and enjoy the pleasure. The trust that he’ll take care of me and never ask for too much.

And even if he did, the power to say no.

My hips thrust in rhythm with his fingers. His hungry gaze locks on mine, and he watches, making no move to kiss me. Overpowered by sensation, by his fingers and the rasp of his jeans against my inner thighs, I steady my hands against his chest and bite my lip to stifle my cries of pleasure.

His free hand glides from my hip, up over my breast, to cup my neck. “No holding back, Mouse.” He pulls at my chin to free the flesh from my teeth.

My lip pops out on a gasp. He rewards me with more pressure, and even though I know he wants to hear me, I bite down. The embarrassment is too much, the shame too heavy. He doesn’t know what he’s asking.

Come on, Laylay. Let me hear you.

My building orgasm ebbs. No. I push back against the voice from my past. I won’t let his memory ruin this.

His fingers slow and threaten to retreat. “You okay or—”

“I’m okay.” I nod and relax my jaw. I don’t have to be that woman anymore. I’m in control of me.

Faking the freedom I felt when we’d started, I skate my hand down his rippled abdomen to his crotch. His hard-on strains against his zipper. I grab him tight, and he lifts his hips into my hold. My belly tightens at the affect my touch has on him.

Our hands work us into a sweat, and I lean in to feast on his mouth. He meets me halfway, attacking my lips and forcing me to hold his shoulder to stay upright. Frenzied and racing to release, we push harder. Together.

He tugs at the low-V of my shirt to release my breasts. “Mouse.” The impatient sound of my nickname incites my ravished delirium.

“Take ’em.” I pull down the satin cups, exposing my bare breasts.

“Fuck yeah.” He locks his mouth around one nipple while his fingers toy with the other. His hum of approval vibrates against my sensitive skin.

“Blake, I…” Overpowered by sensation, my body jerks hard. Desperate for release and terrified of falling apart in his arms, I hold back the tidal wave that threatens to destroy me.

Come for me, bitch.

“No…” I shake my head and drop it to his shoulder. The tendriled shadows of my past curl up my back and strangle me. “I’m scared.”

He nuzzles my neck. “Let it happen, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” He presses his fingers in tight. “Just let go.”

You don’t want me, but your slutty little body can’t say no.

The voice from my past smothers me, contrasting completely with the way my body feels. My belly tightens, threatening my release, but I slam it back again. He works harder, hitting the spots that make my breath hitch. But a dark veil falls between my body and my mind, cutting me off.

On an instinct so powerful I can’t avoid it, I detach from the driving force that’s hell-bent on release. “I… I can’t.”

Gently positioning me, he kisses a path down my throat. “Yes, you can.” He pulls my nipple into his mouth.

The pinch of suction is too familiar and reminds my body of the past.

I’ll never let anyone have you the way I do. Never.

“Shut up!” I shove Blake’s chest and scurry from his lap.

He throws his hands up but doesn’t stop me. “Shit, what did I do? Did I hurt you?” His gaze works the length of my body as he does a visual check of my well-being, but he makes no move to touch me.

I shake my head and tuck my breasts back into my shirt. My heart races, and I’m panting.

“Talk to me. Are you okay?”

I nod over and over, waiting for the fear to calm. Blake’s not a monster. He won’t hurt me. He’d never hurt me. Breathe.

“Fuck, Layla, talk to me.” He moves to reach for me, but I recoil from his grasp. “I’m sorry. I—”

“No… I’m good, I’m…” The shame and horror of what I’ve done settles on my shoulders. “I should go.” Searching the floor for my jeans, I wipe at my forehead, hot and humiliated by my outburst. I know better than to let myself hope that things might be different with someone else. Where are my jeans?

“No, you’re not leaving. Not like this.” He snags my pants from the floor. “Talk to me.”

My cheeks flame, and I break out in a sweat. “I’m fine.” Dammit, my voice cracked.

“I won’t touch you. As much as I want to pull you in my arms, I’ll give you your space. But you gotta let me in. If I did something wrong…?”

It’s so hot in here. I pull my hair back and tie it in a knot. I like Blake. He’s been so good about accepting me, invisible scars and all. Chances are that flare-up from my past has destroyed our newfound “more than friends” status. He knows the worst of it, but this—so humiliating. He’s asking, practically begging, for it. But can I trust him?

His green eyes dance over my face, searching. Pleading.

Exhaling a heavy breath, I drop to the couch next to him, my eyes to my lap. I’ve sacrificed my pride, what more do I have to lose? After all, it’s better to scare him off early before the real feelings start to develop. “I thought this time would be different.”

“Explain different?” There’s the hint of a snarl that shadows his words.

I concentrate on my breath and try not to hyperventilate. “He would…” Humiliation drowns my confession.

Blake sits patiently. His body language is tense, but his expression soft.

“I can’t have an orgasm.” Dipping my chin, I hide behind the protective barrier of my hair. “I know it sounds stupid, and I’m sure it says a million different things about how fucked up I am.”

“Impossible. Everyone can have an orgasm.”

I shake my head. “Nope. Not me. He’d try, and when I wouldn’t he’d take it personally. I’d get punished.” I huff out a laugh. “Ridiculous, right? I mean, even with the threat of his punishment, I still couldn’t do it. And trust me, I tried.” I peek through my hair to gage his reaction.

“What punishment?” His eyes blaze, and his expression morphs from soft to terrifying.

“You don’t—”

“I do. Now fucking tell me.” Because of the way he says it, as if his life depends on my next words, I decide to give him all of me.

“He’d take me. However he wanted.” I take a long sobering breath. “Hard.” My ribs squeeze the air from my lungs, and my vision blurs. “I thought it’d be different now. I mean, everything’s so different with you. It’s just…” My eyes swing to the window-wall, the view of the twinkling lights in the distance a break from his the smoldering fury I see in his eyes. “He ruined me.”

Blake storms from his seat with such force that I feel the wind from his departure. He stalks to the kitchen, where he slams drawers. I take the opportunity to put on my pants and shoes. No doubt he’s ready to take me home. Can’t imagine a guy like him has the time or the patience to deal with a nutcase. Not when he’s got so many loyal admirers waiting in the wings.

Ugh. I need to get out of here. “Look, um, you can call me a cab if you want.” I’m searching the dimly lit room for my purse. “I’m sure you’ve got to—”

“Here.”

I squeak and jump at his one fierce word spoken from right behind me. “Jeez, Blake. What do you have, like, kitten feet?” I hold my hand over my heart, feeling it pound away beneath my palm.

He shoves a pad of paper and a pen toward me. “Here. Take it.”

“Okay?” I take the items from his hands.

“Write it down. Address, phone number, social security number, whatever you’ve got.” He taps the pad of paper. “I want it all.”

I glare at the paper and pen then swing my eyes to him. “I don’t understand.”

“Write it fucking down, Layla. I’m not kidding. I want his address, phone number, blood type, fuckin’ coffee preference. Write it.”

“Blake—”

In one stride, he’s in my face. He hooks his fingers beneath my chin, holding my stare. “Don’t want to scare you, sweetheart, but this shit’s ending now. Some guys need to be taught a lesson. Your ex is one of those guys. And I’m the man to teach it. Write it down.”

He’s a fighter, born and bred to defend, to settle wrongs with punches. To submit the enemy until they give up. This is him, strong and caring, poetic in a way that cramps my chest. I place my hand against his hard jaw. “Snake, you—”

“No.” He flinches, his face screwed into a grimace. “You don’t get to call me that when I’m pissed. Makes my dick hard, and when that happens I forget to be pissed.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Almost.”

“Wait, so… you’re not giving up on me?”

“Giving up?” His expression sours. “Mouse, you’re insane if you think something like that would chase me away.” He shoves the paper and pen at me again. “Here, take it.”

“You’d be with a girl who can’t, I mean, who’s never…”

His mouth goes soft. He cups my neck and drags his thumb beneath my ear. “I like the challenge, sweetheart. You’re capable, you just haven’t had the right partner. What I saw tonight? Fuck, you light up like that, baby, I know you can. In time, if you’d let me, it’d be a damn privilege to show you.”

My mouth battles a smile. A warm and comforting feeling fills my chest as relief washes over me. I bob my head. “Sure. Er… yes, please.” I sound like an idiot, but the mental images his words have painted have scrambled my thoughts.

“Good. Now, write down the douchebag’s info.”

“I don’t want you getting into it with Stewart. He’s a jerk. He fights dirty.”

An evil smile cuts through his handsome face. “The dirtier the better.”

“I’m not writing it down.”

“I’ll find out anyway.”

“How?”

“Got sources.” His fingers trace my collarbone, sending a shiver down my spine. “If I told you, I’d have to kiss you.”

Sources? This is Las Vegas, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a guy like Blake had some mafia connections. That’s all I need.

I lick my lips and push up to my tiptoes. He leans down to meet me halfway. Our mouths come together in a feather-light touch, a simple, slow caress. “There. Now talk.”

“The Internet.”

We smile against each other’s lips. Apparently, I need to lay off the Soprano re-runs.

“Despite what happened tonight”—our faces are so close I can feel the breath of his words—“that was hot. I know we’re going to be working through some shit. But you should never hold back with me. You’re always safe when you’re in my arms.”

I nod into his hold. “I believe that. I do. It’s just old habits die hard.” And slow. And painful.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He looks over his shoulder then back to me. “Now, let me get you home to Axelle before you get grounded for being late.”

I groan and drop my forehead to his chest.

“I’ll pick you up in the morning. We’ll ride to Flesh together,” he says into my hair.

I breathe his scent in deeply one last time and straighten from his hold. “That’d be great. Then Elle will have the car.”

“Did you and Raven touch base?” He doesn’t need to explain. I know what he’s talking about.

“Yeah.”

“Good girl.” He runs his hand from my shoulder down my arm and interlaces our fingers.

My body tingles all over at his touch. All that the innocent act of holding hands conveys spins in my mind. Security. Loyalty. Hope.

It goes against everything I know about his kind of male. Egos so big it’s impossible to see anyone else. And the worst is the guys who have the looks and the talent to justify the pride. Just like Blake.

Could I be reading him all wrong? As much as I try to convince myself of that, I can’t. I tried to fight all the feelings, to force myself to believe the worst about him even when he’s proved otherwise time and time again.

Blake Daniels is a good guy. A really good guy. And this exceptional man wrapped up in a delicious bad-boy package likes me.

Is it possible that my luck has changed?

Heck yeah, it is.

Seventeen

Blake

Blue-balls are a bitch. Last night with Layla, my body was a live wire of carnal energy waiting to be unleashed. And although I relieved most of the tension in the room, pounding away until I was too exhausted to stand, my nuts still ache.

But the pain in my pants is nothing compared to the cramp I felt in my chest when she crumpled on my couch and exposed another piece of her past. It almost killed me to sit there and watch her duck her chin, her cheeks flaming, as she told me how he broke her. Like she’s some piece of equipment that’s been rendered useless because it doesn’t perform. It’s sickening. And impossible.

Not with the evidence I saw last night. She wasn’t at all like I thought she’d be. Not timid or reserved, but initiating and confident, asking for what she wanted. She writhed on my lap, moaning and begging for more when my fingers were already drenched inside her. Making out with her was hot, and even with her inability to let go, it was still one of the sexiest experiences of my life. If I hadn’t been so worried about pushing her too far, I probably would have detonated and embarrassed myself.

But when she tensed in my arms like she did, whimpering into my neck like she was struggling between intense pleasure and horrific pain… Fuck. How something can be so beautiful and so damn heartbreaking is a mystery. I vowed in that moment that if I—when I—come face to face with Stew Moorehead, he’s a fucking dead man.

I’m already hopped up on hatred for the prick, and now I get to spend the day at Flesh. No doubt dudes will be checking her out. And my patience is running thin.

Pulling into the parking lot at Layla’s apartment, I push back my vengeful thoughts. I’ve been preparing myself all morning, telling myself that she’s only doing her job. But all my pep talks are pointless as I park my car and groan at what I see. “Oh, shit. Today’s gonna suck ass.”

Shaking my head, I hop down and walk toward the gorgeous blonde leaning against the wall. Layla’s wearing a net-like sweater that hangs off one shoulder. The loose, open stitches make it so I can see through it to the white triangle-top bikini underneath. Her straight-leg pants hang low on her hips, accentuating her tiny frame. The style is a mix of pure class and straight-up sex.

“What’re you doing out here?” I move close and push her hair behind her bare shoulder, making sure my fingertips linger against her warm skin. “I’d have come up to get you.”

Her dark eyes meet mine, and a bright smile is aimed at me. “Hey.” She reaches up to hook her hands behind my neck and pulls me to her lips.

Our mouths meet in a soft kiss, once, twice, and then I run my tongue along her lower lip. She opens for me, and my senses are flooded with peppermint and vanilla. Reaching down, I cup her ass and pull her in close. Hot and sweet and all fucking mine.

I break the kiss and nip at her mouth. “Good morning, Mouse.” Tracing her hairline, I run her silky long hair through my fingers. “You look hot. Guess you couldn’t find any baggy sweatpants and a pea-green turtleneck to wear, huh?”

She scrunches up her gorgeous face. “I don’t think they let girls into Flesh dressed like that.” She laughs and moves her hands to my chest. Her smile falls. “I’m a little nervous.”

Unable to resist the temptation of her skin inches from my lips, I kiss her shoulder. She tilts her head for me to drop kisses up her neck. “Nothing to be nervous about, sweetheart. Not with me there.”

She nods through a shiver. “This is my first opportunity to prove to Taylor that I can handle more responsibility. I really don’t want to screw it up.”

“You won’t. These things run themselves.” I pull her hands from my chest and kiss each one. “Come on, you’ll see.”

I’m so ready to get this day over with. My blood’s already burning to get Layla home and in my arms. My balls were aching before, but they’re throbbing now. And my woman looking like she jumped from a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition isn’t making my situation any easier.

If Layla wasn’t so set on proving herself to Taylor, I’d seduce her into calling in sick and staying with me all day. There’s no reason why Jonah couldn’t handle the party. But fuck, I’ve got to promote my fight. Fine, we’ll go to the stupid party, and then it’s back to my house for dinner… topless.

* * *

One hour and seventeen minutes until this shit is over, and then I’m throwing Layla over my shoulder and getting her the fuck out of here. I knew being at Flesh would be torture, but this is outright agony.

The narrow pool, lined with waterfalls, is packed with topless girls and guys. A female DJ dressed in a bikini and stiletto heels spins records, and the pounding music energizes the atmosphere. The outdoor heaters make it a perfect eighty degrees as women of every shape, and only the small size, strut around mostly naked. The smell of booze, chlorine, and suntan lotion hangs heavy in the air. Guys with their chests puffed out drop their life savings on thirty-dollar drinks to entice women out of their tops.

Even with the abundance of bare-breasted women to gawk at, my eyes are fixed firmly on Layla, where they’ve been for the past two hours and forty-three minutes. She’s all class, and professional as hell, flittering about to make contact with each semi-celebrity, shmoozing the pool manager, and even staging photo ops. I’ve had to threaten bodily harm to a handful of guys before word got around that she’s off limits. And yet, they’re still staring. Fuckers.

“Hey, Snake.” A bouncy little brunette comes to lean against the bar next to me.

Ah, shit. Not again. I’ve been brushing women off since I got here. It’s becoming a struggle to remain polite.

Like the majority of the women here, she’s topless. I give her a quick nod in acknowledgement and slide my gaze back to Layla. She’s removed her net-sweater and is walking around in her linen pants and string bikini top. Dammit. I should have marked those gorgeous breasts up with my mouth when I had the chance. That would’ve kept her covered.

“I like your tattoo.”

I cringe at the squeaky voice of the girl next to me. She traces my tattoo with her fingertip.

Glaring at her through my sunglasses, I push her hand away from my chest. “Don’t.”

She shrugs and sticks her overly enhanced breasts out. “You look hot.” She licks her lips.

There was a time when I would’ve appreciated her advances. She’s cute and more than willing. The way she talks, the look in her eyes— it all says she’s open for play. A few weeks ago, I would have been all over it, but that was then. Now her attention is annoying as shit.

“Let’s go for a swim.” The heat of her body presses against my arm.

I glare at where her bare chest is pressed against me and then take a step to put some distance between us. “No, thanks.” I move my eyes back to Layla—fuck. Where is she? I search the crowd for her blonde head. Dammit.

The brunette is talking to me about something, but I’m not paying a damn bit of attention. I see Jonah and the guys moving toward me. Maybe they’ll know where she went.

Don’t freak out. She’s probably in the bathroom.

“Hey, B. You got company?” Rex grins wide at the girl and I resist the urge to toss his ass in the pool.

Jonah shoves Rex and shakes his head, smiling.

“You guys see Layla over there? I lost her.”

They turn back to look at the direction they came then swing their eyes back to me. “Yeah, I think she’s over there rubbing suntan oil on some dude,” Jonah says.

“Nah, that wasn’t her.” Rex spins and motions to the opposite side of the pool. “She’s over there, playing Twister with those frat guys.”

They all burst into laughter.

“Assholes.” I shove past my fuck-face friends and head out to look for her, ignoring the guys’ chuckling and the girl’s huff of irritation behind me.

Zigzagging through the crowd, I move toward the pool. My eyes scan each person, every face that isn’t hers sending my heart rate higher. Why didn’t I keep my eyes on her? Shit.

She’s not in the hot tub, not at the bar, and nowhere around the DJ stand. There are too many people. Over by the pool steps, I see the familiar glint of sunshine-blonde hair. With purposeful steps, I walk toward her. Her gaze swings to me, and she smiles. Just then, the warmth of a small hand slides into mine and grabs hold. What the fuck?

Layla’s gaze dips to my hand, and I know, even through her dark glasses, that she’s seeing exactly what I’m feeling. The topless brunette at my side, and I’m holding her damn hand. Ah, hell.

I rip free from the little leach. “Layla—”

She’s smiling, but nothing about her smirk is warm and friendly. It’s challenging. She raises one eyebrow above the frame of her sunglasses and tilts her head. My stomach drops. In super slow motion, I watch her hands slide behind her back to the tie of her bikini top.

Oh, fuck no.

Layla

That brunette has been hanging off Blake for the past thirty minutes. With my sunglasses on, it was easy to spy on her without being obvious. She stuck her boobs out and rubbed them against my… guy, er… boyfriend. Whatever. My Blake.

And that’s not even what pissed me off the most. I wasn’t born yesterday. I get why she’d be intrigued. Heck, I’ve barely been able to keep myself from panting like a dog at his impressive physique. His broad shoulders are cut so perfectly it’s like he was sculpted by an expert hand. His brawny chest melts into his rippled abdomen, which I know from experience is as hard as it is soft. The perfect V that tapers beneath his black and white board shorts. All of that is enough to draw a woman’s touch.

But what makes me seethe is that she was touching his tattoo. I’ve seen Blake at training, but he never takes off his tee or sleeveless shirts. Even his promo picture is taken from an angle where his tattoo is hidden behind his bicep. So I didn’t even know he had a tattoo until today, and here this young, gorgeous bimbo gets to touch it? Before me?

When she scurried up beside him and grabbed his hand, he pushed her away like I expected. But I didn’t like it.

Even now, she’s pressing her body against his.

It’s time to make a statement.

I wiggle loose the tie of my bikini top. Blake rips his sunglasses from his eyes, green fire igniting his glare. Little Miss Big Boobs leans against his side. He doesn’t push her away or even seem to notice. His scowl pierces through me. I pull the strings away and out to my sides, marveling at his chest as it rises and falls faster and faster.

He’s pissed. Butterflies explode in my stomach. He tilts his head, a clear warning that I’m crossing the limit of his patience. Tempting a guy like him is dangerous. It’s immature, but so damn exciting that I can’t stop.

Moving my fingers to the white triangles of fabric that stand between my nakedness and 200 strangers’ eyes, I give Blake a daring smile.

“No,” he commands in a voice so deep I feel it between my legs.

When will he learn? I don’t take orders.

I flip up my top. Before the air registers against my skin, the heat of his chest is pressed against me. His arms wrap tightly around my waist, and he presses me back against a nearby wall.

He buries his face in my neck. “Fuck, Mouse. You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“She touched you,” I growl with a ferocity that shocks even me.

We’re surrounded by people, lost in a crowd that feels strangely private. He sucks at my neck, and his hands roam my bare skin. I moan at his urgent touch, his loss of control mimicking my own. I grasp at his shoulders, urging him on.

“Don’t want anyone touching me but you.” With his large body keeping me blocked from the view of others, he grips my bare breasts. I gasp as he works my nipples. My knees grip his leg and he grinds into me.

“Get me out of here, Blake.” My breathless demand falls short.

“Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.” He reaches around my back, securing my top. I grin as he shimmies the front triangles with the utmost concentration for maximum coverage.

Without a word, he hooks his arm around my waist and walks me out, passing people who try to talk to him without even a glance.

“Wait, Blake. My sweater.”

“Fuck it. I’ll buy you a new one.”

I laugh loudly and try to keep up with his long strides as he leads us away from the pool area, through the casino, and to his car.

He swings open the passenger side door. “Up.”

I hop in, half-giddy and a lot anxious for the make-out session ahead. My body’s on fire, perfectly primed and eager for his hands, his mouth. Damn, but I don’t want a repeat of last night.

He climbs in the driver’s seat and turns the ignition. I lean over and place small kisses on his neck and shoulder. The smell of his sun-kissed skin sends my tongue out for a taste. Mmm, so good.

“Mouse.” He grabs my hand and pulls it into his lap, pressing my palm between his legs. “Not gonna last long, sweetheart. Not with your sweet mouth on me. I’m gonna ask you to stop and—fuck—I need you to obey. I dig the rebel thing, I do, but—” I rub my hand between his legs, and his words fade to a groan. “I won’t have sex with you in a car.”

My lips freeze against his neck, and heat rushes to my cheeks. A man like Blake doesn’t put his lust on hold because of the past hurts of a woman. No, men like Blake are out for themselves. No concern for others. But here he is, again and again, putting my best interests above his own. I don’t know what to make of that, but I like it. A lot.

“Okay, Blake.” I kiss his neck one last time and settle back into my seat. “I can wait.”

He grimaces like the very idea of waiting is physically painful and puts the car in drive. As the minutes tick away, my restlessness increases. Unable to keep my hands off him for another second, I reach over to rest my hand on his thigh. His mouth ticks with a small smile, and he covers my hand with his.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I haven’t been excited about sex before. Even when Stewart and I first got married, as much as I tried to get into it, I always wanted to be somewhere else. With someone else. Hell, being alone would’ve been an improvement.

But I want this. And damn if it doesn’t feel incredible to be able to make a choice. Good or bad, mistake or not, it’s my decision.

Even if he breaks my heart.

I’m not sure that’s possible anymore. Whatever’s left of my devotion, I’ve pledged to my daughter. She’s my life. My heart. There’s room for fun, maybe even for feelings, which I’m definitely having for the strong fighter next to me. But love? I wouldn’t even know what that looks like, much less what it feels like.

So I’ll take this for what it’s worth. This dating relationship is good now. And when it goes bad, we’ll be friends and move on. It might hurt, hell, it could rock me for a few days, but nothing could be as bad as what I’ve already been through. Nothing.

Not even a life without Blake.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, forcing thoughts of our relationship’s impending doom as far from my mind as possible. It works, and my mind clears.

“You all right?” he asks, his handsome face etched with concern.

“Fine. Just uh… trying to figure out what your tattoo says.” I study the large tattoo that covers part of his left pec and bleeds down to his ribs. It’s a military emblem, but I don’t know which one. “Is that an army tattoo?”

He laughs in a quick burst. “No, not army. Marines.”

Marines? Blake was a Marine? Damn, just when I thought he couldn’t get any hotter. “How long were you a Marine?”

“Not long. Military school for four years, the Corps for two.”

I don’t know much about the military, but two years doesn’t seem like a long time to be in. “What happened?”

He looks at me, and even with his sunglasses on, I can see the shadows of his past twisting his expression into something defensive. “What makes you think something happened?”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Shaking his head, he sets his gaze forward. Silence passes between us for a few seconds, and I decide to let it go.

“Dad was a colonel. Wanted his boys to follow in his footsteps. We did. Worked out for my little brother. Not so much for me.” He shrugs and drops it.

“I didn’t know you had a little brother.” I hope the subject change will relieve some of the tension in the car.

“Yeah.” He grins. Thank goodness. “Braeden. He just turned twenty-one. I’m trying to get him out here for my fight. You might meet him.”

“Is he as handsome as you are?” I smile at the very faint blush that colors his cheeks. I made Blake blush!

“Nah. I’m way better looking.”

We laugh together and hold hands in silence for the rest of the ride. I vow to approach his hidden military past later if an opportunity presents itself. For now, I keep my mouth shut. With the possibility of what might happen once we get to his house, I have more important things to think about. And number one is to avoid a repeat of last night’s episode.

I spend the last few minutes of the drive casting Stew Moorehead from my thoughts. Gagging his memory and replacing it with the beautiful things I’ve experienced with Blake.

It’s time I shut Stew up for good. And nothing will do that better than a first time with a new guy.

Eighteen

Layla

We arrive at Blake’s condo, and he parks the Rubicon in his assigned spot. Neighbors mill about walking their dogs, bringing in groceries, and sitting on their patios, like most folks would on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon. Laughing, we run up to his door hand in hand. Carefree and a little bit dangerous, like we’re a couple of teenagers ditching school to go make out.

He makes quick work of the door lock and I’m pressed against the wall, pinned there by his hips, before the door shuts behind us.

He doesn’t kiss me like I thought he would. Instead, he plants his hands on the wall on either side of me, caging me in. “Mouse.”

“Snake.” I know what he wants. Permission. It’s sweet, but he’s going to have to stop treating me like I’m breakable. I smile and tilt my head.

A low groan vibrates up from his chest. “Don’t want my rebellious girl. Not now when I’m aching for you. I want my Mouse.”

His Mouse. I like the way that sounds.

He leans in close, his lips only inches from mine. “Been waiting too long for these lips, sweetheart. That drive was ridiculous.”

“Yeah, it was.” I laugh and curl my hands behind his neck. “Okay, Snake. I’ll bite.”

“Yeah? I like it when you bite.”

I suck a ragged breath into my lungs. How is it that he can seduce me with nothing more than his words? “Kiss me, Blake. Touch me.”

An agonized moan that sounds more like relief than pain slides from his lips as he brushes them against mine. “Fuck, is this really happening?”

Tilting my head and parting my lips, I give him my mouth as an answer, letting him dive in deep. His hands tangle into my hair, and he holds me close. Our tongues slide against each other’s in a slow dance timed to perfection. No awkward slips or messy coordination, but like we were made to fit together. My belly tightens, twisting with delicious expectancy.

He grips my hair tight, and the pleasure-pain shoots straight to my nipples and womb. I arch my back, pressing my chest into his in search of the needed friction. He slides his hand down from my hair to my back. One tug at the tie of my bikini top and his hand skates up to work the tie at my neck. The top falls between us, and our bodies press together skin to skin. Warmth from his chest penetrates mine. His muscles flex against my nipples, and a wave of pleasure washes over me.

He curls his big arm around me and grabs my bottom. Pulling me up, my legs wrap around his waist, and he carries me down the hallway. Not once breaking our kiss, I squeak in surprise when I go airborne and land flat on my back on his bed.

Standing at the edge, his eyes devour my topless body as he unlaces his board shorts. He moves his gaze downward, from my bare chest to my belly, before focusing on the waistline of my linen pants. “Need those off. Shoes too.”

I’m lying on my back, and there’s a trained fighter who’s double my size looming at my feet, but I’m the one with all the power. Blake has proven that my feelings are his main priority. And the hunger in his eyes, combined with the response his body is proudly showing, makes me feel sexual and dominant.

I hold my foot up toward him. “Nu-uh. You do it.”

He smiles a crooked smile and bites his lip. I stare, envious that it’s not my teeth sinking into the plump flesh. I lick at my lips, savoring the taste of his tongue that lingers there.

His shorts hang dangerously low on his hips. A light sprinkling of sandy brown hair trails from his belly button and disappears beneath the waistband of his shorts. His muscles flex as he pulls off one of my wedge sandals, then the other. My eyes eat up his body with gluttonous satisfaction, and I study his tattoo.

The illustration of the world with an anchor through it looks almost three-dimensional. Its detailed shading contains so many variations of gray that it almost seems to be made up of colors. Amazing. The eagle stands on top of the earth with its wings spread proudly. Above it, printed in striking bold letters, is Semper Fidelis. That, I know, means “always loyal.” But below the art, on his ribs, is something else in flowing, scripted letters: Si vis pacem, para bellum.

What does that mean? There’s a story there, but I’ll be damned if—Ooooh…

Blake’s big strong hands rub circles into the soles of my feet. I drop my head back onto the bed. “Mmm, that feels good.”

He chuckles, his laughter laced with arrogant pride. “This ain’t shit, Mouse. You’re in for a lot of feelin’ good.”

My tummy somersaults. I know he feels like he’s on a mission to reform my no-climax status, but I hope he’s not disappointed when it doesn’t happen. “Um… don’t expect too much. You’re dealing with sixteen years of bad programing.”

“Remember, Mouse. Nothing more than you’re willing to give. You can trust me.”

And that’s it. That’s what it is about Blake. I can trust him. It’s not logical to put my faith in someone like him, and yet here I am. When he tells me I’m safe, and that I can trust him… I believe it. To the core of my soul, I believe him.

He puts a knee between my legs on the bed and braces himself over me. His big body hovers and sends me shrinking back into the mattress. Trapped. My mouth goes dry, and I struggle to take a full breath.

As if reading the panic in my body language, he frowns. “Fuck.” Shifting to the side, he drops to his back and pulls me on top of him. “I’m not him.”

I pull in a shaky breath. “I know.” Boy, do I know.

My heartbeat calms against his ribs, and my arms tuck in tight to his sides. The warmth of our skin ignites a desire to taste him. I run my lips along his tan skin. It’s unnatural for a man this strong and intimidating to be so soft. Moving lower, I concentrate on his tattoo, dropping kisses against his ribs. He groans and shifts his hips beneath me.

I smile against him at his restlessness. “This is really beautiful.” Peeking up from beneath my eyelashes, I find him staring at me.

His vibrant green eyes burn with hunger. “Nothing close to as beautiful as what I’m looking at.”

His simple compliment flips around in my belly. I dip my lips to his torso. “This script? What does it mean?” I hold my breath while I continue to rain kisses on his tattoo, hoping he’s relaxed enough to open up about his past. Then I tilt my chin up and see that he’s looking down at me.

“If you want peace, prepare for war.” His expression is serious, and I wonder what his story is.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you fight. Anything worth having in this life, you fight to get. And you don’t stop fighting until you get it.”

Yes. Exactly. Where was he seventeen years ago when everyone was telling me to do the right thing? I had plans and dreams. I’d never have given up Elle, but I had options. I could have fought harder for what I wanted, rather than giving in to what everyone wanted for me. His words remind me that it’s not too late. That it’s never too late to fight for our future. To fight for our peace.

A wave of contentment washes over me. I skate my open mouth from his ribs to his belly button, dragging my tongue along to savor the mild salty flavor. His hands fist in my hair, and I can feel the evidence of what my attention does to him digging between my breasts.

A ravenous hunger hits me hard. The overwhelming desire to devour him, to gorge until I get my fill.

I move lower, making sure to keep my eyes locked on his. “Blake, I want to taste you.”

“Your show, sweetheart.” His tense smile confirms the worry I see in his eyes.

Confused by the mixture of signals he’s sending, I slide back up his body, making sure to drag my bare chest along his until I’m at his mouth. “Stop worrying about me. I’m a big girl. I know what I want.” I place my lips to his in a tender kiss, hoping to reassure him. “I want you.”

He pinches his eyes closed for a moment before looking deep into my eyes. “Promise me this won’t fuck things up between us. If you’re not ready or if—”

“I promise.” Cupping his strong jaw, I run my thumb along his stubbled cheek. So handsome. “Now, may I?”

“Never say no to you, Mouse,” he whispers. “Never.” He grips my head, and brings his lips to mine in a passionate kiss.

Our tongues thrash together, desire pushing our bodies impossibly closer. Hips grinding, hands roaming, breathless moans and whimpers filling the room. He sits up and pulls me close so that I’m straddling his lap. He moves to my breast and sucks one nipple deep into his mouth. I roll my hips in approval. My body heats, feeling like it’s on the verge of catching fire from the attention of his skilled mouth. “Blake—”

“Need these off.” He tugs at the waistband of my pants.

Grateful that they’re drawstring, I make quick work of the tie and open them enough for him to slide his hand in. The intrusion of his fingers beneath my swim bottoms drops my head back on a purr.

“Fucking beautiful.” He slides two fingers in, and my breath hitches. “Everything about you is so damn perfect.”

With his hand engaged between my legs, he drops back to the bed. I look down to see his forearm running the length of his impressive abdomen. It flexes as he rolls his fingers, and the tightening in my belly coils deeper, bringing me to the edge of delirium.

Reaching up, he hooks me behind my neck and pulls me down to him. I’m swirling, light-headed. Greedy for more, I straighten my legs, and with the help of his free hand, I kick off my pants and bikini bottoms.

I’m completely naked. Totally exposed. But I don’t feel powerless or ashamed.

I feel desired. Worshiped. Cared for.

His fingers move in sensual and tender strokes. “Damn, look at you.” He runs his gaze over my face. I’m surprised, with all of his available options, he’s choosing to keep his eyes on my face. “Those eyes. So fucking sexy.”

Bared to him completely, and yet he praises me for something so everyday. A smile twitches my lips, but fails to develop. My nerves are on high, skin vibrating as my need pushes me higher and higher.

Reaching between us, I grip him beneath his shorts, and curb my reaction to jump back at his size. Heated steel warms my palm, and I tighten my hold. A hiss of pleasure shoots from his lips. I stroke him and then latch on to his mouth to swallow the deep groan that bubbles up from his throat.

His abdominal muscles flex and release in time with my caress. I pull back to watch, but he chases my lips, insisting I stay with him. The kiss becomes urgent, like no matter how much I give him, it’ll never be enough.

“Can’t take it anymore.” He pulls at my hips to roll me on top of him.

He scoots down the bed beneath me while encouraging me to crawl toward the headboard. He trails his lips between my breasts, down my ribs, and over my belly button, making sure to hit every erogenous zone on his way down. Oh, wow.

The new position releases a million butterflies that start in my middle and race all over my body. I grab the headboard and pull myself up while he continues his journey down.

I’m lost in sensations, responding to the contact and begging for more.

The tender touch of his lips whispers along the skin just above my pubic bone. Deliberate swipes of his mouth and gentle nuzzles of his nose. I’m lost, gone in a flurry of euphoric bliss.

He grips my bottom tight. “What the fuck?”

My muscles tense when I realize what he’s found. Oh shit.

Blake

She tries to wiggle away, but I clasp her hips, keeping her in place. The jagged scar, well below her belly button, is the focus. I know scars. They’re common in the life of a professional fighter. But a scar down here, so close to—that motherfucker. Fury, hot and catching, floods my veins.

“What happened?” My barked question says accusation, not curiosity.

She tries to scamper away again, and I flip her to her back, my shoulders between her legs. I keep my grip on her hips.

“Blake.” The warning in her tone gets my attention.

“Mouse, don’t worry. I’ll let you go.” I place a delicate kiss on her scar. “I’m just curious.”

She bucks once and throws her forearm over her eyes. “I got caught up in everything and I forgot. Dammit.”

I run my finger along the silvery strip and kiss the surrounding skin. What could it be? It’s too big to be a stab wound, but seems too sloppy for a surgical scar. “Don’t shut down on me. Tell me what happened.”

Her tensed muscles relax fractionally at my whispered words. I continue to brush and pull at her tender skin with my lips, urging her to calm, silently begging her to trust me.

I don’t move any lower, but linger, content to stay between her legs as long as it takes for her to talk to me. If Stew did this to her, I’ll hunt him down like a pig and slaughter his ass. I keep this information to myself, knowing that my flipping out will only chase her away.

“C-section scar,” she finally whispers.

Well, thank God.

My breathing slows, and I study her skin. It looks like the damn procedure was done with a box cutter. The line isn’t straight, and the skin is puckered, like it healed wrong in some places. “Why?” It sounds like a stupid question, but I don’t know shit about baby delivery.

She clears her throat. “I’m small. I was smaller at sixteen. Axelle was almost ten pounds.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Mouse.” I don’t know much about babies, but I know weight. A ten-pound baby coming out of this tiny body? I resume my kissing hoping to hide my grimace, and trace the line with my lips. “Does it hurt?”

“No. It’s hard to explain. Kind of numb, I guess.” She coughs out a laugh. “Guess this is the first time you’ve ever been naked with a mom before.” Throwing her hands over her face, she groans. “Embarrassing.”

She’s right. I’ve never been with a mom. I don’t tell her that women with children were on my list of sexual no-no’s. It’s possible I unknowingly hooked up with a chick that had a kid, but I’ve never seen a scar like this before. I’d remember that.

I slide up her body and pull her hands apart to see her face. She looks up at me with unease.

“No, never been with a mom.” She rolls her eyes, and I catch her arms to keep her from covering her face again. “Scars aren’t ugly, Layla.” She startles, the sound of her name from my mouth getting her attention. But I need her to know how dead fucking serious I am about what I’m about to say. “They’re badges. Reminders of the experiences in our lives that were important enough to leave a mark.” Gazing down the length of her perfectly naked body, I skate my finger from her throat straight to the scar. “This is a reminder of what you have and what you went through to get her here. Not a damn thing ugly about that.”

Her eyes sparkle, and she reaches up to run her hand over my hair and behind my neck. “Yeah, I like that.”

“I like it too,” I whisper and slide my hand lower.

“I’m glad—oh, gosh.”

I catch her breathless gasp with my mouth.

Everything I learn about her—the good, the bad—only makes her more attractive. I told myself to stay away from women with children for so many reasons. But I’m finding that some of her sexiest qualities revolve around her being a mom. Her patience and determination to right her wrongs with her daughter. Her concern for Axelle’s stability. And her capacity to love. I’ve never met anyone so complex and yet so simply beautiful.

I want her. All of her.

Trailing kisses down her body, she moans as I pass my lips over her scar again. But this time, I don’t stop there. I press open her thighs and wedge myself between her legs, throwing one of them over my shoulder.

And then, I’m gone.

I dip down and open my mouth between her legs. Mmm. Pure, sweet heaven. She takes a sharp breath, tensing for a moment, and then relaxes as I gorge myself on her. Unable to pull my eyes away from her arching body, I’m staring openly. Her hands grip the sheets, and her moans encourage me deeper. My hands dig into her ass, tilting her hips for a better angle. Harder, deeper, more.

She’s breathless, and her supple breasts rise and fall faster and faster. “Snake…”

My dick throbs at the breathy way she says my nickname. I’ve never wanted to be inside anyone so badly in all my life. My skin feels tight, and the pressure of what’s building below the surface threatens to rip free. I pull one hand from her ass and thrust my fingers inside her. She gasps with a drawn out mewl. Her hips roll, pressing against my hand, and I increase the pressure of my tongue. I focus on the cues her body gives. She’s so damn close, but unlike last night, she’s not fighting it. Two more seconds of this and my woman’s going to ignite.

I pull back, not at all ready for this to end, but desperate for her gripping heat to engulf me. She lifts her upper body from the bed, and I climb over her. She grasps my head and kisses me. Pressing her back to the bed, I drop to the side and roll, taking her with me so she’s on top. She sucks my tongue into her mouth and groans. The taste of her floods both of our mouths.

Reaching over, I open the top drawer of my bedside table. In record time, I’ve got my board shorts off and a condom on.

“Sweetheart?” I say between kisses. There’s no way I’ll go any farther unless she begs. “Ask me.”

“Please.” She buries her face in my neck.

“Say it, Mouse.” I slide my hand between her legs. “I need to hear you say it.”

She grinds down on my fingers. “Yes, I want you inside me.”

“I want that too.” Gripping her hips, I position her over me. “Beg me.”

“I’m empty without you.” She pulls at my earlobe with her teeth. “Please, Blake.”

She pulls back, and we lock eyes. Straddled over me, she pushes up to her knees and lowers her body down, slowly taking me little by little. She rolls her lips between her teeth and her eyebrows pinch together.

I hold her hips to still her. “Talk to me.”

“I’m okay. You’re just really big.”

“You sweet talkin’ me, Mouse?” I grin and pull her down for a long, wet kiss. “Feels so good, wrapped tight.”

She pushes back, controlling the penetration until we’re completely connected. I wait for her to adjust, taking that time to move my hands and mouth over every available inch of her body. Her hands roam over my shoulders, arms, and chest. After a few minutes, she starts to move. Slow rolls of her hips alternate between long slides up and down.

My chest gets tight, something intense welling deep. This goes far beyond a couple of consenting adults playing around in the bedroom. What’s happening here is binding. Permanent. It’s in the way we don’t take our eyes off each other. The visual stimulation of her petite body taking mine is more than I can handle. Her narrow hips are set wide across mine. Her delicate frame is braced above me, moving in rhythm with my thrusts.

She moves faster, small sounds leaking from her lips going straight to my gut. My abdomen tightens, and the release I’ve been trying hard to hold off swirls at the ready.

I grip her hips and fight the urge to slam her down on me, to impale her over and over until she screams my name. My teeth clench. It’s too much. The combination of what’s going on below my waist is outnumbered by what’s going on above.

“Mouse, baby—”

“Harder.”

Yes! I push up to sitting and thrust my hips, practically tossing her off me. She holds onto my shoulders and I take over the pace. Every thrust threatens to shatter my strength and send my orgasm rocketing through me.

Her head falls forward, and she hides her face in my neck.

“You’re safe with me. Always.” I nip at her shoulder. “Don’t hide it from me, sweetheart.” I feel her body tighten around mine. “Show me.”

She pulls back and peeks up at me. “Blake… I…”

“Let go.”

She calls out my name in a combination of a gasp and a growl. The sound pushes my orgasm to the surface, but I hold it back. Her body convulses around me. Burying me deep, she falls apart in my arms. Her fingers pinch into my biceps, holding on to me just as tightly as I am her. I lean back and drop kisses against her parted lips as she rides out her release. With her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes drifting closed, she rolls against me and drops her head to the side on a moan.

Gorgeously sated and relaxed, my strong, amazing woman who has been dragging sexual baggage along with her for over sixteen years just fell apart in my arms. My ribcage feels too small to contain the enormous amount of pride that is surging and billowing behind it. I flip her to her back, the one thing I told myself I shouldn’t do, and put myself on top of her.

“You did it, baby. And fuck me, that shit was insanely hot. You’re not broken, you’re perfect.” I need to make sure that her being pinned beneath me doesn’t bring back old memories. “You okay?”

She gives me a lazy smile, and glides her hands up over my shoulders to my neck. “Yeah.”

I rock into her and grind down. “Good, because I’m not finished with you yet.”

She moans and arches her back. Unable to take another second away from her lips, I lean on my elbow and devour her mouth.

Our bodies move together, the pace growing more frantic. Her legs wrap and lock around my hips. Hands and lips move, exploring in a frenzied loss of control. She rips her mouth from mine and moans so deep I feel it in my dick.

And I’m gone.

I lock my eyes on hers. My breath rasps as I push and pull through my orgasm. The tension in my muscles dissolves, along with everything else in the world. Worry and concern for what just happened between us becomes non-existent. The only thing that that means anything is lying beneath me, eyes closed, and a soft smile, on her lips. And she’s all fucking mine.

“Mouse, I’m…” I’m what? Falling for you. Crazy about you? In lo—no. Right?

“Wow, now I see why you’re so popular with the ladies.”

What the fuck? How can she even think about me with other women after what we just did?

I roll off her, hoping to hell she didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Throwing my legs over the edge of the bed, I give her my back and toss the condom into the small trashcan by my bed.

“I can’t believe I had an orgasm.” She giggles behind me. “You, Mr. Daniels, are quite talented.”

I’m not at all happy with the carefree sound in her voice. That single sexual experience shook the foundation of every fucking thing I thought I knew. And here she’s laughing like it meant nothing more than an orgasm.

I grab my board shorts from off the ground and slide them on. “Yeah, that was fun.” That’s all I can say?

“Fun? That was amazing.” I hear the sound of rustling sheets as she moves around the bed. She’s probably looking for her clothes, but I can’t bring myself to look back at her. “I’ve never felt anything like that before. Now I know why women throw themselves at you.”

Fuck. What just happened here?

I shake my head and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to get my bearings.

“You okay? You have a headache or something?” Her concerned voice is right next to me.

I open my eyes to see her dressed in her pants with her hands covering her naked breasts.

“Headache. Probably from the sun.” Bullshit. But whatever.

“What time is it? I should probably get home.”

I cannot fucking believe this shit.

Moving up from the bed, I snag a shirt and slip on my shoes. “Sure, let’s get you home.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

No, I’m sure as shit not okay. “Fine. You ready?”

She nods and moves past me. I don’t follow her right away, but instead stare at my bed. Minutes ago, that place held so much promise, a possible future. Life altering shit. But now, the bed is empty, and the sheets are twisted, just like my insides feel.

She’s downplaying our experience and putting me back into the asshole player category she had me in when we met. Reducing her worth into nothing more than a meaningless one-night-stand, with nothing to show for it but—in her words—a goopy condom in my trashcan.

Nineteen

Layla

I can’t believe it happened. It finally happened! With a man—a gorgeous man—for the first time. Ever.

I’m floating on the high of post-orgasm bliss and empowerment. To add celebration to my sex-high, I didn’t hear Stewart’s voice in my head one time. Blake’s verbal affirmations drown out Stewart’s internal assaults. Is it possible that this could be a breakthrough to my healing?

It’s all so new. A sexual relationship on my terms. Not born out of duty or obligation, but choice. Breathing deep, a grin curls my lips. I haven’t been able to wipe it from my face since… sigh…

My body’s still humming. The memory of what he did with his hands, his mouth, his—wow. A wave of arousal rolls through my body. After we finished, I wasn’t thinking clearly. If I had, I’d have asked for a round two.

I guess it’s best that I didn’t. He was quiet on the drive home and didn’t walk me to my door like he usually does. He said he had a headache, but something tells me it’s more than that. So caught up in my sexual achievement, I didn’t slow down long enough to think about how sleeping with his boss’s assistant might affect him. Or maybe it was the C-section scar that freaked him out? Oh no! What if he thinks I’m horrible in bed? Insecurity washes over me. What if he regrets having sex with me?

“I’m heading out.” Elle strolls into the kitchen, where I’m eating peanut butter out of the jar.

I shake away the direction of my thoughts and focus on my daughter. “No, you’re not.” Licking my spoon, I dig in for another bite.

She slides into the seat across from me. I notice she doesn’t have all that dark makeup on, and she’s wearing a shirt that covers most of her skin. “Mom, I know I totally messed up, and you probably don’t trust me to make good choices.”

I nod. She’s got that right.

“I’ve been hanging out with a new girl at school. She’s friends with Killian. Her number’s on the fridge.” She points to the pink Post-it note stuck to the freezer door. “Her name is Cara, and her mom’s name is Suzanne. I put her mom’s cell number up there too.”

I swing my gaze from the Post-it to Elle. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

She leans back in her chair. “Call her. Call her mom. They’ll tell you.”

Narrowing my eyes at her, I lean in and point my peanut butter spoon in her face. “If you’re not lying, then tell me what your plans are. I’ll call Suzanne and cross-reference your story with hers. If it checks out, you’re free to go.”

“We’re going to the school play and then to have pizza with some friends in the drama department. Killian will be there. And if it’s cool with you, Cara said I could stay the night.”

I hop up and dial Suzanne’s number into my cell phone. After a very pleasant conversation with Cara’s mom, I decide that Elle is telling the truth.

“Okay, your story checks out. You can go, but you have to promise to call me before you go to bed.”

Elle claps her hands and jumps up from her seat. “I will, I promise.” She moves over to me and wraps me in a bear hug.

I hug her back as hard as I can and hope it communicates how much I love her and how proud I am that she was honest with me. “I love you, Axelle.”

She pulls back and studies me, her eyebrows pinched together. “You never call me that. I mean, unless you’re pissed.”

I shrug and twirl a piece of her silky hair between my fingers. “I know, but it’s your name. I should call you that.”

Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, she gives me one last hug. Cara shows up a few minutes later to pick her up. She seems like a nice girl, clean cut without a hint of rebellion. After waving the girls off, I go to my room and pull on tube socks that go up to my knees, a cozy pair of shorty-shorts, and a long-sleeved tee. I move into the living room and flop on the couch with the remote.

Seven at night on a Saturday and I’m channel surfing. Alone. Fabulous.

A couple of really bad reality television shows later, I’m wide awake and staring at the clock. What’s a girl to do on a Saturday night all alone? My eyes drift to the clock again. I’d go see if Mac was at The Blackout but don’t feel like getting ready.

Orrrr… One side of my mouth lifts into a grin. I could drive over to Blake’s and surprise him. I’d just check on him and see how he’s feeling. Maybe make him something to eat. My belly cartwheels at the thought of cuddling up with Blake. Holding his head in my lap while we channel surf.

In a hurry, before I talk myself out of it, I slip on some shoes and race out the door. Giddy, I jump into the Bronco and drive toward Blake’s house.

This is so impulsive, and on my terms. I blast the classic rock station that’s playing “Hotel California” by The Eagles. Before long, I’m parked and racing up the stairs to Blake’s condo.

I pound on the door and ring the bell, smiling and bouncing on my toes. There’s music, faint, but loud enough to be heard through the solid wood door. He won’t be able to hear my knock over the blaring beat.

Sticking my ear to the door, I wait for a break in the track. The drum solo throbs against my ears, and I try to identify the song. When the vibration of the bass dies, I ring the doorbell, this time louder and longer. I press my ear to the door again. The music shuts off. Butterflies swirl in my stomach. I lick my lips, so excited to see him and jump into his arms.

By the time I hear the lock click, I’m practically squealing with excitement. The door opens and… my smile dissolves along with my enthusiasm.

Blake stands in the doorway, a scowl etched into his face. His shirtless torso shimmers with sweat down to his jeans, and the top button of his fly hangs open.

And he’s barefoot. What in the hell did I just interrupt?

His narrow glare moves from my tube-socked feet, up my legs, over my belly, and to my eyes. I shake my head, as if my body is speaking the word my lips won’t voice. No.

I take a step back, and for the first time I see something flare in his eyes, but I can’t read it.

“Mouse? What the hell are you doing here?”

“You’re, um… busy.” I can’t take my eyes off the open buttons of his jeans. “I’m gonna go.” But I can’t move.

How could he do this? He had sex with me this afternoon, and now he’s with someone else. The little voice inside my head says I saw this coming all along. It shouts that I should’ve known after he didn’t walk me to my door. This is what bad boys do, and to expect anything else is naive. The voice reminds me I can’t get my heart broken. It’s impossible. But damn, why does it feel like it’s breaking now?

Act like a slut, I’ll treat you like a slut.

Shut up!

Best thing you have to offer is what’s between your legs.

“Stop it,” I say, and grip my ears, praying it’ll help force back his taunts.

I turn to make my escape, but I’m pushed up against the wall outside Blake’s doorway.

“What’s going on in your head?” he growls against my neck.

His huge, sweaty body pressing in close makes me dizzy.

“Nothing. I get it. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Fuck.” His hands move over my hips and waist to cup my bottom. “Who said I wanted you to leave me alone?”

My treacherous body responds to his touch, and I lean into his hold. “I may be dumb, but I’m not stupid.” I can’t believe he thinks he can grab me like this when he has another woman in his bed. Asshole.

He pins me with his hips and moves his hands to my face. “You are not dumb or stupid. You hear me?”

“Blake, you have a girl in your room and you’re out here arguing with me about—”

Abruptly, he steps away, leaving me swaying on my feet. I’m grateful to have the wall at my back to keep me from falling.

His eyes form tight slits. “What the fuck did you say?”

“I wasn’t born yesterday.” I point to the open door of his condo. “You have a woman in there.”

He looks around then aims his daggered glare back at me. “You think I’ve got a chick in my bed?” Propping his hands low on his hips, he drops his head. “Un-fucking-believable.”

I push off from the wall. “What am I supposed to think, Blake? I show up and you’re…” My arms motion from his fly to his face. “All sweaty and shirtless, looking like warm sex and orgasms.”

His gaze shoots to mine, this time wide. “Sex and orgasms?”

I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. “You heard me.”

His lips twitch and a look simmers in his eyes, so dark and arousing that I have to lean back against the wall. “Come here, Mouse.”

“Ha. No way.” But hell if my feet aren’t burning to run to him.

Holding one hand out, he tilts his head with that same look. “Come.”

Damn him. I shake my head, not trusting my voice.

“Rebel,” he mumbles, and drops his hand. “You show up at my place looking sexy as hell in your high socks, short ass shorts, and no bra—”

Shit. I forgot to put on a bra. I cross my arms over my chest.

“—I’ll come after you, sweetheart. But considering the way you acted after we had sex, I need you to come to me.”

“How I acted?” I think back to this afternoon. “You’re the one who freaked out, probably nervous your number two would show up and catch me in your bed.”

“Here you go again.” He shakes his head, takes a deep breath in, and exhales hard. “Every time I start to prove you wrong about me, you defense-up and throw that shit in my face.”

He’s right. That’s exactly what I do. But why?

“Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it.” He moves one step toward me. “Something bigger than us fucking happened in my bed this afternoon, Mouse.” He closes in. “Had a few single-serving sex sessions in my life, and those don’t bring you back around. Yet, here you are.”

Here I am.

“Why’d you come back?” There’s hopefulness in his voice.

“I don’t know, I—”

“Answer the fucking question, Mouse. Why are you here?”

“I just… wanted to see if you’d watch TV with me.”

His lips pull into a spectacular smile that makes my heart drop into my stomach. I swallow hard at the gleam in his eye.

“Good answer.” He erases the space between us. “You win.” His fingers sift through my hair, and he studies my face.

I lock my hands behind his neck. He leans in to bring his lips to mine, but an unresolved issue turns my face away.

He groans and drops his forehead to my shoulder. “Fuck, what now?”

“Why are you half naked and sweaty?”

He gives me some space but won’t meet my eyes.

“And why are your jeans unbuttoned?”

A grimace twists his expression into one of shame.

He never denied there being a woman in his house with him. Nausea rolls my stomach. “Is there or is there not a woman in your house?”

Rolling his head back, he gazes at the sky before locking eyes with me. “You don’t understand.”

My heart races, blood pumping so hard I can hear it in my ears. “Don’t understand? Then explain it, Blake.” I’m yelling and probably getting the attention of his neighbors, but I couldn’t care less. “You make it seem like I’m the one who treated you badly this afternoon, but how long did it take you to fill your bed? An hour? Two?”

“Mouse—”

“Don’t.” I turn and head to my car. He doesn’t stop me. Not when I’m past the condo wall, not when I get to the top of the stairs to the parking lot, and not when I’m halfway to my car. My eyes start to burn. What just happened? I thought he wanted me there, but… I squeeze my eyes shut and refuse to let the tears fall.

Emotional and shaky, I fumble my keys at the Bronco door. They slip from my fingers. “Dammit.” I bend over to pick them up and move to shove the key in the door when two strong arms wrap tight around my waist from behind.

“Shit!”

He buries his face in my hair. “Don’t go. Please, sweetheart.” His arms grip tighter, clinging to me as if his life depends on my answer. “I’ll tell you anything. Just please… stay.”

My heart clenches at the defenseless sound in his voice. I smooth my hand over his forearms, willing him to loosen his hold. “I’ll stay, Blake.”

“It’s not a girl. I promise. I’d never do that to you. You have to believe me.” His words are rushed. The desperation in his voice makes him sound like a boy rather than the capable fighter, the man, I know him to be.

“I believe you. Let’s go inside so we can talk.”

He nods into my hair and releases his hold. Tugging my hand, he leads me back to his place. Once inside, he stops me in the foyer. His eyes dart around the room. Why is he so nervous?

“Blake, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

“I have to show you something. I’ve never shown anyone and…” He looks over his shoulder and down the hallway.

I tuck my clammy hands under my arms, adrenaline spiking. What could he possibly be hiding back there? “Does this have anything to do with what you were doing when I got here?”

“It does. It is. What I was doing when you got here.”

Something he’s never shared with anyone but me? My mind is my worst enemy as I imagine what he could be hiding.

“I was born with…” He runs his hand over his cropped hair. “Far back as I can remember.” Again, he looks over his shoulder and back to me.

As much as I want to reach out and touch him, to let him know I’m here in a physical way, his tense muscles and rigid frame tell me words will have to do. “It’s okay. You can trust me.”

He studies my face through narrowed eyes for what seems like forever.

“I’ve shared some really deep stuff about my past with you, Blake. I know what it means to have parts of you that don’t go public. You’re safe with me.”

He rakes his teeth over his lip a few times before he grabs my hand to lead me down the hall. My stomach jumps when he stops at the closed door across from his bedroom. He maneuvers me so that I’m facing the door, his big body pressed in behind me. I turn my head and peek up at him. His eyes stay glued straight ahead. Whatever’s in there is important to him. I only hope I can handle it.

“Open the door,” he says against my ear.

I nod and grab the door handle with a shaky hand. Steadying my breath, I turn the knob, and push it open. The light’s dim, but it’s bright enough that I can see the room’s contents. His body tenses against my back.

Holy Mary Mother of God.

Blake

Keep breathing, man.

For the first time since I filled this room, I let someone in. My stomach threatens to heave as I wait for Layla’s reaction. I hold my breath as she takes tentative steps into the room.

“Oh my gosh, Blake,” she says breathlessly, her gaze swinging around the space.

The wonder in her voice calms my racing heart. She moves around the room with the grace of an angel, and like the sun shining in a dark space for the first time, her presence chases away the shadows.

“Can you play all these?”

“Yeah. Every one.”

Her mouth forms the word wow. She moves to the piano in the corner. “Even this?”

I shrug and lean against the doorframe. “Especially that.”

“Amazing.” Running her hand along the glossy black edge, she moves to the wall of guitars. “And these?”

My answering nod drops her jaw. “I can play every instrument in this room.”

She shakes her head in what looks like disbelief, and I take a step into the room. Looking at the drum kit, she studies it for a moment then looks at me, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, I can play those.”

“Blake, that’s…” Her head pivots as she takes in the room while turning slowly in a circle. “Incredible.” The last word is spoken on a breathy sigh that makes me breathe a little easier.

I don’t know what I thought would happen. The shame I carry from my past about playing music is illogical. But it’s something that’s never needed to be shared with anyone else. There’s a deep-seated fear that if I let people in, I’d have to give it up again, just like when I was a kid.

“When? Er… how…” Her words trail off as she absently strums the strings of the Fender Stratocaster hanging on the wall.

“Started when I was two with my grandmother’s piano. I’d hear a song, climb up on the piano bench and pound it out.” It sounds simple, and it was. “Mom always said my brain worked backwards. I couldn’t take notes and piece them together to make a song. Instead, I’d hear the song as a whole and then break it down.”

“Why don’t you play in a band? ”

I move deeper into the room and sit on the couch, the only piece of furniture in here. Elbows on my knees, leaning forward, I summon the strength to tell her everything. Shit, I’ve come this far. I take a deep breath and turn to look at her. Her big, brown eyes search mine with a mixture of what looks like innocent admiration and curiosity. And damn if I wouldn’t tell her anything when she looks at me like that.

“I played piano until the day my dad had me kidnapped and taken to military school. My mom, she loved that I could play. Called it my gift.” I look at the carpet between my feet, unable to hold her gaze. “My dad forbade it. Called me a pussy and a fag for doing what I loved. He’d get all over my mom for encouraging it. After years of watching him beat her down verbally, I begged her to stop sticking up for me. I was eleven. I tried to stop playing, but fuck.” Nothing calmed me like playing, and the memories of struggling to stay away from the music break to the surface. “I snuck around for a long time, until my mom ratted my ass out.” I shrug. “He shipped me off to a place with no instruments and corporal punishment.”

She moves to the couch, but doesn’t sit. “What a dick.” Her tiny frame, looking cute as shit in her knee socks and short shorts, leans forward. She throws her hand out, motioning to the room. “He took your mother away from you and sent you to military school because you have a gift?” Her finger points at my face. “You better hope I never meet him, ’cause if I do, I’ll… I’ll…” She makes a fist and punches her palm.

I can’t keep my hands off her when she’s all flustered, angry, and defending me. I pull her into my lap. “That’s quite a threat, Mouse. I’ll make sure you two never meet in a dark alley.”

She smacks my chest. “I’m serious, Blake. I will kick his ass.”

A laugh bursts free from my lips, so powerful and cathartic that releasing it makes me feel lighter. “Nah, that’s not necessary.” My laugh fades to a chuckle. “Military school was good for me. Plenty of combat training. That’s where I learned to fight.”

Relaxing a bit into my arms, she grunts and crosses her arms over her chest. A few seconds of silence pass as we both look around the room. And fuck, it feels great having her in here.

“But why hide it? I mean, you’re free from his rules, on your own.”

“I guess it’s like you said. Old habits die hard. I’ve kept it to myself to, I don’t know, keep it safe?” It sounds stupid, but it’s the best way I can describe it.

“I get that.” A soft smile tips her lips. “Do you write?”

“No. Can’t. My head only works one way. Writing would be going the opposite.”

“Can you play something for me?” The hopeful sound in her voice makes it impossible to say no. But saying yes means I have to play for her. The first person I’ve played for in over fifteen years.

My heart kicks double time behind my ribs. “Now? Oh, uh…”

“If you’re not ready or whatever, it’s fine.”

“No, I mean, you’ve already seen the room. Might as well.” I lift her off my lap and set her on the couch.

I move to the piano and sit at the keys. My breathing is ragged. Sweat dampens my palms, and I swipe them on my jeans. Fuck, I hope I don’t throw up. “Um…” What in the hell should I play? My eyes meet hers across the room, and there’s nothing but acceptance and support radiating from her chocolate brown stare. Her hands are in her lap, and she sits on the edge of the couch, waiting.

“Okay, name this tune.” My fingers move along the keys like second nature, and music fills the room. I allow myself a few measures before looking up to see her expression.

She’s smiling her carefree grin and stomping her feet, laughing. “‘Brown-Eyed Girl’!”

I stop playing the Van Morrison song and grin. “Yeah.”

She claps and jumps up from the couch, moving to my side at the piano. I scoot over and pat the piano bench. “Here.”

“Do another one.” She sits and bounces excitedly.

“Another one. Hmm.” It’s not that I don’t have a million songs running through my head; it’s picking the right one. For her, in this moment of confessions and soul bearing.

She gazes at me expectantly, and I marvel at how beautiful she is, with the light sprinkling of freckles across her nose, her naturally pink lips, and all that long wavy hair. It’s as if every day I spend with her I discover something new that makes me like her more. That makes me fall harder.

It’s on that thought, I think of the song.

Again my fingers move across the keys, this time slower as I put everything I have into this one song. My chest feels like it’s going to explode, and I open my mouth and sing the lyrics. I can’t look at her. I won’t. If I do, I know I’ll screw it up.

I concentrate, hearing it in my head and mimicking the notes and tempo. Even though I’m not looking at her, I can tell she’s not moving. She’s still and completely focused on me. I close my eyes and allow myself to fall into the song, just like I do when I’m alone. Pouring my soul out in lyrical form. Exhausting myself emotionally while my fingers dance along the keys and my foot works the pedals.

Butterflies rip through my gut, as the words pour from my lips. The bridge picks up, and I lose myself in the meaning of it all. Opening this part of myself, of my life, and hoping the only girl I’ve ever cared about doesn’t reject me. I’m praying that this isn’t a dream, and when I open my eyes, she’s sitting at my side.

And if she’s not?

My dad’s wrong. I’m not a pussy. I’m a fighter.

If she walks away now, there’s no battle I wouldn’t wage to get her back.

Twenty

Layla

This song is for me. I’m sure of it.

Those may be someone else’s lyrics, but belted from Blake’s mouth, they’re his.

Even seated, my legs feel weak. My chest tightens with the warmth of his words. I’ve never heard anything so beautiful in my life.

His big hands dance along the keys with a grace that contrasts with his size. His eyes are closed, and I watch unashamed as the words flow from his lips and settle in my heart. And if that isn’t enough, his singing voice is breathtaking. Not angelic and benign, but dark with a hint of rasp that rubs against every nerve in an arousing caress.

Arched forward, he sways along with the music, as if his body’s one with the piano. My stomach flips, and I swallow hard. He makes the piano’s elegance seem sexy and insanely masculine.

The song slows to the final few bridges. The final note sounds, and he drops his hands to his lap, allowing the closing note to reverberate off the walls.

I sit in the silence, mourning the loss.

Studying his profile, I watch him stare at his lap. His strong square jaw flexes before he takes a deep breath and tilts his face to mine. He shrugs a shoulder and doesn’t look me in the eye.

My heart cramps. “Blake, that was breathtaking. I mean… wow, you can sing. Like, really sing.”

His shy smile is something I’ve never seen, and it’s even better than his cocky one. Or at least a strong second. “Yeah, not really.”

“Yes, absolutely really. I’m… speechless.” I lick my lips, suddenly nervous to ask the question that’s been picking at my brain. “What song was that?”

“‘Fall for You’ by Secondhand Serenade.” He runs his fingers along the keys. “It’s no ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls.’” An uncomfortable laugh escapes his lips.

“I like the song you played better.”

He finally meets my eyes, the smile wiped clean from his face. “You do?”

“A lot, actually.”

Something fierce and possessive flares in his eyes. He reaches over and turns me to him, throwing his leg over the piano bench so that we’re both straddling it facing each other. Hooking his hands beneath my knees, he tugs me close, laying my thighs over his own. “I meant it. The song. I sang it for you, and I meant it.” His eyes search mine, like he’s hunting for something in my expression. “I’m falling for you, Mouse.”

I cup his face and bring his lips to mine. Like the lyrics said, talk is cheap, so rather than waste my pathetic words, I’ll show him.

I’ve already fallen.

Our lips touch in a soft kiss, a meeting between two souls, both broken but not irreparable. His hands glide into my hair, and he holds me close with a tender passion that sends a rush of tingles over my skin. We tug at each other’s lips, taking our time to taste with unhurried swipes of our tongues.

“Snake,” I whisper against his mouth.

Keeping his hands locked in my hair and resting his forehead against mine, he breathes against my lips. “Yeah, Mouse.”

“Does this mean that we’re together? Like, exclusive?”

He pulls back, and his serious expression makes me suck in a breath.

“I don’t know how to do that. The boyfriend thing.”

“Oh…” I hold my quivering lip between my teeth at his brush off. Why is everything so confusing?

He hooks his fingers beneath my chin and brings my eyes back to his. “But if you think I just sang for a chick I’m not super serious about, you’re smokin’ crack.” A cocky smile pulls at his lips. “Not sure about the labels. I just want you. No one else. And if you want to see other dudes, it’ll end badly for those guys. But, your call.”

I pretend to consider his offer, even scrunching up my face and tapping my finger against my chin. “How badly?”

“Broken bones, screaming, lots of blood.” He shrugs and tries to force a serious expression through his grin.

“Hmm.” I lift my eyebrows. “It sounds like you’re asking me to go steady, Snake.”

“Call it whatever you want, sweetheart.” He runs his thumb along my lower lip, his face suddenly serious. “Just promise me you’ll give us a chance,” he whispers.

“That, I can do.”

His lips cover mine. He cups my bottom, tugging me close and eliminating the space between us. I fold my legs around his waist, holding his head while tilting my own. He groans down my throat, and my hips flex in response. I never knew it was possible to be so consumed by another person. As if every inch of him isn’t enough to sate my need for more.

“Mouse,” he growls against my lips and kisses down the front of my throat. His fingers slide up the back of my shirt and around to my bare breast. “Fuck.”

I drop my head to the side. He toys with my nipple and uses his mouth to torture the sensitive skin below my ear, unfurling my arousal.

Tightening my legs around his waist, I grind down, hoping he can feel how ready I am through his jeans.

“Ow, shit.” He breaks the kiss and looks down between us. “What is that?”

Huh? My mind is scrambled. He pulls against the elastic of my shorts, and the jingle of my car keys zaps me back. “Oh, my keys. Sorry.”

He tilts his head. “You keep them in your pants?”

I shrug. “These shorts don’t have pockets, so yeah.”

“You got anything else in there?” His voice is laced with desire.

“Depends. What’re you looking for?”

“I think you know what I’m looking for.”

I shiver. Yeah, I do.

He runs his fingers along my collarbone. “How much time to we have? Don’t want to start anything I can’t finish.”

The way he says that makes me think he’d feast on me all night if he could. The thought stirs my blood and tickles my nerves. He can.

“I’ve got all night.”

Blake

Best words I’ve ever heard.

But I’m venturing into new territory, exposing my secret and giving her a part of me that no else has seen. I don’t know where to go from here.

Confessing my feelings through that song was a risk. But that’s what she does to me. She strips me down, peels back the layers, and leaves me completely dependent. Weakened for that breath of time where I wait for her to let me know she feels the same.

And she does.

My heart races, and I feel a heat behind my ribs, a sensation that I now associate with her presence. The woman in my arms means more to me that I thought possible. And I have her all night. My pants get tight as my mind flips through the evening’s possibilities. Holding her, touching her, showing her all the ways I can make her moan. But we have time, and first, I want to give my woman what she came to me for.

Sliding my hands under her ass, I scoop her up off the piano bench. Her legs clench around my waist like we’ve done this a million times before. Effortless.

She locks her hands behind my neck. “Where are we going?”

“You came here to watch TV. My woman gets what she wants.” Walking out of the music room and down the hall, I freeze halfway to the living room.

I didn’t shut and lock the door.

“Everything okay?” she says.

My insides jump with unease. Leaving that door open feels like I’m letting down my guard. Giving my back to an advancing enemy.

It’s time I bury the past and move forward. And leaving that door open is the first step.

“Fuckin’ perfect, Mouse.” I smile and continue to move down the hallway.

“Oh wait. My phone.” She pats her hips, searching. “Axelle’s supposed to call when she’s back at her friend’s house for the night. I was so wound up when I got here, I forgot to get it out of the car.” She wiggles to get loose from my grip, but I hold her tight.

“I’ll grab it.”

I place her on the couch with the remote only to have her hop back up. “No, it’s cool. I got it.” She pushes past me toward the door.

Stubborn.

I grab her around the waist from behind and growl in her ear. “Not letting you walk to your car alone at night.” I kiss her head, breathing in the scent of her soft hair. “Got it?”

One hand reaches up and back to hook around my neck. “Ten-four, Snake.”

I release her with a firm smack to her sweet ass, and she jumps with a squeak.

She settles into the couch and flips on the TV. Snagging my tee off the barstool, I head out to her truck.

The cool night air does little to sober my love-drunk thoughts. Not love, but… intense like. It’s my experience that when something seems too good to be true, it usually is. And having Layla up at my place making herself at home, the door to my music room wide open, and me grabbing her phone from her truck feels really fucking good.

Phone in hand, I notice she has three missed calls. I fight the urge to spy. I’ve never been in a serious relationship, but I know enough about women to know they don’t like you snooping in their shit. I shove the phone into my pocket and hit the stairs to head up when something catches my attention. Across the lot is a silver sedan. The parking lights are on, engine running.

I look around to see if there’s anyone walking out to meet the idling guest. Nope, not a soul. Even though I can’t make out a driver, I send a glare in that direction. You’re on my radar now, bitch.

They’ve backed into the spot, windshield aimed directly at the windows of my place. Are they spying on us?

Blood torpedoes through my veins. My heart hammers in my chest. Aggravation pricks beneath my skin, and my muscles flex at the sudden stimulation. Pushing my rational mind aside, I move toward the vehicle. A whisper of possible overreaction ghosts through my head, but it’s quickly destroyed by my urge to protect.

With my fight in a few weeks, it could be paparazzi. But they usually only hound the title fighters. I’ve never had this kind of attention. Either way, I’ll protect Layla and our privacy. At any cost.

Stalking across the lot, I keep my glare locked on the driver side. I close in on the car when the engine roars. I pick up my pace. The car rips from the spot, nearly hitting me on its rush to exit the complex.

I knew it. I fucking knew it.

They were watching us, got caught, and ran scared. The red taillights blur as the car speeds around the corner onto the main road. Shit, it all happened so fast I didn’t get the license plate.

Scanning every car in the lot, I make sure my little visitor was working alone. Everything looks clear, but I can’t shake the fact that I’m being watched. The back of my neck prickles with the feeling of eyes on me from every direction.

I jog up to my place and lock the door behind me. Feeling uneasy, I head down the hall, shut off the lights to my music room, and lock it up. Is this what having a woman does? Makes you fuckin’ nuts?

Taking a deep breath, I head down the hall and to the couch. I drop down next to Layla, pull her to my side, and hand her the cell phone. She mumbles thanks, punches a few buttons, and puts the phone to her ear.

I stare out the big windows that span the entire length of my condo. I’ve never been private about who I have in my place. Some of my female guests enjoyed the window and got off on a little exhibitionism. But now, here with Mouse, I’m seeing floor-to-ceiling curtains in my future.

“…all right, sweetie. I love you.” Layla’s soft words drag my attention away from interior decoration. “Goodnight.” She ends the call and places the phone on the coffee table.

“Everything cool with Axelle?” I run my fingers through her hair.

She flips the channel on the TV once, twice, and one more time. “Yeah, she’s having fun. This new girl she’s hanging out with seems to be a good influence on her.” The channels continue to flip until an image of Julia Roberts flashes on the screen. Layla’s body tenses at my side.

What the hell?

Julia Roberts’s character is racing around an old house, being chased by some psycho guy.

“I hate this movie.” She flips the channel again.

“What was it?”

“Sleeping with the Enemy.” Her voice sounds hollow. “It’s about a woman who fakes her own death to escape her abusive husband.” She laughs, but there isn’t a drop of humor in the sound. “Art imitating life.”

I’m so curious, but not completely comfortable talking about her past. I suppose this is what a boyfriend is supposed to do though. His woman is hurting, he asks, listens, and then fixes. Right?

“How long ago did you leave?” Seems like a good place to start.

She drops her head to my thigh, rolls to her back, and looks up at me. “Hard to say. Mentally, I checked out about twelve years ago. Physically, it’s been forty-seven days.”

I lean back and spread my arms against the back of the couch, my muscles beginning to twitch at the very mention of her past. “How’d you get out? I mean, you didn’t fake your own death, or—”

A sweet smile curves her lips. “Nope, didn’t have to go that far.” The familiar dark shadows in her eyes move in. “But I would’ve if that’s what it took.”

“What happened?” I want her to continue because I know it’s good for her, but I’m terrified of how I’ll react if she opens up more. It’s taking everything in me not to put my fist through my coffee table as it is.

“I stopped… feeling.” She pulls at the ends of her hair and twirls a strand around her finger. “He was pissed at me for something stupid I can’t even remember. It was raining. He dragged me from my room in my pajamas and threw me into the backyard. Locked me out. I remember being wet, hearing my teeth chatter, seeing my bare legs tremble, but I couldn’t feel anything.”

I school my features so that she doesn’t see the rage boiling just beneath the surface. My hands fist into the couch, and I welcome the burn in my joints.

She shrugs. “I knew then that I had to get out. That if I was numb, it was only a matter of time before Axelle would go numb too.” She blows out a deep breath. “I filled out an online application on a career site the very next day, told myself I’d take the first job I was offered. Taylor contacted me three days later, hired me a few weeks after that.”

“Hm.” I nod and hope I’m succeeding in my SNL Church Lady “Well, isn’t that special” tone.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“I’d been saving money for years, hoping that one day I could take my daughter to start a new life somewhere warm. A place where it never rained.” Her thoughtful silence is heavy. “I filed for divorce, told Stewart we were leaving and, you know?” Her face crinkles up. “He wasn’t as upset as I thought he’d be. He must’ve seen that I was done. He let us go, no questions asked.”

My fury is overshadowed by my curiosity. Seems he let her go a little too easily. Dick like him goes to all that trouble to get the girl that doesn’t want him, and one day he just cuts her loose? Fishy.

She rolls to her side, pressing her cheek into my thigh, and resumes channel surfing. “Oh, I love this show. It’s Dog the Bounty Hunter. He’s so badass.”

Badass? So fuckin’ cute. I relax and take in the comfort of knowing she’s safe now, under my roof, and in my arms.

I don’t know what Stew’s motives were for letting go of his wife and daughter. Maybe an attack of conscience, possibly some slut on the side he didn’t have to hold down to get into. Don’t know, don’t care. But I’d like to thank the pecker-head for gifting his girls to me.

After I beat the living shit out of him.

Twenty-one

Layla

I’m warm. Wrapped tightly, but not smothered. Content.

When was the last time I felt this at ease?

Must be a dream. I allow myself the comfort, knowing that waking up will destroy my peace with reality. Just a few more minutes—a deep moan vibrates at my back and I’m shifted in position, my confines growing tighter.

I blink open my eyes. Where am I? The dark blue walls and mahogany furniture reek of masculinity. Just like the strong arms that cage me from behind.

I grin. Blake.

The last thing I remember is watching TV, my head resting on Blake’s lap while his fingers sifted through my hair. It felt so good to be caressed by his tender touch. I thought I could close my eyes for a second. So much for that.

The early morning sun casts the room in a yellow glow. The sound of his breathing at my ear is like a symphony of contentment that pulls my eyelids closed.

His hand skates up my body as he stirs from sleep. “Good morning, Mouse.” His voice is rough and so damn sexy. He rolls me to my back and climbs on top of me, settling between my legs. Oh, boy. Someone was having a good dream. He buries his face into my neck, dropping kisses against my throat.

“Yeah it is.” I spread my legs farther apart and welcome him closer. The heat of his morning hard-on presses against my panties. There’s no evidence of the shorts I wore last night. I wiggle my toes. Socks gone, too. “Did you carry me from the couch last night and undress me?”

“Guilty.” He drops to one elbow and rests his head in his hand. His eyes are really green in the morning. “Don’t worry. I didn’t do anything inappropriate.” A crooked smile pulls at his lips. “Unless you consider a little fondling inappropriate.”

I prop myself up on my elbows. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh yeah, sweetheart. I would.” His teasing smile confirms what I already know. Even in my sleep, I’m safe with Blake.

He slides my hair over my shoulder and heaves an exaggerated sigh. “I had big plans for you and this bed last night. You squashed that shit by falling asleep, but…”—he kisses the tip of my nose— “turns out, holding you in my arms all night was just as good.”

My cheeks burn at his compliment. “I slept better than I’ve slept in years, but I would have liked to…” I shrug, suddenly embarrassed at how blunt I’m being. “You know.”

He bites his lip, erasing his cocky smile, and grinds his pelvis into my hip. “No, Mouse. I don’t know. Tell me.”

Butterflies race from my stomach to my throat. The husky sound of his voice, the clear evidence digging into my belly—he wants me. Badly. Just as much as I want him.

“Sun’s barely up. It’s not too late.” I run my hand up his chest to rest at his nape. “We have a few hours before—”

He slides his hand down the front of my panties, turning my words into a gasp. I drop back onto the bed while his hand works between my legs in lazy strokes. Heat blooms below my belly button, and I arch my back.

He nips at my lips. “Let me know this is okay, Mouse.”

“Yes, you’re… this is way better than okay.” My breath catches in my throat as he thrusts two fingers in deep.

“Layla…” The sound of my name from his lips, said with such reverence, stokes my need.

I reach between us and wrap my hand around him, stroking the heated steel of his erection. His fingers mimic the pace of my strokes and fuel the flame of my arousal. He locks his eyes on mine, and we watch each other as the pleasure builds, bringing us both to the brink. Lips parted, eyes heated. Our hips roll and thrust, and we crawl toward the peak at an aching pace.

He leans in and nips at my lip again, his impatience mirroring my own. He’s looking for my permission.

“Yes, I want it. Make…” Not making love, not fucking… what is this? “I need you.”

His hand moves from between my legs to his side table. I slide off my panties as he rolls on a condom. He lifts me to straddle his hips, and grabbing the hem of my shirt, he tugs it over my head. Completely naked and exposed above him, he sits back and runs his eyes over my body in a visual caress. With gentle strokes to my thighs, he coaxes them wider. His gaze falls between my legs. My face heats, but I force my eyes to stay on him.

“Fucking gorgeous. Every inch.” He grips my hips and lifts me up. “Hold on, baby.” He guides my hips down, burying his body inside of mine.

I cry out against the delicious intrusion. Feeling confident, I move above him, slow and steady. He holds my hips, trying to control each stroke, but I keep the dragging pace.

Playing with the different ways I can move, I use him as a human experiment, and make notes of the subtle responses he gives. Arching my back, I roll against him in waves.

He pinches his eyes closed. “Shit, Mouse. You’re driving me crazy.”

My orgasm coils low, and the memory of what it felt like has me driving down harder.

“Fuck yeah, more.” His fingers dig into my hips, and he slams his hips into me.

My heart pounds behind my ribs. The muscles in my stomach tense, and my knees lock onto his sides. I match his pace, thrust for thrust, until I can no longer keep up.

He’s guiding my body on his, and I’m powerless to stop it. My stomach churns, and a feeling of foreboding pricks at my nerves.

Closing my eyes, I breathe deeply and tell myself that I like this side of Blake. His loss of control should be sexy, not scary. And it is. I’m not scared. I’m not scared.

He slams into me again. While keeping one hand on my hip to steady his thrusts, his other hand glides up to my breast. He kneads the tender flesh, and I relax a little. My shoulder muscles release their tension, and my orgasm builds.

Another slam of his hips. The dark shadows from my past linger in the distance, ready to pounce. I’m in control. I repeat the words over and over hoping it will pierce the thick skin of my fear.

My body lists, and he flips me to my back. His huge arms confine me to the bed, the weight of his body holding me down as he hammers into me.

I hold my breath. My throat closes up. I can’t swallow.

He runs a thumb across my nipple, pinching—Ow! A hiss of pain shoots from my lips. His eyes are closed as he continues pinching and pulling at my sore breast. My jaw locks down against a cry, but a whimper escapes my throat.

His eyes find mine. He blinks a few times, clearing the arousal from his expression. His eyebrows draw together. “Mouse? Fuck.” He rips his body from mine and scampers to the opposite end of the bed. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” Both his hands plow through his hair, over and over. “I’m sorry. I lost control for a second, but…” An agonized groan rumbles his chest. “I’d never hurt you. You know that, right?” He tips his chin to look at me. “Mouse? Talk to me. Tell me you’re okay.”

I nod and take a shaky breath. “I’m okay.”

“Really? Because you look terrified.” He drops his head, as if the shame of what happened weighs too much.

“Oh, uh… yeah, but that’s not you, it’s me. I need to—”

“No, don’t do that shit. This is not your fault. It’s mine. I just… something snapped, and it was like I couldn’t get enough of you.” He scrubs his face. “I’m losing my damn mind,” he mumbles into his hands.

My stomach drops at the genuine remorse I see in his face and hear in his words. He’s probably been with girls who love the aggressive sex. I didn’t hate his loss of control, or the power he threw behind his hips. I want him to let go when he’s with me. To experience the same freedom that I do when we’re together. But in order to do that, there needs to be trust. So the real question is, do I trust Blake? Trust him to be himself and let go, but not hurt me?

“I don’t want you to have to be someone else around me, Blake. You’re a fighter. You’re aggressive in the octagon and outside of it. And that includes what happens in your bed. It may take some time, but I’ll come around. Just, please…” How do I say this without sounding desperate? “Don’t give up on me.”

His eyes are big, as if he’s seeing a different side to me and it’s taking a moment to sink in. “Or you me.”

I hold out my arms and he falls into them. Things got intense, but he didn’t shut me out. I’m beginning to associate this selfless behavior with Blake. He’s always concerned for what’s best for me. But what about what he wants? I have to try harder to be the girl he deserves. Not the crybaby who can’t get over her past mistakes.

Starting with soft kisses of forgiveness, I work my mouth from his neck to his jaw. Breathing in his woodsy scent helps me to relax and re-awakens my need.

He runs his hands from my bottom to my shoulders, his hands worshiping with their touch. He treats my lips like they’re breakable, molding his to mine with the pressure of a butterfly wing. Tentative, allowing me to set the pace, he doesn’t push. Fire flames deep within, and the urge to lose control threatens to overtake me.

I dip my tongue into his mouth and moan into the slick, welcoming warmth. His hands flex against my hips as I move in a sensual rhythm. Pleasure zaps through my nerves with every unhurried slide.

Realization floods my senses. What Blake said last night is true. I can feel it now. This isn’t just sex; this is something bigger.

Rolling me to my side, he hitches my leg to his hip. “I promise I’ll go slow.”

My answer is in my kiss. I trust him.

He slides into me, slow and sensual. Long pulls followed by deliberate thrusts, as if each movement proclaims his promise. He’s not giving up on me.

Intense and unrelenting, my orgasm builds. I dig my fingernails into the firm muscles of his backside, pressing him closer, desperate for more. He breaks the kiss, panting, his face screwed tight. I pull his lip between my teeth. Please. He groans, a light sheen of sweat on his chest. He’s holding back, and it’s killing him.

“It’s okay.” My hips move on their own, attempting to draw in what he’s holding back.

He shakes his head, his breath coming faster, his grip tightening against my thigh.

“Please. I want it.”

With a slight recoil, he grimaces and shakes his head.

What can I say to get him to understand?

“Blake.” Cupping his jaw, I lock my gaze on his, and I’m met with his tortured emerald stare. “I trust you.”

His movements still, and he scrutinizes my face. With a shove off the mattress, he rolls me to my back. Hips pinning me down, his huge shoulders loom over me, and his arms lock me in. My heart hiccups with memories that melt away before they materialize.

Blake would never hurt me.

He flexes his hips and groans. “You okay?” His voice cracks, heavy with emotion.

“Mm, so good.” I grip his backside, urging him on.

He rears back and pushes forward with a little more force. Tingles of pleasure race up my spine. I moan and tilt my hips, taking him deeper. Again, he rocks into me, studying my response. I wrap my legs around him, locking my ankles behind his massive thighs. His movements become stronger, his powerful body unleashing all he’s been holding back in too-slow increments.

Leaning down, he nips at my mouth. I push up and suck his upper lip, then his lower. He collapses on top of me and takes my mouth hard. I meet every thrash of his tongue with a flick of my own. A growl bubbles up from his throat, and I swallow it down.

“Fuck, this is heaven.” His movements are more determined.

“Blake…”

“I know.” He kisses me again, hard and possessive.

Perfect.

Overwhelmed by the sensations of his powerful body commanding mine, and the patience he takes in caring for my feelings, I shed my inhibitions and toss caution aside. Lifting my hips, I meet his movements with a grind of my own.

“God, yes. Like that.” His heavy breath heats my overworked lips. He doesn’t look away from my eyes, and he picks up his pace.

I bite my lip. “I’m… it’s… Oh, my—”

A burst so big, beyond anything I’ve ever experienced, bows my body off the bed. A fervent cry explodes from my lips, the sound so powerful it bounces off the walls. Shards of euphoria explode from my core and race down my limbs.

His muscles tense, and he buries himself deep, groaning into my neck. I run my fingers through his cropped hair, holding him to me. The soft suction of his lips tug at the sensitive skin below my ear. Goose bumps race down my arms. Boneless, my legs fall open, and he drops his weight to cover me.

It’s hard to take a full breath, but I don’t care. Pressed into the bed with him on top of me, cradled between my legs, and our bodies still connected—I’ve never felt more protected. I’m floating, the burden of my shadows lifting as hope settles in.

All too soon, he rolls to the side, allowing me my first full inhale.

“Holy shit,” he says, out of breath.

Unable to move my soggy limbs, I turn my head toward him. “Yeah.”

He faces me. “Fuck, look at you,” he whispers. “Even better than I thought.”

“What did you think?”

“That you’re fucking gorgeous. That right when I think you can’t get any sexier, you do.” His fingers trace my cheek. “So damn pretty.”

I swallow against the lump in my throat. “You too.” I feel so much more, oh how I feel, but words fail me.

He kisses my cheek, lingering for a second before turning away. I sit in silence while he disposes of the condom. Crawling back into bed, he pulls me to his side, my naked body flush with his. “Talk to me. What are you overthinking?”

I giggle at his assumption. “I’m not, actually.” For the first time in a while. “But, I was thinking about work. It’s going to be impossible to not touch you when I see you there tomorrow. How are we going to play this so we don’t get caught?” I trace figure eights through his six-pack and smile at the goose bumps that follow my fingertip.

“Get caught?” He chuckles. “What’re we, twelve?”

“I read in my contract something about inter-office relationships. I didn’t pay too much attention, but I remember it was discouraged.”

“Shit, if Gibbs enforced that, he’d have to fire himself ten times over.”

I push up to rest my chin on his chest. “No way. With who?”

“Most of the Cage Girls, a few female fighters, and his last assistant.”

My eyes are wide, unblinking. “That’s unethical.”

“Not our business. But don’t worry about anyone raising hell about us. Besides, no way I’m not touching you at work. Shit. Impossible to keep my hands off you.”

I shiver and rest my cheek where my chin was.

This is happening. He’s confessed to feelings, I’ve done the same. We’ve had sex twice without any major breakdowns… on my part. Work’s covered. I need to talk it over with Elle, but she’s crazy about Blake. As long as she’s on board, there’re no more obstacles. I’ll have a boyfriend. A healthy, adult relationship.

And for the first time, the idea isn’t terrifying.

Blake

Nothing has ever felt this easy. Her head on my chest, her naked body pressed in tight, her finger tracing patterns on my skin—all of it is so new, but at the same time, completely familiar and as easy as blinking. I’m comfortable with her in a way I’ve never felt with anyone before.

We lie in silence, pressed together with the blood still thumping in our chests. Damn, I don’t want to move. Not an inch from this position, and I’d be content. Her stomach grumbles against my side. Clearly, biology won’t allow that.

“Hungry?” I run my fingertips up and down her spine.

“Yeah. I’m in the mood for pancakes.”

I grin at the longing in her voice. “There’s a great place not far from here. Best pancakes in town.”

“Mm, that sounds good. But, I don’t have a bra, remember?”

“Shit. How could I forget?” I squeeze her tight, remembering the warm heavy weight of her breast in my hands just minutes ago. “I think I might have some breakfast stuff here. How ’bout I make you breakfast?”

“Now you’re talkin’.”

Reluctantly, I let her go so she can pull on her clothes. I make no move to get up, and enjoy her body as it moves, her skin flushed from sex. Hot.

She searches the floor for something she can’t seem to find. Her eyes meet mine. “Where are my socks?”

“Don’t need ’em, Mouse. It’s hot as hell in here.” In more ways than one.

“My feet are cold.” She continues her search.

The memory of my first visit to her apartment, wearing those damn pink socks on her feet, flashes in my mind. What’s up with the cold feet?

“Your feet, but not your legs?”

She shrugs, a blush creeping into her already flushed cheeks. “Yeah. It’s weird, I know.”

I throw off the sheet and head to my dresser. Grabbing a pair of sweatpants for myself, I tug them on then open my top drawer for one more thing.

“Here.” I hand her a rolled up pair of my favorite socks.

She tucks her hands in close to her stomach and looks at my offer like it’s alive.

I laugh and push them to her. “Socks. Take ’em.”

“Oh, I don’t want to take your socks, if I could just find mine. Do you remember—”

“I want something of mine on you.” Whoa. What the fuck? But… yeah. That’s true. My woman’s feet are cold, I want to be the one responsible for making them warm.

Her lips part, and her eyes are wide. She’s silent.

“You gonna go statue on me or put the socks on so I can make you breakfast?” I shake the socks at her again.

She reaches out and grabs the rolled cotton. A slow smile spreads across her face. “The socks.”

“Good choice.” I lean in and drop a kiss on the tip of her nose.

She tugs the socks on and up to her knees. “Mmm, these are super cozy.”

I grab her hand, needing the feel of her skin on mine, and lead her down the hall.

In the kitchen, she doesn’t sit at the bar while I cook. She’s in there with me, moving around, while we laugh and joke about anything and nothing. I make coffee while she mans the griddle. Her outfit looks just as cute on her tight body this morning as it did when she stormed my door last night. And infinitely better now that she’s in my socks. I always thought women looked their best done up in tight clothes and freshly made up faces. I was wrong.

Her eyes catch mine, and a tiny smirk on her lips says that she knows what I’m thinking, and she likes it. Yeah, I’m definitely getting her naked again before she leaves.

I grab my supplements and stir together my morning concoction.

She flips four pancakes then turns to me. Her gaze falls to the myriad of jars and canisters on the counter. “What’s all that?”

I hold up my shaker-cup. “Shake. Doc’s orders.”

“Prescription shake?” She grabs the glass jar of liquid drops and brings it close to her face, squinting. “Do you know what any of this stuff is?” Her brows pinch together as she reads the fine print. “Theobromine? Nicotinamide Adenine Din—I can’t even pronounce that one.”

I swallow a large gulp. “Don’t know, don’t care. Doc says it’ll keep my back from flaring up, seems to be helping.”

She moves on to the canister of powder. “Do you know what’s in this one?”

I shrug. “Nope. Tastes like pickled dog shit though.”

Her lips twitch, and she tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I’m slightly grossed out that you know what pickled dog shit tastes like.” She scrunches up her nose, does an “icky” shiver, and smiles. “Okay, so I’m kinda like your girlfriend now, and I’m also a mom, so I have some experience in this area.” She raises her eyebrows, and I nod for her to continue. Hands on her hips, she juts out her chin. “You shouldn’t take anything, even if it’s prescribed by a doctor, unless you know exactly what it is.”

So cute. After staring at her for a few seconds, trying like hell to keep down the laughter building in my chest, I swallow in a final attempt. And fail. Laughter bursts from my lips, and I throw my head back.

“What?” Her shrieking question has me laughing harder. “It’s not funny.”

Still chuckling, I pull her into my arms. “Mouse, the UFL is a respected fighting organization. They’d never approve anything that wasn’t safe for their fighters.”

Hugging me around my waist, she lifts her gaze to mine and tilts her head. “I don’t know. I’d be nervous about putting things in my body that I can’t even pronounce.”

“Yeah? Can you pronounce Blake’s Snake?”

She smacks my chest, giggling.

“How ’bout Blake’s tongue? Blake’s finger—”

“Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you start growing feathers and laying eggs.”

Pulling free from my hold, she turns on her heel. Something catches her eye, and she whirls back around. “Pills too?”

“Calm down, sweetheart. Same shit. Pill form. Not a big deal. I told you the doc has me all hopped up on herbal shit.” I down the rest of the foul-tasting sludge and grimace. Yuck. “Tell you right now, I’ll sprout a garden out of my ass before I grow feathers.”

I watch as her eyes read line after line on the pill bottle. “Blake, there’s a lot of shit in here.”

“Is it herbal?”

“I think, but I don’t—”

“Then I don’t give a shit.” I rinse out my cup. “I have a fight in three weeks. I won’t go into it less than 100 percent.”

Turning back to the griddle in defeat, she shovels pancakes on a plate, chewing the inside of her lip.

I step up behind her and pull her in tight. “Mouse, you’re freaking out for nothing. I’ll toss all this shit the day of. I promise.”

Leaning back, she drops her head to the side. “I’m sure you’re right, and it’s all herbal or whatever. Ignore me. I’ve probably seen one too many freaky medical shows.”

I’m digging that she cares about what I put in my body. Shit, if the roles were reversed, I’d be drain dumping the stuff behind her back to keep her safe. But my pain is gone and my body is in top fighting condition, so I’m sticking with what works.

And for now, it’s Doc Z.

Twenty-two

Layla

Stuck in rush hour traffic on a Monday morning is not where I wanted to have this conversation. But after an hour-long session with the therapist turned into two, we’ve been unable to look each other in the eye. My stomach pitches. I had no idea how much she knew. I thought I’d hidden the worst of it. I was wrong.

I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Her gaze remains steady out the passenger side window. She doesn’t respond.

“That must have been…” Difficult? Agonizing? Mortifying? My grip on the steering wheel tightens, my knuckles paling with anger. He promised me she couldn’t hear. Now I know that she was angry that I didn’t leave years ago, to protect her from having to experience that. And all this time I thought I was doing what was best for her, when really I did the most damage by staying.

The truck inches along the clogged freeway. I check the clock. “You’re going to be about forty-five minutes late. Do I need to sign you in?”

“No.” She looks out the front window.

I take a deep breath. There’s so much to say, so much to confess, but where to start? “I’m sorry I let that go on as long as it did.”

That gets me her eyes for a few seconds before she goes back to staring out the window.

“If I’d have known that you… you… heard, um, that—”

“Dad raping you.”

I suck in a painful gasp at the lifeless way she mutters those disgusting words.

“I wouldn’t call it that, I mean… that’s something that happens between strangers and—”

“Oh my gosh, Mom.” She glares at me. “Just say it. He raped you.”

I swallow hard and shake my head.

She thrusts her hands into her hair. “This is what I’m talking about. How can we get through something you can’t even admit?”

“I’m sick about what happened. If I’d have known then—”

“It’s over. All that is over. But you’re never going to be able to work it out if you can’t even admit it happened.”

“I hate that we did this to you.”

“I hate him. I always have, far back as I can remember. All those times you asked me if I was upset about leaving, I wanted to scream that I’ve never been so glad to be gone. I hated our life in Seattle.”

“So that whole time I thought you were pissed that we left, when really…”

She sets her crystal-blue eyes on mine. “I was pissed we never talked about why we left. It was like we left living one lie to go live another.”

I take a moment to let that sink in. She’s right. Accepting what was really happening was one thing, but talking to her about it seemed wrong on so many levels. That was before I found out that she already knew.

I grab her hand and give it a squeeze. “You’re very wise. From here on out, no more secrets, okay? We talk about anything and everything. No judgment.”

She squeezes my hand back. “That sounds good to me.” I can hear the smile in her voice.

With a secure bridge built between us, the knot in my chest eases up. She’s almost seventeen, and with her life experiences, she’s a lot older than that. I’ve always tried to protect her like I would a child. But it’s clear she’s blossomed into a woman.

“What did you need to talk to me about?” she says, still holding my hand.

I retrace our morning and the afternoon before. We’d spent Sunday afternoon cleaning the apartment, grocery shopping, and doing laundry for the week. I’d mentioned that I had to talk to her about something. More like someone.

“Yeah, I uh… what do you think about Blake?” I try to keep my voice casual.

“I like him. He’s super cool, funny, cooks really good food.” She shrugs. “He’s good looking. I mean, what’s not to like?”

“What would you say if I told you that I agree?”

“I’d say that’s good, because if you didn’t I’d think something was seriously wrong with you.” She giggles.

“Okay, and what would you say if I told you I like him? A lot. And he likes me too?”

She cocks her eyebrow at me and smiles. “I’d say, no shit, Sherlock. Welcome to the party.”

“What?”

“Oh please, Mom. It’s so obvious. You guys are both all goo-goo eyed when you’re together.”

“We are not.”

“You so are.”

I laugh and think this is the longest conversation we’ve had in a long time. “We’re kind of…”

“Dating?” She smiles big, and her eyes sparkle.

“Yeah, er… if you’re okay with that.”

“You’re dating Blake “The Snake” Daniels, and you want to know if I’m okay with it?” Her high-pitched squeal fills the truck’s cab.

“Is that a yes?” I laugh.

“Hell yeah, it’s a yes! Killian is going to freak out when I tell him.”

I shake my head and wrestle against a grin.

Who knew a little honesty and communication could change our future outlook? It doesn’t mean that we’re fixed. But healing is ahead, and we’ve just taken one step closer to it.

Blake

“Take him down.”

“Get his leg, slam him.”

“There it is. Down, down, down.”

The shouted instruction from my camp pushes me on. Rex attempts to lock my legs. I’ve got half-guard and side control. He wants me off. Good luck.

Constricting my legs, I elbow his headgear. “Tap, bitch.”

The fucker laughs. “In your dreams.” He tries to land a punch to my head.

I tighten my hold. “If this was a dream, you’d be a lot prettier and have bigger tits.”

He pushes off the mat, forcing my arm to let go. I rear up, slam him back, and get full-guard. I can’t believe how strong I feel. My muscles are pulled taut, with energy to burn. The fight with “The Fade” is setting up to be the best of my life. I’ve never been so ready. As prepared mentally as I am physically. And Layla there cheering me on is going to push me past the point of excellence.

“All right, boys. Back to your feet. Let’s work on take downs,” Owen calls out from across the octagon.

We jump up and fist bump before we take our fighting stance. The shouts from Jonah and Caleb beyond the chain link resume. I’m focused on Rex, waiting for him to lunge or attempt to sweep my legs.

Sparring is my favorite part of training. It’s my chance to get in the octagon and put all the pieces together. To use the different fighting skills as an integrated weapon. And with my fight around the corner, spars like this are a dress rehearsal.

Seeing my opening, I lunge. My shoulder hits his thigh, and he buckles. Dropping to my knees, I flip him to his back and get the full-mount.

“Way to go, Blake.” The female voice, shouting encouragement, robs my attention. I look up to see Layla standing with the guys, her fingers curled around the fence, a wide smile on her face. Fuck, I’ve missed—my head slams to the side. The powerful punch to my headgear makes my brain sing. Damn.

“Who’s dreaming now, lover boy?” Rex throws me to my back, grinning.

“Ha ha, assface. Now get the fuck off me.” I shove him back, and he rolls to his feet. I pull my headgear off and move toward my now worried-looking girlfriend.

Girlfriend.

Owen throws his hands in the air. “Looks like Blake’s callin’ a time out. Five minutes and we’re back at it.”

I ignore him. I haven’t seen my Mouse since Sunday morning when she left after we had breakfast and a seriously hot naked clean-up session in my kitchen. No way I’m rushing through this. I step up to her from the opposite side of the dividing fence. She grips at it impatiently.

“Mouse.” I hook my fingers over hers.

“Hi.” Her whispered greeting comes with a smile.

“How was the appointment at…” My skin prickles with the weight of my training team’s stares. They’re standing around with their eyes plastered to our hands, eyes huge, smiles too fucking knowing. “You guys mind?”

“Nah, we’re good.” Rex rolls his gloved hand. “Continue.”

I swing my gaze back to find a red-faced Layla. She tucks her chin and giggles.

“They’re worse than women,” I say, earning me a glare from Jonah. “I’ll take a break. I want to hear about your morning.”

Pushing back from the fence, I move to exit the octagon. “I’ll be back in fifteen.” My eyes rake over her body. She’s wearing skin-tight leggings and a draped shirt that hangs off one tan shoulder. “Make that forty-five.”

The guys grumble something that I’m sure is filled with all kinds of pussy-whipped implications. And I don’t give a fuck.

I grab her hand and lead her to an empty conference room. Shutting the door behind her, I drag her to me. “Missed you.”

My arms burn to wrap around her, but after three hours of training, I’m a sweaty mess. Instead, I lean down and drop a soft kiss against her lips, waiting for her permission.

“Yes.” Her gentle consent is followed by the pressure of her mouth against mine. She glides her tongue along the seam of my lips and slips her hands up my shirt.

“Mmm, I want that, Mouse. But I’m all sweaty.”

She smiles against me. “I like you sweaty.”

Her wet mouth muffles my answering groan as I sink into the kiss. Vanilla and sugar, sweet and tempting, fills my senses. The large conference table that sits a few feet away calls to me. But that’s not why we’re here. Dammit.

“Tell me about the meeting.” I’m still holding her hand. I pull out a chair for her to sit in, and drop my ass on the table.

Without giving details, she tells me that it was difficult going into the horrors of the past, bringing up the old hurts and discovering new ones, but that they’re moving forward together and will be stronger because of it. My chest warms with pride. To think of the impossible obstacles this woman has faced, and yet she holds on, walks through her fears, and makes it to the other side unscathed.

“In the car on the way home, I told Axelle about us.” Her expression is solid, unreadable.

“Yeah? How’d that go?” My stomach rolls, and I lock down my leg to keep my knee from bouncing.

I need Axelle’s approval if I’m going to be hanging out with Layla on a regular basis. And needing someone’s approval is not something I’m used to.

She picks at a piece of nothing on her shirt and peeks up from beneath her eyelashes. “She’s cool.”

A waterfall of relief washes over my shoulders. “No shit?”

Her eyes sparkle, and a big smile pushes her lips wide. “No shit.” She jumps up and throws herself into my arms.

I put back a hand to keep from going horizontal on the table. “Careful, Mouse. Sweat, remember?”

“I don’t care.” She wraps her arms around my waist and nuzzles in.

The sound of her deep breathing against my neck has me reaching for her ass. “All good news, sweetheart. I’m happy for you girls.” I grab a handful of her bottom and squeeze. “How’re we gonna play this? I don’t want to freak her out, but I’m not stoked on the idea of sleeping without you in my bed.”

She pulls back and meets my gaze, her eyes tempered with lust. “How about you in my bed?”

“Bed’s a bed, Mouse. As long as you’re in it, I’m there.” It’s not the first time that I’ve been hit with a big fat fucking reality check. I’m dating a woman. She has a kid and a ton of baggage.

And none of that means anything.

“Blake? I want—”

“Layla, thank God you’re here.” Gibbs pushes through the door. “We need to go over the schematics for UFL 94.” He flips through papers, pulling out a few and shoving the rest aside. He doesn’t seem to notice or care that we’re wrapped up together in a room alone. “Oh, and we need to go over…”—he flips a few more pages— “the promo party at Flesh. Went well, and looks like you managed to stir up some gossip.” He finally looks up and notices what’s going on. He studies us for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yes, this is good.” He motions between Layla and me. “This is very, very good.”

Gibbs thinking the two of us together is good is most likely bad. All my protective instincts flare, shining bright with warning. I hop off the table and pull Layla behind me.

He chuckles and steps farther into the room, tossing a folder to the table. “I wanted to talk to you two. Guess this is as good a time as any.” Pulling a paper clipped stack of papers from the folder, he flips through them with a smirk on his face.

“You mind making this quick? I’ve got your paycheck to train for.”

He tosses a stack of online printouts on the table in front of us. “This is the story circulating.”

“What the hell?” Layla flips through page after page, handing them to me.

The photos are from Flesh. All at different times, but each one is of me with the busty brunette in various stages of our brief encounter. The headlines all speculate that we’re a couple. Annoying, but nothing new. Making something out of nothing to sell a story is what they do.

“Oh my God.” Layla’s face pales, and the paper in her hand trembles.

I look over her shoulder and read the headline: “Desperate Woman Tempts ‘The Snake’ With More Than a Flute”.

Snagging the page from her hand, I stare at the accompanying photo. It shows Layla and I in our standoff, right before she—oh shit. How they managed to snap a picture in the split second that Layla removed her top is a fucking miracle. They pixelated her bare breasts, but still.

“This is bullshit,” I growl and ball the offending paper in my hand.

“Mr. Gibbs—Taylor, I’m so sorry.” Her voice trembles with emotion. “I didn’t mean—”

“Sorry? Are you kidding? This is publicity gold.” He laughs hard and slams a pointer finger to an identical picture on the table. “You can’t pay for this kind of attention. I’ve made sure these photos stay viral—”

“You did what?” My snarled question makes Layla jump.

“It’s good business. And it’ll get a hell of a showing for your fight.” He claps slowly, still grinning, and my palms itch to wrap around his neck.

“Is this legal? I mean, how can they print a picture of me without my permission?” The panic in her voice escalates with each word, along with my anger.

Gibbs drops back into a chair and props his feet up. “Public place. The moment you walked in, you gave us the right to photo ops.”

I swallow the roar that’s clogging my throat. “Get the lawyers on it. Take the pictures of Layla down. She’s got a teenage daughter. The pictures of me should be enough.” My teeth grind down hard.

“No way. Her blurred chest is the money shot.”

I clench my fists and glare at Gibbs. The pounding of my pulse hammers in my ears. “Taylor—”

A warm hand rests against my forearm. “Blake, it’s okay. I’ll talk to Axelle. She’ll understand.” Her caress glides down my arm, forcing me to loosen my hand. She interweaves her fingers with mine. “Relax. She’ll never see these. I mean, maybe high school kids don’t read gossip magazines.”

Gibbs muffles a chuckle. He’s thinking the same thing I am. That every high school boy out there would absolutely be interested in this kind of gossip. Fuck.

“This one’s my favorite.” Gibbs tosses a sheet of paper across his desk.

It’s from the national gossip website In the Loop. The picture is of me leaning away from the topless brunette, pulling my hand from hers. The headline reads, “‘The Snake’ Slithers Away From Pregnant Girlfriend”. And Gibbs says this is his favorite.

“No fucking way.” My nostrils flare, and I suck in deep breaths. “I’ve never seen that girl before.”

“Doesn’t matter. This shot makes you two look familiar.”

“This is so wrong. So, so wrong,” Layla mumbles from my side. “She gave these people an interview saying that she’s pregnant with your baby.” Her gaze swings up to me. “What kind of person would make up a story like that?”

“Desperate.” I spit the word through my locked jaw. Fucking bitch.

“This is great stuff. I don’t see what you’re both so worked up about. As soon as the fight’s over, these rumors will disappear. Until then, we’re about to sell out UFL 94.” He claps me on the shoulder, and I jerk away from his touch.

He doesn’t pick up on my hostility and strolls out of the room like a man who just found out he owns China.

Layla spins to me, her eyes wide.

I bring her in for a hug, not only to hold her close, but because I don’t want her to see the violence raging behind my eyes. “It’ll be cool. I’ll take care of this.” I’m a lying bastard, and I know it. I have no idea how to fix this. What I want to do is pound Taylor’s ass, but that doesn’t guarantee anything except that we both lose our jobs.

I pinch my eyes closed and push back the fury, trying to think. Think, dammit. Foggy visions of a bloody beating and the satisfaction of squeezing the breath from Gibbs’s piece-of-shit body flood my thoughts. I try to shake it off. My bones feel hot, searing my veins and fueling my irritation.

“Blake, you’re… I can’t breathe.”

“Shit.” I release my death grip. “Sorry.”

Fuck. I’ve got to get a handle on this. Exercise the acid from my thoughts so I can think clearly and figure this out.

“I’ll see you later. I’ve got to get back to training.” I pity the poor bastard that’ll be on the receiving end. “Tonight. We’ll figure this out tonight. I’ll, uh…” My head is a tumble of nonsense. “Your place.”

I kiss her forehead and leave the room before I start tossing chairs and ripping doors from their frames. Heading back to the octagon, I shove past a group of guys, not taking the time to identify them. I see my team in a huddle around the heavy bags.

My feet move me closer. They stop talking and face me.

Jonah steps between the boys and me. “What the fuck? You okay?”

“Need to spar.”

“Shit, Blake. You look like you’re gonna fuck someone up.”

I nod. He’s right.

His narrowed eyes move from my face to my fists. “Shit.”

“Step aside.”

“Shit.” He puts his hands on his hips. “Fine. Gear up and I’ll meet you in the octagon.”

“Not you. Rex. He doesn’t have a baby on the way.” I know what’s about to happen. I don’t want to hurt Jonah. Rex likes the pain.

“Fuck no. I owe you.” Our eyes meet in a non-verbal tell. He’s referring to the cabin.

I shake my head.

“Don’t make me say it.” He thinks that because I let Raven go back into that cabin, I saved his life. No matter how many times I tell him it was Raven who’s the hero, not me, he won’t let up.

For the first time since my little pow-wow with Gibbs, my heart rate slows. He wants to return the favor. He doesn’t owe me a thing. But if I was standing in his shoes, I know he’d do it for me.

“Fine. Let’s do this.” I turn and head for the octagon, reminding myself that Layla and Axelle are my priority.

Jonah’s wounds will heal, but the scars my woman carries never will. And the scandalous crap out there is a jagged scalpel that cuts deep.

They can’t take any more. And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure they don’t have to.

* * *

Five minutes later, Jonah and I stand face-to-face in the octagon. Headgear, mouth-guard, and gloves in place, we bump fists. It’s on.

This isn’t about training. This is about burning shit off. Rex hangs nearby, probably to jump in if this gets ugly. And the way I’m feeling right now, shit’s definitely going to get ugly.

My eyes fix on Jonah’s, and my fists burn to make contact. Right now, he’s not my friend. He’s the answer to finding some fucking peace.

We circle around each other, and he waits for me to make the first move. Muscles clenched tight, my mind goes back to the conference room. The headlines. Layla’s body exposed. The UFL’s plan to capitalize on her embarrassment.

I throw my left fist. He dodges. I balance my weight. Flashes of Layla, her big brown eyes shining with tears, fill my mind’s eye. He moves. His arms wrap around my waist. My back hits the mat. I push with my leg, rage fueling my body.

He positions to lock my shoulders. “Fucking shit, man.” His grunted words sound strangled against the force of my hold.

Visions of a faceless man taking Layla against her will flood my range of view.

I flip on him. He’s down. I take full mount and rain punches to his headgear. A tiny voice whispers that this is dangerous. That Jonah can’t hold back once he gets pushed too far. And that’s exactly what I want.

I picture Layla alone at sixteen. Scared. Pregnant. Abandoned.

Anger, frustration, and helplessness swirl behind my chest. I swing my arms, kick my legs, and lock down on limbs. Our movements are a blur. Nothing is coherent, only the sound of our pained grunts filling the silence.

Someone calls to me. I ignore the interruption and push my body harder. More hits. Tighter holds. Another yell. My fists fly. Power infuses every cell. I’m lost in a fog that feels so fucking good.

Left-right-left-right

I’m on fire. Flying high and nowhere close to being finished. The violence rips through my body, doling out punishment. No one will fuck with her again.

I lose my breath. My throat constricts. The voice yells, but it’s distant. My arms are immobile. I’m pinned down. I thrash, fighting to get free.

And then it happens.

I’m fifteen again. Knocked from my bed and kidnapped. Blindfolded and thrown into a car. And all with the permission of the one person who’s supposed to protect me.

The fear is so real. A guttural roar rips from my throat. I throw my body forward, breaking free and swinging hard.

Another voice. Shut the fuck up. I throw a punch. Then another. I hit the floor, face down. Legs, arms, neck, stomach. I can’t move.

“Get off.” I buck against my captors.

The voice repeats until the words break through the haze. “Breathe, brother. Breathe.”

I push and arch my back. The alien rage thrives in search of release.

“This is fucked, Jonah.” Rex’s voice is close, but muffled.

“Shut the fuck up, Rex. Give him some time.”

My muscles kick and tremble. I take a deep breath. Blinking, I remember where I am.

How the hell?

I’m on my stomach. Jonah’s across my shoulders with my hands locked behind my back. And from what I can tell, the dick holding my legs is Rex.

I growl and pull to free my arms.

“Calm down, dude. I’ll let you go when you calm your ass down.” Jonah’s words carry a hint of warning. He’s not messing around.

I take in a few deep breaths to slow my heart, and my muscles relax. What just happened?

“I’m good.” I suck down a shaky breath. “I’m good.”

“All right, Rex… on three…” Jonah counts and they push to standing.

I roll to my back, one knee up, and one hand on my heaving chest. Jonah and Rex are standing a couple yards away, alert and ready. Seriously, what happened?

I push up to sitting and toss my headgear and mouth guard aside. “Why the hell did you dicks—oh shit!”

Rex’s left eye is swollen shut, and there’s a huge cut beneath it.

Jonah’s headgear’s off. He steps close, eyebrows slammed down over his eyes. “You don’t remember?”

“Remember? I thought we were sparring.” I motion between us. “Why’d you fuckers double team me?”

Jonah drops his gaze to the floor and shakes his head.

I look to Rex. “What?”

“You went fucking nuts, man. You wouldn’t let up on Jonah’s neck. I jumped in, pulled you off, you came after me.”

No shit? No shit!

I rub my temples. This can’t be happening. How could I go wild on my friends and not remember? I was so lost in the haze, swinging blindly. Rex wasn’t wearing anything to protect his head. Fuck. I could’ve killed him.

I feel the blood drain from my face. I’m lightheaded as I try to make sense of my scrambled thoughts. “I did?”

“Fuck yeah, you did. Some freaky shit. It’s like you weren’t there,” Rex says.

“Blake, dude, what the fuck is up with you lately?” Jonah’s words aren’t pissed, but concerned.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “I told you. Something sets me off.” I shrug. “I can’t control it.”

Just. Like. My. Dad.

Jonah gives me a hand and pulls me to my feet. I move to Rex, but have a hard time looking at his face. I can’t believe I did that.

I hold out my gloved hand. “I’m sorry, man.” Nothing I could say would be enough. “I feel like shit.”

He shakes my hand. “No need for apologies, bro.” He licks at the trail of blood that made its way to his mouth. “I like it.”

Jonah chuckles at my side. “Crazy motherfucker.”

“Still, you should have Doc Z check that out. Might need a stitch.”

He wipes at his eye. “Nah, nothing a little ice won’t fix. You guys cool?”

Jonah and I nod.

“The Fade is fucked come fight night. That’s all I’m sayin’.” Rex walks away shaking his head.

There’s something I should say. An explanation as to why I lost my mind back there. “Shit’s getting worse.”

“What?”

“My temper. Think I’m turning into my old man.” A wave of nausea turns my stomach.

“Can’t turn into anything you don’t want.”

I sure as shit don’t want to be like my dad, but this is happening more and more, and I have zero control. Now I know how Jonah must feel. “How do you lock it down? Keep from flippin’ out?”

“Before Raven, I couldn’t. But now it’s easy. I think about her, our baby. Too much to lose to go all psycho on a fool.” A wicked smile tips his lips. “That’s how I kept from killin’ your ass just now.”

I’ve got a woman, but bringing her to mind only fuels the beast inside rather than subdue it. This is so fucked up.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll give that a try.” My voice sounds flat in my ears. “I’ve got to run.” I pick up my gear and head to the locker room. Before I get a few feet from the octagon, Jonah calls my name.

I turn around and he’s gripping the chain link. “We’re even now.”

The corner of my mouth ticks with a grin. “We’ve always been.”

He gives me a chin lift that I return, and I head off in search for some peace. Something to ground me while the tornado rages in my head. I make a plan to swing by my house before I go to Layla’s.

A session alone with the music should do the job.

If not, I’m royally fucked.

Twenty-three

Layla

“Hey, Mom?” Axelle’s words come from behind me as she heads from her room toward the kitchen. “Would it be okay if—whoa! Are you cooking?” She peers over my shoulder to the cutting board, where I’m cutting a bok choy.

“Yeah, don’t sound so surprised.” I throw a teasing smile her way. “I got paid and thought I’d make dinner for dinner.” I shrug, waiting to gauge her reaction before I tell her about the evening’s guest.

“Cool.” She drags a chair out from the table and sits. “Um… in two weeks there’s a dance thing. It’s one of those girls-ask-the-boys deals. I think I know who I want to ask but I don’t know if I should.”

Two things hit me at once. One, my daughter is asking for my advice. And two, she’s opening up to me about a boy. The combination of these realizations makes me smile into my shoulder.

I school my expression and give her my attention with a casual turn of my body. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.” She pulls at her bottom lip. “I guess I’m afraid it might change things between me and him.”

“Does this boy like you?”

“As a friend, yeah.” A slight blush colors her cheeks. “But more than a friend? I don’t know.”

“But, you like him.” My lips pull up at the edges. “More than a friend?”

“It’s hard to say, I mean, how can I tell? I like hanging out with him, but I don’t know. It’s confusing.” She drops her head to the table. “Ugh.”

I sit across from her at the table. “Tell him that. Explain what you just explained to me, that you want to go with him, but that you value the friendship and don’t want to ruin it. Then, see what he says. My guess? Killian would be honored—”

“Mom!” Her eyes are wide and her cheeks flame.

“What? You didn’t think I’d figure that out?”

She smiles and shakes her head. “So you think I should ask him?”

“Absolutely. Just tell him you want to go as friends.”

After exhaling a long breath, she nods. “You’re right.”

“I’ve invited Blake over for dinner.” My attempt at casual comes out in a rushed mumble. I clear my throat. “He should be here soon.”

“Ah, so that’s what all this cooking is about. You’re trying to impress your boyfriend.”

Her teasing is payback, and my face heats. I go back to my food prep, hiding my immature reaction. “Yes and no.”

“What’re you making?”

“Stir fry.”

She hangs out with me while I chop, and we talk about school, laughing together as she shares her life with me. My chest is tight with emotion, evidence that things are looking up.

When the slicing is done, I place the wok over the burner and mix the sauce. A knock sounds at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Axelle chirps and skips off to let Blake in.

“Hey, kiddo.” His deep voice blasts a shiver along my skin. He tousles Axelle’s hair as he passes her and steps into the kitchen. His heated stare warms me in an instant. “Mouse.”

“Hey.” I close the space between us to give him a hug.

He wraps his strong arms around my waist, pulling me to my toes. “What’s going on in here? It looks amazing.”

Smiling, I pull back, but keep my hands locked behind his neck. “I’m making dinner.”

His expression goes soft in a way that I feel in the most sensitive places. “That right?”

“Yeah.” As close as he is, I notice shadows beneath his eyes that weren’t there earlier. I run my thumb across his cheek. “You okay?”

He drops his gaze. “I’m great.”

Why don’t I believe him?

“Did something happen with Taylor after I left?”

“No. I’m fine, really.” He lifts his chin and smiles. “Yo, Axelle?”

She turns toward us, a sly grin on her lips. “Yeah?”

“You cool with me dating your mom?” His eyes are still locked on mine.

She giggles. “Yeah, I’m cool.”

“Fantastic.” He leans in and drops a feather-light kiss on my lips. “Stoked that you cooked for me, sweetheart.” One more kiss to my forehead and he backs away. “I’m starved.”

My legs are wobbly, like they always are after Blake gets close and whispers sweetly. He keeps his hands at my waist until I’m able to stay upright, and then heads deeper into the small kitchen.

The three of us hang out together while I sauté the chicken and put the finishing touches on the food. It isn’t long before we’re huddled around the table, eating and laughing.

“Your boy Killian’s a quick learner. Taught him a complicated leg lock today. He picked it up, no problem,” Blake says to Axelle before forking a bite into his mouth.

“He’s not my boy.” She ducks her head and pushes her food around the plate.

Blake’s gaze travels from me to Axelle and back. He knows. I can see it in his eyes. I shove a bite full of chicken and broccoli in my mouth to avoid giving her away.

“Not your boy…” His words trail off as he waits for Axelle’s reaction.

Her food is now the most interesting thing in the room, and she looks at it intently.

“Huh.” He drops his fork and leans back in his chair. “What’s up with you and Killer?”

This gets her attention. Her head flies back, and her eyes are wide. “What? Nothing… er… what?”

A slow and very sexy smile crawls across his face. “Damn.”

“Axelle and Killian are friends, Blake.” I shove another full bite of food into my mouth. At least the incessant chewing will keep me from smiling.

“Friends.” He narrows his eyes on Axelle. “That’s too bad. The kid’s crazy about you.”

Elbows on the table, she props her body forward. “Really?”

“I asked him how you two were getting along while we were working out the other day. He stuttered and dropped a dumbbell. Damn near broke his foot.”

I sit back and watch Axelle and Blake go back and forth. She’s so comfortable. In our old life, she’d never open up like this. Especially not with Stewart.

“I was thinking about asking him to the Valentine’s Day dance.”

Blake’s smile drops. “Valentine’s Day? When’s that?”

She laughs, her eyes darting between Blake and me. “February fourteenth.”

I busy myself by clearing the dishes from the table. I don’t want Blake to feel pressured by a stupid holiday that was invented by greeting card and chocolate manufacturers. We’re adults, after all. Valentine’s Day is for romantics and young lovers. A twinge of disappointment pinches my chest. Stewart’s idea of celebrating any holiday was to get what he wanted from me. I wonder what it would be like to celebrate feelings with someone I really like. To dress up, go out to a romantic dinner, feed each other bites of something expensive and chocolaty.

I’m jarred from my thoughts when firm hands grip my hips from behind and hot breath at my ear. “That was delicious, Mouse. She’s in her room.” His lips kiss a trail from my ear down my neck in an unhurried tease. “Fuck, you taste so good.”

Tilting my head, he continues to suck and lick at my shoulder.

“What time does she go to bed?” Another pass of his warm tongue. “I’m ready for dessert.”

“I uh…” The combination of his mouth and his growled words against my heated flesh have me writhing and unable to speak.

“Yeah, you’re ready, too.” He bites down, pulling at my skin with a deep suck and then releasing it. “My Mouse is hungry.”

A whimper drips from my parted lips. “Yes.”

At the sound of Axelle’s door opening, Blake’s gone. The cool air of his absence hits my back. I grip the counter’s edge to catch my breath. The water’s still running in the sink. I shake off the fog of arousal as Axelle makes it to the kitchen.

“I’ll be back in an hour or two.” She grabs the keys and her purse from the counter. “I’m meeting Killian for coffee. I’m going to ask him.”

Blake’s leaning casually against the fridge, his eyes fixed on her. How can he look so unaffected when I’m a walking poster child for sexual frustration? His gaze swings to mine, the fiery green giving him away. Well, that’s a relief.

“Sure thing and uh… good luck.” I wink at her and resume my dish duty.

“Later, Blake.”

“Later, kiddo.”

The second the door shuts, I flip around and Blake stalks toward me. We crash together. His lips move against mine, and he grips my backside. I hop up to wrap myself around him. Arms around his neck, legs around his waist, I grind down into the firm bulge of his pants. He growls deep and moves us down the hallway to my bedroom. Our tongues lash at each other, hungry, searching, and needy. He doesn’t toss me to the bed, but drops a knee and climbs on, our bodies never breaking contact. I gasp for breath.

“This okay?” he asks, his chest heaving against mine.

“Off.” I tug his shirt over his head.

I pop the button of his pants, shoving them, along with his boxers, down his legs. I’m crazy with the urgency to feel the heat of his skin as he covers me with his weight.

“Arms up.” His command pierces my lust-laden brain, and I comply.

He tosses my shirt to the floor, followed by my bra. My leggings and thong are all that’s left, and those quickly find their place in the pile. Our legs tangle together. His hands grip my hair, and he kisses me deep and hard. Yes. I dig my fingers into his biceps, pulling him to me, needing more of him, all of him.

“Blake…”

“Fuck yeah.” He buries himself inside me with a long, powerful thrust.

My back arches off the bed with a moan that bursts from my throat. Nothing has ever felt this good.

He pulls almost all the way out, only to drive in deep. “Mouse, are we okay?”

“I’m okay. Just… more…” My words dissolve into a groan as he drives into me again.

He tucks his knees beneath him. Hooking my waist, he pulls me up. Our faces just inches apart, he dips his chin and stares at me with predatory desire. My stomach clenches with need. He takes one nipple into his mouth. With silken thrashes of his tongue, my orgasm builds and pushes for release.

Gripping his biceps for leverage, I lean back and roll my hips, dragging him in and out while he works my breasts. My stomach tightens. Exquisite tension spirals as he pushes me to my peak. He cups my ass, tilting my hips with a final thrust.

I cry out, tossing my head back as he holds me in place. My body convulses around him, muscles quivering to stay close against the blinding orgasm that ignites within. His strong arms keep me still while I fall apart in his embrace. Shockwaves pulse through my body before my arms go limp.

He lays me back. “Damn, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

“I can’t move,” I say through a sated smile.

“Don’t you worry.” He drops a soft kiss to my lips. “I’ll do the movin’.” Hooking me behind my knees, he brings my legs up over his shoulders. “Oh, fuck…”

His pace quickens. I focus on the ripples of his abdomen as they flex and release. Strong fingers pinch at my hips. His pecs contract, straining with the effort of his movement. My gaze slides up his body until I meet his eyes. They’re locked on mine. Never wavering, I’m mesmerized by the appreciation I see, the emotion and tenderness reflecting from his raw stare.

A mighty roar echoes through the room as he seats himself deep. His grip digs into my thighs, and his body goes solid. Tendons pop on his forearms and neck. Towering above me, his body relaxes, and he catches his breath. He drops my legs from his shoulders and rubs his hands up and down their sore muscles.

“Mouse, baby.” He groans and drops his weight on top of me. “That was unreal.”

I grin as much as I can with every part of me feeling like Jell-O. “Yeah, it was.”

He moves inside me, pulling out slowly and pushing back in, then freezes. “Oh, shit. Fucking shit!”

Faster than my sluggish brain can register, he’s off of me and standing beside the bed. I push to my elbows, and I’m practically knocked out by the sight of him. Gloriously naked, still hard, and without a condom. Without a condom.

And that would explain his freak out.

“Fuck, Mouse.” He runs his hands over his head to rest them at his nape. “How could I be so stupid?”

“Blake—”

“I should have known. It felt too good.” He paces the short length of my room. “So fucking stupid.”

I know from working with the UFL that the guys get tested for blood diseases all the time. He could be worried about catching something from me, but I’ve only ever been with Stewart. And I got tested at every physical, just in case I wasn’t the only woman he tormented with his sexual charm. Yuck. “If you’re worried about me, I’m clean. And you guys get tested every six months.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m clean too.” He continues his pacing.

He’s clean, I’m clean, so the only other thing to worry about is pregnancy. But that’s impossible. I have every intention of explaining this to him, but first I take a moment to enjoy the incredible show he’s giving me by passing his perfectly sculpted and very naked body by me time and time again.

“Fuck, Mouse.” He stops at the end of the bed and turns toward me, tall, tan, and mouthwatering. “What if I got you pregnant?”

“Huh?” I blink and try to meet his eyes, but damn, the competition is fierce.

“Huh? Mouse, did you hear what I said? I just came inside you.”

Pushing up to my hands and knees, I crawl toward him, making sure to toss a seductive swing in my hips. His eyes go wide, and his dick jumps. I use my hands to crawl up his body and lock them behind his neck. His face shows concern, but his hands grip my hips and pull me to him.

“Can’t get pregnant. I’m infertile.”

His eyebrows pinch together in concern as he studies my face. “Fuck, sweetheart…”

“It’s okay. I’ve come to terms with it. Besides, I have Axelle, and you’ve seen what a bang-up job I’ve done with her.” I avoid his eyes and laugh, trying to defuse the tension that’s settled in the air.

His hands sift into my hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He studies my face. “Still, I should have taken better care of you and made sure to get a condom on. Infertile or not, that was a dick move on my part.”

I run my thumb between his eyebrows, smoothing the lines formed from his scowl. “Stop. Passion took over. What’s done is done. I don’t regret a second of it.”

He nods and pulls my face to his neck. Cupping the back of my head, he holds me there. “You’re right. So uh… if we’re, ya know, exclusive, does that mean no more condoms?”

I grin at the hopeful sound in his voice. “It’s okay with me as long as you’re comfortable with it. Although…” I pull back and meet his eyes. “If I get to watch you pace the room naked every time we forget a condom, I’m all for that plan.”

He flashes his signature crooked smile and then takes me to the bed with a growl. “You want a naked show, baby, you just ask.”

We hold each other in bed, nothing between us. No clothes, no secrets, only the airy feeling that comes with unburdening.

Blake

I’m lying with my girl in my arms. Her head on my pec and her sunshine-colored locks sprawl across my shoulder. I count our breaths as they align in rhythm. Three beats in, three beats out. In her bed, staring at the ceiling, my head fights to sort what I’m feeling.

Infertile.

I didn’t ask for more. I don’t want to know how or why she can’t have more children. The fact that God would rob a woman like her of the ability to bear life cramps my chest. I swallow back the lump that threatens to close my throat. And why the fuck do I feel like I lost something I never had?

“We better get dressed. I’d hate for Axelle to find us like this on our first sleepover.” She kisses my chest, then runs her nose along my skin and breathes in deep.

My heart beats a little faster, the blood in my body reawakening to her touch. I wrestle my thoughts into submission. Gliding my hand up her spine and into her hair, I bring her mouth to mine. I pull at her lips until she opens to let me in. Our tongues glide together in a sensual promise. We’re not through with each other, but now’s not the time.

With a nip to her lower lip, I end the kiss. We get dressed, her in a pair of sweatpants that she rolls twice at her waist, and a ribbed tank top. I throw on my pants and thermal. She moves to her dresser, tugging open the top drawer and pulling out a fluffy pink ball of cotton.

I bite my lip against a smile. The socks.

“My woman and her cold feet.” The memory of what those socks did to me the first time I saw them makes my mouth water. She drops her ass to the bed and slides them on one by one. And just like before, my shorts get tight. What is it about those socks?

I hold out my hand and pull her into my arms, kissing her head. “Channel surfing?”

“Perfect.”

It isn’t long after we sit on the couch in front of the television that the lock on the door clicks. Axelle walks in and drops her stuff on the kitchen table.

“How’d it go?” Layla calls from the couch, her body in a ball at my side.

Axelle stops just shy of the hallway, her gaze still fixed on the floor.

Layla pushes up and pivots her body to face her daughter. “Axelle? Everything okay?” A tremor of worry laces her words.

I stand and move toward Axelle, but stop a good distance away. My shoulders get tight. Something’s off. And then I hear the telltale sniffle. She’s crying.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Not the smoothest thing to say, but I have zero experience in this area. All I know is that my woman’s kid is upset. This will upset my woman. I need to fix it.

Layla rushes to Axelle, throwing her arms around her. “Oh, sweetie. Did he say no?”

Say no? Killer? No fucking way. That kid’s a breath away from genius, and only a stupid fuck would say no to a girl like Axelle.

“He said yes,” she whispers into her mom’s shoulder.

Layla pulls back and gives her daughter a shaky smile. “Well, babe, that’s good.” She brushes Axelle’s hair back from her face. “Why are you crying?”

“There were—ugh, they’re so stupid!” She wipes at her eyes and tucks her hair behind her ears. “Kids from school were at the coffee shop. They had… pictures… printed out from some stupid website.”

“Fuck,” I growl over Layla’s audible gasp.

Her wide, panicked eyes find mine.

Axelle sniffs. “They were passing them around. Telling me they were going to show the teachers and principal tomorrow. Started making jokes about…” She shakes her head.

Fucking asshole kids. What I wouldn’t do to go down there and scare the piss out of them. “What did Killer do?” That little shit better have done something, or he’s going to have to answer to me, and he won’t like what I have to say.

Her face crumples as she sobs. “He told the guys to shut the fuck up. They started pushing him and…” She covers her face and cries.

“Is he okay?” Damn, first these douche-bag dicks are messing with Axelle, and now my boy Killer?

“They hit him once, but he did some crazy move with his arms and got the guy in a headlock. He choked him until the guy passed out, and the rest of the jerks took off.”

Sleeper hold. Nice to know my work with the kid is paying off.

Layla frames her daughter’s face, forcing eye contact. “I’m sorry that happened to you guys. I meant to talk to you about the photos, but I didn’t realize how quickly they’d spread. It’s only gossip.”

“Mom, the picture is real. The picture isn’t gossip. Did you really take off your top? In front of all those people?” Her voice is strong with frustration, possibly shame.

Layla’s eyes slide to mine then back. “No. I didn’t. It was an… inside joke between Blake and me. They took that picture at the worst possible time, and I… I…”

“Your mom’s a good woman, kiddo. You know that. I know that. Who gives a flying fuck what anyone else thinks? Those kids from school are mean, insecure, and jealous as hell. You’re a sweet girl, you’re smart, you’re drop dead pretty. People will do anything to take a girl like you down.”

Her blue eyes, shining with tears, stare into mine. She doesn’t talk, but looks at me as if she’s hearing a foreign language that she’s desperate to understand.

“I realize that you’re being forced to face things, mature things that a sixteen-year-old girl shouldn’t have to deal with. But this is life, and life can get ugly. Your mom loves you. Together, you girls can get through anything. Including some piece of shi—crap, gossip. You feel me?”

She blinks, looking stunned, then gives a slow nod. Layla’s cheeks are streaked with tears that she makes no effort to hide. On instinct, I take the few steps and pull them both in for a hug. They melt into my body, each wrapping one arm around my back.

I kiss Layla’s head. “With my fight coming up, things are going to get worse before they get better. If you girls are up for the challenge, we’ll get through it. Together.”

They hold on tight, neither of them saying a word.

“What do you say?” I release them and wait for their answer.

Layla looks to her daughter. They do some of that non-verbal conversation crap that chicks are so good at, and smile.

Axelle stands tall, tucks her hair behind her ears, and dries the moisture from her eyes. “Yeah, we can handle that.”

A smile curls my lips. “Sweet. Now, who’s up for some crappy TV?”

“Oh, me. River Monsters is on at nine.” Axelle takes off down the hallway to her room. “Let me throw on my jammies.”

My eyes move to Layla. Her lips are parted, and one hand is placed over her heart.

I shrug. “What?”

She turns to me slowly, her face soft… “That was perfect. I mean… thank you.”

“Not a big deal, Mouse. Just speaking the truth. She’s a smart girl. No use in candy-coating.” I lean against the wall. “Gotta say though, I’m barely restraining myself from going to the coffee shop and teaching those little shits a lesson. You fuck with my girls, you fuck with me. And that—oomph!”

She barrels into my chest, and I have to catch my breath.

Her arms wrap me up. “I…”

“You what, sweetheart?” There’s no way to know, but something about her trailing off sounded like she was about to say I love you.

“I… am in the mood for ice cream.”

I sag against the wall, my body heavy under her words. Is it possible that I want her to love me? Even if I can’t say the same? I do like her, a lot, to the point that being away from her for even the smallest fraction of time is physically painful.

But love? No. No way.

Love is something that grows over time. Not a fleeting feeling to be thrown around casually and tossed aside when it no longer suits.

A quick burst of adrenaline spikes in my blood. What have I done? I’ve been flying on the high of hot sex and mushy feelings. I haven’t stopped long enough to think this through. Now I’ve got a sixteen-year-old girl depending on me to shield her because I’m having more than simple feelings for her mom. The room gets small and closes in. What if things don’t work out? I mean, it’s bound to end sooner or later, unless we get married.

Me? Married?

That was never part of the plan. All my daddy issues combined with the fact that I’m a dick does not a husband make. Or a stepfather.

Yeah, it’s decided. She can’t love me. Love equals expectations. Expectations lead to disappointment. And disappointment is the death of marriage.

It’s good that she doesn’t love me.

Fucking splendid.

Why in the hell do I feel like I’ve just been punched in the stomach?

Twenty-four

Blake

It’s been one week since I tore shit up with Jonah and Rex, and I’m still crawling in my skin. Nothing’s helping. My music no longer makes a fucking dent in my hostility. I feel great when I’m with Layla, but one mention of her past and—fuck.

I’d been convinced that it’s genetic, but if that were the case, it would’ve started earlier than a few weeks ago. I wrote it off to my protective side kicking in, since having Layla in my life has brought out a possessiveness that I didn’t know I had. But that doesn’t explain the paranoia and the rage that constantly lurks just beneath the surface.

It’s time to get some help.

I drag ass to Doc Z’s office as my last resort. Opening up and exposing a weakness is a rule one no-no in my book. But I’m out of options and looking for answers.

Knocking twice, I crack the door. “Hey, Doc. You have a minute?”

“Oh, sure.” In a quick move, he shoves paperwork into the top drawer of his desk. “What’s up?”

I step inside the small room, and the smell of antiseptic and Ace bandages fills my nose. Closing the door behind me to avoid being overheard, I sit where Doc motions for me to take a seat. “Is it your back? Do you need another round of cortisone?”

“Nah, it’s all right. But I may need another dose before the fight.”

“That’s two weeks away. You might want to get a jumpstart on the pain so you don’t compromise your training.”

“Sure, uh… yeah.” Whatever. That’s not why I’m here. Spit it out, Daniels. “I wanted to talk to you about the supplements I’m on.”

He sits up taller and then leans onto his desk. “Okay, what is it—” His forearm hits a stapler, sending it crashing to the ground. He leans over to grab it, and then puts it back on his desk. Is his hand shaking?

I narrow my eyes at him. He seems off. Fidgety. “You okay?”

“Of course.” He flashes a weak smile. “Go on.”

My fingers drum against my thigh. “It’s my temper. I don’t know how to explain it, other than it’s been more intense than usual.”

Doc Z nods empathetically like a good little therapist.

“I was thinking about it the other day, and… it seems like it might be the supplements.” Layla’s advice about being leery of what I put into my body rings in my ears. “I guess what I’m asking is, do any of the herbal supplements I’m on have side effects? Um… that would affect my temper?”

Damn, I feel like a pussy.

“Of course. Absolutely.” Doc Z leans back in his chair.

My eyes dart to his. “Really?”

“Sure. Many of them will increase your natural testosterone, which will make you a bit moody.”

Understatement of the fucking year.

“Anything that’s intended to heal muscle rapidly may also affect your natural hormones. Just like a woman with PMS, a fighter on supplements may have some mood swings. It’s all normal.”

I cringe at his words. “You’re saying I have PMS?”

He chuckles and wipes beads of sweat from his forehead. “Sort of. The good news is, like women, the mood will pass. When you stop taking the supplements, you should feel better. For now, I’d use that extra aggression to train.”

That makes sense. Why didn’t I think of that?

This whole time I’ve been worried that I’ve inherited the asshole gene from my dad. A short fuse with a temper that chases away the people I care about. The possibility alone was enough to make me crazy—crazier.

Instead, I’ve got HMS. Hormonal Man Syndrome.

Well, shit. Now I really feel like a pussy.

I stand up from my chair and give Doc a nod. “I’ll do that.”

Moving out and through the locker room, I take a cleansing breath. The doc’s right. I’ll channel this aggression into my training. A small part of me warns that I can’t control it, but I push that aside. I’ll try harder.

I remember the promise I made myself the night I left the Marines and became a fighter.

Nothing and no one will control me.

This is no different.

Layla

I’m clicking around my computer, watching the clock and waiting impatiently for my lunch break. Blake’s been meeting me for lunch at the same time every day for the last week. It’s become the highlight of my day, next to seeing him walk through my front door on the nights he stays over.

But today, I’m even more anxious to see him. He left my bed early after I got a phone call from my parents. I couldn’t be sure, but he seemed mad when he left. I’ve replayed our conversation a million times but can’t figure out what triggered his sudden departure, or why he slammed the front door when he left.

Things like that have been happening a lot lately. I’ll be in the middle of talking to one of the other fighters at work, or I’ll mention something about our lives back in Seattle, and Blake goes solid, tensing his jaw and clenching his fists. Sometimes I could swear I’ve heard him grinding his teeth.

There’s a part of me that worries I’ve attracted someone with anger issues. A man who walks the thin line of his temper, always on the verge of blowing up. My stomach spirals and I pinch my eyes closed. But he’s also so sweet. Caring in a way I’ve never experienced before. The complete opposite of Stewart.

“Excuse me,” an irritated female voice sounds from behind me, dragging me from my thoughts.

I spin in my chair to see a beautiful blonde in revealing workout clothes standing in front of my desk. “What? Um… can I help you?”

Her cheeks puff with an exaggerated breath. She drops her gym bag on my desk, sending my pencil cup tumbling. “Uh, you better. Taylor said I’d have the same locker I had when I was here last. I tried the combination, and it didn’t work.”

“Oh.” Who is this woman? She’s not a Cage Girl. Those girls have killer bodies, but this girl’s body is trained to kill. Her muscles are cut like a man’s, but on a smaller scale. Her blond hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, the long locks trailing down just past her shoulders. With her bright blue eyes and full lips, she’d be considered gorgeous if it weren’t for the hideous scowl marring her perfect features.

“Who are you? Where’s Heidi?” She’s still scowling.

“She doesn’t work here anymore. I’m Layla.” I stand up and offer my hand. “And you are?”

I didn’t think it was possible, but her eyes narrow even more. “Who am I?” A burst of humorless laughter flies from her lips. “You don’t know shit, girl.”

Girl? Who the fuck is she calling girl? I might not be old enough to be her mom, but I’m definitely older than this twit.

I lower my hand, straighten my shoulders, and throw on a confident smile. Even across the desk, it’s obvious this girl has a good six to ten inches on me. “I’ll tell you what I do know. I know you need a locker. I’m the person who assigns them. If you tell me who you are, I can help. If not, then you can wait for Mr. Gibbs.” I motion to the chair at her side.

She studies me in a way that would make a lesser woman squirm. But I hold her evil eye, eyebrows raised, waiting.

“Call him right now and—”

The door to Gibbs’s office swings open, and the sound of his angry voice breaks up our bitchy-girl stare-down.

“—how risky that was?” Gibbs growls into the phone before looking up to see he has company. “Z, hold on.” He looks at Robo-bitch. The bright red of his cheeks recedes, and his thin lips relax into something that resembles a smile. “Camille, you made it.”

“Yeah, I need a locker.” She scoops her gym back off my desk, narrowly missing my framed picture of Axelle. “You told me I’d—”

“Layla’ll take care of that.” He nods in my direction. “I’m on an important call.” Pushing past her, he calls over his shoulder, “Good to have you back. We’ll talk later.” He presses the phone back to his ear and snarls something I can’t make out.

I slide my gaze from Gibbs’s retreating form to the fuming mass of muscle and make-up in front of me.

“Locker.” She spits the word, making sure I know it’s not a request.

“Name.” I return the attitude in true teenage fashion. Thank you, Axelle.

“Camille.”

“Yeah, I got that. Do you have a last name, or do you go by just the one? Like a dog?”

Her eyes flare and the muscle in her jaw jumps. “Did you really just say that?”

I tilt my head and give her my sweetest smile. “Damn right I did.”

“Aw, fuck.” Blake’s voice rumbles through the space between us, shattering my tough girl ’tude.

My fake smile morphs into a genuine one. “Hey, Snake—”

I stop, suddenly realizing that I’m no longer Camille’s target. She’s got laser vision, and it’s pointed directly at my boyfriend. “Well wha’daya know? My elevator hook-up returns.” The drawl of Robo-bitch’s words leaves zero questions as to her meaning.

My mouth falls open and my ribs seem to contract, making it hard to breathe. I swing my gaze between her and Blake, waiting for the denial from his lips. It never comes.

I know Blake has a past that involves many women. I’m pretty sure most of the Cage Girls have seen the inside of his bedroom. That’s part of who he was. I accept that. But those girls are like prey. Innocent victims lured in by his demi-god good looks and panty-melting charm.

This woman is different. She’s a predator. His equal. A protective instinct stirs within me and runs a close second to my jealousy.

Blinking, I clear my throat. “I guess introductions aren’t required.” Desperate to get rid of her, I pivot to my computer and pull up the locker assignment file.

“What are you doing here, Camille?” Blake asks in a low, grumbly voice.

Of course he knows her name. I wonder what he had to do to get it out of her? Ugh! No, I don’t want to go there.

“I’m in Vegas for some promotional stuff,” she says with no hint of her earlier hostility.

Bitch.

I jot down the first number I see, along with the three-digit combination. My back is to them, but my ears are tuned in and turned up.

“Good to see you, Snake.” I hear the sound of her feet shuffling on the carpet as she moves. “I’ve been thinking about you. I’ll be in town for a while, we could—”

“Here ya go.” I rip the Post-it from the stack and spin around in my chair. Blake’s eyes are on me, radiating comfort.

Her eyes are on me too. And she’s furious.

I shove my finger toward her, sticky note first, and wiggle it. “Here. Your locker. Take it.” And get the hell gone.

My eyes move to Blake. He’s biting his lip to fight a smile. When it looks like he’s about to lose his hold on his humor, he drops his chin.

Laughing? Really?

Camille finally plucks the paper from my hand. “If you don’t mind? I’m catching up with an old friend.”

Blake steps around her and walks behind my desk. His eyes are still dancing with humor as he cups the nape of my neck with one hand and circles my waist with the other. Before I can open my mouth, he covers it with his.

My legs wobble for an instant before he pulls me in tight so that I’m flush with him from hip to chest. I grip his biceps, holding on as he curls his towering frame over me. Possessing me. His taste, so distinctly Blake, with a hint of Gatorade, floods my mouth. A moan rumbles in my chest, and I tilt my head, allowing his dominance. Desire unfurls in my belly with every wet thrash of his tongue. All too soon he pulls back, nipping at my bottom lip.

“Move along now, Camille. You got what you came for, and I need some privacy with my woman.” His words are directed at her, but he never once takes his eyes from mine.

“Your woman?” She makes a disgusted noise. “You’re kidding, right? She’s like… old.”

Blake’s body gets hard, and his hands flex into my skin. Her comment hit me like a brick to the gut, and my body’s hot with humiliation.

I watch as he fights to control his temper. “Blake, it’s—”

“Watch your fucking mouth, Camille.” He grounds out the words through clenched teeth.

“I can’t believe this shit.” I don’t look, but I hear the sound of her retreating footsteps as she heads down the hallway in a huff. That was close.

My hands glide from his arms and over his shoulders, where they hook around his neck. Rubbing circles into his tense muscles until he relaxes, I force my embarrassment away and focus on lightening the mood. “You did that on purpose.”

He takes a shaky breath, and the rage clears from his eyes. “Did what, Mouse?”

“I was formulating a strongly worded speech about the hazards of screwing crazy Amazon-looking bitches. But then you kissed me, and I forgot.”

“Never screwed that bitch—”

“Crazy Amazon-looking bitch.”

His lips tick with the hint of a smile, and he gathers me closer. “Right. Never screwed her. We hooked up about six months ago. One night. It wasn’t anything more than—”

I cover his mouth with my hand. “How is it that those lips can cause delirium with one kiss, and induce a gag seconds later?”

He kisses my palm, sending tingles up my arm. I move it away to find him grinning.

“Mouse, just keeping it real.”

“Yeah well, I’ve got enough information. My mind is all over the place with all the real that happened between you two.” I groan and drop my forehead to his chest. “She’s right though. I’m way older than you.”

“I dig that you’re older. Chicks my age act like toddlers hopped up on helium. They’re obnoxious. Or didn’t you notice with the production that skank just put on?”

I place my palms on his chest and look up at him. “Skank? That’s not nice.”

His eyebrows practically hit his hairline. “Oh, you can call her an amazon-looking bitch, but I can’t call her a skank?”

“Well, yeah. Being a bitch is one thing, but belittling her because you two hooked up? I mean technically if she’s a skank for hooking up with you, then you’re just as much of a skank for hooking up with her.”

He holds a stoic expression for a few seconds before he drops his head back and roars with laughter. His eyes sparkle with humor, the skin at the corners wrinkles from the force of his smile, gorgeous lips framing his perfectly straight teeth. My heart leaps in my chest.

“Sweetheart, that was some funny shit.” He kisses my forehead, still shaking with a silent chuckle.

“You know what sucks?”

“No, but I’m looking forward to hearing it.”

“She’s super pretty.” I’m not hideous looking. Some would say I’m attractive, for an older mom type, I guess. But she’s the full package. Well, except the bitchy part.

He cups my jaw with both hands and tilts my head to look me in the eyes. “Not nearly as magnificent as you.”

“You say that, but she’s, like, model gorgeous. And she’s totally into you.” Dropping my gaze, I slip my fingers into the ends of my hair and wrap one strand around my forefinger.

“Is that what you’re worried about? Me and—”

“Blah, blah, blah. Please don’t say it.” I scrunch my face hoping, it will block out the image of his words. Me and Camille. Ick.

I feel his eyes on me. “Hear me, Mouse.” Thumbing my lower lip, he drags my gaze to his. “I’d rather cut my own dick off than put it inside anyone else. No bullshit.”

Oh my gosh. Warmth floods my chest. I can’t believe he just said that.

“Blake?”

“Hmm?”

“That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“That’s me, Mr. Romance.”

I giggle and push up on my tiptoes to kiss his smiling lips. “You’re something else, Blake “The Snake” Daniels. Always a surprise.”

“Yeah? You lookin’ for a surprise?” He grips my bottom with both hands.

A squeak shoots from my lips. “Save it for tonight. Right now, I’m hungry. Feed me.”

“Oh, I’ll feed you.” The rough baritone of his words combines with his wicked smile.

An aching low in my belly hums its request, drowning out the grumbling of my empty stomach.

Lunch smunch.

Twenty-five

Blake

It’s early. Through the plastic vertical blinds, I’ve watched the black night fade into purple and then blue. Sometime around purple, my woman rolled onto me. Her soft lips brushed against my pec and then moved down, getting me up in more ways than one.

After she gave me my wake-up call, I returned the favor. Twice.

Our legs are tangled together. Her head rests on my chest, and her arm lies over my belly. I run my fingers through her hair in long strokes. It’s almost time for me to go, but leaving her bed makes me feel heavy. Every footstep toward the door is like dragging bricks.

“Snake?” My nickname from her lips drips like honey to my ears.

“Hmm?”

She swirls her fingers around the tattoo at my ribs. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, but I don’t know if you’re comfortable talking about it. If not, that’s fine, but I’m curious.”

“You can ask me anything, Mouse. I’ve got nothing to hide from you.”

“Why were you only in the Marines for two years?”

Except that. Her question dropkicks my post-coital bliss right out the window.

I don’t want to hide anything from Layla, but I’m not excited about baring my ass to her either. Some stories can make a man look like a dipshit. This is mine.

I let out a long, deliberate exhale to calm my nerves. “Promise you’ll hear me out?”

She moves to look at me, her eyebrows pinched together. “Of course.”

“I never wanted to go into the military in the first place. My dad put the big fat fucking kibosh on my music, shipped me off to military school, and I found myself out of options. I liked combat training, so I threw myself into becoming the best. I couldn’t wait to use what I’d learned, to fight and protect my country. But orders never came. I brought it up to my pops, asked him why the fuck everyone else was going off to fight except me. He told me I’d never see a battle field.”

“I can see that. I mean, I’d be sick if I had to send Axelle into war.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Yeah, because you love Axelle. With my dad, it was all about control. I swear the guy got off on watching me suffer. Taking away my music, training me for a fight I’d never get a chance to win.”

She drops her cheek to my chest and resumes tracing swirling patterns on my skin.

“Guys I knew since military school were being shipped overseas. A lot of them never came back. I felt so damn helpless. One day I woke up and realized that I’d let my dad control my life. I was a grown man, and I’d given up so much of what I wanted. I decided that day I was getting out. No matter what it took.”

“How’d you do it?”

“I started an underground fighting circuit. After a few warnings, I finally got what I wanted.”

“What was that?”

“Discharged. Disorderly conduct.” The words taste bitter. I want her to see me as honorable, not as a fit-throwing kid with daddy issues. I wait for the information to sink in and hope it doesn’t change the way she feels about me.

She doesn’t say a word, or jump off the bed in revulsion. “I’m surprised your dad didn’t fight to keep you in.”

“He did for a while, until he realized that I’d eventually beat him at his own game. He’d rather let me go than have me spend the rest of my military career embarrassing him.” I run my hand through her hair, leaching comfort from the silky locks. “You know the most fucked-up part? I didn’t feel good when I’d finally won. I felt like a coward. It’s exactly what he wanted me to feel. So even though I got out, I still lost.” I rub my eyes with my free hand.

Reliving the day I was discharged, when I saw the disappointment in my father’s eyes and knew that nothing I could do would ever be good enough, still hurts. When will I finally stop caring?

She burrows into my side in silent thought. “You know, just because someone makes you feel like a loser, doesn’t mean you are. Look at your fighting career. From where I sit, I’d say you won. And in less than two weeks, when you go up against “The Fade”, you’ll prove it again.”

Her insightful words settle in the dark void behind my ribs, making me instantly feel better. I kiss her head, unable to vocalize how much I appreciate her understanding. More than ready for a subject change, I focus on the fight. “Two weeks. Can’t wait.” I’m so prepared, not even a flutter of nervous energy stirs at the thought. Or maybe it’s the thickness that hangs in my blood from the weight of our conversation. “Which reminds me, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” My stomach rolls with anxiety.

What does it say about a man who can walk into the ring to face a trained fighter and not even flinch, but the thought of asking his woman out makes him twitchy?

She nuzzles in closer. “What is it?”

I’m grateful she doesn’t tip her face to look at me. I don’t need the extra pressure. Pulling in a deep breath, I charge forward. “In five days, I’d like to take you out.”

Her neck stiffens a second before she lifts her head and props her chin on my chest. “On a date?”

“Not just a date.”

Her eyebrows pinch together and her gaze slides to the side then back to mine. “I don’t get it.”

“Pretty simple, Mouse. I’m asking if you’ll be my Valentine.”

A lazy smile curls her lips, seductive and sexy as hell. “Yeah?”

“That a question or an answer, sweetheart?”

“Both.” She dips her chin, a faint blush visible even in the dawn-hued light. “I’ve never had a Valentine.”

A woman married for sixteen years has never had a Valentine? Every time I learn of a new way her ex failed her, the burning in my chest that’s becoming as familiar as my own heartbeat flares up. I count to ten, take deep breaths, and force a steady voice. “That’s all right, Mouse. I’m a virgin Valentiner, too.”

She giggles and drops her cheek back to my chest. As soon as her eyes are off me, I scrape off my bogus smile. My pulse races. She has to be able to hear it from her position.

“What are we going to do?”

I’m still counting to calm myself down and release the lock my jaw has on my mouth. “Just be ready by seven. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I’m excited.” She squeezes me tighter. “Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t go thanking me yet. My creativity is pretty pathetic. Although, I’m sure I could get us a private table at Zeus’s Playground. Maybe even free lap dances for the night.” I brace myself, expecting a slap on the chest at my teasing.

“I’ve never been to a strip club before.” Her hand moves from my waist to her mouth, and she chews her fingernail. “That’d be interesting.”

Well, fuck me silly.

“Mouse. No way I’d take you to a strip club on Valentine’s Day. I’m a dick, not an asshole.”

She relaxes back into my side. “Not sure there’s a difference.”

“You want to go to a strip club, I’ll take you another time.” That’ll be good. I’ll give her a stack of dollar bills to play with. I picture her sliding cash into a stripper’s G-string. My stomach pitches with jealousy at just the thought. No fucking way do I want her hands on anyone’s underwear. Guy or girl. And the men in the club would be lusting their asses off. No. Fuck no. “Or not.”

It wasn’t too long ago that the thought of two women together would have me straining in my shorts. Right before I met Layla, I had a hard time getting off with only one girl. And now, I’m happily shackled to one.

One.

It’s amazing how the right woman can change a man. I’ve seen it happen to others, but thought it’d never happen to me. And yet, here I am. Valentine dates, no one in bed with us except us, and all the baggage two people can carry.

Fuck, I’ve never been happier.

The light outside gets brighter, and I know I’ve delayed my escape as long as I can. “I better go. Axelle’ll be up soon.” I kiss her head and start to roll from her hold.

Her legs tighten around me. “Don’t go.”

I turn back to see her grinning. Her hair is scattered across the pillow, framing her face and neck. So damn gorgeous, my breath catches in my throat.

She shrugs one shoulder. “We can tell her you came over early for coffee and to take me to work. She’ll be excited to have the Bronco. She won’t know you spent the night.”

That would work. I have clothes in my workout bag, and I could shower at the training center. I lean in and kiss her soft lips. “Sounds good to me. I’ll get coffee and breakfast going. You shower.”

Her arms slide up her naked body and over her head. Even under the thin sheet, I can see that her nipples are hard from the chill in the room. She moans with an unhurried stretch that arches her back and pushes her breasts out from beneath the sheet. Fuck me.

While her eyes are closed, I take advantage and make my move. My mouth covers one pink tip, sucking deep. She jumps with surprise then groans and wraps her hands around my head, holding me to her. Her body writhes beneath me. I’d do anything to bury myself inside her until tomorrow.

I pull back with a nip to her tender flesh. “Time’s up, sweetheart. It’ll have to wait.”

Her protesting whimper makes me grin against her heated skin. I run my nose between her breasts, dragging her sweet vanilla scent into my lungs. My hand finds her sheet-covered ass. I smack it hard enough to get her attention. “Shower.”

Her eyes narrow. “That sounded like an order.”

My teeth sink into my lip to hide my smile. I shake my head and move from her warm body to the chair across the room where I tossed my clothes last night. Throwing my boxers and jeans on, I think about my training schedule for this week, hoping it’ll kill my raging hard-on.

The sheets shift behind me, and I force my eyes to my button fly to keep from looking. If I see her strolling across the dim room naked, I won’t be able to control myself. The sound of her sock-clad feet against the carpet move behind me. She smacks my ass as she passes with a feminine giggle. Fuck, but my dick roars back to life.

I hang out in her room for the few minutes it takes to get my body in check. It’s never been this hard to force back my sexual impulses. I’m out of control when it comes to her. She’s crack cocaine to my temper and libido.

I’m in the kitchen making coffee when I hear Axelle’s bedroom door open. I don’t look, not wanting to catch her off guard, but she needs to know I’m here. “Mornin’ kiddo,” I call down the short hallway.

“Oh hey.” She shuffles into the kitchen, and from the corner of my eye, I can see she’s in bubblegum pink flannel pajamas.

“Coffee?” I hold a mug in her direction.

“Um… yeah, that’d be great.”

I move out of her away so she can grab her coffee.

After filling her cup with an insane amount of cream and sugar, she faces me. Taking a sip, she looks at me from head to toe. “Did you spend the night?”

Layla wanted me to tell her I showed up early, and going against her wishes is probably a shitty idea. But Axelle’s a smart girl. And lying to her will only make her not trust me. The last thing this girl needs in her life is another man she can’t trust.

“Yeah, I did.” I put down my coffee mug and lean against the counter, ankles crossed. “Not gonna lie to you, Axelle. I’m crazy about your mom. Spending the night without her sucks. But if you’re uncomfortable, I’ll stop.” I will. It’ll be painful, but I’d do it if it means gaining Axelle’s trust.

She takes a long sip of her coffee, then another. Her sky blue eyes lock on mine, and I can tell that she’s thinking hard about something. “Do you love her?”

Twenty-six

Blake

My throat swells. I cough, clearing my airway to speak. How the hell do I answer that? Do I love her? Do I? I pound my chest a couple times and look everywhere but at Axelle.

“Are you all right?” Layla—thank God—emerges from the hallway in a robe, with a towel wrapped around her head.

“Fine.” I cough again. “Yeah, fine.” Shit, talk about a sucker-punch. Where the fuck did that question come from?

Layla gives Axelle shit for having coffee, but her tone is teasing and lighthearted. They talk about something—what, I have no idea. I’m stuck on Axelle’s question. If I were forced at gunpoint to answer that question, I’m pretty sure I’d get shot. How would a guy like me even know what love is?

Jonah and Owen claim to be in love. They’re protective, possessive, and would sell their own balls if it made their women happy. I suppose I feel the same about Layla. But how do I know for sure? And in order to love someone, don’t they have to love back? My head pounds as my thoughts travel down a road of confusion and unanswered questions.

If I think back hard enough, I can remember a time when my mom loved my dad. He always treated her like a second-class citizen, but she took good care of him. Met him each morning with coffee and breakfast, and welcomed him home to a warm meal every night. She took care of him when he was sick and made sure he never needed for anything. Just like I try to do for Layla.

But love? That’s something that would have to be returned to be genuine. I scrub my face. I wouldn’t know love if it cold-cocked me. What I do know is emotional manipulation and control. After sixteen years of practice, Layla’s an expert at putting on the show of affection, but she’s just as lost as I am. Between my dad and her ex, we’re both brainwashed and bruised.

And if we did feel it, really feel it, could we trust it?

“…Blake told me.”

I focus on the girls at the sound of Axelle saying my name. “Huh?”

Layla cocks her sexy hip, her hand planted firmly on it. “You told her.”

“Huh?” Dammit, I sound like an idiot.

My woman smiles and shakes her head slowly. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

Axelle giggles into her coffee mug. “It’s cool, Blake. You’re not in trouble. Mom and I decided no more secrets. I’m fine if you spend the night. It’s nice having a guy around, you know, to kill bugs and take out the trash.”

Fuck, if that’s the only reason they’d want me around, I’d kill every bug in this place and run trash to the dumpster walking on my hands. Is that love?

“I’ve got to get ready for school.” Axelle smiles and disappears behind her bedroom door.

Layla stares down the empty space Axelle left behind. Seconds tick, and she doesn’t move.

“Mouse?” I cross to her and tip her chin to get her eyes. “You okay?”

She blinks, her eyes shining. “I’m great, I was just dreaming.”

“Dreaming?” I drop a kiss to the tip of her nose and then her lips. “You’re not asleep.”

A shaky smile pulls at her lips. “Yeah, that’s the best part.”

Layla

“Are you sure I don’t look like a slutty college girl?” I ask Axelle, holding my arms out and spinning in a slow circle.

She laughs and swipes on a final coat of lip gloss. “Okay, fine. Yes, you look like a slutty college girl. The Snake will love it.”

I jerk my arms down and glare at my daughter. We went shopping for two straight days to find the perfect dresses for tonight. I liked a simple, yet very short black dress with spaghetti straps, but Axelle insisted that because it’s Valentine’s Day, I have to wear red. Thankfully, I look great in red.

Checking my cleavage for the third time, I bend over into the mirror to make sure the stretchy fabric stays put. I fiddle with the red satin bow that runs around my ribs and ties in the back. I look a little like a present that needs opening. Axelle’s right. Blake’s going to love it.

“Which shoes did you decide on?” I motion to the row of shoes that we’ve been trying on for the last hour.

Axelle scoops up a pair of black peep-toed pumps. She then tosses me a pair of red suede platform pumps with a thin ankle strap. “You wear these. They’ll be perfect.”

I slide them on and walk down the hallway a couple times to ensure their comfort. Oh, who am I kidding? Looking hot hurts like a bitch. But it’s totally worth it.

“Do you know where Killian is taking you tonight?” I watch my gorgeous and very mature-looking daughter step into her shoes.

“No, he said it was a surprise. I don’t care, I’m just happy he didn’t make me plan it all. These girls-ask-the-guys dances are stressful. It’s not fun being the guy.” She stands and smoothes her dress. “But he did say Blake was looking to take you somewhere super romantic.”

Nervous butterflies take flight in my belly, and I wonder if a glass of wine before he gets here to pick me up wouldn’t be a bad idea. I wobble on my heels. Eh, probably not.

“Oh, I have to get my camera.” I bolt from her bedroom to mine.

“Mom, please don’t embarrass me,” she calls from her room.

“What? Just one picture to commemorate the night. It’s our first Valentine’s Day after all.” Yeah, right. One picture. I giggle imagining the irritated look I’m going to get from Axelle and Blake at picture time.

I find the small digital camera and shove it into my red clutch. This night is going to be perfect. Axelle and Killian are meeting up with Cara and her boyfriend for dinner. Then she’s spending the night with Cara. Suzanne, Cara’s mom, guaranteed they’d be home by midnight and not a second later. She even promised to call me once they got there. So I have all night alone with Blake at a sleepover at his place.

My eyes slide to the small bag I packed for tonight, which includes some very skimpy lingerie. Excited energy bubbles up in my chest. This is going to be a night to remember.

The doorbell rings, and my stomach leaps into my throat. They’re here. Or at least one of them. Axelle calls out that she’ll get it, and I race to the mirror to check my makeup one last time. I shake my fingers through my hair. I’m wearing it loose and wild, just the way Blake likes it. The red lipstick is in the lines, and there’s none on my teeth. I take a deep breath and move from my room when I hear the rumble of a deep voice. Halfway down the hallway, I freeze. I know that voice. It’s familiar and terrifying.

Icy fear torpedoes through my veins. My stomach flips and threatens to unload. Tremors rattle my legs, and I brace myself against the wall to keep upright. No. It can’t be.

I walk my hands down the length of the hall to the kitchen. My legs are numb, and my heart’s racing. Peeking around the corner, I’m met with the dark eyes of my worst nightmares.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Laylay.”

Blake

This is it. My first official formal date. Ever. Or, at least the first one I’m excited about. I’ve accompanied girls to formal parties, even dragged a few to some of the shit we have to do for the UFL, but I was always rushing through the date to the hook up afterwards.

Tonight is different.

Yeah, I’m still stoked as hell to use my woman’s gorgeous body as my own playground of sexual pleasure until the sun comes up or she passes out from exhaustion. But I’m also proud as hell to take her out on my arm. Sit across from her at dinner and talk about nothing but laugh about everything. Give her a Valentine’s Day experience that makes up for her never having one.

The box in my pants pocket warms my thigh. It took me three days total to plan for a few hours out. After finding the fanciest restaurant in Vegas, and shit there’s a lot of them, I decided I should get her a gift. I want her to have something to remember this night. I called Jonah, and when he was finished laughing his ass off and saying I told you so in a variety of different ways, he told me I should get jewelry. Good thing I asked, or she’d have ended up with a pair of crotchless panties.

Raven met me at the mall, and she dragged me to Tiffany’s and helped me pick out a simple silver chain bracelet with a small heart charm hanging from it. It’s tiny and delicate, just like Layla.

After the jewelry, she pulled me into a men’s clothing store. I told her I had plenty of suits, but she said since it’s a first it calls for something new. That sounds like a bunch of chick bullshit to me. I groaned at the mention of wearing a pink tie, but I’m glad I indulged her. It looks sick as shit with my black shirt and suit.

After a last round of cortisone shots this afternoon, I’m feeling great. My back feels like it’s packed with cotton. No cramping or even a hint of pain. I make a quick shake and down it, along with my pills. Won’t want to be worrying about those when I get back here tonight all ready to get naked with my woman. I check the clock and internally high-five myself for my timing.

Minutes later, I’m in the Rubicon, listening to music and on my way to Layla’s. I pull into the lot, but don’t see Killian’s car yet. I know Layla will want to wait to leave until he picks up Axelle. I take the light-blue box from my pants and put it into my glove box. My feisty woman has been known to cop a feel when no one’s looking, and I don’t want her to find it too early.

I grab my suit jacket and take my time putting it on and straightening my tie. Taking two steps at a time, I head up to her door. It’s right before I reach it that something in the parking lot catches my eye.

The silver sedan.

But this time it’s not running, and there’s no one in it. My blood pounds in my ears. I scan the parking lot for paparazzi. Nothing looks suspicious, but those sneaky fuckers are great at hiding in places you’d never find them.

I take a deep breath. It was dark the first time I saw the sedan. Maybe this is a different car. I flex my fists to release the burning tension that’s gathered there. No need to show up at Layla’s door looking like a heaving bull.

I’ll make sure to keep my eye out tonight. As long as Layla keeps her top on this time, a few shots of us together won’t hurt.

Stepping to the door, I ring the bell and wait.

Huh, maybe they didn’t hear it? I ring it again and follow it up with a knock.

The lock clicks on the door, and I swallow back my nerves. The door cracks open to reveal Axelle.

I suck in a breath. “Wow, kiddo. You look like a princess.”

She resembles a high school cupid in a red dress that skims her ribs and then flares out to her knees. Her long chestnut hair is curled and falling over her shoulders. A tiny clip with shiny shit on it pulls some of her hair to the side and off her face. Her big blue eyes are… is she crying?

“Axelle, what’s going on? Are you…” My blood turns to sludge as my temper flares. “Did Killian cancel on you? I swear to God, if that fu—”

“No, no, he didn’t. He’s probably on his way.” Her eyes shift slightly over her shoulder before she catches herself and moves them back. “Um… I’m sorry, Blake, but uh… Mom’s not feeling well, and uh…”

Hold the fuck on. What? “Your mom’s sick?” I peek over Axelle’s head into the apartment. “Is she okay? She seemed fine when I talked to her.”

Her body squeezes in tighter so that the door and frame sandwich her in. “Yeah it hit, like, suddenly, and she’s… well, she can’t go out tonight. She said she’d call you when she felt better.” Her eyes are shifting and not meeting mine.

She’s fucking lying.

“Axelle.”

Now her eyes dart to mine. A moment of fear flashes behind them. She knows I’m on to her.

“I thought we were being honest. No lies, remember?”

Her throat bobs as she swallows and bites her lip. My pulse is pounding. Every muscle is coiled tight.

Her eyes stare beyond my shoulder. “She’s sick.”

Dammit, why is she lying?

Ripping this fucking door down and storming in certainly won’t help, and if she is sick, I’ll look like a controlling asshole. I switch up tactics. “Let me pop in, make sure she doesn’t need anything, and then I’ll take off.” I’m impressed with how convincing I sound.

She shakes her head a little too quickly. “No, I can’t. I promised. She made me promise not to let you in because she’s, like, throwing up and uh… she’s embarrassed.”

Fuck, this kid’s a shitty liar. “Axelle, let me—”

“Just go, Blake. She’ll call you. I promise. But, you have to leave. Now.” She pushes back to close the door, and I hold my hand out to stop it.

I lean in and whisper. “Kiddo, what the fuck is going on? You think I don’t know that you’re lying through your teeth? I want to see her. Just to make sure she’s okay. If she tells me to leave, I’ll go.”

Her eyes brim with tears. My heart cramps and dissolves a fraction of the anger that boils just below the surface.

“Hold on,” she whispers and shuts the door.

I stand there counting and picturing fuzzy baby animals to avoid going ten kinds of Hulk on the front door.

Layla knows me better than to think I’m going to walk away with a simple brush off from Axelle. I don’t know what’s going on—maybe she really is sick. All I know is I’m not moving a motherfucking inch until I hear it from her mouth.

Impatient, I reach for the door and twist. Locked? I pull out my key just as the door inches open.

My heart slams into my ribs so hard I stumble back a step. Layla is dressed in a fire red dress that she wears like a second skin. Her honey-colored breasts are pushed up and overflowing at the top, while the bottom cuts off just inches below her perfectly round ass. And to top it off, she’s wrapped in a big red bow. I feel my hand splayed over my chest before I realize I’d put it there. “You… you’re…” I blow out a long breath and blink to make sure I’m not seeing things.

“Blake, I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well.”

Her words bring me back. I fix my eyes on her, and damn if her body in that dress killed me, her face and hair just buried me. “Mouse, you look like an angel.”

She doesn’t blush. No smile, not even a twitch of her lips. This isn’t my Layla. “I’m sick, Blake. We’ll uh… I’ll take a rain check, okay?”

I rub my head and tug at as much hair as I can fit between my fingers. “I don’t get what’s going on. Axelle’s lying to me, you’re fucking lying to me. Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

Wait, why won’t they let me in the house? A fiery rage explodes behind my ribs. My vision blurs, and I step back. “Who’s in there, Layla?” My growled words are the first thing that gets a response.

Her eyes grow wide, and her jaw falls open. “Why would you say that?” The pitch of her voice is unusually high.

“Move away from the door.”

“Blake, no—”

“Who the fuck is in there?” Fuck this. I slam into the door and stumble into the tiny kitchen.

“Blake, no.” She grabs my arm and I shrug her off easily.

Kitchen’s empty. I move to the living room, where Axelle’s standing hunched over, her elbows locked to her sides, her hands balled together tight. What in the motherfucking hell is going on here?

There’s movement from the hallway that catches me off guard. I spin around fast.

A man saunters toward me with the confidence of a fucking royal. “You lost, boy?”

Twenty-seven

Blake

I move fast and unthinking. On pure possessive instinct, I’m inches from the guys face. “Who the fuck you calling ‘boy’?” I spit my words through clenched teeth.

“Blake, no,” Layla says from the kitchen doorway.

A whimpering sob comes from Axelle’s direction in the living room.

“It’s okay, Elle. Your mother’s little toy was just leaving.” He swings his gaze from Axelle back to me. “Weren’t you, boy?”

He called Axelle, Elle. This is Stew, the cocksucker who ruined my woman’s life. The one who belittled her, embarrassed her, fucked her against her will. Rage, hot and welcome, floods my body. I’ve been waiting for this day. My fists clench, and my heart races to throw the first punch. It’s time to teach Stew a lesson.

He’s a dead man.

I put my nose inches from his, which isn’t hard. The dickhead’s my size in height and not far behind in weight. “You’ve got one chance to step outside with me. One. Chance. You pass it up, I’ll drag your ass out of here. But you and I are going to settle this man to man, whether you like it or not.”

Stew smiles and chuckles. “Oh, that’s funny. Laylay, you didn’t tell me how funny your little friend is.”

He moves toward Layla with an outstretched arm. Her body visibly tenses.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” I roar.

He lifts his eyebrows. “Excuse me, but I’ll touch my wife if I damn well please.”

“She’s not your wife. Not anymore.”

“I beg to differ. I’m contesting our divorce. We’re still married.” He hooks Layla over her shoulders and drags her to his side. “I let her go for a few months so she could get her head straight. But I decided it’s been long enough.” He runs his hand through her hair, and she cringes. “It is Valentine’s Day, after all. The day for lovers.”

My head pounds, and I’m dizzy with the urge to attack. I’d knock the shit out of this guy, but I can’t. Not in front of Axelle. Fuck. Killian should be here soon. He can get her out of here. I can hold off until then.

“If you don’t mind, my wife and I have some catching up to do.” The lascivious curl of his lips makes my muscles jump to get at him.

“I’m not going anywhere. You’ll have to kill me to get alone with her.”

Layla pulls away from Stew, only to be pulled back. “Blake, please—”

“Look at you, throwing out the threats.” Stew runs a finger down her bare arm, but she doesn’t cringe away from his touch. “How about this, you leave right now or I’ll call the police.”

I bark out a laugh. “Call ‘em, fuckface. You’re the one they’ll be wrestling out of here in cuffs. City of Las Vegas doesn’t look kindly on sexual predators.”

“I’m her husband. You’re an intruder.”

“Blake, please, just go.” Layla’s pleading voice calls my attention. Her mouth is locked in a tight line, and her shoulders are set back.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“I’m okay, but I need you to leave,” she says with a firm edge in her voice.

Has she lost her damn mind? “I’m not fucking leaving you with this guy.”

“I want you to leave.”

I shake my head. She can’t be serious. “No.”

“It’s over, Blake.” Her usually warm eyes are cold and hard.

“The hell it is.” Nausea curls in my gut.

She leans toward me, but not enough to get out from under that fucker’s arm. “You don’t get it. I don’t want to see you. Not now, or ever again. You were a distraction. Nothing more.”

I flinch and take a step back. “You don’t mean that.”

Her body leans a fraction of an inch into Stew’s. “I mean it. I’m married, Blake. Did you really think we’d have a future?”

Tilting my head, I glare at the woman whose bed I was in hours ago and is now as familiar as a stranger. “Why are you doing—”

“If you don’t get out, I’ll call the cops myself.”

Axelle sobs from the living room. “Mom.”

A billion sharp pains splinter my chest, like being stabbed on repeat and never dying. “Mouse?”

“Get the fuck out!” Her chest is heaving, her face flushed.

Her words shake and rattle around inside, destroying my earlier anger and replacing it with nothing.

Void.

Stew steps to the door and swings it open wide, flashing a razor-sharp grin. “You heard the woman. Out.”

I can’t believe this. She’s choosing him over me. All the reasons why I don’t date women with baggage flood back. That shit holds on so tight that it destroys any chance of happiness with anyone else. Here’s proof. No one can take her out of an abusive situation. That’s on her. And if she wants to stay in her fucked-up life with her fucked-up husband, well… fuck her.

“This is bullshit.” I walk up to Layla, and she straightens her shoulders and steels her expression.

I used to find that shit adorable. Now I see it for what it really is. Fake confidence. A big fat fucking lie. Just like my mom and all her bullshit. Layla’s no different. She’s not the strong woman I thought. She’s an insecure housewife who’s cowering under the oppressive arm of her piece-of-shit husband. And the worst part is, her daughter’s standing here watching it. What the fuck kind of woman, knowing what that shit does to her, seeing firsthand what poison it is, would continue to do this?

No, this isn’t the woman I fell in—fuck.

I smile, actually fucking smile and laugh. I’d never fall for a woman this stupid. Whatever shit she pulled over my eyes was potent. But I’ve seen the light. And I’m moving toward it and the hell away from this fuckstorm.

I look into the cold chocolate eyes of the woman who pulled my strings like a motherfucking puppet. “Well played. I gotta give it up to you. You had me fooled.” I move my eyes from Stew’s face back to Layla’s. “Yeah, you two belong together.” I direct a chin lift toward Axelle. “Tough break, kiddo. Unfortunately, we don’t get to pick our parents.”

Without looking back, I leave the apartment behind, along with the man I’ve been for the past month and a half. A life of one night stands, threesomes, and strip clubs is better than putting my fucking heart through a shredder. Yeah, suddenly Zeus’s Playground on Valentine’s Day doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.

What’s that saying? The best way to get over a girl is to bang as many chicks as humanly possible in one night? Sounds like a brilliant idea.

Anything to dull the all-consuming pain that’s slashing my chest.

Layla

I’m numb.

Again.

Right back where I left off before I moved.

Exhaustion is the only thing that penetrates my deadened emotions.

Even unfeeling, I register that something was taken from me. Or rather, that I gave a part of myself away.

The look on Blake’s face when he left burns through my mind on an endless loop. The void in his green eyes when they stared right through me. The disgust on his face right before he walked out, as if he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I shut my eyes, blink, rub my temples, but nothing erases the memory.

I deserve that.

The words flew from my mouth on instinct. I knew he’d never leave unless I forced him to. When I said Stewart fights dirty, I wasn’t kidding. He’s had people fired for something as trivial as bringing him the wrong drink. Who knows what he’d do to Blake, the man sleeping with his wife. I had to get him to believe me. To see me as someone unworthy, who’d jerk him around for selfish reasons. In order to protect him, I had to hurt him.

“Elle, your date’s here.” Stewart calls to Axelle, who’s slumped over in my lap on the couch. “Would you rather me talk to him?”

Killian’s here? I didn’t even hear the door. Was Stewart waiting for him?

She hauls herself up, her expression mirroring the detachment I feel. “I got it.”

Stewart’s phone rings. “Remember what we talked about, Elle. Make it fast.” He puts the phone to his ear. “Talk to me.” He barks his words to the caller and walks into one of the bedrooms, I’m assuming for privacy.

Axelle watches him until he disappears then scurries to the side table and scribbles something on a piece of paper by the phone. I can’t imagine what she’d be writing, and I can’t bring myself to care.

I sit staring across the room while she gives Killian a handful of lies to get rid of him. He doesn’t push as hard as Blake, and within minutes she’s back with her head in my lap. My fingers run through her hair, pulling loose all the curls we spent the afternoon perfecting. A perfect illustration of my life.

I’d worked so hard to come this far. Getting back the person I used to be, one piece at a time. I’ve been molding and shaping those pieces, strong-arming them into place. And finally, I started to see the shadow of who I was before Stewart fire-bombed my life at sixteen. All to have it destroyed in minutes.

Part of me wonders if I should’ve let Blake and Stewart fight. If I had, maybe now we’d be in the comfort of his arms. In the safety of his house, and far away from the memories of what we used to be.

Ruined. Broken. Beyond repair.

Blake will never forgive me.

It’s over.

Blake

The music throbs through my already aching body. The fall from the adrenaline rush is always a bitch. Luckily, a few shots of whiskey with beer chasers make the fall less excruciating.

A blonde named Trix swivels her hips on stage. She looks like a girl I know. Her hair the same shade of sunshine, and her body just as tiny and tempting. But her tits are a lot bigger, and I can tell she doesn’t have a jagged scar on her lower belly from a shitty C-section. But all that aside, she looks like that girl. Even her eyes seem as dark at this distance. I imagine for a second that she is that girl. It’s a fucked up game to play, but it feels good. Paying for a woman’s attention is a lot fucking easier than earning it.

Less messy. Less painful.

My stand-in fantasy girl dips down low, her breasts close to my face. “Do you like what you see?”

Her nipples are darker than that girl’s, but they look pretty good. I’m sure they don’t taste like vanilla. They’re probably bitter, like the smell of the perfume that wafts off my stand-in’s body in waves. But I can pretend.

“Yeah, I do.” I slip my fingers into her hair, running them down one long strand. Not as silky, but not bad.

“Fifty for a lap dance.” She leans in, and I feel her breath against my ear. I tilt my head and imagine she’s asking for what she wants. Begging for me to touch her. Just like that girl. “Two-fifty if you want to make it private.”

She pulls back and twirls around, allowing me a moment to check out what she’s offering.

“How private?” I down the rest of my beer and notice the waitress dropped another shot in front of me. I throw that back too.

“It’s Valentine’s Day. I’ll make it as private as you want, baby.”

Done. “Lead the way.”

She giggles. “Let me go clear a room. I’ll be right back.”

I watch her g-stringed ass walk away and then stare blindly in front of me. Not seeing, not feeling, just being. This is a much better way to live. I feel sorry for all the dumb fucks that put their feelings out there. Who share personal things with people who could and most likely will end up walking away. Leaving and taking a chunk of their soul upon departure. I laugh. No one will ever make me that weak again.

“Interesting place to spend V-Day, Blake.” The female voice comes from my side.

I jerk when I see who it is. “Look who’s talking? What the fuck’re you doing here?”

“I brought her.” Jonah’s voice rumbles from my other side.

My head swivels back and forth between Raven’s grin and Jonah’s scowl.

“Dude, you brought your pregnant wife to a strip club on Valentine’s Day?” I laugh, and think that just days ago I thought of bringing that girl here too. “Man, romance is well and truly dead.”

“So this is it, huh? I pictured it being, I don’t know, brighter?” Raven scans the bar and stage. “Also a little less…” She snaps her fingers. “You know… bow chickie bow wow.” She reaches into her pocket. “So how does this work?”

“Baby, don’t you dare pull out a dollar. We’re out of here in fifteen minutes. You promised.” Jonah’s growled words have Raven rolling her eyes.

“Wait, you asked him to bring you here? On Valentine’s Day?” I double over as laughter hits me hard. “That’s fucking funny.” Damn, it feels good to laugh. I’m still chuckling when Raven’s sympathetic expression dries the last of my humor. “What?”

She turns her body toward me. “Killer called. He told us about Stewart.”

I shrug. “So?”

She leans in. “He told us that Layla and Axelle cancelled on you guys.”

The sound of that girl’s name makes my stomach tip on end. I reach for my beer. Empty. Fuck.

So that’s why they’re here. “Wait, how did you know where to find me?” I ask Jonah.

“Lucky fucking guess.” The deadpan way he says it has me glaring.

“Killer said that Axelle was upset.” She isn’t giving up.

Yeah, she wasn’t the only one. I lock down my urge to start tossing tables and focus on a stripper with hot pink hair who’s ripping her top off to a Sex Pistol’s song.

“She slipped him a piece of paper, Blake.” Raven’s voice is louder than before.

I keep my stare to the stage, and try like hell not to listen.

“The paper said that she didn’t want to leave her mom.”

This gets my eyes, but only for a second. “They aren’t my problem anymore.”

Jonah leans in. “Killer thinks they didn’t want to cancel. He thinks they were forced to.”

“No, he’s wrong. He’s just a love-happy little prick who doesn’t know better. He thinks women are all soft and fucking sweet, and that they’re not conniving little bitches who act loyal and devoted until they’re forced to choose. They pretend to be strong, and fake it until they get me to believe I’m safe… and loved. Then turn on my ass. Ratting me out and kicking my pussy ass to the curb.” I hurl my empty beer bottle across the room, and it shatters against a wall.

The stripper on stage startles, and a bouncer makes his way over to me, only to get waved off by Jonah.

Raven grabs my forearm. “Not everything’s as it seems, Blake.”

I jerk out of her hold.

“Blake, man.” Jonah moves closer, but doesn’t touch me. “Calm the fuck down.”

“I’m not saying what she did is right,” Raven says. “But is it possible that she sent you away because she loves you?”

Yeah, just like my mom snitched on me because she loves me? I laugh without a hint of humor. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense, and you know it.”

“Can’t you see? She’s sacrificing herself for you.”

“You don’t know her.”

“I don’t have to know her. I know love. And love makes you welcome torture if that means keeping the person you love safe.”

I swivel my body so that I’m facing Raven head on. “Safe? I’m a six-foot-two, hundred and ninety-pound jiu-jitsu black belt. You think I need a tiny woman to keep me safe? That’s the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Blake,” Jonah warns.

I slump back in my chair, thinking this has turned into the most jacked-up day. Amazing how I could wake up with plans for the best night of my life, and now I’m here having to listen to this bullshit when all I want to do is be left alone with my lap dance. Fuck.

“So that’s it. You’re just gonna give up?” Raven sounds pissed.

“Yup.” I don’t want to give up. But what choice do I have? She kicked me out and threatened to call the cops.

“Huh.” She shrugs. “Have it your way.” Her eyes move to Jonah. “Let’s go check on her.”

My head jerks in their direction before I can stop it. “Check on who?”

Jonah stands. “Layla and Axelle. Killer’s meeting us there. He’s pretty worried. I guess Axelle’s dad is a real asshole.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Cool.” I sit back and pretend to watch the stripper. “Have fun.”

Raven frowns down at me. “Catch ya later, Blake. And uh… happy Valentine’s Day.”

I give them a chin lift, and they disappear behind me. Raven’s words about love replay in my head. “Bullshit,” I mumble to no one. “All of it.”

My throat is dry, and I swallow hard against the feeling of failure. I promised her I’d protect her, but how can I if she won’t let me? I can’t go busting into her life unwanted and stand guard like some psycho. No, I’ve allowed that girl too much of my brain space. She kicked me out. She let me go. Jonah will make sure she’s okay.

The warm weight of the stripper’s long, tan leg slides across my lap until she’s straddled over my thighs. “All set, Snake.”

Fire burns in my sternum. “Don’t call me that.”

She flinches. “What do you want me to call you?” Her hands trail up my arms and lock behind my neck.

My hands move on their own up her thighs to her hips. “How about we don’t talk at all.”

A soft smile curves her lips before she leans in and touches them to mine. I don’t kiss her back, but allow the soft feminine flesh of her mouth and her tits mold against me. It doesn’t feel horrible. Her hips grind down, searching.

She backs off my lap with a breathy moan and takes my hand. I follow where she leads me, away from public viewing and into a private room. A place where I’m hoping to forget the man I’d become and celebrate the return of who I once was.

Twenty-eight

Layla

Axelle and I changed out of our dresses and heels, not bothering to hang them up, but rather leaving them crumpled on the floor in our rooms. All the time we put into tonight, the money spent, the effort exerted, now piled in a sloppy mess.

We’ve been watching television while Stewart makes calls. He’s gone from barking into the phone to laughing to back to sounding pissed all night.

After he told us we’re checking into a hotel tomorrow so the movers can come pack up our stuff and take us back to Seattle, I’ve been trying to figure out how to get out of it. I need a plan, but I’m coming up empty.

I wish I could call Blake, tell him how sorry I am, and explain why I had to kick him out the way I did. Stewart isn’t just an everyday creep, he’s a ruin-your-name, destroy-your-life, and poison-your-dog-for-good-measure creep. I can’t stand the thought of him setting his sights on Blake.

Hopefully somewhere down the road, once I’m finally rid of Stewart for good, I can find him. If I could get him to hear me out, maybe he’d forgive the way I treated him. I keep my head focused on that, but I know that Blake’s not the kind of man who opens himself up once, and asking for him to trust me again is a leap.

“Pack a bag. We’re going to a hotel.” Stewart’s finally off his phone.

“You said tomorrow.” Axelle’s head is in my lap, and her neck tenses against my thigh. I run my hands through her hair a little more firmly. I don’t want her to think I’m the weak woman I was before. This time, I’ll stand up for us.

He narrows his eyes at me. “Pack. A. Bag.”

I return his glare. “No.”

“When did you become so defiant? You’ve been in Vegas for what? Three months? And now you’re little Miss Independent?” A glint of something sinister sparks in his eyes. “Seems I got here just in time.”

I whisper in Axelle’s ear for her to go to her room. She grips my waist.

“Please, babe.” My voice is steady and calm, the complete opposite of how I feel. “It’ll be okay.”

She holds on for a few more seconds then releases me and walks to her room, her eyes to the floor. I listen to the sound of her steps until I hear her door close and then nail him with a glare. “What are you doing here, Stewart? And why didn’t you sign the divorce papers? You said you understood. You let us go.”

He mocks me with a fake pout. “My poor stupid wife. Did you really think I’d let you go? I gave you space, but I knew you’d fuck up your life here just like you fuck up everything else. I expected a call two weeks ago when those slutty pictures of you and that kid at the pool were all over the Internet.”

My stomach bottoms out, but surprisingly not from the disgusting way he’s speaking to me. Has he been stalking us? “How did you know about that?”

“Shit. Everyone knew,” he says with confidence, but drops his gaze.

“You’ve been spying on me?”

“You’re my wife.”

The weight of my jaw hangs heavy on its hinges. “How long?”

“It doesn’t matter ho—”

“How long?” I demand.

“You’re hanging around with a guy who’s closer to Elle’s age than your own.”

I can’t believe this. Common sense tells me I should’ve known he let us go too easily. Why didn’t I see this coming?

“You’ve been stalking me and Blake.” My voice is barely audible as I process this new information.

“You’re married. You’ve embarrassed our daughter, me, and yourself.” He steps up close, the red coloring his face accentuating his blond eyebrows. “Now walk your ass into your room and pack a fucking bag. I’m not staying the night in this shit hole.”

My heart jumps in panic, but his insulting our home forces it to slow. I worked my ass off to get where I am. We’ve made this place our home and built a life for ourselves. He can do whatever he wants—call me names, belittle me, take my body. I’ve lived through his hell. But I won’t give up the life we have here. When I left Seattle, I vowed I’d never take another order from him again. It’s time I made good on that promise.

I think about the story Blake told me about the morning he decided he was finished living under the heavy hand of his father. His tattoo flashes in my mind’s eye.

Si vis pacem, para bellum.

If you want peace, prepare for war.

With that, an idea forms. If I piss him off enough, anger him beyond his control, I’ll stir up the war. I’ll drive him to the point of violence. The police will come, restraining orders will be filed, and ultimately divorce papers will be signed. I can do this. It sounds crazy, but I’m thinking crazy might be our only way out.

I see the guys at the training center take punches all the time. Sure, it’ll hurt, but I’ve got purpose on my side. Fight for the life I made here. For the life that Axelle’s made. And piling hope upon hope, for any future I have with Blake.

This is going to work. It has to.

I suck in a deep breath and square my shoulders. “Fuck you, Stew.”

His eyes widen, the brown piercing me and not letting go. “What did you say?” His nostrils flare with every breath, and his chest swells.

“You heard me. I want you to leave.” Excitement shakes my voice, but I’m hoping he thinks it’s fear.

“Have you lost your mind, talking to me like that?”

A loud knock sounds at the door just a couple yards from where we’re standing.

“Layla? It’s me, Raven.”

Stewart’s eyes dart from me to the door.

“I wanted to see how the outfit worked out,” she says through the door.

More knocking.

“I know you’re in there, girl.” Her voice is light and cheery. Like she really is here to simply stop by and chat.

I know better.

“Coming.” I move to let her in, and Stewart grabs my arm. He mouths, “Get rid of her,” and for the first time I sense his worry. He’s not in control here. Not in my house.

“Hey, come on in.” I swing open the door wide so she can see Stewart.

Her eyebrows hit her hairline. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”

I try not to laugh at her lie. “Yeah, you’re not the only one. He dropped in unexpectedly. This is my ex. The one I told you all about. Stewart, this is my girlfriend Raven.”

After an awkward handshake and a very obvious evil eye from Stewart, we stand in uncomfortable silence.

“Axelle out for the night?” Raven asks, her face giving away that she knows exactly what’s going on.

Who told her? Blake? Maybe he saw through my act earlier and sent Raven to help. No way. A man like Blake would never send a woman to do his dirty work. My heart sinks into my stomach. He’s not coming to save me, not this time.

“No, she’s home. She cancelled with Killian after her dad crashed our evening.” I notice Raven is in jeans and a t-shirt with tennis shoes. “What about you? Where’s Jonah? No plans for Valentine’s Day?”

“Oh, nah.” She waves me off, but her eyes dart to the window in a way that’s meant for only my eyes to see. “He’s not much for celebrating Valentine’s Day.”

“Too bad. You want to hang out for a while? Axelle and I were going to watch Sleepless in Seattle and order a pizza, you’re welcome—”

“No, not tonight.” Stewart puts on his best cheesy sales face. The one he masks himself with when he’s about to do something unforgivable. “Sorry, Raven. I’m taking the girls to the Bellagio for a couple nights.” He puts his hand on her back and directs her to the door. “Appreciate you stopping by, but we need some family time.”

Raven slides from his hold. “Oh, well, before I go, can I grab those shoes I let you borrow?” Her eyes are begging… or warning? She’s stalling. But for what?

“Sure, let me go grab them.” I move to the mouth of the hallway.

“I’ll come with you. I don’t think you can carry all five boxes by yourself.”

Stewart groans, but doesn’t prevent her from following me. “Make it quick. We need to go.”

We scurry back to Axelle’s room, storm in, shut the door, and Raven locks it. Axelle jumps from the bed, eyes wide, probably startled by our entrance.

“Okay, girls. We don’t have much time. Jonah’s outside with Killian. We’re going to walk out of here together. If we don’t get out of here within five minutes, Killian and Jonah are coming in. And I can promise you, nothing good is going to come of that.”

“No, I don’t want you guys getting involved.” I whisper-yell. “Stewart doesn’t fight fair. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got a weapon.” Holding her shoulders so that she listens to me, I shake my head. “If anything happened to you or the baby, I’d never forgive myself. I sent Blake away for the same reason. This is my fight. Not yours.”

Strangely, considering the circumstance, she smiles. Not an uncomfortable “oh, that’s sweet of you” smile, but a real, happy, all-teeth-and-shining-eyes smile. “I knew it. He said no, but I knew it.”

“Who said what?”

“Blake.”

My stomach flips and trembles, along with my lower lip. “You talked to him? Wait, did he send you?”

Her happy expression falls. “Yes, I talked to him. But no, he didn’t send us. Killian did.”

Her words say everything I need to know. Blake’s giving up on us. He didn’t see through to the heart of me. He bought the lie.

“When did you talk to him? Is he okay?” My words are barely a whisper, and sadness burns behind my nose and eyes.

“We don’t have time. Just grab what you need; only what you need.”

“Raven. Please.”

She exhales and gives me a sad smile. “No, Layla. He’s not okay. Not even close.”

My heart convulses violently in my chest. I suck back my urge to fall to the floor and bawl. “Right. Well, I can’t blame him. I was awful.”

“Where the fuck is my wife, asshole?” The roar of an angry male thunders through the wall.

Raven’s eyes jerk in its direction then move back to us. “Looks like our time’s up.”

I grab Axelle’s hand, and we follow Raven out of the room and down the hall. In the kitchen, Jonah and Stewart are less than a foot apart. They’re staring each other down, shoulders tense, hands fisted.

“Hey, baby. We’re all set,” Raven says to her husband, not even a slight quiver in her voice.

“Take the girls down to the truck. Killer’s waiting.” Jonah gives his order, and I notice he uses Killian’s nickname. Smart move. For all Stewart knows, there could be another UFL heavyweight waiting downstairs.

Hand in hand, we move across the kitchen toward the door. My head is pounding, and my ears are hypersensitive, so I hear him move before I feel it. But it’s too late.

Stewart yanks Axelle and me back and wraps us tight in his arms. “They aren’t going anywhere.”

Jonah advances, his head down, eyebrows low, radiating fury. Stewart’s grip gets tighter. Axelle cries out, but he doesn’t let go.

Jonah moves another step closer. If a fight starts, Axelle and I will be in the middle.

“Jonah, stop. Take Axelle. I’ll stay. It’s okay.”

He freezes and tilts his head. “You’ll stay?”

“Take Axelle. Right, Stewart? Axelle can go. I’ll stay. We can go to the hotel. You and me. Okay?” I’m frantic. My words tumble out in a rush of nerves and determination.

He must be debating because he loosens his hold. I beg him with my eyes. Please let her go.

After everyone leaves, I can stick with my original plan. Piss him off enough to get him to hit me. All it will take is one time, and then he’ll get arrested. It’ll work.

“If you take my kid, I’ll call the police and claim she’s been kidnapped.” He moves us back, deeper into the house.

Dammit! He’s not going to let her go. “Stewart, just for one night. Let her go for tonight, and then tomorrow we can figure things out.

“Nothing to figure out. I’m taking you back to Seattle.”

“Wrong again, dicklick. You’re not taking my woman anywhere.”

Blake.

Every head in the room jerks toward the doorway. A shaky smile pulls at my lips as the shock of seeing him sinks in. Still in his suit pants, he’s ditched his dress shirt and coat. A black, sleeveless undershirt hugs his broad chest and ripped abdomen. He looks like a modern-day knight.

Stewart must be surprised too, as his hold slips and Axelle races to Blake. She throws herself into his arms. He hugs her and kisses the top of her head, not once taking his eyes off Stewart. “Hey, kiddo. Get your ass downstairs. Killer’s worried as shit down there.”

She scurries off, and Jonah has Raven go too. With the knowledge that they’re safe, and away from whatever’s about to go on here, I take my first full breath.

The air around us is electrified with tension. Blake and Jonah stand blocking the only way out, making the room shrink around us.

“Now you” —Blake steps farther into the room—“get your cocksucking hands off my woman.”

“My wife.”

Blake sneers and advances another step. “Did he say wife?” he asks Jonah.

“That’s what I heard.” Jonah’s answer is low and intimidating.

“Huh.” Blake rubs his chin, looking thoughtfully at Stewart. “She doesn’t want you here, but here you are. She wants a divorce, but you’re still married.” His face turns positively murderous. “She doesn’t want to fuck you, but you take her anyway.” His muscles coil tight beneath his skin. “Seems to me, you’re a bad fucking listener.”

A slight tremor runs up Stewart’s side. “You don’t know anything about her.”

“Oh, I think I do,” Blake says, his lips curling back over his teeth. “I know she tastes like sweet vanilla between her legs when she opens them to me willingly. I know she moans so deep when she falls apart in my arms that I can feel it in my dick when I’m inside her, this too she gives me. I know she likes it when I crush her with my weight after I come inside her, her arms and legs wrap around me so tight, I think she’ll break my bones.”

Stewart’s eyes bulge, and his nostrils flare.

Blake moves again, not looking to be anywhere near finished. “But most importantly, I know she’d sacrifice herself and her safety for the people she loves. She’s been doing it her entire life. Throwing herself up like a shield.” His eyes find mine. “It’s time someone did the same for her.”

Tears spill from my eyes, his beautiful words releasing the emotion I’ve been holding back. He understands what I did was to protect him.

He knows that I love him.

“Blake—”

“Ha! You’re dumber than you look, kid. She’s got you fooled.” Stewart’s mouth brushes against my ear. “Don’t you, slut?”

I flinch at his hideous whispered words.

“She’s coming with us,” Jonah states, reminding me he’s still in the room.

“She’s staying with me.” Stewart tugs me back a step into the living room.

“Wrong. You let her go,” Blake says, “or I break both your arms.”

“You think she’s some prize?” Stewart’s voice is louder now, most likely unnerved by his dwindling options. “Guess she didn’t tell you about what a slut she was in high school.”

He’s lying. I was a virgin before Stewart, and he knows it. He’s trying to convince Blake that I’m not worth it.

“Did she tell you? Did the little slut—”

Two hands wrap tightly around his throat. He lets me go and reaches to claw at Blake’s wrists. I stumble away and across the room.

“One more word about my woman being anything other than perfect, I’ll break your fucking neck.”

Jonah closes in but doesn’t make a move to pull them apart.

“Say you hear me, asshole.”

Stewart nods, and Blake shoves him back and releases him. He clutches his throat, catching his breath. “She’s… got you… fooled.”

“Oh yeah, and how’s that?” Blake’s tone is mocking.

Killian, Axelle, and Raven show up in the doorway. They hurry in, but Jonah holds them back with his body, not allowing them close enough to get hurt.

Stewart’s recovered from Blake’s throat constriction, and stands to his full height. “Did she tell you how many guys she slept with the night she got pregnant with Elle?”

“Liar!” My shout fills the room, reverberating off the walls. “Why are you lying?”

“Oh, I’m a liar all right.” Stewart laughs. “But not now. Then.”

He lied… then? Lied about what?

“Oh, come on! Look at me.” He points to his face. “She looks nothing like me.”

The entire room goes still, and my head feels light. Oh my God. My head swivels toward Axelle,who’s wrapped in Raven’s arms. Her face is drained of color.

“Yeah, that’s right. Let it sink in, bitch—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Blake shoves Stewart, sending him back a couple steps. “Don’t say another fucking word.”

A flicker of something calculated passes over Stewart’s face. He looks back and forth between Blake and me. His lips curl into a grin. “Me and the boys had some fun that night. Hottest chick in school, drunk as hell at a party.”

Bile rushes up my throat. I stagger back, bracing my weight against a bookshelf. I don’t want to, but I desperately need to hear what he says next.

Blake shakes with rage, his muscles dancing beneath this skin, ready to unleash. “I warned you. Not another word.”

“Didn’t take much to get her so drunk she passed out. Shit, she probably weighed ninety pounds back then.” Stewart’s laughing and teasing, talking about me but speaking to Blake.

“I told you to shut your—”

“Blake, no. Let him. I want to know.” What happened that night? I remember drinking, and waking up with Stewart. But the in between… could he be telling the truth?

“Mouse, baby.”

I shake my head. “Please.”

“Fuck,” Jonah mumbles from across the room.

“Oh, now you want the truth, huh?” Stewart runs his hand through his hair. “You didn’t seem to care about the truth when your parents were begging me to marry you.”

Begging?

“They were so worried about your reputation. Little did they know you’d fucked half the football team that night.”

My hand splays over my chest, and then moves up to grip my neck. No. I’d have remembered. Right?

“We had our fun with you, taking turns, filling you up.” He looks past me like he’s reliving the memory and enjoying it.

“You’ve heard enough, Mouse,” Blake growls, his voice trembling with rage. “Get Axelle the fuck out of here.”

Axelle shrugs off Killian’s attempt to pull her outside. Her eyes lock on mine. She wants the truth as badly as I do.

“No. Tell me everything,” I say to Stewart, knowing that we may never find out what happened that night if we don’t get it now.

Stewart’s eyes grow icy cold. “Everything? How about how you ruined my life. You and your bastard kid.”

The nausea bubbles up into my throat. As badly as it feels to hear what he’s saying, I need him to continue. My soul demands answers.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I married you because I thought you were Axelle’s dad. If you weren’t, why didn’t you say anything?”

He throws his arms out to the side. “How fucking stupid can you be? What was I supposed to do? Admit that I roofied the hottest chick in school so the boys and me could gang bang her? I’d end up in jail.”

“Enough.” The pop of plaster rings through the room. Blake pulls his fist from the wall, where he knocked a foot wide hole. “I can’t take this shit.” Blake’s jaw is rock hard, his mouth in a tight line, and his fists flexed. His shoulders seem bigger, swollen and held up high, prepared to do damage. “Tell him you’ve heard enough.”

Stewart studies Blake through narrowed eyes. That scheming look back on his face. “Haven’t you been listening, asshole? You don’t want her. She’s garbage. Even back in high school, no one stepped up. Not one of the guys claimed the baby as their kid. No one wanted them.”

Crack!

The sickening sound of broken bone, and Stewart drops. Blood gushes from his nose, running down his chin and onto the carpet.

“I want them. They’re mine.” Blake’s words are bellowed seconds before the room erupts.

The coffee table shatters against the wall. Stewart is up and punches Blake, but it has no affect. He throws Stewart to the ground, straddles his body, and rains punches to his head. Fleshy thuds of fists to bone ring thorough the room.

Strong arms lift and move me from my statued spot. Axelle and Raven are talking to me, but their words are static. White noise compared to the words that pound in my head so hard they rattle my core.

I want them. They’re mine.

Twenty-nine

Blake

I’m lost in a blur of blood and rage. Fuzzy. Incoherent. Fueled by instinct over thought. My arms swing, one after the other, muscles burning. I’m high on the buzz. Light-headed from the release. Over and over, my hits land hard.

Pulled from behind, I thrust back an elbow to relieve the tension. Contact.

Wet coats my fists. My target isn’t moving. But that doesn’t stop me from delivering blow after punishing blow. I’m pulled back again. Voices filter through the fog. They’re yelling.

More, I need more. My arms crank harder. The object of my beating offers no resistance. I roar, an animal begging for a fight.

The voices yell louder. Stop, Stop!

I can’t. Revenge. Protection. Duty. These are what push me to punish.

A wall hits me from the side. I’m weightless a second before pain explodes in my shoulder. I struggle to get back to my feet. Crawling against the weight that holds me down. I thrash and kick, embracing the violence that hums in my veins.

Voices call my name, shouting. One familiar and feminine. She needs me.

Throwing off the resistance that keeps me grounded, I scramble to my feet. Visions assault my brain. Tear-streaked faces. Eyes round with panic and worry.

I shove through the fog, searching. Where is she? My muscles prepare for another fight. She cried out for me. I heard it, but where is she now? Adrenaline rockets through my veins.

A grip on my arm. I’m pulled back. No. They can’t keep me from her. I whirl on my attacker. My hand wraps around a neck. I push back and up, holding my enemy off the ground by the throat.

The voices yell louder. I squeeze tight, growling, ready to watch death pass through the eyes of the fucker.

Those eyes, wide with fear. And pain.

They roll back. Tears drip from chocolate brown irises.

My hold quivers.

Layla.

Layla

Oh, God. No! Not Blake. He promised he’d never hurt me.

I claw at his forearms. My eyes water, and splintering pain erupts in my throat. Everything around his enraged face fades to black. I try to talk, but my windpipe won’t allow it. Please, Blake. See me.

He blinks fast.

I fight for consciousness.

Jonah’s forearm crushes against his throat. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Snap out of it. Break through, man, fuck!”

The grip on my neck lets up. He drops his hand, and I crumble to the floor, gasping for air. Jonah wrestles a writhing Blake to the couch. He throws him face down into the cushions and digs his knee into his back.

He turned on me. All I did was touch his arm, and he turned on me. But that wasn’t my Blake. I saw it in his eyes.

Axelle and Raven pull me to my feet, asking me if I’m hurt.

“I’m okay.” I cough and swallow past the burn in my throat. “I’m okay.”

“Mom, what’s wrong with him?” Axelle’s sobbed words are laced with worry.

“I don’t know. He lost it.” That’s the only way I can make sense of what happened. One minute I was hanging on everything Stewart said, and the next… total chaos.

Stewart’s body lies motionless on the floor; his face’s coated in his own blood. Searching deep for empathy—or hell, pity—I find nothing but satisfaction. He had it coming. He practically begged for it with the hideous insight he provided into my past after Blake’s repeated demands for him to stop. Stewart goaded Blake into throwing the first punch. But why? So he could pull out a weapon and claim self-defense? But there’s no weapon.

Blake’s still on the couch, and Jonah’s talking close to his face. I can’t hear him, but whatever he’s saying doesn’t look pleasant.

I grab Axelle around the shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go into the kitchen.”

Killian looks out the window. “Cops are here.”

Axelle, Raven, and I huddle around the kitchen table, and Killian opens the front door.

Officers rush in, low to the ground, guns raised. “Everyone, stay where you are, hands up.” They move through to the living room, and out of my eyeshot.

“Put your guns away. He’s okay.” Jonah’s voice bellows from the living room.

“Lower your weapons.”

I cower, waiting for the gunshot that thankfully never comes.

Raven pulls a chair from my kitchen table and moves it to face me. “Are you sure you’re okay? Does anything hurt?” Her eyes make passes from my shoulders to my chin.

“I’m okay.” I rub my tender neck. “A little freaked out, but I’m not hurt.”

“Mom, are you sure? There’s an ambulance downstairs. They could check you—”

“Shh, no!” I shake my head, realizing what will happen if the cops find out about what Blake did to me. “We can’t tell the cops.”

“Layla—”

“Please, Raven. I don’t know what’s going on, but something’s not right.” I point to the living room. “That wasn’t the Blake I know. I saw his eyes. He wasn’t there.”

She glares at me, her lips pursed.

“You’ve known Blake now for how long? Has he ever shown that kind of violent behavior before? Especially toward women?”

She chews on her lip, and shakes her head. “No. That wasn’t like him at all.”

I nod. “Give me a few days to think. Something’s wrong, I just… he’s been paranoid lately and… I need time to think. We can’t rat him out to the cops until we know exactly what’s going on.”

“I agree with Mom. Blake’ll be in enough trouble for what he did to my da—Stewart.”

“Okay, Layla. It’s your call,” Raven says.

“Quiet, for now. Until I get more information. Then—”

“Mrs. Moorehead?” A young cop with a friendly smile strolls up to me from the living room.

“Layla. Call me Layla.” My voice sounds rough and garbled.

“Layla, I’m Lieutenant Hodgeson. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

He asks for my version of events. I tell him exactly what happened but leave out the detail about Blake coming after me. He writes on his pad of paper, flips a page, and writes more.

“Did he say anything to you? From the first punch to the last, was he coherent and communicative?”

I want them. They’re mine.

A fierce wave of protectiveness surges within me. “No, not really. He’d mumbled something after the first punch, but after that he didn’t speak.”

Lieutenant Hodgeson makes some notes then puts his pad and pen into his shirt pocket. “Your boyfriend’s going to be taken to the station and be put under arrest for felony assault.”

Shit. “But he was protecting us. Stewart’s the one who should be arrested. He barged into my home and made threats. Blake was trying to protect us. Everything he did was to keep us safe.” My voice is getting higher and higher, and worry for Blake’s future spikes my adrenaline.

I can’t let him go down for this. Heat flares at my neck. I try to soothe it with my hand.

The lieutenant’s eyes are warm with compassion. “Let me ask you something. Have you seen Mr. Daniels take anything recently? Drugs of any kind?”

“Drugs? No, he’s an athlete. He’d never put anything like that in his body. He works hard and…” My own words remind me of our conversation concerning his supplements. “Wait, he was taking a bunch of prescriptions.”

Lt. Hodgeson scribbles something in his notes. “Do you know what meds he was taking?”

“Um, no, but neither did he. They’re some kind of herbal concoction meant to help his training.”

He looks to the other cop standing next to him. The man nods.

“Mrs.—I mean, Layla, we suspect that Mr. Daniels was under the influence of a drug that might elevate his temper. Have you noticed any change in his temper or his ability to control himself lately?”

“Yes—”

“Yeah.” Jonah steps up and into the conversation.

He noticed it, too?

“He pulled something similar in the octagon about two weeks ago. And before that… fuck.” He runs his hands through his hair. “He told me something was off. Said he felt like he was going to bust out of his skin, but he didn’t know why.”

My stomach flips and surges. Goose bumps pepper my skin. He’s been dealing with this for weeks? All those times he’d lock down, storm out of a room, or race around locking doors. How did I miss it?

He takes more notes, this time shaking his head. “Do you have the name of the doctor who was treating Mr. Daniels?”

Jonah pinches the bridge of his nose.

I turn to the cop and face him head on. “Yeah, I do. Xavier. Dr. Michael Xavier.”

Thirty

Blake

It’s cramped in the back of the police car. My wrists burn where the cuffs cut into my skin. But I’m exactly where I deserve to be.

I lost it.

I promised her that she’d always be safe with me.

I broke my promise.

What if Jonah hadn’t been there to pull me off? How long would I have held her tiny neck before it snapped? The same neck I’ve trailed my tongue against. Buried my nose in to inhale her scent. The gentle flesh where I’d whisper words of encouragement, coaxing her to relax and let go.

Groaning, I drop my head. Yeah, I deserve to be locked up. Not for what I did to her ex… er, husband. Whatever. Hell, after the shit he said, I’d do it all over again and smile the entire time. But no punishment is extreme enough for what I did to her. The memory of her eyes, dark, wild, and terrified, floods my mind. It’s my fault she sees me as someone to fear. No different from how she views Stew. My stomach twists, and I swallow back bile. I could’ve killed her.

What if I killed him?

When the cops took me out, the guy wasn’t moving. Fuck.

I’ll cooperate with the police and make sure I get the time I deserve. Me in a prison cell is the only thing that’ll keep me away from Layla and Axelle. I grip my stomach as it twists with revulsion. I’m just like Stew. Hooked on a woman I don’t deserve. Bad for her in every way. Violent. Controlling. They deserve better. A chance to live life with a man they’re not afraid of.

The back door to the police car opens, and a cop leans in. “Mr. Daniels, I’ve just spoken to your girlfriend.”

My girlfriend. Warmth tumbles in my gut and shoots to my throat, making it hard to swallow. I don’t correct the officer. I love the way it sounds.

“She told me her version of what happened.”

I drop eyes to my lap. Her version of what happened had to be terrifying. Fucking feral gorilla tearing the shit out of a man in her living room, then turning on her. She’ll never forgive me.

The CB radio clipped to his shirt blares a monotone voice. He turns it down. “Good thing you fellas dropped by tonight. Saved these girls from a pretty abusive guy, from what I hear.”

This gets him my eyes. Is he fucking with me? He looks dead serious, even a little proud. She didn’t tell him. After everything I did, she’s still shielding me. I don’t know if that makes her a sicko or a saint.

He sucks air through his teeth. “Thing is, law says we need to take you in. Mr. Moorehead’s on his way to the hospital with some pretty nasty wounds and one hell of a concussion. That’s felony assault.”

I go back to studying my knees, throwing up a prayer of thanks that the motherfucker’s still alive.

“I wanted to ask you a few questions, but you have the right to remain silent and—”

“I’ve been mirandized. I’ll answer whatever questions you have. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Are you under any medical treatment that we should be aware of?”

“Medical treatment?” I shake my head. “No.”

“Any at all? Meds prescribed by a doctor? Nothing like that?”

I shake my head, and then remember my supplements. “Just some herbal supplements for my training.” I shrug. “Oh, and uh, cortisone shots in my lower back.”

I don’t know what the fuck this has to do with anything. A crowd of people from the apartment complex begins to gather around, pulling out cell phones and snapping pictures.

“Do you think we could finish this up down at the station? I don’t want the paparazzi showing up. Layla and Axelle deserve their privacy.”

The cop looks around and seems to contemplate my request. “Sure thing. We’ll talk on the drive.”

I keep my head down until we’re well out of the apartment complex. As soon as I lift it, I see the eyes of the cop driving looking back from the rearview mirror.

“By the way, I’m Lieutenant Hodgeson. You can call me Dave.”

I nod toward him. “Blake.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m a big fan.”

That’s good. Nice to know I don’t need to worry about Lt. Dave going all Rodney King on my ass.

Dave drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “I wrestled in high school. Won Nationals and got a scholarship to Oklahoma State. Decided after graduation I wanted to become a cop.”

“Cool.” What does he want me to say? I’m standing at the gateway to some life changing shit, and he’s giving me his life story.

“’Lotta temptation when you’re wrestling at the college level. Saw some great athletes go down for giving in.” His eyes fix on me from the rearview and through the metal bars that divide us.

I glare at the mirror. Is he trying to ask me something?

“Can only imagine the temptation at the professional level.” His eyes are back on the road. “Especially with a fight coming up.”

“You getting at anything in particular, or you just talking to hear your own voice?” Pissing this guy off is not in my best interest, but if he’s implying what I think he’s implying? Then fuck him.

“According to eye witnesses, you snapped tonight. One minute you were fine, the next—boom.” The clicking from his turn signal fills the silence in the car, and its cadence matches my racing pulse. “My experience? Drugs are usually the cause of that kind of reaction. You being a professional fighter, training hard, doubt you’re smoking PCP or snorting coke.”

My glare spears him through the mirror, daring him to say it.

“Have you ever seen anybody roid-rage, Blake?”

I fucking knew it. I drop my head back and laugh.

Seen roid rage? Of course I have. I’ve been surrounded by some of the toughest men in the world since I was a kid. Military and professional fighting. “I don’t take steroids. That shit’s for the weak.”

“Yeah, that’s what your buddy Jonah said. But I know how pressure can make a man do things he may otherwise abstain from.”

“You don’t believe me? Test me. Take blood, piss, whatever you want. I don’t juice. Never have. Never will.” I sit forward, putting my face right up to the dividing bars. “I’m the best middleweight fighter in the UFL. That shit I earned. I fight for the most well respected league in the world. That shit we earned. I’d never throw that away for one fucking fight.”

Dave grins and nods his head. “I respect that.” He makes a right turn into a parking lot. The words “Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department” are lit up on a sign out front. “But I’m gonna go ahead and have you tested anyway.”

“Fine. Like I said, I’ve got nothing to hide.” How do I tell him that my problem isn’t drugs, it’s genetics? My dad’s blood drumming through my veins combined with Stew’s taunts were a lethal combination. ’Nuff said.

Booking takes hours. Not that I’ve got anywhere to go. Mug shots, fingerprints, and a urine sample later, I’m sitting in a small holding cell, my head in my hands, waiting for instructions.

I look up when I hear the buzz from the slide lock. Dave’s on the other side.

“Your lawyer’s on his way.” He walks in and leans against the wall. “I called the Nevada Gaming Commission. They’ve agreed to come down and test you.”

They’re going to test me for steroids? The heat of anger burns quickly and then dies. What do I care if the Gaming Commission tests me? Either way, my fighting career is over. At least until I serve my sentence. Then it’ll take years to earn back the respect and trust of my fans.

“Bring on the NGC. They’re not going to find anything.”

“Make yourself comfortable, Blake. It’s going to be a long night.” He turns and leaves me with my thoughts.

Layla. Is she sleeping with the lights on, with visions of me bloody fisted? Have I replaced Stewart in her nightmares? And Axelle. She just found out the man who raised her isn’t her father, but her mother’s gang rapist. Is she curled up in her mom’s arms crying? My chest cramps.

God, I’d give anything to be there for them now.

My elbows on my knees, I lace my fingers behind my neck. I breathe deep past the nausea the rolls in my stomach. Emotion clogs my throat. My eyes burn.

I was trying to protect them. How did things get so fucked up? The heavy weight of foreboding settles on my shoulders.

Something tells me this is just the beginning.

* * *

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I’d count the days by how many meals I’ve eaten. But I can’t stomach food. Or maybe by how many nights I’ve slept. But as tired as I am, sleep never comes.

Staring at the gray walls of my cell, time doesn’t move. Voices murmur and echo from nearby cells, reminding me that I’m not alone. But I am. Left with nothing but my anger and remorse.

And confusion. I’ve been charged for felony assault for what I did to Stew. But no mention of the choking. I rub my eyes until they hurt. Why didn’t she tell them what I did to her?

I gave the investigators my story in triplicate, at least, all that I could remember. I didn’t complain when I had to repeat myself over and over to every new face that asked. I gave blood, pissed in a cup, and waited. Waited for answers.

Then they came.

Positive.

Deca-Durabolin and Winstrol V. Illegal anabolic steroids.

That fucking doctor drugged me. That’s the only explanation I can come up with. Everyone looks at me like I’m crazy. Some stupid jock trying to blame someone else for my fuck up. Even my lawyer can’t hide his pity.

I know the truth. I’d never willingly take steroids. I have too much respect for the sport. I’ve worked way too damn hard to get where I am to fuck it up by juicing. But I have no proof. And unless Doc Z rolls in flappin’ his gums, a simple denial on his part will be the loaded chamber in this game of Russian roulette with my career.

“Daniels, you’ve got a visitor.” The guard from outside my cell hollers just before the buzz of my cell door unlocks.

I drag my heavy body from the cot and move to the opening, waiting for him to escort me to the visitor’s room.

Nervous energy flutters as hope filters through my depression. Could it be Layla? No, she probably wants nothing to do with me. If she’s smart, she’ll be halfway across the country to get the hell away.

The guard stops at a door, and we wait until we’re buzzed in. He walks me down a series of cubby-like desks with phones attached to the dividers, with glass separating the prisoner from the visitor.

“You’re in number seven.” He motions down the row and leaves me to it.

My heart pounds in my chest as I move down. Five, six. I stop and suck in a deep breath. If it’s her… oh, God, I hope it’s her.

One final step and I’m face to face with…no fucking way. “General?”

His expression is stony, lips pressed in a tight line, as he takes me in. I drop into the seat and grab the phone, pressing it to my ear and avoiding his eyes. He makes me wait before he picks up the phone on his side.

“Son. Somehow, I knew we’d be here one day. Orange is your color. Much more appropriate than the dress blues of a Marine.”

Of course he’d come to rub it in. Remind me of what a disappointment I am. But I’ve lost too much, and his words have no sting. I lift my eyes to his. “What do you want, Dad?”

He barks out laughter with no humor. “What do I want? I want my son to stop acting like a fucking child. I want you to honor your family—”

“Honor my family? What the fuck do you know about family?”

He flinches so slightly it’s barely noticeable. “I suppose this is where you blame me for your screw ups. Getting kicked out of the Marines, ending up in jail.” He shakes his head, disgust coloring his expression. “You need to take responsibility for what you’ve—”

“You first.” I grind my teeth, biting back the words that fight to be spoken.

“Me? What the hell did I ever do to you, other than try to get you to be a productive member of society?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Fury bubbles behind my sternum. “You took away everything. My mom, my music—”

“No, I protected you from the things that made you weak. Your mother coddled you, and that music…” He shook his head. “No man worth his salt plays the piano.”

I can’t believe it. After twelve years, he hasn’t changed. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’ll never see me for the man I’ve become, or the things I’ve achieved. I’ll always represent your biggest failure. You couldn’t turn me into a clone that would follow you around like a puppy, mimicking your every move, eventually becoming the weak, controlling asshole that you are.”

“I’m weak? You’re taking steroids, and you have the nerve to call me weak? I knew you were irresponsible and immature, but a cheater?” His eyes travel from my bright orange shirt to my hair. “I can hardly stand to look at you.”

I shrug. He’s not the only one. I can hardly stand to look at myself. It’s no use telling him that I’d never do steroids. I’d be wasting my time explaining that I think the UFL doctor poisoned me. Shit, it sounds stupid in my head. Saying it will only give him more ammo in his character assault.

“I’m done. Good luck with your life, Blake. I give up.” He slams the phone into its cradle, and the looming presence from the other side of the glass moves away.

“You gave up on me a long time ago,” I whisper.

Hanging up, I push from my seat.

“One more visitor.” My escort hollers down from his position at the door. “Take a seat.”

Another visitor? I don’t want to see anyone else, but I drop back down and wait. Movement on the other side of the glass brings my eyes to a pair that matches my own.

Holy shit. I rip the phone from the cradle and press it to my ear. My brother, Braeden, sits and raises the phone to his ear.

“Brae, man. Hey.”

His hair is darker than mine and cropped in a military high-and-tight. And he’s huge. Twice the size he was when I saw him last. Looks like he’s been hitting the gym hard. I guess he found a way to channel the caged feeling that accompanies being the son of Duke Daniels.

“Hey, bro,” he says, his smile genuine, but concern in his eyes. “They treating you okay in here?”

“Yeah. How are you?” For the first time in I don’t know how long, the tingle of a smile touches my lips.

“I’d be better if we were sitting at a bar having a beer and not separated by glass.”

Smile erased, I nod. “Sorry you have to see me like this. I fucked up.”

“That’s not the story I heard.”

“No? Well, you need better information.”

“Talked to Jonah and Raven. They told me everything.”

That’s about as accurate as he could get. “Oh, okay.”

“I just have one question.” He leans in on one elbow, putting his face close to glass. “Please tell me you didn’t fuck a stripper on Valentine’s Day when your girl was being held by her ex.” His green eyes dance with humor, and a grin pulls at his lips.

“That’s the shit you want to ask me? Really?” Damn, I miss my little bro. “No. I didn’t. It took me about eight seconds of being in a dark room alone with her to realize I was fucking everything up.”

“I knew it. Jonah owes me a hundred bucks.”

It’s nice to know someone still believes in me.

We chat for a while, small talk that revolves around him and doesn’t touch my jacked-up situation. The guard calls down that our time’s up.

“I better go.” I tilt my head toward the guard. “Captain Powertrip gets pissed if I don’t jump every time he calls.”

“Sounds good.”

“You leaving town soon or…” I don’t know what to say. It’s not like he’s going to stay for a week just so he can visit his big brother in jail.

“Yeah, I’ll be here for a few days.”

“Oh, really? So I’ll—”

“See you tonight.”

“What?”

“Oh, did I forget to tell you?” He scratches his head and takes an exaggerated look around. “I guess I did.” His lips curl into a full smile. “Jonah posted bail.”

My jaw goes slack. Bail was set at fifty thousand dollars.

He taps the glass between us. “Hang in there, bro. I’ll see ya later.”

Thirty-one

Blake

It’s after nine at night when I’m finally released. After a process that included a meeting with my lawyer and a series of signatures, I’m walking out of the jail’s release wing and into a dark parking lot. A familiar black pickup truck is parked and idling.

I should be overjoyed to see Jonah’s truck, but disappointment smothers the good feelings.

Holding on to the hope that I’d walk out and see Layla’s Bronco was a mistake. And daydreaming that she and Axelle would run to me so that I could crush them in my arms wasn’t smart.

With a firm shake of my head to rid it of the hopeful hallucinations, my empty chest echoes with what could’ve been. I mourn the loss of the dream.

“How’s life on the inside?” Jonah asks through the open truck window.

I shrug, swing open the door, and climb in. “Sucks.” But something tells me it’s a whole hell of a lot better than the shit I’m going to face on the outside.

He throws the truck in drive and maneuvers it out of the small lot. Silence fills the cab as if he’s waiting for me to ask the question and allowing me to take my time to do so.

I clear my throat, hoping to hide the emotion that’s riding so close to the surface. “How are they?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t know. Last I heard? Not too good.”

My gaze slides to the scenery flying past my window. “Fuck. They must hate me.”

“She doesn’t hate you, dude. If she did, she would’ve told the cops all that happened that night. She defended you. Down to the last second.”

Fuck. Why does hearing that make me feel worse? I should be happy that she covered for me. It’s what I’ve always wanted, right? I’ve been carrying resentment around for almost half my life because my mom didn’t protect my music and me.

Sitting in jail these last few days, alone with nothing but my thoughts, I contemplated all the reasons why Layla kept my attack on her a secret. She had nothing to gain by protecting me, and accepting that gift from a woman who’s been programmed to cover up her pain makes me want to throw my ass back in jail.

I rub my temples. My gut churns at the combination of conflicting feelings.

“She stopped answering her phone,” Jonah says. “Won’t answer the door. Killian said he can’t get in touch with Axelle, either. Only thing I’ve heard is that Gibbs gave her a few days off so she could get her shit straightened out.” He exhales a deliberate breath. “That’s another story.”

Consumed by the situation with Layla, I haven’t given much thought to Gibbs or how I’m going to take Doctor Motherfucker down. “Let’s hear it.”

“Your story’s national news. Gibbs is rollin’ like a pig in shit with all the attention the UFL’s pulling in. And now that Doc Z ran, he’s—”

My stomach drops. “Ran? Ran where?”

“Gone, man. Fucking ghost. Day after that shit went down. Office cleaned out, apartment he was renting vacated. Poof.”

A tingle creeps along my skin. The only chance to clear my name is gone. Poof? I rake my fingers against my scalp. “Jonah, you know I’d never do steroids, right? That fucking pussy shot me up, or put it in those pills I was taking. Fuck, man, the fact that the asshole ran proves it.”

His eyes stay forward, his jaw ticking.

“Don’t tell me you think I did it.” I can take my fucked-up dad not believing me. Layla’s mistrust is expected, considering what I’ve done to her. But after everything Jonah and I have been through, if he doesn’t believe me, I’m totally fucked.

“It’s a hard sell, dude,” he mumbles.

Burning rage flares in my gut. “I don’t fucking believe this shit.” I punch his dashboard hard. A crack slices through the plastic.

“Damn, dude. Chill out. I believe you. I’m just saying it’s going to be hard to prove.” He eyes the damage to his dash. “You know what that shit’s gonna cost me? Raven’s going to make that” —he points to the crack— “an excuse to redo my entire interior.” He groans and slams his hand against the steering wheel. “Shit. I swear if I get hot pink seats, I’m going to beat your ass.”

I stare at him for a few silent seconds before I roar with laughter. What he said was funny as shit. And so true. I’d have broken the thing weeks ago just to watch it all go down. But the relief of knowing that he believes me is what makes me feel lighter.

“Glad you find it funny, asshole.” He glares through the windshield while I catch my breath.

We pull up to my place, and I sit in the passenger seat, dreading getting out. How can I walk through my condo when everything about it reminds me of her? Of what I had. The only room that she hasn’t touched is the guest room. I make a note to spend all my time there. Until I move. I make another mental note to put my pad on the market first thing in the morning.

“Oh, Braeden asked that you give him a call. Said your cell goes straight to voicemail.”

“Yeah, I need to charge it. Thanks for the bail out and for bringing me home.” I push open the door.

“You’d do it for me.”

“I’m looking forward to the day when there’s no need to save each other’s asses.”

He chuckles. “Get some sleep. We’ll figure out how to prove you’re innocent in the morning.”

I move through the parking lot to the stairs. Each step that brings me closer to my door creates a memory that attacks with vicious potency. Key in the lock, I squeeze my eyes closed and push past the vision of her there in her socks and shining smile. Hurrying inside, I hope to dash the echo of the past that threatens to drop me to my knees.

“Fuck, don’t be such a pussy.” I throw my shit on the floor in the foyer, and my gaze snags on the wall where I pressed her body before that first time we… made love. My throat swells, and for a minute, I can’t drag my eyes away.

Forcing myself to walk away, I head to the kitchen. I need to stay focused on my case. I’ve lost her, but I might be able to save my career. Pulling all the bottles and powders from the cupboards, I scan the labels. Memories of Layla in my kitchen doing the same thing push for dominance. I shove them back to the recesses of my thoughts and focus.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” There’s not a word on any of the labels that hints to a prescribing doctor.

What would be his motive for pumping me with steroids? Did Gibbs doubt my ability to win the fight and think juicing me would give me an advantage? I rub my face. That makes no sense. Gibbs benefits no matter who wins. Not to mention that the Gaming Commission tests all fighters before a fight, and I would have been caught then. That rules out Doc Z placing money on the fight, juicing me up so I’d win and he’d get a huge payout.

My head thumps with an oncoming headache. Jonah’s right. I haven’t slept. I need to think this through with a clear mind. I grab my phone charger from the kitchen drawer and head toward my spare bedroom. My eyes slam closed as I pass the music room, and my chest tightens with an unbearable cramp.

The guest room hasn’t been used in years. The stale smell of dust and abandonment fit perfectly with my mood. I plug in my phone and punch out a quick text to Brae telling him I’m out and headed for bed. I strip down naked, hit the lights, and crawl between the sheets. My head is foggy, exhaustion making it impossible to string together a coherent thought.

And even still, her memory floods my senses. The smell of her hair, the feel of it as it runs between my fingers. Her pleasured whimpers and moans when I’m inside her. The softness of her skin as my lips run along her cheek and down her neck.

Her neck.

My chest hollows out. Crippling emptiness crashes over me in waves. I close my eyes and beg for sleep. And pray that dreams won’t come.

Layla

It’s taken me three days. The decision didn’t come lightly, but after a lot of thought, I know it’s my only choice.

I finally had to let my phone die to keep from answering the calls from concerned friends. I knew if I took even one call, I’d be begging them to tell me about Blake. Just the thought of his name makes my eyes burn.

I need to get over that.

No more sitting in my apartment with Axelle, going over and over all of our options. In the end, we decided together that the best choice would also be the hardest.

But everything good comes with a price.

We don’t want to live in fear of what’s waiting around the corner. Or grow old and grow up with a list of regrets weighing us down. So we made our choice.

It’s time to see if he’ll take us back.

My hand trembles against the door handle as I push into the hospital room. Machines beep in sequence and seem to match the pace of my steps. Stewart’s head lolls toward me at the sound of my entrance.

“Hey.” I’m tentative, nervous about how he’ll react seeing me.

A lot was said the night he was brought here. There’s so much we need to talk about. I can only hope he’ll give me a chance to say what I need to say, and pray he doesn’t kick me out.

“What are you doing here?” His words are garbled through what looks like a few dozen stitches and a broken nose.

I make no move to get closer. “I was hoping we could talk.”

“Said everything I had to say.” He turns his face away.

I swallow my nerves and move deeper into the room. “Then, do you mind if I talk?”

He doesn’t answer.

“I’m sorry about happened to you. I tried to get Blake to leave, but…” Sadness cuts through my words. Determination moves my feet toward his bed. “He’s in a lot of trouble. Steroids, his career is over, and he’ll be in jail for a while.”

Stewart’s head jerks back around. “As he should be.” His words are spit through swollen lips.

“Yes.” It’s all I can say with my heart in my throat.

“So you’re not in love with him?”

I’m pinned to the floor by the power of his glare.

“He seemed to think you two had something special.”

I shake my head. “I want to go home.” My stomach revolts, twisting in disappointment. “Back to Seattle with you and Elle.”

Wide eyes push against his bruised lids. “This is a surprise. You’d said back at the apartment—”

“Forget what I said. The fact is, you took care of me when I had no one. I was alone and pregnant and… you took us in.”

“I thought I loved you back then.” He shrugs. “You were the hottest thing on two legs.”

That’s not love. Anger boils in my veins, but I douse the fire and concentrate on my end goal. “I think, if you give me another chance, I could learn to love you.” I grip my hands behind my back to keep them from trembling. “I owe you my life.”

“You’d come back?” he whispers.

“If you’ll have us.”

His hand reaches out for me, and I hold my breath before taking it. He tugs me to sit at his side. “You’ll never be rid of me, Lay. I’ve worked too hard to make you mine.”

“So you were just testing me? When you let us leave Seattle, you had every intention of bringing us back?” There’s too much anger in my voice.

He turns away from me again. Shutting me out. But I need him to tell me the truth.

“Stewart.” I calm the pounding rage in my head. “I want things to work out between us. But you need to be honest with me. I’ll tell you the truth about anything you want to know, just please, let me in.” I stroke his arm until he gives me his eyes. “Please.”

“I saw you were looking for jobs. Made a phone call. That’s it.”

My heart skips at his honesty. I wondered how I got hired so quickly when I had no work experience. “You’re the one responsible for getting me a job with the UFL.”

He shrugs one shoulder.

I give him what I hope is a flirty smile and pull his hand into my lap. “Is that all I owe to you?”

He grins and then hisses in pain.

“Ouch, be careful.” I run my fingertip lightly across his lips, and my stomach rolls.

Even surrounded with deep purple bruises, there’s a flicker of desire in his eyes. “You’re really mine?”

I bob my head a couple times in answer, not trusting my voice.

“Come here.” His demand is heavy with want.

Mustering my strength, I think about all I’m sacrificing and shove it away. I lean forward. His hands stab into my hair and he brings his lips to my ear. “We need to get out of town.”

“Mmm, yeah. That’s what I want.”

“There could be fallout, and I need to be home to make sure your little detour doesn’t lose me my license.”

My stomach pitches, and a chill races up my spine. “What do you mean?” My question sounds relaxed, even though my heart feels like it’ll pound out of my chest.

He releases me enough to see his eyes, but keeps me close. “Gibbs and I made a deal. He hired you, and I sent him a little publicity package wrapped in a tainted doctor and some very specific drugs.”

“What does that have to do with us?”

“Nothing you need to worry about. Let’s just say Gibbs got the publicity he wanted.” He pulls me in for a kiss, but to avoid using his destroyed lips, he uses his tongue and teeth, releasing me with a bite.

I swallow a gag, then lick the metallic flavor of his blood from my mouth and pretend that his act of possession turns me on. Running my hands down his torso, his hips flex in response.

“I want to fuck you so badly right now.” He groans and pulls my hand to his erection.

Lightheaded with disgust, I struggle to get more information. “How’d you find a doctor who’d agree to sacrifice his reputation?” I grip him tightly and stroke, with a non-verbal promise of reward if he answers my question.

“Yeah, you missed that, didn’t you, Laylay?”

I let go, threatening to stop. He presses my hand down and rolls his hips. Talk, Stew.

“The MD had charges filed against him for selling OxyContin. Turns out he also had a nasty habit of videotaping himself with patients after he’d put them to sleep.”

I recoil, finding it impossible to keep my expression indifferent. To think I was alone in the same room with that sick fuck.

“I approached him, explained that I needed an MD who had nothing to lose. If he agreed, I’d give him a fake passport and enough money to leave the country. He jumped all over it.”

“I don’t get it. You did all that just to get me a job?”

He has the decency to look embarrassed. “Not exactly.”

“Stewart, I’m your wife.” I’m surprised the words flow as naturally as they do. Years of practicing have made me an expert liar. “You can trust me.” Those four words, the same one’s I used to get to Blake to share his secrets with me, sour and wash me in shame.

“He doped up that fighter to get him busted for steroids. Got a couple bogus signatures from you that show you approved the fighter’s meds. I knew when all this shit blew up, you’d need me to bail you out. I’d fix it, and get you back and home where you belong.” A creepy laugh gurgles in his chest. “The best part of it all was an accident. Turns out, the guy he was doping was the same guy who was fucking my wife.” A satisfied smile curls his lips. “I call that a win-win.”

Cocksucking asshole. I grab his dick and twist it with all my strength. He howls in pain, and blood seeps from his stitched lip.

“Not this time, Stew.” I push back from the bed, barely escaping his hand as he grabs for my hair. “This time, I win.”

The door opens behind me, and I don’t have to turn around to know that five armed police officers are at my back.

Stew’s face goes slack, eyes darting.

“You guys get everything you need?” I call over my shoulder.

Lieutenant Hodgeson steps to my side. “Loud and clear. Great job.” He spears Stewart with a glare. “I’ve got a list of charges against you, Mr. Moorehead, including rape. I suppose you need a lawyer.”

“You fucking bitch.” Stewart thrashes on the bed, pulling at cords. “I’m going to kill you.”

Three police officers move quickly and handcuff him to the bed. “Sir, you just added another charge by threatening a woman. I suggest you keep your mouth shut until your lawyer arrives.”

I rip the hidden mic, wires, and box device from beneath my clothes. “Am I free to go?”

“Absolutely.” Lt. Hodgeson aims a smile my way. “Oh, and you might want to know, Mr. Daniels was released on bail last night.”

“Oh, um…” He’s out. “That’s good news.”

He nods toward me then turns to his officers and a still struggling Stew.

Knees wobbling, I push my legs to carry me out of the room. How does Blake feel about me now? It’s because of me that he has a police record. It’s my fault that he’s lost his career, and his reputation is destroyed. He’ll never forgive me.

As much as I want to run to his place, fall to his feet and sob until he takes pity on me, I’m probably the last person he wants to see.

And with such victory comes crashing defeat. After all, what joy is there in being free if I can’t share it with the people I love? I remind myself that Axelle is my life, my priority. She’ll always be enough for me.

Even if my heart is screaming otherwise.

Thirty-two

Blake

I’ve been at it for nine hours. Sitting in front of my computer, exhausting every search engine ever created, and nothing. No record of a Doctor Michael Xavier. Anywhere.

I took a break from my online manhunt to research the drugs that were found in my system. Both can be ingested and injected. Easily given without a patient’s knowledge.

That bastard totally fucked me. And now he’s gone.

Slamming my laptop shut, I toss it on the bed next to me. My stomach growls, reminding me that I’ll have to leave the safety the spare bedroom eventually or starve to death. As appealing as the latter option is, I can’t die yet. Not before I find that motherfucker who ruined my life and make him pay.

My fists dig into my eye sockets. “This pity shit isn’t going to get me anywhere. Concentrate.”

I grab my cell phone. Missed calls. Two from my brother, one from Lieutenant Hodgeson. No Layla.

Calling her isn’t an option. What if she tells me to fuck off? I scroll through my directory to her number, my thumb making passes over the word call lit up in green. I try to ignore the voice in my head that taunts me. I’ve done this at least a dozen times since I woke up. “Fuck it.” I hit the button.

It’s ringing, and I hold my breath waiting for her voice. Shit, what am I doing? She’ll call me if she wants to talk. An automated voice comes through the earpiece, asking me to leave a message. I grumble at being cheated of hearing her voice on an outgoing message. Even that would have been something.

The high-pitched beep sounds, and I freeze. Do I leave a message? What would I say? My throat is dry. I open my mouth to speak, but can’t do it. I pull the phone away from my ear and hit “End”.

I run my hand over my head. A million different things whirl through my mind, and I can’t get the shit to slow down. Layla’s got a lot to deal with right now. She’ll call me when she’s ready. Or not. Dammit.

This head-fuck is sidetracking me. I’ve got things to do, and I need to get to them. I redirect my energy to proving my innocence, and call Lt. Hodgeson.

“Mr. Daniels.”

“Hey, Dave. Did you call to tell me I left my toothbrush in jail? If so, you can keep it.”

He laughs. “No, nothing like that. Do you have time today to come down to the station? There’re a few things I need to talk to you about.”

Dropping my head back to my pillow, I groan. “I don’t know, man. Last time you and I talked at the station, I ended up behind bars.”

“Good point. Meet me for a beer?”

“Now you’re talking.”

“Great. Armadillo’s at five.”

“See ya then.”

* * *

At five o’clock on the nose, I’m walking through the front door of Armadillo’s. It’s a dive bar for locals and boasts the coldest beer in town. One of those places you walk in and it takes ten minutes for your eyes to adjust from the bright sun to the dark room. I welcome the sound of pool balls smacking together and crappy country music. It’s a great distraction from the chaos whirling in my head.

As I move through the room towards the bar, eyes follow my every step. The pool balls fall silent, and the chatter turns to whispers. I drop my face and rub my forehead in a pathetic attempt to hide. Should’ve known being out in public would be uncomfortable. After all, these people think I’m a cheater who’s dirtied Las Vegas’s most profitable sport. Maybe meeting at the station would’ve been a better idea.

Dave’s sitting at the end of the bar, beer in hand. He waves me over.

Squeezing past a couple of bikers who don’t make it easy it on me, I’m grateful to make it to my barstool. “You’re early.” I motion to Dave’s half-empty pint glass.

“It’s been a crazy day.” He motions to the bartender for another. “What’re you drinking?”

I order a Sierra Nevada and notice activity in the room has gone back to normal. “What’s up?” No use avoiding the issue. He’s obviously got something he needs to say, and I don’t want to spend any more time here than I have to.

“We made some headway in your case.” The bartender puts our beers down, and Dave nods his thank you.

“That’s great news. You find the prick doctor who dosed me?” I grip my beer bottle so tight my fingers go numb.

“No.”

“Fuck.” My bicep jumps, and I want to hurl my beer across the room, but without the drugs in my system, I control the wild urge with ease.

“There’s been a development. Something that was brought to our attention by an eyewitness—”

“Dave man, cut the shit. I’ve lost everything. My career, my woman, and her kid. If you’ve got some good news, just fuckin’ tell me.”

“Fair enough.” He turns his stool toward me. “Stewart Moorehead set up his wife. He’s the one responsible for what happened to you. But he didn’t act alone. He had a partner to pull it off.” He leans in. “Taylor Gibbs.”

I shove back from the bar, my pulse drumming in my ears. My muscles contract with the urge to break something. “You’re fucking with me.”

He shakes his head and then goes onto explain how Stewart got Layla the job with the UFL, promising Gibbs the publicity he was looking for.

Unable to sit back down, I take a moment to register this new information. It doesn’t surprise me the lengths that Stew went to in order to ruin Layla. She even mentioned that he’d let her go too easily.

But Gibbs. I knew he was a media whore of the worst kind, but to discredit the sport for a headline is some fucked up shit. And throwing out one of his fighters is unfathomable. He’s not only killed my career, but he’s tainted the UFL name, and taken a shit on mixed martial arts while flippin’ it a big fat “fuck you”.

“We’ve arrested Mr. Moorehead, and we’re in the process of getting Gibbs. That’s where you come in. The LVPD’s going to need your help in getting a confession. If not, it’s his word against Stewart’s.”

“I’ll do it. Whatever it is, I’m game. As long as it means he goes down hard.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He nods to my barstool. “Have a seat.”

I’m so hyped up on adrenaline it’s hard to sit still, but I pull my shit together and hear him out. He explains the plan, and for the first time in a while, I feel hopeful.

“You think it’ll work? Getting the recorded confession?” I take a long drag off my beer.

“It worked beautifully today.” He smiles and tries to cover it with a cough.

“What’re you talking about? And why are you grinning like a girl?”

“How do you think we got that information out of Stewart? We mic’d Layla and sent her in.”

My stomach drops, and the mention of Layla and Stewart in the same sentence makes my flesh crawl. But overriding my irritation is anger. “Why would you do that? Guilting Layla into coming face to face with the man who had her gang raped? Who lied to her about being the father of—”

“Calm down, Blake.” He holds up his hands. “She came to us. It was her idea.”

“Her idea.”

“She had suspicions about Doctor Xavier. Your positive blood test sent her on a mission to prove her theory. She came to me with the idea and said she’d get the confession.”

I’m dizzy, my mind spinning. I brace myself against the bar to keep upright, my head in my hands.

She did all that. For me?

The guy who choked her in her living room? In front of her kid?

I swallow past the lump forming in my throat. “She did that?”

He has the decency to keep his gaze forward, allowing me my privacy as I process all he’s shared. “She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

She’s a single mom with a mouth to feed. Her job is her lifeline away from Stewart. And yet, she risks it to save my reputation. After everything I’ve done, she throws herself up to shield me?

That is what’s going on here, right? It has to be. But one question nags me to ask. If she cares about me, why haven’t I heard from her? Where was she when I was in jail, and why didn’t she answer my call? Maybe this is her parting gift. Her way of saying thanks for the good time, sorry it didn’t work out.

I groan and rub my temples. This is all so damn confusing. One thing at a time. First Gibbs.

“I’ll get Gibbs to confess. You name the time and place. I’m there.” Even off duty and in his civilian clothes, I decide not to share my plan to break Gibbs’s nose for conspiring with Stewart against Layla. I’ll wait until after he confesses, but it will happen.

“Meet me at the station at oh-six-hundred. We’ll go from there.”

I push my beer bottle away and stand to leave. “Thanks for the drink.”

My mind is miles ahead of my body, envisioning my confrontation with Taylor, planning my speech to perfection.

This is the final obstacle to getting my life back. Saving my career is an added bonus, but not the prize.

I want my woman back. And Gibbs is going to make that happen. I won’t accept anything less.

* * *

Stepping foot into the training center feels like strutting down Las Vegas Boulevard naked with a propeller strapped to my johnson. And it has shit-all to do with the mic stuck to my chest. Everyone here, from front desk to fighters, is staring. And these stares aren’t giving me the warm and fuzzies. It’s all death glares and whispers. Not that I blame them. They’re convinced I’ve shamed the UFL. I’d do the same thing if our roles were reversed.

I drop my head and play the part. It’ll help if they believe I’m guilty.

I’m halfway through the sparring floor when I hear my name. I quicken my pace.

“Wait up, dude.” Rex jogs to me, and unless I want to run off like a pussy, I have to stop.

“What’s up?” I flick a glance toward the hallway that leads to the executive offices. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”

Breathing heavy, he pulls off his gloves. “I heard about what happened. Tried calling a few times, but got your voicemail. You okay?”

“Fine. We’ll talk later. I’ve got shit I need to talk to Gibbs about.” I turn to leave.

“Blake, man.”

I stop and look over my shoulder at the concerned sound in his voice.

“I know you didn’t do it. Been fighting with you for years, and…” He pulls at his lower lip, probably looking for that damn lip ring he never wears when he trains. Giving up, he shrugs. “Just thought you should know.”

“Thanks, dude. Appreciate it.” I move toward the hallway, knowing that if I stand there for another minute talking about my innocence, I’ll get too fired up to do what I have to do.

Stopping just before the corridor that leads to Taylor’s office, I take a deep breath. I’m not nervous to get his confession as much as I’m dreading Layla’s desk. Jonah had told me that she was taking time off to sort her shit, but he never said how much time. What will I do if she’s there?

With no time to consider the possibility, I make my way down the hall. Her desk is empty. Thank God. I take a quick glance. It looks exactly the same, down to the picture of Axelle with a sweet smile on her face centered among her things. I accept the pain that twists in my chest and use it to push my legs forward.

Taylor’s door is open. He’s sitting at his desk and looks up from his computer but says nothing.

I put on my most pathetic gait and step into his office, shutting the door behind me. “You got a minute?”

“You’re not supposed to be here. You’ve been put on probation.” He almost sounds happy about it. And now, I know why.

“I’m not here to train.”

He motions to a chair. “Have a seat.”

I sit and keep my eyes to my lap. My redirected gaze serves two purposes. One, to look desperate. Two, if I look into this fucker’s face, I may be forced to break it. “I’m not one for candy coating, so I’m just going to come out and say it. I know you made a deal with Stewart Moorehead. He’s confessed to sending Doc Z in exchange for you hiring Layla.”

Taylor’s eyes are intent, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“Layla’s gone back to her husband. Stewart got what he wanted, but I’ve been fucked in the process.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Taylor, I’ve lost everything. The girl, my career, my reputation. Fighting’s all I have. I’m here to make you a deal.”

He doesn’t say yes, but he’s not telling me to fuck off and get out of his office either.

“I’ll confess to taking steroids. I’ll admit that I was weak and the pressure of my fight with Wade was too much. I’ll beg for my fans to forgive me. It’ll be great publicity for the UFL.”

The motherfucker’s eyes light up. Asshole.

“I’ll do the talk shows, interviews, whatever you want. All I ask is that you keep me on as a fighter, and that you back my confession. Show the public that you’re forgiving me and giving me another chance.”

“That’s it? All I have to do is show support?”

“Yeah, that’s it. I have to say, this was brilliant. I’ve never seen so much UFL media coverage. You played that perfectly.” I scratch my chin and grin. “I do have one question though. The steroids angle was a huge risk. It could have discredited the sport, and you could have lost.” I lean forward and keep my voice quiet, but loud enough to be picked up by the mic. “How did you know it would work?”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Cut the shit, Gibbs. If we’re going into this together, let’s do it without the piles of lies between us. This deal I’m offering is huge. The cops will back off their investigation of the UFL, of Doc Z, but I need to trust you. So tell me. How did you know?”

He looks around the room as if contemplating my words. “How do I know you won’t fuck me?”

I hold up my hands. “You’ve got the upper hand. It’s the owner of the UFL’s word against the jailbird fighter’s. No one will believe me over you.”

Exhaling a long breath, he shrugs. “It was a business deal. Nothing personal.”

It was personal to me, you son of a fuck! “Right, business. I get it.”

“Lance Armstrong brought bicycling to the forefront with his blood doping. I thought I could do the same.”

My temper threatens to overcome my restraint. If I blow this now, I’m back to Internet searches for doctor that doesn’t exist. I bite back my rage. “But blood doping and steroids is bad publicity.”

His lips curl into an evil smile. “No such thing as bad publicity.”

It takes every bit of my energy to fake a grin. His answering chuckle tells me he bought it. I still need more.

“I get it wasn’t personal, but why me?”

“Wrong place at the wrong time. We could have doped up one of the other fighters with oral steroids, but you needed the cortisone. That helped. I would have waited until the perfect opportunity arose, but your fight was right around the corner so…” He shrugs. “I thought we’d have to wait until you got tested before your fight. It was Stewart’s idea to provoke you into a fight at Layla’s place. As over-doped as you were, he was convinced he could get you to roid rage. Doc Z told him you were getting close to that on your own. He provided the push. I want you to know, I didn’t agree to that. I thought the steroids was enough, but he wanted retribution for you banging his wife.”

“I appreciate your honestly, Gibbs.” I stand, unable to take another word from his backstabbing mouth. The steroids are leaching from my system, so I no longer have the urge to rip off people’s limbs, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to beat this fucker’s ass bloody.

He stands and moves around his desk. “I’m glad you came to me, Blake. Now that everything’s out on the table, I think we’ll be able to spin this to our benefit, as well as to the UFL’s.” He offers his hand.

I smile and shake his hand. “I agree.” Yanking his arm, I grab him behind the head and smash his face into the corner of his desk.

He grunts and cups his face. Blood spills from his nose.

“Spin that, bitch.” I turn and walk to the door just as it opens.

Undercover cops file into the room, yelling for Taylor’s cooperation. Lieutenant Hodgeson is waiting outside, leaning on Layla’s desk. He pops the earpiece from his ear. “Easy enough?”

I rip the mic from my chest and hand the equipment to him. “Yep. Just uh… be careful.” I point over my shoulder. “The floor in the office is uneven or something. Gibbs tripped and busted his face up.”

He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t call me out. “I’ll make sure to watch where I step.” Shifting slightly, he spots the picture of Axelle and picks it up. “Pretty girl.”

“She is. Just like her mother.”

“Well, looks like we’re all done here. I’m sure your lawyer will be in touch with the details.” He hands me the framed photo. “Looks like you got your life back, Snake.”

My life, yes.

But not my heart.

Thirty-three

Layla

I can breathe again. After getting Stewart’s confession, I went home and slept for fifteen hours. Setting up my ex in a covert undercover operation with the LVPD was exhausting. But knowing he’s in custody where he’ll pay the price for what he did to me, and to Blake, makes it easier to relax.

It’s three in the afternoon when I venture to my kitchen for food. Axelle finally went out with Cara, leaving me alone to marinate in the silence. I know that her getting back to her social life doesn’t equal healing. That’ll take time, if it’s even possible.

Learning that the man she’s known as dad her entire life is not only a liar but also a gang-rapist isn’t something she’ll get over anytime soon. I’d offered to hunt down her biological father, to have blood tests done, but she refused. Not wanting to push her too hard too soon, I decided to give her the space she needs to process. Maybe in a few years, even though she swears she’ll never want to know, she’ll change her mind.

I’m still coming to terms with the way Axelle was conceived. Anger, betrayal, and confusion all fight for control in my head. But none of them comes close to the guilt. I regret that I didn’t see through Stewart’s true intentions before I gave him my life, and I’m ashamed because I couldn’t protect Axelle from the ramifications of my horrible decisions. I see years of therapy in our future, but the prospect isn’t daunting. It’s comforting. Because in that future there’s no Stewart. There’s only us.

Only us.

I take a deep breath past the smothering sadness that has been my constant companion. I miss Blake. I’ve worried about what he must be going through. He lost his reputation, his career, everything he’s worked hard to accomplish.

All because of me.

Rummaging through my cupboards, I think back to that night in his music room. The despondent look on his face when he explained his reason for hiding his gift. He was forced to downplay and lock away his natural talent in order to protect himself. Even as an adult, he hides his music from his friends, all because he’s afraid that at any moment something will steal it away.

Then I come along and do exactly that. Rob him of the thing he loves most.

His fighting.

No longer hungry, I give up my search for food. My head is heavy, and I contemplate going back to bed for the next few days. Sitting at the kitchen table, I rub my temples. “I’m going to need a new job.”

Chances are I’ll be fired when the UFL’s parent company gets wind of my involvement in Gibbs’s arrest. I can’t afford to go more than a week without income, and even that’s a stretch. Lucky for me, Vegas has a lot of opportunities. An online job search should keep my mind busy for a few—knock, knock.

I stare at my front door. Who the hell could be stopping by? I finally charged my phone but haven’t checked for missed calls since I woke up.

“Who is it?” I make no move to stand. If it’s a door-to-door salesman, I don’t want to exert the effort.

“Open the door, bitch.” Eve’s unmistakable voice filters clearly through my open kitchen window. “You can run, but you can’t hide.”

“You’re going to freak her out.” Raven’s hissed words make me grin… “Layla, it’s us. We’re just checking up, wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“Don’t lie, Rave.” Eve’s attempt at a whisper fails. “We’re taking you out. So let us in. Holding all these hangers is killing my fingers.”

“Eve, stop being so pushy,” Raven says.

I’m covering my mouth, laughing my ass off. These two will never leave, and if I know Eve, she’ll take extreme measures if I don’t comply.

“You haven’t seen pushy yet. But if she doesn’t open this door in the next three seconds, I’ll bust it—”

I scramble up from the table and fling open the door. “No, don’t. I’m here—Ompf!”

Raven tackle-hugs me. “Oh my gosh, Layla. Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” She stands back and holds my shoulders, checking me over. “Are you okay? You look okay. Tired maybe, but okay.”

Eve kicks the door shut and strolls past us, both of her arms weighed down with what looks like an entire wardrobe.

“I’m fine. Sorry about my phone. It died, and I finally got around to charging it.”

Her blue-green eyes continue to take me in from face to feet. “I think you need to get out.” She grabs my hand and drags me to my room, where Eve has laid hangers and hangers of clothes on my unmade bed.

“No, I don’t feel like going out.” I lean up against my dresser, eyeing the fabulous dresses and outfits that they brought over. I cross my arms, hoping they see it as a sign of defiance rather than what it really is. Me wanting to tear through those clothes like Bridezilla at a wedding gown sale.

“Uh-uh. I didn’t pull a muscle dragging all this shit up here to be told you don’t feel like going out.” Eve rubs her shoulder, grimacing. “So get your ass in a shower and let’s do this.”

Raven sits on the edge of the bed, pleading with her eyes. “Come on, Layla. It’ll be good for you. A night out with the girls, a few drinks, some laughs… what do ya say?”

That actually does sound nice. I could use a few drinks. And after my extended nap, I don’t see myself falling back to sleep anytime soon.

I shrug. “That could be fun.”

“She’s in.” Eve spins me toward my shower. “Now go get cleaned up, and then we’ll help you pick out something to wear. Lord knows there’s plenty to choose from.”

“Thanks, guys.” I leave Eve at my bathroom door, shutting it enough for privacy but leaving it cracked so we can talk. I flip on the hot water and strip down. “Where are we going anyway? I heard there’s a fun wine bar at The Cosmopolitan.”

“Oh, um… we thought we’d go somewhere a little more relaxed,” Raven hollers from my bedroom.

Relaxed sounds good.

“Just tell her,” Eve says loud enough for me to hear.

That doesn’t sound good.

I wrap a towel around my naked body and stomp into my room. Both girls are standing just a foot away from each other, locked in a heated whispered discussion.

“Tell me what?” I cock a hip and wait.

“Huh?” Raven tries to act clueless, but it doesn’t work.

“You should know that having a teenage daughter kinda makes me an expert lie detector.” I swing my scowl from one fibber to the other. “Where are we going?”

Raven clears her throat. “It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises.”

Eve steps up to me and grins. “We’re going to The Blackout. It’s Battle of the Bands.”

“No, no way. I’m not going. I can’t go.” I spin on my heel and walk back to the bathroom to put on my clothes.

They follow me in. “Layla—”

“I’m not ready.” I shake my head. “I can’t do it.”

“He’s not going to be there. I had Jonah check. It’s his brother’s last night in town, and he’s taking him gambling,” Raven says.

“How do you know they won’t stop by? I’ll be a nervous mess all night wondering if he’s going to walk through the door.” I grip my towel tighter to keep from losing it.

“He won’t.” Raven’s expression turns sad.

“You don’t know that.”

She and Eve exchange a look. “I do know that. He’s taking some time off. Not just from fighting, but from everything. He told Jonah he needs a few weeks to be alone.”

“Oh.” Of course he is. He’s mourning the loss of his career and his reputation. Even the most loyal fans have reason to doubt Blake. Athletes rarely make a full recovery after a steroids scandal.

It’s all my fault. If he’d never met me, if I’d stayed in Seattle… I pinch my eyes closed and push back the searing thought.

Suddenly, getting as drunk as possible sounds pretty good. The burn of alcohol should deaden the ache in my chest. I’ll let Raven and Eve dress me up and drag me anywhere they want. As long as there’s a bottle to help me forget. Even for only one night.

I look back and forth between the concerned eyes of my friends. “Okay, give me fifteen minutes.” My voice sounds how I feel. Distant and robotic.

They nod and leave me to my shower. Guilt invades with vengeance, coaxing bitter tears to slide in silence. My hot tears dissolve into the steamy spray as if they never existed. If only I could do the same with the past.

* * *

“Layla, you might want to slow down,” Raven yells to me over the pounding music.

I throw back another shot called a Fireball, something that Mac told me is nothing more than cinnamon-flavored whiskey. Whatever it is, it’s damn delicious and burns all the way down to my stomach. “I’m good.” I bob my head along with the metal guitar sound of a band called Zombie Diet as they play their last song.

We’ve heard three bands so far, and they’re getting better and better as the night progresses. Of course, that may have something to do with the Fireballs.

The music stops, and the crowd blares an ear-piercing roar of applause. I shove my fingers into my mouth to whistle, but end up blowing out a silent spray of cinnamon-scented drool. I’m giggling to myself when I notice Raven whispering something to Eve from the corner of my eye. It doesn’t take a sober person to guess what she’s saying.

Yes, I’m drunk.

No, I don’t care.

And yes, it’s because I’m fucking heartsick.

I don’t have the energy to defend myself, so I continue to rock out in my own little world of self-pity and booze. Woo-hoo.

The Blackout is packed. Even if Blake did make an appearance, he’d be hard to find in this crowd. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see him everywhere I look. His memory hangs all over this place. From the table I was sitting at when we argued over Metallica, to the wall where he pinned a girl and kissed her so passionately that I felt it from across the room. My chest convulses. Nope, still not numb.

“Mac. One more, please. Er… make it two.” I leave my two fingers up and point with my other hand to my empty glass.

Eve shoves a huge glass filled with clear liquid and ice cubes, into my hand. “Here, drink this.”

I hold it up to my nose and sniff. “What is it?”

“Water. Drink it.”

Eww. I grimace and hand it back, making water slosh over the lip. Oops. “No thanks.”

“You’re going to barf, or pass out, or both. Just drink it.” Eve’s tone is parental and bossy.

I don’t like it.

I turn toward her, wobbling on my leopard-print high heels that do wonders for my legs and booty but nothing for my balance. “Stop telling me what to do.” My finger digs into my chest. “I am a grown woman.” I stomp my foot.

“Eve’s just worried about you. We both are,” Raven says.

I glare at the girls. “I don’t need your worry. I can take care of my—”

My ankle twists, and Eve catches my fall.

“All right, all right. Get off your feet there, grown woman.” Eve sets me back on a stool.

Shoot, maybe I’m drunker than I thought. I grab the water and drink a few sips but make sure to give Eve a dirty look so she knows she didn’t win. I do what I want to do, when I want to do it. Not because someone says I should, or tells me—ugh. Whatever.

“Stop smiling. You didn’t win,” I say, finishing the last of the glass.

“I know, tough girl.” Eve’s still smiling.

I take another shot to prove I’m the boss of me but worry that Eve might be right. If I don’t stop, I’m in for a night of toilet worshiping and tile sleeping.

“Put your hands together, Las Vegas.” The MC’s voice comes through the speakers, turning everyone’s attention toward the stage. “Please welcome Ataxia.” The shouts of the crowd mix with the sound of a single electric guitar.

We have perfect seats, close enough to see the stage but off to the side to avoid the mosh pit. The sound of electric guitar strums continues in the dark, each chord growing louder and louder as it rings through the room. The energy is contagious, and the three of us cheer and scream like die-hard groupies.

“What’s up, Battle of the Bands?” Rex’s deep, raspy voice booms through the speakers, and although we still can’t see the band, we know it’s coming from the stage. “Thanks for coming out to support the local music scene.” The guitarist continues to strum a complex and melodic tune. Chills race across my skin, and anticipation has my heart pounding. “We’ve got a special treat for you tonight.” The crowd screams louder. “Nice to hear you’re excited.” Rex chuckles. The crowd gets even louder. “Before we play our set, we’ve got a special guest who has something to say.”

Eve and Raven look at me, their expressions mirroring my confusion. Special guest?

The guitar solo switches to the opening of a song I’ve heard a million times and know by heart. My cheeks stretch into a wide grin, and I bounce in my seat. “Oh my gosh. Bon Jovi! I fucking love this song.” I’m stoked and excited to sing along. I throw my hands in the air and scream, giving in to my inner fan-girl.

The lights on stage are still dark when Rex starts to sing. I blurt the words I’ve sung a million times, doing a decent backup to—wait a minute.

That doesn’t sound like Rex.

The lyrics that roll from the speakers are sung in a gravelly voice that soothes my soul and sets my blood on fire. Seven words into the first line, and the stage lights blast on in a bright, blinding light.

It takes a second for my eyes to adjust and—holy shit!

Blake’s standing frontman. A wave of dizziness washes over me, and I grip the table to keep upright. I try to blink to clear what has to be a drunken hallucination, but my eyelids don’t cooperate. It’s really him. His guitar hangs low from its shoulder strap while his fingers dance over the strings. And that voice, all grit and silk, pours through the mic and pierces my heart.

Bon Jovi’s “I’ll Be There for You” has never sounded so good.

My heart shoots into my throat, and I try to swallow back the cluster of emotions choking me. Blake belts out the lyrics like a rock-god in all his glory, igniting the crowd in applause. His arms command the instrument with all the grace of a classically trained musician and all the sexy magnetism of a heavy metal extraordinaire.

Pride swells in my chest, easing my racing heart. He did it. Being on stage in front of all these people is his public declaration. He’s burying his past and exposing his gift. The one thing he has left. Sadness knocks on the door of my pride, but I tell it to fuck off. I lose myself in the music.

The song swirls in the air, Rex’s back-up vocals the perfect accompaniment as he sidles up next to Blake. My mind recites the lyrics that the audience sings out loud. And then, as if calling to him with my thoughts, his eyes find me in the crowd. My hand moves on its own and clutches at my throat. Don’t cry, don’t cry.

His body shifts slightly until he’s facing me head on. With his eyes boring into mine, he sings two simple lines, two dozen words written over twenty years ago that speak directly to my heart.

And just like that, I know. More certain than if he came down off stage and told me himself. This is for me. He’s here, singing this song, exposing his one secret, for me.

Tears fall from my eyes, fast and hot. I push up on my barstool to my knees. He’s still looking right at me like we’re the only two people in the world. My skin tingles all over, and for the first time, I wish one of my favorite songs would end already. My legs burn to run to him, and my arms tense with the desire to hold him.

And finally, the song slows. I jump off my stool and push my way through the crowd. Even in my heels, I’m still too short to see over the towering heads to the stage, but I continue forward. The song ends and the crowd cheers. What if he goes backstage and I miss him?

I’m using my hands and my elbows, driving people out of my way. The closer I get to the stage, the rowdier the crowd gets. Moshers throw forearms and knock each other around. One guy crashes into my side and sends me flying into another guy. I careen, the combination of nervousness and booze throwing me off center.

“Hey, if one more person knocks into my woman, you’ll answer to me,” Blake says into his mic with a snarl. The crowd parts, taking a step back to open a path.

His woman…

Righting myself, I trail through the crowd to the stage. And then, he’s there. Black Sabbath t-shirt stretched over the wide expanse of his chest, a kick-ass pair of dark jeans, and his guitar hanging loose at his side. I fist my hands, trying to satisfy the urge to run my palms up his chest and into his hair. He jumps down from the stage and takes two steps toward me, then freezes.

I can’t move. My legs are held captive by his presence.

“Mouse?”

I suck in a breath and roll my trembling lips between my teeth. Never thought I’d hear him call me that again.

He holds his hand out to me. “Come here.”

I step back. His eyebrows drop low, questioning. He moves one step forward but doesn’t get any closer than the handful of feet that separate us. His gaze flits around the room, then back to me, like he thinks I might run.

He’s right.

I reach back, pull off one high heel, and drop it to the floor. He tilts his head, his lips set a flat line. After I drop the second shoe, he drops his shoulders. Defeat.

And then…

I run.

With the force of all my worry, powered by anxiety and days of depression, I slam into his solid chest. He absorbs me in an instant. His strong arms engulf me, lock around my waist, and lift me off the ground. He buries his face in my neck, and I hold him there with all the strength I have.

“Fuck, Mouse. I’ve missed you.”

The crowd whistles and cheers.

A sob rips from my throat, and he holds me tighter. “No, sweetheart. Don’t cry.”

“I thought… I lost… you.”

“Never.” He sets me down, but I refuse to let him go. He rubs my back softly, encouraging me to loosen my grip. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

I lean back enough to look at his face. His eyes glisten, and he clears his throat. “Mouse… I love you. I’ve never loved anyone in my entire life. And then you come along, and… my music, my fighting? None of it means anything without you. My life means nothing without you.”

I jump up, and he wraps me in his arms again. “Don’t let me go, Blake. Please… never let me go.”

“I promise.”

“I love you, Blake.”

His entire body relaxes under my whispered words. “It’s hard to believe you’re really here, like this… I thought I’d never hold you again.”

Ataxia begins their set, and the small space Blake and I had on the floor closes in with the bodies of excited fans. They erupt as the first few bars of a song blare through the speakers. We get shoved, and Blake sets me down. He takes my hand and leads the way, protecting me with the width of his body, weaving us through the crowd toward the side of the stage.

I look over my shoulder just in time to see the huge smiles of my friends Eve and Raven, who’ve been joined by Jonah, Mason, and Caleb. Eve gives me a quick thumbs up and a knowing smile.

They set me up. And I love them to pieces for it.

Thirty-four

Blake

I can’t believe it worked. Part of me expected her to bolt as soon as she saw me. I’d hoped for at least a polite smile and a chance to talk. But she gave me so much more.

She gave me her.

A smile curls my lips, and I hold her tiny hand in mine. We move through the crowded bar to a door at the side of the stage. A bouncer stands guard at the entrance to the backstage dressing rooms. Before things go any farther, we need to talk, and this is the quietest and closest place I can think of.

“Yo, Brick.” I shake hands with the guy who earned his name from looking like a solid piece of concrete.

“Blake, man. What’s up?”

“I need a room. Just for a few minutes.”

“This isn’t a motherfucking hotel.” He looks between Layla and me. “Ah, so this is the girl.” His eyes sweep from her bright golden hair down to her bare feet. “All right, I’ll give you a room, but this little hottie deserves more than a few minutes.”

Layla tucks into my side, her cheeks pink from Brick’s in-your-face perusal. I tug her behind me to keep her safe from the bouncer’s greedy glare. “Eyes to yourself, Brick.”

He laughs and steps aside, allowing us to pass. “You need help back there, Snake, just holler.”

“Fuck you.” I throw my middle finger up over my shoulder.

“You take your few minutes with him, baby. Then you come back here. I’ll give you hours.” We’re halfway down the hallway, and he’s still talking shit.

“Enough, dickhead,” I call out.

Layla’s still laughing when I pull her into a room. The smell of stale cigarettes and liquor fill my nose. I flick on the lights to reveal a faded brown couch, a full-length mirror, and painted black walls. It’s not ideal, but it’ll do.

“Wow, I’ve never been backstage before.” She crosses the room to the couch.

“Uh, I wouldn’t sit there. Probably all sorts of DNA samples could be taken from that thing.”

She recoils and tucks her hands close to her stomach. “That’s gross.” Her lips tick with a hint of a smile. “Thanks for the warning.”

What seemed so natural minutes ago in the crowded club, feels awkward now that we’re alone and faced with all that needs to be said. We stand across the room from each other, electricity charging the air between us.

She looks amazing. Her tiny body is wrapped in a tight black dress, cut low enough to expose the valley between her perfect breasts. The midnight fabric runs the length of her waist, flaring out at her hips, and ending well above her knees. She shifts on her feet, and I’m reminded that she’s barefoot. Her painted pink toes curl against the filthy concrete.

“Your feet. They cold?”

Her eyes meet mine, and she smiles. “They’re okay.”

“You want my socks?”

“No, I’m fine. Really.”

“You look beautiful.”

She tugs at the hem of her skirt. “Thanks, although, I can’t take credit. It’s Eve’s. I got ambushed by her and Raven at home, but…” Her head tilts, and she studies the empty wall across from her. “Something tells me you already knew that.”

Shit, is she pissed? I shrug one shoulder and study the ground. “Yeah. I asked them to get you here.”

I peek up to gauge her reaction. She’s raking her teeth along her pink-painted lip. Not sure if that’s pissed or not.

“I had so much to say, but I’m terrible with talking shit out, and with everything that happened” —I run my hand over my head—“I wasn’t sure if you’d listen to me.”

Her lips curl into a smile, and I swallow back a thick ball of hope.

“I liked what you had to say. And I really like the way you said it. Not a girl alive would say no to Bon Jovi.” She closes a fraction of the distance between us. “No more music in a closet. Your secret’s out. How did it feel, you know, performing?”

I nod, my mind reeling in the moment. I’d almost forgotten I’d played in front of a few hundred strangers and a handful of friends. “I did it for you. I knew if I got up there and played, you’d know I wasn’t fucking around. I had to make a statement.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”

My chest swells under the sincerity of her words. But even with her praise, I don’t know the answer to the question that has kept me from sleep and unsettled my stomach. “Do you think that with time, you could find it in your heart to forgive me?” It’s asking the impossible, I know that, but I have to fight for the chance to be with her.

She tilts her head and narrows her eyes. “Forgive you for what?”

“For what… I’ll say it if that’s what you need.” I don’t want to form the words I strangled you. I swallow the bile that surges in my throat. “Is that what you want, Layla, to hear me say it?”

She takes a few steps toward me. “Blake, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one that owes you an apology. If we’d never met, then Stewart wouldn’t have… it’s because of me that you ended up in jail.”

“No, that’s bullshit. I fucking…” Shit, why can’t I just say it?

“You were on steroids, Blake. He baited you.”

“I could’ve killed you.”

Her sharp intake of breath blares in the silence. “I don’t believe that,” she whispers. “I know you would’ve stopped.”

She’s doesn’t know that. I was fucking out of it, completely blacked out and raging.

“Layla, what I did is unforgivable. And Axelle saw the entire thing. Fuck.” I rub my eyes. Reliving this with her is as bad as going through it all over again.

“You protected us. Came back to rescue us. That’s what Axelle saw. The rest was fallout, and she understands that.”

“Mouse…” My voice cracks under the weight of my feelings. “I hurt you.”

She closes the space between us. I grip her waist and pull her close, afraid of losing her when she realizes I don’t deserve her touch. Her fingers slide up my biceps, over my shoulders, and lock behind my neck. I drop my forehead to hers and pinch my eyes closed, absorbing the comfort of her contact.

“No. You’re the one who got hurt. What they did to you, the things you must’ve been feeling? I’ll never forgive myself for not seeing it sooner.”

I blink open my eyes to see hers staring back. “You did. You warned me about the supplements, and I was too arrogant to listen. If only I’d paid closer attention.”

“Blake, we could do this all night. But the guilt? It’s so thick we’d never get through it. Is it possible just to forgive each other and move on?”

“I don’t deserve you or your forgiveness.”

“Bullshit. We were made for this moment, Blake. Everything that led us to this here, right now, is what makes us who we are. I forgive you. But will you ever forgive yourself?”

“I want to. I’m so sick of looking back.” I run my nose along hers. “Where do we go from here, Mouse?” I whisper against her skin.

Her eyes flutter shut. “Forward. One day at a time.”

“Together?”

“Always.” Her lips part.

Fuck, I’ve missed those lips. “Mouse, can I kiss you now?”

“I wish you would.”

Our mouths come together, unhurried. As much as I’d kill to use my tongue and teeth, to drain every ounce of taste from her mouth, I keep it light. My lips work against hers in deliberate, wet strokes. The weight of her head drops to the side, and she opens up to me. I moan against the sweet cinnamon that teases my senses as I reacquaint myself with her kiss.

I slide my hand up her spine, pressing her to me until the full swells of her breasts are flush with my chest. My pulse is racing. I flex my hips, the friction from my jeans a bold contrast to the softness of her body.

She grips my biceps and pushes up on her toes, dragging her soft, petite frame against the length of mine. Fuck yeah.

Nothing in life has ever felt this right.

This isn’t what I’d planned, but my body, hell my soul, can’t wait another second. I walk her back a few steps until she’s pressed against the wall. She moans deep into my mouth and hooks one leg around my thigh.

Cupping her ass, my palm meets bare skin. I run my finger along the strip of thong that disappears between her cheeks. “I need you.” I coax her higher. The heat from between her legs sears me through my jeans.

She wiggles impatiently and grinds down her hips in request. So damn hot.

“I can’t wait.” She hops up, and I support her weight as she wraps her legs around me, pushing the tight fabric of her dress up around her waist.

My face buried in her neck, I alternate running my nose and my lips along her neck, tasting and breathing in the delicate skin I thought I’d lost. My blood pounds with the urgency to get inside her. She flexes and releases her hips, once, twice…

Separated by only my jeans and a tiny strip of lace, it’d be so easy to take her like this. “Mouse, I want you. But here?”

She digs her heels into my lower back with a whimper. “Yes, here. Now.”

I pull back and meet her eyes. They’re intense and steady. The deep brown burns into mine, pleading with me not to let her go. “I’d do anything for you.”

She drops her head, inviting me back to the tender contours of her throat. So slender, and fragile.

A tremor of shame racks my body. I lean in with a gentle brush of my mouth, hoping to find redemption while I soothe the spot where I’d inflicted pain. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper against her neck and kiss a path to her lips.

“No more apologies.” Her hands grip my head, holding me close. “Kiss me.”

Our mouths crash together. Her nails bite into my shoulders as she pulls me closer. I fist my hands in her hair, unable to hold back my fierce show of possession. She arches her back against the wall, rubbing her hot little body against the straining bulge in my pants. I’ve never had a problem holding back my release, but she’s making it impossible.

I tug down a strap of her dress. The heat of a bare breast hits my hand. No bra. “Damn, sweetheart.” I lean down and feed myself one pink nipple, pulling it deep until she’s writhing in my arms.

She works herself against me, finding her own pleasure. So different from the woman who only a month ago was afraid to let go. Pride swells in my chest.

I slide my hand between us to pop the buttons of my jeans. I free my dick and press it against the heat of her wet panties.

“Blake, oh…” Her breath hitches as I move myself against her.

“What is it, Mouse?” I drop her other strap and suck her neglected breast into my mouth, pulling the pebbled flesh behind my teeth.

“More.” She groans and runs her nails along my skin.

Goosebumps race from my scalp to the floor, igniting my need to feel her. I slip my fingers beneath her panties. Fucking hell. I bite my lip, but it does nothing to muffle the growl that rumbles in my throat. She’s ready.

I want to sink myself so deep inside her that nothing can ever come between us again. Lose myself within her so all our mistakes disappear and all that remains is us. “Are you sure?”

She pulls back. Her face is flushed, lips parted, and she looks up at me from beneath her eyelashes. “For the first time in my life, I’m sure. I love you, Blake.”

Her words rocket through me with a burst of adrenaline. “I love you, Mouse.” I bury myself inside her in one thrust.

“Yes.” She cries out against my lips and her nails bite into my shoulders.

Holding her by her ass, I wait for her to adjust. She squirms in my hands.

“Easy, baby. I’ve been waiting too long for this. I want to take my time.”

She whimpers and rolls her hips. “It’s only been five days.”

“Feels like a lifetime.” I pull out slowly and push back with the same pace. My lips trace her collarbone.

“Please, Blake.”

“Shh.” I dig my fingers into the supple flesh of her ass. “Hold on tight.”

Her arms constrict around my shoulders. It’s then that I realize that being wrapped up in my woman is the only place I want to be. Music, fighting… nothing comes close.

Leveraging her back against the wall, she meets my every thrust. Unafraid and confident. And absolutely fucking perfect.

My hand skates up the gentle curve of her hip to her breasts. I roll her nipple between my finger and thumb.

“Blake, yes…”

I had no idea this is what making love would be like. It doesn’t have to be slow and sensual, on a bed or surrounded by candlelight. Making love isn’t about the where or how, it’s about feelings. Even in a dirty room backstage at a club, up against a wall, this is making love.

The pressure of my release coils low and at the ready. What started as soft moans drifting from her lips has now turned to staccato breath. I shift my position to a better angle. Her hand releases me and flies to the wall above her head.

My hips pin hers in place while her back bows. I watch with fascination as our bodies move together in rhythm. Her breasts are pink from my mouth and dance before my eyes with every wave of my hips. My head swims at the overload of stimulation. The visual of her combines with the way her body grips mine in a relentless hold. Visions of our future together, making love every night and falling asleep wrapped up in her naked body. My stomach constricts, shooting bolts of euphoria to my dick. On pure instinct, I pull her bottom lip with my teeth and bite. And with that, we both ignite.

Warmth explodes in my gut, shooting down my limbs. I groan with her lip in my mouth and feel her cry of release in my throat. Her legs convulse around my waist, constricting tight before her body goes limp. I suckle at her lips, hoping I didn’t hurt her with my teeth.

“Fuck, Mouse. I felt that shit in my chest.”

Our bodies throb at our connection, recovering slowly from our simultaneous orgasm.

I’m panting, breathing in deep the scent of her hair and sweat-dampened skin. “Holy shit. We’re so damn good together.”

She laughs, but it’s half-hearted as she fights to catch her breath.

“Shit, I’d put you down, but I can’t move.”

Her limbs tighten around me. “No, don’t put me down. I like where I am.”

I nod and lean into her, sandwiching her between the wall and me. The weight seems to help, and she relaxes against me.

“Let me take you home,” I whisper against her shoulder.

“Whose home?”

I lean back to meet her eyes. “Our home.”

Her eyes grow wide, and she raises her brows. She rests her palms against my chest. “Blake, I—”

“Living together, that’s it. I know it’s fast, and you’re in the process of getting a divorce, but—”

She unhooks her legs from my waist. I pull out and instantly miss the heat of her body. Holding her close, I give her time to find her legs before I settle her back to standing.

“I don’t know what to say, I mean, are you sure you’re ready for that?”

I shrug, and smile. “I’ve never been more ready. Living the last five days without you and Axelle. I can’t imagine going another day. Please, don’t deny me my girls.”

She blinks. “You said that night that you wanted Axelle, that you claim her. Did you mean—”

“Every word. I know I’m not Axelle’s biological father, but is it possible that, on some level, I was meant to be?”

Her gaze shifts from me to the floor.

I don’t blame her for not believing me. “Look, I know my promises don’t mean shit anymore, but I’ll earn your—”

Her eyes dart to mine. “Your promises mean everything.”

Cupping her jaw, I tilt her face up to see tears shining in her eyes. “I want the chance to make you happy. To keep you safe. I can be the man you need. Give me the chance to show you?”

She swallows a shaky breath. “On one condition.” A hint of smile tugs at her lips. “You let me do the same for you.”

“Not sure I need your protection.” I drop a kiss to the tip of her nose.

“I know it sounds silly. But, everyone needs someone fighting in their corner, Blake. I’ve never had that, and neither have you. You own my heart and everything that comes with it.”

My eyes burn at the power behind her words. I squeeze them shut, forcing back the wave of emotion that’s making it impossible to breathe. I blink against the emotion. I own her heart. And no one has ever possessed mine like she does.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the little drawstring bag that I’ve been carrying around since Valentine’s Day. I fumble with the tie and fish out the delicate chain inside. “Give me your hand.”

Her lips part and tilt with a smile. “Is that—”

“It’s your Valentine’s Day present. I never got the chance to give it to you.” I hook the bracelet with the dangling heart pendant around her tiny wrist. “My heart belongs to you, Mouse. It belonged to you well before I was able to admit it.”

She flips her wrist slowly, admiring the shining silver against her skin, and fingers the heart. “It’s gorgeous, Blake. I love it.” Her eyes move back to mine, and her arms hook around my waist. “I love you.”

I kiss the top of her head. “I love you too, baby.”

“Take me home.”

“Yeah, but um… stay here while I grab your shoes. I know your feet get cold.”

She shakes her head and melts deeper into my chest. “Don’t need them. My feet have never been warmer.”

Epilogue

Three months later…

Layla

Seventeen. My baby is seventeen.

The sun has dropped behind the Vegas mountains, and Ataxia is warming up on the makeshift outdoor stage that’s set up by the pool.

It was Blake’s idea to give her a rock ’n’ roll pool party. Insisting that I sit back and enjoy the party rather than waiting on a crew of hungry teenagers and a handful of professional fighters, he hired caterers. He even went as far as to send out notices to all the condos in the complex and let them know they were more than welcome to come.

Nothing’s too good for my girls.

Axelle and I have become accustomed to the phrase. Since we moved in, he’s spoiled us rotten. And this party is no exception.

“So do you know what it is?” Eve asks, leaning in from her seat across the table.

Blake made a big deal about his birthday gift for Axelle. I told him the party was enough. He disagreed.

“Yeah, he’s going to sing her a song.” I take a sip of my soda, hoping it’ll help calm my nervous stomach.

“Aw, that’s so sweet.” Raven’s eyes glisten, and Jonah pulls her closer to his side with a sympathetic smile.

“He better not think of leaving fighting for music. The guy rips, but he’s got his rematch against Wade coming up and needs to keep his head in the game,” Jonah says, watching the stage.

“He’d never give up fighting. All he talks about is his fight with Wade. Now that all the steroid stuff’s been cleared up, he’s excited to get back to work.”

A chord from an electric guitar blares through the amp and ends our conversation. The small birthday crowd gathers close to the stage. Blake and Rex are standing up front, each one with a guitar slung low on their hips. My stomach tumbles with excitement.

I haven’t seen Blake take a stage since that night at The Blackout. Since then, he’s opened up his music room permanently, and even went as far as to move his piano out into the living room. He plays constantly. Usually with me lounging on the couch listening, or sitting on the piano bench at his side. Axelle’s taken an interest in guitar, and Blake has been working with her, teaching her the different chords. He’s mentioned he has a surprise for her tonight. My guess is it’s her own guitar.

“Hey everyone, thanks for stopping by to celebrate with us tonight.” Blake’s deep voice rumbles through the speakers, and the crowd of girls and guys chant Axelle’s name. “Kiddo, come up front here. There’s something I need to say.”

Rex’s guitar starts playing, and most of the older people around the pool scream their excitement at hearing the familiar song.

“Oh my gosh.” Raven’s voice filters through my stunned stare.

“The guy’s a stud,” Eve says, and whistles loud.

My eyes well up with tears. “It’s perfect.”

Blake steps up to his mic and joins in playing the lead guitar part to Guns N’ Roses’s “Sweet Child of Mine”.

The teenagers crowded around the stage probably have no idea who GNR is or that Axelle was named after the lead singer. Only a small group of people around know the meaning behind the song. And something tells me that only Blake knows his intention for playing this song to her tonight of all nights.

Blake and Rex harmonize, dropping key and growling out the lyrics much deeper than Axl Rose was capable of singing. My heart hammers behind my ribs. I lean left, right, but can’t see Axelle. I have to know what she’s thinking. I need to see her face.

I make my way from the poolside table to the stage and smile at the shouted encouragement of my friends left at the table.

Rounding the crowd of kids and the few adults, I find Axelle up front. Dead center. My breath catches in my throat, and I curl my lips between my teeth to keep from sobbing. Her head is tilted back, her eyes shining and fixed on Blake as he belts the words directly to her. She sways to the music. Killian is at her side, watching her face just as intently as I am.

The song breaks for the infamous guitar solo. I can’t take my eyes off Blake as his fingers dance across the guitar strings. His head’s down, strong legs open slightly and bent at the knees. He bites his lip in concentration as the guitar solo that puts Slash to shame ignites the crowd’s applause.

My own personal rock star.

I drag my eyes away and catch Rex watching Blake. He’s shaking his head, no doubt blown away once again by the natural gift that his friend possesses. It’s amazing, and a shame that he kept it hidden as long as he had.

Looking back and forth between the stage and Axelle, I watch, captivated, until the song slows and comes to an end. Everyone erupts in applause, and Rex says something to Blake, the excitement on his face obvious.

“Happy seventeenth birthday, kiddo,” Blake says into the mic. “That was part one of my gift to you.” He pulls an envelope out of his back pocket. “Here’s part two.”

“What?” I advance toward the stage, curious. He said he was going to play her a song—he didn’t say anything about an envelope. Is it money?

She reaches up and takes the gift from his hand. I swing my gaze from Blake’s nervous face to Axelle’s curious one as she opens a letter. Her eyes scan whatever’s written there, and her lip starts to quiver. Oh, God. Is it bad? What did he give her?

I push my way to her just as she covers her mouth with her hand.

“Axelle, what is it?” I say, and try to read the paper over her shoulder.

As if I’m not even there, she crushes the paper to her chest, shaking her head and gazing up at Blake.

He squats down to meet her eyes. “What do you think? Will you allow me the honor of being your dad?”

Oh my God!

She whimpers and takes a long deep breath, pulling her hand from her mouth. “But… I’ll be eighteen in a year. It’d only be for one year, and…” She tilts her head, squinting. “Are you sure?”

“Doesn’t matter to me if you’re seventeen or seventy-seven. If I could hand pick a daughter, I’d pick you. Every time.” He climbs down and pulls her into his arms, and she lets go of her tears. “I love you, Axelle Rose. We have a pretty kick-ass opportunity here. We get to choose who we claim as family. I choose your mom, and you. It’s your life, and I’ll be here for you no matter what you decide. It’s your choice.”

He must hear my crying, because he looks over and holds out his arm. I rush into his embrace, wrapping my arms around the two people I love most in the world, and thanking God for every single thing, all the bad and the mistakes, everything that brought me to where I am.

Axelle nods into his chest. “Yes, Blake. I say yes.” Her arms go tight around his waist. “I choose you.”

Blake

Safe to say that this night couldn’t get any better. Ataxia has been playing for the last hour, and the kids have been dancing and singing along. Axelle hasn’t stopped smiling once since I sang for her. I know because I’ve been checking. My daughter. I have a daughter. The thought pulls my lips into a grin I can’t tame.

“Baby, we are not naming our kid Eugene.” Jonah’s been playfully arguing with his wife over baby names.

“We have to at least consider it. It’s Guy’s middle name,” Raven says, and shoves a fist full of corn chips in her mouth.

“The fuck we do.” He runs his hand over her swollen belly. “That’s my baby growing in that sexy body. If it’s a boy, we name him Ryan, after my dad.”

“Right, Ryan Eugene,” she says through a cheek full of chips.

“What if it’s a girl?” I throw the question out there, and then look over my shoulder wondering where the hell my woman is. She said she was running upstairs to grab a sweatshirt, but that was forty-five minutes ago.

Before Layla and Axelle moved in with me, I had no idea how long it took a woman to put herself together. Now I’m convinced that women spend at least half their lives involved in some kind of beautification ritual. But almost an hour to put on a sweatshirt? Huh…

“If it’s a girl, that’s easy.” Raven shrugs, licking her fingers. “Bertha.”

Jonah and I cringe simultaneously.

“Shit, woman. You’re naming a baby, not a car.” I lean to see past the crowd of kids currently surrounding Axelle. No sign of Layla anywhere. A flicker of panic rolls my stomach. What the fuck is keeping her? “Good luck with the baby names, bro.” I clap Jonah on the shoulder. “Sounds like you’re fucked.”

He pulls his wife into his arms and feeds her a bite of his food. “I love Bertha, baby. It’s perfect.”

“Ew, Jonah,” she says around a mouthful. “I was kidding.”

Unable to sit still another second, I let them know I’ll be right back and head up to check on Layla. I tell myself that she’s on the phone with her parents or stuck talking to a neighbor, but there’s a voice in my head that reminds me of Valentine’s Day. Warning me that what I have is too sweet to be real, and that I could lose it if I don’t pay close enough attention. I quicken my pace until I’m at my condo.

She’s not in the kitchen, living room, or front deck. I move down the hallway to our bedroom. It’s empty, but the bathroom door is shut. I knock twice and stick my ear to the door. “Mouse? You okay?”

The toilet flushes. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” The faucet runs, and I hear what sounds like her spitting.

I’m about to knock again, this time more forcefully, when the door opens. She smiles up at me, but her face is pale as hell. “Sorry. My stomach feels off.” She moves into my arms and slumps in my hold.

“Damn, sweetheart.” I kiss her head and scoop her legs up to carry her to the bed. “I’ll have Jonah take over at the party so I can come up and be with you.”

She grabs my hand. “No, don’t do that. Just give me a second. I actually feel a little better. But, um, can you just sit with me for a second?”

Like she has to ask? I throw myself on the bed and lie down next to her, pressing her head to my chest. “When did you start feeling sick?”

“I’ve been a little off all night, but I thought it was just nerves. Then I was walking up to change, and one of the catering guys walked by with a bunch of hamburgers. The smell of the cooked meat—” She covers her mouth and burps into her hand.

“That was hot.” I chuckle and pull her in tighter. Not a damn thing this girl could do would turn me off.

I’m fucking hooked. Pussy whipped. Tied down.

And over-fucking-joyed about it.

She giggles and nuzzles into my side. “Mmm, now I’m hungry. We have chips and salsa, right?”

“Yeah, if you get there fast enough. Raven’s inhaling food like a Hoover down there.”

“Well, she’s eating for two. I remember what that was like. One minute you’re starving to death and the next you’re…” Her body tenses against mine.

“Mouse? You okay?”

She doesn’t move.

“Shit, come on, I’ll get you to the bathroom.” I scoop her up.

She wiggles out of my hold. “No, wait.” Her eyebrows pinch together, and she counts on her fingers. “Oh my gosh. That’s impossible,” she whispers.

“Layla,” I growl. “You’re freaking me out. What the hell’s going on?”

Her eyes meet mine, an expression on her face I haven’t seen before. Ever. It’s a mix of absolute joy and pure fucking fear.

I cup her face and lean down. “Shit, baby. What?”

“I thought… it must not have been me.” She shakes her head, her eyes distant. “It was him.”

“What was him? Help me out here, I’m fucking dying.”

“I’m not infertile. He is.” She sits up on her knees, practically bouncing, and her brown eyes sparkle. “That’s why he refused the testing. They wanted to test me to try to figure out why I wasn’t getting pregnant.”

“Hold up, are you saying—”

“He must’ve known what I’d find out. The tests would prove that Axelle wasn’t his.”

“Wait, so you’re—”

“It would have exposed his lie. Then I’d have had every right to leave, and he’d have to explain how I got pregnant.”

“Mouse, baby. Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?” Hope explodes in my chest like an A-bomb.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

“Yes!”

Layla covers her ears from the power of my outburst.

I jump on the bed with both feet, hooting and hollering and pounding my chest. “Fuck yeah!”

The door flies open. Jonah and Raven come rushing in. “What the hell’s going on in here? We came up to use the bathroom and heard you from the front door.” Jonah’s eyebrows are set low and concerned.

“Layla’s carrying my baby.” I pounce from the bed and onto my woman, smothering her with my arms and lips. Kissing her forehead, eyelids, cheeks, chin, and repeating until she dissolves into a fit of giggles. “I love you, I fucking love you so fucking much it makes me sick.”

“Sick? That’s not good.” She’s still giggling.

“I love you. You know that. I love you, all three of you. This is us now. We’re a family. I know we’re doing all this backwards, but fuck what anyone says. You and Axelle are my girls. And, I’d be so damn stoked if you’d let me make this shit official.” Even with our close friends as witnesses, it feels like we’re the only two people in the room, hell, in the world. “Mouse, baby. Marry me.”

Her brown eyes go wide, and her lips tremble. She’s not saying anything, but her head is shaking no. Not the answer I was hoping for. Her single sob slashes through the silence.

I look at Jonah for help, but he just stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, grinning.

“Layla? Sweetheart, if you—”

“Ugh!” She bolts off the bed, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

This is unexpected.

She stomps her foot. “I’m sick of getting married because I’m pregnant.” Her shoulders bounce with the force of her cry. “Seriously, what is wrong with me?”

“Ha, get used to that shit, dude.” Jonah points toward Raven, who’s also a sobbing mess.

“Mouse, nothing’s wrong with you.” I hold her in my arms and kiss her head. “Take your time, but know this… sooner or later, you’re taking my last name.”

She sniffs into my shirt, and her breathing calms. Her head tilts up, and she meets my eyes with a raised brow and a sassy grin. “I thought I told you, Snake. I don’t take orders.”

“Yeah, you told me. But I thought I told you, I’m a man who’s used to getting what he wants. I won’t give up until I have you… all of you. Forever. I won’t settle for less.”

She relaxes into my arms. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

~The End~

Layla’s story is fiction, but marital rape is not.

Studies done by Pandora’s Project, a support group for survivors of rape and sexual abuse, conclude that one in seven women will be sexually assaulted by her husband or boyfriend.

Research shows that marital rape can be more emotionally and physically traumatic than rape by a stranger.

If you or someone you know needs help, call the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 1-800-656-Hope. Or go online to RAINN.org.

Everyone needs someone fighting in their corner. You’re not alone.

A Note to my Readers

I hope you enjoyed Fighting to Forgive. Please take a moment to leave a review on Amazon.

The next book in the series will be Fighting to Forget.

Every fighter is drawn to the violence, the release that a perfect hit can bring.

But very few are drawn to the pain.

Rex Carter lives behind a wall of indifference. The demons from his childhood act as an anesthetic, keeping him distant from emotional connections. Only the ache from a knock to the jaw, sting of a tattoo needle, or heat from a piercing, can jolt him back from the numbness. The fiery pain is all he can feel, and nothing compares to the burn.

Or so he thought.

Working in a Las Vegas bar isn’t Georgia Maxwell’s dream. But she hopes it’ll be an end to the nightmare.

For over a decade, she’s watched him. Followed his career and kept tabs, all in preparation for this moment. To make amends, repair the wrong. But she didn’t count on the feelings that seeing him again would stir up. The vacant look in his stormy-blue eyes, his perfect body now mutilated by ink and metal.

And only she knows why. She’s lived his pain, every single day, since the day he left.

Changed by time, Rex doesn’t remember the girl from his past. If only she could do the same.

Will she get the absolution she’s spent her life seeking?

Or will he continue fighting to forget?

Acknowledgements

First and foremost, I’d like to thank God, the giver of all things.

Thank you to my husband for his love and support. You’re my real life hero. I love you.

To my daughters, my biggest cheerleaders, who never fail to remind me how sweet life is. You girls are my heart.

To my family, for their belief in me. Always fighting in my corner and giving me the strength to never give up.

Thank you to my friend, Evelyn Johnson. You’ve stood by me from day one and have never let me down. I swear I’d lose my own head if it weren’t for you. You’re the best assistant a girl could ask for. I cherish you.

I’m forever grateful to Warren Anderson at Rehab Plus for answering all of my questions about athletic training and steroid abuse.

To Dave Hodgeson of the Simi Valley Police Department for helping me with my law enforcement questions.

Thank you to Lieutenant Gary Applegate for filling in the holes in my research.

A very heartfelt thank you to my critique partners. You’ve all become so much more than a kick-ass Critter Crew, you’ve notched out a special place in my heart. The Fighting series wouldn’t be a tenth of what it is without your honest critiques. I value each and every one of your opinions, as well as your friendships. You’ve enriched my life in unfathomable ways. I love you girls.

Cristin “Spice” Harber, thank you for your friendship. This is a huge year for you, and watching you tackle your dreams has been one of my greatest joys. Whether we’re doing super sleuth PI work, talking about nothing at all, or I’m leaching knowledge from your ginormous brain, it’s always a highlight of my day.

Sharon “Shex” Cermak, my fabulous SFAM. Since chapter one, book one, we’ve been in this together. Your support, advice, and biznatchy crits mean the world to me. You’ve always been the Grammar Goddess, and now I’ve added the Princess of Dangling Participles to your list of titles.

Nicola “Nic” Layouni, one of the most honest and honorable people I’ve ever known. Your insight and wisdom are invaluable and I’m proud to call you my friend. I’ll always be your Petal.

Claudia “Dia” Handel, thank you for your humor. No one can wrap “constructive criticism” in hilarity quite like you. I owe you huge for bringing a very important issue with Blake’s book to light. I look forward to buying you drinks and laughing until our stomachs hurt.

Racquel “Rocky” Reck, thank you for always being available for online brainstorming. Sharing a muse as well as our taste in music, your friendship is a treasure and your eyes on this story have been invaluable.

Kaci “KC” Presnell, thank you for the inside scoop on Seattle. You’ve been so dedicated to both Blake and Jonah’s books, and I’ve yet to return the favor. I’m grateful for your time and your friendship.

Melisa “Hamgasm” Hamling, thank you for burning through Blake’s chapters and never holding back your reactions…even when you’re screaming at me. I love every bit of you!

Amy “Aimes” Anhalt, thank you for working on Blake’s story and for sharing your story with me. You have an amazing gift and I look forward to reading more of your work.

Victoria “V” Van Tiem, your writing is pure magic. Thank you for sharing what you do with me.

To my betas, Sharon “Shex” Cermak and Theresa Wegand. Thank you for your x-ray eyes and your time.

Thank you from the depths of my soul to Red Adept Publishing for swooping in and saving me with their editorial consulting. I’m forever in your debt.

Thank you to the gorgeous and talented Amanda Simpson of Pixel Mischief. It’s been so much fun working with you on both books. I’m blown away by your talent, insight, and unwavering patience. Thank you for allowing me the honor of being your PITA.

To Bridget Levi and her amazing lighting crew who did the most fantastic photo shoot for my cover.

To Ryan and Sarah Troutt for allowing me the use of their gorgeous bodies and faces to photograph.

Elizabeth Reyes, you are and always will be one of my favorite authors. You’ve been a guiding force and a sounding board. And now, a friend. Thank you.

Special thanks to Dusty Sample, my partner in stalking crime.

Thank you to Trish Buddner for loaning me your eyes, and for supporting my books.

To my fabulous pimps, Jonah’s Angels, Nina Kneblik, Stephanie McGill, Audrey “Thunder” Orielle, Toshia Yadao, Tracy Venable, Andrea Cunningham, Sabrina Brasil, Chris Letts, and Sherry Durst.

Thank you to all the bloggers who jumped in to participate in the blog tour and who reviewed Fighting for Flight. You are an Indie’s best friend.

To all the girls on the Fighting for Flight Facebook page, I love you. Thank you for supporting me.

Thank you to all the readers I’ve come to know through Facebook. Some of you I’ve met, and some I hope to in the near future. You’ve all become so much more than profile pictures to me, you’ve become friends. Thank you for believing in me and supporting my writing.

This book is for you.

Content

Fighting to Forgive
Fighting - 2
by
J.B. Salsbury

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Twenty-eight

Twenty-nine

Thirty

Thirty-one

Thirty-two

Thirty-three

Thirty-four

Epilogue

Layla’s story is fiction, but marital rape is not.

A Note to my Readers

Acknowledgements