Fight for You: A Second Chance Romance (A Warrior for Her Book 1)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  "Good. Any news on when T will get to take her back to Seattle?" I ask, grinning when the blinds in Kaleo's living room window twitch. He knows I'm out here and he's getting curious. Good. This won't take much longer.

  "Not yet. Where are you? I may have a lead on Pledger."

  "I'm out scaring the neighborhood children. What kind of lead?"

  "That kind that had Nazario Leyva personally calling me," Roman says, knowing as well as I do that Naz has about as much use for cops as any other gangbanger in this city. "Kaleo not cooperating with you?"

  "Kaleo's too stupid to know how to spell cooperating," I snort as the man himself steps out onto his front porch. "Give me thirty minutes to finish up here and I'll be there," I tell Roman as Kaleo starts toward me. I disconnect the phone, dropping it into my lap.

  Kaleo hasn't changed much. He's older, harder, but he's still the same jackass who thought he could manipulate me into pledging my allegiance to him. His hair is still in dreads. The scar on his face makes him appear permanently annoyed. His nose is crooked from where I broke it years ago, but it looks like he got his front tooth fixed. He's dressed in designer digs from head-to-toe, but he still looks like the piece of shit he is.

  What's that saying? You can take the boy out of the hood, but can't take the hood out of the boy? He's still nothing but a gangbanger with money to burn.

  Guess that makes two of us.

  "Kincaid," he says, grinning when he steps up beside my car. Despite the fake smile plastered across his face, the angry glint in his eyes makes it clear he's not happy to see me. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans up against my car. "I thought they were joking when they said you were back in town, but here you are."

  "Here I am," I agree.

  "Any particular reason you're parked outside my crib, flashing that shiny badge around?" he asks when I don't immediately tell him why I'm here. He's so easy to antagonize, it's almost pathetic.

  "Got bored beating on little boys sent by men who don't know the definition of the word," I say with a shrug.

  His fake smile slips, giving him away.

  Yeah, motherfucker, I know what you've been up to lately.

  "Seems to me that one of us isn't upholding his end of our bargain," I growl, done playing games with him, "and it isn't me. So, you wanna tell me why the fuck you're sending your boys into my neighborhood to harass my girl?"

  "It's not yours, Kincaid. Neither is she. Not anymore. The block is hers," he reminds me. "And she's standing between me and what I want."

  "And what is it you want?"

  "The park. It's prime real estate these days and I've decided to claim it."

  Why am I not surprised? A new housing development went in a couple of blocks over. There's a whole new crop of kids for Kaleo to manipulate into doing his dirty work now visiting that park on the daily. Of course he wants a piece of it.

  Too bad for him because it's not his for the taking.

  "I know you're not very bright, so I'm going to speak little words real slow for you just this once, Kaleo," I tell him. "January is mine. 138th Street is mine. The park is mine. Step to her again and I will burn your shit to the ground."

  "You've changed," he says after a minute, his curious gaze roving all over my face.

  "And you're still the same sorry piece of shit you've always been."

  "Maybe." He shrugs. "But I know all your dirty secrets, Kincaid. Think they'll let you keep that shiny little badge if they knew what I do?"

  "I know all yours too," I remind him, counting to five real slow in my head to keep myself from reaching through the window to choke the life out of him. That he thinks I'm afraid of him is laughable, but the fact that he's still trying to manipulate me into doing what he wants pisses me off.

  "Yeah, about that," he says, his eyes lighting up like the Vegas strip after sunset. "Did you know there's a statute of limitations on some crimes? Like mine, for instance. I can't be prosecuted, but as it turns out, there is no such rule when it comes to murder, Kincaid." He grins, showing me those pearly whites of his, and then he taps a hand on the roof of my rental. "Tell January she's welcome to stay on my block, but that it is my block now. If she continues to fight me, she'll learn the hard way."

  New plan. I'm going to burn his shit to the ground while he watches…and then I'm going to kill him. Just as soon as I convince January to go somewhere else for a little while.

  Fuck.

  "So, what's this lead?" I ask Roman, strolling into his office half an hour later. I stop right inside the doorway and frown. His office is empty. As in, there isn't shit in it except a desk, a chair, and the computer on top of said desk. "You moving in or out of this raggedy bitch?"

  "Neither," he growls, looking up at me from his computer screen. His blue eyes flash with annoyance and genuine bewilderment. "I don't even know why the fuck I need an office."

  "Rather you than me." Not that Jason Ames or Roy Davis, my bosses in Seattle, would ever consider giving me an office. I'd just end up having to write some bullshit memo about how I accidentally set it on fire or some dumb shit like that.

  What? I get bored and things happen. It's part of my charm.

  Roman flips me the bird and then goes back to tapping on his keyboard. The whole damn thing rocks back and forth with the force of his keystrokes.

  "Easy there, Sasquatch," I tell him.

  "It's uneven," he mutters.

  "Let me see it." I pluck the keyboard up from the desk and slide my hand underneath. One of the feet is closed. I open it and then plop the keyboard back down on his desk. "Try it now."

  He glances from me to the keyboard and then shrugs and gives it a try.

  "Motherfucker," he mutters when the thing doesn't rattle back and forth. He glares at the keyboard like it's been holding out on him.

  "You're welcome," I say, laughing at him. My gaze lands on his screen, my brows drawing together. "Why the fuck are you researching day spas?"

  "For Mila." He smiles like he's on top of the world.

  Jealousy shoots through me at seeing that adoring smile on his face. I'm surrounded by dudes blissed out and happily in love. I'd fucking kill to be in their shoes, doting on January, booking her spa days. Instead, I have to figure out how to get her to leave her house so I can deal with Kaleo since he was too stupid to heed my warning.

  I don't want her in harm's way if he tries anything…and he's just dumb enough to do exactly that. He thinks he has me over a barrel. He has no clue what's coming for him. I'm not the same stupid kid I was back when he knew me. I can't wait to teach him that lesson.

  "How'd it go with Kaleo?" Roman asks as if on cue.

  "I'm going to burn his shit to the ground."

  "Literally or figuratively?"

  "Both, probably. I haven't decided."

  "Well, let me know if you need help," he says, and I think he actually means it. If I asked him to help me destroy Kaleo's world, he'd do it, no questions asked.

  "Will do," I mutter and then clear my throat when my chest pulses with something suspiciously like gratitude. Fuck. I think I might actually like his overgrown ass, but he doesn't need a friend like me. "So, what's this lead?"

  "Someone broke into some of el Demonio's warehouses last night," he says and locks his desktop before standing up. "Leyva thinks it was Pledger."

  Nazario Leyva has been watching the warehouses for us since we can't exactly tell the ATF or DEA that we plan to hunt Remi Pledger down and end him. He may be a disgrace, but he's still a cop. They want him brought in. That's not going to happen though. He sealed his fate the second he laid a hand on Little Mama.

  "He isn't sure?"

  "The fucker stayed out of view of the cameras."

  "Anything missing?"

  "Not that he's been able to tell, but while Pledger was inside, Leyva managed to put a tracker on the car the stupid son of a bitch parked down the block." Roman grins, showing his teeth. "You and I are going to pay him a little visit."

 
; "Oh, hell yeah," I say, unable to hide my own grin. I am so down with fucking up someone's day. Maybe that'll take the edge off the rage Kaleo left brewing in my soul. If not, at least it'll give me an excuse to avoid January for a little while longer.

  Walking up the steps to January's house later that night has me feeling like a teenager again. My pulse races and my palms are actually sweating. I'm so goddamn nervous, I'm jittery. This may be worse than when I was a teenager. At least back then, I knew she loved me. Now she's as likely to slap me as she is to slam the door in my face. I have no idea what I'm going to say to her or if she'll even talk to me.

  My day was complete shit. Kaleo pissed me off. We didn't find Pledger. Now I have to face January too. I'd rather go toe-to-toe with every gangbanger in this city than face her right now.

  "Fuck," I mumble to myself, staring at the heavy wooden door like it might bite me. The last time I stepped inside this house, my entire world imploded. Those memories threaten to invade, pushing at the walls I've put up to keep them at bay. Before I lose the nerve altogether, I reach out and knock twice.

  A shuffling sound comes from inside, followed by a soft curse. A second later, the door flies open.

  "Um…" I blink at the woman standing on the other side with a wineglass in her hand, gaping at me. She's short and curvy, with rich sepia skin, dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, and glassy brown eyes behind a pair of fashionable glasses. Whoever she is, she damn sure isn't January. She's familiar though.

  "Michael Kincaid," she says, snapping her mouth closed. She stands up straight, glaring at me.

  "Mariah?" I ask, blinking at her. "Mariah Dupree?"

  Seems I do actually know this chick. She was January's best friend growing up…one of very few girls at school who didn't treat her like shit for being with me. Teenage girls can be vicious. Mariah was never one of them. She treated my girl like January deserved to be treated. I'm still grateful to her for that.

  "What do you want?" she asks, stepping into the doorway like she's trying to block me from seeing inside. With no shoes on, she's not much taller than my girl, so it's a useless attempt.

  "Um, I'm here to talk to January," I mutter and rake a hand through my hair. I don't know why this chick is glaring at me like she wants to break the stem off her glass and shiv me with it, but damn. Okay, that's not true. I know exactly why. Her loyalty to January is as solid as ever. If this were any other day, I'd appreciate that fact.

  "Well, she doesn't want to talk to you." She lifts a perfectly penciled brow and looks me up and down. "Why are you even here anyway, Michael? You did enough damage when you walked out and left her. Why couldn't you just stay away?"

  Walked out and left her? What the fuck?

  "I didn't wa–"

  "Mariah? Who is it?" January says from behind her, her words a little slurred. She peeks around Mariah's arms, her green eyes going comically wide when she sees me. She's got her hair piled up on top of her head. Her face is flushed and her pupils dilated. She's wasted. And still so perfect it hurts to look at her.

  "Are you drunk, baby girl?" I ask, my voice soft. Clenching my hands into tight fists, I try to keep myself from snatching her up. Part of me wants to spank her ass for getting wasted with no one except her equally as drunk friend here to take care of her. The other part desperately wants to know what she's like when she's drinking. Is she a happy drunk? A horny drunk? I don't know. Titan and I never let her drink. She was too young.

  Tears well in her eyes. "Don't call me that," she whispers.

  "Why not?" I whisper back, fighting like hell to stay where I'm at instead of wiping those tears away.

  "Because I'm not yours anymore. You didn't want me."

  "Fuck."

  She nudges Mariah, forcing her to open the door wider. Even as two tears slip down her flushed cheeks, her eyes narrow and her nose scrunches up. She sways on her feet before grasping the doorframe to keep herself upright. If she wasn't so goddamn beautiful, the glare she shoots me then would be killer.

  "You came back for another woman," she says, a thousand different emotions flowing through those emerald eyes too quickly for me to read. "I prayed so many times for you to come back for me, but you never did. You came back here for her."

  What the fuck is she talking about?

  "Baby girl–"

  "Don't call me that!" she screams at me, her voice so loud it borders on shrill.

  I snap my mouth closed. Turns out, drunk January is feisty and a little bit frightening. And I don't have the first clue how to handle her like this. This is a side of her I've never seen before…one that worries the hell out of me and leaves me all kinds of confused.

  I don't have the first clue why she thinks I came back here for another woman. There is no other woman for me. There never has been.

  Did she really pray for me to come back for her?

  "January, let's go inside," Mariah murmurs, tugging gently on her arm.

  January brushes her off.

  "Why, Cade?" she asks me, still crying. "Just tell me why."

  "Why what, ba…January?" I ask, my soul fucking bleeding. I shove my hands into my pockets in a last ditch effort to keep from grabbing her and dragging her into my arms. Seeing her crying is killing me. Knowing that I'm the reason for her tears is even worse.

  How could she not know she's the only woman I've ever loved? How can she think for even a second that I'd want anyone else?

  I tried. For years, I tried to forget her and move on. As soon as I'd have my dick out, her face would flash through my mind, and I couldn't do it. No matter how wasted I got, she was always right fucking there. It was her face I saw, her body I wanted. Her name I called out when I jerked off.

  I desperately wanted to forget her, just so I didn't have to be so goddamn miserable, and just as desperately hoped she'd come searching for me. But it never happened. She hates me and I don't blame her for that. But she's always going to be the only one for me. I stopped trying to fight that truth a long time ago.

  It hurts like hell to think that maybe she's been living the same way.

  How fucked up is it that part of me is over-the-moon elated she wanted me to come back? Her happiness has always been more important to me than my own, but part of me is glad I wasn't the only one suffering. And that's precisely why I don't deserve her. Why I never have and probably never will.

  I'm a selfish son of a bitch.

  "Why did you leave me? Why didn't you come back for me?" she asks. "Why didn't you love me like I loved you?"

  "Fuck." I reach for her, the last of my control gone when her voice breaks on a sob. I drag her tiny body into mine and wrap my arms around her. She fights me the whole way, crying and trying to hit me. Her little fist catches the edge of the cut on my arm, making me hiss. I'm so much bigger than she is though. She doesn't stand a chance of fighting me off. I hold her tightly as she sobs, her entire body shaking with the force of her cries.

  And goddamn, it hurts in the best way possible. Having her in my arms feels like coming home. Like I've been dying of thirst for years and finally found a little oasis to slake my thirst. It's not enough. It's not anywhere nearly enough to satisfy me. But it's just enough to keep me alive.

  She's falling apart, shattering into pieces in my arms…and all I want to do is keep holding her.

  Like I said, I'm a selfish son of a bitch.

  My eyes meet Mariah's over the top of January's head to see tears slipping silently down her cheeks too. The mixture of pity and judgement in her eyes has me quickly averting my gaze. There's not a damn thing she can say to me that I haven't already said to myself a thousand times over the years. I don't need to hear it here and now.

  When my heart is weighed against a feather and I'm devoured or cast into Hell or whatever happens to men like me when we die…it won't be little Mariah Dupree doing the weighing and judging.

  If anyone has the right to condemn me, it's January.

  Eventually, she runs out of steam.

>   I sweep her up into my arms. She doesn't fight me this time. Her body curls into me, her tears soaking into my shirt. My muscles go lax, my entire body relaxing at the feel of her in my arms and her sweet scent in my lungs after so long. My nerves are raw and my heart is fucking bleeding, but I feel more at peace than I have in so long. So, so long. I feel like I can finally fucking breathe again.

  Mariah steps aside, allowing me to carry my girl into the house. I keep my head down, not sure I'm strong enough to deal with January and all my memories of this place at the same time. I focus on her instead, watching the way her chest rises and falls. She's already asleep, but tears still slip down her cheeks.

  I carry her into her bedroom and lay her on the bed. Her hands are so twisted up in my shirt that I have to pry them off me one at a time. When I finally do, she whimpers in her sleep and curls up in a little ball like she's trying to make herself disappear. The sight tears at my soul.

  I pull her blanket up over her and then, because I'm a bastard and I can't help myself, I lean down and kiss her cheek. Her skin is as soft as ever. Her sugary vanilla scent fills my lungs to bursting and I know I have to get the fuck out of here now. If I don't, I'm going to lose it.

  "Take care of her," I rasp to Mariah, who's standing in the doorway. Without waiting for her answer, I flee like the fucking coward I am.

  Chapter Six

  January

  Age Fifteen

  "Where are we going?" I ask Cade, bouncing in excitement.

  "You'll see," he says, smiling at me in that way that makes his dimples appear and my heart race. He leans down and brushes his lips across mine in gentle passes before he stands up straight and links our fingers together.