by Eden Winters
Sidestep. “What about us?”
Lucky lunged backward out of reach. “You know good and well I didn’t want you near her.”
Salters spread his hands, realized his mistake, and barely missed Lucky’s right hook. “She’s a grown woman. She can do as she pleases.”
Lucky ducked below Salter’s arm and landed a cross blow to Jimmy’s kidney. That’d hurt come morning. “In case you haven’t noticed, she’s expecting.”
Salters grabbed his back, falling to his knees on the mat. “I noticed.” He grimaced and added, “You sonofabitch,” while wobbling to his feet.
“That’s Boss Sonofabitch to you!” Lucky jabbed, Salters easily deflected.
Salters paused, hands on his knees. “You know, it’s not easy playing twenty questions and having to watch footwork too.”
“You mean you can’t do two things at once?” Lucky swung again; Salters skipped away. “How did you meet her? Did you look up my address in my personnel file?” Lucky’s method of preference.
“No!” Salters’ uppercut landed Lucky against the ropes. “Saw her at The Golden Wok.”
Lucky landed a punch to the solar plexus. Salters winced, raising his hands in a defensive posture. “I was picking up takeout when she and Agent Johnson came in.”
So, Lucky also owed Johnson a talking to. Lucky tuned out the “Hit him!” and “shut up and fight!” from outside the ring.
“We talked. They asked me to join them. Nothing waited for me at home but my cat, so I did.”
Lucky landed a right hook.
Salters held his ground. “Lucky, your sister is an interesting woman.”
Not letting up. Left, right, left. “Fuck!” An uppercut came way too close to Lucky’s face. “Watch it! No mouthguard.” Lucky wheezed. He’d gotten too old for this shit five years ago.
Or longer. Next month he’d hit forty. He ducked a whole lot slower than he used to.
Salters delivered a solid hit to Lucky’s shoulder. “We talked nursing, your father’s surgery, what we could about mine and Loretta’s jobs, and I offered to help her study.” Asshat wasn’t even winded.
Lucky punched—hard.
Salters spun out of the way. “We became friends. She told me she was pregnant. She wasn’t showing yet.”
Which earned a “Whoo!” from the audience and a, “What’d he do? Knock up your sister?” Someone high-fived the bastard who really should’ve kept his mouth shut.
“I was disappointed that she had someone else, but that didn’t stop us being friends.” Jab, jab. Salters forced Lucky back. “I wondered about the father, but she and Loretta were tightlipped, and you never mentioned having a nephew or niece on the way, so I figured maybe it wasn’t a good relationship.”
“I didn’t say nothing because it was none of your business.” Lucky swiped the back of his arm across his face, wiping away sweat the best he could with a helmet and gloves on.
Salters ignored the verbal jab and ducked Lucky’s fist. “I told her she could talk to me about anything.” Almost without looking, he landed a solid right to Lucky’s pec.
Ow! “Motherfuck!” Lucky stepped back. That hurt! “Why didn’t you leave her alone if you thought she was involved?”
“Agent Harri… Lucky. We were—are—friends. It took her a while to trust me enough to tell about the baby’s father. Or should I say, fathers. She needs me.” They clenched in the middle of the ring.
“She has us,” Lucky snarled.
Salters lowered his voice, pulling Lucky’s head closer. “And me.”
“What’re they doing? Kissing?” came from outside the ring.
Lucky shot a deserving asshole a go-to-hell glare, bringing his attention back where it belonged. “She had a bad relationship.”
“She has a good one now. I’m not like her boys’ father.” Salters shoved Lucky away.
Lucky stopped. “She told you? She doesn’t talk about that.”
“She did to me.” Salters ran a hand over his helmet. “Look, Lucky, I have no intention of hurting your sister—or anyone else. We’re friends. Good friends, starting to be more, but right now she’s focusing on the baby and her classes.”
What. The. Fuck. “You’re okay with that?”
Footwork put Salters out of Lucky’s reach. “I want her in my life. Lucky, she’s beautiful, smart, funny, and can shoot the balls off a gnat.”
Lucky gave a one-two punch. “Are you saying your balls aren’t any bigger than that?” Damn, but he was tired. He lifted one leaden arm to deliver little more than a love tap.
As before, Salters ignored Lucky’s words. “We like the same music, same restaurants, same movies. I watched her when you and your father were in the hospital, how she cared for her family, how she cared for you. I think I was a little in love with her even back then.”
Another bad part of having Salters posing as a nurse when Lucky gave his dad a piece of his liver. Well, technically, Salters was a nurse, turned SNB agent.
Lucky found himself in a clench again. Salters got up in his face to say, “Then, to find out what she’s doing for you and Bo? How many people would do that? I am in awe of this woman.”
Wait a minute? “Love?”
A blow to the jaw spun Lucky around. Ow!
“Yes, I love her, and she loves me, I think. I want to see where this will go. I want to take her and her boys out, meet them. Get to know them.” Salters grinned, still not as winded as he ought to be—as Lucky was. “Besides, if I get out of line, you know she can kick my ass, right?”
Lucky raised his hands. “Who do you think taught her?”
“Shut up and fight!” someone called again.
Lucky glowered at their unwanted audience. “Don’t make me come down there.” A Mack truck of a punch hit his shoulder. He sagged against the ropes. Slowly, slowly, he turned around to face a younger—and possibly fitter—man.
“To hear her tell it, she taught you.”
“Ha!” More like they taught each other. Why were Lucky’s spaghetti legs not responding? He stared at this man who dared date his sister. “You have a dangerous job. It’s hard on those waiting at home.”
“She lives with you and Bo. She knows what’s what.”
Yes. Yes, she did.
They stared at each other a long moment. Salters broke the quiet. “You trusted me in the warehouse, right? With your life.”
Wait. What? Words came back to Lucky through a haze of pain. “Did you really say that Charlotte would kill you if you left me behind at that warehouse?”
“Yeah. She would have too.”
Nothing Salters could do or say would convince Lucky to trust him. Trust had to be earned. For now, he’d have to make do with Charlotte trusting Salters enough to confide in him. “I don’t scare you in the least, do I?” The fact he said “Lucky” and not “Agent Harrison” proved the point. Lucky threw all his remaining energy into a roundhouse right—and missed.
Salters caught him before he hit the mat. “Actually, you do, but am I running? Oh, hell no. Not from you, or anybody else. Only Charlotte has the right to tell me to go.”
The day she’d faced down her would-be kidnappers, Charlotte hadn’t collapsed into a heap like many might have, didn’t cling to Lucky for protection. She’d held on to Salte—Jimmy—for dear life. Might as well start calling him by his nickname.
Charlotte had spent her life devoted to her sons, her parents… Lucky. Yes, she deserved someone to be a rock for her for a change. Could Jimmy Salters be that rock?
“If she does, will you?” Her ex had made her life hell until Victor Mangiardi stepped in. He’d bought her a house, moved her and the boys across the country, and explained in detail to the boys’ father exactly what would happen if he attempted to contact Charlotte again.
Salters released Lucky, holding his hands out like he expected Lucky to fall. “Why wouldn’t I? I don’t own her, don’t control her, and wouldn’t want to. I love that she has her own mind and isn’t afraid
to speak up. We have some lively debates. She helps me see things from a different perspective.”
“You argue, you mean.” Yeah, Charlotte argued with the best of them. Lucky would punch the man hard—in a minute. After he caught his breath.
“No. We share points of view.” Completely still now, all pretext of sparring over, Jimmy turned imploring eyes on Lucky. “I’m a better person since I met her. Looking at you and Bo, I think you might know how I feel.”
Yes, Lucky did.
“Now, are we finished here?”
“Why?” Lucky glanced outside the ring. The spectators must’ve gotten bored and wandered off.
“I would imagine Bo, Charlotte, and Loretta are all pacing the floor, waiting to see which one of us comes back alive.”
“I didn’t tell anyone where I was going, did you?”
“No. But c’mon. This is Charlotte, Bo, and Loretta. One probably put a tracker on you, one followed you, and the other knows you too well.”
Actually, all three knew him too well. Jimmy had a point.
“I’ll even say you kicked my ass if it helps.” The man whose ass Lucky definitely didn’t kick gave him a possum-eating-briars grin.
Lucky stared a long time. Yes, Charlotte needed someone. Jimmy Salters was a decent guy, all things considered—and yes, he’d likely saved Lucky’s life that night in the burning warehouse. Lucky lost two fingers. He could’ve lost a whole lot more. Would’ve, if not for this man.
Didn’t mean he got a free pass. Lucky could pretend to give one, because, hell, he couldn’t stand much more of this. When had he gotten so out of shape? “No. If you hurt my sister, then I’ll kick your ass.”
“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way. Let’s do what we came here for.” Jimmy struck like a whip, slamming a foot into Lucky’s hip.
Lucky staggered and righted himself. He wanted to play, did he? Lucky struck…
Jimmy grabbed Lucky’s wrists and crossed them. Lucky went airborne. The mat against his back knocked the breath out of him.
Jimmy stared upside down at Lucky. “Had enough?”
Lucky kicked—hard.
Jimmy went down, flipped, and landed upright. What the ever-loving fuck? He offered Lucky a hand.
Lucky slapped the hand away and climbed to his feet. A bit shakily, but still.
Jimmy turned and walked away.
“Hey, where you going?” Yep, Lucky won by default.
Jimmy whirled, ran three steps, and leapt. His knee cracked into Lucky’s breastbone.
Down Lucky went and stayed down. “Fu…” He panted. Someone, please, shoot me now.
“Mixed martial arts.” Lucky wanted to wipe the grin off Jimmy’s freckled face. “I’m not even considered that good. You should see my brother. He’s an instructor.”
Just Lucky’s luck to pick a fight with someone who could fight back.
CHAPTER 13
After Lucky stumbled out of the ring, Jimmy went three more good-natured rounds with one of their previous spectators.
Jimmy won each round.
Lucky pretended to watch, giving himself time to recover before he’d need to stagger out the door to his car.
He and Jimmy exited the gym together into full night. He’d spent more time than intended, and no doubt had missed supper. But he hadn’t lied, not really, when he’d said he was working with one of his trainees. Truth. Or close enough.
The air held a bit of chill, cooling his overheated flesh. He leaned against the wall, faking casual. If the wall moved, he’d face plant.
The scent of Chinese food wafted on the breeze. His stomach growled. Oh, but he could down a few egg rolls right now. Nope, not going to The Golden Wok ever again. Everywhere he looked he’d see Charlotte and Jimmy.
Flirting.
His appetite fled.
“Which way you heading? I’m parked down there.” Jimmy nodded toward a parking garage down the street. He walked way too easily, with no visible signs of fatigue at all.
“I found a spot on the street, right down that way.” Lucky pointed in the opposite direction. Even if they’d parked next to each other, they’d part company right here. Better to get the asshole gone. Lucky could only take so many steps before his limp became visible. Nothing on Jimmy’s background check even hinted at mixed martial arts. Time to run another check.
Lucky shrugged into his leather jacket. Jimmy didn’t wear a coat. Oh, yeah. For a guy from Virginia, the air likely seemed downright balmy.
A loud boom! split the night. Lucky flinched. Alarms sounded in the general direction of Lucky’s car. Flames shot into the sky two blocks away.
Dropping his gym bag on the sidewalk, he sprinted toward his car.
Jimmy passed him. “Is that your Camaro?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Shock and pain made Lucky gasp. He paused far enough away to catch his breath, but close enough to feel the heat. Hands on his knees, he sucked in air that didn’t seem to reach his lungs. His car. His motherfucking car.
No part of the Camaro remained untouched. The ride he’d loved and owned for so long sat fully engulfed. Whoever’d torched it used one hell of an accelerant.
This couldn’t be happening. His car, refurbished as a gift from Bo. No going back. Nothing left. Whoever tormented him would not be happy when they met face to face. He’d rather his car go up in flames than his sister or family be hurt, but whoever was behind this planned each target for maximum effect.
They might not mean to kill him outright, at the moment, merely send a message.
“I know where you are and can take you out any time I want,” the message said. Yes, a sniper could have him in crosshairs right this minute.
Numbness wouldn’t let him care.
Then again, if he’d left the gym directly after his match with Jimmy…
He hobbled into the shadows, taking a lay of the land. He’d have to wait for the report, find out what they’d used, but whoever’d destroyed his car didn’t play.
Sirens rapidly approached, then silenced.
Two uniformed officers got out of their car, forcing the gathering crowd back. More sirens, and the heavy Brrrrrp! of a tanker horn, and a firetruck joined the fray.
He’d get a copy of witness statements later. The library and store nearest the car closed two hours ago, and one cop stood at the door of the liquor store across the street, questioning a man in a Captain Morgan T-Shirt. With all the signs displayed in the window, the guy likely hadn’t seen much.
Lucky’s car.
Someone finally silenced the alarm from a car sitting too close for comfort.
Jimmy stood beside him, arms folded across his chest.
“Sir, is this your car?” one of the firemen asked.
He gave a statement to a uniformed officer. Maybe the same one he’d spoken to at Chastain’s house. A hand wrapped around his upper arm. He jerked. The hand tightened. Lucky glanced up into Bo’s face. Bo. “So, were you the one who put a tracker on me or the one who followed me?”
“What?” Lines creased Bo’s forehead and he flipped his head toward Jimmy. “Salters called me. I was heading to the store to get Charlotte cinnamon ice cream and licorice.”
Lucky sighed. “Might as well get used to calling him Jimmy. Where’s Charlotte?”
“She’s at home with Andro, Ty, Rett, and Rone.” Rett’s timid son wouldn’t be much help during a home invasion.
“This could be a distraction to get us away from the house.” He needed to get home—now.
“I’ll go,” Jimmy said. “You gonna be all right?”
Lucky lied with a nod.
“What was that about?” Bo asked when Jimmy jogged away.
“He’s dating Charlotte.”
“Oh. That.”
Lucky turned. “You knew?” Of course, Bo knew.
Bo rolled his eyes. “Quite frankly, I don’t understand how you didn’t know. It’s not like they hid very well. Besides, the day those assholes broke into the house, he was
kinda hard to miss. It’s not like they needed introductions or anything.”
Yeah. No mistaking someone latching on to another for comfort. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I thought you knew and didn’t want to talk about it.” Yeah, just like Bo not to push unwanted topics.
Lucky wrapped an arm around his anchor, watching a tow truck driver negotiate with a firefighter on how to get the now-smoldering husk of his Camaro loaded onto a rollback. He’d had a gun locked in the glove box. Lost now.
“You okay?” Bo tightened his arm around Lucky.
Lucky tried to shrug, but stopped mid-motion. Even small movements hurt. “I’m used to having the dregs of society out to get me, but this time I got their king.” Or maybe their prince, since O’Donoghue claimed the title of king.
Owen Fucking Landry.
“You okay?” This time the voice wasn’t Bo’s.
If Lucky heard that question one more time… Now he understood how Charlotte felt.
He turned, coming face to face with Jameson O’Donoghue. “I heard the call come through on the scanner. I know you come to this gym, and not too many people drive old Camaros.”
Not old, classic. No use arguing.
Owen Landry had done this. One of O’Donoghue’s former butt kissers. Still, Lucky sniffed the air, intent on the scent of accelerant drifting from the man’s general direction. Nothing but a really awful cologne he hoped never to smell again.
“Maybe you should take him home,” O’Donoghue told Bo. “I can imagine you want to get back to your family. I’ll hang around a bit. See if I can find out anything. I’ll call if anything turns up.”
Lucky wanted to argue. No denying the truth. Tired, sore, beaten up, heartsick, and more than a little worried, he allowed Bo to lead him away.
His gym bag had disappeared from the sidewalk where he’d dropped it. Figured.
“I parked at work,” Bo said.
Great. Who’d moved SNB parking so far away? Every step brought a groan. At last Lucky climbed in and buckled into the SUV Bo bought last year when Rookie Rogers rammed the old one. Bo and Lucky sure were hell on cars. Or rather, the sonsofbitches out to get them were.
