Shatter

by Lola Taylor

  He started to drive off, determined to be optimistic. “I promise you, Amy. I’ll protect you, no matter what.”

  She reached over and squeezed his leg. A rush of blood went straight to his sex, making it throb.

  Down, boy.

  They drove in comfortable silence and switched to a rental car on their way out of town. It was all part of the “avoid Nathan” plan.

  Now, let’s just hope this works.

  Scott was pleased as hell when they drove up to their hotel about a half hour later. Run by an eighty-year-old couple who hadn’t discovered online marketing yet, primarily only locals knew of it. Built in the Tudor style, it was an oversized two-story cottage with white walls and brown trim. The property was surrounded by wildflowers and trees, and the highway they’d taken to get here was a good mile off the dirt path that led to the hotel.

  “Wow,” Amy said as they parked and got out. “This place is beautiful. I’ve never even heard of it.”

  “Most people haven’t, not unless you’re from around here.” He wriggled his brows. “Thus, its appeal.” As far as he knew, Nathan wasn’t from here. Scott hadn’t noticed anyone tailing them, so he felt pretty good about this.

  Their dinner reservations were at eight. After a delay with getting their room, they’d quickly changed into more casual wear and squeezed through the door just before their table was given up.

  He’d gotten lucky in booking the room and dinner at the last second. Just because the place was remote and not on the Web didn’t mean it wasn’t popular with the locals.

  The interior of the restaurant was classy, with vaulted ceilings, iron chandeliers dripping in real candles and flowers, and dark wooden tables, chairs, and floors to match the beams that striped the ceiling.

  Scott noticed Amy looking over her shoulder and clinging to him as the waitress showed them to their private table in the corner of the main dining room. His heart squeezed. Not that he minded the clinging part, but damn, he could kill that asshole Nathan.

  He took her hand and squeezed. That alone seemed to relieve some of her tension.

  Once they were seated, he let her become acclimated before he spoke. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to her much on the drive over, considering she’d fallen asleep almost right away. “You like it?”

  “Yeah. It’s gorgeous, like being in a fairy tale.” She sipped her ice water and smiled at him. “I can’t believe you packed my suitcase for me and boarded Braveheart.”

  “Wait ’til you see what underwear I packed. I really enjoyed that, by the way.”

  She nudged him with her knee from under the table; her elbow brushed his. They were seated right next to each other. “I bet you did. Creeper.”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a guy.”

  There weren’t that many people in there at that hour, so they were able to put their orders in right away.

  “So, what made you want to be a painter?” He leaned on the table and crossed his arms. He wanted to get her mind off Nathan, to have her feel some semblance of normalcy.

  “My mom was a painter, self-taught.” She idly stirred the ice around her glass. “She was always teaching me while growing up. And not just that, but sculpting, inking, even a little bit of comic book work. She became a big success later, having started her own online art gallery, where people could sell their work and get paid monthly royalties, with her taking a small commission, and she made a killing.” She smiled sadly. “Taught me everything I know about being gainfully self-employed.”

  “You miss her,” Scott commented quietly.

  She nodded and bit her lip, as if debating on telling him something. A moment later, she looked away, and his shoulders released.

  Scott waited a beat before he spoke. “Where’s your dad, if I may ask?”

  “In New York. He and my mom divorced when I was a kid.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She smiled. “Me, too. They did seem really happy together, and then they just kind of grew apart. They didn’t really have much in common, to be honest.” She wrinkled her nose. “Things didn’t start going downhill until Mom’s anxiety attacks started. I think she stressed Dad out too much. He’s a lawyer, so he was stressed out enough as is.”

  He smiled softly.

  “What about you?” she asked. “What do your folks do?”

  A deluge of memories flooded his mind: his father slurring as he hit his mother, the rage rolling off him as he hit Scott… Scott smiled sadly. “My father is a professional fighter, and my mom is a housewife.”

  “Oh, that’s neat! I want to know who your dad is, though I probably won’t recognize the name. I don’t keep up with boxing.”

  “It’s not boxing, actually. It’s mixed martial arts.”

  “Wow. Sounds intense.”

  “It is. I was one, too—a fighter, that is—at one point in time.” He smiled tightly. “Similar to your mom, my dad taught me everything I know about fighting,” he said bitterly.

  “That explains the calluses,” she said with a small smile.

  “Almost.”

  “Almost?”

  A couple laughed as they walked by. The girl had on an elegant gold dress with a glittering brooch in the shape of a lion head.

  The blood drained from his face.

  Ghost is looking for you. He’s been trying to get you back in the circuit.

  The smile faded from her face. “You must have done a lot of fighting to earn those.” Her eyes settled on his knuckles and stayed there.

  A lump formed in his throat. “I”—thump thump, thump thump—“got into a lot of fights when I was with Erika.”

  Pussy.

  Amy leaned forward, waiting patiently for him to continue. She smiled at him in encouragement, which only made him feel more like a douche for lying to her.

  Well, not lying exactly, just not telling the whole truth. It was for her own good. Or was it because he was so damned scared that if she knew the whole story, she’d leave his ass?

  He shrugged. “Not much to tell, to be honest. I used to be pretty reckless and a bit of a thrill seeker.” Not to mention inheriting his father’s rage issues, but he’d worked through those. Mostly. He still drank like a fish, but hey, at least it was only a few beers a day and not a whole case.

  Progress was progress.

  “Anyway, I ended up meeting this girl named Erika. We fell in love—er, well, I fell in love, and she’d found a breathing ATM. I denied she was using me for a long time—until she left me high and dry with a mountain of debt to pay off.”

  He looked away, hoping she wouldn’t see the lie written on his face.

  She reached over and squeezed his hand, sympathy in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “Don’t be. Her leaving me was the best thing that could have happened to me. If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have gotten my act together, and I never would have met you.”

  Amy flushed, and his sex throbbed again. He loved that color on her, especially on her naked body beneath a sheen of sweat.

  A sultry look darkened her eyes. “I don’t like it when you’re glum.”

  His interest immediately perked. “Me, either.”

  “Well, I know something to cheer you up.” She leaned in. “I’m not wearing a bra.”

  He grinned, his sex aching even more. It had been hard ever since she’d walked into his apartment and he’d noticed her nipples. “I noticed.”

  “Or any underwear.”

  He blinked. “Didn’t you put some on when we changed?”

  She shook her head, eyes on him the whole time. “Nope.”

  Dear God.

  Praise the Lord there was a tablecloth, or she would have just flashed everyone in the restaurant as she slowly hiked up her black skirt and guided his hand between her legs. His fingers grazed the sweet curls that surrounded her sex. Taking her direction, he guided himself deeper.

  Her breath caught as he touched her, gently and smoothly caressing
her lips until her honey started to coat his hand. She widened her legs to allow him deeper access. Her breaths came faster now. She pretended to be studying the menu as he sank his index and ring fingers into her. He would have done more if the angle hadn’t been so damnably awkward.

  She slouched a little. There, that was better. He managed to go a bit farther. She bit down a gasp, slightly rocking her sex against his hand.

  He leaned in and brushed her ear with his lips. “I’m so hard for you right now.”

  Beneath the table, she reached over and grasped him. “I know.”

  He growled low. “I want to strip you naked and kiss every inch of you until you moan.”

  “I’d like that.”

  He leaned in farther, pressed his fingers a bit deeper. “Then I’d like to bury myself in you and feel you come around me.”

  She whimpered.

  The waitress stopped by, a bright smile on her face, completely oblivious of what was happening beneath the tablecloth. “Hello, again! I just wanted to let you know your dinner will be out shortly.”

  Amy discreetly straightened her skirt, Scott removing his hand as she did, and stood. She smiled apologetically at the waitress. “I’m so sorry to do this, but I’m afraid I’m feeling a bit ill. Is there any way to have dinner sent up to our room?”

  Scott followed her lead, also standing, and casually wiped his hand on a napkin before he stuck it in his pocket. “Yeah, I’m so sorry to do this. I’ll be more than happy to pay for room service.”

  “Oh, um, that’s all right! I’ll talk to the kitchen staff.”

  The waitress scurried away after Scott gave her their room number, and he and Amy made a dash for the door. They giggled the whole way. “I feel like a teenager again. I can’t believe I did that. Guess the adrenaline rush from the gala still hasn’t worn off, and it’s making me bolder.”

  “I don’t mind.” He kissed the back of her hand. “Believe me.”

  They clutched hands as they walked through the foyer of the inn. A few people mingled about, checking in and out at the front desk a few feet away.

  A sign caught Scott’s attention. “Oh, a Jacuzzi. There’s a place we haven’t had sex before.”

  “We can add it to the list.” Amy gave him a mischievous smile.

  It was a running joke that they kept a list of all the places where they’d had sex. They’d already covered all the basics, so they had to get creative.

  She frowned. “I didn’t bring a bathing suit. I don’t own one, so I know you didn’t pack one.”

  “Who said anything about wearing clothes?”

  She grinned. “Good point.”

  He couldn’t stop the stupid grin that spread across his face. More eager than ever, they had started toward the steps when a gravelly voice stopped him cold.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Miracles do happen.”

  SCOTT STOPPED SO suddenly he almost ripped Amy’s arm off. Her gaze swept the man in front of them, instantly on her guard.

  She didn’t recognize him. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a clean black suit. His white hair was slicked back with gel, and a scarlet handkerchief was doubled over in his pocket. He looked sophisticated.

  And mean as hell.

  He didn’t look at Scott as if he was happy to see him. Rather, he looked at him as if he were something to possess, a mere object.

  Her fists clenched.

  Two large men flanked the mobster-looking guy. Each of them wore tight black T-shirts that showed off their impressive arm muscles, making a clear statement. In other words, “think twice before approaching this guy.”

  Scott’s mouth pressed into a firm line. He discreetly positioned himself in front of Amy and raised his chin. “What do you want, Ghost?”

  Ghost? What kind of a nickname was that?

  Amy stood quietly and listened. Whoever this “Ghost” was, Scott was not happy to see him.

  Ghost smiled, flashing bleached-white teeth. “I’m here on business. Imagine my delight when I walked in and saw none other than the Lion himself.”

  Huh? The Lion? “What’s he talking about, Scott?” Amy said quietly.

  “Sssh.” He didn’t even look over his shoulder at her. “Stay out of this. And stay out of sight.”

  Hurt briefly flashed through her. Then Ghost chuckled, and she was more than happy to obey Scott.

  But rather than inch behind him, she stayed put. “I’m not hiding.”

  “Amy,” Scott started to push her behind him, “don’t argue about this, please.”

  “Oh, don’t bother hiding your lady friend.” Ghost leaned his head so as to get a better look at her. “I’ve already taken notice. Such lovely coloring.”

  “Stop looking at her,” Scott growled.

  Amy blinked, drawing still as the tension in the air thickened between the two men.

  Ghost smiled broadly. “I didn’t know looking was not allowed. My apologies.” He gave a low bow. “Hopefully, she’ll be better for you than the last one was.”

  Last one? One of what? A girlfriend?

  Did…did he mean Erika? If so, how did Ghost know her?

  She glanced at Scott. Just what kind of secrets have you been keeping from me? What do you not want me to know?

  Ghost glanced at his watch. “My, my, how these things happen at the most inopportune of times. I have somewhere else to be. You’re welcome to join me.” He grinned. “We can discuss that debt you owe.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” Scott said. “I’ve made my payments on time.”

  Ghost still smiled. “That wasn’t an invitation.”

  The two bodyguards stepped forward, standing on either side of Amy and Scott with their arms crossed.

  Amy’s heart leapt to her throat, and she gripped Scott’s arm.

  Scott narrowed his eyes at the men, seeming to be debating whether he could take them on.

  Amy squeezed his bicep and dug her nails into his muscle. “Don’t. Let’s just see what he wants.”

  “You should listen to your lady friend,” Ghost said in a singsong voice. “I’m quite cordial. I just want to talk.”

  Scott snorted. “Right. Like I believe that.”

  Ghost pressed his lips together. “Fair enough. How about this? Come with me, and I promise no harm will come to your lady friend.” He made a sympathetic face. “I would hate to have to resort to using her as leverage.”

  “Bastard!” Scott took a step forward. One of Ghost’s lackeys was on him in a flash, gripping him by the arm to hold him at bay.

  Ghost shrugged. “What can I say? One way or another, I always get what I want.”

  If looks could kill, Ghost wouldn’t have any flesh left on his face. Scott bared his teeth at him. “Yeah.” He jerked his arm free of the man’s grip. “I get the picture.” He put an arm around Amy and pulled her to him.

  She pretended not to be scared out of her mind. After all, it was what she did best for the media—pretend.

  Amy stayed close to Scott as they followed Ghost through the foyer and down a set of stairs. The walkway they treaded now was made of stone, inlaid with bits of rainbow-colored shells that glittered in the low lamp light; it looked like some sort of path to a wine cellar. The ceiling was covered in decorative white tiles, broken up into three-foot sections by dark beams of wood. The walls were gray stone, contrasting with the warmer sand-colored rocks they walked along. Iron lanterns lit with small flame-shaped bulbs hung from the walls, interspersed between iron flower baskets dripping peonies. The lanterns cast a warm orange glow, making their shadows dance as they walked.

  Where were they going? Most importantly, what would happen to them when they got there? Nerves set butterflies whirling in her stomach. And when she got nervous, a switch that controlled her mouth flipped. “Why do they call you Ghost?” Amy blurted. “I know it’s not your real name.”

  “And what if it is?” he asked in a teasing tone.

  Amy pressed her lips together, finding it incre
dibly difficult not to duck her head to this intimidating man.

  He chuckled softly and faced forward again. “Whenever people on the run from me see me, they look like they’ve seen a ghost. All the color drains from their faces. Some have even pissed their pants.”

  He sounded proud to scare the shit out of people.

  Prick.

  Scott squeezed her hand, almost painfully so. She squeezed back, letting him know she didn’t need him to display bone-crushing force to send the message. She got it—talking to Ghost was off-limits.

  She didn’t need to be told twice he was dangerous. The man exuded danger, as though something bad were going to happen by just looking at him.

  They went through a large, worn wooden door. About ten feet ahead stood a larger door; this one looked as if it was made of steel or iron. Muffled voices slipped through the crack at the bottom.

  One of Ghost’s men opened it. Noise—men and women shouting and cheering—blasted them.

  Amy looked around, wide-eyed, as they followed Ghost and his men along the outskirts of the large crowd gathered around the raised ring. Two fighters, both very large, muscular men, went at it in the middle. From the looks of it, the fight had been going on for a while; their noses and eyes were swollen or bleeding. Sweat coated their magnificent, scarred bodies, shining under the yellow lighting that barely lit the room. It smelled of beer and body odor, like onions.

  Amy squinted. Was that…barbed wire being used as a fence around the ring?

  “Where the hell are we?” Amy said to Scott discreetly.

  “The circuit,” Scott said darkly.

  “Circuit?”

  “I’ll explain later.” He squeezed her hand.

  In other words, shut your mouth.

  Amy promptly zipped her lips, her eyes riveted on the arena. One fighter got a jab in on the other, nearly knocking his head off his shoulders. The crowd’s arms went up, flinging beer everywhere as they cheered, swore, and shouted.

  On the opposite side of the room was a red door. Ghost went in, followed by one of his men, and then Amy and Scott.

  The other man closed the door behind them and stood in front of the exit, arms crossed and eyes glued to them.

  The room was small, with a simple wooden desk, a leather chair, and two metal folding chairs on the other side of the desk. Some filing cabinets stood along one wall.