As per your request, I’m notifying you that, on December 21st, the birth records of Axelle Rose Moorehead were requested by someone in Spokane, WA acting under “Anonymous.” That same day the individual also requested the divorce records of Layla Marie Devereux.
That is all the information I have for you at this time.
Det. Dave Hodgeson
Las Vegas Police Department
My pulse thunders in my ears, my hand shakes, and I can’t seem to focus enough to ask one of the many questions swirling through my head.
“I’ve had Dave keep an eye on things for me, just for a little while. After Stew went to prison, I worried he had someone out there, a silent partner who might go sniffing around. I honestly didn’t think Dave would find anything, but . . .”
A dull ache forms between my eyes. Unavailable. “Do you think it has something to do with . . . with . . .” I can’t say it, but a look of understanding washes over his face.
“I don’t know, Mouse, but I don’t want this shit hitting us out of the blue when we’re not expecting it. ‘If you want peace, prepare for war.’ Remember? I was keeping my finger on the pulse just in case, and thank God I was.” He cups my face, forcing my eyes to lock with his. “Whatever happens, we’ll be ready.”
“If it’s someone from my past, what could they possibly expect to gain from birth records and divorce records?” I guess it’s possible that Stew has his lawyers working on something, but I’m not as worried about that. The police have his confession, so he’ll be locked in jail until Axelle is grown and has a family of her own. But, if anonymous and unavailable are the same then . . . A flash of my nightmare has me curling into Blake.
“So what now?” I hand the email back to him, and he folds it up and shoves it into his pocket.
“Now, you go back to takin’ care of yourself and our baby while I take care of this.”
I grip his knee, imploring his eyes. “Blake, I want—”
“No.” He pins me with a powerful glare. “No one will get near you or Axelle, do you hear me? You focus on getting this baby here whole and healthy, Axelle focuses on getting into UNLV and what new music she wants to download, and I take care of this.”
I blink a few times, considering how best to respond. Fact is he’d be insane to think I’m going to stay out of this. I’ll always protect my family. “Alright.” I nod and knot my fingers together in my lap, hoping he doesn’t see my lie.
“Alright?” His unbelieving tone followed by silence calls my eyes to his.
“Yeah.” I shrug.
He narrows his glare. “Alright.”
He doesn’t believe me, but he can’t prove I’m lying, so I just nod and flash a shy smile.
“I’m tired.” I stand and hold out my hand. “You ready for bed?”
He takes it. “Yeah, babe.” A long yawn crawls from his throat.
I pull to get him to stand, but he doesn’t budge. “Are you comfortable here?”
He tugs me to his lap and wraps his body around mine. It’s weird because, being in his lap, I should feel like the one being held, but the way his arms are wrapped around my belly, his head to my chest, it’s as if I’m holding and comforting him. “No. I want to be in bed with you.”
I run my hand through his hair and kiss his head. “You okay?”
He grunts his “yes,” but doesn’t lift his head.
“You sure?” As disturbing as the email is, it only manages to light a fire in my gut to protect those I love. Blake can do what he thinks he needs to, but I’ll do what I can to end this before the demons from my past come back to haunt us.
“Take me to bed, baby.” God, why does he sound so desperate? I don’t know what to do or what to say, but every cell in my body wants to take away the pain I hear in his voice.
“Okay.” I push up and take his hand, leading him to our bed. He shucks his jeans and boxer briefs and my mouth instantly waters. He pulls my shirt, but leaves my panties in place and crawls into bed, taking me with him.
Pulling my back to his front, he palms my breast and buries his nose in the back of my neck. “I’ll never lose you.”
That’s what he’s afraid of? “Never.”
“I’d die without you.” His hand rubs my belly. “All three of you.”
I reach over my shoulder and cup the back of his neck. “We’re not going anywhere.”
He flexes his hips into my ass, and I can feel what the proximity of our bodies is doing to him. A low moan vibrates in his chest, but rather than instigate love making, he only pulls me closer until his breathing evens out.
He’s asleep.
I sink into his hold and close my eyes, knowing that I won’t sleep. The dreams . . . the detective’s email . . . rolling it around in my head makes me feel dizzy, as if I’m falling.
Blake’s arms close around me even tighter, and I visualize that he’s holding me together, keeping me grounded, until the drop feels more like floating.
Seven
Blake
Throwing open the doors of the training center first thing in the morning, I already feel a fraction better than I did last night. The list of things that calm my inner turmoil is short: Layla, music, and beating the shit out of something.
It took me over an hour in my music room to work off the pent up frustration from all my unanswered questions. I fell into a restless sleep after that, only to wake up to a terrified Layla, who looked like an animal that had been beaten. And when shit can’t get worse, it usually does. She spotted the email.
Talking to her about it loosened some of the tightness I’ve been carrying in my chest, and her response was not what I’d expected. I’d anticipated her reaction since I received the damn thing, and I would’ve sworn she’d have been out for blood. Instead she agreed to leave the whole damn thing to me. The victory I felt was short-lived once my brain kicked in and reminded me that nothing with Layla has ever been that easy.
“Mornin’, Blake.” Vanessa, the training center’s receptionist and huge pain in my ass, bats her eyelashes in greeting.
I ignore her stupid attempt at flirting. “Vanessa, heads up, my brother Braeden’s coming in this morning.”
I texted Brae right when I woke up and invited him down for a tour and a workout. He’s never been to the UFL facility before, and I figured working out would be a good excuse to get him alone. If he’d just fucking tell me what’s going on at home, I could tell my parents to go to hell and get back to worrying about more important things: like the fact that someone’s after information on my woman and daughter.
I roll my head to relieve the tension. “When he gets, here if you could show him back—”
“He’s already here.” Her eyebrows pop up and a flicker of female appreciation lights her expression. “If I’d known there was a younger, sexier version of you out there, I would’ve been nicer to Layla after she claimed you.”
“Sexier? Yeah right.” I roll my eyes at Vanessa’s blatant attempt at getting me riled. As if I give a flying fart what she thinks of me, Layla, or my brother. “Where’s he at?”
“I left him with Jonah.” She jerks her head toward the hallway with a flick of her reddish-blond hair. “They’re in the gym.”
I mumble a quick “thanks” and head off to find him.
Once inside the warehouse-like facility, I spot Jonah and Braeden by the octagon. Their attention is on two fighters sparring inside. As I draw closer, I recognize them as Rex and Mason.
I shove my brother from behind. “What up, dicklick?”
He stumbles one step, groans, and rubs his temples. “Hungover, please whisper.”
“Idiot.” I shake my head and give Jonah a chin lift before joining them to watch Rex and Baywatch. “Damn, that kid’s fast.”
Jonah’s arms are crossed over his chest, his gaze focused as he studies the fighters. “Yeah, Rex isn’t even taking it easy on him anymore. Baywatch is a fuckin’ animal in there.”
I nod and watch as Mase gets Rex in
to full mount position so quickly the tattooed fighter barely has time to register what happened, much less block it.
No one talks about it, but we all know where Mason’s extra drive to kill is coming from. Eve’s choosing Cameron over Mase lit a fire to annihilate in the kid’s ass. He came to Vegas all wide-eyed and innocent. Now the guy takes the asshole ranks. He’s pissin’ people off, getting reprimanded for talking shit to other fighters, even got suspended for a bar fight.
I don’t judge him. Hell, if Layla had ended up leaving my ass for another guy, I’d be in prison for murder.
Just then Mason gets Rex in a ground guillotine choke. We all step closer to the cage.
“Sweet move, Baywatch!” Jonah grips the chain link, calling into the training fighters. “Rex, tap!”
Rex taps, as he should. The hold he’s in is next to impossible to break, and we’re not here to kill each other.
Mase tightens the hold, his teeth bared. Fuck. My eyes dart to Jonah, who has his gaze focused on Mason’s arm.
“Mase, let up!”
He doesn’t. Rex’s muscles go limp, but regain and struggle. Fuck, he’s going unconscious. I hook a foot and climb the fence just as Jonah does the same. Within seconds, we’re at Mason.
Jonah wraps one arm around the front of Mason’s neck as if he’s a feral dog. “Let up! Now!”
I hook Rex under the arms, and the second Mase gives in to Jonah’s command, I pull Rex back and set him on his ass to recover.
“What the fuck, Baywatch?” I get in the punk’s face and ready for him to take a swing. Hell, I walked in here looking to burn up some energy. Weights would do the job, but I’d much rather beat someone’s ass. “You try that shit again, I will end you, you understand?” I shove him back and he drops his chin, breathing hard.
“You’re done for the day. Pack your shit, go home, and calm the fuck down.” Jonah doesn’t waste another word on the kid and moves to check on Rex, who has a huge fucking grin on his face.
“That was epic.” He pushes up, heads over to Mase, and grabs him by his headgear. “Good job, man. No hard feelings.”
Baywatch shakes his head and has the decency to appear ashamed. Good little shit. “Sorry, man. I’m . . . fuck . . . that was uncool. I’m sorry.” He offers his fist to Rex, who fist bumps him back.
Better man than I. Although, it wasn’t too long ago I was all juiced up and had no idea and pulled something similar with Rex.
“Rex, our resident punching bag.” I motion to him and he takes a dramatic bow.
“At your service,” he says with a bloodied-lip grin.
We all laugh, the tension in the air dissolving enough that we move to get on with what we came here for.
I hop the octagon fence and give my brother a shove. “Show’s over; let’s hit some weights.”
He follows me toward the weight room. “Dude, that was kickass. I can see why you like it here. I mean I get to train, but we never get good hand-to-hand like what I just saw there.”
Poor guy never has been sent to the war he’s training for day in and day out. I remember what it was like to know so much and have to bottle it up, never given the opportunity to exercise my training in a physical and tangible way.
I flick on the lights and hit the stereo, putting Black Sabbath on Pandora to make sure plenty of hard metal pumps through the room and keeps us energized. We hit the free weights first, and I realize immediately that my baby bro has been spending plenty of time in the gym. He needs zero instruction as we move mindlessly through our own workouts, grabbing weights similar to what I lift.
He fatigues quicker than I do, but that could have a lot to do with his extracurricular activities. As much as I enjoyed living that life when I did, I’m glad it’s part of my past. I push him to hit the bench press, and after a few sets, we take a water break.
“How’s the hangover now?” I toss him a towel that he immediately presses to his face.
“Much better,” he says, out of breath. “Thanks for asking me down here. I’d probably be nursing this hangover with a little hair of the dog in the casino if you hadn’t texted me.” He takes a swig of water. “Also helped me get rid of my date from last night.”
Well, I’ll be damned. My baby brother’s got game.
“Careful, dude. Vegas chicks aren’t like the chicks back home.”
He glares up at me. “Why not? I mean pussy’s pussy.”
I drop my chin and laugh at how he sounds just the way I did the other day at the OB’s office. I take a minute to imagine the heaping pile of verbal comebacks my Mouse would lob at Brae if she were to hear him say that. Damn, I love that woman.
“I’m just warning you now not every girl is as innocent as she might pretend to be. ’Lotta pros in Vegas.”
He lifts one eyebrow. “You mean prostitutes?”
I wipe the back of my neck with the towel. “No, not necessarily, but professional manipulators that prey on pretty boys like you.” He throws his sweaty towel at me, and I swipe it out of the air before it hits my face. “Just be safe, that’s all I’m sayin’.”
He recoils, his lips twisted as if he’s tasting something he doesn’t like. “Please, tell me this isn’t the you-better-be-using-protection talk. Got that from Mom at fourteen.”
“Yeah? From Mom? I never got that talk.”
He shrugs. “That’s because you were too busy running off to play piano when you were fourteen. I was going to the senior prom with ‘Kitty Cat’ Coffman when I was fourteen.” His eyes go unfocused and he grins. “Never heard a woman purr before, but damn . . .” He shakes his head.
“You fucked ‘Kitty Cat’ Coffman?” That girl was gorgeous and four years older than him. “She was in my grade.”
“What can I say, brother?” He swipes a pretend piece of lint from his shoulder. “Hate the playa’ not the game.”
“Dude, never say that again.” I toss my sweaty towel in his face. “You sound like a douchebag.”
“Whatever, I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big boy.” He chuckles and pushes up from the bench. “At least, that’s what she said.”
My jaw falls open on its hinges. “How dare you? That’s my line.”
He laughs and pulls his elbow over his head to stretch his triceps. “Your concern for me is sweet, but I can take care of my own dick, thank you very much.”
I bite down against the urge to tease him about taking care of his own dick and focus on what I asked him down here for.
“So Mom wants you to bring me home to share some big secret with me, huh?” I busy myself by sliding plates off the bar and racking them.
“I don’t see what the big deal is. Just go home, let her say her peace, and then you can come back to your perfect life.” He shrugs, but I can see the frustration working in his expression.
My hands freeze on the weights. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He chugs down the rest of his water and tosses the empty bottle in the nearby trashcan. “Forget it.”
“I’m just trying to understand.” The words were meant for my own ears, but Brae’s eyes dart to mine. “Dad’s always been the only person she cares about, more than you or me, and now she says ‘jump’ and I’m supposed to say ‘how high?’” The plate I’m racking slams down harder than I intend. “How can she love someone so much that she’d . . .” Abandon me. I growl at my own weakness and have the sudden urge to hit the heavy bag. “. . . put up with his shit.”
“Don’t know. I mean . . . put yourself in her shoes, dude. What would Layla have to do to get you to leave her?”
What the fuck?
He must have read the question in my expression. “Think about it. What if she alienated you from your friends? Would you leave her?”
It takes me all of zero seconds to answer. “No.”
He shrugs. “What if she called you names?”
I shake my head.
“Bet you’d leave her if she hit you.” He lifts one eyebrow, c
ontradicting his statement.
He knows I’m hopelessly hooked on Layla. There’s not much or anything she could do to make me walk away.
“Yeah, yeah, I see what you’re saying. But I will say, if Layla wasn’t good to our kids, if she . . .” I have to force the damn words from my lips because even though it’s hypothetical, it feels like blasphemy. “If she was emotionally abusing our kids, we’d have issues.”
“But would you leave her?”
Damn. The honest truth is . . . no, I wouldn’t leave her. I’d fix her, but never leave.
“Just go home. Hear her out.” He rubs his towel over his high-and-tight military haircut. “If it’s Layla you’re worried about, I’ll stay and take care of her until you get home.” He winks. Asshole.
Even though he’s giving me shit, he knows he’s one of two guys I’d ever trust keeping an eye on her and Axelle. The other is Jonah, but he’s busy with his wife and baby.
“I don’t know, man. I mean she’s due any day now.” What are the chances she’ll give birth while I’m gone? Orange County isn’t even an hour flight from Las Vegas. I’ve been at the training center longer than I’d be in Oceanside. I’m running out of excuses not to go.
The door to the weight room swings open and three fighters enter: Wade and two new guys he’s been working with.
“Daniels.” He greets me, but my brother also turns his head.
“Wade, this is my brother Braeden, United States Marine Corps.”
Wade’s eyebrows lift. “No shit?” He reaches out a hand, and Brae stands to shake Wade’s. “Nice to meet you, and thanks for your service.”
Brae cringes slightly, not enough for anyone to notice but me. It irks the shit out of him to take credit for combat he’s never actually experienced, but he plays it off well. “Thanks, man. Nice to meet you.”
The guys hit the weights, and Brae and I hit the cardio machines in silence. We don’t have to talk to know from the dead air between us and lack of teasing jabs our thoughts are on whatever it is waiting for me back in Cali.
And as much as I’d hate to admit it, I’m making flight arrangements in my head.
A Father's Fight Page 6
