Tough Love

by Lori Foster

  “It’s perfect.”

  It took them a few more minutes to finally get out the door. Each day the weather got more bitter, and now a strong wind whistled through the barren trees.

  Stack watched her walk, enjoying her long stride and the sway of her hips. “How is it a California surfer girl isn’t shivering in this weather?”

  She glanced at him with bright eyes and a wide smile. “I love it. It’s so different from what I’m used to.” Hands in her hoodie pockets, she watched as he let the dogs sniff a tree; Norwood chose to piddle on it.

  “My parents were well traveled. We used to go everywhere. By high school, though, I usually chose to stay behind. It got too disruptive trying to keep up with my studies from abroad.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  Whenever she discussed money, she wrinkled her nose—as she did now. “Dad hired private tutors. That was never a problem.”

  Stack was eternally grateful that she hadn’t been with them when the private plane had crashed. It made his stomach feel like lead to even consider it.

  They reached her car and she opened the back door. When the dogs immediately jumped in, she praised them. “Such good puppies.”

  “They’re learning.”

  “They do really well with consistent instruction.” She closed the door, then leaned back on it. “I used to love the travel, but I hated missing my friends.”

  Stack tucked aside a long tendril of silky hair that kept blowing past her face. “I bet you made friends everywhere you went.”

  “I was shier when I was young.”

  He gave her a “yeah, right” look.

  Laughing, she ducked her head. “Okay, so I’ve never really been shy. Maybe stuck-up was a better word.”

  “I’m not buying that either.” He kept his fingers at her cheek, enjoying the smoothness of her skin, how she leaned into his touch.

  “My parents insulated me from a lot.”

  “They were protective?” He hoped so. Vanity deserved to be well loved, and guarded.

  “With some things. Like, I’d meet their business associates’ kids, but they were different from me. The people I wanted to hang with, the guys I thought were interesting, they barred from getting anywhere near me.”

  “What type of guys?”

  A grin teased over her mouth, twitching her lips as she tried to suppress it, then finally breaking free. Laughing, she admitted, “Musicians. Artists. A few athletes.” She looked at his mouth, then moved against him. “Those guys were nothing like you. If my parents were alive, they’d like you.”

  He slid his hand inside her hood, cupping the back of her head. “What about you, Vanity? You like me?”

  As he drew her closer, she tipped her face up to his, meeting him halfway. “I like you a lot.”

  “Good to know.” He kissed her, but kept it light.

  Patting his chest, Vanity said, “I have to go.” One more kiss. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Right. At the rec center, with all the men she admired around her.

  But after that, she’d be all his. He drew a breath and nodded. “Drive carefully.”

  Stepping back, he watched her buckle up and then drive away. Thinking about all the different things he’d do with her tonight, he headed for his own car. He opened the door and was about to get in, but something—some unknown, anomalous threat—stirred the hairs on the back of his neck. He looked around, seeing all the long shadows and feeling a shift in the air.

  Given the clouds, it had gotten dark early.

  Eyes narrowed, Stack searched the surrounding area. He was still trying to decide if he should forget it and get in the car or go with his gut, when he heard the rushing footsteps behind him.

  He turned—and dodged a fist aimed at his face.

  Reacting on autopilot, he threw his own punch and connected solidly with a muscled gut. The big bruiser back-stepped but didn’t go down.

  Instincts prickling, Stack turned again and blocked a small wooden bat with his forearm.

  Two of them! Son of a bitch.

  Seething, he looked around fast but didn’t spot anyone else. No words were spoken. Hoping his mother would remain oblivious, he didn’t call out.

  The men glared at him, their intent obvious. He smiled back with eagerness.

  He didn’t think this was a robbery. They didn’t want his wallet or his car.

  They wanted to physically attack. Why?

  He ignored the pain in his arm where he’d blocked the bat, grateful that the blow hadn’t landed on his temple, where it had been aimed.

  Grateful, too, that Vanity had left before they showed up.

  He took stock, rolled his shoulder, decided his arm was fine, and nodded. “Let’s go, boys. I don’t have all night.”

  The big guy charged in first. Stack kicked him in the face. The jeans were restrictive, but he wore his cowboy boots, and the shit-kickers were perfect for removing a few teeth and destroying a nose.

  The bastard stumbled back, a hand to his face as he teetered and fell, splaying blood everywhere.

  Stack regained his stance in time to brace for the full-body impact of the other man. They went down hard to the cold pavement, Stack on his back. But he had a slick ground game and knew how to land, how to roll into a submission, and in no time he’d locked up the other fucker so tight the dude couldn’t move. Arm around his attacker’s throat in a rear choke, deep under his chin, Stack squeezed while hooking the other man’s legs with his own. He stretched him out, heard him gurgle, and then felt him go limp.

  Knowing he wouldn’t stay out long, Stack shoved the body aside, did a quick frisk checking for weapons, then regained his feet. The first man was trying to slink away, his zigzagging walk leaving a bloody trail behind him on the dark street. Several of his teeth remained on the ground.

  “Not another step,” Stack said, already advancing on him in case he was packing. It’d be a hell of a lot easier to disarm him at close range than be a sitting duck yards away.

  The man panicked and tried to run, but it took a mere jog for Stack to catch him and trip him up.

  Sprawled on the ground, the man tried to curse around his injuries. Stack divided his attention between both of the men. “Why?”

  The dude shook his head. “Don’t know.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Half sitting, the guy dug a meaty fist into his front pocket and pulled out cash. He flung it on the ground. “Fifty bucks to bust you up a little. Thought it would be easy.”

  Well, hell. “No, not easy at all.”

  “No,” the bloodied man agreed.

  “Who paid you?”

  Glaring, he repeated, “Don’t know.”

  Stack quickly weighed his options, then withdrew his second phone. He couldn’t call Cannon. Hell, Cannon was probably still in bed with Yvette, round the clock if he had to guess, celebrating love and marriage in the best way—physically, sexually.

  He dialed Armie instead.

  In the middle of the chaos, he smiled, imagining Vanity’s reaction if she knew he’d used, as she called it, the bat signal.

  Before the first ring finished going through, Armie answered with, “What’s up?”

  Flexing his shoulders, trying to relieve the strain, Stack explained. He and Armie agreed on how to handle things. Armie was busy—apparently doing his own physical celebration with a couple of groupies—and once Stack assured him he didn’t need to personally show up, he promised to send backup ASAP.

  Finishing the call, Stack returned the phone to his pocket.

  The guy on the ground propped his elbows on his knees and let his head drop forward. “Cops?”

  “Naw. Worse.”

  His head lifted. “Worse?”

  The second guy finally came to. He lumbered to his feet, took one look at Stack with the other man, then turned tail and ran.

  “Why’s he allowed to get away and I’m not?”

  Smirking, Stack looked back at
his quarry. “He won’t get far.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed, and given the blood on his face and swollen lips and jaw, he looked pretty hideous. “You just became my snitch, bitch.” Registering the shock gave Stack little satisfaction, but it was better than no satisfaction at all. “You’re going to tell me who your chickenshit friend is, and you’re going to help me find the asshole who hired you.”

  “I told you I don’t know.”

  “But you’ll find out.” Stack crouched down before him. “Because if you don’t, if you disappoint me, I’ll find you. You can trust me on this—you don’t want that to happen.”

  It took only five minutes more before Denver and Justice showed up. Justice, the ass, stepped out of the car cracking his knuckles. Denver just looked his usual imposing self. As heavyweights, they were both massive, layered in muscle, and could easily inspire a healthy dose of fear in any man.

  The man he’d already softened up was duly impressed.

  Stack left it in their capable hands. He didn’t mention his arm, which now hurt like a son of a bitch. He didn’t think it was serious, but he’d figure it out at the rec center.

  It’d take a hell of a lot more than a sneak attack by an unknown assailant or an injured arm to keep him away. Vanity would be there, and that was all the incentive he needed to prioritize.

  Sex with Vanity, yup. Top priority all the way.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  VANITY HAD THE DOGS settled in the main part of the house, toys and chews available. To keep them from destroying too much, she’d closed the doors to the bedrooms, basement and hall bath.

  That left a lot of destruction possible, but she’d done all she could.

  She stepped out of the house, closed and locked her front door—and became instantly aware that she wasn’t alone.

  Startled, her hand automatically grabbing for the mace in her purse, she turned and came face-to-face with f’ing Phil.

  “Hey there.” He smiled, nonthreatening, not too close. He kept his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, a knit hat pulled low over his head.

  “Phil.” Vanity didn’t move. “What are you doing here?” She looked beyond him but didn’t see Lynn or Tabby. Odd. She didn’t feel exactly threatened, but neither was she comfortably at ease. Few had her address, and no one who did would have shared it. Did that mean Phil had followed her?

  “Sorry to drop in like this.” He nodded at the keys in her hand. “You’re on your way out?”

  “Heading to the rec center to meet Stack.” Just in case Phil had any unruly thoughts, she added, “He’s expecting me.”

  Nodding to acknowledge that, Phil said, “I won’t keep you. I just... I was hoping I could impose on you.”

  Keeping her expression carefully blank, Vanity asked, “Impose how?”

  “A small loan?” As if shamed, he winced. “I hate to ask, and God knows Stack would lose his shit if he knew I asked you.”

  Most definitely, Stack would be enraged. He pretty much stayed enraged at Phil anyway, but this...it was over the top, so much so that Stack just might take him apart if he knew.

  Not that she planned to start keeping secrets from Stack. But she could be judicious in how and when she shared this particular exchange. And if she could influence things that made Stack’s life easier, that improved his relationship with his family, she’d jump on it.

  Heading to her car, she asked, “A loan for what?”

  “I’m trying to find a job. You know that, right?”

  It felt very unnerving to have Phil at her back, so she turned and walked backward to keep him in her sights. “I had heard that, yes.”

  “Well, there’s this one possibility at a drywall plant. Decent starting pay and bennies. But I need some stuff. Steel-toed boots, overalls, a hard hat.”

  “The plant doesn’t supply the equipment?” She’d never heard of such a thing, but, granted, she’d never worked at a factory job either.

  He shook his head—and maybe, though Vanity couldn’t be sure, his gaze went to her breasts, lingering longer than was proper.

  She zipped up her hoodie. “How much would you need?”

  “Five hundred?”

  For boots and a hard hat? She gave him a look. “Phil, really, do I look stupid?”

  “No! No, not at all.” His gaze darted over her again, and he licked his slack lips.

  Vanity had to fight off a shudder. What was wrong with him? She wore her workout clothes of leggings with thick socks and athletic shoes, a cami under a thicker shirt and her hoodie. Not exactly sexy garb. No reason for him to keep gawking.

  “The boots are expensive,” he explained. “And I’ll need to buy some stuff to pack for my lunch, and gas for the car...”

  How had he gotten himself so broke? He was a healthy, able-bodied man who should have had no problem holding down a job. If not the ideal job, then any job until he found the right one.

  Vanity scrutinized him. It annoyed him, she could tell, but he kept his mouth shut. Motivated to make life easier for Stack, trying—just once—to give Phil the benefit of the doubt, Vanity said, “I’ll give you three hundred.” She opened her purse and pulled out her wallet.

  Phil focused on her wording. “Give?”

  So easy to see exactly why Stack disliked him. “Give,” she confirmed. “If you’re just starting a job, it wouldn’t be easy to pay me back. Consider it a gift, with my best wishes that things work out for you.” She opened her wallet, thumbed through her money, and separated the decided amount.

  When she looked at Phil, his gaze was no longer on her person.

  No, his slack-jawed look rested solely on her cash. What a cretin.

  Deciding to push him, Vanity kept the money in her hand. “I trust you won’t be smoking this?”

  “Smoking it?”

  “You enjoy getting high. I’ve seen it in your eyes.”

  He shook his head hard and took a step closer. “The place does random drug testing. Gotta stay clean.”

  She had her doubts, but it’d be worth the cost either way. If Phil actually got a job, if he started to contribute to his marriage, he’d make Tabby and Lynn happy, and ultimately Stack, too. And if he didn’t, then she’d have a good reason to never help him again.

  Vanity held out the money.

  “This is just between us?”

  She nodded. “Between us.” For now at least.

  He took the money, folded it and stuck it in his pocket. His wide grin looked less appreciative and more predatory. “Thanks, hon.”

  “Let’s eschew the endearments, okay?”

  One eye tightened. “Huh?”

  “I barely know you. We’re not friends, and I’m definitely not your hon.” Firm, and very clear, she explained things to him. “Understand that I’m giving you the money for Tabby, because I know it would relieve her burden for you to have a job.”

  “Right, right. Yeah. It’ll be a big help.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and struck a leisurely stance. Sleazy to the core, he angled toward her. “Whatever I can do to repay the favor...”

  “Not necessary.” Seriously, Phil absolutely had nothing she wanted. She got in the car. “Good luck with the job. I hope it all works out for you.” Done with the small talk, anxious to see Stack, she put the car in gear and drove away.

  A glance in her side-view mirror showed Phil still standing on the curb, now looking at her house.

  She had a very bad feeling about this. About him.

  Being the proactive sort, Vanity made up her mind about what to do.

  On her way to the rec center, she made a few calls.

  * * *

  WITH HIS FOREARM wrapped in ice, Stack stood before the heavy bag practicing kicks. Sweat soaked the front and back of his shirt, the waistband of his sweatpants, his neck and temples. He’d worked on kicks, and now concentrated on a reverse roundhouse kick.

  Between the jog in the morning, the visit to his mother, and now his extended workout, he’d gone through
a whole laundry load of clothes.

  When the bell on the door pinged, he immediately looked up. Cannon and Yvette strolled in. They were immediately mobbed, ribbed, hugged and all around congratulated. Again.

  Cannon pulled off his knit hat, ran a hand through his hair, then tugged it on again. Glowing like a woman who’d just rolled off an orgasm, Yvette smiled dreamily at him.

  Stack hoped like hell they weren’t here because of him.

  Stepping away from the heavy bag, he mopped off the sweat and waited for Cannon to wade through his always present fan club. After about five minutes, he made his way to Stack.

  “You should be at home,” Stack told him.

  “In bed, I know.” Cannon grinned. “We went out for groceries and decided to drop in for a bit.”

  “Shit. Denver told you, didn’t he?”

  Without a word, Cannon reached for Stack’s arm and removed the taped-on ice pack.

  “It’s not broke.”

  “Damn.” Cannon checked it over, turned his wrist, manipulated his elbow. No, he wasn’t a doctor, but he was the most experienced of the bunch and recognized a lot from his own injuries. “How’s it feel?”

  “Before or after you decided to work it over?”

  Cannon flashed him a grin. “So you’ll live. Any idea why you were jumped?”

  “Not yet. Word is out.” He explained what he knew and what had been done. “The jerk knows how to contact me once he finds out anything.”

  “Think he will?”

  “I checked his ID so I know where he lives. And I didn’t turn him in to the cops.” Stack upended a water bottle, quenching his thirst, then wiping his mouth. “I made it clear it was in his best interest to be helpful, then Denver and Justice reinforced the message.”

  “I almost feel sorry for the dumbass.” Brow raised, he glanced at Stack’s arm. “Or maybe not.”

  Without asking, Cannon knew no one had used unnecessary force against the thug. It’d be a bitch move for Stack to walk away, only to have two other hulks step in and pulverize an already beat-up guy. But he also knew they would have impressed upon the goon how important it was to do as told, along with cluing him in on what they considered good intel, and how and where to share it.

  Denver joined them, then Leese. They talked a little longer, coordinating plans. They looked out for each other, and while Stack knew he could take care of himself, if fighters were suddenly targets, everyone needed to be on guard.