Grudge Match

by Jessica Gadziala

  "I can't fucking believe his nerve," I said, tone calmer, talking it out seeming to take some of the rage away. "Not only to do that and here, of all places. But then to sneak back in, sabotage the cameras, and get into my computers. What the fuck is he on that makes him think he can get away with that?"

  "He can't. You just made that shit clear. Pagan even picked a date and time for your grudge match while he escorted Kenny off the premises."

  "Tell me his brand of escorting means there will be bruises to remember it by."

  "Well, you know Pagan," Laz said, smirking.

  Laz and Pagan were both members of a local gun-running MC - The Henchmen. Their brotherhood ran deeper than their loyalty even to me, the man who had given them each a desperately needed leg-up in life. They were polar opposites personality-wise, but still had a deep respect for each other.

  "Good," I agreed, sighing. "So what is the time and date of the match?"

  "Tuesday night at nine."

  "Of fucking course he picked nine," I said, snorting.

  There was no lighting there.

  It would be pitch save for the lights people who wanted to come and watch would bring.

  Creepy.

  Dark.

  Forbidden.

  Yeah, that sounded about right.

  "Have you thought this through?" Laz asked, moving away from the door when there was a knock.

  In walked one of the bartenders, giving me a small smile because it was part of her job, and dropping a drink on my desk. At my questioning gaze, she shrugged. "Some guy said to send you one of your usual with the note that he is excited to see you lose your shit again. Don't worry," she said, sending me a saucy smile - the entire reason I hired her, the fact that she knew who she was, and wasn't afraid to wear it on her sleeve, even at work. "He tipped me."

  With that, she was gone, and I took the whole of the bourbon in one pull, enjoying the burn.

  "Thought what through?"

  "The fight. No offense, boss, but I've never seen you fight. I have seen Kenny. I have fought Kenny. He is decent."

  "Maybe you haven't seen me, Laz," I said, looking off at the cameras. "But I could take down Pagan and Igor at the same time. And that is without a personal reason for doing so."

  "So she is a personal reason, huh?" Laz asked, latching on.

  "Something like that."

  "Never seen you speak to a woman more than one night in a row."

  And, to be fair, that was accurate.

  I didn't do commitment.

  Quite frankly, no woman in her right mind would even want that from me.

  Could I fuck her until she saw the face of God? Yes. Could I remember to call her, text her, get her flowers for her birthday and Valentine's Day, and give a shit about her friends? Ah, fuck no.

  And I always made it clear that one night was all they were getting. At their place. So I could leave after.

  No hard feelings.

  But no further discussion on the matter.

  "That's not a lie," I agreed.

  "Yet one could assume you talked to her when you picked her up off the ground. And the day after when she came back here. And tonight..."

  "Yeah, I get it Laz," I said, smirking.

  "She seems sweet," he tried, changing course.

  "She is. Too fucking sweet."

  "Offsets your sour then," he said, pushing off the door, and moving to open it. "Well, I hope it goes well. You could use a good woman in your life, Ward. And I'll be right there on Tuesday."

  "Hey Laz," I called as he pulled the door closed.

  He popped his head back in. "Yeah?"

  "If you're betting, bet on me."

  With that, he was gone, leaving me to sit out the rest of the night, watching the cameras, and wondering shit I had no business thinking about.

  Like if Adalind was pissed at me for dismissing her like I did.

  Then, as it would go, I wondered why the fuck I was thinking those things, how things had gotten that far out of fucking hand so fast.

  My gaze went to my desk, and I could see her there again, her breasts bared, her pink nipples in tight points, the skin impossibly soft. I could still hear the needy whimpers and the desperate pleas for relief. I could still taste her sweetness on my tongue.

  Even just the memory had my cock hardening, wondering what it would be like to get inside her, to feel her nails on my back, to feel her pussy squeeze me when she came. Multiple time.

  Normally, no big deal.

  There was nothing wrong with wanting a woman for a night.

  The problem was, I was pretty sure that was not all there was to it.

  And that shit, yeah, I didn't understand that.

  I didn't cultivate any kind of relationships.

  As a rule.

  I didn't have the time.

  I didn't have the passion.

  Then there was the issue of no sane woman wanting to be near me once they knew where I had been, what I had done in life, why I had all my guards.

  So keeping them all at a distance saved both our times.

  Why then was I wondering about this woman, wanting to see more of this woman?

  Was she - as I had heard both Laz and Pagan say after they found their women - simply just a game-changer?

  That made no sense, sure, seeing as she was a practical stranger. I found out a small bit about her past while at dinner. I knew what she tasted like. I knew what she sounded like when she was coming.

  But I didn't actually know her.

  And, quite frankly, I didn't know enough about things such as relationships to know if it was normal to be as interested, as invested as I felt this soon. For all I knew, this was how shit happened. You met someone, something seemed to click, and then that clicking made you want to keep seeing them.

  I guess that made a lot of sense if you thought about it.

  The problem was, this girl, this sweet girl caught up in a bad situation, didn't need to get wrapped up with me.

  But she didn't know that yet.

  It was good if she was pissed at me.

  That was the smart mindset to have with regard to me.

  I pushed her away.

  After going down on her in my office.

  After she remembered the events that led to her bleeding behind a dumpster.

  After she likely needed my comfort, not my anger.

  So she drove home after I demanded she leave, likely confused, hurt, and angry.

  Which was how it should be.

  So there was no reason to be sitting around and fucking obsessing about this shit.

  I had work to do.

  Three hours later, another thirteen thousand in the safe, I did my rounds, changing the security codes to the building, then making my way out to my car.

  Tired.

  That was a good way to describe how I was feeling.

  And not just physically.

  I was always beat.

  I never got enough sleep.

  That was my life.

  I functioned just fine like that.

  This was different.

  I was tired on a level that had nothing to do with sleep.

  Emotionally tired.

  Life tired.

  I was usually too busy, too used to it to notice.

  But it was the same shit day in and day out.

  I woke up, worked out, ate, handled basic life shit, went to work, then worked most of the night, home, bed. Shower, rinse, repeat.

  For years.

  It never occurred to me before to be sick of it, over it, to want to do more. Because, quite frankly, what I had managed to create for myself was monumental. The kid I had once been could never have anticipated a sports car, expensive suits, and people walking around calling me 'boss.'

  Hell, the kid I had once been couldn't have imagined a full stomach, let alone riches.

  I turned over the engine, but reached for my phone instead of the gear shift.

  Are you still awake?

/>   It was barely two minutes before I got a reply.

  Addy: Not usually at this hour, but I have a lot to think about.

  Did you perhaps think about locking that deadbolt?

  I got back a guilty-face emoji.

  Don't ask me what possessed me to write the next sentence. Especially after spending the better part of an hour convincing myself that it was better to stay away. But whatever the motivation, I couldn't seem to stop my fingers from typing it.

  How about a late dinner to apologize for being an ass earlier?

  Addy: I think we're closer to breakfast than dinner at this point.

  An early breakfast then...

  There was a whole two minutes before my phone buzzed in my hand. I looked down, taking a deep breath, preparing for her rejection. What else would take her so long? She was probably looking for a way to let me down easy.

  Addy: Where?

  Ah, the tricky part.

  My place.

  Addy: You cook?

  I order really well.

  There was another pause, but this time, I could see her simply trying to find a way not to sound too eager, or maybe trying to convince herself to come up with an excuse that she knew she wouldn't.

  Just early breakfast, Addy. That's all I want.

  Though, if she wanted more, I was willing to give her that as well.

  Addy: What's the address?

  I texted it off, then drove there to make sure I would get there first, figuring she would be confused when her navigation made her pull into a hotel instead of a private residence.

  Technically, the hotel only had eight resident apartments, three on two separate floors, and then two penthouse suites up top. Where I lived. The other belonged to another family in the area, men who I respected, even if normal society would shun their business. Loansharking. Almost the entire Mallick family from the father to three of the sons were local loansharks - among other things.

  Our suites were accessed through a private keyed elevator that led to a hallway where our rooms were on either side. The entire Mallick family had stock in the other penthouse, using it for a safe place when things got heated, or for holidays, or anniversaries. It was empty most of the time.

  "Mr. Ward," one of the porters called, giving me a nod as I pulled up toward him.

  "A woman is going to pull up in a blue car in a couple minutes, confused. Send her toward the residence entrance."

  "Yes, sir," he agreed, showing no signs of surprise or distaste at me having a woman over so late. Or a woman over at all, seeing as I never had company.

  Ever.

  No one - save for people who worked at the hotel - had stepped foot inside my place since I moved in, something I had always preferred.

  I guess there was a first time for everything.

  EIGHT

  Adalind

  What the heck was I doing?

  I needed to turn my car around, drive home, climb back in bed, and try to forget about the enigma known as Ross Ward.

  Just moments before my phone dinged, I had decided that I needed him out of my life. Because it wasn't healthy. It wasn't right. I needed to just move forward with my life, putting the whole Kenny and Hex and Ross thing behind me.

  Girls like me didn't get involved with men like that.

  And I damn sure didn't get all wrapped up with a man who ordered me around and dismissed me like a dog.

  No sir.

  Not me.

  I was raised better than that.

  I didn't like alpha assholes.

  That wasn't my cuppa tea.

  Why then had I plugged his address into my GPS and started driving?

  Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he had, in essence, rescued me. It was hero worship. I had been the damsel in distress; he had been the white night come to save me.

  Hell, maybe I had some damn brain damage.

  That sure explained why I was turning into... a hotel?

  Why was he leading me to a hotel?

  So much for all that 'that's all I want' bull, huh?

  I was just about to turn around when the man at the gleaming front entrance to the six-floor gorgeous gray stucco building waved at me. Curious, I pulled up beside him, watching him bend down in his black uniform, and get eye-level with my window.

  "Mr. Ward wanted me to tell you to pull over toward the right," he said, indicating the area he meant, "where the resident entrance is."

  Oh.

  So he lived in a hotel.

  That was, well, unusual.

  As far as I understood the concept, the only people who had a residence at a hotel were like the uber-rich who jet-set all over the place, and didn't want to have to worry about maintaining a property.

  Why then did Ross choose this instead of a home or even a condo?

  I pulled my car into one of the empty spaces, feeling a bit odd as I grabbed my purse, and opened my door.

  When he had texted, I had been in full-on bad-day attire - old, roomy pajama pants, an oversized sweatshirt, with my hair in a top messy bun.

  After the text, I had jumped up, going into the shower to do a quick rinse without washing my hair, threw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve purple tee, pulled my hair down, and called it a day.

  I didn't want to look like I was trying to impress him, even if maybe I was. Also, it was the earliest part of morning. I didn't want to look like I was asking for it. Not even if I had been thinking about his tongue and lips on me pretty much since the moment I left, and was in a constant state of sexual frustration even as I went about my boring nightly tasks.

  I had barely closed my door when I saw him.

  He was leaning back against the wall right by the entrance, eyes trained on me. Even from a distance, I could feel their intensity, could feel how penetrating they were.

  Like he knows what you look like naked.

  And, well, he absolutely did.

  I hadn't even been able to muster up a tiny shred of resistance to his seeking hands, lips, tongue.

  Hell, I didn't want to.

  Here he was, looking at me like he was starving still and I was the feast. Even though he had already gotten his fill just mere hours before.

  There was a thrill in my belly as I forced my legs forward, knowing that in doing so, whether I had agreed to it aloud or not, I was offering myself over as a feast.

  He seemed calmer too, I realized as I got within a few yards of him. Actually, it may have been the most relaxed I had seen him so far. He always seemed to have almost impossibly perfect posture. But now he was leaning back against the building, completely unconcerned with messing up a suit that I was pretty sure I would Scotch Guard to keep perfect with how much it must have cost. The air around him seemed calm. Even his jaw was completely relaxed, allowing the edge of his lips to quirk upward slightly.

  "Hey Addy," he said, voice low, as I stopped a few feet in front of him.

  "Hi," I greeted him, then blurted out, "You live in a hotel."

  "I do," he agreed, making no move to push off the wall, seeming content to stand and watch me until the sun came up.

  "Why do you live in a hotel?"

  His lips tipped up even higher at that, his head ducking to the side. "When we order room service, you will have all the answers you need."

  "Isn't it a little late for room service?"

  "Baby, for what I pay to live here, they will cook me whatever I want whenever the fuck I want it," he said, pushing off the wall, and putting his hand on my lower back.

  "Oh, Mr. Ward!" the woman at the desk - tall, long-dark-haired, brown-eyed, and large chested - cheered at him, clearly happy to see him. And, well, who wouldn't be. But as her gaze slid to me, I swear her smile went cold.

  "Briana," he greeted her, but his voice was as icy as her smile was, and I had a feeling it was because he noticed what I did. And that, well, it was nice. You had to appreciate a man who didn't care that other women were practically throwing themselves at him. When he was wit
h a woman, he was with her, case closed.

  You had to respect that.

  "Oh, wow," I said when we walked up to a private elevator that Ross accessed with a key.

  Were 'upscale elevators' a thing? Because I was pretty sure this one qualified with its brown walls and lack of push buttons.

  The doors slid open to a private hallway with only two doors on either side, and a floor-to-ceiling window at the end with a view of the Navesink River.

  "What? No butler waiting with champagne?" I teased, sending him an awed smile as we stepped out.

  "You want a butler with champagne, doll, next time, I'll make sure there is one."

  The crazy thing was, I didn't think he was joking as he moved to slip his keycard into the door lock.

  It opened with a quiet whoosh.

  Oddly, as I moved to step inside with him, there was a little voice in the back of my head warning me There's no going back now.

  Somehow, I was even okay with that.

  The lights went on as Ross moved inward.

  And me, yeah, I was frozen on the spot.

  Because I had never in my life seen anything even half as impressive as his home.

  Across the expansive space, the furthest wall was floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the other side of the Navesink River, light floating across the water thanks to the houses that lined it and the bridges that went over it, connecting Navesink Bank with the nearest town.

  It's cool; it's almost like an island, I had told my mother when I first arrived, even though my actual apartment was so far removed from the river that you had to take a five-minute drive just to see it.

  In the middle of the room was the living space with a massive fireplace I wondered fleetingly if he ever used. There was a low dark brown leather sectional sofa across from it, one section of which jutted out like a chaise. I could see him dropping down there after a long night of work, yanking at his tie, head resting back against what looked like leather of even better quality than the ones at Hex - which was really saying something.