The Final Fight (Fighting Series Book 8)

by J. B. Salsbury

  And the best part was that one day into my leave I got a message from the HR department saying my time off was paid. There’s no doubt in my mind that Andre made the call, and if I didn’t need the money so badly—if my parents weren’t hurting for it—I would’ve demanded he stop interfering. But then again, who calls their boss and insists he take back their paid leave?

  I couldn’t stop hearing Braeden’s voice in my head telling me to take the help.

  So I did.

  I was able to send my parents a few hundred bucks and still managed to make my rent payment.

  What’s better is my hip feels great. After the second day of resting it, I could do all my stretches without even a twinge of discomfort.

  “Have you heard from your soldier boy?” Will’s eyebrows jump, and when I shove him, he laughs.

  “No, but I don’t think he can call from wherever he is.”

  “Really?” He scrunches up his nose. “I think they can.”

  “It’s probably better if he doesn’t. I mean it’s not like we’re a couple.” I bend over and press my palms to the floor, hiding my disappointment.

  “Did he tell you that? Because the way he held you that day when you climbed him like a monkey, you two looked as official as it gets.”

  I take a deep breath and stand to my full height. “Yeah, we talked about it. He even gave me permission to move on.”

  “Ouch.”

  “It’s not ideal, but neither of us is willing to change the course of our lives at this point. We’ll see, after he gets back, maybe a couple of years from now . . .” I trail off because, even while I’m saying it, I know there’s nothing waiting for Braeden and me.

  “Damn.” He sucks in air while stretching his back and blows it out. “That’s depressing.”

  “Not really. I don’t believe in falling in love. It’s a choice. I choose to be in love with performing; he is in love with his military career.”

  “Wow. How romantic.” He rolls his eyes to the ceiling.

  “We’re being realistic.”

  He nods but doesn’t seem convinced. “As long as you’re okay with it.”

  I grin and hate how forced it feels. “I’m great with it.”

  ~~~

  We finish the last show to a packed house with a standing ovation.

  My blood thrums through my veins, and I’m reminded again why I love this so much. There’s something so gratifying about entertaining, and if I’m being honest, there’s something magical about aweing a crowd with what I can do on the silks.

  I remember the first time I went to the circus I was convinced the trapeze performers weren’t human. They flew without wings, and it seemed otherworldly and magical. I see that same amazement in the eyes of the audience every time I perform.

  There’s nothing better than giving that feeling of wonder to someone else.

  When I race off stage with the rest of the cast, I’m surprised to see Andre waiting for me. Usually, he’s in my dressing room, I assume, to keep our friendship from public knowledge, but when his eyes fix on mine, he crosses to me, and the stares from the performers zero in.

  “Another breathtaking performance.” He locks his hands behind his back, and I wonder if it’s to keep from touching me in some way or possibly his public display proving to everyone he’s keeping his hands off.

  He looks as handsome as ever in his black suit and steel-gray shirt and tie. His thick dark hair is brushed off a strong forehead, and his smoldering gaze settles on mine.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Are you still mad at me?”

  I haven’t seen or spoken to Andre since the day in the back room of the casino. I wanted to thank him for giving me paid leave, but felt sending him a personal text or phone call was, I don’t know, too personal.

  “No, you were right. My hip needed the rest.”

  He doesn’t rub it in my face, but simply nods. “Do you have plans tonight?”

  I shake my head.

  He looks around, glaring at the nosey crowd that’s formed close in proximity to where we are. They scatter quickly.

  “I’ll have someone meet you and bring you up.”

  Up, as in, another dinner at his place?

  “Mr. Monroe—”

  He scowls at me in a way that makes my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

  “I don’t know if . . .”

  A girl walks by, and I stop talking at the risk of being overheard.

  “Take your time. I’ll see you up there.”

  Before I can protest, he turns and walks away.

  “Wait!”

  A group of performers gathers closer. Dammit!

  Okay, I’ll go up there where we can speak in private, and I’ll thank him for the paid leave and explain that we shouldn’t be hanging out even as friends. My God, he’s my boss!

  I avoid the whispers from my fellow performers, and when I finally get to my dressing room, I expect to find another fancy dress waiting for me. I open the closet door only to find my leggings and sweatshirt.

  Huh.

  It’s better this way. Seems like less of a date if I’m wearing what would be considered pajamas to some.

  Plus, I know how much Andre despises my casual wardrobe.

  This will make the conversation we need to have a lot easier.

  After I strip off my bodysuit, wash all the makeup off my face, and shake out my tight bun, I’m dressed and ready to go.

  Just as Andre said, a casino security guard is waiting for me outside my door. He’s dressed in a black suit and has a communication device in his ear. I can’t see it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a weapon stashed somewhere under all that polyester blend.

  “Miss Pines, I’m Tyler.” His greeting is one hundred percent business. “Follow me.”

  Tyler leads me to the amphitheater exit, and I smile as we pass a few people still lingering backstage. Rather than take a right toward the casino, he takes me left to the private elevator.

  It’s a quick ride up to the fiftieth floor, and when the elevator door pings, Tyler steps out first. I follow him to the double doors and stand behind him when he knocks.

  The door clicks open and I hear Andre’s mumbled, “Thank you, Tyler.”

  “Sir.” He steps away and nods to me before heading back to the elevator.

  I stare at the man before me, but don’t recognize him at all. “What are you doing?”

  He smiles, all white teeth and dark eyes dancing with humor. “Don’t act so surprised, Adeline.” He opens the door wider. “Come in.”

  I step inside, unable to stop staring at his pants. “Are those . . . jeans?”

  “You’re making fun of me.” He motions to lead the way into the expansive penthouse suite. “I do own casual clothes.”

  “I assumed you even slept in suits.” And dammit, seeing him dressed in faded jeans that hang a little loose and a T-shirt makes him seem . . . human. I keep my eyes to the floor and . . . oh God, he’s barefoot and his feet are so handsome. Can feet be handsome?

  “I have a manager on duty and the hotel is slow. I figured I’d take the rest of the evening off to do something I haven’t done in years.” Levity fills his voice, a boy-like excitement that makes me smile.

  “And what’s that?”

  He takes my backpack from my shoulder and points to the living room. On the floor where a coffee table used to be are close to two dozen hotel pillows and folded blankets. “Movie night.”

  I turn toward him. “You haven’t had a movie night in years?”

  “Nope. And on this television, I have access to movies that are still in the theaters. The only problem is I don’t know what to pick.” He smiles shyly. “I was hoping you could help me.”

  “Um, sure.”

  “Oh!” He turns on a heel, and even though he’s dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, he still moves like he owns the world. He comes back from the kitchen with a tray in his hands, carrying a huge bowl of popcorn and two Co
ke bottles with straws. “Movie food.”

  He sets the tray down on the floor and then reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a bag of gummy bears and a box of peanut M&Ms. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I grabbed this and”—he pulls a box of Red Vines from his other pocket— “this.” He holds the treats out to me and grins. “Look alright?”

  His casual appearance and demeanor manage to lift all the pressure I was feeling tonight and usually feel when we hang out. I’m not second-guessing everything I do or say, and with him being somewhat out of his element, I feel like I’m the one in control.

  “Looks great.” I toe off my shoes and settle in to the nest of pillows on the floor.

  He comes along beside me, but there are two pillows between us so it doesn’t feel intimate. “Here’s the remote.” He hands me an iPad Mini. “Just scroll through the movies and pick.”

  I try not to look as shocked as I am while skimming through the available options for the hundred-plus-inch television on the wall.

  “Oh wow, Andre, some of these movies just came out this week.”

  He fingers a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth. “Anything look good?”

  I pick a few out that I like, making sure to stay away from anything romantic. We watch the trailers until we both agree on something, which ends up being easier than I thought.

  It’s a comedy.

  He settles in and sets the food tray between us. The opening credits start and I hit pause.

  His eyes slide to me. “What happened?”

  I sit up and turn to face him. “I meant to tell you this sooner, and I’m afraid, once the movie starts, I’ll forget.”

  His eyebrows drop, and he loses a little of that carefree expression.

  “Thank you for the paid leave.”

  He seems to relax a little. “You don’t have to thank me.”

  “Yes, I do. I haven’t been here long enough to earn it, and I hate that it feels like a handout, but—”

  “You needed it.” He takes a sip of his soda, and his bottom lip glistens from the moisture.

  I blink and mentally give myself a shake. “Yes. I did.”

  “I know you think I’m a tyrant. Most of the employees do. Understand. Running this hotel is like running a small country. I have over six thousand employees, and although I rule with an iron fist, I take care of what’s mine.”

  And why the fuck does that make me feel all tingly inside?

  At least now I know that he’d give the same treatment to any of his employees. “Well, still . . . thanks.”

  He nods.

  I hit play.

  I settle back against the luxurious pillows in front of a movie-sized screen and dig into the bag of gummy bears.

  Fifty floors above the Las Vegas strip I’m reminded this is the kind of life I will have for myself.

  I won’t give up until I do.

  Fourteen

  Braeden

  “Daniels, you look like shit, man.” Deacon drops his tray of food next to mine and shoves in beside me at the bench.

  I bring my coffee cup to my lips. “You haven’t been laid in three weeks, and already you’re turning into an asshole.”

  “He was an asshole twenty-four hours after we got here,” Swizz says through a cheek of scrambled eggs.

  “I get cranky when I can’t fuck.” Deek tosses a strip of bacon between his teeth. “Doesn’t mean I’m not right. Swizz, you ever seen Daniels so broken up over a girl?”

  “I’m not broken up.” Eh . . . maybe I am, but just a little. Thing is I’ve never left anyone behind before. And while all these dicks made sure to keep the communication open with their women, getting letters stuffed with naked pictures and whatever the fuck else these assholes do, I made it a point to not exchange info with AJ.

  Because of our location, I couldn’t text her if I wanted to, which is for the best.

  I want her to be free.

  It’s the right thing to do.

  Pining after a guy on the other side of the world who has no future to offer her is fucked up beyond reason. But it doesn’t change the fact that I miss the shit out of her.

  Something about being over here surrounded by sand and my brothers makes me appreciate what I have back home. Not that I have AJ. Fuck, this is such a waste of energy.

  I drain the rest of my coffee, which is about as thick as brownie batter. “Patrols today.”

  Both Swizz and Deek grunt.

  “I’m going to catch a shower. Meet at oh-eight-hundred.”

  “Roger.” Swizz scoots over just as Mitchell drops a tray next to his. “Sun’s barely up, and I’m already sweating my balls off.”

  I grab my mug and stand. “You’re in the fucking desert, Swizzledick. What did you expect?”

  ~*~

  AJ

  If I’d known that just a few months after moving to Vegas I’d be shooting pool in the penthouse suite at the Kairos Hotel and Casino with my friend Will, I never would’ve believed it.

  And yet, here I am in Andre’s place with the lights of Las Vegas Boulevard at my back, lining up a shot that could win me the game.

  “If you sink this, we’re going double or nothing.” Will sips from his martini while leaning against his pool stick.

  “Corner pocket.” I hit the ball, it rolls, and . . . “In!”

  “You bitch!” He sets down his glass and groans. “You played me!”

  “I did not.” I pluck a mini crab cake from the hors d’oeuvres tray.

  One of the many perks of being friends with your boss—on top of using his sweet pad—is the unlimited room service.

  “Rack ’em up. I’ll make drinks.” He moves to the wet bar and mixes together another batch of drinks.

  We had a show tonight but have tomorrow off, so we decided, rather than hang out in a crowded bar or restaurant, we’d hang at Andre’s. It’s become somewhat of a habit, and according to Will, we’ve been spoiled and will never again be satisfied with anything else.

  Andre has given me full access, all the codes to his place, and even allowed me one guest as long as it’s always the same guest.

  The door clicks open, and I look up just in time to see Andre come in.

  Will whirls around, having heard it too. “Aw, honey, you’re home.”

  Andre shakes his head, his dress shoes clicking along the marble floor as he comes toward us.

  “Hey.”

  He moves around the table to me, and as he gets closer, I see dark shadows under his eyes.

  “Bad night?”

  He shrugs, but his face remains stoic. “You could say that.”

  Although our relationship has remained platonic, we’ve become more affectionate, as friends do. The occasional hugs, hand holding, and—

  He hooks me at the hip and leans in, brushing his warm lips against my cheek.

  That. The cheek kiss is new as of a few days ago.

  He releases me. “You guys having fun?”

  “A blast as always.” Will slides up and offers him my martini. “Here.”

  “Hey!”

  Andre grins into the drink and takes a sip, then another, before handing it to me. “Who’s winning?”

  I cock a hip and raise my martini hand. “That would be me.”

  He takes his coat off and loosens his tie. “You, huh?”

  “She’s been kicking my ass.” Will drops to a sleek leather club chair.

  Andre unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt then snags a stick. “Think you can beat me, Adeline?”

  I don’t know if it’s the booze or the way his dark eyes settle on me, but my stomach tumbles. “Probably.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  I sip from my drink. “Sure. But you have a lot more money than I do so . . .”

  He runs his teeth along his lower lip. “If you win, I’ll give you a thousand dollars.”

  I spew vodka from my mouth then wipe it off my chin. “Are you serious?”

  “Aren’t I always?”

&
nbsp; “Yes. But what if you win?”

  “If I win . . .” His gaze melts into mine. “I get a kiss.”

  “Oh fuck . . .” Will slaps his hand over his mouth.

  One thousand dollars would pay my parents living expenses for a month. And while my dad has been searching for a job, he’s constantly competing against men half his age. It’s been months, and he’s only managed to pick up a few side jobs landscaping that have left him exhausted and sore all over, not to mention totally demoralized.

  But a kiss?

  My mind immediately conjures up the image it always does: those green eyes, square jaw, perfect lips, all of it towering over me as he moves slowly inside me.

  Braeden. Even in my mind, his name is spoken on a sigh.

  I haven’t heard a word from him since he left, and although I think of him often, it seems less and less every day. Even fifty years from now, if I never speak to the man again, I know I’ll never forget him. He’s made an irreversible mark on me as real as the heart that beats in my chest.

  I don’t want you to wait for me.

  Braeden’s words ring so clearly in my head as if he were here and said them himself.

  I straighten my shoulders and face off with Andre, my living opportunity.

  “I’ll do it.”

  He puts out his hand. We shake on it.

  “Oh . . .” I point to his handsome face. “It’s on.”

  Fifteen

  Five months and four days later . . .

  Braeden

  “Third time’s the charm.” Deacon and I have our backs to a building in a small residential area on the outskirts of Fallujah.

  “Not from the sound of it,” I say absently.

  Our brains are on double duty, scanning the streets while listening to our Sarge play back and forth with the man of the house.

  “They’re not here. They’re not here.” The gray-haired Iraqi is like the energizer bunny as he frantically speaks in Arabic. “I don’t lie.”

  My eyes are on a constant swivel as I keep a lookout for a possible threat. Residents act as I’d expect: mothers pulling their children in close and fathers barking for their families to get inside. Door coverings are dropped, and tension pours through the streets like a fog.

  This isn’t the first time we’ve had intel that some fucked-up terrorist assholes were hitting town for funsies. But somehow, every fucking time we get down here, everyone clams up tighter than a straight guy’s ass in prison.