Liam: Lost Breed MC Series, Book 10

by Parker, Ali

  Chapter 26

  Genevieve

  This is bad. This is bad.

  This is really, really bad.

  My palms were sweaty. My pulse fluttered wildly in my throat, which felt like it was getting tighter and tighter by the second as I watched the two drunken strangers close in on Liam.

  My Liam.

  This was the hard part about loving someone. You had to love all of them. Not just pieces of them.

  And Liam was a fighter. Which meant, by sheer logic, that every now and then, he was going to fight. Whether I wanted him to or not.

  I swallowed past the tightness in my throat and watched as the two men converged on Liam.

  They were bigger than him. One of them had a beer belly that looked hard as a rock. It strained against his long-sleeved gray shirt and hung over his jeans. A little bit of it peeked out when he leaned back and spread his arms out wide, cracked a toothy smile, and addressed Liam.

  “You sure you want to do this, kid? When we clobber you, there ain’t gonna be no one there to take care of your girl but me and Mike.”

  Mike, the other man, laughed and closed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t give him an out. He wants to fight. So let’s fight.”

  Liam bristled. “This isn’t going to go how you think it will.”

  At least he was warning them. I had faith that Liam could hold his own against these men, but I couldn’t help but still be nervous. What if they had weapons? I’d read tons of online articles about fights that went south because one of the participants had a concealed knife or something. All it took was one mistake.

  “Liam,” I said nervously.

  He looked over his shoulder at me. “Stay back. It’s all right.”

  I looked around, wishing there were more people out on the street, but there weren’t. Leo’s was located on a quiet side street, and at this time of night, everyone was turning in and not wandering down darker roads like this one.

  They were smart.

  Beer-belly drunken man stopped about ten feet from Liam and rolled up his sleeves. He had thick forearms—the kind of arms a man earned in a job requiring hours of physical labor. He was stronger than he looked. I doubted there was a squishy spot on his body.

  Liam stood with his arms by his sides and showed no signs of bravado as the two bigger, older, drunker men laughed to themselves and muttered back and forth.

  Then Mike nodded in my direction. “You just sit tight, sweetheart. We’ll be done with this waste of space in no time.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Fuck you.”

  “I like a girl with a dirty mouth,” Mike said, rubbing his hands together.

  “And I like a man who can spell his own name, you ignorant prick,” I spat.

  Liam looked over his shoulder at me and gave me a warning look to stop talking.

  Mike slapped his bigger friend in the gut. “Listen to her! It’ll be fun teaching her a lesson.”

  “That’s it,” I hissed, fishing my phone out of my purse. “I’m calling the cops.”

  “Wait,” Liam said, grinning like a madman. “Call them once I’ve had my fun. Someone needs to teach these assholes a better lesson than just locking them in a cell for twelve hours. And my knuckles are itching for this.”

  So talking him out of it wasn’t an option. Okay.

  “So I’m just supposed to stand here?” I barked.

  Liam was still grinning. “Yep. Don’t worry. This won’t take long.”

  “It better not,” I grumbled sourly.

  Did it annoy me that I was going to have to watch him fight two men who looked like they could effortlessly clobber him into the pavement?

  Mildly.

  Was it worth it to be with him?

  Absolutely.

  Was I good with blood?

  No. No, I was not.

  The men paced toward him with their fists raised. Liam was light on his feet, like a little forest sprite, and he kept his arms loose at his sides. None of this meant anything to me, of course. I had no experience with fighting, unless you counted my high school days, at which time, one of my boyfriends defended my honor at a house party where I was a little too drunk and so was he, and we both ended up getting kicked out. I had a foggy recollection of the whole thing.

  This, I could see and would remember in acute detail.

  Liam taunted the men. “Come on, thing one and thing two. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

  They rose to the bait, the beer bellied one coming in first, right fist swinging, mouth hung open in a loud bellow that blared down the sidewalk like a foghorn. He missed and swung wide. Liam ducked under his fist and left a flurry of strikes up his side, followed by one hard blow right to the middle of his very round belly.

  The man doubled over with a grunt and dropped heavily to his knees as he clutched at his stomach.

  Then the second one moved in. The one named Mike.

  He was faster. Meaner. And he aimed to hurt.

  Liam saw him coming a mile away, so my cry for him to look out was completely unnecessary and I felt a little foolish after shouting his name. I clamped my hands over my mouth and retreated several steps as Mike’s attack pushed Liam back several paces.

  Liam blocked six successive blows from Mike’s fists with his forearms. It was like watching a very up-close boxing match. The sounds of the impacts made me feel ill. Liam grunted with pain as the final blow landed, and then he turned the tables, coming in low and driving upward into Mike’s gut.

  Mike must have been drunker than he looked because the hit didn’t even phase him.

  In fact, it made him laugh.

  Liam didn’t get his hands up in time. Mike swung and landed a punch to Liam’s jaw. I let out a yelp and made to rush forward, but Liam rounded on me and pushed me away, forcing me out of harm’s way. He spun back, ready for whatever came next, and Mike came unhinged, lashing out and hitting Liam three times in the ribs before decking him across the face again, hard enough to lay him out on the sidewalk.

  Liam braced himself on all fours and stumbled back up to his feet. He wiped the blood from his split lip with the back of his hand and then spit a clump of blood onto the pavement. “All right, fucker. Playtime is over.”

  Mike laughed.

  Liam didn’t.

  I watched, transfixed by how effortlessly Liam moved as he went in for his final strike. Everything else seemed to stand still, including Mike, as Liam swerved right, drew his fist back, and rolled in sideways to plant a blow right in the middle of Mike’s nose.

  Blood sprayed all over the place. Mike howled. Liam stood over Mike when the other man landed on his ass on the sidewalk clutching his bloody nose.

  “You bastard!” he cried.

  Liam moved in close and dealt a kick to Mike’s shin. “That’ll teach you to harass women on the street. Keep your slimy thoughts to yourself, you pig.”

  “You broke my nose!” Mike wailed.

  Liam shot me a cocky grin. “Serves him right, don’t you think?”

  I folded my arms over my chest and popped out one hip as I stared down at the pathetic excuse of a man sitting on the sidewalk. “I’d say. And I believe I’m owed an apology.”

  Mike looked pitifully back and forth between Liam and me.

  I arched an eyebrow. “I’m waiting.”

  Mike scowled. “I’m sorry.”

  I clicked my tongue. “Like you mean it, sweetheart.”

  Mike leaned sideways to let his blood drip from his nose. Then he lifted his eyes to me. “I’m sorry.”

  “Better.” I grinned, reaching for Liam and wrapping a hand around his wrist. “Now, let’s get out of here. I don’t want to be around these assholes any longer than I have to.”

  Liam let me pull him down the sidewalk toward his truck. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “No you aren’t,” I said knowingly.

  He chuckled. “All right. Well, I’m sorry it scared you. I’m not sorry I kicked their asses.”


  “Me neither. They deserved it. Fuck those guys, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Fuck any guy who thinks he can harass a woman on the street like that,” I said when we got to the truck.

  Liam opened my door for me and wiped his bloody lip on his wrist again. I frowned and cupped his face in my hands to inspect his injuries. He had a split lip and a nasty gash in his eyebrow that was leaking blood down into his eye. “I think you need stitches. We should go to the hospital.”

  “No. No hospitals. We’ll go to Rhys’s place. His girl, Quinn, will fix me up.”

  I pursed my lips. “I think I should drive.”

  “I’m fine, I just—”

  “Keys,” I said, holding out my hand expectantly.

  He stared at my open palm. “I’m fine, Genevieve. Really. Just a couple bruises. Nothing to worry about.”

  I blinked placidly at him. “Keys.”

  He groaned and rolled his eyes before fishing his keys out of his jean pockets and dropping them into my hand.

  I tightened my fingers around them. “Good call. Now get in and tell me how to get to Rhys’s house.”

  Liam gave me directions to Rhys and Quinn’s place. It was about a twenty-five-minute drive from where we were parked, and Liam had to rummage around in his glove box for old fast-food napkins to stop his bleeding eyebrow.

  “Does it hurt anywhere else?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “A little in the ribs where that dick got me. But other than that, I’m all right.”

  I licked my lips.

  He glanced over at me. “Really. I am. I promise.”

  “Okay,” I said, not sure whether or not I should believe him. I wished he’d let me take him to a hospital to at least make sure nothing was broken. I could still hear the sound of Mike’s fists hitting Liam’s forearms, and it made me nauseous. “Thank you for defending my honor.”

  Liam gave me a sheepish smile and put his hand on my knee. “Always.”

  Chapter 27

  Liam

  Genevieve looked hot as hell driving my truck.

  I told her so.

  She flashed me a flirty little smile. “Yeah?”

  “Definitely. You look hot doing anything.”

  “That can’t be true.”

  “It’s quite true.”

  She shook her head as she took a right turn at the red light as I instructed. “You’re just kissing my ass so I’m not upset about the fight.”

  “No,” I said.

  She raised an eyebrow at me.

  I chuckled. “Okay, maybe a little bit, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

  I gave her directions as we made our way up the residential streets to Rhys and Quinn’s house. It was half-past nine, and I hoped they weren’t asleep or otherwise occupied when we arrived. I’d hate to break up any of their intimate time so Quinn could stab me with a needle to pull my split and bloody flesh back together.

  That would definitely be a mood killer.

  When we pulled into his driveway, Genevieve killed the engine and peered out the windshield at the house. “So, just to confirm. Rhys was the one who used to be your president back in Chicago, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “But he gave up his title when you guys merged with the Lost Breeds?”

  “You got it.”

  She glanced at me. “Do you think he was better than Ryder?”

  I frowned. Nobody had ever asked me that before, and I’d never actually considered it. They were both presidents and worthy leaders in my eyes. Even though Rhys didn’t hold the title, in my eyes, he was still my president and probably always would be. That didn’t mean Ryder was any less a leader than he was. I supposed I respected them both equally.

  “No, I think they’re both pretty equal. Rhys is a bit more patient, where Ryder is more willing to make the tough choices. Both have advantages and disadvantages.”

  Genevieve pushed her door open and slid out of the truck. I did the same and met her in front of the hood, and then we both walked up the rest of the drive to the front door which was illuminated by a single light above.

  I knocked softly. “Fingers crossed they aren’t up to any funny business in there.”

  “Why’d you have to go and say that?” Genevieve muttered, wrapping her arms around herself. “How awkward.”

  “Don’t worry. He’d give me shit. Not you.”

  Genevieve groaned beside me. She was about to say something when the door opened and we found ourselves staring at Rhys, who looked from me to Genevieve, and then back to me. He lifted an eyebrow as his gaze raked over me from head to toe.

  “Let me guess,” Rhys drawled as an amused expression softened his features. “Fight?”

  I rubbed the back of my neck and chuckled nervously. “Yeah. Is Quinn up?”

  “Come on in,” Rhys said, waving both me and Genevieve in after him. “Feel free to leave your shoes on if you like. Quinn is taking her makeup off.”

  “I hope we’re not catching you two at a bad time,” Genevieve said as she slipped out of her shoes and tucked them neatly against the wall. “Liam refused to let me take him to the hospital.”

  Rhys chuckled as we followed him into his living room. “Yeah. Well, hospitals are a no-fly zone for us for little injuries like this.”

  Genevieve cocked her head to the side as she and I took up seats on the sofas. “Why?”

  Rhys went into his kitchen and grabbed a cloth which he ran under the faucet as well as some ice, which he wrapped in a dish towel. Then he came back, passed me the ice and the towel, and sat across from Genevieve. “Well, guys like us have to fly under the radar. Hospitals ask questions.”

  Genevieve frowned.

  I clarified for her. “If they were to find out I was in a fist fight, chances are it would automatically be blamed on me because I’m a Lost Breed.”

  She nodded. “Got it. People jump to conclusions.”

  “Exactly,” Rhys said.

  “Like my uncle,” she said softly.

  Rhys shook his head. “Your uncle was right to be wary. He had personal stakes in this because he knew Hyde.”

  “I suppose so,” Genevieve said.

  I dabbed gingerly at my lip. The bleeding had slowed for the most part, but my eyebrow was bad, and every time I pressed the cloth to it, it came away bloody. “I think I ruined your rag,” I muttered.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Rhys said. “We have plenty. Besides, you’ll be giving Quinn an excuse to go shopping.”

  “What are you saying about me?” Quinn appeared from down the hall and walked languidly into the living room. She was wearing her pajamas, loose gray pants with a long-sleeved shirt, and powder-blue slippers. Her tattoos were on display, and her dark hair was drawn up in a braid down her back.

  “Only good things,” Rhys said.

  “Uh huh,” Quinn said, coming and standing beside me. She planted her fists on her hips and clicked her tongue. “What have you gotten yourself into this time, Liam?”

  “Nothing,” I said hurriedly.

  Quinn turned toward Genevieve. “He’s lying, yes?”

  Genevieve nodded. “Yes. Fist fight.”

  “Naturally.” Quinn sighed. “I’ll get my sewing kit. Sit tight. Want any painkillers?”

  “I’m all right,” I said.

  Quinn nodded at Rhys. “Grab him some aspirin or something from under the bathroom sink.”

  “I said I was fine,” I protested.

  She scowled at me. “Hush. I wasn’t really asking.”

  Genevieve smiled at me. “I like her.”

  “Of course, you do.” I sighed.

  “And don’t get any blood on my couch,” Quinn called as she made her way down the hall to retrieve her sewing kit.

  “You heard her,” Rhys warned. “Buying new dish rags is one thing. A new couch is another.”

  When Quinn returned, she had a mini sewing kit with her. She flipped it open and sat down on the couch beside m
e, where she threaded a needle with medical thread, burned the needle with a lighter to sterilize it, and forced me to tilt my head back so she could start stitching.

  Genevieve watched in horror as the needle slid through my eyebrow.

  Rhys caught her shocked and horrified expression and tried to distract her. “Did Liam ever tell you about the time he got his first tattoo?”

  Genevieve’s eyes flicked toward Rhys. “No.”

  “Shut up,” I warned.

  Quinn pushed at my chest. “Hold still. I’m stitching your face. I don’t want to make you uglier than you already are.”

  Rhys leaned forward, drawing Genevieve’s attention to him, and proceeded to tell her all about my first experience in Quinn’s tattoo parlor about five years ago.

  “He put on a brave face, but he was just a kid at the time. He had no idea what he was getting himself into. Quinn warned him it would hurt.” Rhys shot a grin to his girl, who grinned right back. “He took it with a grain of salt and insisted he’d be perfectly fine.”

  “And?” Genevieve asked, clearly amused with the story so far.

  “And,” Rhys carried on, “he passed out.”

  “The first person to ever pass out in my chair.” Quinn giggled.

  “You’re not telling the story right,” I grumbled.

  “Oh no?” Rhys asked, sitting up straight.

  I almost shook my head but caught myself. “No. I hadn’t eaten all day because I was nervous. And I didn’t pass out right away, thank you very much. It was about fifteen minutes into it. And I felt dizzy, but I didn’t want to say anything because you and Owen would have had a fucking field day if I bitched out after only fifteen minutes.”

  Rhys snorted. “We had a field day anyway.”

  There was nothing I could say to that.

  Quinn slid the needle through my brow for the last time before breaking the thread and tying it off. Then she held the ice wrapped in a towel to my jaw. “I’ll get you another one for your arms. And that painkiller Rhys never got around to.”

  “Sorry babe,” Rhys said as she got up and bustled down the hall to the bathroom. Then she went to retrieve ice and a glass of water from the kitchen. In minutes I was fully set up and icing all my aches and pains while Rhys finished telling Genevieve all about how I slid right off the chair and slept face down on the tattoo shop floor until they were able to wake me.