Holding Strong

by Lori Foster

  That’s what he thought? “I’m not.” She wouldn’t.

  “Then promise me.”

  He asked for the impossible. “I’d rather get it out of the way. I need—” It and them out of my life “—to give my condolences.” The lie hurt, but what else could she do? She couldn’t tell him the truth, so a lie was her only option.

  He sighed his disappointment, making her feel even worse. “All right, honey, have it your way.”

  Seeing him turn for the door stopped her heart. “Denver, wait—”

  “I’ll tell Merissa I’m staying over.”

  “Don’t— What?”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he gave her the full force of his daunting stare. “They were talking with Phelps at the hotel, so they might already be figuring out where you live. Not like Warfield is a sprawling city.”

  Oh God. She hadn’t considered that.

  “And if you call, they’ll have your number, too. You won’t tell me why they scare you—”

  Her gaze shot back to his. “I didn’t say they scared me.”

  Sympathy smoothed out his frown, filled his voice with compassion. “But they do.”

  Yes, they did. Very much. It made her skin crawl to even think of them. But to know they’d mentioned her, that they were close, possibly looking for her...

  Rather than lie again, she looked away. “I don’t want to impose on you more than I already have.”

  “I need to run home and take care of a few things, rearrange my schedule, and set up—”

  “Okay, fine! I won’t call.”

  Her acerbic tone didn’t put him off. “Growling like that is only going to get you coughing again.”

  She flung a pillow at him, and damn it, it taxed her and fell short of hitting him.

  Denver looked at the pillow by his feet, then at her. “I need to teach you how to fight, and how to be a good sport when you lose.”

  She wouldn’t lose. She couldn’t. This was too important.

  It startled her when his finger touched under her chin and raised her face. “Promise me.”

  “I already did,” she grumbled.

  “Yeah, but now I get the feeling you’re scheming.”

  Maybe because she was. “I won’t call them tonight.”

  Exasperation had him stepping back. “Damn it, Cherry, don’t play word games, either. I want you to wait to call until we’ve had time enough to talk it out.”

  “It won’t matter.”

  “What won’t?”

  She shouldn’t have said that. Shaking her head, she said, “I’ll wait. But not too long.”

  “Thank you.” He checked the time, came forward to give her one last kiss on her forehead, and headed out.

  She didn’t mean to, but she asked, “When will I see you again?”

  Pausing in the open doorway, he thought about it. “I don’t want to take a chance on calling and waking you up, so how about you call me in the morning? We’ll figure it out from there.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “Sleep. Rest.” He stepped out and started to pull the door shut, but at the last second, he smiled at her. “And think about everything I’m going to do to you once you’re back in fighting form.”

  When the door closed, she curled up tight on the bed. Holy smokes, if Denver kept making those dark, sultry promises about things he planned to do, she just might have to hurry along her recuperation.

  That is, if her foster brothers didn’t ruin her life first—as they probably planned to do.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ON HIS WAY UPSTAIRS, Denver passed Merissa coming down. “She’s resting,” he said, hoping Merissa wouldn’t want to have a gabfest, as the ladies so often did.

  Merissa struggled to keep her attention on his face. Twice she failed as her gaze dipped down his body to zero in on his crotch.

  Shaking his head, Denver stopped and crossed his arms. “Sorry, but it’s not performing tricks right now.”

  “Wha...?” Surprise gave way to exasperation and she punched his shoulder, mumbling, “Shut up.”

  “Then quit eyeballing me.”

  Her mouth twitched. “Sorry, just curious.” After flipping back her long dark hair, she went on down the stairs. “But I’ll get the nitty-gritty from Cherry.”

  He watched her tap on the bedroom door, slip in, and seconds later both women roared with laughter. Cherry’s cough immediately followed.

  Women. Smiling, Denver bounded up the rest of the steps and followed the voices down the hall and to the kitchen. He found Armie and Cannon sitting at the table drinking coffee and eating cupcakes. Cannon lounged back in his seat, at ease in the family home he’d gifted to his sister after much success in the SBC.

  Armie, however, still looked wound too tight—meaning Merissa must have been with them before leaving the room to visit with Cherry. Every time Armie was around her, he struggled like a sweet-toothed fighter in a candy store trying to make weight for an important match.

  Did Cannon see it? Everyone else did—except maybe Merissa herself.

  Not that Cannon’s little sis was obtuse. As a bank manager, she put in a respectable amount of hours growing her career. While Cannon might have gifted her with their family home after they lost their mother, she kept her own budget and lived within her means. And she understood more about the fight world than many competitors Denver knew.

  But when she chose to, she completely ignored the finer points of being a professional athlete—like her refusal to take into account their specific healthy diets. Merissa Colter was a junk-food junkie who loved to bake, and did so often.

  Being the generous sort who liked to share, she usually left a plate of her irresistible desserts sitting around as temptation.

  Knowing he’d indulge, Denver glanced at Armie as he headed to the coffeepot. “Havoc wants you to give him a call.”

  “I’m not—”

  “He said to quit running from him.” Denver poured a cup, black. “He wants you to man up and talk with him.”

  Predictably, Armie went coldly defensive. “What the—”

  “I agreed about the running part, of course. Told him you were probably home sniveling, hiding under the covers, whimpering and shit like that.”

  As Armie came halfway out of his seat, Cannon laughed at his outraged expression and grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t start brawling in my sister’s house. She won’t like it.”

  At the reminder of Merissa, Armie looked more ill at ease than a badass ever should. He also retreated. Ribbing Armie was easy and Denver didn’t have to feel guilty about it; everyone knew Armie cowered from no man.

  Now women, or more specifically one woman...Yeah, Denver wouldn’t go there.

  Pulling out a chair, he sprawled into his own seat and gave a “whatever” shrug for Armie’s decision. “I passed along the message. My responsibility has ended.”

  “Thanks for nothing.”

  Done with that futile effort, he looked at Armie, then over to Cannon. “I have a problem.”

  “Honey-blond hair?” Armie guessed. “Big boobs?”

  He took a cupcake off the table. “I told Cherry we wouldn’t be discussing her body, so shut up.”

  Cannon cocked a brow. “How exactly did that conversation come up?”

  “Because asshole here—” he pointed the cupcake at Armie to make sure they all understood who he meant “—discussed the size of my junk with all and sundry, apparently.”

  Armie grinned. “Nah, dude, just the ladies.”

  Cannon choked on a laugh.

  “I was giving you a boost,” Armie claimed. “I figured once Cherry knew what you’re packing, she’d come after you, sort of force the issue since you won’t tell her how you feel.”

  “I told her.”

  “Yeah, right.” Armie settled comfortably in the seat, tilting the chair on its back legs. “Told her you were going ape-shit lusting after her and that you wanted to bang her senseless?”

  “Pretty much
.”

  The chair dropped forward again. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.”

  Cannon shook his head with sympathy. “And then she got sick?”

  “Luckily,” Denver said as he peeled the paper off his cupcake, “that happened after.”

  “After you two hooked up?”

  Denver glanced across the table at Armie. “You didn’t tell him?”

  “Do I look like a gossipy old lady?”

  Grinning, Cannon pointed out the irony of his objections. “Man, you talked about his dick with the ladies.”

  “Okay, yeah. That. But no, I didn’t say anything about your personal business.”

  “My dick isn’t personal?”

  Grinning, Armie said, “Not anymore.”

  Getting even for that crack, Denver took a big bite of the cupcake and groaned in bliss. He looked at Armie and said, “Man, Merissa is such a good cook, and supercute to boot, it’s a wonder guys aren’t lined up begging to marry her.”

  Shoulders bunching up and neck going red, Armie flattened his mouth and kept quiet.

  “Got her own house,” Denver added, just to goad him, “a great job, a famous brother...”

  “Don’t even go there.” Cannon gave a mock shudder. “I’m not ready for that yet.”

  “She’s what? Twenty-two?”

  “Damn near a kid,” Cannon said. “If she ever gets serious about anyone, then I’ll deal with it.” He crossed his arms on the table. “So what’s the problem?”

  Again Denver glanced at Armie. “Cherry’s supposed brothers? They’re from a foster family. Given her reaction when I brought them up, they’re guys she’d really like to avoid.”

  To catch Cannon up to speed, Denver shared what had happened at the hotel first, then told them both more about Cherry’s background.

  “Jesus,” Cannon said. “I had no idea.”

  “She’s never even hinted,” Armie agreed. “Hell of a background, poor kid.”

  She wasn’t a kid, far from it, but Denver let that go. “I doubt she’d like it shared, so—”

  “Not a word,” Cannon agreed.

  “Except for the guys,” Armie added. “I’m heading to the rec center next, but figured you might want a ride.”

  “I do, thanks. And yeah, the guys need to know.”

  “Gage and Miles are there now,” Armie told him. “We can clue them in tonight.”

  “Stack will be in tomorrow morning,” Cannon said. “I’ll let him know then.”

  So they were all getting together tonight, minus Stack. No surprise there, since it happened often enough. Camaraderie wasn’t always the only incentive for hanging out.

  Long ago after his dad died, Cannon had taken to prowling the neighborhood, keeping watch over those who couldn’t protect themselves—the elderly shop owners and retirees, the school kids, the single moms. In many ways, Warfield was much better than it used to be, no longer threatened by extortion or gangs.

  In other ways, especially when it came to drug dealers, it was worse. The bastards skulked about, hiding in the shadows, drawing in the kids who didn’t have much else to look forward to.

  The rec center helped a lot, gave at-risk kids an opportunity to focus in a different direction. Far as Denver knew, none of the guys resented the extra time they put in there. Together, they kept their own small part of the neighborhood friendly for all.

  Discontent chewed on Denver’s peace of mind. “I know everyone has some loony relative they don’t want to see, and there’s a black sheep in every family.”

  Armie raised his hand.

  Ignoring him, especially since Armie was one of the most honorable guys he knew, Denver said, “I don’t mean to make a big deal out of nothing, but I have a bad feeling about this.”

  Armie flexed his shoulders. “I disliked the pricks soon as I saw them, and that one bozo did pull a knife on me, so I’m happy to go with your instincts.”

  “Appreciate it.” Denver finished off his cupcake in one big bite. He washed it down with the last of his coffee. “When I get more from Cherry, I’ll update you.” He turned to Cannon. “Until then, you should know that I’m going to stick around as much as I can.”

  Not that long ago, Cannon had objected to Denver’s pursuit of Cherry. Denver followed his reasoning: Cherry was roommates with Merissa and the idea of anyone making a booty call to his sister’s house didn’t sit right with him. What Cannon thought about it no longer mattered, though.

  He wouldn’t leave Cherry alone, sick and vulnerable.

  “Not a bad idea,” Cannon said, surprising him. “Anyone can see you’re invested beyond a quick lay.”

  True. There wasn’t anything at all he wanted to be “quick” with Cherry. “I’ll be here whenever I’m free. It’s just that—”

  “Free time is scarce these days, I know.” Cannon clapped him on the shoulder. “Try not to sweat it too much. Rissy has a good security system but I’ll explain things to her, too. She’s smart, so she’ll be careful. And I’ll be in town for a stretch, so someone will always be around.”

  Watching Cannon, Denver said, “Both girls have a list of phone numbers.” He understood it now, but it still bugged him.

  “Rissy has always agreed to carry them, but I made sure Cherry did the same.” Cannon obviously thought nothing of it. “In a lot of ways, Rissy accepts all of you as family.”

  Armie seemed to choke a little on that.

  “She and I both trust you. All of you. I know even when I’m not around, she has backup. That’s important. Not that I expect trouble, but you never know.”

  All of the rationalizations helped—and yet they didn’t. A sense of danger kept Denver on edge.

  It was too personal for him to tell the others, but he knew by Cherry’s initial reaction that she’d thought him somehow allied with those creeps. She’d pegged him as using her in some way—but how?

  Knowing there was nothing else he could do right now, Denver put his coffee cup in the dishwasher and left with Armie. He knew he’d feel better if he could trust Cherry, but on a gut level he was sure the girl had secrets. How long would she hold out on him?

  What if she never opened up?

  It was his biggest gripe, the main reason he’d tried to steer clear of her.

  He was damn near obsessed—how had Armie put it? Ape-shit with wanting her—and she wouldn’t commit 100 percent.

  Somehow he’d have to work through that, wear her down, and win her over. He wanted Cherry.

  But only if he could have every part of her, including her deepest, darkest secrets.

  * * *

  LEESE ACCEPTED THE shot glass and tossed back the contents. It sent a fiery burn down his throat that pooled in his gut. He screwed his eyes shut, clamped his teeth together and let his breath out in a hiss.

  Carver laughed. “A man who knows how to drink. Hell yeah.”

  Then he threw back his own shot of whiskey.

  As the liquor flowed through Leese’s blood, the world tilted, went fuzzy, then righted itself again. He knew he’d already drunk too much. But Carver, Mitty and Gene were so admiring, like his own personal fan club, he wasn’t ready to call it a night.

  They sat on the open hatch to Mitty’s truck bed beneath a night sky fat with black clouds that concealed even a hint of the moon. A light glowed and he turned his head to see Gene lighting up. A red sheen covered his face as he inhaled—and then the sickeningly sweet smell hit Leese.

  “Want a hit?” Gene offered, holding the joint out to him.

  “No thanks.” He propped himself against the truck.

  Mitty laughed. “The little fighter is afraid to take a toke?”

  “Afraid? No.” He wasn’t afraid of jack-shit. “Just not my thing.”

  Gene passed it to Carver, who closed his eyes as he sucked it in and held it.

  Smoke hung in the thick, humid air, turning Leese’s stomach. It had to be late. Or early. Whatever. He looked around at the nearly deserted streets. The last
thing he needed was for a cop to show up. “I should get going.”

  As he exhaled Carver asked, “Why the sudden rush?”

  Tension knotted up his neck; Leese clutched his stomach to keep it from pitching. Damn. He’d gotten drunk plenty of times in his life, but it never made him feel like this. He took a step away from the truck, and almost fell to his knees.

  Laughing again, the sound warbling like a strobe light, Mitty caught him and held him upright.

  “Pathetic,” he heard Gene mutter.

  Then Carver’s breath was on his jaw. “Hey, buddy. You okay?”

  Too close, crowding against him. He tried to push away, but got pushed back. As if from a distance, he again heard the laughter. He couldn’t seem to draw his thoughts together enough to figure out why the earth kept moving or why his tongue felt so thick. He reached out, and his hand connected awkwardly with the truck, busting his knuckles. It hurt.

  “Take it easy, friend.”

  Carver again.

  A hand steered him and he found himself hefted into the truck bed, then reclining. He opened his eyes and stared up at the sky. So black. So endless. “I need to get home,” he thought, then realized he’d spoken aloud.

  “Yeah, sure,” Carver said. “We’ll take you. Where is home?”

  His brows squeezed down. He didn’t want to tell them but he couldn’t figure out why.

  When he felt a hand in his jeans, he panicked. Real, sick, twisting panic. He reared up, lashing out until he heard a curse.

  Mitty shoved him back so hard that his head collided with the rusted truck bed. “Asshole.”

  Blinding pain exploded through his skull.

  Carver said, “Relax, dude. Just getting your wallet so we can figure out where to take you.”

  Shit. Going lax, Leese closed his eyes and drew a slow breath that still didn’t give him enough oxygen.

  “Got it.” Carver spoke low to someone, truck doors opened and closed, the world moved—this time for real.

  He realized Carver was still beside him when he nudged him with his boot. “You with me, buddy?”

  Leese groaned as the truck hit a bump. “Yeah.”

  “You need to stay awake.”

  Distrust was a live thing inside him, screaming a warning that he couldn’t quite heed. “Yeah.”