by Lori Foster
That was Cannon for you, always assuming the best of him. As he stalked toward the exit he ignored the cute waitress trying to flirt, just as he ignored the sense of being hunted.
Going to the SBC would mean giving up the comfort of his anonymity. It would mean dredging up the past.
Eventually he’d have to fight the old accusations all over again.
And seriously, once had been enough.
Breathing deep, Armie pushed open the doors and stepped out into the early evening air. The rain had stopped, leaving the air fresh, but heavy and thick. The tires of passing cars hissed on the wet roadway. Overhead, gutters dripped. Birds, their feathers wet, sat all along the telephone lines, singing happily.
Armie walked to a bus bench glistening with little puddles. He braced his hands on the backrest, dropping his head forward in thought as he struggled against what he wanted and what he...feared.
That unbearable thought made him want to run. He didn’t fear anything.
Such a gigantic lie. He didn’t fear much.
He didn’t want to suffer fear.
But he did. Fear, humiliation.
Helplessness.
The sudden buzzing of his cell phone made him jump. Cursing his own vulnerability, he dug it out of his pocket and answered without looking to see who called. “Yeah?”
“Did you know if you call the gym, whoever answers hands out your number, no questions asked?”
He got taken aback—completely sidelined from his own misery—by that recognizable voice.
Refreshing antagonism rushed through his bloodstream. “It works that way because that’s how I want it to work.” He cocked his head, popping the tension out of his neck and letting sarcasm sink in.
“You’re responsible for that place?”
He wouldn’t explain jack shit to the idiot. “What do you want?”
“To talk to Cherry.”
He laughed. “No.”
“Tell her to call me,” the man said in low, lethal tones. “Tell her I will rain misery down on everyone she cares about if she doesn’t.”
“Tell you what,” Armie said with snide joviality. “Go fuck yourself.”
“You’ll regret that.”
“Yeah?” Glad to egg him on, to have a new focus other than his own haunted future, Armie smiled into the phone. “Let’s get together and talk about it in person. What do you think?”
“Suits me.”
Perfect.“Where do I find you?”
A laugh. “Don’t worry about it. Now that I’m in Warfield, I promise...I’ll find you.”
The call ended.
It took two seconds for the implications of that to sink in, then Armie turned with a purpose and strode back into the restaurant.
When he reached the table, he saw the food set out—and everyone waiting on him. He’d dodged the possibilities long enough. Time to face reality.
Time to move forward.
Without sitting, he drew out forty bucks and tossed them on the table, then stuck his hand out to Havoc. “I’ll take your offer.”
Slowly, Havoc pushed back his chair, his mood wary. “We haven’t discussed the contract yet.”
“Cannon can deal with that for me.” He shook Havoc’s hand, then reached past him to do the same with Simon. “A pleasure to meet you both in person.”
“Just that easy?” Simon didn’t smile now.
“Something’s come up.”
“I see.” Simon clasped Armie’s hand. “You don’t have any questions?”
“No time. Maybe later.” He turned to Cannon. “I need a word with you.”
Cannon had already stood, attuned to a problem. Armie decided he’d call Denver on his way to the rec center.
Nothing like facing someone else’s troubles to put your own into perspective.
Together, they went as far as the front doors. In hushed tones, Armie explained about the call.
“You’re sure it was him?” Cannon asked.
“Positive.” And he had a bad premonition about things. “You haven’t met the cretins, but Denver is right to be worried. I don’t like them, any of them, and if they’re actually here, in Warfield now—”
“I’ll come with you,” Cannon said.
“What, and leave things hanging with those two?” He hitched a thumb toward where both Havoc and Simon watched them from their table.
“They’ll keep.”
Meaning Cannon had his priorities, too, and as usual Armie was one of them. Facing a faulty future with a really great friend made it more bearable. “No, you stay. I’ve got it covered. We’ll all keep an eye out. But maybe later you could—”
“Set up a network. Yeah, I’ll do that. Tell Denver I’ll give him a call tonight.”
Long ago, Cannon had made connections to damn near everyone in the neighborhood, some older and retired, some young and at risk. He knew the good and the bad, and many in the middle who saw and heard things that others didn’t. When necessary, he could glean information from the streets in a way the cops never could.
Nodding, Armie mused aloud, “Denver won’t let Cherry out of his sight.”
Cannon grinned. “I have a feeling he’d have kept her close regardless. Those two are constantly either antagonizing each other, or setting off sparks hot enough to start a fire.”
Armie grinned. “Yeah, they’re even more entertaining than Gage and Harper were.” He rubbed his mouth, then glanced again at the two veteran fighters. “I didn’t want to mention any of this in front of them. Don’t want them thinking Denver is divided on things while he needs to be focused on his training.”
“I’m guessing they’ve been around long enough to know fighters can multitask.”
“Especially when a woman is involved?”
“The right woman, sure.” Cannon crossed his arms. “You okay with how this rolled out?”
“What? Having my best friend sabotage me while colluding with the enemy? Sure. Why would I mind that?”
Censuring, Cannon said, “They’re not the enemy.”
Armie laughed. “Not anymore anyway.” How did he feel about it? Guarded. Resigned. “You said it, it’s time. Couldn’t drag my feet forever.”
“You’re not facing anything alone. You know that, right?”
He did. For as long as he could remember, Cannon had been like a brother to him. Better than a brother, even. “It’s fine—but right now, I want to get hold of Denver.”
“I’ll call him. You just get to the rec center in case there’s a setup.” Cannon pulled keys from his pocket. “Take my car. I’ll grab a ride with Simon and Havoc. And Armie? Be alert.”
“Always.” He hesitated. “Negotiate a good deal for me.”
Cannon cracked a smile. “Plan to.”
Once, years ago, Cannon had saved his ass. If he wanted Armie in the SBC, then that’s where he’d go, and he’d face the consequences, whatever they might be, head-on. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“Pushing me.” Everything. “Not letting me be content.”
“Hey, what good are friends if they don’t shove you into uncomfortable situations?” After a brief, commiserating grip on Armie’s shoulder, Cannon pulled out his cell and headed to a quiet corner of the entrance to call Denver.
He had a lot of shit on his plate, but Armie realized he was smiling as he headed out. Maybe things weren’t so bad after all.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
STACK MEANT TO leave as soon as Denver reclaimed the class.
Instead, when Vanity strolled in looking damp and appealingly windblown from the weather, he decided to hang around a little longer. He’d watched her shed a trendy raincoat and matching umbrella, then watched her make herself at home at the rec center.
Now he was late for his date—not that it was really much of a date. More like a mutual agreement to get laid, but still... Somehow the idea of heading out for “the sure thing” no longer appealed.
He got out his cell and went into the hall to make a call and canc
el the plans. After explaining that he’d gotten held up and promising that he’d make it up to her soon, he realized he wasn’t alone.
Without even knowing why, he felt guilty as he jerked around and found Vanity eavesdropping. She watched him without a single sign of remorse.
Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he said his goodbyes and calmly tucked his phone, and his guilt, away.
Her blue eyes bright, she said, “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.” Tonight she had her long hair in some sort of intricate braid that arrowed down her back as if pointing to that stellar ass. In stretchy running shorts and a matching tank, she couldn’t hide a flaw—not that she had any.
His mouth went dry. This woman wanted to sleep with him.
But not until the wedding.
“I’m curious, Stack.”
“Me, too.” Like half hard with curiosity.
Her patented teasing smile played over her lips, making him nuts and showing a smidge of confusion. “What?”
He shook his head. “You first.”
“I was just going to ask why you’re still here if you had a date.”
Oh. He cast about for an excuse, and settled on the obvious. “We had some drama, that’s all. Denver’s stepmother stopped in.”
“Why is that drama?”
Shrugging, he said, “I haven’t had a chance to find out, but trust me, it was not a friendly meeting.” Rather than detail how badly Vanity had occupied his thoughts, he dug in on the topic of Denver and domestic issues. “Shocked me when I met her. She looks nothing like a stepmother.”
“Oh? How should a stepmother look?”
“Like a mother? At least old enough to be a mother. This woman looked damn near Denver’s age. And she was...” How should he put it? “Overdressed for the gym, that’s for sure. Young and sexy, too. Long red hair, killer dress and body, bold attitude.”
Her smile stayed in place. “You admired her. How...nice.”
“Said I was shocked already, right?” He frowned. She had no reason—and no right—to act put out over his observations. “You don’t think I’d hit on Denver’s stepmother, do you? Because that’d seriously be out of line.”
“So the fact that she’s obviously married isn’t what held you back? It was just her relationship to Denver?”
“No!” How did she always steer him down these awkward verbal paths? “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
Her smile widened. “Okay, sorry. You know what? I think I saw her, and yes, she’s beautiful.”
“She was gone before you got here.”
“Well, there was a woman who fit that description hanging around outside.”
Curious, Stack asked, “Doing what?”
“I don’t know. Just talking with a guy. I noticed her because of her dress. Usually women who are dressed up don’t linger in the rain.”
Curiosity turned to misgivings. “What guy?”
“I don’t know him. Dark hair and eyes. He held a jacket over her head while they huddled together under an overhang. Her hair—which was definitely red—kept blowing out with the wind.”
Alarm bells had been dinging, but now they blared. “Come on.” He grabbed Vanity’s hand and dragged her over to Denver, who was wrapping up a class with the older boys.
Denver said to the group, “I want you to always press forward. Keep your opponent on his back foot. You don’t want him to know what’s coming, whether you’ll be shooting in, throwing a punch or aiming a kick. As long as he’s backpedaling, he’s off balance. But that also leaves you open to walking into something...”
Waiting off on the sidelines, Stack folded his arms and nodded agreement with Denver’s instruction.
Vanity nudged him with her shoulder. Speaking low, she said, “There are so many rules and moves and they all seem to be contingent on other factors. How in the world do you guys learn it all?”
“Muscle memory,” Stack said, still watching the boys. “You do drills often enough, you practice moves, spar a lot, and it becomes automatic. Or at least it should.”
“Does that mean the guy who loses didn’t do enough practice?”
“Not necessarily.” Girding himself, he turned to her—and damn, the sight of her looking up at him with interest hit like a wild haymaker. Did she know the effect her getup had on him?
Probably. Vanity Baker was not an obtuse girl.
Not all women looked good in clinging workout clothes. Vanity could be a walking ad for them.
“Some guys just have more heart and more innate ability. You have to be able to take the pain and keep your head, and you need to be able to adjust. If a move goes wrong, if the guy you’re fighting is especially proficient at something, switching gears can help.” His gaze dipped to her chest, but only for a second. She watched him so closely, she’d know if he started thinking lewd, awesome things. “And sometimes you just get caught. Happens to the best of them. You do one thing wrong, no matter how small, and it can change the entire fight.”
“Wrong, like what?”
“A punch you don’t dodge. A submission setup you miss. Hell, occasionally you can trip, or slip on sweat or blood. Break a hand or pop a joint.” He shrugged. “Anything.”
Nose wrinkled over that last comment, she asked, “Have you ever been caught?”
Big-time. The night she’d asked him to take her to the wedding would count. The second she’d mentioned having sex, all his better sense had flown the coop.
“Stack?”
He locked his jaw and tried to clear his mind of smoldering carnal images. Luckily Denver, who’d finished while they were talking, saved his ass by asking, “What’s up?”
Redirecting his focus, he said, “I think your stepmama might’ve made nice with Cherry’s wayward foster brothers.”
Vanity said, “What?”
Before Stack could explain about the trinity of troublemaking brothers, Harper jogged over carrying the phone for Denver. “It’s Cannon. He said he called your cell and when you didn’t answer, he figured you were still in the middle of the class.” She handed over the phone and then went back to the front desk where she often helped out.
Stack sensed plenty of things going awry. When Denver took the phone, he didn’t excuse himself so Stack and Vanity were privy to the convo. From what Stack could tell given the one-sided dialogue, Armie had gotten a call from the brothers confirming they were in town.
Not good.
Soon as Denver ended the call, he said to Vanity, “Tell me what you saw.”
She didn’t ask any questions, didn’t need clarification. She repeated to Denver almost exactly what she’d told Stack, but with more detail.
“Shit.” Denver rubbed the back of his neck. “Carver claims he’s here. He threatened Armie again, says he wants to see Cherry...”
“So it probably was him with your stepmama then, right?”
“Call her Pamela, okay? I don’t claim any relationship.”
Stack agreed, although given the hostility between her and Denver, he had no plans to call the woman anything at all. “If he was just outside, that means—”
“He’s aware of the rec center.” Denver’s gaze went to Vanity and then back again. “And everyone coming or going from here.”
Understanding just how risky that made things, Stack frowned at Vanity.
She lifted her brows in query.
“You’ll take care of it?” Denver asked.
Meaning would he take care of Vanity? Stack inhaled. “Got it covered.”
“Good. Cannon’s going to set up a network to keep an eye on things, but it’ll take at least a few hours, if not a day to get that in motion.”
Nodding, he said, “Doesn’t hurt to be extra careful.” Especially with the ladies.
“I have to go find Cherry.”
“She’s in the restroom,” Vanity offered. “Repairing her makeup and hair, I think.”
Denver checked the clock and frowned. “Still?”
Vanity shrugged. �
�Not easy to do in a standard restroom without her usual...accessories.”
He nodded acceptance of that, saying, “Thanks,” as he strode away.
As soon as Denver was gone, Stack turned to her and asked, “Why are you here?”
“Sorry. I didn’t think you would be.”
How the hell was that an answer? With his hair nearly standing on end, he asked, “What’s that supposed to mean, Vanity?” Was she dodging him now?
Hooking her arm through his, Vanity started them both across the floor. Given her skimpy outfit and his short-sleeved T-shirt, he felt skin on skin.
Their arms, he reminded himself, not that his brain or his dick seemed to care how innocuous the touch might be.
“That came out wrong,” Vanity explained with a smile. “I just didn’t want you to think I was chasing after you because we have an agreement for the future. I was surprised when I got here and saw you.”
“Denver’s stepmother...” He started to explain again.
“I understand. Sounds like it’s been a hectic day.” She hugged his arm just enough to make his muscles clench, especially when he felt the side of her breast against his biceps. “It was nice of you to stick around and lend a hand.”
“Yeah,” he said, not really hearing himself since Vanity led them to a quiet corner alone. This time of night, the place was clearing out. They’d close up soon and only a few of those in the inner circle might still hang around and use the equipment.
She paused by a heavyweight bag. “I came by to sign up for the self-defense classes and then figured I’d stick around and exercise.”
Damn. He’d be taking a turn teaching the class to women.
Stepping around the heavyweight bag, she examined a rack of weights. “I used to go to the gym all the time back in California. Surfed a lot, too. But so far around here, I’ve been a complete slug. I don’t want to get out of shape.”
Propping a shoulder on the wall, Stack gave her body a lingering look. “Yeah, no worry on that.”
“Stack.” She trailed her fingertips over the equipment. “Have you thought about it much?”
“It?”
“Us. Having sex.”
Jesus, the way she threw things out there kept him off-kilter. “Round the clock,” he admitted. He thought about it to the point that hooking up with other women just seemed like a bother. That, he didn’t admit. “You?”
