by Coralee June
Aside from a short email that said he was keeping an eye out for bounty hunters and assassins on Santobello’s payroll in the area, he hadn’t reached out. I wondered what was happening and worried about him and Grace.
Gavriel was in his usual spot. It seemed that no matter where we went, he would pull up a chair to the window and stare outside. I wondered what he was always thinking about, or if he was watching for Santobello. "We're running out of cash fast," he said wearily. "Are you sure we can't just hit up an ATM and get the fuck out of here?"
This time, it was Callum that responded, his tired voice laced with annoyance as he ran a hand through his blond hair. "I’ve told you. Santobello has federal agents in his pocket. We’d be surrounded within seconds of withdrawing our cash."
I once again considered suggesting stripping. I’d only done it a handful of times when my only other option was sleeping on the street. I knew that a good night could easily get me a couple thousand dollars. Instead, it was Ryker that came up with a solution. He was leaning against the wall, watching Gavriel intently. "The underground fight scene here is pretty big. How much cash do we have left?" Ryker asked.
"A thousand, give or take," I replied.
"We could always bet?" Ryker began while standing. He started pacing the floor, a move that I recognized. He was preparing for a fight. "It's pretty easy to find a fight, all I'd have to do is find someone to match me up with an opponent. I used to do it all the time before Gavriel became my pseudo manager. I know I'd win. Then we'd have more cash and could survive a little bit longer."
Flutters of hope filled my stomach, and I considered the implications of his suggestion. It would be risky, betting everything we had. It wasn't necessarily that I didn't have faith in his abilities, but gambling always made me uneasy. On the off chance he lost, we’d be left with nothing.
"That's not going to work," Callum replied after a moment with a frown. "You're famous, Ryker. We have an entire arsenal of assassins after us. If word gets out that you're fighting in an underground club in Indy, we’ll be swarmed the moment we leave the venue."
I slumped my shoulders. He was right. There was no way in hell Ryker could show up at a fight without anyone taking notice, he was too memorable. He was also good. “Could anyone else fight?" Callum asked before instantly regretting his question. All eyes zeroed in on Gavriel, and we knew that he was the only one that could match Ryker for talent. Or at least he used to be able to. My heart panged.
"I could fight," Blaise blurted out, distracting all of us from staring at Gavriel. I looked at Blaise, concern blanketing my expressive face. When I thought of him, I didn't think “fighter.” Blaise was a lover. He could charm the pants off of anyone. The thought of him getting into the ring and using his fists absolutely terrified me. Luckily, I didn't have to hurt his manly pride by questioning him. Callum did it for me.
"Really?" Callum looked Blaise up and down before taking a step forward. "Do you honestly think you could do that? Do you even have any fighting experience?"
I let out a slow sigh and rubbed my forehead while closing my eyes. Blaise was confident, but he overcompensated for his insecurities. His charm and smooth talking was a defense mechanism. I could've punched Callum for being so callous. "Of course I can," Blaise replied while rolling his eyes.
Callum looked at Gavriel who also was staring at Blaise. The ghost of a smile graced Gav’s lips as he said, "As long as you don't let anyone get any cheap shots on you, I think it’s a possibility that maybe you could actually probably do this.”
“Your confidence in me is overwhelming,” Blaise deadpanned.
My mouth dropped open in shock, and I nearly stuttered out my response, "Blaise, do you know how to fight?" I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that it didn't sound as insulting as I thought it did.
Blaise gave me one of those wicked grins that I loved, before getting up off the bed and walking towards me. He thrust an arm over my shoulders and stared me down. "I don't like to fight, but if I have to, I can. Who do you think these two assholes practiced on?" He then pointed at Ryker and Gavriel while rolling his eyes. He wasn’t wrong, I remembered them fighting in the Jamesons’ front yard on many occasions. I used to watch from my bedroom.
"How does one even find a fight?" I asked. I wasn't completely sold on betting every last dollar we had on Blaise. I wanted to have faith in him, of course.
However, I also had never seen Blaise in action. He was a bounty hunter and had enough muscles to make me swoon, but fighting took precision and skill, it took an intense energy that I just wasn't sure he had. Blaise was funny, mischievous—playful even. He wasn’t a fighter.
"Don't look so worried, sweetheart," Blaise said. He rolled his neck before giving Ryker a stern look. "My mom had boyfriends beating me up my whole life. I can take a hit. But more importantly, I know how to throw a punch."
I had almost come to expect the bruises on Ryker’s skin, I put them into that box of what made Ryker who he was. He was my fighter. I knew that he was strong and able to handle whatever punch was thrown his way. But I never put Blaise in that role.
Ryker grabbed the new burner phone we’d purchased last night from my hand and then started making phone calls, whispering into the receiver like a drug dealer. This didn't feel right, but I wanted to respect the guys. And if we wanted to stay under the radar, I knew that Ryker couldn't fight. Aside from stealing cash, which I knew the guys were more than capable of doing, this seemed like the only way.
"We could always rob a store?" I said, clinging to an alternative idea.
“Most stores easy enough to rob don’t have the kind of cash we need. Besides, that’s a bit beneath us, don’t you think? We’re not some thugs, we’re high dollar mobsters—” Blaise said.
“Were. We were high dollar mobsters,” Gavriel corrected before scowling. I crouched down to peer up at his face. An empire couldn’t be brought down in a fucking day. He had properties, accounts, and money out the ass. We just couldn’t access it at the moment.
I borrowed some of Nix’s fearless bravado before swallowing a gulp of air. “You are Gavriel Moretti. It might not feel like it, but you’re still the most powerful man I know.” I leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, right above his red scar before turning to Blaise. “Guess you should start training then, huh?”
Before I met the Bullets, I did my best not to have blind faith in anything or anyone. My father taught me that it did a person no good to trust others. I wasn't sure if his grim outlook on people was from seeing the worst of the worst on the job, or if he just had a keen self-awareness. Maybe he was always warning me not to trust anyone because, in some ways, he knew he didn't deserve my mother's and my trust.
Either way, I was a tragic pessimist.
But when I met the Bullets, I wanted to believe that they could do anything. I had blind faith in them. But even so, I wasn't confident that Blaise was capable of fighting.
He was strong, the muscles in his broad shoulders were proof enough of that. And I knew he was skilled, he had to be as a bounty hunter. I had no doubts that his job got physical on many occasions, but I had never seen him fight. I'd never seen how he was in the ring, and I wasn't sure he was capable of holding his own. I also didn't know what kind of underground fight scene Ryker was getting him involved in. What if he got hurt? What if we got caught?
These doubts felt like a hammer pounding against my chest, but as I watched Ryker and Blaise sparring in a park within walking distance of our motel, I couldn't help but feel enthralled by my bounty hunter.
His movements weren't as refined as Ryker’s. But he held his own. I watched closely as sweat dripped down his neck and onto his bare torso. It was freezing outside, but we didn't have the cash to go to a gym, and Ryker said that the bite in the air would make his hits harder, and the pain would help Blaise learn how to dodge better.
Blaise was good. Surprisingly good. I’d never admit to doubting him though. Ryker gave him everything he had and Blaise gav
e it right back. It was odd, seeing his perfect, playful face scrunched up in anger.
But even though he looked somewhat in his element, I still feared for him. "Enough!" Ryker yelled. Blaise pulled back, his muscular chest heaving in gulps of air as he wiped the sweat from his brow. They had been fighting for an hour. Ryker didn't want him too sore for his fight tonight.
"What you think, Sunshine?" Blaise finally asked breathlessly before turning to me. I was standing off to the side, my arms clenched tightly to my body to ward off the freezing wind assaulting me. They told me to stay behind at the motel where it was warm, but I didn’t listen. I needed to see how he could hold up. Blaise put his sweatshirt on, and they both approached me.
"You're pretty okay at this sort of thing,” I joked. “Almost makes me wonder what other secrets you are hiding.” The corner of my mouth lifted up into a small grin. Blaise bent down to grab the water bottle at my feet then lifted up to take a large gulp while Ryker untaped his fingers. I watched eagerly as Blaise’s Adam’s apple bobbed while he drank. And when he pulled away from the bottle, he answered me.
"I thought you knew. I’m good at everything, Beautiful." I laughed before pushing his shoulder, and Blaise made a big show of pretending to faint under the force of my playful shove. He then wrapped his arms around me, his sweaty body enveloping mine as he lifted me off the ground and acted like he was going to throw me across the park. Nearby, a couple laughed at our goofy display.
"We better get back," Ryker said. The sun was beginning to set, and Callum didn't want us out for too long; he was fearful that we would be seen.
Neither he nor Gavriel wanted me tagging along, but the stifling motel room was starting to suffocate me. "Do we have to go back?" I asked before looking up at the sky, which was a pleasant shade of orange and grey from the setting sun. The clouds overhead gave off a doomy sort of feel, fitting for the doom we were going to face.
"I've worked up a bit of an appetite. Want to spend some money we don't have on pizza that probably won't taste good?" Blaise asked. I looked down as he wrapped his arm around my waist.
I knew that Callum and Gavriel would demand that we come back soon, but I didn’t care. I could use the distraction.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the burner phone, checking for any messages from Nix. I had emailed him our new phone number that morning in hopes that he would call. But of course, there was still nothing, and I worried that something had happened to him and Grace. I could feel Ryker’s and Blaise’s heavy stares on me, but I pocketed the phone without voicing my concerns. There was no use talking about things I couldn’t control.
Blaise smelled of sweat, making me crinkle my nose. However, I still accepted his arm as we walked back to the motel a couple of blocks away. It kind of felt normal, just three friends walking through the park. I forgot all the troubles we were facing.
Blaise stopped at a pizza shop and pulled some cash from his wallet. I debated on telling him that we should save it, but both he and Ryker gave me a look that suggested I should keep quiet about my opinions on how they should spoil me. Blaise even got a pineapple pizza slice, though he made gagging noises as he handed it to me, and they both let out sighs of appreciation when I moaned mid-bite.
"If I'd known you make those noises while eating pineapple pizza, I would've bought a second slice," Blaise joked.
“Hell, I would have bought the entire pizza,” Ryker added. He had been mostly quiet, which wasn't out of the norm. Whenever we were with Blaise, Ryker enjoyed letting his boisterous friend take control of the conversation. It allowed him to observe the world in all its quiet complexity.
"You’re okay, right?" I asked.
Ryker turned to look at me before lifting up a finger and placing it against the corner of my mouth, wiping up some stray pizza sauce that had gotten there. My lips parted when he then sucked on his thumb. "I'm fine. I miss the West Coast. I miss fighting," he said in a low voice while looking off in the distance.
A slight pang of guilt tickled along my rib cage, making it slightly difficult to breathe. And yet, I forced those feelings away. I refused to feel wrong about wanting Ryker with me. But it brought a whole new set of worries to bloom within my mind.
If we survived this—and that was a major "if"—what would happen to us? Gavriel loved New York, and Ryker lived in California. Callum worked in DC. I was happiest when we were all together, and for the first time since the fire, I realized that when it was all said and done, we might never be together.
"You know there's nowhere else I'd rather be," Ryker immediately amended. I couldn't help but smile at his effort. I felt the same way. The Bullets and I were inevitable. I knew without a doubt that they had burrowed themselves in my soul a long, long time ago.
I didn't doubt for one second that Ryker considered my heart his home. What we had meant so much more than geographical locations, careers, or anything else the rest of the world wanted to prioritize. In fact, I think our group was the only thing keeping Gavriel from completely losing his mind at the fall of his empire.
But I wanted my men to live their best life. That's what love was, wasn't it? Love wasn't selfish. And I knew that Ryker loved me more than he loved being a pro fighter. But I hated that, eventually, he might have to choose.
While I thought over all the things plaguing our dynamic, Ryker looked at me, taking in each changing expression and committing it to memory. He saw me better than I saw myself—he knew me better than I knew myself. And after I finished my pizza, we started walking back towards the motel.
We were just a half a block away when Ryker wrapped his hand around my arm and pulled me towards a shadowed alley. Blaise followed us, a wide grin on his face.
"Please tell me you're gonna get her off in this alley," Blaise said while drumming his fingers together eagerly. Ryker rolled his eyes.
"Shut up and keep watch," he replied to Blaise, deadpan. Ryker then looked towards me, caging me between his arms as he pressed his body against mine.
"Of all the things to worry about, Sunshine," he began before kissing my neck, chastising me for fixating on stupid shit. Of course, he would know where my mind was. "Aside from fleeing for our lives, I’m all about getting back to the root of what the Bullets really stand for."
I sucked in a deep breath, gasping when his tongue slid up the vein that was pounding in my neck. He nibbled and sucked on my supple skin, and I knew that Blaise was watching us with hungry eyes. "And what exactly do the Bullets stand for?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
Ryker pulled away and stared longingly at me. "We're larger-than-life, Sunshine. We stand for family. Friendship. The Bullets are brutally honest and devastatingly committed. We hold knives to each other's throats but would kill anyone that threatened us. We don't need anything but each other, as cliché as that sounds."
I leaned forward and knitted our lips together, crying out as his knee shifted between my legs, rubbing along the thin material of my yoga pants right over my mound. Oh, God.
“There’s a cop coming,” Blaise whispered. From the corner of my eye, I saw that he was keeping watch. Ryker didn’t stop. He ran his hands over my body. He bit my lip. He was everywhere, pulling at my hair and pressing my back into the hard brick of the building. “He’s almost here,” Blaise added, his voice slightly more urgent.
Ryker took his palm and started rubbing me outside of my pants, cupping my sex with his hand and smiling against my lips when I let out a gasp. Fuck.
“Is there a problem here?” a low voice asked just as Ryker pulled away with a self-satisfied smirk.
“Nope,” Ryker said before licking his lips. “Not at all, officer.”
Chapter Fifteen
The abandoned building we were in smelled like sweat and mold. They used a dark curtain as a partition to give the semblance of seclusion to the backstage area. We could hear the bloodthirsty crowd gathering on the other side.
Ryker found a fight with enough interest for our bet to be wor
th our while, but still quiet enough that they wouldn’t outright recognize Ryker. To be safe, all the guys wore hoods to cover their faces, each of them looking intimidating as they paced the cold room. Each puff of air as they exhaled was visible around us.
Blaise was wrapping his hands with tape when another man approached, sliding the black curtain back to stare at us. “It’s a bare knuckles fight, kid,” he said. The man was older with a large stomach pressing over his tight jeans. His eyes were bright, and what was left of his hair was silver.
“Bare knuckles?” Ryker asked incredulously.
“Will that be a problem?” the gruff man asked while stalking closer, peering at Ryker with a knowing look that made my stomach clench. “That not the way they do it in LA?” he asked with a smirk, and I knew then that he had recognized Ryker.
My fighter scowled. “We don’t want any trouble. Just want a way to earn some cash and get out of here.”
The man crossed his arms over his chest and looked around the room at us. “I make it my job to know who enters my ring. Keep that hood on tight, boy. You look like you’re in trouble, and I don’t want that brought to my house, you understand?”
“Understood,” Ryker said, keeping his face still. The man smiled at Gavriel for a moment, like he was committing his face to memory, before heading back outside to where the crowd was gathering.
“Bare knuckles? What does that mean?” I asked. Callum replied because Ryker was busy giving Blaise frantic, last-minute instructions.
“No padding allowed on hands. It changes a lot. He can’t block the way he’s used to with gloves. It’s bone on bone, there will be more blood.”
Well, shit.
Gavriel got up and made his way to Blaise, also to give him advice. “You’re gonna want to knock him out as quickly as possible. You don’t have the stamina for bare knuckles. And you damn well better keep your fist form. You’ll be useless with a broken hand.”
