The Final Fight (Fighting Series Book 8)

by JB Salsbury

  “Soon. I just need a little more time.” For what? Who knows? I hope one day I’ll wake up without the dull ache of loss in my chest. Then, maybe, when I feel Andre’s hands on me, I won’t want to pretend they belong to someone else.

  He leans in and drops a soft kiss to my lips. “Then I will wait.”

  Don’t wait for me.

  Braeden’s words are like daggers in my skull. I pinch my eyes closed.

  “Headache?” Andre hooks my waist and continues walking me toward the elevators.

  “Yeah. Probably all the paperwork I—”

  He holds up a hand to silence me and pulls his vibrating phone from his pocket.

  “Yes?”

  The sound of a deep voice is on the other end, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.

  “How can he refuse to leave when you’re escorting him out?” He frowns at me apologetically, but continues to walk. “How many nights has he shown up? And always at the same spot? Okay, have extra security posted and make sure when you take him out that you explain the next time he’ll leave in the back of a police car.” He listens a little more. “It doesn’t matter that he’s looking for his wife. He’s drunk and belligerent. I won’t tolerate that in my casino.” He hits end and shoves the phone back into his pocket.

  “Everything okay?”

  He keys in a code that brings down the elevator. “Nothing you need to worry about.” He presses a kiss to my forehead and then waits as I climb into the carriage. “Good night, Adeline.”

  The doors slide closed, and as soon as they do, my smile falls.

  I’m losing it.

  I’m totally losing it.

  I have everything I could ever want—money, luxury, a man who cares deeply for me—and yet, I’ve never been more miserable.

  ~*~

  Braeden

  I shove the security guard off me. “I’m going. You don’t have to fucking hold my hand.”

  “I keep showing you the door, and four nights in a row you’ve come back. Next time I’m calling the cops, you hear me? Do not come back here.”

  “It’s a free country! You want to know how I know? I fucking helped make it that way! I got this”—I shove my finger toward my face— “so you could live rather than get bombed to fuck by terrorists!”

  “You’re drunk.”

  I hold my hands out and laugh. “I’m so fucking sick of people telling me shit I already know!”

  The POS stands there with his arms crossed at his chest, barring the door.

  “Do you know what happens when you stand between a man and his wife?”

  He stares at me, looking unimpressed and totally unfazed.

  “Fine. I’ll go, but I’ll be back tomorrow! You can’t keep me away—”

  “Braeden!”

  I turn and blink because it looks like Rex jogging toward me. “What the fuck?”

  I squint through the drunken haze, and sure enough, it’s him. He’s traded in the usual workout gear for a pair of dark jeans, a thick black belt, a shirt that looks a half size too small, black Converse, and a black baseball hat.

  “What’s going on?” He eyes the security guard, and with his piercings and all his fucking tats, he looks hardcore and unhappy.

  “This your friend?” Security douche says.

  He steps in front of me. “He’s my brother.”

  I roll my eyes to the heavens. Great, that’s all I need. Another fucking brother.

  “Get him out of here before the cops take him away.”

  Rex turns toward me and jerks his head. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

  I wiggle my fingers to the suit. “Until next time, sweet pea.”

  “There better not be a next time.”

  I rush the guy, but Rex snags my good arm, holding me back easily as my balance is for shit.

  “Looks like someone had an eventful night.” He guides me a few steps then releases me.

  “Not even a little.”

  His midnight blue pickup truck is parked on the curb, as if he was driving by and pulled over when he saw me.

  “Hop in the back seat.” He circles the hood and loads up.

  The back? Do I stink? I climb up and throw my drunk and useless body into the back, and the scent of sweet heaven fills the cab.

  I look up to find Gia, Rex’s wife, sitting in the front. “Gia, hey gorgeous.”

  She laughs in that deep throaty way that reminds me of AJ. “Did you leave any alcohol for the other kids?”

  “Fuck the other kids.” I sit in the middle of the backseat, my knees spread wide.

  Rex throws the transmission into drive, and when he pulls the truck out, he reaches over for his wife’s hand. “You feel like talking about what the hell happened back there?”

  I turn away from their intertwined fingers as the burning in my chest flares. “No.”

  “Is it too late for a chocolate milkshake?” Gia’s asking Rex, but I can’t help but pipe up.

  “Never too late.”

  Rex brings her hand to his lips. “Craving?”

  “So bad.”

  Leaning a little to the side, I eye Gia’s tight black shirt and . . . holy shit. “Gia, are you pregnant?”

  She turns back to me with a flash of silky red hair and grins. “Very.”

  “I noticed the new tat.” I motion to Rex’s left hand.

  I catch Rex’s proud smile.

  “Congratulations. Sorry I missed it.”

  “You didn’t miss shit.” Rex pulls Gia’s hand to his thigh. “We eloped.”

  “That’s cool. No fuss, no muss. You guys know what you’re having?”

  If it’s possible, Rex’s grin widens. “Boy. Henry Dylan Carter.”

  “Sweet name. I’m happy for you guys.” That’s something I’ll never have: a woman who looks at me like I’m the master of her heart while the little life we made together grows in her belly.

  Need to cry for a stupid reason? Drink.

  I run a hand over my hair and lick my lips, feeling awkward as hell being third wheel to this new family. “So, uh . . . what were you guys doing at the Kairos?”

  Rex looks in the rearview mirror. “Checking out the set up for the charity event. Ataxia’s playing, and they wanted to know if the stage they have will work for us.”

  I stare out the window as the city of Las Vegas flies by in a blur of lights.

  “You’re coming, right?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Gia turns around. “Really?”

  I shrug. “I can see Ataxia play another time.”

  She looks confused. “No, it’s a benefit concert for the Injured Heroes Foundation.”

  “Ah . . . so you thought since I am an injured hero it would make sense that I be there.”

  “Well . . . yeah.”

  “I wasn’t invited.”

  “Yeah, you were.” Rex pipes up from behind the wheel. “Blake has your invite.”

  Why the hell wouldn’t he give it to me?

  Maybe because he doesn’t want you embarrassing him in front of all his friends and colleagues.

  Shit.

  I rub my face.

  He’d be right.

  “How ’bout that milkshake.” I pull cash from my pocket. “I’m buyin’.”

  Twenty-one

  Braeden

  “Now I see why you didn’t tell me I was invited to this shit.”

  Our feet have just passed through the huge double-doors that open into an enormous banquet room. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and the fragrant smell of fresh flowers screams of straight-up class. Tables dressed in fancy linens and china, it looks like a set-up for a wedding reception complete with a stage at the far end of the room and a dance floor.

  Blake glares at me, but his mouth kicks up on one side. “I did invite you; you just don’t remember because you were shit-housed.”

  I roll my shoulders back and search out the closest bar. “This ain’t my scene.” We’re early. The only people here
are UFL fighters, Rex’s band, a handful of random people I’ve never seen before, and a couple dozen wait staff dressed in tuxedos. “Can’t believe I got my hair cut for this.”

  Layla slides next to me, her long form-fitting gown showcasing her perfect figure. She hooks her hand into the crook of my bad arm—the way it’s bent making for an ideal handle. “Don’t worry. You’re going to be great.”

  “I don’t like talking to people.” Fuck, my skin’s already crawling, and we just got here. No doubt it’ll take two point four seconds for a room of hundreds to find out I’m an injured Marine. They’ll ask questions, share their condolences—the thought makes my clothes feel too tight.

  Sandwiched between Layla and Blake, I feel like they’re bookending me on purpose, and I’m grateful for it.

  “You don’t have to say shit, bro.” Blake tosses a chin lift to a group of fighters who are huddled by a table. “Tell them it ain’t their fucking business.”

  “Blake.” Layla’s whisper-hiss catches his eyes.

  “What? I’m serious, Mouse. I don’t like this anymore than he does. I hate the idea of people thinking because he’s here they get to crawl straight up his ass. He wants to be left alone. I’ll make sure he is.”

  “Okay, but maybe be polite about it.”

  “If people ask him what happened during his service, they’re being rude and deserve to be dealt with accordingly.” He nods to me. “Anyone fucks with you, you let me handle it.”

  “Dude, I’m not eight. Calm your ass down.” Besides, when I shove my bad hand into my pants pocket and turn my head a little to the right, I look almost normal. That’ll help.

  “I’m serious—”

  “Blake.” Cameron walks up to us with another guy. There’s no way the man is a fighter. He’s tall, but he’s about as thick as one of Cam’s forearms. “This is George St. Claire. He runs the Injured Heroes Foundation.” Cam directs his usual scowl at me.

  I roll my eyes. Oh great, here we go.

  My brother shakes St. Claire’s hand, introduces him to Layla, and then to me.

  I reach out with my good arm, grateful that Layla’s still holding firm to my bum appendage. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Cam here tells me that you’re both ex-Marines.”

  Blake answers for us, explaining his quick service and my more extensive stay, but avoids mentioning anything else.

  He nods at all the appropriate places. “Thank you, guys, for being here. This is a huge help to the foundation. You’ll get to meet some of the men and women we’re able to assist later.”

  Awesome. More like me. I better snag my spot at the bar before all those tortured souls descend upon it.

  “I’m going to grab a drink.”

  My brother eyes me. Yeah, I hear ya. I promised Blake I wouldn’t get fucked up tonight, but that doesn’t mean I can’t drink to dull the sharp edges a little bit. At least down enough so my hands stop shaking.

  “I’ll go with you.” Layla hugs closer to my side. “Blake, want anything?”

  “I’m going to go say hi to the guys. I’ll meet you two over there.”

  As Layla and I walk away, I lean down and whisper, “You don’t have to do this.”

  Her perfectly made up face pinches. “Do what?”

  I lift a brow toward her arm that’s locked on mine. “Protect me.”

  She shakes her head, and all that long hair brushes over her bare shoulders. “Blake is so busy at these things. I’m just happy to have someone to talk to.”

  We belly up to the bar, and I order a double whiskey on the rocks for me and a glass of wine for Layla. Tossing a few dollars into the tip jar, we grab our drinks then scoot to a dark corner to watch the room slowly fill.

  It doesn’t take long before all the fighters are engaged in conversation, picture-taking, and autographs. Axelle joins us with a plate of mini appetizers. Then Eve, Trix, Gia, and a very pregnant Raven join us.

  Damn, what do these people do, just fuck non-stop?

  I nod to Raven’s round belly encased in a silky fabric. “You too, huh?”

  “Yeah.” She rubs her belly, smiling. “Took us long enough.” Sadness touches her mouth. I don’t know shit about pregnancy, but it doesn’t take a doctor to conclude Jonah and Raven may have had some unsuccessful pregnancies. And I’m not dick enough to ask.

  “Congratulations.” I sip from my drink. “Jonah must be stoked.”

  Layla grins into her wine glass. “Oh, he is. He won’t be outnumbered anymore. Now the teams are even.”

  Guess that means they’re having a boy.

  Good for them.

  “You got a name picked out?”

  Raven slides her hand over her belly and shrugs one delicate shoulder. “I like the name Carey.”

  “Carey?”

  I glance around the semi-circle of woman and notice them all actively engaged in studying the floor or ceiling. They’re also silent, and I’ve been around these women enough times to know that shit is about as rare as a priest in Vegas.

  I focus back on Jonah’s wife. “I thought you said you were having a boy?”

  Layla clears her throat, or was that a laugh?

  “We are. Carey’s a boy name.”

  “No. It’s not.”

  She tilts her head and glares at me, which is oddly scary. Isn’t there a saying about not pissing off a pregnant woman? “You’re just like the rest of them.” She jerks her head toward the room, but I’m assuming by them she means Jonah, my brother, and the like.

  “You’re gonna give your boy a complex by giving him a chick name, but hey . . .” I hold my drink up for an air-cheers before I take a sip. “She’s your son.”

  Eve snorts and then covers it up quickly with a cough.

  The women quickly forget I’m there and go on about pregnancy stuff. They compliment each other on their dresses, hair, shoes, and fuck me, who knew chicks were so damn nice to each other? I’m half considering busting free of the estrogen circle and getting some air, but there are worse things than being shielded by a circle of beautiful women. Like being circled by people with probing eyes and intrusive questions, which is exactly what will happen if I don’t stay right where I am.

  “. . . set him up with my friend from work.”

  “Oh, you mean the model? She’s gorgeous.”

  “What do you think, Brae?”

  I turn toward the calling of my name only to find six sets of female eyes on me. “What do I think about what?”

  Eve cocks her head to the side, which makes a lock of golden hair fall along her cheek. “About Trix’s friend.”

  I look at the girl with hot pink streaks in her white-blond hair. “Is she a stripper?” Not that it matters. I have no desire for women, at least, none that actually exist. My mind, heart, and dick are all still fixated on one girl that I’m starting to think may have been a figment of my imagination.

  How is it possible that a woman like AJ, so driven and dedicated to her job, would be there for less than a year? Maybe she got a better offer somewhere else or she was forced home to help her parents, in which case I’d never see her again. And as much as I’ve convinced my mind of that, it still won’t let her go.

  “No.” Layla leans in to whisper. “She works at the community center with Trix.”

  Feeling like a dick, I smile apologetically. “Sorry.”

  Trix doesn’t seem the least bit offended and goes on. “She’s so much fun. I can set you up, ya know, if you’re not already seeing anyone.”

  Layla and Axelle’s eyes both suddenly find the swirly fucking design on the carpet more interesting than it is.

  Gia leans against the wall to my right. “Maybe he’s not ready to date.”

  Eve gestures toward me with her cocktail. “Of course he’s ready. Look at him.”

  The redhead holds up a hand. “I’m not saying he’s not hot. I’m just saying maybe he’s not ready to dive into the dating pool.”

  “It wouldn’t have to be a date.” T
rix is smiling too big for my comfort. “You guys could just be friends.”

  Raven’s nodding. “That’s a good idea.”

  “Like he could just be friends with a woman who looks like Justice?” Eve shakes her head. “No way. I’m not gay, but I’d do her.” Raven clears her throat, and Eve glares at her friend. “It was a phase!”

  Raven smiles. “It was a long phase.”

  “Shut up.”

  Axelle looks at Trix. “I think Uncle Brae should call her up. Wouldn’t hurt to introduce himself.”

  “He’s not ready,” Layla says.

  “You know I’m standing here, right?” I scan all the women’s faces, and not one of them looks apologetic. “Fuck, it’s like having six sisters.”

  Trix blinks and smiles. “Yep, he’s totally ready.”

  Laughter rumbles up my throat and it feels so . . . off. When was the last time I laughed? “I’m getting another drink. Make sure to plan the rest of my life while I’m gone. I’ll get the update when I come back.”

  They giggle, but as soon as I exit the girl circle, I hear their conversation pick up right where it left off. Shit, at this rate, they’ll have me married off and have all my kids named before I get back.

  I step up to the crowd that’s gathered around the bar, but I keep my eyes forward to avoid being forced to make conversation with anyone.

  So far, this night hasn’t been half bad.

  The room is now packed, people mingling and drinking. I’m well on my way to a good buzz, not feeling as jittery as I did when we arrived. Dinner service should start soon, then Ataxia, and it’ll be easy for me to blend into the background for the rest of the night.

  ~*~

  AJ

  I did it!

  I fucking did it!

  I haven’t felt this good, this sense of accomplishment, since I was on the silks. There’s just no better feeling in the world than working hard for something and watching it pan out.

  In the back of my mind, the question as to why I haven’t felt that in so long whispers for an answer, and after thinking on it for a second, I shove it away. There’s a nagging feeling that I’ve disappointed myself, which is ridiculous, considering the room I’m standing in now.

  I’m surrounded by over two-hundred people who splurged on the five-hundred dollar tickets to be here tonight to support Injured Heroes. The UFL is here, and although I’ve seen a few of the fighters—they’re hard to miss with their superhuman size—from what I can tell, they’ve kept to their word and have been circulating the room. Cameron Kyle even donated three pairs of season tickets to the local fights this year to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Phenomenal.