“I’m gonna give her the chance now. I do this shit, I’m not backing off. I’m staying for-fucking-ever. As whatever she wants, I’m staying.”
Hamilton’s jaw went hard. “I’m paying for a service. It doesn’t include—”
“Pay for the service then, but I’m not taking any of your money. I’m gonna handle this shit right now. The money’ll go to the club, everyone except me. I don’t take money for bribes. All those years ago, you tried to pay me off. That’s what you’re trying to do now. The reason why you came directly to me, another one of your bullshit bargains, so if I try shit with her, you can tell her you paid me to handle her shit.”
He shook his head. “Not gonna happen. Back then, I was young and in a shit position, but I paid you back for everything I owed you. Now, I’m not taking your money.”
He took another step in his direction, getting in his face. “I’ve made my intentions clear, so fuck you, and fuck off. You wanna talk money, talk to Prez. I gotta flight to catch.”
****
Cuss punched the bastard in the face. His fist struck his nose, more blood spattered. He kicked him in the stomach.
The idiot groaned.
He’d been at this for a while. As soon as he talked to Hamilton, he told Prez to talk money with him then recruited two of his brothers, Mellow and Bud, to make the trip with him. They headed to the airport and hopped on a flight. By the time they arrived, he had a text message from Prez with details, the name and location of Tiffany’s admirer whom they’d aptly named Asshole.
Cuss, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, asked again, “You gonna leave my girl alone?”
Instead of answering, Asshole, lying sprawled on his apartment floor, groaned. The idiot was too stupid even after an hour long beating to realize Cuss could and would go on forever.
He kicked him again, this time hitting him in the balls. A pussy move, but he didn’t care at this point. He’d wasted too much time on this prick.
Asshole screamed. His hands cupped his balls as blood spurted out of his nose, staining more of his expensive white carpet.
Cuss had only seen the kitchen and living room since the apartment was open concept. But from the sheer size of the room, the top of the line appliances, and dark wood furniture, not to mention, the asshole lived on the top floor, the penthouse, in a high rise in Downtown LA, he knew the guy came from money. Cuss did not give one fuck. The prick fucked with his girl, and no one fucked with his girl.
He smirked. “I asked you a question. You wanna use your dick in the future, I suggest you answer me ’cause I’m getting tired. I wanna see my girl. Means up next, I’m cutting off your dick.”
“Yeah…yeah…plllleaasssse, don’t…”
“Yeah, what?” He punched him again, right on the nose. Cuss had probably broken it several times over and doubted even surgery would fix what he damaged.
Asshole cupped his face, a stupid and futile attempt to stop the blood pouring out. “I’ll leave her aloneeee…”
He quirked a brow. “Who?”
“Tiffannnyyyy…”
He kicked him again as hard as he could. “Thought you knew better than to say her name. Thought we’d learned this already? Guess I’m gonna have to rough you up some more.”
“Noooo…. God. Pleasseeeee.” He moaned.
Hovering over him, he grabbed him by the front of his bloodied shirt, dragging him until Asshole sat. He squatted in front of him, inches from his face. “Gonna tell you one last time. Tiff is my girl. Always will be my girl ’cause she’s always been my girl. You do not fuck with my girl. You do not say my girl’s name. You do not even think about my girl ’cause she’s mine. I hear any different, you will be ten feet under. I do not make empty threats. You fuck with my girl whether or not you think she’s my girl, and you will pay. By pay, I mean you’re swimming with fishes.” He cocked his head. “Get me?”
Asshole nodded.
He punched him one last time. The impact launched the prick onto his back. Then Cuss strode out of the fancy ass apartment, plucked his phone out of his pocket, and dialed Mellow.
“My girl, where she at?”
“Apartment across from hers, looks like they’re havin’ drinks or some shit.”
He smirked then hung up, thrilled with the thought that in a half hour at most, he’d be staring into his girl’s piercing green eyes.
Chapter Two
“These finals are going to kill me.”
Tiffany smiled, tucked her feet under her, and spared Donna a glance. The tall brunette with shoulder length hair, a straight “A” student, could be melodramatic.
“Sure.” Marianne rolled her eyes, pushed her long, flaming red hair behind her, and then took a sip of wine.
Donna, sitting on the blue couch beside Tiffany, leaned forward. “I’m serious. I’m going to fail at least two.”
The last time they heard this was during midterms. Donna passed with A’s. Tiffany exchanged a look with Marianne, sitting on an armchair across from her and Donna, then they burst into a fit of giggles. The alcohol partly to blame. Each of them was on their second glass.
Donna’s brows furrowed, her shoulders slumped. “I’m serious.”
They laughed harder. Marianne recovered first. “You’re already valedictorian of our class, what more do you want?”
Donna rolled her eyes.
Tiffany looked between the two, and not for the first time realized how much she’d miss them after graduation.
She met them her freshman year at UCLA, close to four long years ago. Marianne, like her, was a double major though Marianne studied English and journalism. Donna, a biology major with plans to go to medical school, had already been accepted. Whether they studied the same major didn’t matter much.
They lived in the same apartment building during those four years, just across the hall from each other, got to know one another, and shared the belief school came before parties, booze, and boys. Naturally, they clicked. Not that they didn’t party every now and then. They’d been to frat parties, bars, and clubs, experienced Los Angeles for all it was worth, but it wasn’t their focus. They drove to campus together, stayed at the library studying past hours together, attended football games together, and shopped together. Even Sundays, the day they’d aptly named, “the day for relaxation,” they spent together.
She confided in Marianne and Donna when she decided to break up with her last and only “real” boyfriend, Mark. They knew, too, how terrified she was about her stalker.
Looking at them then, sitting on the blue couch in Marianne and Donna’s apartment, a couch they’d sat on, talked, gossiped about celebrities they did not know, and spilled numerous drinks on, in an apartment much like hers, but smaller, it hit her. She had two weeks left with them, two weeks left of this life she grew to love. Sure, they’d keep in touch, call, email, and text as much as they could, but they’d part ways. Donna would attend the University of Miami’s Miller School of Medicine in Florida. Marianne would head off to a small town in Oklahoma for her very first broadcast reporting job, and she’d go home to Wadden where she’d hopefully get a job in education.
Tiffany spent the last several years double majoring in business and early childhood education. The former she studied for her father. The latter for herself. She always knew what she wanted to do. Now, after close to four years of dull business classes, she couldn’t see herself submersed in the field, reaffirming she wanted to do what she’d always dreamed of doing. Four years hadn’t changed it.
“You’re thinking about him,” Donna whispered.
She drew her gaze away from the television, now off, and released a breath. “The stalker, no. I was—”
“Not him.” Donna shook her head. “Him, your boy from back home.”
Her boy from back home, Thomas. They knew about Thomas, too, knew the whole story. Her best friends knew she got one look at him the first day of her freshman year of high school and fell, hard and fast. They knew even when her parents allowe
d her to date, he never asked her, knew her first date went very bad, very quick, and he’d been the one to save her, but it landed him in jail. They knew a few years later, he saved her, again. They knew he never wanted anything from her, not a relationship, not even friendship. He saved her twice, but every chance he had, he pushed her away.
Marianne and Donna also knew Thomas was partly the reason she broke up with Mark. Mark Cooper, her first “real” boyfriend, was an amazing man, handsome, kind, loyal, from a good family, and her parents loved him, but something had been missing. That something, the flutter of butterflies in her stomach, the rush of adrenaline whenever he neared—what she felt with Thomas.
Both Marianne and Donna warned her that flutter was the adolescent sign of puppy love or a crush, and that it didn’t last. They claimed she felt it with Thomas for so long because she never had Thomas and advised her against breaking up with Mark. In the end, she had, knowing deep down, something wasn’t right, wasn’t what it should be. Maybe it was her own fault. She never gave Mark her heart. She couldn’t give her heart to a man when she’d given it to another and never got it back.
“I wasn’t. I was—”
Marianne lifted a brow. “Know the look when you are, and you totally were.”
Damn. Even after all this time?
They were right. She’d been thinking of going home, and for a split second, his face came to mind. He had a beautiful face. Not just face, everything. He was beautiful. Tall, built, strong, his hair so dark, it looked midnight blue. A square-jaw, thick dark brows, eyes round and big and a captivating sapphire blue in color. His eyes killed her, so hard to tear her gaze from them.
She shrugged and half lied. “I wasn’t. I was thinking about how much I’m going to miss you guys after graduation.”
Donna smiled. “We’re going to miss you too, but we’ll keep in touch.”
Marianne smirked then looked at Donna. “When are the guys headed over?”
Her eyes widened. One arm shot toward the back of the couch, she straightened. “Guys? What guys? I thought this was a girls’ night.”
“We invited Josh, Chris, and…” Donna looked away from her and toward Marianne for a split second before she admitted, “Mark.”
Her jaw dropped. No, not Mark!
Josh and Chris were friends of theirs whom they met through Mark. While she dated Mark, they often hung out together. After the break-up, four months prior, they’d remained friends. They hung out still with the exception of Mark. He’d been hurt when she ended their relationship, and despite wanting to remain friends, she knew it had been difficult for him to be around her just as friends.
“Mark? I can’t believe… Why would you guys? You know he still has feelings for me.”
“Yeah, that’s why we invited him. Maybe, you’ll finally realize you need to get over Thomas, the hot biker, and move on. Mark is perfect.”
“You guys know why that’s all kinds of wrong, right?” She looked between the two. From their expressions, she knew they didn’t.
When neither one of them responded, she bit the side of her lip. “Okay, well, I’ll point out the obvious. We dated for close to two years. If during that time I didn’t fall for him, nothing’s going to change now.”
“You were young and stupid.” Marianne took a sip of her wine.
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”
Donna, sitting beside her, grasped her hand and squeezed it. “Listen, we’re both thinking about what’s best for you. It’s been more than seven years. From the stories you’ve told us, he’s not interested, has never been. He sees you like a girl. To him, you’ll always be that.”
Shit. She knew it was true. Thomas never saw her as anything but a girl, one he saved twice, but it hurt to hear it said aloud.
Donna gave her a soft smile. “Besides, you barely know him.”
Also true. In high school, Tiffany knew of Thomas, saw him every day from a distance, but she didn’t officially meet him until the night he stepped in and saved her. After that, he made it clear he didn’t want to be friends. She couldn’t blame him. It was her fault he ended up in jail.
Her senior year of high school, she’d been on her way to meet her then boyfriend’s parents when her tire blew out. She had to call a tow truck and instructed the driver to take her to the nearest garage. Her luck, Thomas worked there. That day, he changed her tire, free of charge, despite her insisting she pay. Just as she was about to drive off, she lowered her window to say goodbye. Resting his weight on his elbows, he leaned in and said, “My number’s in your glove compartment. You ever need anything, you call me, ‘kay?”
She called once. Her freshman year of college during Christmas break, she went to a house party with a few of her high school friends and got too drunk. She refused to call her parents, her friends, with the exception of one, were with her, and she couldn’t call that one friend that wasn’t, primarily because that friend, Tina, had a daughter. She had bigger problems, didn’t have time to bail her out. Tiffany had no one else and so, she called him that one time, then never again. That night, he made it clear, he hadn’t meant what he said, hadn’t wanted her to contact him if she was ever in trouble.
Three interactions. That was it, three, and none of them were good.
“It’s about time you get over Thomas and move on.”
Yes, definitely. Still, she couldn’t see herself moving on with Mark. Even though she’d never loved him the way she should’ve, she loved him as a person, as a friend, and as a man. He’d been hurt when she broke up with him. She couldn’t stand the thought of hurting him again.
“I know.” She cleared her throat. “I know it’s time, and I love Mark but not that way. It’s a bad idea to encourage him. I can’t hurt him again.”
They nodded but didn’t look convinced.
The doorbell rang. Her stomach hollowed out. Marianne hopped off the chair and headed for the door.
“Wait.” She leaned forward, set her wine glass on the cherry wood coffee table in front of her. “What if it’s my stalker?”
Marianne pulled a can of pepper spray from her back pocket and smirked. “Got it covered.”
She burst out laughing then leaned back on the couch. Her friends were the best, really.
“It’s them!” Marianne shouted.
A moment later, Josh, Chris, and Mark strode into the living room with a twelve pack of beer. Mark’s dark gaze met hers and softened. He smiled and settled beside her in a recliner. Josh took a seat on an ottoman beside Marianne’s armchair, and Chris sat on the floor, his back leaning against the wall, next to the bookshelf beside the television, legs stretched out in front of him.
Mark grabbed a beer, uncapped the top, and took a sip. “How you been?”
“Good. You?”
He shrugged. “Finals are going to kick my ass.”
Donna stilled. Tiffany turned her head and saw her eyes narrow. “That’s because you’re a procrastinator, and don’t study until the day before.”
He grinned, not denying it true. Mark never studied. Still, he managed to get straight A’s. Come spring, he would attend Harvard Law.
Her gaze flew toward the wall beside the TV, two bookshelves stood there with numerous textbooks. In front of them, countless frames with pictures, pictures of all of them including Mark, but mostly of Donna, Marianne, and her.
A knock sounded on the door. She exchanged a look with Marianne and Donna. Her stomach rolled.
Josh uncapped a beer. “Who else’s invited?”
“No one.”
Her stalker. No doubt. He followed her everywhere, knocked on her door in the middle of the night, broke into her apartment. He did everything and anything he could to terrify her.
She stood. “I’ll get it.”
Donna grabbed her hand, stopping her. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
“I’ll get it.” Marianne smiled. “I’m the one with the weapon.” She then stood and headed out of sight.
Mark looked to her.
“Weapon?”
He didn’t know about her stalker. The only people who knew the whole story were Marianne and Donna. Not even the cops knew everything. She mentioned something to her mother and father, but they didn’t know the extent of it, not even close. Stupid maybe, but she didn’t want to worry them. Besides, she would graduate in two weeks, be home for good, and free of her stalker.
To avoid the question, she shrugged.
“Oh, shit,” Marianne said, sounding shocked.
Great. Her stalker. Tiffany went to stand then stilled when a figure appeared at the threshold into the living room, and a set of piercing sapphire eyes snared her.
Those eyes… Those eyes she could never forget. How she thought she could for a split second, she had no clue.
As she thought this, she had no doubt the alcohol had gone straight to her head. No way was she seeing what she was. She blinked repeatedly and quickly then grabbed the arm of the couch, her fingers gripping tightly.
He didn’t fade.
He was there.
Thomas stood, tall and wide, taking up the entire entry way. Bigger, broader than she remembered, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a black shirt that stretched across his muscled chest. His midnight black hair shaved on the sides and back and tousled on top. That was different since the last time she’d seen him, but not the only thing. The tattoo on his right shoulder and the top of his arm now covered the length of it, all the way to his wrist.
Still so handsome, still so Thomas.
One look and a rush of raw emotions flooded her. Insane. It was like they’d never faded. Her pulse raced, her mind scrambled, her heart clenched.
Donna gasped. “Shit.”
Chris set his beer on the floor and tensed, something she caught from the corner of her eye. “Who’s he?”
Thomas ignored them. His beautiful big, sapphire eyes deadlocked on hers. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Tiff.”
“You know him?” Josh asked sounding abashed. She didn’t know if he looked it since her gaze stayed glued to Thomas.
Her breaths shallow, she nodded.
Running Hot (Hell Ryders MC Book 2) Page 2
