by Vanessa Vale
I glanced to Gray. “Oh yeah? Why’s that? I’m the one that’s fighting.”
“Fighting? What the fuck are you talking about?”
I frowned. “Why the fuck are you here?” I asked back, kicking back the belligerent tone.
“Not for you, asshole.” He glanced up at the building, then back at me.
I looked to Gray again. This time he wasn’t just an observer. He came around to stand beside me. “You even think about my girl, and they won’t know where to find your body.”
After the shit that went down with Emory over the summer, Gray was protective as hell. No one would fuck with her. The last guy? I wasn’t exactly sure what happened to him, but I knew Quake Baker got involved. If an MC dealt with him, then he was dead and buried where no one could find. Still, Gray wasn’t going to let down his guard.
The driver, hell, both of them held up their hands in surrender. “We know who the fuck you are. You think we’d fuck with The Outlaw? We want nothing to do with your girl.”
“Then who?” Gray asked, his voice as cold and icy as the air.
“Dude, we’re outta here.” Jabba the Hut smacked his friend’s arm, and he took the hint. He put the car in gear and backed out fast enough to make the wheels squeal on the pavement.
“Catch the license plate?” he asked.
I nodded, watching the shitty sedan cut into traffic.
“They’re not here for Emory,” I said, keeping my eyes on the street, even though they were long gone. If they weren’t here for her, then why were they—
“No. But I’ll be more careful just the same. Might be time to call a friend.”
I figured the friend was Quake, and that was fine with me. That guy could get the details on the plate easier than going to the cops. Hell, the cops wouldn’t give us anything, but Quake would.
Those assholes were thugs, pure and simple. They scared people, shook them for money, made threats. I wasn’t scared of them. Neither was Gray. We just had to figure out what the fuck they wanted. Those two shits weren’t the boss. No way. They took orders. But who gave them and why?
15
REED
Harper: You’ll be proud of me.
I saw the text, and I grinned. The bar was crowded, the music so loud I felt it vibrate through the floor. I had no interest in the scene. I wasn’t drinking since I was training, and I wasn’t looking for pussy like the others were. I felt like an old man with the other fighters I was with. One was dancing with a curvy blonde, his hand riding low on her waist as she all but humped his thigh. Yeah, I wouldn’t be giving him a ride home tonight. Two others were seated beside me at a high top, but they were turned toward the dance floor, scoping out the women.
After the evening BJJ class, I was pulled into going to a bar and watching the fights, checking out the competition, then we’d gone onto another bar, then this one. It was late, after two. I felt like an old man, not used to the late hour. Shit, I was usually asleep by ten. Late night partying didn’t work with pre-dawn workouts.
I’d felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, and when I saw Harper’s text, I spun around, facing away from everyone.
Me: Oh yeah?
Harper: You’re awake. Thought you’d see this when you got up.
Me: No worries, princess. Why am I proud of you?
Harper: Some of my colleagues were talking about MMA, and I was able to keep up. I spoke their language.
Me: I thought they spoke English over there.
Harper: I meant MMA talk. I knew what an RNC is.
I laughed then, picturing her making the arm motions for the rear naked choke, one of the many submissions in the sport.
Me: And how do you know about all that?
Harper: I watched you on YouTube.
Me: Ten minutes. Call me.
Harper: Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were with someone. Sorry.
Me: Don’t be sorry. And I’m with the guys not someone. Call me in ten minutes, princess.
I stood then patted one of my friends on the shoulder and signaled I was leaving. I gave them both hand slaps—it was too loud to talk—and I bolted.
My apartment door closed behind me as my phone rang.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“I’m sorry to bother when you’re with--”
“Princess,” I said with a whole lot of frustration.
She sighed, and I heard it across the miles. “What are we doing?” she asked.
I toed off my shoes, shrugged out of my coat as I pressed my phone to my ear with my shoulder.
“Talking.”
I heard her sigh. “This is way more than talking.”
I had no intention of telling her about the guys in the parking lot. If they weren’t for her, it didn’t matter. If they were there for her, I didn’t want to freak her out when she was so far away. I wanted her to freak out with me right beside her.
“Want to have phone sex?” I asked, trying again although not overly serious. One of these days, I’d get her relaxed enough with me to say yes.
She paused. “No.”
I stilled just inside my bedroom doorway. “Do you mean that no?”
Another pause. “No. You said… you said I shouldn’t get off with some random guy.”
Her voice lacked the usual determination. I ran my hand through my hair, frustrated that she still didn’t get it. Fuck, someone did a number on her. I had to assume it was her brother or at least her brother to start. “I’m not a random guy, princess. We sexted last night. And, I said if you need to get off, I’m the one to help.”
She was quiet, and I didn’t fill the silence. I waited her out. “I thought about it,” she finally admitted. “With someone else, I mean. Considered it earlier. It was offered.”
I flicked on my bedside lamp, a soft glow filled the room.
Anger bubbled up. Sexting didn’t mean commitment, but she’d considered fucking an Englishman after what we’d done? “A random guy wanted a quick fuck with you?”
“Not so random but yes.”
“What did you decide?”
We weren’t anything. She could fuck anyone she wanted, and I had no right to get mad. It didn’t mean I had to like the idea. I didn’t even know the guy, and I wanted to beat the shit out of him because he held no value for her if all he wanted was a willing hole for his dick.
“And?” I asked, holding my breath.
“And I turned him down.”
Thank fuck. “Because…”
She was quiet for a bit. “Because sexting with you is better than a quick fuck with him.”
I couldn’t help but sigh as I dropped onto my bed. “Then you need to get off again?”
“You want me to hang up, so we can sex text?”
“Hell, no,” I countered. “I want to hear you.” Fuck, did I want to listen to the sound she made when she came.
I waited, the crackle of the line almost deafening as I did so.
“It feels impersonal,” she admitted.
“What? Phone sex? As compared to sexting? Or Larry?” It was harsh, but I wanted to know. Needed to know her mind on this.
“Maybe more so than if I’d fucked Larry.”
I growled, and I didn’t give a shit if she heard it. “This, between us, princess? It’s nothing like what you would’ve done with Larry or that English prick who wanted to use you to blow his load. What we share, it’s special. Sexting or whatever we do. I want to ask you to take off your clothes, to stand in front of your hotel mirror and look at your gorgeous body. I want you to describe to me what you’re seeing. The color of your nipples, the way they harden. I want you to tell me how wet you are, if your thighs are coated with your need. I want to hear how swollen your clit is then hear the moan you make when you touch it.”
She whimpered.
“All that?” I said, running a hand over my face. “It’s not impersonal because all the while, you’re going to wish it was my hands on you, my mouth.”
�
�This… this is special?”
Out of everything I said, that was what she asked after. “Fuck, princess.” I gripped my shirt at the back of my neck, tugged it over my head, let it drop to the floor. I leaned forward, put my elbows on my knees. Sat there in just my jeans.
“I ask because I’ve… I’ve never felt this way, and we’ve barely even seen each other. Talked. I just assumed this was what it was like for you with the others.”
Yeah, I’d had other women, but I wasn’t going to go there. I didn’t even want to think about any of them because the only face I saw in my mind was hers. “I didn’t want a relationship,” I admitted.
“I… I didn’t realize I was forcing you into one.” I heard the prim shift in her voice. I’d pushed a button of hers, and I’d lost some of the ground I’d made. She’d shared more than I’d imagined, and she was backtracking.
“Whoa, princess.” I put my hand out. “I said I didn’t want a relationship.”
“I heard you the first time,” she snapped. “You don’t have to repeat it.”
“Yeah, I do.” I sighed, cupped the back of my neck. “I do now.”
“Do now, what?”
I realized I wasn’t making much sense. “I want a relationship. Now. With you.”
Another pause. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. This—” I circled my finger in the air even though she couldn’t see me from the other side of the Atlantic. “—thing we have, it’s… fuck, it’s more, Harper. I fell fast. You’re hard to fight.”
“Why me?” she practically whispered. “We don’t run in the same circles. You were right.”
“About what? That I’m not good enough for you?”
“What? No.”
I slid back on my bed, leaned against the headboard.
“The arm patches. Remember when we were walking to pizza, you described what you thought an Art History professor looked like. The guy, the… Larry over here, he wore a jacket with arm patches yesterday.”
I could see it. Maybe even a pipe clenched between his teeth. Fuck him for his fucking quickie.
“I have a doctorate in medieval art, for god’s sake. I’m afraid of elevators, and I run to escape, but I don’t get anywhere. Why, why on earth would you want to be with me?”
I heard the confusion in her voice. She honestly believed—
I wanted to beat the shit out of every single person who made her doubt herself. That elbow patch prick would be the first for only validating that she was only worth enough of his time or attention to get off in some dark corner.
“First off, you’re too good for me. I have a GED I got in juvie. Barely. I’m not telling you about the shit I’ve done. Princess, I have a record. Jesus, baby, I fight for a living even though these days they’re in a ring, yeah? As for elevators, we can always take the stairs. And running? As long as you run to me, everything’s going to be just fine.”
She was quiet then, and I felt like shit.
“Princess, don’t cry.”
I heard her deep breath. “I’m not crying. I told you, I don’t cry.”
Except with me. She was crying, but I wasn’t going to argue. She was the strongest woman I knew, and I wasn’t going to think less of her if she shed a few tears. But she didn’t seem to know that yet.
“When are you coming home? I’m sick of talking to you on the phone, and maybe you’re right, we skip the phone sex. You come home, and I’ll get you beneath me. The real thing’s gonna be better anyway. It will be with me,” I added, just so she knew I was different, that we were different. “I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
“I left my car there.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“Princess,” I said with a warning tone. She was dodging.
“Soon,” she repeated then hung up.
Fuck.
16
HARPER
My tires were flat. I couldn’t miss it as I walked up to my car in the parking garage.
It was Christmas. While everyone else on the flight was upbeat and cheerful, headed to visit family, I knew I was returning to an empty apartment. No big holiday dinner. No mistletoe or stockings, no Norman Rockwell get-together. No, I came out of customs and didn’t find grandparents with glittered posters waiting for me. Instead, I found a special gift, my destroyed tires. Not just flat, but slashed. If that wasn’t a sign that Cam was out of jail, I didn’t know what was.
I should’ve spent the flight thinking about the conversation with Reed. I had no doubt he’d be really good at phone sex. Even better at the real thing. What he’d wanted me to do… it still made me hot.
But instead of thinking about his big hands on me, I’d thought about Cam, and rightly so. I’d had eight hours to watch movies and stew. He was out of prison, and I had no doubt he’d be visiting me soon enough. I just hadn’t expected him to slash my tires. I sighed, debating what to do about it.
“We’ve been waiting for you.”
I spun on my heel, my fingers slipping from the handle of my wheeled suitcase, and it fell to the ground in the airport long-term parking garage. The sound of metal on concrete echoed in the huge structure.
My heart leapt into my throat at the sight of the two men. I’d never seen them before, but I knew who they were. Who they worked for. They wore thick puffy coats and black caps, their breath coming out in puffs of white. They couldn’t be much older than me, much older than the two who’d tried to assault me in the elevator.
It was much colder here than in London, but I was sweating.
I glanced around, saw other people on the far side of the garage. A car went down the ramp behind me. It was early afternoon, so the space was well lit, well used, but still, they could harm me if they wanted. I took a step back. Then another. They were well out of reach, but with a line of cars at my back, they could easily grab me.
“You had to come home on Christmas, didn’t you? My mother’s going to kill me for being late for lunch.” The guy on the left glanced at his friend, who nodded his head in agreement.
“What do you want?”
“We don’t want anything.” The guy on the left added, narrowed his eyes. “We’re here to give you some advice.”
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Just stare into their eyes. Eyes that seemed to have no soul.
“There are cameras,” I blurted out, pointing toward the stairwell I’d come out of.
“We’re just having a conversation,” the same guy said, his hands out in front of him as if he wanted me to come in for a hug. Since I knew that wasn’t the case, it was to show anyone who wanted to play back the security films that he wasn’t armed, that he’d done nothing more than chat with me.
“I can scream. People will come.”
Both just smiled. “Here’s the advice, sweetheart. Then we’ll let you get on with your life. Give Cam what he wants. Otherwise, the elevator? You won’t get away next time.” With that, they started to walk away, then the talker turned back. “Oh, your new place? The building looks nice.”
I remained where I was, watched them as they walked down the long line of cars and into the stairwell. My heart hammered, and my adrenaline made me shudder. Fuck.
Cam. This all came down to Cam. He was out of jail, and they still wanted something from him. They wanted money. And Cam’s money had gone to me. I had what they wanted. If I didn’t give them the money, Cam would probably be dead. So would I. And so would those in my building. They knew where I lived. They’d been there. Bile rose in my throat at the idea of them watching for me, seeing the others. God, they wouldn’t hesitate to hurt Reed or Gray or Emory.
A car drove by, startled me into motion. I picked up my suitcase, speed walked for the stairwell—the one on the far side of the garage opposite of where the men had gone—and went back out to the passenger pick-up area. I didn’t give a shit about my car. It was possible I’d have to sell it after this, not sure if I’d ever think the vehicle reliable or safe ever again.
&n
bsp; There were lots of people around, airport security just down toward the end of the terminal. I could scream and people would come running. But I couldn’t. No one would believe anything I said, and besides, it wasn’t like the police could do more than take a report. Slashed tires weren’t getting anyone arrested, and neither guy had done anything illegal. Scaring me wasn’t illegal. It wasn’t as if I could identify either of them. Even if there was security footage, it wouldn’t matter.
Slashed tires weren’t going to put Cam back in jail or keep those guys from getting to me somewhere else. They knew about my apartment, but from what they’d said, hadn’t gotten in. If the one guy’s mother had any sway, her son wouldn’t be out scaring women for the rest of the day; he’d be too busy drinking eggnog and eating turkey. I had to think I’d be safe in my apartment, or maybe I should just get the next flight back to Heathrow.
My heart rate hadn’t calmed. I looked around, frantic and eager travelers swirling around. Families with small children, businessmen heading home. Home. I barely had a home. I hadn’t unpacked, perhaps subconsciously waiting for something like this to happen, to remind myself I wasn’t staying, that I’d never be able to settle.
With fumbling fingers, I ordered a car, waited.
I was numb. I didn’t feel the cold wind. I felt nothing. I was good at that. I’d had plenty of time to perfect taking my emotions and sticking them in a locked box, tossing away the key.
I looked around. I was surrounded by people, but I was so fucking alone. I had no one. My parents chose Cam. I had my friends, but I couldn’t pull them into this. And I wouldn’t call them on Christmas. I had Reed. Did I? My heart beat faster at the thought of him but realized I couldn’t have him. No way.
Not with these men after me. If they knew I was into Reed, if they saw us together, they’d hurt him. Use him to get to me. And these were just the damn thugs. God, if Cam found out about Reed? He was desperate. What was he going to do now that he was free? If he knew about Reed, I felt nauseated at the thought. Cam would be ruthless and cruel, just like always.
