Worth the Fight (Another Falls Creek Romance Book 1)

by SF Benson

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” he says.

  “Then why are ya angry?”

  “I’m not angry. Shocked might be a better word for it. Not too long ago you were telling me you weren’t strong. Then you go and single-handedly take out three men.”

  Point taken.

  I clear my throat. “But I warned ya that I was a monster.”

  “No. Never a monster. You are a force, and I pray I never do anything to get on the wrong side of it.”

  Unfortunately, I can’t make promises. Monsters act on their own. Time to change the subject. “Tell me what is this PFC Elroy mentioned?”

  Hank scrubs a hand over his face and exhales loudly. “The letters stand for Paranormal Fight Club. It’s an underground group of fighters run by Damien Duchamp.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “Duchamp tried organizing a club in Falls Creek about a year ago,” Hank clarifies. “We ran his ass out of town.”

  “That must have been when Elijah met him,” I ponder.

  “Possibly,” Hank mutters.

  “What did Elroy mean by a one-way ticket?”

  Hank steers the car toward an exit. “My worst fear, Angel. The only way out of the PFC is by death. Either kill or be killed. If you’ve been targeted, then your only way out is in a body bag.”

  Chapter 12

  Hank

  Needing a fucking moment to calculate some sort of plan, I pull off in Cave City, Kentucky for gas. How the hell am I going to get my brother out of this damned mess? If Sheila had been straight with me when she first called, this could have been easier. Knowledge of Tyson’s debts would have altered my plans. I would have left my shit behind and caught the first flight to New Orleans. Driving there like a couple of damned tourists is taking too long.

  Correction. If you’d been a better brother, he would have come to you concerning his debts.

  Nothing cuts a man, human or otherwise, like the truth. My own stubbornness created some of this shit. A couple of years ago, Tyson came up to Falls Creek to apologize. He just started his MMA career and had a fight outside of New York City. I told him to kiss my ass.

  Truth is my brother did a despicable thing to me. I never could see a way to forgive him, but our father kept reminding me that Tyson’s still family. After Jenn’s death, he’s the only sibling I have left. I swore to my old man—blood before booze, bitches, and battles—I’d take care of Tyson. Eventually. Never did I think taking care of him would mean bailing his ass out of a life-or-death situation though.

  The PFC, a supernatural version of gladiator tournaments, is something I’d rather not face. Anything goes with the fighters. Combatants are only as good as their last battle. Duchamp holds the strings to his puppets. If he gets word that someone is to die in the ring, he’ll set it up so that it happens. The loser always dies.

  I shake the fatalistic thoughts from my mind and try to focus on the surroundings. The remote place isn’t somewhere I want to spend too much time in. The gas pump clicks, letting me know the tank’s full. I shove the nozzle back into its holder and replace the cap.

  We’ve got another nine hours of driving before we reach New Orleans. I stretch my arms overhead and yawn. What the fuck was I thinking making this trip by car? I should ditch the vehicle in the first big city and grab a couple of plane tickets.

  “Hank?” Edwina’s voice comes up behind me.

  I jump. There’s an unwelcome edge to my voice when I speak. “Damn, Angel. Make some noise when you’re approaching a cat in the dark.”

  She lifts an eyebrow, folds her arms over her breasts, and purses her lips. Vamp gives me a voice full of attitude. “I could say the same thing about ya.”

  Time to throw some ice on the situation before her fangs make an appearance.

  “I assure ya it’s too late for that,” she adds. The gas station’s lights bounce off her points.

  “I’m sorry, Angel.” I soften my voice and hold out my arms. “It’s just my mind—”

  “Is on Tyson. I understand.” Edwina’s posture relaxes, but she doesn’t come any closer. “Ya need to call Sheila. Ya phone’s been blowing up. That’s why I came out here.” She hands me my device.

  “Thanks.” I unlock the phone and check for voicemail. Seeing none, I dial Sheila’s digits.

  She picks up on the first ring. Her attitude reaches across the ether. “Hank, where are you?”

  “Kentucky.”

  “What the hell? I know what we did was shitty, but come on, this is your brother,” she yells.

  Listening to her makes me wonder what I ever saw in her. I blow out a breath. This isn’t about me or Sheila though.

  “I’m on my way,” I growl. “Have you heard from Tyson?”

  “No,” she says flatly.

  Since I have her on the phone, I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me about his gambling debts?”

  The words tumble from her mouth. “If I’d led with that, would you be on your way here?”

  “You still should’ve told me, Sheila.” To be honest, I don’t know what I would have done. Maybe I would have tried to settle his debts before leaving Falls Creek. Who the fuck knows? Only thing I do know is I sure as hell wouldn’t be standing in the middle of nowhere. “Sheila, I need you to take my nephew and go some place safe. You shouldn’t be alone.”

  “What’s happening, Hank? You’re scaring me.”

  I don’t want to worry her, but she deserves to know this shit is serious. “Sheila, do you remember Jackson Ryder?”

  “Of course, I do. He was married to your sister.”

  “Well, Elijah Ryder is now chief of police in Falls Creek and he wants revenge. Tyson’s gambling debts gave Ryder a golden opportunity. My brother will be fighting with the PFC.”

  “No, no, no, no.” She exhales. “Tyson wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t want to mess up his chance with the AFC.”

  “Trust me, Sheila, he did. I don’t think Tyson had any idea how dirty Ryder plays.”

  “Say no more.” Her voice trembles. “I’ll pack a bag for Michael right now. As soon as we find a safe spot, I’ll text you.”

  Thank the gods it didn’t take too long for her to understand the urgency of the matter. “Don’t. I’ll find you. Just go. Be safe.”

  Sheila ends the call without saying goodbye or even a thank you for the heads up. Deep down my beast flexes his paws. Should I be concerned?

  “You should be. Sheila lied about everything.”

  I glance up from the screen. Edwina’s staring me down. Worry must be on my face.

  “Sheila said she didn’t know about Tyson’s gambling debts,” I correct. “Wait. How would you know?”

  Edwina’s eyebrow lifts. “I heard the lie in her voice. Making matters worse, she knows about the PFC.”

  I lean against the car. “You picked up all that through a phone call?”

  “Why do ya think I was the best hunter the BlackGuard had? I’ve learned to pick up on the little nuances of a person’s speech.” She pauses for a moment as if she wants the words to sink in. “The question ya should be asking yaself is how well Sheila knew Jackson.”

  “What?” I rub the back of my neck. “Everyone knew Jackson.”

  “Get in the car, Hank,” Edwina directs. “I need to drive for a while before the sun comes up.”

  After a few miles, Edwina says, “Let’s start at the beginning. Sheila was dating ya brother while she was married to ya. How many years were ya together?”

  “Nine.”

  “Do ya honestly believe Tyson was the only one she cheated on ya with?”

  A deep growl comes from me. I’m not liking where Edwina’s going with her train of thought.

  “Sorry to break it to ya, Hank. Everyone in Falls Creek knew Sheila was a loose cat.” She glances over at me. “I’m not trying to hurt ya feelings. Just stating facts.”

  Part of me wants a fight. A chance to deny Edwina’s words, but they back up w
hat Agnes told me. “What do you know?”

  “A great deal.” Edwina’s eyes narrow, giving me a silent warning. “When we met, I asked around about ya. I didn’t meet one person not willing to share dirt about Sheila. I hate to tell ya, but there was a long line of cats before and after ya.”

  I clench my jaw and ball my hands. “You need to stop, Edwina.”

  Of course, she doesn’t.

  “No. Ya need to hear this. Remember our deal? We both face our pasts and move on.”

  Edwina would go there. Slowly, I let my hands relax. “Continue.”

  “I’m guessing here, but I think she knew Jackson intimately. Something tells me she knows Duchamp, too.”

  “Once a cheater…” I let the words trail off, not wanting to speak the truth.

  “Exactly,” Edwina says. “Elroy said Ryder set Tyson up. How do ya know Sheila didn’t have a hand in it?”

  “We don’t.” I slouch down in my seat. Truth hurts like a mother fucking punch in the gut. I wonder if Tyson ever suspected Sheila of cheating?

  None of what Edwina’s told me should be news. Hell, everywhere I went someone was telling me about Sheila. Other males said she was no better than the feral cats traipsing through the alley, but I wouldn’t accept it. Sheila was my first love. If she hadn’t given Tyson a kit, I wonder if they’d still be together.

  “Hank?” Edwina’s voice rocks my thoughts.

  “Yeah? What else you got, Angel?”

  She reaches across the gearshift and rests her hand on my thigh. I pat her hand. We’re good. Her words don’t threaten what’s between us.

  “Ya told Sheila what she, or maybe Duchamp, needed to know.” When I don’t speak, she adds. “Our travel plans, Hank. Ya let them know where we’re at. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out how long it should be before we get to N’awlins. Remember, she knows ya coming by car.”

  Fuck! My brain explodes with fury while my claws threaten to poke through my skin. What the hell was I thinking?

  You were thinking of Edwina.

  Slamming my fist into the dashboard, I explode. “What the hell do I do now? I’m a fucking cop! I should know better.”

  Edwina’s voice comes across with more kindness than I deserve. “Ya need some sleep. Possibly some food first. We’re less than two hours outside of Nashville. We’ll stop and let ya eat.”

  “That’s not much of a plan,” I tell her.

  “Ya didn’t let me finish,” she snaps. “Ya brought ya laptop. We’ll look up the PFC.”

  Okay, okay. We’re back on track. I push myself upright in the seat. “We can find out if there are any bouts coming up.”

  “Now ya thinking, Hank.” Her red-stained lips curl up. “If we’re lucky, we’ll learn who’s fighting. I’ll touch base with Kragen. He might have an idea where Duchamp holds his fights. If we’re going to shut the PFC down for good, we’re going to need backup from the BlackGuard.”

  Man, I love this female’s way of thinking. I knew she had the heart of a warrior locked inside. She just needed me to help her reconnect with it. Ain’t no turning back for Angel. I’d rather see this side of her than the fragile one threatening to drag her into darkness.

  Careful, cat. You’re falling for someone who might not feel the same way.

  It may be a little too late for that. I curl up on my side, the best I can in the bucket seat, and shut my eyes.

  Chapter 13

  Edwina

  Nashville. Cashville. Music City. It doesn’t matter what you call it, Tennessee’s capital is still the nation’s home to country music. I don’t care how the genre may have changed over the years. The twangy beat and yarn-filled lyrics set my fangs on edge. Last time I was in the city, Elvis was popular and coloreds rode in the back of the bus. Can’t say I miss either one.

  I pull Hank’s Camaro into the parking lot of a Comfort Inn off Demonbreun Street. My lips curl up, unbidden, at the name—seems like a perfect street for a couple of supernaturals. I’m happy to discover a clean room and complimentary Wi-Fi. That’s all I care about.

  Well…almost.

  A cloud of steam surrounds Hank as he steps out of the bathroom. His chiseled physique glistening with beads of water draws me in. It urges me to do things other than our real reason for being here. Things better suited for motel rooms. Such a magnificent being—bulky powerful muscles, chocolate-brown skin, and oh…such a lengthy, perfectly shaped cock. The raw power of my attraction to him has me gripping the chair edge. My mouth wants to do things to his body…

  Stop!

  “Angel, you find anything?” Hank leans against the doorframe. The look on his handsome face is anything but innocent.

  He could at least use a towel.

  Pushing away from the desk, I go over to the window. We need to take care of business, and then I plan on taking advantage of the king-sized bed. Riding his beast until it roars.

  “A few possibilities you should look at while I call Kragen.”

  Hank sits down in my vacated seat. My gaze lands on his crotch, and it’s a struggle for me to tear my eyes away. His eyes lift, mischief shining in them, and a deep rumble comes from him. “Don’t worry, Angel. I’m as hungry as you are. Maybe more.”

  My heart skips a beat or two. “As soon as I finish with Kragen, I’m satisfying our cravings.” Scrolling through my phone, I locate his number. My former coven leader picks up on the first ring.

  “I was wondering when I’d hear from ya,” Kragen drawls. His distinct, Southern accent—much worse than my own—accosts my ear. “When will ya arrive?”

  “Possibly late tomorrow. I’ll come see ya when we do.”

  Silence overtakes the distance between us. I guarantee Kragen is deciphering the reason for my call.

  “What is it ya want, Edwina?” he asks finally.

  This vampire’s knowledge of me runs a little too deep for comfort. He’s fully aware that it’s unlike me to reach out to anyone. Over the centuries, I’ve learned to rely only on myself to get things done. Part of it is due to my place in this world. It’s not like vampires have a network of friends wishing to help out at the first sniff of crimson. The other half? Simply answering the need my spirit has for solitude. In my corner of the world, being alone is easier than dealing with prejudice and scrutiny. Venturing beyond my reclusion is a definitive indicator that I need help—usually for something I can’t do on my own.

  “Edwina?”

  Kragen’s voice drags me from my thoughts. “Sorry. I need to find Damien Duchamp.”

  “What d’ya want with dat ass?” Anger flames in Kragen’s words.

  “Trust me. It isn’t my choice. Duchamp is running a fight club in N’awlins.” I glance at Hank before saying anything else. He nods, giving me permission to say more. “Duchamp uses it to disguise killing other supernaturals.”

  “Not good, cher.”

  “F’sure.”

  “I’ll contact Morgan. See what the BlackGuard might know,” he offers.

  Morgan, great-granddaughter of Morgan Le Fay, runs the BlackGuard Society along with her partner, Ace, alpha of a local wolf pack. I knew the legendary sorceress as well as Morgan’s mother, Deianira Vladislav, a powerful sorceress in her own right.

  “I’d hoped ya call her. Let Morgan know I’m willing to meet with her, too.”

  “Just a warning, dawlin’,” Kragen starts.

  “What?” I steel my spine and wait for the bad news I know Kragen is about to deliver.

  “Ya need ta pass by Cash Martin’s place, too. He’s in town. Has a shop down in the Vieux Carre. Ashmedai has been in touch with me. He wants ya to make introductions between Martin and the BlackGuard.”

  Fucking great!

  Why would the King of Hell put me on the spot like this? I was really hoping to avoid Cash. Facing my demons was not on my agenda despite what I told Hank. I simply can’t deal with the sexy incubus. It’s too soon. Maybe in a year or two…

  Unfortunately, no one turns down Ashmedai. I gu
ess it’s time to put my big girl panties on and handle my business. “I’ll make it happen. Just do me a favor and find out what ya can about Duchamp. Tyson Richards is one of his fighters.”

  Kragen’s voice takes on a dark tone. “We should definitely talk, Edwina. There are things ya should know before ya get ya self too deep.”

  The coven leader’s thoughts slowly unravel, like someone releasing a rusty lock, and I can hear him thinking. He knows about Elijah Ryder and his vendetta against Hank.

  “Ya don’t have to warn me about Elijah.” Hank’s head rocks over to me. “I know about his involvement. Besides, I have Tyson’s brother with me. I’ll be fine.”

  “And I knew all of dat. Ya know, news travels fast even from New York.” He pauses. “Well, then, I don’t need ta tell ya ta be careful. Elijah Ryder has it out for ya new pet. He ain’t gonna stop till he takes out the cat.”

  Hank reaches for my hand, and I move to his side, allowing our fingers to intertwine while appreciating the strength surging through them. “We’re aware and will accept any help ya give us.”

  Ending the call, I face Hank. “Ya listened?”

  “Yeah. I’m glad Kragen can help us. You shouldn’t have to pay the price, Angel.”

  Hank’s eyes lock with mine, and I realize he knows what I’m expected to do. Who I must see. “I can handle it.”

  “Angel, I don’t want to see you slip again. You’ve regained some of your strength, but it’s only been a short time. Seeing the incubus alone is a bad idea. I’ll go with you when it’s time.”

  I open my mouth to respond and think twice about it. Hank’s right. Seeing Cash by myself isn’t a smart move. Like I said, vampires feel intensely. I don’t want to go down that road again. It’s taken a lot to heal my heart.

  I take my hand back and go over to the bed. Vampires don’t sleep, but I could use a few hours of rest. Well, after I’ve had a little fun.

  “Did ya learn anything useful on the internet?”

  Hank comes and sits beside me. “About the PFC?”

  I nod.

  “There’s a fight in a couple of days. Social media is buzzing about some were-lion from South Africa. An undefeated cat named Zhakarov.”