Brawler

by K. S. Adkins

  The first several minutes is pretty much shop talk. Smart people speak a language I’m not familiar with, so I tune out as much as possible. Yes it bothers me he not only understands her but keeps her engaged, but what bothers me most is that I’ll never be on her level when it comes to brains.

  Just when I think they couldn’t get any smarter he changes the subject and I listen harder. “So you and the cop? How’s that working out?” he asks her.

  “Great, actually,” she says. “I’m living with him now.”

  “Is that right?” he says. “A little soon, don’t you think?”

  “Not at all. We’ve been dancing around each other for months and the opportunity presented itself to be closer to him, so I took it,” she says with a smile in her voice, and I like that a lot.

  “I see,” he says. “I suppose that explains why you’re hardly here anymore.”

  “Ben,” she says sadly. “Whether or not you’re truly happy for me matters little. You and I are friends, nothing more, but I feel like the reason you aren’t happy for me is because I’m helping you less. Because, Ben, my research is still being completed; yours isn’t.”

  “Wow,” he says, and I can hear his stool moving back. “That’s what you think? That I couldn’t possibly want you for you? That I just want you for your expertise? You don’t know what I want, Macy. You don’t know because you’re too busy chasing cops around and getting fucked over to see what’s been in front of you. How long until this one puts his hands on you, huh? How long until you show up, sitting across from me covered in his marks this time? Macy, what are you thinking?”

  Running to my truck, driving back to the lab to beat Ben’s ass, I throw it in drive with my phone glued to my ear.

  “I love him, Ben,” she whispers.

  “That isn’t possible!”

  “Love is a lot of things, and possible is one of them. He taught me that.”

  “Yeah? Wasn’t he the reason I had to take you to the MGM? Did you even care I stayed in that shithole watching the door in case you left? In case you needed help?”

  “I’m being honest with you as a courtesy, Ben. I don’t owe you an explanation, but I’m sharing this with you because of our friendship.”

  “I can’t do this with you anymore,” he says. “Watching you set yourself up for misery over and over again. I haven’t even looked at another woman in two years because they weren’t you. You are so smart and have so much promise to throw it away on that guy. You deserve better than that, Macy.”

  “Ben,” she says. “I’m pregnant.”

  “What!” he yells. “Jesus, Macy, tell me you’re joking.”

  “We’re getting married.”

  “You don’t see what he’s doing? He’s trapping you. You’ll never finish now, not with a kid and a husband who’s never around to take care of you. Forget it,” he says packing up. “I’m out of here.”

  I hear the door slam, then I hear Macy sigh and mutter “That went well,” and then all is quiet. Seconds later, I get a text from Macy asking for a pickup in an hour, that she’s just finishing up. As much as I want to barge in there and hold her, I do as she asks and settle for getting gas and carryout for later.

  I text her back an “Okay,” and despite my gut screaming at me to go there anyway, I don’t. But goddammit, I should have.

  Ben storming out leaves me feeling sort of numb. I text Jonas asking for an hour. I didn’t want to throw this at him, so I want a few quiet moments to sort it all out. Was I upset with the things he had said? Sure. But I was being honest when I said his opinion, in the end, didn’t really matter, because it simply doesn’t. I’ve never set my baggage on his shoulders; he just wanted me to. Further, I suspect he didn’t like me calling him out, either. For two years, I have carried his weight. I’ve given him countless hours of guidance and support and asked for nothing in return. Jonas didn’t point that out to me; I already knew.

  Anytime I had plans he had asked to join; because I assumed he didn’t have many friends, I usually agreed. But he was only a friend, so I didn’t put up a fuss. He pretended to have interest in my work when I suspect it was only to further his own, and now I’m getting married with a baby on the way, and my priorities have shifted. If he doesn’t like that, tough shit.

  Speaking of marriage, Jonas asked me to pick a date. I need to grab my calendar and do that as soon as possible, not because of what he wants, but because it’s what we want. Suddenly warm, I decided to step outside of the building to get some air before he picks me up. Checking my phone I see more time had passed than I thought; he should be here in twenty minutes. Gathering my bag and laptop, I lock up, swipe my badge, sign out at reception, and wait by the curb.

  Lost in thought, it takes me a moment to realize someone is addressing me. Well, no. make that several someones. What the fuck?

  “Excuse me?” I say, wondering who these men are, and if they’re lost.

  “You Macy Kowalski?”

  “Who else would I be? Who the fuck are you?” I throw back.

  “You get one warning,” he threatens, while the others nod. “You wanna keep that kid, you’ll hand over that shit in your head.”

  So we’re back to that again, I see. I’m pissed, hungry, and missing Jonas, and I will not have thugs threatening me or my kid. Time to assert my dominance.

  “So let’s just say I’m willing to share,” I begin. “Which one of you idiots will be bright enough to decipher it? Would you want it in Crayolas, gang signs, or would pictures work for you?”

  One idiot laughs, not comprehending it was an insult, while the other two move in to circle me. Well, fuck that noise. Slowly reaching into my bag, I palm my tazer. Next one to crowd me goes down.

  “Listen, bitch, hurting you is a last resort, but we will if we have to.”

  “You’d hurt a pregnant woman for a cancer formula? Really? Try me, motherfucker.”

  In silent agreement, they surround me. One grabs me and turns me, so I taze him in the neck. He goes down and I want to moonwalk my victory. Two grabs me, throwing me back a few feet, so I throw a right hook nicking his jaw enough to stun him while my tazer reloads. Three just stands there smiling. I realize three might be a problem.

  Two comes at me again. Now fully charged, I zap him in the side and he crumbles, taking me with him. Three pulls me up with a weird look on his face, but before I can bother reading his intent I bring my knee up, connecting with his balls. Jumping away from the trio I start backing away quickly so I can call Jonas and get the fuck gone. Once my phone is out, I also take photos of the asshats on the ground, hoping it gives the guys something to work with.

  Even while three is on the ground holding his balls he’s looking at me funny. What in the hell is the matter with this guy? He levels me with a look, so I back away further, and when he speaks all the hair on my body tingles.

  “He was too easy with you,” he says, coughing. “He didn’t break you, but I will, bitch. Mark my words.”

  “Fuck you,” I force out, but it sounds weak, even to me. He’s talking about Briggs. He knew him, and that scares the hell out of me.

  “Stay away from me or I’ll kill you.” Looking up, he gives me that weird smile again, like he’s enjoying this. Backing away further, I promise myself to stay as far away from this guy as possible.

  Suddenly I’m grabbed from behind and I fight like a woman possessed. Bag dropped, laptop forgotten, I give this asshole all I’ve got. It’s not until seconds later when I hear, “Princess, it’s me; I’ve got you,” that my legs gave out and I started to cry again.

  Rarely have I been in a position to panic like this. The only other time was, of course, when that sick fuck took Macy from me. Being stuck in traffic, listening to my woman getting threatened, has me pushing other cars out of my way to get to her. Did she back down? No. She gave it right back, which was brave and stupid. Seeing them grab her, watching her drop each of them, I swear to god I aged twenty years. Last man down has her backing
away and I see her reaching for her phone, and then I see her take pictures, but she doesn’t see or hear me approach. So when I grab her to let her know she’s safe, she goes nuts. Thrashing, cursing, and struggling to hold onto her. I’m able to get out, “Princess, it’s me. I’ve got you.”

  The instant she knows she’s safe, the fight leaves her. Her legs give out. She starts to cry and holds on to me like her life depends on it. Looking over at the three who dared touch her, I debate finishing the job, but right now she needs me more. Watching the three take off on foot, I pick her up, carry her to my truck, buckle her in, and call Rogan.

  Keeping it brief, telling him what I know, he calls it in, requests the security tapes from the front of the building to see if we can get any leads, and I take her phone, forwarding the photos she took. Holding her hand, I disconnect and try to calm the fuck down so I can get her home safely. Finally, she takes a deep breath, then scrunches her nose while reaching under her. She pulls out the bear I bought her, looks at it, and starts crying all over again.

  Pulling my truck over, throwing the hazards on, I try to calm her down. “Princess, why are you crying now?” I ask her.

  Sniffling and rubbing her eyes, she pouts so adorably I want to pull her into my lap.

  “I squished my present!”

  “It’s stuffed,” I remind her. “Probably didn’t feel a thing.”

  Suddenly the tears dry up, her eyes narrow, and she takes a deep breath. “Those motherfuckers threatened my baby!” she growls.

  “I know, Princess, I’ve got —”

  “I want the surveillance tapes as soon as possible, get a warrant or something. I want to review it so we can come up with a plan. They knew my name, what I looked like, and that I am pregnant. I want to know who they are and who they’re working for. Then I want to —”

  Pulling her mouth to mine is the only thing I can do. Jesus, she could have been a cop. I also could have lost her, too, which is riding me hard right now. Priority one, getting her home and under me.

  Wasting no time, we make it back. Opening her door, I pick her up, even the bear, and carry her into the house. Setting her on the couch, I kick my shoes off, toss my keys, wallet, gun, and badge, not caring where they land, and straddle her hips. Her eyes are big but clouded with lust for me, and that’s all I care about.

  Connecting with her, feeling her, reminding myself I made it in time, she defended herself, she’s safe, she’s home, she’s fucking here right now, is what’s driving me to be more aggressive than I’ve ever been.

  Not bothering with small talk or words of seduction, I lean in to suck on her bottom lip which earns me a whimper. Hearing it, feeling it, I need her like this. She’s helpless except for what I can give her, only me. When she reaches for me, I grab both hands and secure them above her head. Holding both wrists with my left hand I undress her blindly, savagely, and quickly with my right. I didn’t take my time; I ripped that shit straight off her body and she let me.

  Within seconds she’s bared to me. She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts. Staring first, then touching, I can’t slow myself down. Taking my knees I force her legs apart. She doesn’t put up a fight; she just lets them fall open. Dropping to my knees on the carpet, I trust her to keep her hands where I put them. Placing one hand possessively on her belly I use the other to spread her open, wide enough to receive my mouth.

  I can’t wait to taste her anymore. To swallow her. This belongs to me; I own it. So I take it. Sucking, pulling, licking, and yes, even biting, I claim her here, my mouth in her pussy. Every moan, thrash, and whimper belongs to me. I own it. I decide when she gets it.

  Once I feel her explode on my tongue, I swallow it, savor it, and let it wash through me. Taking her wrists back, I guide them to my cock. She takes it, owns it, makes it her own. Pulling me closer she takes me down the back of her throat without question, knowing I wouldn’t settle for less. I’ve never fucked anyone’s mouth before, but I’m sure as shit fucking hers right now. I’m holding my release back, desperate to fuck every hole she has. She’s gagging, but she ain’t quitting, and I love her all the more for it. When I decided she’s had enough, I pull back, stand up, and pull her down the cushion, flip her over part her legs, and take her from behind.

  I’m taking her harder than I ever have. Every thrust is with purpose, every slap of my balls against her skin sends my need higher. I tell myself to slow down, she’s pregnant and delicate, but I can’t. I want to make her pregnant again and again. I want to fuck her straight into her throat. I need her to know that losing her would destroy me. Wreck me. I’d put a goddamn bullet in my head if I lost her. I fuck her because I love her so fucking much; I want her to know no one will ever fucking love her like I do. Taking my hands, I push down on her back so I can get more leverage, get in there deeper. Needing her to come on me again I do something I’ve never done before. I smack her ass hard, hard enough that she is screaming from it. Seeing my handprint there on her perfect skin make me want to do it again, so I fucking do. Just as hard, wanting that scream.

  Close to coming, claiming her, and fucking her to death, I grab her hair, forcing her to arch her back so I can take her mouth. She gives it to me without a fight, I fucking knew she would. She gives me everything. My body is on fire, my cock is ready to burst, so just before I let it all go I release her mouth, move to her shoulder, and just before I bite down I give it all to her.

  “You won’t ever leave me,” I growl. “Fucking say it.”

  “I won’t ever leave you.”

  “I protect you, fucking say it.”

  “You protect me.”

  “You’ll fucking marry me and love me forever, fucking say it.”

  “I’ll marry you and love you forever.”

  “Beg me to own you, Princess.”

  “Jonas please…”

  “Beg me! Fucking do it!”

  “Oh god, own me, Jonas.”

  “Not good enough,” I tell her, fucking her so hard neither of us will walk for a week.

  “Fucking own me!”

  Sealing my lips over her shoulder I bite down hard, she screams, and I come so hard my legs seize up and I fall on her back, remembering to roll us onto our sides at the last minute. Seconds pass and I’m still coming. My body jerks at random times, but still the aftershock feels fucking good. As the last shock eases I’m able to breathe, to relax, and hold her. Wrapping myself around her, I hold on for dear life. I can never let her go and I can never let her be hurt.

  Lost in my own thoughts, I feel her shaking; then I hear her crying. Pulling her to face me, I feel like the biggest fucking bastard. I hurt her. Because I can’t handle my shit, I hurt her.

  “Fuck, Princess, I am so fucking sorry,” I tell her, bringing her face up to meet mine.

  “S-S-Sorry?”

  “I hurt you,” I whisper. “I just wanted you so much that I didn’t think.”

  “You didn’t hurt me,” she whispers.

  “Then why does your face have red spots, your nose is all snotty, and your eyes are almost swollen shut?”

  “I’m happy,” she tells me. “You came for me, kept me safe, and you love me. That means everything, Jonas,” she says, curling into my lap.

  “I didn’t hurt you?”

  “Far from it,” she whispers again, playing with my hair. “When can we do it again?”

  “Jesus,” I say, tightening my grip, then I think on it. “Give me twenty minutes.”

  When she doesn’t say anything I look down and notice she’s out cold. Ha! I fucked her unconscious! Smiling to myself and feeling like a champ, I carry her upstairs along with the bear and tuck her in. Grabbing my phone, I crawl in next to her and set the alarm.

  I’ll give her an hour.

  Not wanting to wake Jonas, I tiptoe into the kitchen to grab a Vernor’s and call Venessa to fill her in. Odds are she already knows, but I wanted to tell her my side of things, about how fucking scared I was. Not for me, but for my baby. If I’m being hon
est, this isn’t the first time I’ve wondered if giving up on the completion of the drug wasn’t the most reasonable course of action. Its very existence is putting my unborn child in danger now, and that changes things.

  Then I wonder, even if I stop, would the people looking to get their hands on it stop, too? I’m guessing they wouldn’t, they’ve gone to extremes to get it so far. What I can’t understand is why anyone would use it for malicious purposes.

  Not a single soul knows the formula except me. I memorized it. The only data shared is vague at best, because my worry was someone within my network would seek it out and try to steal my concept. Believe me, it happens more than you’d think.

  I’m onto something with this, I know I am. But in light of yesterday’s events, I can’t help but wonder if the ends justify the means anymore. Hitting her number, I sip on my pop, hoping I can keep it down long enough to enjoy it and seriously wishing it was coffee.

  “Hey, brawler,” she says on the second ring.

  “Hey yourself,” I say, “Got a minute?”

  “My minutes are yours. Seriously, this I have to hear.”

  So I tell her in detail what happened in the lab, followed by the confrontation outside of it. She’s quiet for several seconds but I know she has something to say; she always does.

  “How did Rafe take it?” she asks.

  “How he handles everything,” I tell her. “He protected me.”

  “Sounds like you protected yourself,” she says, “I’m proud of you, Macy; that had to be scary for you.”

  “I wasn’t concerned about me,” I tell her. “I was afraid for the baby. Jonas showed up and handled the rest but uh … he really handled it when we got home.”

  “Fuck,” moans Rogan. “I don’t want to hear this, do I?”

  “How strong is your stomach?” I ask him.

  “This one time I ain’t listening; fuck that shit.”