I felt like a pervert thinking about fucking a man’s daughter under his own roof in the bed she used to sleep in when she was a child. But she’d piqued my interest, and if her body language was any indicator, I had piqued hers as well. I saw that red in her cheeks when I said I was glad Reggie had a hot 20-something-year-old daughter.
And she was hot. Smoking. I almost followed her right up those stairs when she ran away from me. She’d run away from me more than once during the what, 20 minutes we were around each other. I smiled thinking about how much she had liked the horn on the Superbird. She’d giggled like a kid; it was cute. I hated when women tried to infantilize themselves thinking it made them seem more attractive to guys. It didn’t. Dana hadn’t been trying. She’d had this earnest joy in her face and the laugh of someone who was trying something for the first time.
Shit. There was no way she was single. Who was I kidding? A girl like that? Some lucky and smart bastard was the one doing what I could only dream of… at least, for the moment. She didn’t need to be single for us to have a good time, but something different from the usual feeling I got when it came to beautiful women washed over me when I saw Dana. Not that different, just a variant. I wanted to bang her. I wanted to bang her so good her dead relatives felt it. That was standard. I also wanted to… I don’t know, like watch over her? Assist her? Make sure she was okay? I wanted to hear that delightful little giggle again, and I wanted her to be laughing because of me.
If Dana went around Reggie’s as often as it seemed she did, I’d have to start making my visits a bit more regular. I pulled my gym bag out of my locker along with my helmet. Lawson and I were getting an evening workout in that day. He had left work early, at around midday. I had talked to goon 1 and goon 2—Gareth Martin and Patrick Hanley—and I needed to talk to Lawson. I had gone downtown to see them. Martin’s number was easy enough to get through a guy I knew before I moved to San Diego—yes, one of the penitentiary contacts I had refused to give Lawson.
If you were a criminal, you tended to sort of look like one. I had done time and had the prison tattoos to prove it. Most people who went to prison came out bigger than they were when they went in. Either the commissary or the gym got you. If you had a devoted prison wife who put money on your books often enough, you got to eat yourself bigger.
Truthfully, we had nothing but hours, and filling them with backbreaking workouts was a great way to pass the time. Gareth Martin had come out of prison looking like me. Tattooed and 30+ pounds heavier in lean muscle. Patrick Hanley had never done time, but he looked like a professional sleazeball. His hair was long and greasy, and he was always, always scowling. If the reports were true, he had had a hand in all kinds of outlaw business; drugs, prostitution, trafficking of both aforementioned, fraud—the list went on.
Gareth had greeted me like we were old friends, which we sort of were. Hanley had just scowled at me and asked me where the hell my friend was, referring to Lawson.
“Training for a fight. Can you guys tell me anything about that?”
“Training? Ha!” Hanley scoffed.
“What are these fight clubs I keep hearing about?”
“Are you interested?” Gareth asked, a little too obviously.
“The way Lawson told me it was; it didn’t seem like I had very much of a choice.”
“Don’t take it personally Holloway. We think this could be a great opportunity for you if you take it.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I acted curious.
“What is that whole outfit anyway?”
“Once a month. The fighters sign up, but we pick the opponents. Entry fee at the door. Rotating venue,” Gareth said. He said it in a way that showed he was probably proud of their little underground fight club. He sounded like he was trying to sell me on it. “You’d be a great draw. Might even be a few of your friends from back in the day on the roster.”
I smiled wryly.
“Listen. I’m here because Lawson obviously did something to piss the two of you guys off.”
“Why’d he send you? Who are you? The man in the relationship?”
I ignored that comment. Gay jokes were lazy. Try harder.
“What can he do to make sure everyone leaves in one piece?”
“Give us the money.”
“He doesn’t have the money,” I said impatiently.
“Then he’d better get it unless he plans on fighting his way out.”
“Lawson wouldn’t last a second in the ring,” I said truthfully. “All you’d get is the satisfaction of watching him get beaten up.”
“We’d gladly have you fight in his place. Defend his honor. There’s a cash prize at the end of every fight.”
“Ooh, tempting,” I said sarcastically. “But I don’t start fights to see them end. I start fights to see the other guy bleed. What about a one-on-one fight? Private. Lawson versus your champion; name the number of rounds. He beats your guy in a match, and he’s off the hook.”
Silence. The two men looked at each other, and Hanley leaned close to Gareth to whisper something in his ear.
“Public. Not private. Twelve rounds.”
I raised an eyebrow. There was no way in hell that that was it.
“Who would he fight?”
Hanley had this smile that made his face look even grimmer than it did when he was scowling.
“You,” he’d told me.
I should have known better than trying to reason with them. They were hounds. All they wanted was the money. The worst part was that they would get it; whether Lawson handed it to then willingly, or they wrung it out of him. The guy was a lot of things, Lawson. Rash, imprudent, belligerent, but he wasn’t scrappy. He couldn’t fight. He didn’t fight. If he got in a ring with anybody, he would lose, plain and simple.
I spotted Lawson as he lifted the bar from the rack and began to lower it to his chest.
“I talked to Martin and Hanley,” I said.
“Yeah?” Lawson asked between reps. “Did you decide to take the fight?”
“The last bout you saw, who was fighting?” I asked him, ignoring his question.
“Uh…” his speed had faltered a bit as the weight began to feel heavier in his arms. I didn’t do the specific set and rep range thing when it came to the gym. Every set to failure. “This guy Moody from out of town—the Bay or somewhere—and this Mexican dude… can’t remember his name. He’s the guy that won.”
“How much are you willing to bet that the fight was fixed?” I asked, instantly regretting my words. It was betting that had gotten him into that situation in the first place. Lawson completed his last rep, and I helped him rack the bar back up onto the pins. We swapped places on the bench.
“They told you the fight was fixed?”
“They didn’t have to tell me. Look at the guys we’re dealing with here. They aren’t exactly boy scouts.”
“So what? If this fight was fixed—”
“Not just this fight Lawson, all of them. They run the entire show, don’t they? Scouting fighters, collecting bet money, organizing the venue?”
“I guess so.”
“Then it’s the perfect way for them to run a scam. If they have guys betting, there’s a chance they could be picking up thousands a night. They fix the fight, with the fighters, referee and a couple of other guys in on it and no matter who loses, they always win.” I slowed down, my bar path suffering as my muscles fatigued.
“Can you prove it?”
“I can’t, but you can if you enter a fight.”
“What?”
“The fights happen in rounds don’t they?”
“Yeah, the winner of each goes on to the next.”
“They want their money more than they want you to fight. If they are fixing the bouts, then they’d have to let you win at least a couple of them to get their money back.”
“And what about after those early fights are over?”
I pushed my last rep up smoothly, and Lawson helped me rack
it. I stood up and began loading more plates on the bar as we switched spots again. I looked down at him as he unracked the weight and began to press it.
“What are the conditions that end a fight?”
“If a fighter doesn’t get up, is knocked out or taps out.” He was slower with the newly heavier bar.
“Then that’s what happens after the couple rounds are over.” Lawson racked his weight and sat up on the bench, turning around to look at me.
“You want me to tap out of a fight?”
“You want to keep going even after you no longer have to?” I asked. “If they are trying to game you, you can game them right back.”
“It’s five grand; how many rounds will I even have to fight?”
“Lawson. I don’t see you trying to bail yourself out of this. You asked me for help. Your options are to pay up or get in the ring… unless…”
“Unless what?” he asked hopefully.
“Unless your brother lends you the money.”
“No,” Lawson said flatly, lying back down on the bench.
“Lawson, this is no time for your pride to start kicking in.”
“I’m not taking Anthony’s money.”
“Your options at this point are to take it or get the shit beaten out of you by a stranger in a month.”
“That’s why I came to you, man. You’re a fighter. You’d get to the last round.”
“You know I don’t do that underground shit anymore Lawson. The fact that you even got yourself into this mess damages your credibility. How many more of these fucking holes are you going to get yourself into? How long before you think Anthony or I just ditch you?”
“I wouldn’t ask you for help if I knew what to do,” he said.
“I just told you what to do. Fight or take Anthony’s money if he’s willing to give it to you.”
Lawson was silent.
“How about you come watch a fight?”
“I swear to god Lawson,” I said, throwing my hands up. He sat up on the bench again, turning to look at me.
“Come to a fight. There should be one tomorrow or the next day in Santa Ana.”
I stared at him.
“Santa Ana? Now it’s a traveling freak show? Why the fuck would I want to do something like that?”
“So you can see what we’re dealing with.” I noticed his stealthy use of the word ‘we’ but ignored it.
“Turn around,” I said gruffly, not giving him an answer. He lay flat on the bench again. I helped him lift the weight from the pins for his last set. I carried out some simple fuck-up arithmetic in my head. This was Lawson. Chances were he was going to make the wrong decision in this situation, and he was going to end up in trouble he could have avoided if he wasn’t such an idiot. Lawson plus Martin and Hanley equaled multiple contusions and fractures. What he needed was to be released from the responsibility of keeping himself in line. I could talk to Anthony again; get the money to Hanley and Martin without him even knowing.
Too bad the gym took no responsibilities for injuries that happened on the premises. I won’t lie… I did wonder briefly how much Lawson could press up if the 200 or so pounds he was holding over his chest were to accidentally drop and smash a couple of ribs.
7
Dana
Mimi had let me take the morning off so I could take Janie to the auto shop. I used the time to place some book orders before moving on to the business at hand. I hadn’t tried to start her up again after the fit she had thrown the other day. I stood in front of the car, squaring up, key in hand.
“We disagreed earlier Janie… are you ready to cooperate now?” I said out loud, staring into the headlights to assert my dominance. I walked around and slid into the driver’s seat. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, turning the key in the ignition.
The engine roared into life.
“Yes!” I celebrated.
My joy came too soon. As powerfully as she started up, she flatlined. I cursed, turning the key once more.
“Not again, not again, not again, Janie, why?”
The engine sputtered pitifully every time I tried turning the key. I sighed. Obviously, Janie would have to get to the shop some other way.
But how?
I retreated inside the house and called Dad. He’d know the auto shop number.
“Hello, Dad?”
“Hey angel, what’s going on?” he asked down the line.
“Daddy, remember when I told you I had been having trouble with the Riviera?” I asked.
“Did something happen?”
“No, that’s just it. Nothing is happening. She won’t start.”
“Have you checked whether there’s a problem with the battery?”
“Dad, if I knew how to solve this I wouldn’t need your help. How do I get it to the shop?”
“Well, I suppose you could get it towed there.”
“I have to get a tow truck company to tow the car to the auto shop?”
“No, you can just call the shop. They can most likely tow it there for you.”
“I don’t have the shop number,” I said.
“I can call them for you. I’ll tell them the address to pick your car up from. Is it out front?”
“Yes.”
“Great. I’ll call them and tell them now. Sit tight.”
I thanked him and hung the phone up. I called Mimi next telling her sadly that my intention of taking the car to the shop had been blocked by none other than the car itself. She scolded me for not taking Janie in earlier. She didn’t need me because I could do the book orders from home but I did sort of feel like a ninny for waiting as long as I did to get the car checked out. I had to stop asking people for things.
If Janie was my baby, I was a terrible mother. CPS would have snatched her up ages ago. When was the truck getting here? Where was it coming from? I worried, thinking about all the questions I wouldn’t be able to answer when they got here. Did I have anything embarrassing in the glove compartment?
I still didn’t know where the shop was when the sound of an engine outside caught my attention. It was louder and angrier than a car engine. I walked to the front door and opened it.
Adam Holloway was dismounting from a motorcycle in my driveway. My breath hitched. I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t ready to face him again after our conversation at my dad’s. I had been trying to convince myself that he was just being flirtatious and that it wasn’t that serious, but I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. He was just having fun at my expense. He had to have been. He didn’t really think those lines would have worked, did he?
It was because he had called me hot. That was it. I liked feeling like this guy wanted me. If a man to desire me was all I wanted, then he didn’t necessarily have to be Adam. I desired Adam however and therein lay the wrinkle. Maybe I should have invited him upstairs that day. If he wanted to tease me, I could do it right back. It was all fun and games. It wasn’t that serious.
He was in his usual vest and faded jeans. Our eyes met, and I smiled at him. I wasn’t expecting him, but I wasn’t going to lie and say that the sight of him at my house was unwelcome. He returned a small, amused smile like something had made him laugh. He walked up to Janie running his hand over her roof appreciatively.
“So this is Janie?” he asked.
“That’s her,” I said, surprised that he had remembered her name.
“What’s the matter with her?”
“The engine won’t start. It starts a little bit but then it just sort of dies out.”
He opened the door which I had left unlocked after the failure to launch earlier and checked the dash, leaning into the interior. His large frame moved comfortably around the car like he knew what he was doing. I moved from the front door to stand near him, my arms crossing in a subconscious effort to protect myself... or make my cleavage look better. Maybe both.
I could see the back of him, and it rivaled the front for magnificence. His shoulders and upper back were completely
covered in ink. Swirls and words that his clothes obscured so I couldn’t read them. His back was wide and thick which kicked up an almost primal response from me. That was my favorite part of a man’s body. His voice suddenly addressing me cut my appraisal off.
“Want me to spin around so you can get the full 360?”
“What?”
He looked at me over his shoulder.
“If you need a better look, you can just slide closer. It’s free to look and to touch.”
My face burned.
“I’m good. Thanks.” He let out a short laugh before continuing.
“Gas tank is full. Are you sure it isn’t the battery?” He turned and looked back at me.
Words. What were those again? I coughed a little, feeling hot under his gaze like I had been caught staring—because I had.
“If... if I knew what it was I wouldn’t need your help,” I said. He smirked and held his hand out.
“Give me the key.” I handed it to him, my palm flat. He took it, closing his hand around it completely rather than plucking it with his fingers. Our skin met briefly. I swallowed and tried to concentrate on breathing through my nose. If I kept my face placid, maybe he wouldn’t think I was crazy or having a stroke. He wasn’t even doing anything. He was looking at my car. We were discussing gasoline and car batteries, the least sexual things in the world.
He slid into the driver’s seat and moved it back to make room for himself before starting the engine. Just like before, the engine rumbled hopefully before sputtering into silence. He tried one more time before climbing out of the car.
“Can you tell me how long she’s been like this?”
“What are you, a doctor? She’s not sick. She’s just broken or something.”
He tilted his head looking at me like he was going to tell me I was an idiot through his explanation without directly calling me one.
“I need to know whether this is an internal issue or whether it’s your fault.”
“My fault? Why would it be my fault?”
ADAM: A Bad Boy Romance (The ALPHAbet Collection Book 1) Page 5
