by Lori Foster
“To Bray’s house, yeah. I decided to go along. You can drop me off here on your way home.”
What the hell? He didn’t need a babysitter. “You want to tell me why?”
With a roll of one shoulder, Denver said, “I’m worried about the kid, too.”
That was acceptable, but then Denver went on.
“And you have a fight soon. If shit goes sideways, no reason for you to chance getting hurt.”
“Get out of my truck.”
Denver grinned at him. “Nope.”
“Asshole.”
Unperturbed, Denver nodded. “You’re welcome.”
Sighing, Armie put the truck in gear and pulled away. As he drove, he waited, but Denver didn’t ask him about Carter’s visit, a fact he couldn’t ignore. “Denver?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
As if he’d expected it, Denver said, “There ya go.”
Just to lighten the mood, Armie asked, “Will Cherry be at home pining for you while you act as my escort tonight?”
“Maybe.” He slanted Armie a look of complete satisfaction. “The way that girl pines is enough to make me rip my jeans.”
Armie laughed. “She loves you. That’s a good thing.”
“Very good.”
“And vice versa.”
“She’s mine,” Denver said in agreement. “As it turns out, though, she’s out with Yvette, Vanity and Harper. The guys are helping Stack get some equipment set up.”
Armie wondered if he could ever claim Merissa as his. In his heart, he’d done so long ago—but his brain had always insisted it wasn’t meant to be.
And now, with creeps skulking around and leaving anonymous notes on windshields...
His thoughts came to a screeching halt when he pulled up to the small clapboard house that matched Bray’s address. Through the open windows, rank curses echoed around the neighborhood. As Armie sat there—only seconds really—the warped screen door flew open and Bray shot out, tripping over his own feet.
A big bastard lumbered out after him. Dressed in his boxers and a wife-beater undershirt, he stumbled and cursed as he gave chase, fists bunched, face florid—and unfortunately, he caught Bray by the back of the shirt, literally yanking the boy off his feet so that he hit the ground hard.
Behind them a woman cried, feebly tugging at the man’s arm.
Both truck doors slammed as Armie and Denver moved at the same time. When Bray tried to get up, the man slung him back to the ground, and to Armie’s disbelief, the miserable fuck lifted his boot to kick. The woman sobbed, begging...
“That’s enough!”
Armie’s command drew everything to a halt. Hell, even the birds in the trees stopped chirping. Stiff necked, Bray rolled away, the man quickly redirected his anger at Armie and the woman slumped down to sit on a broken porch step, her gaze darting everywhere.
Denver’s heavy stride kept pace, but he allowed Armie to speak. “Bray, come here.”
White with shock, Bray looked up—and no one could miss the wet, red eyes, or the suppressed rage and shame.
Jesus, Armie wanted to kill someone, preferably the man manhandling a fifteen-year-old kid.
Bray stood, shouldering a sleeve over each cheek to remove dirt and, probably, tears. He didn’t come to Armie, so with Denver at his side, Armie went to him.
As they neared, the guy eyed him and Denver with loathing, then hauled Bray close, keeping him caught in his grip. “This isn’t your business.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong about that.” Without slowing, Armie strode right up to the man until he met him, chest to chest. It’d be so easy, so fucking easy, to give the bastard a taste of his own abuse. Instead, Armie glanced at the hand on Bray’s arm, and whispered, “Turn him loose.”
Narrowing his eyes and smiling slowly, the man did just that, giving Bray a shove that sent him back to his ass again.
Armie crowded closer. “That was a miserable, chicken-shit move. You any better at pushing around grown men, or do you specialize in boys?”
“Bray,” the woman said, her voice high and shrill and fearful. “What’s going on? Who are these people?”
Leaving the man to Armie, Denver approached the woman, hand extended. “I’m Denver Lewis, ma’am. And that’s my friend, Armie Jacobson. We’re Bray’s friends.”
“What grown men hang with boys?” the man asked.
“We’re from the rec center,” Denver explained.
“Fighters,” she breathed, horrified. “Russell, they’re trained fighters!”
Huh. That changed Russell’s attitude real quick.
The unholy smile disappeared under a cautious frown. He shifted his heavy gaze away and glared at Bray. “Get your ass back in the house.”
“I don’t think so,” Armie said before Bray could reply one way or the other.
“This ain’t got nothing to do with you!” Russell reached for Bray.
Armie stepped into his path. Keeping his tone calm but firm, he asked, “You’re his father?”
Bray snorted. “No.”
The man snapped, again reaching for Bray. “You better watch that smart mouth, boy!”
Armie stepped him back, all the way to his porch. That must’ve been pushing the big bully too far, because he threw a wild haymaker, swinging a lunch box–sized fist toward Armie’s face.
With practiced ease Armie lifted his forearm to block the blow, then delivered one short jab to the man’s bloated gut.
Retching, Russell bent double.
The woman, who only moments before had been crying for her son, immediately fell to her knees, frantically caring for the bully.
“Russell? Oh my God, are you okay? Russell?” She pet on him, hugged him, all the while crying.
Russell gave her a shove, but she scrambled right back.
It was like déjà vu for Armie. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. Every muscle in his body twitched.
The woman had her own bruises, but she fawned over the man as if he was some innocent victim.
Disgusted, Armie turned to Bray and found the boy walking away.
Damn. “You got this?” he asked Denver.
Denver blinked. “Uh, sure.”
In a jog, Armie went after Bray. When he caught up, he didn’t touch him, just kept pace. “Where ya going?”
Bray rolled a shoulder, kept his head down and dogged on.
“He’s your stepfather?”
“He’s nothing.” Then, reluctantly, Bray added, “Her boyfriend, I guess. I don’t know.”
“She’s your mother?”
Nothing.
“Can we stop to talk a minute?”
Bray hunched his shoulders more. “No point.”
Shit. Armie stepped around in front of the boy. “Please.”
With a mammoth chip on his shoulder, Bray met his gaze and waited.
Deciding to just get through it, Armie asked, “Has he been around long?”
“Couple of months.”
“He’s hit you? Before today?”
Bray’s lips trembled, his eyes narrowed and he tried to do more walking.
“Never mind.” Before Bray could leave him, Armie thought to ask, “What about before him?”
“Before him there was another guy, and another before that. What of it?”
So his mother routinely brought in abusive asses? A deep breath didn’t help much. Mothers should protect their sons. The whole scenario felt far too familiar and personal. Hands on his hips, Armie asked, “Do you have anywhere to go?”
“Sure.”
Frustrated with that short answer, Armie asked, “Where?”
“It’s called none-of-your-business.”
The smart-ass reply so surprised him that Armie laughed. He didn’t mean to. Seriously, there was nothing funny about the situation. But he liked Bray, and he especially liked that the boy hadn’t lost his backbone. “You know what?”
Bray narrowed his eyes.
“You remind me of me—and ju
st so we’re clear, that’s not a compliment.”
This time Bray’s mouth twitched before he firmed it again, quickly reclaiming his “fuck off” attitude.
Growing somber, Armie said softly, “You know I have to call the cops.”
“No,” Bray growled, “you don’t have to do anything.”
He wished it otherwise. In fact, Armie wished he could just put the kid in his truck and take him home with him. But Bray wasn’t a stray pet, and there were legalities involved, not to mention a whole lot of emotional baggage that Armie might not be equipped to deal with. The last thing he wanted was to screw this up and make things worse for Bray. “I’m afraid I do.”
They heard a sudden commotion behind them and turned together to see Russell proving himself to be ten times an idiot as he tried to tackle Denver. Surprised, Denver quickly adjusted and caught Russell in a sleeper hold. The woman wailed and screamed and slapped ineffectually at Denver’s bowling-ball biceps.
Again in unison, Armie and Bray sighed.
They eyed each other.
“Damn it.” Bray snatched up a rock and threw it hard, narrowly missing Armie’s truck, although he hadn’t been aiming at anything in particular. “I hate foster care.”
Armie’s heart wrenched. “You’ve had some bad ones?”
“No.” His nostrils flaring with the fast, uneven breaths, Bray swallowed convulsively. The way he put his shoulders back made him look far too stoic for a fifteen-year-old. “Foster care’s been fine.”
“Then—”
“I always end up back here.” Resigned, the kid looked toward his mother. “Just as well. She needs me.”
Armie watched him head toward the woman now frantically calling his name, alternately blaming and pleading for his help.
No way could Armie leave this alone. He wouldn’t make promises yet; first he had to figure out the system and see what options he had.
But Bray wasn’t alone, and he needed to know that.
* * *
THE TRAFFIC LIGHTS cooperated and Merissa made it there in eight minutes. As soon as she got close she spotted Harper and Vanity sitting on the trunk of the car, with Cherry and Yvette both still inside the vehicle. As the sunlight faded a streetlamp flickered on, adding ambience to their adventure.
Grinning, Merissa parked right behind them. Soon as she did, the other ladies emerged.
“You’re really going to do this?” she asked Cherry. In many ways, her best friend came off as the life of the party. But deep down Merissa knew she was really reserved about certain things.
“Denver tried to lecture me about sex,” Cherry told her, as if that explained her daring. “Do you believe that?”
Vanity said, “I believe it. Denver’s awesome, but he’s also domineering.”
Sighing, Cherry said, “He is,” as if that made him more perfect.
Merissa laughed, then asked Vanity, “Does Stack know you’re here?”
“Shoot, no.”
“He and Cannon would have come along for sure,” Yvette told them.
“Stack would gladly tour me through the place,” Vanity said with a grin. “But no way would he want me here without him.”
“So.” Harper lifted her brows. “We going to stand here talking tough, or are we going in?”
Fist in the air, Vanity said, “We go in.”
Everyone agreed, and then they all crowded together.
In a tight cluster they stepped through the door and into the well-lit video section of the shop. The cashier, a younger guy with a shaved and tattooed head, glanced up from a magazine, snickered, and then ignored them.
Moving like a gaggle of ducks, they looked around. “It’s regular movies,” Harper whispered.
Yvette pointed toward a lighted door on the far wall. “The good stuff is back there.”
“We’re pathetic,” Merissa said. Giving Vanity a nudge, she got them moving again. There were a few men in the place, and they tracked the women with interest.
“This is supercreepy.” Cherry gave a nervous giggle. “And I feel like an idiot.”
When they reached the door, Vanity used the hem of her shirt to protect her hand from the probable germs on the knob. After a beat of expectation, she swung open the door with great fanfare, and together they stepped into the dimly lit room.
Wide-eyed, Merissa looked around. Dildos and vibrators hung from the ceiling in many shapes and sizes and colors. She choked as she took in the elaborate variety.
Her cohorts were equally impressed.
Next Merissa scanned the shelves and saw some... Fake lady parts? She leaned in to look closer. Yup. Lady parts.
In boxes.
A giggle started up her throat.
Then she saw the movies—and Oh my God—the movie titles. They were so absurdly bad.
Maybe everything just added up. Maybe she was already strung too tight. For whatever reason she started making these awful, chortling, snorting noises, and even as everyone else turned to watch her warily, she couldn’t stop.
Very shortly the rest of the ladies joined her, and within a minute they were all roaring with hilarity.
* * *
COPS WERE JUST pulling up when Armie got a call. He glanced at the screen, saw it was Leese and answered with, “If it’s not important—”
“Rissy’s at the porn shop.”
Armie almost fell over. “Say what?”
In a rush, Leese said, “Not just her, but Vanity, Cherry, Yvette and Harper, too. Justice and I were driving by and saw them. I was going to beep and wave, but then I realized what they were doing.”
Stock-still, Armie asked, “What?”
“Going in.”
Couldn’t be true. Armie snorted.
“I know, right? But that’s what they did,” Leese insisted. “They marched in like they owned the place.”
“You’re positive it was them?”
“I’m not an idiot.” Impatience sounded in Leese’s tone. “Vanity led the way, Yvette and Rissy were in the middle and Harper sort of dragged Cherry along.”
“Un-fucking-believable.”
“I just thought you should know.”
Armie chewed his upper lip, but he couldn’t walk off on Bray. “I’m going to be held up for a bit—”
“Want me to stick around and keep an eye on things?”
“Yeah.” He popped his neck, feeling evil. “But if possible, don’t let any of them see you. Denver and I will be there as soon as we can.”
“Should I call the other guys?”
“Sure.” Armie liked that idea. Anticipating their reactions, he said, “Let’s make a party of it.”
Leese laughed. “Damn, as a single man, I’m almost jealous.”
Officially, Armie was still single himself. But he went right past that fact to tell Leese, “You should be. Now keep an eye on things and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WHAT A DAY. After explaining everything to the police, who’d apparently been to the house many times, Armie tried talking to Bray alone.
The kid wasn’t real receptive. Armie remembered what it was like to be fifteen, feeling so adult, wanting to control his own destiny while others were actually in charge. He gave Bray his number and told him to call anytime. He also promised him that he’d be in touch, that he wasn’t going to disappear on him.
Bray hadn’t looked convinced. Never one to hold back, and having no skill at prettying up his words, Armie told him, “You’re not a problem I’m trying to dump, okay? I just have to follow the law, that’s all.”
That had startled Bray.
“When I say I’m not disappearing, I mean it. And damn it, I want you to know that.”
Reluctantly Bray had nodded. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
It was a start. Armie held out his hand and that confused Bray, too. But finally he accepted, and when he did Armie pulled him in for a bear hug. He felt awkward as hell, but he liked it all the same.
To c
over the emotional moment for both of them, he mussed Bray’s hair and grinned. “I’ll see what’s what and be in touch, okay?”
Bray nodded. “Yeah.” His skinny chest expanded. “Thanks.”
A social worker approached, her careful smile in place, and Armie wondered how she did it. He’d rather fight in the cage naked every day than deal with the emotional devastation of shitty parenting. At least the woman was familiar to Bray and by the time Armie left, some of the suffocating worry had loosened. It seemed the last foster parents who’d had Bray adored him. It was only the mother’s insistence that she get him back that kept his life in turmoil.
The foster parents would be taking him in again. Armie heard the social worker tell the kid that they still had his room all set up.
I always end up back here.
Maybe this time would be different—but Armie doubted it.
After talking to Carter earlier, his mood had soured. Now, after this, he was literally spoiling for a fight. He needed to expend some energy in a bad way, and violence would suit him just fine.
Not the good sportsman competition of the SBC. No, he wanted a street brawl.
For that reason, he’d have preferred to steer clear of Merissa tonight. Maybe Cannon could just—
“You ready to go?” Denver asked. “Bray looks to be in good hands, at least for now.”
He’d clued Denver in earlier and naturally he wanted to get to his wife.
“I was thinking—”
“Don’t,” Denver told him, shouldering him to get him headed to the truck. “You’d break her heart.”
Denver’s tendency to act like a damn relationship specialist just because he’d gotten married was starting to rub him the wrong way. “What the hell do you know about it?”
“I know all the other guys will be there, in on the joke, and if you’re a no-show it’s going to devastate Rissy.”
Bullshit. Armie got in his truck and slammed the door shut. Stewing, he started the truck, then gripped the steering wheel.
Denver slid in on the passenger side. “You’re looking at this all wrong, you know.”
“You don’t know shit about how I’m looking at things.”
Whistling, Denver eyed him. “You don’t want to take your bad mood out on Rissy.”
“No, I don’t.” And in a dozen different ways, his past was catching up. His entry into the SBC, notes left by cowards and now memories stirred up by a boy in need. He didn’t want to see himself as Bray, but damn it, how could he not? And since he wasn’t a boy anymore, why the fuck did it have to make him feel so hollow?
