by Abby Wood
In fifteen years, he'd only fallen back to returning a dozen times. When Professor Frank forced him to open up, when he'd lost the Shelton contract and fifty million dollars, and every time he tried to outrun the darkness inside of him, he went back to the familiar.
Here, he controlled the outcome. Here, he could hurt others and nobody gave him a second look. Here, he could escape the idea that Addison was untamable.
He pushed through the backdoor, assaulted with the conversant scent of dank sweat, rubber, and beer coming from the alley. He stood inside, out of breath. Until he'd set foot back in the building, he hadn't realized how much he was running. Running away from Addison, running away from reaching for the unattainable and the constant, running away from who he'd become.
"Hey, Nate," Big Dawg pulled himself up from his spot by the ring.
Dawg's cigar threw up smoke and his potbelly hung over his jeans, below his Gold Gym T-shirt. He grabbed the beefy hand Dawg offered, and let the big guy pull him in to a shoulder bump.
"How's it going?" he said.
"Still alive." Dawg removed his cigar. "Long time no see."
"Yeah." He peered around the gym. "Anyone looking for some time in the ring?"
"Feel like doing some foot work, eh?" Dawg stuck his dirty fingers in his mouth and whistled. "Romero, put on the gloves."
A twenty-something year old built like a brick lifted his chin and stuck his hands up. Nate peeled off his coat and tossed it to an empty chair. Then he unbuttoned his shirt. "You still have my gloves?"
Dawg's face split into a grin. "Hell yeah. I'll get them."
He threw his shirt over his coat, leaned down, and undid his shoes. His muscles bunched along his back. Tense and ready to hit, he shook his arms and bounced in place. He'd really thought Addison would open the door for him. The fact that she didn't disappointed him more than he wanted to admit.
He'd set his sights on her. She'd been insulted that he thought she was selling her body, but it was more. She wasn't ashamed or embarrassed on where his thoughts took him. She was insulted that he would offer her a job because he assumed she was a hooker and below him.
Why would someone like her defend someone who made their living on the streets? Was she a Good Samaritan who took in the homeless for bragging rights or was she a Professor Frank who saw inside a person and unselfishly gave her time to help someone else?
He fisted his hands. Not many woman aroused him on sight. Coupled with the way she'd come alive underneath him, he wanted more. He wanted her to beg. Until recently, he hadn't realized how much he wanted a permanent outlet.
A vessel for him to unleash. A woman who'd fall down and bounce back up, ready for more. Who got off on the pain he could inflict. Only in that way, would she understand his need to take everything from her.
"Hands up." Dawg approached him, tossing the gloves on the floor, and sticking the edge of the white tape he carried between his teeth.
He held his hands in front of him, palms toward him, flexing his fingers as Dawg wrapped his knuckles. The old feelings came back. He'd already proved himself to the outside world, but in here, he started at the bottom. The other guy he was fighting didn't know jack about him.
Addison Flint had no idea who she was dealing with.
Dawg slipped the gloves on Nate's hands, stepped back, and pulled the ropes apart. "Try not to get yourself killed."
"That's the goal." He lifted his chin before ducking his head and jumping into the ring.
Shorter than him by a few inches, Romero made up for the lack of height by outweighing Nate by a good twenty-five pounds. Not to mention, Romero was at least fifteen years his junior and had the cocky attitude Nate remembered having himself when he was younger. He lifted his gloves and danced around his opponent.
The first punch came to his stomach. He grunted, irritated for himself for tightening up, he swung with his right, and popped Romero on the chin. Shit, that felt good.
Adrenaline fueled him forward. This is what he lived for growing up. Working up a sweat, hitting some flesh, and thinking there was nothing in the world that could take him down.
Pain whipped his head around. He shook the hit off, punching his way out. One, two, three. Romero's uppercut clipped him under the chin. Flashes of light filled his vision and he moved forward, hitting low, until arms circled his upper body.
He threw Romero off him and jabbed. He didn't need Addy.
She could stay in the house, denying her attraction to him all she wanted and her rebuttal couldn't touch him. He swung a roundhouse before delivering a kidney punch that took Romero to his knees. He needed no one. He never had.
He continued swinging. Fuck Addy.
Over and over, he proved how he could do without her. He could have anyone, use anyone, and kill anyone. It was all about beating the darkness back, and he always found ways to let loose. Professor was wrong. One person wouldn't change him. He needed to cause pain, and anyone would do.
"Rafferty! End it." Dawg threw a metal chair in the ring. "You're out."
He stepped back, breathing hard, and stared down at his opponent. Romero hung his head, resting on his hands and knees. Blood dripped onto the matt.
Nate rubbed his arm across his mouth. A streak of his own blood left a trail on his skin and the sweet taste filled his mouth.
He ripped off his gloves, threw them out of the ring, and jumped down. He ignored Dawg cussing him out, and swept up his clothes. This was who he was.
He enjoyed causing pain, blood, and seeing someone cower at his feet. Nothing compared to surviving.
He'd forgotten himself the last couple of days. Thought he could be happy hanging around Addison when he knew he was only pretending. She'd run from him if she could she him now. Hot from the fight, hanging out in a part of town known for transients and drug houses on every corner.
Out of the building, he walked straight to his car and climbed in. His phone rang on his seat, and he picked it up without looking to see who was calling.
"What?" he snapped.
"Um, Nate?" Addison asked. "I'm–"
"Are you at home?" He put his keys in the car and started the engine.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Stay there." He disconnected the call.
If she wanted to play games, he'd show her who Nathan Rafferty really was. A thug from the wrong side of town. A man who'd rather beat her than love her. Maybe then, he could get her out of his head and get his life back on track.
Chapter Six
At the sight of Nate walking up to her door, Addison closed the curtain and blew out her breath. What am I doing?
She pressed a hand to her stomach. Maybe she should've waited to call him.
Nate banged on the door instead of using the doorbell. She wrapped her sweater coat around her tightly, and moved over to let him in. Too late now, he was here.
Looming in the doorway, Nate's gaze assaulted her. She gasped, pulling him inside. "What happened to you?'
He remained silent, his upper lip encrusted in blood. She reached up and stopped herself from touching his face. His cheekbone swollen under one eye seemed to make him even scarier. She guided him to the chair in the living room.
"Sit." She hurried out of the room.
In the kitchen, she grabbed two dish clothes. As she let the faucet run, she scooped a handful of ice from the freezer and placed it in one of the towels. Then she ran the other towel under the warm water and rung the rag out.
She returned to him and kneeled at his feet. "Did you get in an accident?"
He shook his head, or maybe he flinched away from her she couldn't tell until he said, "No."
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Her gaze dropped to his bare chest.
"No."
There was smeared blood over his upper abdomen, but she found no visible wounds. Her hand shook as she cleaned the cut on his lip. She glanced up into his eyes and cringed. She couldn't read the intensity of his gaze, but his emotions he directed at her as if she w
ere the cause of him arriving at her house in this condition.
"Why?" he said, not showing any sign that she caused him pain by pressing on his cut lip.
She picked up the other towel filled with ice and handed it to him. "What?"
When he let the cold pack fall to his lap, she pressed it on the side of his face for him. When he let her help him, she tried again. "I don't know what you're asking, Nate," she whispered.
"You didn't open the door," he said.
She used her free hand to clean his chest with the other towel. "I wasn't home. Mrs. Lindsay called me from next door. Her breaker flipped, and she's unable to go down the stairs to the basement. That happens at least once a month, and it's easier for her to call me than a repairman who'll charge her."
He touched the back of his hand to his mouth, and she barely had time to fall back on her bottom to get out of his way as he stood. "You didn't fucking open the door."
She scrambled to her feet. "I know. I told you, I was—"
"I know what you said." He whirled around and faced her. "You weren't here. You didn't open the door."
Angered over his outburst, she scooped up the towels. "Whatever. There's the door, use it."
"Answer me," he said.
She shook her head. "I don't answer to you or anyone. Please leave."
He remained.
Used to avoiding arguments, she marched out of the room, down the hallway, and entered the laundry room at the back of the house. She threw the towels in the empty washer and slammed the lid down. He had no reason to be mad at her.
She wasn't home when he came by the house. Yesterday, she'd told him not to come over. It wasn't her fault he ignored her wishes and came looking for her. She regretted calling him now.
Deciding she'd rather stay in the laundry room than face Nate, she folded her gym clothes she pulled out of the dryer prior to helping Mrs. Lindsay. She should've thrown away his business card he'd left at her house in the first place, and not called him. That's what she gets for being stupid, and thinking the polite thing to do is thank him for the flowers he'd left.
God, he could be a problem.
She'd thought of nothing else, but him, since climbing into his car, and she hated and loved the feelings he brought out in her. But, she couldn't continue seeing him. He represented everything she'd sworn to stay far, far away from her whole life.
She eyed the stack of clothes. Someone had to put a stop to the insanity, and considering he was in her house, she walked out of the room to send him away.
Nate stood in front of the living room window, gazing out into the night. She hesitated, studying his back. Still shirtless, his muscles twitched. From all appearances, he hadn't calmed down.
"Nate?" She walked to the side of the couch, thinking a piece of furniture would keep her from touching him. "I'm not sure what happened tonight and I'm sorry you were hurt, but I think you need to leave."
"Why?" He remained facing the window.
His voice, unemotional and flat, hurt her. She blew up her cheeks, held her breath, and slowly let the air out. "Because you're not the type of man I normally date. I don't want to lead you on. I'm sorry. I know I did, and I feel bad—"
"Bad?" He turned around. She stepped behind the couch, and he held up his arms. "Jesus, will you stop that."
"You're angry." She glanced at the floor before meeting his gaze. "You're sorta freaking me out. We slept together. That's it. Then you show up pissed off and bloody as if someone beat you up, being a jerk to me, and expect me to want you again. What am I supposed to think?"
"Do you think I'm going to hurt you?" he asked.
She closed her eyes for a long blink, and then told him the truth. "I don't know. You scare me."
He looked up to the ceiling and when he returned his gaze, he'd masked his anger. "You would've opened the door earlier."
It wasn't a question. He stated the obvious. She nodded. Despite her better judgment, she knew deep in her soul she would've let him in. Then she would've regretted it. And even later, she would've missed him when he left.
She stepped around the couch. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah." He held up his hands as if seeing their condition for the first time.
"What happened?"
"I—he laughed harshly—visited my past, that's all."
"I don't understand." She crossed her arms. "You're hurt."
"I'm fine." He inhaled deeply. "It doesn't matter. I came here…but earlier, I decided not to contact you again. But, you called. Addy, you called me."
She stepped closer. "You're not making sense."
One side of his mouth lifted, the side that wasn't split open, and he shrugged. "You're right. I'm not the type of man for you, but that doesn't stop me from wanting you."
In the silence, she stared at him. Half of her wanted to agree with him and the other half wanted to understand why he believed her when it was obvious she was attracted to him. She'd experienced something so wonderful last night; she was scared to let it go. What did that say about her?
Her reasons for not getting involved with him were personal. He represented everything she'd run from growing up. The father she hated, who didn't even know her because he denied he had a daughter, had everything he ever wanted, just like Nate. His business came first. His reputation came before his own flesh and blood. Her mother, despite the inconvenience of raising a daughter, told her often how being mixed up with a man who was more powerful than her would suck the life right out of her. Then she'd watched her mother run herself into the grave trying to forget the one night when she'd sold her soul to the devil.
She would not sell her soul to the devil or Nate.
Nate broke away from her gaze. "Goodbye, Addy."
She nodded, watching him walk out of her life. Proud and strong, he carried himself as if he'd battled his own demons tonight. Why he'd shown up at her house bloody and broken, she'd never know. She chewed on her bottom lip. He'd grown up on the streets. He'd said he'd returned to the past.
She hurried to the door and grabbed the handle before he could shut it. "Nate?"
He turned.
"Take care of yourself, okay? Put some ice on your—she pointed to her face—you're going to have a black eye tomorrow."
He stiffened, and seemed to study her. Whatever he was thinking obviously confused him because he leaned toward her and kissed her forehead. Not a peck, not a practiced move meaning thanks for cleaning up my face. No, he laid his lips on her skin and stayed there. Then he inhaled deeply before pulling away.
"Lock the door, doll," he whispered. Then he walked away from her again.
His leaving wasn't a break up. They weren't in a relationship that required a formal goodbye. She leaned against the closed door. If what they had could only be called a night of great sex, then why did it feel like her heart was breaking?
Chapter Seven
After her last ride of the day, Addison chose to walk the three blocks to the parking garage. Making an excuse to Harold, one of her regular Friday night clients, she planned to use the extra time to herself to decompress after a stressful day by enjoying the fall air before heading home. She hoped the extra exercise would allow her to get a good night's sleep for once this week.
She ignored the real reason for going down Fifth Street, instead of Fourth Street the past three nights. She gazed up at the Rafferty Tower, while keeping a tight hold on the purse hung over her shoulder. There was nothing to see, but the six story, gray building with a few lights still on. Yet, she searched the windows anyway.
Despite trying to rid Nate from her mind, he'd taken up residency in her head. She tried to convince herself she was worried about his health, and wanted to make sure he'd treated his eye properly when he left her house. She even tried to blame her obsessive interest in him on simple curiosity about the mysterious bachelor.
But, she lied. She wanted to see him.
If someone asked her if she'd jump out of a plane knowing she'd die
when she hit the ground, tonight, she'd probably answer yes. That's the extreme, out of control, make her insane, way she felt about Nate. Her attachment to him scared her to death. She wouldn't be surprised if he had a Surgeon General's Warning tattooed on his ass.
The fact she was outside of Nate's building at seven o'clock at night proved she was exactly like the mother who despised everything about her and died after telling her what a huge disappointment she was. So, she forced herself to believe Nate was just like her father.
Unfair?
Yes.
Necessary?
Absolutely.
Faced with her inability to control herself, she stopped at the corner, pushed the crosswalk light, and waited for her signal to go home. Tomorrow was Saturday. Over the weekend, she'd make sure she got Nate out of her thoughts before Monday.
"Addison?" A male voice called.
She jolted, turning around. Her smile came easily. "Hello, Mr. Cartmen."
Carrying his suit coat over his shoulder, his tie loosened, and the first couple buttons of his shirt undone, Mr. Cartmen glanced around. She followed his gaze, thinking he was looking for his ride.
"Working tonight?" he said.
She shook her head. "No, I just got done with my last ride."
"Wonderful." He stepped closer. "I'm done for the day, and planned on going out for dinner and a drink. I'd love it if you'd join me."
"Oh, I couldn't." She lifted her phone, looked at the display as if she were running late. "It's nice of you to ask though. Thank you."
"Come on, a drink then…it won't take any time at all." He placed his hand on her back and turned her around.
"No, really." She planted her feet. "I'm running late."
"Addison," he practically cooed as he put his hands on her shoulders, working his way up until he hooked her neck. "A little drink. Away from the rules of the Carpool Dolls. Just you and me."
She pulled against his hold, but he wouldn't let go. "Mr. Cartmen, please."
He leaned in at the same time the squeal from a car's tires rounded the corner. She jerked her head and saw a black BMW skid to a stop at the curb, the window went down, and Nate filled the car. Every muscle in her body unconstructed at the sight of him, and she exhaled.
