by London Casey
I was sent to kill her… not fake a marriage and then actually fall for her.
I guess I’m not so…
INVINCBLE is the author of the bestselling rockstar romance series
Karolyn is the author of the bestselling rockstar romance series BROTHERS OF ROCK. Under the pen name London Casey, she has written the chart topping motorcycle romance series BACK DOWN DEVIL MC.
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Ana is the author of the bestselling motorcycle romance serial series, DEVIL CALL MC. Other projects have included BY HIS COMMAND, FULL MOON MERCY, & RAW RIVER WILD.
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INVINCIBLE
I was sent to kill her… not fake a marriage and then actually fall for her.
I survived by following one rule – never fight on the anniversary of my brother’s death. When that rule is broken, all hell breaks loose for everyone around me. After taking a step away from fighting, I was given the orders to help take out an enemy. No big deal, right? I didn’t think so… until I saw a picture of who it was. A woman named Rose.
The second I see her, I know I won’t kill her. The only way to keep her alive is to tell a lie that puts us both one foot in the grave. She becomes a marked woman by her own family and I become her savior. I never asked for it, but there’s one thing that keeps me close to her and it’s not just her beauty or the wild passion we share.
She knows who killed my brother.
Our lies and secrets are as wild as the passion we share, and I find myself in the greatest fight of my life… one I know I can’t win, but I am willing to die for.
1.
(Rose)
He looked like a monster in the sexiest way possible. Standing, facing a wall, his wrists and hands were wrapped in black tape, with his fists against the wall. He was shirtless, leaving my eyes to gaze upon rippling muscle. Not crazy huge bodybuilder muscle but rather intense cut muscle. The kind of muscle that was earned by surviving fights.
That’s where I was.
At another fight.
I had grown up in the world even if I still wasn’t used to it all. The smell of sweat and blood in the air. The buildings were always rusted, abandoned buildings, so the smell of the rust and must mixed with the smell of fighting.
There were guys walking all over the place. Getting themselves pumped up before a fight. Guys begging to have the chance to fight. And then the guys who were quiet after their fights.
“Keep his head up!” a voice yelled.
I stared at the muscular back, black sweaty hair down past his neck, slick with wetness, the tips curled, dripping water.
Was his head bobbing? Was he cr…
“Hey, sweet thing? Get the fuck out of the way!”
I turned and jumped back.
Two guys were dragging a third guy. His face was destroyed, blood everywhere. I saw the whites of his eyes but wasn’t exactly sure if there was life behind those eyes. One of the guys dragging him grabbed the guy by the hair and kept his head straight. His feet were limp, knees scraping the concrete floor as he went by me.
“Pretty girl like you don’t need to see this,” one said to me with a stubby cigar in his mouth.
Chances were the bloody guy was a fighter for the two guys dragging him. He wasn’t a human but rather an investment. Fight to win to survive, sure, but it was about money. Winning, gaining pride, having your fighters train harder, faster, more often, and then getting them ready for the next fight. If the guy was that badly injured, or he lost really bad, he’d get killed.
I’d seen it before. Many times.
From the time I was little, I’d stood next to my father as he set up the fights, took the bets, pocketed some money, winked at me, and then got out there and sold the fights to the crowd of people desperate to see something raw and, honestly, terrifying.
I turned and looked at the man facing the wall again.
He slid his fists down the wall and let them hang at his sides. His triceps curled and flexed, making his arms totally defined. Muscle ran up and around his well built shoulders, connecting to his impressive back. I never really dug the long hair thing on guys, but this guy made it totally work.
“Go away.”
He spoke to me.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Go the hell away.”
I had no business being near any of the fighters. I definitely had no business trying to approach this guy. Not that I lived my life judging others but there was always a dark story that sent these guys into this world of fighting. And those stories usually raged on deep within their core. Those fires and stories only died when they did, usually at the hands of a loss in a fight.
I didn’t say another word.
He hung his head again. All his muscles seemed to flex at once. At first I thought he was getting pissed at me even more, ready to turn and attack. Instead, his head bobbed. This time I knew he was crying.
A fighter… standing there… crying.
A hand touched my shoulder and I jumped. I looked and saw my brother, Luke, standing there. He was in a black suit, hair slicked back, his fingers digging at my shoulder. He pulled at me without speaking a word.
He basically dragged me away and pushed me into an abandoned office.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he growled. “Looking for some dick?”
I swallowed hard. “No, Luke. I was…”
“Yeah, exactly. We’re done here. You shook your ass, people cheered, now you go the fuck home.”
The first time I got a reaction from the crowd was the end of my life. I had begun to fill out way too young and I was quickly given skimpy clothes and told to smile as I walked through the open circle before, and in between, fights. Apparently my body made the guys drink more and bet more. I was then sent through the crowd when I was older, doing anything to collect money. Even if it meant men shoving cash into my clothing. I used to walk through the crowd with a smile and then cry my eyes out as I peeled the money away from my body.
The only good that came was an agent who got me a modeling contract. Even that, considering the guy was at an illegal fight, put me in a bad position. I was at the mercy of Luke. I was at the mercy of deep family ties, dirty money, and I was told that my beauty was the only way to keep things right.
“I thought I needed to be here,” I said to Luke.
I had to watch my tongue. Luke was a well trained, successful fighter. He blurred the lines of his anger, not caring if it was a woman challenging him. His anger had only gotten worse when our father died. Now he was just a time bomb, always looking for a reason to explode.
Luke curled his lip. “It’s not safe here, Rose. Get the fuck out right now.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving,” Luke said. “You do the fucking same. Don’t make me come look for you.”
“Give me a second,” I said and slipped away from Luke.
I didn’t know why but I had the urge to check on the sexy fighter. I had to get him to turn around. I had to see his face. I had to see
his wet hair in his face. I don’t know, I kind of wanted to see him cry. To see a tall, muscular cut fighter stand there and cry. It was sexy as hell.
I grabbed the doorway and skidded to a stop, ready to demand the guy turn around. If he refused, I’d grab him by the arm and pull him.
Except he was gone.
The only memory in my mind was a small spot of blood on the wall where he had been pressing his fists.
It was for the best.
I had one rule I always followed. Never - ever - get involved with a fighter.
2.
(Wes)
On his knees, putting a hand up. Asking for a second. Just one fucking second, man. Yet nobody did anything. There was no second to give in this world. It wasn’t scripted. It wasn’t sanctioned. He should have done something, anything, but he didn’t. He put his fucking hand out. Weak. Then the punch sent him back, his head cracking off the ground. That was the end of the fight. Goddammit, that was the fucking end. Only it wasn’t… the end of the fight, sure, but it was the beginning of death…
I shut my eyes and rubbed my temples. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I was supposed to be dead drunk right now. I was supposed to get into a bar fight and win. I was supposed to take some woman home, demand she strip naked, then get behind her and let the rest of my anger out.
That’s how it all went. Year after fucking year.
Except this year.
I never fought on the date my brother was killed. It was just my thing. I made sure I disappeared or had a good excuse. Or I’d just wake up and get piss drunk by nine in the morning, so if someone called me to fight, I couldn’t do it. Nobody would throw money on me winning if I was drunk.
Coincidentally, the year I thought about trying to be normal was the year Danny told me I was set to fight. He showed up, put a gun to my chest, and told me to stay sober. That I needed to win the fight. If I didn’t, Aton was going to put a bullet up my ass. Danny was nothing but a tall lunk. Thick with muscle, nothing with brains, he was solely a piece of muscle for Aton. And if Aton made the call on a fight, you better get your ass ready to fight.
Standing in the back of the building, I tried to find Aton.
He was a ghost sometimes and I fucking hated it. Then again, maybe it was better. He was connected to a family that controlled more than my mind cared to think about. And all it took was one bullet to the head to end your life and nobody would care. Nobody would even know. Especially me. I tried to keep a low profile. I fought, earned, trained, ate, fucked, and slept.
But to fight on the night of Shane’s death…
I stood at the wall, readying myself. I had to fight without thinking about Shane. Without seeing him hitting the ground. Seeing the fists hitting him, over and over. The crowd cheering louder and louder. Then foot stomps…
I sensed someone behind me the entire time I stood there. It was a woman. Of course it was a woman. What the fuck did she want? Try to fuck around before a fight?
After I told her go away - and she did - I walked away.
My emotions were destroying me from the inside out.
At the end of the hall, I saw Danny standing there with an arm around a woman, a drink in his hand.
“Start the fight,” I said.
“Hey! Who the fuck…”
I threw a punch and hit the glass out of his hand. “Start the fucking fight. I’m not waiting. I’ll walk out.”
“I’ll put a bullet in the back of your head,” Danny warned.
I turned and grabbed my hair. “Do it.”
A second later a guy came walking from the opposite direction. He was my height, same build, short spiky hair. He had an eagle tattooed on his chest that went up to his neck. He showed me his teeth as he walked by, flexing his pecs and arms.
I’m going to fucking kill you.
That’s when I went into fight mode. Complete and total fight mode. That meant everything became a blur and sound was reduced to a mumble. I thought about my body moving. My muscles working. My fists striking.
“Get out there,” Danny said. “Go fucking earn.”
The crowd was cheering as the other guy got out to the circle. I charged out right after him, walking up to his back, slamming my chest against him. That got a nice rise out of the crowd. The guy spun and came at me. Our chests touched. Our noses touched.
The building looked ready to explode.
“Let’s get this going!” a voice yelled.
It was Danny. He came lumbering out to the circle.
“I don’t think I have much time here,” Danny said. “They look ready to go.”
The crowd kept cheering.
“We’ve got the tattooed madman,” Danny said. “A man so dark he has a tattoo on his heart.”
The crowd oooh’ed.
The guy bounced from my chest and then tapped his chest, playing into the tattoo heart thing.
I just stared ahead, my hair in my face, wanting to finish this fast so I could get drunk. I felt like Shane was standing next to me, like he had done so many times. Telling me where to have my feet, how to hold my body, how to throw a punch. How to read the opponent without giving anything away.
“He’s evil,” Danny said. “Dark enough that hell refused him so he keeps coming back for more. Give it up for the freebird himself, Johnny!”
The crowd whistled and cheered.
“Now, next to me, standing still, readying himself, fists like hammers… the darkest soul I’ve ever met. Blood spilled before his feet. Death screaming in his hands. Anyone who sees him fight will never forget him. Those who have seen him before have already thrown all their money on his back. Meet… the one, the only… Wes.”
There was a time when the crowd cheering mattered to me. It made me feel good. It made me feel like people cared.
They didn’t fucking care.
They wanted their drinks. They wanted to see blood. They wanted to earn a little cash illegally. And they wanted to take someone somewhere to fuck them. It was all about money, violence, booze, and sex.
Danny backed away and lifted his glass. “Hey! This one is it. No bells. No stopping until there’s a winner. You go until… you either win or lose.”
Danny waved a hand and the fight was on.
Johnny came right at me, fists up, feet moving. He was a trained boxer. He knew how to move his shoulders. Taking a few quick shots, he tried to feel me out. To see how I’d react. Trying to get me to open up a little.
I let him swing three more times. A weak punch that hit my hands, a hook to my ribs, an uppercut that I backed away from. Sweat poured from his forehead already. He was overplaying himself. Getting his heart pumping way too much way too soon.
I circled with him for a little bit, just staring at him. The crowd started to boo, not liking the lack of action.
I threw my head back, clearing my hair off my face, and then opened my arms. That got the crowd cheering. Johnny stood for a second, wondering what the hell I was doing.
“Come on!” I yelled. “Take your shot!”
“Hit him!” Danny bellowed.
I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or Johnny.
Johnny took a shot and cracked me in the gut. It knocked the wind out of me for a second. He then grabbed my shoulder and brought a hard fist at my stomach again. I braced myself and accepted the hit. I threw my head forward, smashing my head against Johnny’s face. He flew back, arms out and waving, his nose opening.
I went after him then.
Left, right, a straight jab to the face.
He tumbled to the ground and remained there. He put a hand out and the entire room froze for me. All I could see then was Shane. A hand out, wanting an extra second. There were no seconds. There was just fighting. Fight until you lost. Shane did that though. He fought until he lost. But the fight kept going. Well, it wasn’t a fight then. It was an attack.
It took…
I felt a smack against my face and it sent me reeling. My right cheek started to throb with pain.
Another hit to almost the same spot took me to one knee. I looked up and Johnny came down at me again. A third punch to the right side of my face. I put my left hand on the cool concrete ground and braced myself.
“Motherfucker,” Johnny growled.
His left foot came up at me. I balanced on my knees and grabbed his foot, twisting it until there was a loud pop. My fist came forward and I hit him in the balls. Johnny put his foot down and screamed in pain. His leg twisted. I lunged at him with my shoulder, taking out his knee. He collapsed to the ground, screaming, bleeding.
I pulled at him, positioning myself over his body.
“What is wrong with you?” Johnny screamed at me. “Fight like a fucking man.”
I brought my head down to his face, busting him open even more.
I then rolled off him and climbed to my feet. I stood there, watching Johnny writhe in pain. He wrestled with himself, trying to stand up. His ankle was broken, his knee torn to shreds. There was nothing he could do right now to win the fight. He couldn’t even stand the hell up.
The crowd cheered for me. The chants of Wes! echoed in my mind.
I didn’t see Johnny on the ground though. I saw Shane. His head smacking the ground, over and over. I screamed for him to just stay the fuck down. Every time his head hit the ground, he popped back up. It was like he wanted more. He wanted to die.
“He wanted to die,” I whispered.
The crowd suddenly turned on me.
I was the beast standing next to wounded prey. I was supposed to go in for the kill. All the men who bet on me. They bet on me to beat Johnny until he was out cold. Or until he quit. That’s where the money was. Aton made his money betting on me or betting on something I’d do.
“Kill him!” a voice boomed.
It was Danny. Standing there with a drink in hand, cackling.
I threw the finger to Danny and got the crowd to ooohh and aaahh a little.
Johnny grabbed for the air, screaming for help. He looked at me, swinging, spitting, wanting me to finish him off.
I walked to Johnny and put one foot on his ankle. I twisted my foot to his ankle and he screamed. His hands smacked the concrete.
“I quit! I fucking quit!”
