by T. S. Joyce
His lips were set in a grim line as he leaned against the bar top. “I need to close out our tab.”
“Oh. Right.” He wasn’t there to share another unforgettable moment like earlier. This was business. She grabbed his credit card, charged it, and printed out a receipt.
He lifted a brief flicker of a gaze to her, then signed the receipt with a pen she’d slid toward him.
“So,” she said nervously. “The show was good tonight.” She kicked herself for her lame conversation skills. She could talk to anyone other than Kong—the one who mattered the most.
Kong gave her a warning glare, then slammed the pen down and turned for the door. “Let’s go,” he clipped out to his crew, who were watching them from beside the pool table.
“Have a good night,” she called.
Rhett turned around right before he walked out the exit behind the others and threw her a hate-filled glare. What had she ever done to him?
Baffled, she yanked the receipt off the counter and turned to the computer to enter in the tip.
$500.
Layla blinked slowly to ward off the hallucination, but nope, it was still there. In the tip field, Kong had definitely and clearly scribbled in $500, then added it to the twenty-seven dollar bar tab on the total line.
“Wait, what?” she murmured, lifting her frown to the door where Kong had disappeared. Why the hell would he give her such a ridiculous tip?
“Holy shit,” Jake said from over her shoulder. He plucked the receipt from her limp grasp. “I think that’s a new record.”
“I’m so confused. He never even talks to me,” she murmured.
“Maybe he just has money to burn,” Jake said in a stunned tone.
“I can’t accept this.”
“You have to. He already left, and I can’t keep it in our books. The paperwork won’t match up. Damn, Layla, looks like you just had your biggest night.”
“I’ll say. Six hundred thirty-seven dollars in one shift thanks to that tip and the thirty bucks you gave me for making a fool of myself. That will pay more than half of Mac’s mortgage.” But she couldn’t take it. She wasn’t some charity case, and she hadn’t earned this money. A tip, yeah. Five bucks. Maybe ten at the maximum if he was feeling generous. But five hundred dollars? That was insane and way too much. “Do you know where Kong lives?”
“Nobody knows where he lives. Even the bear crews are hard to find in Damon’s mountains. And besides, you shouldn’t be tracking him down to give him his money back. If he gave you this, it’s for a reason. Let him do something nice.”
“Jake, it’s too much, and it doesn’t feel right. I can’t keep this.”
Jake narrowed his eyes and sighed. “I forget what an Honest Annie you are. It’s annoying.”
“Jake, you know everything about the shifters. Where can I find him?”
Jake inhaled deeply and then let it out in a long, irritated breath. “You know that big barn off the old highway? The one near the gulch?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“A man named Judge holds fight nights there on the weekends. Real backwoods shit, so it ain’t safe for you to go alone. Kong usually fights last. Judge likes to pin him against any Boarlanders looking to make a quick buck. Kong is the fighter who draws the crowd and keeps them there betting. It’ll take me a while to close up, but maybe we’ll make it in time.”
Layla couldn’t wait on Jake to close up the bar, though, and risk missing her opportunity to give Kong his money back. She wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight with that charity money taunting her. “Thanks, Jake,” she rushed out as she pulled her tips from the drawer and yanked her apron off.
“Where are you going? I said it was too dangerous for you to go alone!” Jake called as she bolted for the door.
“I’ll be fine!” She hoped.
Chapter Three
Cheering echoed from the dilapidated barn through the field to where Layla parked her Civic at the end of a row of cars and trucks. The grass was tall but trampled down by tires as she made her way through one of the tread marks toward the old gray building. If it had been painted, the weather had stripped it away at some point in its history. There was a thin trail of people trickling inside in clusters of twos and threes, so she followed them around the side where two doors had been slid open, revealing a warm glowing light from inside. The building had probably housed eighteen horse stalls before Judge had turned it into a fighting ring. There were still a few stalls on the opposite side that were intact, but the rest had been torn out and tall metal poles held the barn upright now. The crowd was gathered around the middle, but she couldn’t see anything from here.
The cheering and jeering was deafening, but she could make out the chanting from a group of spectators on the other side. “Kong, Kong, Kong.”
With a gasp, she lurched forward and muscled her way through the mob. The closer to the ring she got, the harder it was to move anywhere.
“Hey!” someone behind her yelled. “Bartender!”
She jerked around to a familiar face. He was one of those frat boy types. Blond hair, blue eyes, cocky smile.
“Snakebite?” she asked, recalling the potent lager and cider drinks he’d ordered while he was watching the Beck Brothers.
“Yes! You remember.”
She waved politely and turned to try to get closer to the ring. Only a couple of rows of too-tall men were blocking her from what sounded like a good fight if the cheering was anything to go by, but no good. She couldn’t get any closer.
“Let me,” Snakebite said too close to her ear as he gripped her waist.
She squeaked as he shoved her through a tight hole between two behemoths. He yelled something at the pair of cheering tatted-up bikers as she wiggled past, but she couldn’t make out what he said. As her focus pinpointed on Kong, the noise around her died away.
Shirt off, he was bleeding freely from a gash under his eye down his bare chest. A tattoo ran from his shoulder to his elbow, but she couldn’t tell what it was from here. All black ink and tribal looking, it was just a blur of sexpot as he ducked a hit and swung hard enough to splinter his opponent’s ribs. Kong’s eyes glowed a brilliant green, and if she’d had any question before now about him being a shifter, the unsettling color that had replaced his soft brown eyes would’ve put those doubts to rest. His torso was thickly laden with muscle, his abs flexing with every graceful punch he threw and every breath he took. His waist tapered severely from the width of his shoulders, and she was stunned by how powerful he looked like this, slick with sweat, bloody, smiling, and egging on the titan he was boxing.
Harrison! She nearly swallowed her tongue as she realized Kong was fighting the alpha of the Boarlanders. Holy shit!
“Damn, Bartender, you’re looking hot tonight,” Snakebite yelled over the sound of the crowd.
Fantastic. She plucked his hand off her waist and tried to sidle away from him, but there was nowhere to go. It was too tight here, and she was getting pressed against the wooden railing as the men behind her surged forward and raised their fists in the air, chanting Kong’s name.
He ducked and connected, volleyed and took a hit to the jaw that would’ve knocked her out cold. It hurt just watching. And now she was worried he would get hurt, or worse. Didn’t people die from boxing? No, settle down. Jake said he does this regularly. He would be fine, and oh! Kong swung around and nearly ran into the wooden railing that was driving into her hip bones as the crowd pushed harder against her. A sickening noise sounded as Harrison went to town on Kong’s stomach, blasting his fists against his abs.
“Come on,” she murmured under her breath. Kong could do this. Sure, Harrison was a dominant alpha grizzly shifter, but Kong was…well…Kong. She’d never seen anyone stronger.
Kong jerked his gaze to her, and for an instant, their eyes locked. She could see herself reflected in the churning green there, just before he grunted in pain and took a hard hit to his face.
She gritted her teeth and cl
osed her eyes. They were so close, so violent, so powerful, and she was pinned here, unable to escape if she wanted to. And Snakebite was slithering his arm around her waist again.
Kong shoved Harrison and then thundered toward him, powerful legs flexing against his ripped, blood-splattered jeans.
She couldn’t breathe. “Get off me,” she rasped out, shoving Snakebite’s hand off her ass.
“Don’t be like that,” he said in her ear, right before he drew her lobe between his teeth and sucked.
Layla yanked away, but the drunken idiot had bit down and pulled too hard on her stud earring. “Shit!” she gasped, holding her ear. When she pulled her hand away, a smear of crimson glistened on her index finger.
“A little pleasure, a little pain?” Snakebite slurred, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her hip hard against his erection.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Get off!”
“I’m trying to!”
With a screech, she slapped his face with her claws out.
“Bitch!”
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe.
When Snakebite grabbed her hair, she closed her eyes, waiting for the slap. Other than a stern yank to her tresses, the pain never came, and when she opened her eyes, Kong was throwing Snakebite into the horde of onlookers on the other side of the arena. Harrison was knocked out cold on the red saturated plywood floor with a few of his crew around him, and eek! Now Kong was headed her way with the furious look of a berserker in his eyes.
Retreat time.
She turned and ran forehead first into a solid wall of smelly biker.
“Kong!” Rhett roared from across the arena.
“Give me a fucking minute!” Kong yelled from way too close. Shit, shit, shit.
A meaty hand wrapped around her upper arm—all the way around it—and then Kong shoved her forward through a hole that magically appeared in front of her. Huh. This was much easier with a beefy, scary-ass, devil-eyed boxer giving death glares to anyone who stood in her way.
“Kong!” Rhett yelled again, from farther away this time, but when she turned to see how close Rhett was, Kong was blocking him from her view with his half naked body.
A squirrely man with greasy hair and a gap-toothed grin for Kong weaseled his way through the crowd. “Your cut,” he said simply, slapping a wad of bills into Kong’s hand. “See you next week.”
“Yeah,” Kong said in a low, rumbling voice.
He didn’t even slow down as he collected his winnings, just shoved her forward faster. “Run,” he demanded as soon as they were outside.
Run? “What’s happening?”
“Fuck,” he muttered when she apparently wasn’t going fast enough. He wrapped his oversize hand around hers and yanked her forward until she was sprinting behind him. He shoved her into the passenger side of an old glossy black Camaro, slammed the door, bolted around the front, and then jammed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life so loudly she put her hands over her ears.
“Buckle. Now.” Kong’s eyes looked terrifying as he glared at the back window behind him and blasted out of the make-shift parking space. The instant he hit the gas, the back two wheels spun out in the damp field, and the car fishtailed for a few seconds before he hit the worn treads and hauled ass out of the parking lot.
He checked the rearview mirror three times as he hit the main road, then slammed his open palm against the steering wheel. “What the fuck were you doing there?”
Layla was plastered against the door with her lips pursed. They had to be going eighty on an old back road with no street lights. Heart in her throat, she pulled the wad of cash from her pocket. “I came to give you your tip back.”
Kong’s eyebrows were dark squiggles of undeniable irritation when he glanced over at her. “Are you out of your mind? I told you never to approach me again. You didn’t even wait three hours to come after me!”
She made an offended noise in her throat. “And what if I’d just been there for the fight? Wouldn’t you feel super stupid right now for dragging me into your…your…” She looked around the perfectly detailed dash and fragrant black leather seats for inspiration. “Sexmobile!” No. Not the right word when she was angry.
“You were the one who brought that gropey asshole—”
“I did not bring him. I served him drinks tonight, and he recognized me on the way in. I didn’t invite him to grope me.”
“Well, that’s what happens there, Layla. It’s not a place for a woman like you.”
“Like me? You don’t even know me. That might be just my scene.”
She tried to hand him the money again, but he shoved her hand away.
“I’m not taking it back, so stop it.” He jerked the wheel and took off down another back road, washed out and overgrown by brambles.
“Where are you taking me?”
“I don’t know! Fuck, Layla. I tried to warn you. Did you not hear me when I said you have to stay away from me?”
“Yeah, but then you gave me five hundred dollars! I can’t accept that. I’m no charity case.”
Kong pulled behind a clump of trees and cut the lights. He stayed perfectly still, looking out the back window for a full minute before he slumped back against the seat. He slammed his head back against the rest and sighed. “I didn’t give you the money to make you feel like a charity case. It just sounded like you could use the money when you were on the phone earlier. I have plenty, so I was just trying to help.”
“You have plenty? Please don’t tell me you are some trust fund prick who has a billion dollars stashed away in Swiss bank accounts.”
“And if I was?” he asked, frowning so hard a wrinkle indented on his forehead.
“Then I’d be super prejudiced against you.” A small smile cracked her face, so she crossed her arms over her chest and tried to keep the laugh securely in her throat.
“I own the sawmill. It’s not trust fund money. I work my ass off and live below my means so that I can put extra away in savings, you judgy little thing.” But the way he muttered the last part sounded like he was more amused than angry.
“Okay, then why are you fighting grizzly alphas for”—she yanked the wad of cash he’d shoved in the cup holder between them and counted it out—“a hundred dollars a pop?” She reared back. “A hundred dollars? Really? Your face looks like a murder scene,” she said, gesturing at the gash in his eye, which looked half healed already but was still super gory.
“It’s not about the money.” He gripped the wheel, then let his hands slide off to rest on his thighs. “I have to fight.”
Layla swallowed hard and leaned her cheek against the leather seat, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Why?”
Kong rolled his head toward her. “I just do.”
“Because of what you are?”
“I’m human.”
“Bullshit. Your eyes look like those bug lights that zap anything that gets too close.”
His eye twitched as he ripped his gaze away and slid on a pair of sunglasses. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“You were the one who kidnapped me against my will.”
“You smell like arousal and pheromones. Don’t give me that kidnapped against your will shit.”
Layla nearly choked on air. “Excuse me? I do not smell.” She sniffed her arm but she smelled like she always did after work. Beer and deodorant.
“Quit sniffing yourself. I didn’t say it was a bad thing. Just that we shouldn’t be here, in this position.”
“And what position is that? We’re talking in a car, not banging on the hood.” Though, now that she thought of it, that sounded kind of awesome.
“Stop talking,” he muttered, turning the volume up on a country song. He gripped the wheel again and let off a slow breath.
“You’re rude.” Layla kicked open the door and marched off in the direction of the road. She wasn’t just some shifter groupie he could treat like she was beneath him. He’d ignored her in the bar for yea
rs, and now he thought he could tell her to stop talking? No. She liked him, a lot, but she liked herself better.
“What are you doing?” Kong asked from right beside her.
“Hoooly shhhh—” she said, jumping and clutching her chest. It was dark out here, the moon only half full, and with her unimpressive night vision, she hadn’t even seen him coming up on her right. “I’m going home.”
“You’re mad.”
Layla rounded on him. “Damn straight I’m mad. I’ve tried to talk to you for years, and you’ve shut me down, and rudely at that. I don’t know what your problem is, but you can’t tell me to stop talking and just expect me to obey you, just like you can’t tell me not to approach you and just expect me to heed your demands.”
“I’m only going to get worse with age.”
Layla waited for him to explain, but when he didn’t, she shrugged her shoulders and started walking again. “I’m out.” She skidded to a stop and rounded on him again. “No, you know what? I thought about that stupid hug in Jake’s office all night. I don’t even know why. Fifty times at least, I’ve imagined you holding me, and then it happened, but you followed it directly with ‘never talk to me again.’” Stupid tears burned her eyes, and she blinked hard to keep them where they belonged. “And it didn’t even feel that good. You were too rough.”
His eyes had dimmed to muddy green, and he arched an eyebrow. “You don’t like rough.”
“No. I like gentle. I’m not fragile, but I have to deal with a lot of shit in my life, and I want a man to be easy with me.”
“Easy isn’t in my nature and, again, I’m only going to get worse with age.”
Layla stomped her boot. “What does that mean?”
“I’m a gorilla, Layla.” He canted his head and searched her face. Moments of silence dragged on between them before he whispered. “I’m a gorilla shifter. And I’m not some blackback young buck either, woman. I’m a fully mature silverback. I’m physically and emotionally ready for a family group of my own with females who don’t mind rough. I fight because I have to, because my animal requires it, so I can stay steady and in control, and so I keep fit enough to protect a group of females from other males or, God forbid, from humans who find out about us and want to hurt us.”
