Fight for You: A Second Chance Romance (A Warrior for Her Book 1)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  It's depressing as hell.

  Eventually, I head back toward our block, figuring I'll find him at his mama's house. Instead, I find him at the park on the corner. I'm not surprised. He always did spend most of his time here. His mom was an addict with a long line of abusive boyfriends before she finally got clean. When we were kids, hanging out at the park kept him away from whatever drama of the day was going on at his house.

  He's pushing a little boy on the swings. He looks good, like life's been kind to him and he's kept his nose clean. The little boy is maybe four or five. He's cute, with a tight fade, big ears, and an even bigger smile. Quan's clothes were always hand-me-downs and castoffs, but his kid is dressed in name brands and Jays.

  I park and climb out of the car, leaning up against it to watch them play. Now that I'm here, I'm reluctant to go talk to Quan. He was a good kid, someone I considered a friend once upon a time. I'm not sure if I'm pissed he's running around with Kaleo now, or if I'm disappointed. I never would have expected that from him of all people.

  He was always more like me than anyone else. When Titan was out chasing pussy, and Boots and Davonte were racking up petty theft and pot possession charges, Quan was studying. He had big plans for his life and the brains to achieve them. He wanted to be an engineer or some important shit like that. It's hard to imagine what led him to Kaleo.

  Eventually, he spots me watching him and squats down to talk to his son. The little boy peeks in my direction and then nods and says something to Quan. A second later, Quan jogs across the park in my direction.

  "Michael Kincaid," he says, a big grin on his face. He reaches out for my hand and pulls me into a hug before clapping me on the back. "Didn't think I'd ever see your ugly mug around here again."

  "Didn't think I'd be back," I confess and return his brotherly embrace before stepping back. My gaze flits across his face. Even with dreads halfway down his back and a neat goatee, he's clean cut. "You look good."

  "Wish I could say the same about you, brother. You look like shit." He points to the cut on my neck and then his dark eyes lands on the knife wound on my arm. His dimple pops out, his smile widening. "You're something of a legend around here. Everybody knows about the boy who made it out the hood and then went kamikaze on Seattle's gangbangers. Sounds like you're living up to the hype. Heard you've been terrorizing the neighborhood since you been back."

  "Just doing my job," I mutter and lean back, crossing my arms over my chest.

  He laughs and shakes his head, amusement gleaming in his dark eyes. "Always hoped to see your sorry ass again, Kincaid," he says and leans against the car beside me. "You finally come back for your girl?"

  "Something like that."

  "How's she doing these days?" he asks.

  "You care?" I arch a brow at him in silent challenge.

  Hurt filters through his expression, his smile slipping. "Always cared about that girl, man. She was like a sister to me. You know that."

  "Yeah? When's the last time you checked in on her, Quan?"

  "You think she lets me check in on her?" He shoots me a look that tells me not to be stupid. "Hate to break it to you, but you aren't the only one she pushed away. When you disappeared, she told us all to fuck off. Said she didn't want anything to do with our bullshit. I see her around sometimes, but she don't talk to me. Don't talk to any of us these days. Hasn't since the day you left her."

  The accusation in his voice cuts deeper than he knows, but I don't tell him that.

  "That why you're running around with Kaleo?" I ask instead.

  "You askin' as my friend or as a cop?" he shoots right back at me, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  "What do you think?"

  He glances over at his son and then back to me. "You left, Kincaid," he says quietly, "and shit around here changed. After what happened, I guess it had to. I did the best I could to keep my promise to Titan, but shit changed and I had to change with it."

  Pain pulses through me at Titan's name. No one's spoken it to me since I got here. No one's mentioned him at all, in fact. Aside from the one time January brought him up before she kicked my ass to the curb, I haven't heard his name spoken out loud in ten years. That's fucked up. Actually, everything about this situation is fucked up.

  "You keeping your promise to him by letting Kaleo target his little sister?" I demand, hitting Quan with a hard glare. "Because seems to me that's the exact fucking opposite of what Titan wanted. Pretty sure he'd be pissed to find out you're stuck up Kaleo's ass while the motherfucker sends his boys to break into January's with knives and crack rocks in their pockets."

  "Fuck," Quan mutters, his eyes going hard.

  "You didn't know?"

  He shakes his head.

  "What are you doing with him, man?" I ask, genuinely trying to comprehend how things got so twisted. "You wanted in his gang about as badly as I did, and we both know how hard I fought to stay out of his clutches."

  "I did what I had to do," he says with a shrug. "Not saying I like it or that it's what I wanted, but with you gone, there wasn't anyone else around to keep him in line. Figured I had a better chance of keeping the peace if I did it from the inside."

  "Guess he didn't get the memo about keeping the peace," I mutter, looking over to see Quan's son playing in the sand beneath the swings. He's pushing it into a big pile like he's trying to build a sandcastle, but it'll never hold. The sand is too fine for that. I know because Titan and I tried like hell to build a sandcastle in that shit one year. As soon as we'd finish one wall, another would crumble apart. Titan eventually got pissed and kicked the whole thing down.

  "What's he got on you Quan? You and I both know you'd never follow his ass unless you stood to lose something important."

  "My son," he says after a minute, his jaw tight. He rubs a hand down his chin. "His mom dropped him off with me when he was six weeks old and never came back. Found out a few months later that he's not my kid."

  "He's Kaleo's?" I ask.

  Quan nods, his lips compressed into a grim line. "He knows Isaiah is his, but has no interest in raising him."

  "Unless you step out of line," I guess, putting the pieces together. "Fuck."

  "Some things are worth putting up with all the bullshit, Kincaid," Quan tells me, his eyes on his boy. "Isaiah may be his by blood, but he's my son. Keeping him out of Kaleo's hands is worth it."

  I can't say he's wrong. If it were my kid, I'd make the same choice. The last thing that kid needs is Kaleo trying to step in and play daddy. Doesn't make the situation any easier to swallow though, because I can't count on Quan to help me bring Kaleo down. I can't even count on him not to get in my way. He stands to lose too much by siding with me. I can't ask him to take that risk when I could fail.

  "You know he's pimping out girls?" I ask him anyway, hoping like hell he's willing to give me this much.

  He jerks his head in a nod, anger flaring in his expression. "Don't agree with it, but I'm doing what I gotta do to keep my family safe. Don't ask me for help you know I can't give you."

  "I won't, but word to the wise…I'm doing what I gotta do to keep mine safe too. He came after January. I'm not going to let that stand. If you get in my way, I'll take you down with him. Won't enjoy it, but it is what it is."

  "I get it," Quan says, and I know he does. Maybe better than anyone. "He knows what you did."

  "I know," I tell him and then shrug. "Like you said, some shit is worth it. If fighting for January is how the truth comes to light, I'll live with it."

  "I always hoped you'd come back for that girl. Think she's always hoped you would too. Take care of her, Kincaid," he says and then clasps my forearm. "She's been through enough."

  "I know," I whisper.

  "I hope like hell you come out on top of this one, brother. Good luck."

  "Thanks, brother." I watch him jog back across the park to his son and then I climb in the car. For a long minute, I just sit there, not sure what to do now. The last thing I want to do is
go back to Ma Rose's when I know damn well January is right next door, expecting answers I'm too fucking afraid to give her.

  There's not much I'm scared of anymore, but looking in those emerald eyes while she realizes she should have hated me all along? That thought terrifies me as much now as it did back then.

  Eventually, I decide to go check on T and Little Mama. After checking on them, I spend the next three hours running around Los Angeles with Roman, searching for Remi Pledger. By the time I get back to Ma Rose's, it's almost ten, we still haven't found that son of a bitch, and I'm dreading spending the night alone. The last two nights were bad enough. I didn't sleep at all.

  "What the fuck?" I growl when I pull up outside the house and see the front door to Ma Rose's cracked open. January's car isn't at her place and the lights are all off. It doesn't look like she's been home at all since she left this morning. I park on the curb down the street and contemplate calling for backup before clearing the house, but decide against it. I don't want to wait that long.

  Pulling my Glock out of my glove compartment, I hop out of the car and creep toward the house, keeping to the shadows. With most of the streetlights still out on the block, disappearing into the dark isn't hard. I strain to hear any movement coming from inside, but there's nothing.

  I move up the steps, placing my feet carefully to avoid giving myself away in case someone is still inside. The door frame is cracked where it was kicked in and the front windows are smashed. Most of the glass is outside, meaning whoever broke them wasn't trying to get in that way. They broke them from the inside just for the hell of it.

  Fuckers.

  I scan the living room as best I can through the crack in the door but don't see anyone inside. I push the door open with my foot, keeping my gun steady just in case.

  The living room is completely trashed. All of Ma Rose's knick-knacks and shit are in the floor. The tables are flipped over. Someone threw paint all over the furniture, destroying it.

  I'm going to fucking murder Kaleo and whichever of his people he sent over here to deliver this little message.

  I clear the house quickly, moving from room to room as silently as possible. The entire house is in the same condition as the living room. Everything except Ma Rose's room anyway. Seems whoever broke in has a little respect for the dead.

  My room is completely trashed. They used whatever paint they had left over to leave me sweet little messages on the walls. None of them are particularly complimentary to law enforcement. Most aren't even spelled correctly.

  Once I'm satisfied no one's in the house, I call Roman and ask him to send someone over to take the report. He offers to come himself, but there's no point in dragging him back out for this shit, especially when I already know who's responsible. Curtis Fucking Kaleo.

  I leave the mess where it's at so LAPD can take whatever pictures they need, and jog back outside to go check January's place before she gets home.

  "Fuck," I mutter when I see her pulling in her driveway. My heart aches at the sight of her, but I suck it up and jog across the yard.

  "Stay in the car," I tell her when she looks over at me.

  She frowns, her plump lips turning down, and then her gaze falls on the gun in my hand. Fear slides through her expression. "What's going on?" she whispers.

  The little quiver in her voice kills me. I desperately want to pull her into my arms and tell her everything is okay, but I can't do that right now.

  "Just stay in the car, January," I order her and then wait for her to nod before I head for her front door.

  It's locked, thank God.

  "Oh, that stupid motherfucker," I growl when I realize two of her windows are shattered. Looks like someone threw rocks through them. The holes aren't big enough for anyone to have gotten inside, but I unlock the door and go in anyway, checking through each room carefully just to make sure.

  Once I've cleared every room, I make my way back to the living room. The large rocks that were thrown through the windows are still in the floor. One knocked a hole in the wall across from the window. There's a piece of paper wrapped around the other. I kneel down beside it and use my gun to flip it over.

  Ask him who he killed is scribbled across the paper in messy handwriting.

  "Son of a bitch," I swear and then rip the note off the rock. My pulse races, rage thumping through me like a drum. It hits so hard my head aches as my blood pressure skyrockets. I take a deep breath and then another, trying to get myself under control.

  "LAPD!" someone outside yells.

  I quickly shove the note into my pocket and then rise to my feet. Shoving my gun into my waistband, I stride toward the front door to meet the officer.

  "Are you Agent Kincaid?" he asks. The way his blue-eyed gaze rolls over me makes it clear he doesn't believe I'm a fucking cop. It's not the first time someone's looked at me and thought the same thing.

  I know I don't fit the image. I'm covered in tattoos that look like gang signs, have gauges in my ears, and a pierced nose. When you do what I do, you learn quick that people talk a lot more freely when you look like they do. Looking like a cop is the quickest way to get a knife in your back, but if it walks like a gangbanger and talks like a gangbanger…well, you get the point. I play the role I cast myself into and it opens the doors I need opened. I don't regret it, but that doesn't mean shit like this doesn't get old.

  "That's me," I mutter and then reach for my badge.

  He goes for his gun, grasping at his holster like he expects me to start shooting.

  "Mind not fucking shooting me while I get my badge out of my pocket?" I bark at him.

  He has the presence of mind to look embarrassed. His ruddy cheeks and the tips of his overly large ears flush bright red. He's young, way too young and clean cut to be working this neighborhood after dark. He'll be chewed up and spit out in no time flat.

  I hold my badge out to him.

  He checks it over carefully before handing it back to me and asking what happened.

  "My place is trashed and they threw rocks through the windows here. Both houses are clear," I tell him and then stride outside. I don't give a rat's ass if he follows me or not. My girl is probably freaking out. I need to check on her. I also don't want her outside alone any longer than she has to be.

  "What's going on?" she asks, hopping out of the car as soon as I step outside. She's as beautiful as ever. She's wearing a gray high-waisted skirt with a cute little bow on the front and a lacy white top tucked in. Her hair is completely straight. She's wearing a pair of sandals that wrap around her ankles and calves. They match her skirt. She wrings her hands together and worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she hurries toward me. That quiver is still in her voice and her expression is tight.

  I stalk over to her and pull her into my arms, not giving a fuck if she wants me to touch her or not. She clearly needs a hug, and right now, so do I.

  She doesn't fight me. Her little body melts into mine, her arms going around my waist. She hugs me tightly.

  I close my eyes for a second and just revel in the peaceful feeling that settles over me. The rage I felt inside her house falls away, leaving nothing but her and the way every nerve-ending in my body lights up when she's near me.

  "Cade?" she whispers.

  "Someone trashed my place," I mutter, tipping my head down to look at her.

  Her eyes go wide.

  "They broke a couple of your windows too."

  "Kaleo?" she asks.

  I press my lips together and nod.

  Her shoulders slump, defeat channeling through her expression.

  "I'll take care of it," I promise her.

  "How?"

  I open my mouth to tell her not to worry about that, but an unmarked Durango rolls up on the curb, pulling my attention away from her. A guy about my height gets out, dressed in jeans and a blue t-shirt with DEA emblazoned across the back. I know him, sort of. His name is Luke Santiago. He helped bring Little Mama home.

  "Santiago," I gr
eet him, jerking my chin up in a nod. I'm fucking glad to see him. At least he knows who I am and isn't liable to shoot me like the kid LAPD sent out here is.

  "Kincaid," he says and strides toward me. His green eyes shift to January, who's still wrapped up in my arms. Something a little too much like desire rolls through his expression before he quickly schools it into a polite mask.

  I step in front of her anyway, blocking her from his view. I can't fault him for looking at her because she's too goddamn beautiful to be real, but I will fuck him up if he does it again. She's mine and I don't want anyone who looks like him getting too close to her. He's some mix of Spanish and English, with dark hair, caramel skin, and piercing green eyes. I know girls go crazy over guys like him. He needs to keep his eyes off my girl.

  His green eyes rise to meet mine and he jerks his chin in an almost imperceptible nod, letting me know he gets it.

  January peeks out from behind me.

  "I'm Luke Santiago," he says to her, keeping his tone professional and circumspect. His gaze barely skims over her this time. "I work with the DEA here in Los Angeles."

  "January James," she whispers.

  He gives her a nod and then turns back to me. "Roman called me. Someone broke into your place?"

  "Yeah. Someone trashed my house and threw rocks through her windows," I mutter.

  "Think it was personal or just a random act?" he asks.

  "They left love notes all over my walls. Guess they don't like cops much."

  January gasps.

  Santiago nods his head. "Any idea who was responsible?"

  "Curtis Kaleo," I mutter and pull my phone out of my pocket. "I've arrested seven of his people in the last twenty-four hours. He's being a little bitch about it. Haven't had a chance to check the cameras on January's house yet, but I'm guessing they'll tell us who he sent over here to do his dirty work for him."

  January's eyes widen like she doesn't know what to think and then they narrow on me. "Cameras?" she says. "What cameras?"