by KB Winters
“And none of that will fucking matter if he can’t protect his noggin. You should probably let him know that,” I growled, much harsher than I needed to be.
Emmett, for his part, nodded, accepting the advice even though it was clear that he didn’t want it. It was always like that with us, even though we hadn’t really grown up together until high school, when both of our moms had decided it was time to stop being a parent and start partying. Hard.
“You hear from Dad lately?”
I shook my head, gaze fixed on Ravager’s wide-open face, just waiting for a night-night punch. “No. I’ve been too busy working and dealing with my own shit to worry about our old man. What about you, are things all right?”
Barely two years had passed since Emmett had been honorably discharged from the Army where he caught a severe case of PTSD.
“Things are fine, Terry.” He spit out the words, clearly annoyed, which I could deal with, as long as I knew he was all right.
“You sure? There’s no harm in needing more time.”
He wouldn’t talk about what happened over there, not to me and not to any type of mental health professional. He put all his energy into fighting inside the ring and then turned to coaching because he refused to deal with his shit and Sadie wouldn’t stand for an unstable player. At least that that type of unstable.
“I said I’m fine, man. Damn.”
“Yeah, I heard you. But your anger says otherwise.” He glared at me, and I raised my arms defensively. “Excuse me for giving a shit.”
Finally, his blue gaze, identical to my own, left Ravager and landed on me. It was the only trait we shared, both of us inherited it from our old man, but I got my mom’s blonde hair and Emmett’s was the same deep brown as his mother’s. We couldn’t be more different in demeanor and temperament, but with matching shitty childhoods, we were more alike in the ways that counted.
“I need to talk to Ravager,” he said and walked away calmly, broad shoulders leaving no doubt that he could and would kick ass if he needed to, despite his soft-spoken words and almost shy personality.
I watched Emmett go, hoping he really was all right because, as shitty as it sounded, I really didn’t have the time to worry about him, too. Savannah Rhymer was in the wind, and Lance’s death was on her fucking head as far as I was concerned.
The front door opened to the testosterone-fueled training center for up and coming fighters, and in walked Kat Ashby. She acted as though she was completely unaware of the effect she had on people as she strode across the floor finishing up a phone call. Her gaze was focused on some spot in front of her, but she was oblivious to the stares her fitted black dress caused, or the dicks rising at the sight of those fire engine red, fuck-me heels.
I was convinced she knew exactly the effect she had on men, but as I watched Kat walk toward the practice ring where Emmett and Rob spoke on hushed tones, I could admit there was no extra swing in her hips, no pouty lips to tease the boys. Or the girls.
Nope, that was Kat’s style. Instead, she managed to sidestep or skip over every fighter and trainer she encountered, as if oblivious to them at the same time. It was quite a talent, one only someone like the Ashby Princess could master so easily. With her phone call finished, she began to swipe across the screen. Always working.
I watched, amused as her steps slowed about five feet from me, her eyes still focused on her phone screen until she practically ran me over.
“Whoa sweetheart, if you want a piece all you have to do is ask.”
I regretted the move instantly because putting my hands on her shoulders, her bare shoulders, sent a thunderbolt of want right through me, and that was something I couldn’t afford. Not now.
Not ever.
My words or maybe it was my proximity, brought those sexy red heels to a screeching halt. She looked up slowly until her gaze met mine. “Terry. Fancy running into you here.”
“Stopped by to have coffee with Emmett. Good morning.”
“Busy morning is more like it,” she said on a sigh that seemed a mix of annoyed and enthused. I could never tell if she was irritated by me or if that was simply her default setting.
“How are you, Terry?” she asked in a tone that sent a chill up my spine and a flash of heat to my dick.
I blinked, surprised at her words though I shouldn’t be. Kat was nothing if not nice to everyone. Sure, she gave me shit but it was all good natured. “Good, I suppose, still fucking pissed off about Lance.”
“Yeah,” she sighed. “I’ll sleep a lot easier when that Rhymer cunt is no longer breathing.”
Kat’s words shouldn’t have shocked me, but they did. She wasn’t the foul-mouthed little girl she’d pretended to be when we were younger, and she didn’t seem to have the same bloodlust that drove Jasper and Virgil.
“No shit,” was all I could manage in reply before Emmett joined us, wariness swimming in his eyes.
“Hey Kat, how’s it going?” he said with a smile finally breaking out.
I envied the easy way Emmett and Kat could talk to each other, without the snark and the sarcasm and the bickering. Or maybe I didn’t. Getting Kat riled up was one of my guilty pleasures, and she always made it worth it. Always.
“It’s nonstop busy until after this fight, which brings me to why I’m here,” she said around a sheepish smile. “I mean, I’m good, Emmett. How are you?”
His lips twitched, and I outright laughed, earning me a sapphire-colored glare that widened my smile. “I’m good, Kat. What brings you by?”
Kat smiled and shook her head. “I need you to do some press leading into fight night. I know you don’t like to do it, but the people of Glitz and Vegas love you and your story,” she said with a smile. “A vet and a fighter turned coach, you’re practically a unicorn. Besides all that, you show up and talk technical fight shit and you’ll solidify your role as a top trainer in the league.”
Emmett rubbed a hand over his thick brown hair and grinned. “Shouldn’t you let me give you a few objections first?” His lips twitched in amusement, and I was glad Kat’s gaze was on him because my big ass grin would have pissed her off but good.
Kat’s smile dimmed, replaced by what I liked to call her uptight corporate chick personality. Like a Stepford, only hotter. Way fucking hotter. She smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles from her black dress and put one hand on her hip while the other held the tablet in a white-knuckle grip.
“I thought I’d save us both the time by presenting all my arguments up front. Besides, the camera loves you. Unless,” she blinked and her expression went from all business to concern. “You have other objections?”
I had to hand it to Kat, she was good. Damn good. Better than Sadie at times because she could find a way to get exactly what she wanted without threats, thinly-veiled or otherwise. She managed to bring up Emmett’s PTSD without actually saying the words, or the letters. He sighed and shook his head.
“No objections right off the top of my head,” he said in defeat, or maybe it was disappointment.
“Perfect. Don’t worry, Em, you’ll do great.”
From anyone else that would have sounded like gloating or maybe an empty compliment, but Kat didn’t give out compliments undeservedly. She didn’t get over-talkative or flowery about it, either. It was just a fact as far as she was concerned and that was what sold my brother in the end.
“Fine, but nothing that interferes with the training schedule. I got half a dozen fighters gearing up for this weekend, starting with the early prelims.”
“I’m aware,” she said with a satisfied smile. “Trust me. I’ll email you the dates and times and you tell me which ones don’t work with your schedule. If you cut out more than five, I’ll just send you five more. Got it?”
Emmett nodded. “Yeah, I’m aware Kat.”
Her shoulders relaxed now that business matters were over and her smile came easier. Friendlier.
“Good. Things look great around here. I saw Rachel Cruz when I came in, and her f
itness level has definitely gone up.”
“Glad you noticed,” he said, acting a little surprised that Kat had noticed. Me too, if I was being honest.
“I did and I don’t want to keep you. Thanks for making my job easy today. I won’t forget it.”
And just like that, Kat turned on her heels and walked away, giving me an eyeful of long, shapely legs, slim waist and a nice, round ass. She was slender but toned, a lot stronger than she looked at first glance.
“I guess that answers that,” Emmett said, a knowing smile in his voice.
“What?”
“You’re still hung up on the Ashby Princess.”
I frowned. “I was never hung up on the Princess.” I lied straight through my teeth because that was my secret, and I’d take it to the grave.
“Bullshit,” he growled with a grin. “But we all have our secrets, don’t we?”
I knew what he was getting at and it gave me pause. Emmett needed to deal with his shit before it exploded at the most unfortunate time and with irreversible consequences. But I wasn’t ready to share my feelings for Kat with anyone. “For now, we do. But that could change at any moment little brother.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go chase the princess. I saw how she looked at you, there might actually be a chance this time.”
Dammit, I’d been hoping that flare of attraction had been a trick of the light or wishful thinking on my part, but if Emmett saw it too, well that changed things. Or did it? “Is that your way of telling me to get lost?”
“Nah, but I do need to get back to it. Make sure Ravager is on top form.”
He held up a fist and I bumped it with a smile, glad that the shit our folks put us through had turned us into real brothers, not just half-brothers, instead of enemies. Really, it could have gone either way.
“See ya around, bro.”
“Later,” he called to my back as I made my way to the door, not following Kat, just heading in the same direction.
She was oblivious to the attention she drew as her heels clacked against the cement of the visitor’s lot. Women looked on in awe of her sense of style, the confident way she carried herself even when she was preoccupied with more important matters. And then men, well they drooled as she walked by, probably disappointed they couldn’t muster the courage to approach here before she reached her car.
But one guy stared in a way that wasn’t filled with lust or envy. He had intent in everything from the hunched over set of his shoulders, the way he shoved his fists into the pockets of his jeans, hoodie pulled up to obscure his features and his race.
He didn’t look like he wanted her body or her money, and instantly, I was on high alert. My thoughts went to Brendan Rhymer and Jas’ insistence that the asshole was still alive. If that motherfucker had risen from the dead to target Kat, then I’d be happy to send him straight back to hell.
It wasn’t Brendan though, the guy was taller and thinner than that sick fuck, but that didn’t mean this guy wasn’t sent by Brendan. Or his father or his missing sister.
My gaze slid back to Kat; blue eyes still fixed on the phone screen as her long legs carried her to the far end of the lot. I picked up the pace when he started to move toward her, determined to make it to Kat before this asshole did.
“Hey, hot stuff, give me a smile why don’tcha?” he said, part gangster, part cocky bastard.
Kat froze and turned on her heels with murder in her eyes. “What did you just say to me?” Her outrage made me smile, but the asshole was still advancing, and her anger gave me just enough time to get to her before he did and wrap my arms around her like we were more than kinda, sorta, friends.
“Now is that any way to greet an old friend, sweetheart?” I laid it on thick. Kat was confused and angry as I spun her in a circle so I could get a better, up-close look at the man following her. He was tall with tan skin but he was a white guy. Built but lean with a tattoo on his right forearm. I noted the details for later as Kat tried to squirm from my grip.
“What is wrong with you,” she asked in a half-whisper, half-yell.
“Be cool,” I whispered in her ear, nearly stumbling as the scent of her expensive flowery perfume short-circuited my brain. Kat Ashby was in my arms, where she was meant to be, in another life. I set her down and pulled her close, keeping her pinned to my side as I leveled that motherfucker with an icy stare. “You lost or somethin’?”
Finally, Kat remembered we weren’t alone, and her body went stiff with alarm, especially when he aimed an angry glare right at her.
“Nope. Just walking,” he growled, leaning forward to intimidate.
I smiled and held myself a little taller to let him know that I didn’t intimidate, ever. “Then get to walking. People might feel threatened by a strange man lurking in a parking lot, and they might do something about it.”
The threat landed perfectly, his eyes flared with acknowledgement and Kat gasped beside me.
Reality had finally crashed in on her and I accepted more of her weight as she leaned into me.
“It’s a free country.”
“Yeah? You an Ashby because I’ve never seen you before and this here is Ashby property. All of it.”
“Fuck you,” he spat and walked away, looking over his shoulder every few feet for his own safety.
I watched until he disappeared from sight, only looking away when Kat stepped out of my grasp and smoothed her dress in an attempt to calm her nerves. Her hands moved in slow, methodical strokes over her flat stomach and the flare of her hips before they moved to her thick brown waves, styled to perfection. When she had her emotions under control, Kat looked up at me with a smirk.
“I guess it’s a good thing you’re totally obsessed with me since you kinda saved my life. Thanks.”
Her tone pulled a laugh from me, reminding me of the seventeen-year-old version of her, so sassy and sarcastic. “You’re welcome, princess.”
Kat spun on her heels and started to walk away, but not before raising her right arm in the air and flipping me off. “There’s your princess, Manning.”
“I see her,” I told her as I walked about five feet behind her to make sure she made it to her car and out of the lot safely. “Not a bad view,” I called out, smiling when my words made her stumble slightly.
Yeah maybe Emmett was right. Maybe I still had it bad for the Ashby princess. Not that it mattered.
It couldn’t.
Not ever.
There was too much at risk.
Chapter Three
Kat
After getting my butt saved by Terry in the visitor’s lot at House of Ashby, I spent the night thinking of all the people who might want to do me harm. Most of them were probably employees, pissed off because everyone had to work harder and longer hours until after fight night. Some might be men I’ve turned down for dates, but that was unlikely given my last name, and how infrequently I actually dated.
Which meant it likely had everything to do with the block of rooms that had occupied too much of my attention over the past few months. The Mueller Suites, as I started to call them, after the degenerate bishop connected to the rash of murdered priests. The rooms had been blocked off through a standing reservation for the foreseeable future, through the Church of course, to make sure the reservation couldn’t be denied. Or revoked.
When I first found out, I was outraged. Angry as hell that neither Ma or Jasper would allow me to lose or double-book the suites, especially considering what those fucking perverts had done to my brothers. But the more I sat on that anger, and stewed in it, the more I realized that this was my way to do something.
Back then we were still kids, and I’d been too young to understand and when I was old enough to understand, I had so much anger toward the church, I was useless. But now, as a grown woman, I knew exactly how to channel unhealthy emotions into healthy solutions. Including keeping an eagle eye on the pervert suites, watching every move they made.
By any means necessary.
At my desk o
n the top floor of Emerald Isle, the desert sun brightened up my office and caused a glare on the screen. I was watching a nondescript couple check into one of the Mueller Suites. They’re almost too non-descript, I mused, her ash blonde hair and plain brown eyes, his blend of silver and brown hair, even plainer brown eyes. They were unremarkable in every way, their khaki shorts giving them the look of middle-aged vacationers and the plain glasses made them look kind. Normal. Forgettable.
If not for the fact they were checking into one of the pervert suites, they’d seem perfectly harmless. And that was why they were so goddamn dangerous. Watching surveillance footage of them walking side by side down the hall brought to mind one of my daddy’s drunken lessons.
Never trust anybody working too hard to blend in, they’re trying to hide something as sure as the day is long. Colm Ashby was a drunk motherfucker, but knowing people and reading them, manipulating them, that was his superpower. He could make you think the bad idea that landed you in trouble was your idea and get you to thank him for the tips. I learned at his hip until the day he didn’t come home.
He wasn’t a good man or a decent man, but the lessons I learned—good and bad—shaped me into the woman I was today. Currently, that woman was surveillance stalking the too-plain couple. I watched them walk hand in hand down to one of the hotel restaurants where they each enjoyed one glass of wine with dinner, steak for him and chicken for her, before retiring to their room for the night. They’d been in the hotel for two days and hadn’t made any phone calls, no charges to the room, not even a mini bar water. There was nothing to comment on and no real reason to keep watching them. Except that it was the Mueller suites which were suspect enough, even when they were empty.
I kept an eye on the couple, but I had too much work to do to keep playing private dick on the almost certain perverts sent by Mueller, or the Church. Fight Night was just around the corner, and I still had to make sure that everything went off without a hitch, even though it wasn’t my job.