Riot (Bad Boy Escorts #1)

by Jo Raven

  Can’t believe I’m even asking myself this. Once selfish, always selfish, I guess. Always thinking of myself, as if my happiness matters. As if I matter.

  Fuck.

  “Here it is!” she calls, pulling the cell phone from under the sofa cushions. “It’s dead.”

  “Needs to be recharged.” I curse as I straighten, my ribs fucking killing me, and stagger over to take it from her. “Motherfucker.”

  “Here, let me charge it for you.” She takes the cell from my lax hands and plugs it into the charger that’s already in the socket. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I grab the phone to check. Eight missed calls from the agency. Shit. Johnson will have my ass for this. “I’ve kinda lost track of time. The days that passed.”

  I struggle to gather my thoughts. When did they say the fight was? Hell. Was it in three days?

  Maybe my time with her is shorter than I thought.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Come with me.” I frown. “It’s Sunday, right? Let me take you someplace.”

  “Where?”

  “You’ll see. You hungry?”

  She gives me a funny look. “Maybe.”

  “Then grab your coat and let’s go.”

  ***

  I can’t afford to spend much money, not when I was younger and not now, when most of my money goes to Kyle’s fund. But I have to eat, even more so since I can’t cook to save my fucking life, so I got a place or two I hang out at when the hunger pangs hit.

  The cold seeps through my jacket and into my flesh. Makes my ribs ache so bad it’s like a blade twisting in my side, but they are just bruised. I’d know if they were broken. I remember that blinding sort of pain. Like acid eating into your bones.

  Cold washes down my back at the thought of entering the ring again. Of facing the Crusher.

  So I distract myself by pulling Pax closer and slipping an arm around her waist, over her woolen coat.

  “Are you ready?”

  “For what? You’re being so mysterious.”

  I veer sharply to the right and shove open the door of the diner. “Ta-da.”

  She laughs delightedly as I haul her inside the warmth and to a table at the back, by the window. “What’s this place?”

  “Best breakfast spot in the area. They have everything you might ever want to inhale after waking up in the morning. Morning, Gina!” I wave at the curvy waitress who wanders over, beaming. “What’s up?”

  “Morning, Riot.” She nods at Pax, and Pax wiggles her fingers in greeting. “What will you have?”

  “Coffee, please,” Pax says and Gina giggles.

  “Coffee’s on the house, sugar. Choose what you wanna eat.”

  “Bacon strip pancakes. And Fried eggs.” My stomach is rumbling already.

  “Egg in a hole,” Pax says, grinning. “I’ll have that.”

  “And Hash Browns,” I add, before I can control my mouth. “What? They’re good.”

  “And Hash Browns,” Pax repeats, her eyes twinkling. “You’re the expert here, after all.”

  “Got everything.” Gina gives us both a warm smile and bustles off to give our order to the kitchen.

  “She looks nice.”

  “Everyone’s nice here,” I say as Gina returns with cups and the coffee. “They feed me regularly.”

  “Someone has to.” Gina tsks reproachfully as she fills my cup. “You’re skinnier than a drowned rat. Lost weight, too, these past few months. You need a girl to take care of you.”

  She winks at Pax, a huge, meaningful wink, and I choke on my coffee.

  “Gina, stop it.”

  “Food’s coming right up.” She winks again before leaving.

  Shit. I glance over at Pax, afraid she’ll bolt after this, but she’s laughing softly, so phew. I guess all’s good.

  I sit back, relieved and trying to hide it.

  “So...tell me about yourself,” Pax says, and I tense up again.

  “Okay.” I thought I’d already told her all the main bits. “What do you wanna know?”

  “I don’t know. More. Like, your favorite music group, and color, and movie, and who you had a crush on at school and—”

  “Whoa. Slow down.” Shit. Panic hits me, and I don’t even know why. I grip the edge of the table until it digs into my palms, hoping the light sting can ground me. “I don’t...I can’t.”

  She only smiles and slides out of her seat. I watch her with narrowed eyes, expecting her to walk out because of my failure at this very first attempt at a normal conversation, one I’m guessing people have at the beginning of a relationship.

  Is that what we have? A relationship?

  I bet most relationships don’t start in a hotel room with the girl tied to the bedpost, screaming, and money on the table. Still...We’ve come a long way since then, haven’t we? A damn long way, and even if it takes us nowhere, I wanna try.

  With her.

  “Scoot over,” she says. “Riot?”

  I blink at her, then the words sink in. “What are you doing?”

  “Sitting with you. Duh.” She wiggles a little as she squeezes in next to me, her leg pressing into mine, warm and solid. She finds my hand, grips it. “I wanted to. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.” More than okay. It loosens the knot of tension in my shoulders, dulls the panic.

  “You don’t have to talk about yourself if you don’t want,” she says quietly. “And you can ask me questions, too. I just want to get to know you better.”

  “I get it.” I search for the answer in my tangled mind. “I guess I’m just not used to talking about myself.” I shrug. “Besides. I don’t listen to music.”

  She laughs, and I find myself laughing along, my heart lighter.

  Gina arrives with a huge tray piled with our breakfast. She makes a small double take when she finds us seated on the same side, then shakes her head and laughs.

  “Here you go, lovebirds.” She puts the plates in front of us and straightens. “Anything else you need?”

  “We’re fine, I think,” Pax says.

  “You are.” Gina points at me. “He needs someone like you to draw him out of his shell. And to feed him.”

  She wanders away muttering about skinny men and breakfast.

  We start laughing again, and it feels good. Like everything with Pax.

  She grabs her fork, stabs a pancake and plops it on to my plate, biting her lip in concentration. I retaliate by serving her a hash brown. She gives me bacon. I give her syrup.

  “Gina says you need feeding,” she announces after the first bites, and before I can protest, she starts feeding me bits of hash brown.

  “I’ll feed you something else.”

  “You think I’m scared of your big fat bacon?” She scoffs. “I’ll raise you my egg in a hole.”

  By now I’m laughing so hard I have to stop eating or choke to death. It’s all stupid, but it’s so hilarious right now—maybe because for a while I’ve forgotten the outside world and its harsh demands, all the things I have to do and the path that may lead me to a dead end I may not come out of again.

  ***

  “I like dogs better than cats,” I tell her much later, as we walk down the street, her arm linked with mine. Christmas decorations sparkle on every lamp post and in every shop front window. “They’re more loyal. Although Dex is special.”

  “You love that furball.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about Christmas? Do you like it?”

  “No. I don’t.” The lights flash and blink and somehow they don’t annoy me as much as other years, but still.

  “Why not?” She’s come to a stop, and I stop, too. “How can you not love Christmas?”

  “I just don’t.”

  “But all the presents. And the sweets. And ice-skating. And vacation time!”

  I smile at her, because she looks so damn happy giving me her reasons. “I could learn to like Christmas if you get so excited about it every time.”

 
“I do! I love it.” Her smile falls. “Well, it used to be real special when I was little. With my parents. But I still like it. Why would you hate it?”

  “I don’t hate it.” I swallow hard, because that’s not one hundred percent true. “Okay, I do hate it a little.” I don’t wanna talk about this, but she’s waiting, her eyes wide with curiosity, and I want her to know me better, no matter what tomorrow brings. “It’s just that growing up Christmas sucked. It was when everyone got shiny new things, and I didn’t. When in the group home you’d get a random gift some charity bought for you and it’s usually socks, or underwear, or gloves, and it’s fine, it’s fucking fine and you desperately need those things, but it’s not what you really want.”

  We’re in the middle of the sidewalk, and I want to kick or punch something, my stomach clenching with the memories.

  Because what you really wanted was a home, and a family, and something silly, a toy or a gadget, like the ones other kids had whenever you walked out onto the street. What you really wanted was a dream of a happy life, without older kids beating you up for fun or tired social workers ignoring you when you cried.

  Dammit.

  “Come here,” she says, and she puts her arms around me, pulls me close until she’s pressed to my body and her head is on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

  I say nothing. Can’t speak, my breath caught in my lungs. There was one Christmas with my foster mom, before she got sick, when she bought me the cell phone I wanted, and she hugged me and told me she loved me, and fuck, I can barely remember the phone.

  But I remember the hug. I’ll never forget it. It was as tight and warm and wonderful as the one Pax is giving me now.

  I let my foster mom go, watched her get lowered into the ground in a shiny coffin, but Pax... Pax is here, and how can I let her go?

  ***

  Sunday is over too soon. Pax has her last week of classes before Christmas break, and I have one more day before I go meet my fate in the ring.

  Holy shit, what the fuck shall I do?

  I can’t let myself be killed. I have to make it out of the fight alive, find a way to pay back the debts, and be with Pax. But how?

  I sit on my couch, my head in my hands, recalling the conversation I had with Elliot and Oliver after they beat the shit out of me. Them telling me they waited all this time, skulking in the shadows, biding their time, until the Crusher came back to Chicago to fight. He was touring, then he was out sick. Now he’s back and I’m supposed to fight him. It’s all set up with the boss of the Hellfire Fighters Club.

  Because Elliot and Markus were cousins, and even though they weren’t close—which is also why Elliot never cared to pay for Kyle’s expenses after Markus died—for him it’s damn personal.

  And I’m fucked. They know I’m not ready. Haven’t trained for it in two years. That’s exactly what they’re counting on.

  They want me to lose. Even worse, they want me to never get up from the floor of that ring ever again. Reenacting Markus’s death. Taking their revenge on me.

  I mean, this is the Crusher we’re talking about. The one who put me in the hospital before killing Markus. If I couldn’t take him on then, when I was in top form, how the fuck can I take him on now?

  Yeah, they know all this.

  What they don’t know is that I’m not the same guy I was then. These two years that passed have changed me. Markus’s death changed me.

  Pax changed me.

  Back then I fought for money and a fleeting sense of family and pride and a twisted sort of honor.

  Now I have real goals. Real reasons.

  Kyle and his mom depend on me. Dexter and Batman depend on me.

  And Pax loves me. So I will damn well get up from that blood-spattered floor and do my best to live.

  ***

  The agency doesn’t know about the upcoming fight. Happily oblivious, Johnson has booked me an appointment for tonight. I’ll be spending what could be my last night on earth with a woman I don’t know instead of with Pax.

  Pax who said she understands, and that she will meet Corey for a movie.

  Dammit, I’m the one who should be sitting on her bed, my arm around her, her head on my shoulder, instead of banging another woman.

  How can Pax stand it? I can barely stand the thought of her and Corey, and he’s gay, for fuck’s sake.

  My bad mood haunts me like a dark cloud over my head as I make my way to the rundown hotel I was given the address to and wait at the reception desk for my client to arrive.

  I don’t wanna be here. I don’t wanna fucking do this.

  Holy fucking shit, I can’t. I feel like I’m cheating on Pax. Cheating on myself and what I really want.

  Goddammit.

  The receptionist watches me impassively as I start pacing up and down the hotel lobby, muttering to myself. He’s probably seen his fair share of insanity here.

  Fuck this. I don’t care. My life may or may not end tomorrow, and I need to spend tonight with my girl.

  The receptionist doesn’t even blink when I march up to the desk and tell him the name of my client and to let her know when she arrives that unfortunately I was called away on a family emergency.

  I really am sorry for standing her up like this, but that’s the least of my worries as I hurry outside. I’ve left my bike at home because the clutch was giving me some trouble, so I wait for a cab to pass. Fuck, I wish I’d downloaded the taxi app Gale keeps talking about. Having my bike I rarely have to take one.

  As I wait, shifting from foot to foot, rubbing my frozen hands together, my phone starts to ring. When I pull it out of my pocket, Pax’s name flashes on the screen and a grin spreads over my face.

  “Hey.” I walk a few paces away from the curb and the speeding cars. “How’s my favorite girl?”

  “Riot. Where are you?”

  She sounds tense and angry and scared, and it raises every hair on my body.

  “Outside a creepy hotel, trying to get a cab. Listen, Pax…” I draw a deep breath. “I couldn’t go through with it. I canceled my appointment. I’ll leave the agency. I don’t fucking know what I’ll do instead, but that’s it, I’m done.” She says nothing, and I wait, breathless. “Pax? Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yeah, I heard.” Her voice trembles and I don’t fucking know if it’s because she’s happy or upset.

  Fuck.

  “What’s wrong, then?” I ask, leaning against the façade of the hotel. Worry starts to gnaw at my insides. “What the hell happened?”

  “I know.” Her breath hitches. “About the fight.”

  What in the fuckity fuck? “Pax.”

  “Corey saw the announcement on the website of the club. You against that guy, that Crusher.”

  They put in an announcement? I thought it was a run-of-the-mill fight, one in a list of several for the day.

  “Fuck.”

  “I thought you said you were done with the fight club. I thought…” Another hitching sound. “That’s the guy who killed your friend. Who almost killed you. Why are you doing this?”

  I push away from the wall, the cell phone case creaking in my hold. “Can I come over? I need to talk to you.”

  Need to tell her the truth. It’s too late to hide it now.

  “I’ll be waiting,” she says and disconnects.

  ***

  It’s weird how a decision can not only change your life, but also your perception of yourself and the future. Until now I was trapped in a vicious circle: the debts, the expenses, the agency. I had no option. I could see none.

  Funny how expecting to die tomorrow can make you wanna live. Really live. And love. And experience happiness.

  Until tonight I had one faint hope for tomorrow: to survive the fight so I can go back to my life like before.

  Tonight, as I ride a cab to Pax’s apartment, a different hope, a different plan is forming in my mind. A crazy one.

  What if I won?

  Yeah, I know that’s improbabl
e. I couldn’t beat the guy before, why would I be able to do it now? Goals aren’t enough to slay the monsters.

  But if I won, and got a good cut, I could pay part of Kyle’s debt. God, I could leave the agency, get another job even if it pays less. Lead a normal life.

  Be with Pax.

  Goals won’t improve my skills and strength, but hope... Hope can do fucking plenty and I have that.

  I take the stairs to her apartment two at a time. By the time I reach her door, my ribs are agony, but I don’t give a shit. I ring the bell and run what I have to tell her through my mind over and over again.

  Hey Pax, it’s true, I’m gonna fight Crusher but what if I win? You know, against the odds? Isn’t it great?

  Fuck…

  Before I can think of a better angle for my argument, the door opens and she’s there, dressed in a long white sweater that hits the middle of her bare thighs, tall blue stockings and her dark hair loose on her shoulders.

  All the words vanish from my head, leaving me speechless.

  God, she’s so fucking beautiful. Her dark eyes are shiny with tears and fear, and then she smiles at me and I lurch forward and grab her in my arms.

  “Pax, Pax…” I whisper her name again and again, like a prayer. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t do it.” She draws back, and the tears are slipping down her cheeks. “Don’t fight. Please don’t.”

  Oh fuck it. “I don’t have a choice, babe.”

  “Why not?”

  I pull her into the apartment, kick the door shut, and lead her to the sofa. I don’t see Corey anywhere. Looks like he hasn’t arrived yet, thank fuck.

  This is between Pax and me.

  I sink on the sofa, pulling her onto my lap, curl my arms around her. She rests her head on my chest, and I stroke her hair.

  God, I wish we could stay like this forever.

  “Is this connected to the guys who beat you up? You said they were people from your past. Your past at the fight club?”

  “Yeah. They were delivering a message, about the Crusher being back in town to fight. They’ve been waiting for this to happen to set up a fight between me and him. It’s what I deserve, for walking out on the fight two years ago and letting Markus take my place and die.”