Fighting for Forever

by J. B. Salsbury

  After a quick trip to my dressing table for a small first aid kit that I’ve only had to use for foot blisters, I go back to the private room to find Mason standing uncomfortably in the corner rather than sitting on the red velvet couch.

  I close the door behind me and hit the “occupied” slider. His eyes widen. “Don’t worry, it’s just . . . These rooms are reserved for private dances. I get the feeling you wouldn’t want anyone walking in here and thinking the worst of you. ”

  “Right, um . . .” He reaches out and grabs the kit from my hand then looks around. “Is it possible to get more light in here?”

  I reach over and click on the overhead fluorescent bulbs that are usually only used at the end of the night for cleaning purposes. We both squint as our eyes adjust to the brightness.

  “Better.” He pops open the kit and motions to me. “Go ahead and stand there.” He points to the armrest at the end of the couch.

  I do as he instructs, but shake my head. “You really don’t have to do this.”

  “No? You think you can bandage your own ass?” He chuckles, and the sound rolls through me like warm honey.

  “I could have one of the girls help me out.” Why does my voice sound so weak?

  I hear him move behind me before I feel the heat of his huge body close to my back.

  “Really, it’s the least I can do.” He rips open a package. “Hmm . . . if you could, um . . .” His voice is lower, as if he’s crouched to put his eyes at ass level. “Just uh, lean forward and arch your back so I can, um, get underneath.”

  I tuck a grin into my shoulder at the discomfort I hear in his voice, grateful that I’m finally making him as unsettled as I feel around him. I’m all too comfortable shoving my butt in a man’s face, clearly something Mason isn’t used to. I brace my weight on the chair, arch my back, and just for fun I walk my feet apart just a few inches.

  Making a man squirm is one of my most favorite things to do. And considering how shaken up he made me, this transfer of power is one of the best feelings I’ve felt in a long time.

  “How’s this?” I peek at him from over my shoulder, and his eyes are fixed, staring straight ahead and right between my legs.

  He makes a sound in the back of his throat, like a moan but with more edge. “Good.”

  His hot breath feathers against my skin, shooting straight between my legs. No, no, no, no, Trix. Rule number one, do not get turned on. Sure, Mason is big, gorgeous, and smells like sugar and earth mixed, but I’m in control.

  “This might sting.”

  Cold hits my wound and I flinch slightly.

  He dabs at my raw ass and fire ignites across my skin. “Who knows what kind of shit is living on the floor out there.”

  I suck in air through my teeth.

  He keeps dabbing, but his touch is lighter. “You okay?”

  “Fine.” I grit my teeth. A whimper falls from my lips.

  “Shh . . . almost done.”

  “Damn, that hurts.” I drop my chin and breathe deep.

  “I know. I’m sorry. The only thing this kit has is alcohol.” He sounds pissed, but his touch is still gentle. “Hang in there.”

  “Keep talking. It helps.”

  He laughs low and sexy. “Okay.”

  And we’re back to sweet. The way he is with me now is such a contrast to his loss of control after our accidental run in. Now, he reminds me of that man who gave Denny confidence he’d never had before, or comforted a very sad woman who burst into tears just from being on the receiving end of that kindness.

  “That girl, Jess? Is she an ex or something?”

  His hand stills for a few pregnant seconds. “Jessica?” The sting of alcohol is back. “She, um . . . She was a long time ago.” He stops and rips open more packages. “She and my brother have been together now for years.”

  “Your brother? So the guy with the”—I pause, trying to think of a polite way to say—“big ole scar on his face”.

  “Drake, yeah.” His finger swipes across my wound, this time warm and smooth like ointment.

  “I didn’t think you guys were related. I guess there’s a little resemblance.” The burning begins to numb.

  “He’s the darker, stockier, uglier version of me.” He sticks what feels like a Band-Aid on my backside. “There ya go. All set.”

  He pushes up, and I turn to thank him, only to realize that he’s still just a few inches away, so close I can smell the whiskey and mint of his breath.

  “Look, Trix. I feel like an ass. I’ve run into you twice, and both times I was a dick.”

  “No biggie.” My eyes are locked on his, and I can’t look away. “I figured you weren’t yourself.”

  His eyebrows pinch, but his lips curl. “You figured? You don’t even know me.”

  “I know men.” I tilt my head and study him. “You don’t have it in you to be a full-time jerk. Part-time? Maybe. You’re a good guy at heart.”

  “That’s me.” His jaw ticks, and I wonder if dickhead Mason is about to reappear. “Mr. Nice Guy.”

  I cross my arms under my bustier-clad breasts, settling in for the playful argument I feel coming. “Your bandaging my ass only confirms it.”

  He squints one eye. “It kinda does, doesn’t it?”

  Silence builds between us, his blue eyes going from mirthful to something heated. My breath speeds along with my pulse, and his eyes track from my chest to my eyes and down to my lips.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, almost as if he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

  “Thank you.” The urge to touch him is overwhelming. Tentatively, I reach out and fork my fingers into his hair. His lips part as I run my nails softly down his jawline. “You’re beautiful too.”

  What am I doing? This is so far beyond professional flirting. This is . . . What is this? I’ve been in these rooms with more good-looking men than I can count, but none of them have brought out this urge in me: the desire to touch and to learn and to know someone without an end game, without a dollar amount flitting through my head. No calculations, just pure, raw, animalistic desire.

  “Mason?”

  “Hmm.” He steps closer, just one half step that brings his chest to mine.

  Breath catches in my throat at the contact. My tongue moistens my lips while I stare unabashed at his full mouth. “May I kiss you?

  His eyes flare, the blue turning into pure liquid fire. “Fuck yeah.” He grips my hips and tugs me to him.

  I hook my arms around his neck, thankful for my stiletto heels that put me not much shorter than his six-foot-something height. My stomach tumbles, my heart throbbing in my chest as he lowers his mouth to mine.

  Softly he brushes his lower lip against my upper as if he’s asking permission or waiting for me to beg: a simple act, so tiny and yet so hot. Most men I deal with, even the one’s I sleep with, are quick. Very little seduction’s involved with a sure thing. But this . . . This is something new, foreign, and unbelievably sexy.

  I tilt my head and allow the very tip of my tongue a taste of his lips. We groan simultaneously at the touch, and his fingers dig deep into the flesh of my hips. Finally, after a few more light teases, we open to each other, allowing our tongues to finally meet in a slick friction I feel in my toes.

  “Fuck,” he whispers against my lips. “I knew you’d taste like this.” He dives back into my mouth, this time deeper, sucking at my tongue.

  My legs wobble beneath the mind-scrambling power of his kiss, and I fist my hands into his hair to keep upright. Alternating between nips of our teeth, pulls of suction on each other’s lips, and hands that grasp one another, I lose myself to his mouth.

  “Hey!” There’s a pounding at the door. “Everything okay in there?”

  I rip my lips from Mason’s, breathing heavy. “Yeah, Santos. Be out in a minute.”

  “Time’s up, Trix. You know the rules.”

  Mason’s glaring at the door, and his hands continue to hold me close to him.

  “Shoot
. I better go. I’m up next, and I need to find something to wear that’ll cover my injured booty.” Not to mention get my damn head together. I release him and take a step back only to have him follow me with a step forward.

  “Up next . . .” The softness of his expression turns hard.

  My eyes grow tight. “Yes.”

  His grip tightens. “Why.”

  The fire of irritation stirs in my belly at the judgment I hear in his voice.

  “Because it’s my job.”

  He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “To get naked for a room full of horny dickheads.”

  And there it is. Judgment.

  “Oh, and you’re so much better than I am? You beat the shit out of people for a living.”

  “I can’t even believe you’d compare the two!” He steps close, his fingers digging into my skin. “I’m a mixed martial artist. What you do is visual foreplay. Give men something to jack off to.”

  My breath catches in my throat at his cruelty. Maybe he’s not such a nice guy after all.

  His eyes narrow. “Do you get off on it?” He sneers.

  “Have you lost your damn mind?” I peel his fingers off my hips and move to the door.

  “You do, don’t you?”

  I shove him in the chest. “You have no idea why I do what I do.”

  “It’s not rocket science, Trix.” His low and condescending chuckle freezes my blood. “You didn’t even fucking flirt with me at the club with those kids.”

  The chill of his voice makes my skin prickle.

  “Propping your ass in my face and suckin’ on my tongue is all part of the job, huh?” He moves past me, grabbing the door and flinging it open so hard I flinch. “I might be nice, but I’m not stupid.”

  With long strides, he carries himself down the short hallway and disappears into the crowd, leaving nothing but the sear of his lips and an ache in my chest behind.

  Mason

  Being stuck in a tiny room with Trix, I found her presence all consuming. The delicate scent of her skin combined with her half-naked body overloaded my senses. Then her smile, that tiny curve of her lips, gave way to an innocence that contradicted her overly sexy appeal.

  I felt something. Something beyond a simple stir in my pants. Yeah, I felt that too, but I also felt myself falling. The woman she is beneath the lingerie and makeup, behind her seductive looks and dance moves, she’s the one I want. But that’s not who she is, at least, not entirely. As much as her reminding me she’s a damn stripper was unwelcome, it’s exactly what I needed to hear to pull myself away.

  The back door isn’t far from the room I’ve just stormed out of. I shove past a bouncer and out into the back lot. The place was packed when I got here, so I settled for a spot around the corner and on the street. The sooner I get free of this place, the sooner I can get my shit together.

  My feet pound the pavement, and I flex and release my fists to burn off the urge to punch a fucking wall. The muffled sound of angry male voices calls my attention to an alley not far from where my truck is parked. Looks like someone’s having a worse night than I am. A pained whimper echoes off the brick buildings, and I move toward the dark corridor.

  Slowly, I peek down the alley only lit by a single streetlight. A group of dudes huddles around something, fists swinging and legs kicking. I have only seconds to act, and I wonder if calling the cops would be the better idea. I’m outnumbered and pretty sure whatever’s going on here I want no part of. I reverse back out of the alley, pulling my phone out of my pocket when I hear him.

  “Not so tough when your daddy’s not around, eh, Drake?”

  I spring into action, my legs burning up the distance between them and me. “Hey! Get the fuck off him.”

  They all whirl on me, and I see Drake curled up on the ground, bloody and not moving. One of the assholes grins seconds before I slam my fist into his jaw. Catching him off guard, he rocks back on his heels, cupping his face. Another advances and takes the brunt of my jab. One more, I swing. He grunts and falls back. Before I’m able to throw another punch, my arms are locked up behind me. I roll into it and toss the guy holding me to his back. I’m grabbed again. My left arm gets loose, and I swing hard at the man advancing. He goes down.

  It takes three of the six of them to lock me down. “Leave him alone.” I’m breathing heavy and still struggling to get free; my shoulders burn as I try to rip from their hold.

  The biggest of the group glares at me and wipes blood from his lip. “This ain’t your business, man. You should’ve walked away.” He kicks Drake in the back.

  “Don’t fucking touch him!” I pull my arm free and lunge, but am quickly re-restrained.

  “You know this kid?” His eyes move between my brother and me.

  “You touch him again . . . I’ll break both your arms.” My teeth grind together.

  He hauls off and kicks him again. Drake’s not making a sound. Is he dead?

  “Stop!”

  He places the sole of his boot on Drake’s head, resting it there like my little brother is a prized kill from a recent hunt. “Stop? This kid ripped me off.”

  Drake moans, and I notice then that the guy is slowly putting pressure on Drake’s head.

  “No, please don’t.” Fuck, he’s going to crack his skull!

  “Don’t what?” He presses harder, making Drake squirm.

  “Stop. Whatever he owes, I’ll pay it. Just fucking stop. Now!”

  The guy lifts his eyebrows but doesn’t remove his foot. “You’re taking on his debt?”

  “Yes.” Dammit! I’m so used to saving his ass I didn’t even consider what the debt is. Not that it matters. They’re going to kill him. “If you’ll leave him alone.”

  He saunters over to me, eyes intent. It’s then I notice what he’s wearing. Leather vest, jeans, chain hanging from his hip, and big heavy black boots.

  “You’ll deliver three times our original amount exactly one week from today.”

  Fuck! If Drake survives this, I’m going to kill him.

  “Same time, right here.” He tilts his head to study me. “If you’re late, if the weight is off by even a fraction of an ounce, you and this piece of shit are dead.”

  I flick a gaze to Drake, who has rolled to his back, his face not showing even a hint of skin as it’s covered in blood.

  “Fine. One week. Here.” I swallow hard and contemplate the predicament Drake’s sorry ass just put me in. “You give me your word. I follow through. You leave us alone.”

  He holds his arms out wide. “On my word, brother.”

  There’s coughed-up laughter by the men holding me back. I wrench free, and they step back to avoid me swinging. I don’t, but instead rush to my brother.

  His face is swollen, puffy slits that don’t show even a hint of his eyes, and his nose and lips are busted. My hands hover over him, unsure where to touch him that won’t hurt.

  “See you soon, sunshine.” The biker asshole chuckles through an overgrown mustache and goatee, and they move toward the mouth of the alley.

  “Wait!”

  They turn around.

  “How much? You said three times the amount. I don’t know what it was or how much he owed.”

  The big guy grins wide. “Ask him. Oh, and try to be smarter than your brother and come unarmed.” He holds up Drake’s gun, grinning, and then tucks it back into his waistband. “Thanks for the piece.” He laughs and disappears around the corner.

  “Fuck, Drake!” I pull my shirt off and put it under his head. “What the fuck have you gotten us into now?”

  It took me an hour to get Drake cleaned up enough to assess the damage those guys did. Figured dragging him through the casino and lobby of Caesars like a slab of raw meat wouldn’t be the best idea, so I brought him home to my place.

  He’s banged up, probably could use a few stitches, and I’m pretty sure he has a broken rib, but he refuses to let me take him to the hospital. A few ace bandages around his torso and butterfly Band-Aids on h
is eye will have to do.

  “He’s good. I loaded him up on pain meds, and he’s sound asleep on my couch.” I watch my brother’s chest rise and fall, making sure he’s not dead and that I’m not lying to Jayden.

  “He didn’t even tell us he was going; fucker just disappeared. We should’ve been there. Had his back. I can’t believe this shit!”

  “Pack your shit and get some fucking sleep. You guys are gone tomorrow, understand?”

  “Mason—”

  “Just fucking tell me you understand!”

  A few beats of silence are followed by Jayden’s long exhale. “Yeah, man. We’ll be gone first thing.”

  “Good. Pick Drake up on your way out of town. I’ll text you the address.”

  I don’t wait to hear him confirm and press “end” before setting the alarm on my phone to go off every few hours.

  This is going to be a long fuckin’ night.

  I drop down into an overstuffed club chair and drop my head back, rubbing my forehead.

  I knew their coming to town would end up biting me in the ass. I go from volunteer work at the Youth Community Center to drug dealer in less than a couple days.

  My head spins, and I try to force myself to think clearly. Between Drake and his dad’s connections, they should be able to get what’s needed by the time I need to deliver it in a week. After that, I’m cutting ties with all this: my brother, his lifestyle, all of it. I’ve lived too many years of my life, saving Drake from himself, but now I have way too much to lose, and he’s going to have to start making healthier choices.

  Or better yet, have his dad bail his ass out of trouble from now on.

  After all, he’s the one who got him into this bullshit in the first place.

  Seven

  Mason

  “There’s no way Tom Curren is a better surfer than Kelly Slater.” Wade tosses his cards into the center of the table. “Fold.”

  “He is, bro. Google that shit.” I scan my fanned-out cards and pull two, flipping them face down and pushing them to Rex. “I’ll take two.”

  After my brother dragged ass back to Santa Cruz with a bruised body and a shattered ego, my life picked up right where it left off, starting with poker night at Rex’s. Drake swears his dad will take care of everything from here on out and that I’ll have exactly what I need to deliver in less than a week. He better be right, but history proves I shouldn’t be too optimistic.