by Amber Bardan
Scraggly hair, an unbrushed mess from where Emilio had dragged him from his bed, fell across his face. “Yes.”
“Who asked you to drug her?” My attention fixed on the man who’d spiked Emma’s drink last night. It was very lucky for him that I didn’t believe he was behind it.
“I-I...” he stuttered, licking his lips.
“Billy,” I said again. “If you play dumb, then I’ll have to show you the footage, and if I have to show you the footage, then that means I can’t trust you tell me the truth of your own accord.”
His eyes darted from me to Emilio and back again. “They know where I live.”
“I know where you live.” I sat back on my heels and let the potent wave of rage bleed into my voice. “I’m the one who took you from your house.”
He gulped. “He approached me in the parking lot before my first shift, showed me a picture and gave me the pill. That’s all I know.”
“He who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try harder.” I lunged closer.
His breath quivered. The scent of urine wafted to me.
Fucking hell.
I didn’t look down.
“I don’t know who he is. He just paid me to do what they said,” he sobbed. “And said he’d be back if I didn’t.”
There wasn’t room for the pity that filled me. Someone paid him to get to Emma.
“Then you can begin by telling me what he looked like, what time this occurred, exactly where you were parked.”
“Okay,” he said, and defeat poured out of him.
Billy spewed out the details he knew. Vague as they were, I’d have enough to go on. I’d use every detail to protect her.
When I’d first met her—Angelina’s childhood best friend—I’d assumed she had a safe non-threatening little life. But someone was after her, and fate had me here.
And yes, it felt like fate. Because this time with Emma, I wouldn’t fail. She was my chance to do right. Redemption. As though she were put in my path for me to save.
Chapter Nine
Emma
Cartilage cracked against my forehead. Blood sprayed in torrents and splattered my naked thighs.
Blood lust.
I can honestly say it’s not something I was born with. It wasn’t even something that was beaten into me. Not by my father who beat me regularly, and not by martial arts training. My opponent grabbed at her gushing face. I lunged, swiping her feet from beneath her with the back of my heel, then slammed her into the concrete floor. I landed on top of her. My breasts slipped against her slick torso.
The crowd roared. Sweat soaked my skin, heated by spotlights fixed on us. The scent of blood and dirt, alcohol and brutality filled my lungs with cloying bitterness. I’d always loathed violence. But there comes a point where one has to choose whether to continue flinching through life. Where I realized being struck was far from the worst thing I could face, and in fact I could strike back.
The referee, if you could call the little man calling the fight a referee, banged his palm on the floor three times.
I’d won.
A different kind of adrenaline coursed through me. I leaped to my feet and pumped a fist in the air. My opponent curled onto her side, nursing her face. Honestly. If you couldn’t handle one little broken nose, best keep out of the ring. I returned my gaze to the crowd, then sauntered toward the exit, waving and blowing kisses.
Tonight I was a champion fighter.
Granted, an oiled-up champion fighter in a sparkling gold bikini. But this fight would solve my bond dilemma. I exited the nightclub basement through the staff stairs, and headed directly for the ladies’ room. The job I’d taken when I’d moved to Sydney had been amazing for the experience, yet not so amazing for the bank balance. It’d been months since my last fight night. At least today it didn’t involve Jell-O. I washed and changed into jeans and a tank. Jell-O wasn’t even the worst of it. On costume nights, bored men with money to burn could bet on Raunchy Wonder Woman kicking the stuffing out Slutty Supergirl. There were mud nights, and my personal least favorite—baked beans wrestling matches.
I tied my hair back, collected my things and went to the office tucked away at the back of the club near the kitchen, dumping my bag on the floor by the doorway.
“That was some crowd.” I planted a kiss on the ruddy cheek of the middle-aged Ukrainian man counting cash at the desk. “So, have you missed me?”
Aleksei glanced up and snorted. Ha, guess he was still sore about me quitting before the wedding. I mean, I could handle broken noses and black eyes, but they don’t photograph so nicely. He tapped the bundle of money on the surface of the desk, then counted out three hundred-dollar bills and handed them to me.
“What’s this?” I glanced between the money and Aleksei. “A bonus?”
“This is your winnings, girl.” He gave me his mobster face. That is—the hard stare with his I’m-too-serious-to-actually-frown scowl.
I raised my brows. He was no mobster. He was, however, a total hustler. “My fifteen hundred dollars, Aleksei.”
“You want fifteen hundred dollars?” He clutched his money. “You don’t command fifteen hundred dollars anymore.”
“The floor was packed.” My right brow twitched higher. Fact was I’d lasted longer than most girls in the sexy underground fighting scene. He couldn’t hold my leaving against me. He’d sold out the basement and god only knew what he’d made off the bets.
“You broke my new girl’s face.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” I snorted. “And only because she fought dirty.”
“You say this all the times.” He held up a hand. “But no more. My boys pay for pretty girl. Not broken-face girl.”
“Oh, come on, we both know the blood gets them hot.” I planted my fists on my hips. “My money, Aleksei.”
His face screwed up and he muttered something in Ukrainian and slapped an additional two notes on the desk. “This is all you’re getting.”
I stared him down. Bastard. He only screwed me tonight because I was moving and wouldn’t be back. I scooped up the cash and tucked it in my back pocket. “You’re a real prick.”
He went back to his stack of cash, folding and wrapping an elastic band around a portion. “And you’re a bitch.”
Maybe.
Here, at least, I had to be. Nice doesn’t do so well in places like this. But even at my bitchiest, I didn’t screw people over.
I collected my bag, and strode for the door, and muttered, “I’d get more respect stripping.”
“You don’t have the tits for stripping.”
I froze, spun around, stormed back to the desk, reached across and plucked a sectioned bundle right out of his hand.
His mouth dropped open, and his eyes went wide.
“And you don’t have the balls to fight me for it.” I grinned the widest, broadest smile of my life, and pocketed the thousand dollars more I was due. “Bye, Aleksei.”
I winked at him over my shoulder, and left.
This bitch could take damn good care of herself.
* * *
A lump throbbed on my forehead. Not sure which of today’s head-butts were at fault. Therefore, I chose Avner to take the blame. An ache radiated into my skull. Had I packed the cold packs? I opened the door to my apartment, hit the lights then bolted the lock behind me.
I turned toward the kitchen, then stopped.
My apartment was empty. Not empty devoid of company—empty devoid of everything. I turned around, kicking aside a scrap of cardboard that was all that remained of my stuff. I held my forehead, and circled the room.
No, no, no.
I’d been robbed.
Dammit, I’d even packed for the thieves. They’d have walked out
carrying moving boxes, and nobody would have thought anything of it.
I groaned. My head pounded. All I wanted was to take a bath, then go to bed. But they’d taken the couch, the television cabinet and even the damned bookcase. What were the chances they’d left the bed?
I closed my eyes, took a breath then reached into my handbag for my phone. The soft drone of a voice flowed from the other room. I shoved the phone back into the bag, and pressed my back against the wall next to the kitchen and peaked inside.
I clenched my teeth at the sight of the broad back facing me. I stormed into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”
Avner spun around and hung up his phone. “Where have you been?”
“Where have I been?” I blinked, and shoved my finger at his chest. “You’re the one standing uninvited in my apartment. I’ll ask the questions.”
He took my shoulders. The contact was electric—a current ran under his fingers where he touched my skin. “I said come right home and I’d speak to you later.”
My palm flattened against his chest. Holding him back. Connecting me closer. “Well, I had things to do.”
He shifted in. My elbow bent, and my arm folded between us. His hand moved to the back of my neck.
I should’ve jerked away. Should’ve told him he couldn’t handle me like this.
“You were attacked last night.” He inhaled deeply through his nose. His fingers squeezed. “I’ve been worried.”
My chest panged. My breath caught. Shit. That worry was right there in his eyes. Concern and anger. Possessiveness and distress. He was worried. That made him one of maybe two people on the planet who would be.
Heat fluttered through me before hardening to hurt. Even if part of me wanted what I’d thought I saw, I wasn’t his to worry about.
I could never be, and the exhaustive list of reasons why was too much to deal with right now.
“Where are my things?”
He smiled wickedly, reminding me of the mischief he was capable of when he wasn’t being too serious to exist. “Your things are on their way to my house.”
“What?” I pushed out of his arms and stared at him. My god, he wasn’t joking. My things were on the way to his house in Melbourne. “Seriously, one kiss and you’re trying to move me in?”
“My intentions are perfectly pure.” His smile worked up one side of his cheek. “You’ll have your own room and space. Just like roommates.”
My fury only expanded. The gall. He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t offered. He just did. “Like roommates,” he’d said, but that wasn’t the relief it should’ve been. Logically, I knew it should’ve been. The knot grew in my throat. Of course he wouldn’t move me in, in that capacity. How ridiculous to assume so. He didn’t want me in that way—romantically.
I was the “friend” he was doing his best not to sleep with.
Good. I reminded myself again, because it didn’t stick—That’s supposed to be good.
I couldn’t get involved with someone. That possibility was too selfish to contemplate.
“I didn’t agree to be your roommate.” I stepped out of his reach. “I don’t want to be roommates.”
“You said your place fell through.” His head tilted, and he watched me through lowered eyelids.
“I took care of it,” I said, and rolled my shoulders. “Just like I always take care of me.”
He made a sound, something like a hum, and his gaze turned all the more piercing. I felt that phantom breeze at the back of my neck—the door-left-open feeling.
“I meant to help.” He studied me knowingly. “Not make you angry.”
“I did not ask you for help this time.” I retreated farther while facing him. “I don’t want help.”
Liar.
I did want help. Help from being broke. Help from being lonely. Help from all the disappointment. Help from the anxiety that my entire life was about to go ass-up.
He stalked me into the living room. “We’re friends.”
Oh, god, the way those words sounded from him. Husky, flooded with warmth, and with possessiveness that made me shiver.
“Friends help each other.” He came closer. I went back, stumbling until my heel hit the front door.
“When are you going to learn it goes both ways?” He stared down at me, and my tongue was numb of things to say. “I’m going to make this be both ways.”
What did he want? I couldn’t figure him out.
His nearness overrode my excess of self-control. His scent punched a masculine jolt to my senses. My thighs clenched.
What did he really want from me? He could’ve had me already. Twice, if he’d wanted. Was this a game?
Stubble coated his jaw, and I remembered the contrast of his bristles and lips against my cheek, against my mouth.
The taste of his tongue.
Was I supposed to be more desperate—beg?
My fingers twitched. I remembered the feeling of his hand between my legs. The perfect way he’d fit against me.
I couldn’t keep my hands to myself—and this time I didn’t try to. Need gripped me from my core to the deep unidentifiable place that craved him so badly. I leaned toward him, pressing my palm to his hard stomach. “You haven’t explained what you think you’re getting from me in return.”
His eyes darkened, heat moving swiftly into his expression.
“You can resist. You can deny,” I breathed. Arousal swelled in me but emotions coursed thickly to my surface, and for the first time with a man, I was helpless against them. I offered what most men wanted, what he wanted—why wasn’t this enough? “You can wrap it up in a farce of friendship, but I know.” I swayed against him, slid my hand down to his groin and cupped him. My head went fuzzy with a joint blast of relief and disappointment. His body rippled and tightened against mine. I tilted my face to his neck and shamelessly inhaled.
He wanted me, and this was all I had.
He groaned, then his fingers closed over my wrist. My skin sizzled at the touch. He jerked my hand from him, bearing me back against the door.
My system bristled with excitement. He brought my hand up over my head. His breath shook. I arched, my hips grazing his.
He lowered his face toward me, but it wasn’t only passion that glazed his eyes. “This is not what I intended.”
My head cleared. He lurched away. Pain struck fresh agony over the wounds of the two times he’d already abandoned me. My hand dropped to my middle. His rejection shouldn’t hurt. This was only ever supposed to be no strings attached.
But it hurt.
There was no blocking out those moments from Italy—on the balcony and at the wedding, when I’d let myself imagine and fantasize.
There’d been all kinds of crazy romantic daydreams in my head. He was supposed to live in India. Pretending should’ve been safe.
But here he was, and I’d been completely disarmed.
I gathered myself against the door, and fixed my gaze on the erection swelling his pants. “Sure about that?”
“Jesus, Emma.” The low, pained tenor of his voice shocked my attention back to his face. He stared at me. His expression flickered through so many things I didn’t want to see. My face burned. My ribs ached with a feeling people had tried to impose on me a thousand times—my old friend shame. I held my fist against my stomach. Those attempts wouldn’t work on me now. I didn’t regret who I was. But that look, the one Avner wore now—disappointment, perhaps pity—it cut to the bone.
He took my arm. For a moment the agony subsided. He does want me. But he only guided me a foot to the side, undid the bolt then opened the door.
“Take my hotel room tonight.” He pressed the card into my hand. “I’ll have your things delivered wherever you want.”
My chest shuddered. My arms twitched to stop
him. He left my apartment without another word.
Chapter Ten
Emma
Of course he’s going to be here.
I stepped into Angelina’s hall—and Angelina had a hall like in some kind of European manor—and wrapped her up in hug.
“You’re late to your own party,” she said into my hair.
I laughed, but neither the music already playing nor the hug of my best friend could bring out my usual joviality. “That’s because it took me twenty minutes to get down your driveway.” Well, maybe not twenty, but getting to Angelina and Haithem’s place on the rural outskirts of Melbourne, buried in the heart of Victoria’s wine district, required driving through fifteen acres of their personal vineyard.
“I’m so glad you’re back.” She let me go.
I smiled, wishing I could say the same. Wishing my throat hadn’t been filled with dread, anxiety clutching my every nerve, from the instant I got behind the wheel of my car to make this move. “I didn’t need a party.”
This relocation home wasn’t something that felt celebratory.
She rolled her eyes gently. “Come on, everyone is waiting.”
I glanced down the hall, and my pulse picked up.
She grabbed my hand, and led me to the living room.
“Emma!” A brunette tornado crashed into me. I laughed, and hugged our high school friend Heather. Another woman approached us and joined the hug—Leigh, who’d been captain of the netball team. A bunch of other friends we’d gathered over the years came over for hugs and hellos.
Someone passed a soda bottle to me, and the music kicked up. Heather and Angelina dragged me to the center of the room cleared for dancing.
The beat itched under my skin, spreading into my hips. I held onto Angelina’s sides, dancing up against her just like we used to.
She swayed to the music with rhythm she didn’t have in our high school days.
And just like that, I was back in Melbourne.
Emma was back in Melbourne, except this Emma kept skipping beats.
Avner appeared at the entrance of the room with Haithem. Casual in dark blue jeans, black belt, shirt sleeves up around his elbows and a beer bottle in one hand.