Wicked Nights

by A. D. Justice

  It was the best day of Noah and Brianna’s life together. The perfect culmination of their love slept against her mother’s chest, wrapped in a pink swaddling blanket.

  * * *

  February

  “Shadow and Silas have been gone for quite a while,” Liz stated. “When will they be back?”

  “I’m not sure,” Brianna replied. “They’ve been working so hard on this case for the past few weeks. Rashad hasn’t left them many clues to go on.”

  Brianna picked Amelia up from her bassinet and sang softly to her while she changed her diaper. “I can’t believe she’s almost a month old now. How do does time fly so fast? It just seems like yesterday when I was still pregnant with her.”

  “Wait until she’s grown. You’ll swear that you only blinked once,” Liz replied. “It’s the way of things, I suppose. My mother always said the same thing, but I never understood it when I was a kid.”

  “I completely understand now,” Brianna replied. “It’s scary how life is so short. I always thought we had all the time in the world.”

  “Haven’t we all,” Liz agreed.

  “Brianna,” Noah called from downstairs. “Can you come here, babe?”

  “On our way,” Brianna replied.

  When Noah saw Brianna approaching with Amelia, he had to stop and smile, just as he’d done every other time over the past several weeks. His wife and his baby together was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

  “Do you need something?” Brianna asked.

  “Will you and Amelia be okay here if I go to Houston with Rebel?” Noah asked. “Or, would you two rather come with me? You can stay at the same hotel as my parents and visit with them while I’m working.”

  “We want to go with you,” Brianna replied with a bright smile. “Sara and Steve have only seen her over the Internet. Besides, your parents need a break from being so focused on cancer treatments. It’ll be good for them.”

  “I agree.” Noah smiled. “Liz, you in?”

  “Try to stop me from getting on that plane.” She winked.

  “Good. It’s settled then. We all go together. Go ahead and get packed. We’re leaving in a few hours.”

  Rebel’s phone chimed, and he absently removed it from his pocket while his attention was focused on the intel he’d gathered.

  “You fucking bastard,” he growled loudly.

  Noah, Brianna, and Liz openly gawked at Rebel’s outburst because it was so unlike him. “What is it, man?” Noah asked.

  Rebel held out his phone, and Noah took it from him. Rebel paced the office while Noah looked at the text.

  “Motherfucker,” Noah replied.

  “What is it, Noah?” Brianna asked. “What’s wrong?”

  Noah head up the phone for Brianna to see. The screen had a picture of a beautiful nurse as she walked out of the hospital. The bright sun reflected off her short, black hair and made it almost sparkle. Her warm smile was genuine and made her instantly appealing and inviting. Brianna imagined her personality matched her smile, making her a perfect candidate to be a nurse.

  “She’s gorgeous. What’s the big deal? Who is she?” Brianna asked.

  “The message that came with this picture says, ‘Don’t you love my next victim?’ and it’s from Rashad’s burner phone,” Noah replied.

  “He’s after her now?” Brianna asked, and urgency filled her tone. “Who is she? Where is she?”

  “She’s in Houston,” Rebel replied. His voice was like ice—cold, hard, and unfeeling. Rebel stared out the window, his hands on his hips and his back to Brianna. “And she’s my wife.”

  EPILOGUE

  Rashad watched the lovely nurse leave the hospital after her shift. She’d been working several days in a row–many more days than nurses normally worked. Three twelve-hour shifts in a row were hard enough, but with the addition of extra days and longer hours, anyone would be worn out. Rashad knew from experience when women were too tired, they weren’t as aware of their surroundings as they should be. He’d used this fact to his advantage too many times to count.

  If this particular pretty nurse had been watching, she would’ve noticed the same car following her home over the past few days. She would’ve seen the handsome, Middle Eastern man who followed her in the hospital halls. She would’ve felt his eyes on her skin. Fortunately for Rashad, she didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, and that gave him all the advantage he needed.

  When he sent the picture to the man called Rebel, he simply wanted to repay an insult at first. But the more he thought about what he’d been forced to do, the more he understood Turan’s obsession with revenge. The revenge he’d seek for being forced to kill his own brother wouldn’t get in the way of the large-scale attack that was well underway. He decided he’d avenge his father, his brother, and his own actions all in one fatal blow.

  But having a little fun by torturing Rebel along the way would definitely be an added benefit.

  When he’d torched the rental house, he made sure Turan lost everything he loved and needed to carry out his specific part of the plan in the fire. All of his laptops and equipment were melted. The few articles of clothing he owned were destroyed. The roof over his head was taken away. Rashad had hoped Turan would finally give up on his quest and leave the country. But he didn’t.

  When their adoptive uncle publically disowned and dishonored Turan, he tried to give his brother time to get out. When he disappeared from the apartment, Rashad had hoped Turan had finally made the right decision. But then he showed up on the CIA’s radar yet again after he accepted a contract as a hired killer, on the Internet of all places.

  Rashad exhaled forcefully at the thought. “That was such a stupid move, Turan. How could you have been such an idiot? You knew better than anyone that nothing is safe on the web.”

  Killing Bill had been an added benefit for Rashad. The dirty undercover agent had become greedy and demanding. He expected Rashad to give him more money in exchange for keeping silent, looking the other way, and keeping the other agents off his trail. The fact that Bill’s death happened at the exact time Rashad received the phone call was an added bonus.

  Heather Reed walked by his car on the way to her car. Without so much as a glance in his direction, she continued on alone through the parking garage.

  Remain oblivious to the danger all around you, Rashad thought as she crossed in front of him. I’ll see you soon.

  THE END

  The story continues in WICKED INTENTIONS … coming soon.

  CRAZY MAYBE By A.D. JUSTICE

  CRAZY MAYBE.

  Copyright © 2013 A. D. Justice

  Published by A. D. Justice

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. If the location is an actual place, all details of said place are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to businesses, landmarks, living or dead people, and events is purely coincidental.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  All copyrights are held by A.D. Justice and have not been transferred to any other individual. Sharing or posting of this material in any group is considered copyright infringement and will be reported to the authorities. Criminal and civil charges will be pursued for damages.

  ISBN-13: 978-0615925769

  ISBN: 978-0-9966576-0-0

  Created with Vellum

  This book is dedicated to Pete “Choo-Choo” Justice – my Daddy.

  He passed away during the creation of this book and I miss him every single day.

  I love you, Daddy!

&nbs
p; I will always be Daddy’s girl!

  CRAZY MAYBE CHAPTER ONE

  ANDI

  I feel his eyes burning into me from all the way across the room. I’m in a gym with more than twenty sweaty men. Some of them are sparring in boxing rings, while others are lifting weights, when I suddenly feel the weight of someone’s eyes on me as if it were a hand actually touching me. I let my eyes slowly wander around the lower level of the twenty thousand square foot Tough Enough gym and our eyes lock. There’s no doubt that he’s the one-because he’s staring at me and I swear if he were Clark Kent, his eye lasers would already be burning through me right now.

  I’ve never seen him here before and I’ve been here every day for almost seven years now, so I know he must be looking to join. This is one of the most sought after gyms by up-and-coming fighters because of Mack Weaver, the owner and famed boxing trainer. Mack has a knack for finding the next big name in fighting and every other guy here is waiting for his turn. Mack took me under his wing years ago and I’m the only one who’s ever been brave enough to call him Pop. He allows it because he knows he’s the only real father I’ve had since mine died when I was little.

  I remember seeing this guy at the club last night. He was actually hard to miss because I could feel his eyes on me then, too. Of course, I was onstage singing karaoke so there were a lot of eyes on me, but his are the only ones I felt. He’s tall, over six feet, with thick, jet black hair that could make a woman beg to run her fingers through it. His cheekbones and jaw must have been carved from pure granite and his naturally tan skin color makes his blue eyes fierce. And he is the most stunningly gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.

  He must be quite a brawler–in the ring and in the street. I can tell by the way he carries himself and how he’s not the least bit intimidated in this room with all the other boxers. He’s definitely a heavyweight because he’s too big and muscular to be anything else. Watching his ripped, hard muscles flex and contract as he moves is hypnotizing. The mixture of black and colorful tattoos that cover his upper arms amplifies his bad boy looks.

  It’s pretty obvious why he’d even notice me–I’m the only female in this gym full of muscle-bound boxers. But the look in his eyes is not one of curiosity about what I’m doing here. It’s not even blatantly sexual, like some of the guys who rake their eyes up and down my body when they first see me. He looks at me like he’s a predator that’s about to pounce and devour me whole. I’m not sure yet if that’s a good thing. His gaze is intense and I can’t figure out exactly what he wants with me.

  A lot of the guys hit on me when they were new to the gym. They figure since I’m the only girl here, I must be looking for my next fighter to take home with me. And, since every single one of them think that they are the only man God made for a woman’s pleasure, they are more than happy to help me out. Never happens though–I work with the fighters and there’s no way I’d disrespect myself like that. But I don’t get that feeling from him–I don’t think he’s trying to add another notch to his bedpost.

  I know I’m staring at him but I can’t seem to stop myself. Neither of us moves our eyes or even smiles, but I feel electricity arcing between us as he moves closer and closer. I’m vaguely aware of the yelling going on around me. It’s so frequent and familiar in this gym that I tune it out a lot. When there are two guys beating the crap out of each other in the ring, someone is always yelling. But it suddenly occurs to me that I need to be engaged in this particular fight, so I tear my eyes away from his and try to focus on what’s going on in the ring.

  I’m not actually a trainer but after being beside Pop at ringside for so long, I’ve picked up a thing or two. My job right now is to watch the fighters closely and figure out their weaknesses so they can each work on improving their skills. I watch to see when their guard is dropped, if they open themselves up more when they throw a certain punch, and anything else that could make them lose a fight. It’s a tough job sometimes when both guys are going at it hard. Or when I’m distracted by a tall, sexy man who is standing directly behind me and has my skin tingling like I’ve touched an electric fence without even laying a hand on me.

  I inhale a deep breath as the bell rings, signaling the end of this round, and I turn around to face him. What I see first when I turn is a finely sculpted, very thick chest staring back at me. I slowly lift my eyes, taking in his tattoos peeking out from under the tank top that’s stretched across him. My eyes glaze over at his bulging biceps and traps, before I dare to look into the deep pools of his blue eyes. I could drown in these eyes and die happy. This is so not like me.

  “You looking for someone?” Mack’s voice calls out to the dashing stranger.

  “Yeah-Mack Weaver. Know him?” The dashing stranger answers Mack but doesn’t take his eyes off of me.

  “I’m Mack. Over here, boy.” Mack’s rough voice sounds even more intimidating now, deep and commanding. I don’t know if it’s the lack of eye contact or the blatant way this guy’s staring at me that has Pop riled, but I have a feeling it’s probably a little of both.

  One side of his mouth quirks up slightly, as if he’s amused but hiding it from everyone but me, before he turns his eyes to Mack. And in that look, I’m pretty sure he recognizes me from last night, too.

  He holds out his hand to shake Mack’s, “Lucas Woods. Good to finally meet you. You’re highly recommended. I’m here to talk to you about you taking me on, being my trainer.”

  Mack looks him up and down with his all-too-knowing eyes. Mack can size up a fighter faster than any trainer I’ve ever seen. He used to be a boxer himself, when he was younger and “had more piss and vinegar than sense,” as he always says. Now he just likes working with the guys and seeing how far he can take them. He already has a serious contender lined up for the light heavyweight division and he doesn’t usually take on more than one at a time since almost all of his time is devoted to his fighter.

  Vaguely aware that Mack and Lucas are continuing their conversation, I can’t help but take in all that the view has to offer. I’m consciously trying to keep my breathing under control–that’s how much he affects me. His manly cologne mixed with a scent that is purely him is like an assault to my senses and an aphrodisiac I wish I could bottle and sell. As I blatantly check out his tattoos, one unique design on his bicep catches my eye and I realize I’ve seen him before last night at the club. How could I have not realized this was the same man?

  * * *

  LUKE

  When I decided to come to this gym, I had no idea she would be here. But as soon as I stepped inside, she’s all I could see. Whatever sense and reason I had just flew out the window as soon as I saw her standing there. Her blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail and the pink horizontal streaks match that skintight tank top she’s wearing, showing off her muscular arms and perky breasts. Those toned legs seem to go on forever out of those short Yoga shorts she’s wearing, the ones that hug her hips and ass so well that I can see the muscles flexing and contracting underneath when she moves.

  She feels me staring a hole into her from behind, I know she does because she turns her head and her eyes meet mine. And just like that, we’re connected from across the room. My feet start moving toward her without conscious thought. All I know is after seeing her on stage last night, and the way she looked right into me as she sang, I will have her one way or another. Seeing her here today is a sign, but the way she’s looking at me right now is proof.

  I don’t know what she’s doing here with all these damn guys, most of them boxer wanna-bes. Maybe she works here? Or maybe she’s dating one of the dickheads sparring in the ring? Either way, I’d gladly take on either or both of them for just one night with her. Though I seriously doubt one night would be enough for me. If the look in her eyes is any indication, I won’t have to work too hard for it. I’d bet serious money that she wants me as much as I want her.

  I don’t see any other women in here but there’s no way anyone could miss her. Not just because of her ha
ir, or that sexy right arm with a sleeve of tattoos that stretches up onto her shoulder, but because she is the most beautiful creature ever. She looks the complete opposite today than she did last night at the club.

  Today, her face has a serious, don’t-fuck-with-me look and is scrubbed free of makeup. Last night, her hair was down, long and wavy around her face, her eye makeup had a come-hither look to it, and her clothes were less revealing than what she’s wearing now, but were still sexy enough to make me have to keep certain parts of me under the table well after she left the stage. She’s gorgeous either way, but all I can think is how much I want to grab her hair – whether it’s down or in a ponytail – in my fist and completely own her.

  Apparently someone has noticed how I’m looking at her because the booming voice alerts me that I may be standing a little too close to her. But even as I speak to the voice that asked what I’m looking for, I’m having a really hard time tearing my eyes away from her. I give her a small half-smile when I hear the pissed off tone answer me, and I finally turn and introduce myself to the Mack Weaver. The man I’m here to talk to about being my trainer and helping me become a professional boxer.

  I hold out my hand to shake Mack’s, “Lucas Woods. Good to finally meet you. You’re highly recommended. I’m here to talk to you about you taking me on, being my trainer.”

  He looks me over, sizing me up, and with this guy, I know first impressions are very important. I just hope my blatant ogling of this girl doesn’t get me immediately tossed out on my head. I stand tall, in my fighting stance, and let him make his decision.