by Shannyn Leah
But she wasn’t the enemy.
She’d never been the enemy.
But damn it, she’d crushed him like an enemy would.
He scrubbed his hands over his face before lifting his head upwards toward the tap and rinsing every last evidence of her from his body. He could wash and rinse until he skinned himself and he’d still feel her touch, caress, and kiss.
Not sure if he felt more agitated now than before he’d gone to her wing of the house, he moved in lightning speed to finish drying his body and dressing. He slicked his hair back with a dallop of gel and caught his ashamed reflection in the mirror.
He’d made a promise to Oscar never to hurt his little girl. The pledge had been made years before his death, and today he’d gone to her wing intending to honor his word. He didn’t have to. He hadn’t wanted to. But he’d given his word, and he didn’t go back on his word. Which had brought him a shitload of problems this week. Oscar’s death had nearly killed Bowie and she’d turned her back to the entire underground fighting organization. Now, her brother had forced her to step back in because of his selfish decisions. Surprise, surprise, the blame once again fell on that self-centered bastard.
Stone stopped at the mirrored wall in his bedroom and stared at his reflection. He’d always found showering, brushing his hair, and dressing in a suit just to strip down and fight an hour later was mundane. However, the ritual came with elite underground fighting. Act ordinary until the doors closed.
He ran his fingers through his hair one last time before making his way to the living room. Hawk and his dad were dressed and casually standing by the bar with drinks in hand. A surge of something he wouldn’t name—jealousy?—no, but it felt an awful lot like it—ran through him.
His dad spotted him first. “Need a shot?”
Hell no. He’d had more than enough alcohol the night before.
Slate smirked. “You look like a bag of shit. How do you feel?”
“Like a bag of shit.”
Hawk turned, his eyebrows drawn together. “Where did you disappear to?”
Stone kept a straight face.
“Awe, shit.” Hawk downed the rest of his drink and hit the glass with a thud on the credenza. “You screwed Bowie? Come on, man. Dax is going to kill me. I literally left you alone for five minutes and you stripped her naked?”
Bowie cleared her throat behind Stone. “Is everyone ready?”
Stone smiled for the first time today. Wearing a scowl, Hawk’s lips thinned and his jaw tightened, but he remained silent.
Stone turned to face Bowie, unprepared for the burning desire hardly containable inside him. She’d dried her damp hair, hair he could still feel sliding between his fingers. An overly large braid draped over her bare shoulder and lay across her sequin red dress. He should’ve stopped looking there. A gentleman would have. But he didn’t. A sweetheart neckline boosted her breasts and the snug dress cinched her waist and hugged her legs before stopping just above her knees.
Bold, bright, and stunning.
Her crimson colored lips were a shade brighter than her outfit and black eyeliner made her glistening eyes pop.
Now that he’d touched every inch of her he wanted to skip the fight and carry her back to her wing. But he could never trust her again and casual sex wasn’t part of his daily routine—although he’d done both of those things with her.
“We’re ready.” He held his arm out for her. She glanced down at his gesture and he found the small smile that lifted her lips adorable. Not a feature she normally let others see and even now, she wiped it away as she looped her arm in his.
They started out of the room and she subtly glanced over her shoulder at Hawk. “And for the record, I was already naked. There was no stripping.”
Stone chuckled, unable to resist enjoying the side of her he’d once been proud to call his girl.
“Also, change of plans, Susan is staying home and Emerie is already waiting in the limo and will accompany you as your date. Strictly professional. There will be no stripping.” She faced forward and sent Stone a wink.
He felt obliged to tell her no one controlled Hawk or who he decided to sleep with, but it was as much their business as their business was Hawk or Dax’s.
The sun had begun to set. With the front of the house facing east, they were missing the beautiful array of purples and pinks highlighting the west.
Hawk whistled at the stretch limo awaiting them. “This is a ride I could get used to.” He playfully smacked Slate’s arms a few time before he picked up his pace. He didn’t wait for the limo driver to open the door, doing the pleasure himself and climbing right inside like a child at a candy store. His head popped back out. “They really do have champagne in here. Slate, come on old man.”
Slate grumbled, but hurried along in front of Stone and Bowie. When they were out of earshot, Bowie stopped and pulled Stone with her. She slid her arm from his and her hands landed on her hips looking like a lecture was on the tip of her tongue. “You took off awfully fast.”
“I have a fight tonight and we agreed—”
“Let’s get something straight. I understand what happened between us won’t be repeated and even if it is, it means nothing. When this is done, you’ll go back to your life and I’ll stay here. I can attest to that.” She took a step closer to him and poked his chest. “But you won’t treat me like dirt you scraped off your boot. You won’t kiss and touch me, then give me the cold shoulder. You certainly will not rush out without a word because you couldn’t say no.” She lowered her tone. “Guilt doesn’t suit you. Man up and accept it.”
He grinned. He couldn’t help it. The brief moments they’d ended up spending together revealed more of her old, unfiltered, raw self. She was no longer tip-toeing around his feelings or her insecurities about her request for him to fight.
He bent down and grazed his lips across her silky cheek. “Where has this woman been all week? I missed her.” He straightened and walked to the limo door, holding the door open. “After you.”
Her lips slightly curled up, but her eyes scolded him. “Don’t get all mushy before a fight. Focus on the win.”
STONE KNEW OAKSTON like the inside of the 1969 Maserati Ghibli waiting for him at Dax’s shop. And just like they’d be changing the original parts under the hood of the car, things had also changed also changed in Oakston. The stores which had once occupied buildings now had new signs, new businesses.
Half way to her father’s old restaurant, which she’d inherited and sold, breaking her connection with the underground world, Bowie spoke for the first time. “For those of you who haven’t been to an underground fight” —her eyes landed on Hawk and Slate—“this isn’t just any ordinary underground fight. This is an elite club where only those who can drop a ten-thousand dollar bet at minimum are invited. They bet a lot more money and expect a lot more blood.”
“Little girl, we’ve all seen a movie or two.” Stone’s father’s blackened stare challenged her.
Bowie didn’t even blink. “This isn’t your typical unsanctioned street fight movie. We’ll walk into the restaurant as if we are there to dine. Acquaintances, family, I don’t care how you envision it, but the guests need to believe we’re there for a fun night out. Smiles, laughter, holding hands, friendly. Don’t draw attention to yourself with a nervous look or an angry fight face. You never know who is watching.”
Hawk grunted. “I don’t think Slate ever looks happy. Do you even smile?”
Stone’s dad grunted in reply, but did not smile.
“We’ll be escorted to a private dining room in the back of the restaurant. Once we are in and the doors are closed, a fake door will open to lead us down a long hallway with a private elevator to the basement. If you make it past security and to the basement, don’t be stupid. They don’t just let anyone in. You have VIP passes because you’re with me. You screw up, you mouth off to the wrong person, or give the wrong person the wrong vibe, you’re on your own. And they don’t escort you o
ut the same condition you walked in.”
Stone had witnessed firsthand the consequences of the security’s suspicions. You landed in an alley bleeding with barely a heartbeat ... sort of the way Walker had left him.
Stone slunk down into the seat, looked out the tinted window, and zoned the rest of the conversation out.
Once he stepped into that ring, there would be no backing out, no doubts, and no chances to walk away. The second he stood in the middle of the room against Ben the Blazer, he’d either walk away or be dragged out of the ring.
He’d never been dragged away. He’d won every fight in the ring from his first fight. A born champion. Son of Slate the Slaughterer. Born to fight. But he’d been angry and arrogant then. Angry at the world, at his dad, at life, and he’d brought that anger in the ring to win.
Now, he enjoyed his life. He felt content back in Willow Valley. He’d almost believe he didn’t have the fight in him, but then he’d see Walker’s smug look with each kick. He could feel Walker’s goons holding his arms and legs. His stomach clenched at the thought of each punch and suddenly he didn’t feel like the man he’d grown to become. Transported back to his fighting days, he felt the fight pulse through him, demanded the adrenaline rush as if he only breathed to fight.
Ben the Blazer wouldn’t last five minutes in the ring with him.
Chapter Sixteen
HAWK AND SLATE surprised Bowie with their ideal behavior through the restaurant. She even caught Stone’s dad smile and the action took years off the old man’s face. He should do it more, but maybe he did when she wasn’t present.
Bowie walked arm-in-arm with Stone, and let the old feelings of what they’d once been trickle through her. She leaned into his side when he wrapped his arm around her back. The warm feelings of desire coursed in her veins like wild-fire when his fingers tightened at her hip. She inhaled his smell when he leaned down to whisper in her ear, just for show, but she didn’t have to fake a smile. Her deeper worry arose as they were escorted through the private dining area. Each step closer to the false wall broke down a part of her wall.
She stared at the floor below and she’d swear the modern marble tiles were caving in. She stood above the basement where her father had taken the blow to his head that had killed him.
That moment had changed everything.
Stone squeezed her waist and she looked up to see the wall in front of her was now open and they were all waiting on her.
Pull it together.
Her behavior was exactly what she’d warned the others against, but that would be the day any one of the men in charge here touched her. Oscar’s daughter. She was untouchable.
Stone, on the other hand, would be stepping into the last ring her father had ever fought in.
They walked down the long hallway lined with antique black velvet wallpaper and shag carpeting. They stopped at another wall which would open to an elevator. The elevator down to no return.
Stone’s fingers dug deeper into her side and she fought the urge to flinch. She stole a look at him and realized while she’d been lost in her own sorrow she’d forgotten he was battling his own set of emotions. She wrapped her hand over his and loosened his fingers, lacing her hands through his.
His body didn’t react. A good sign. He was getting in the zone, feeling the atmosphere, knowing his time to fight was encroaching. Her father had mentally moved into the same zone before his fights.
The doors opened and their escort stepped aside. “Miss Blake, I’m sure you can take it from here.”
“Yes. Thank you.” She stepped in the elevator first and the rest followed. One quick eye motion to the ceiling where she knew the cameras were watching silenced everyone for the ride to the basement.
Her heart strummed a ferocious beat inside her. She’d promised herself never to come back here. And now, shards of this new anxiety scoured her veins as the familiar hum of the elevator took them down. The elevator jerked to a stop and the reflection of them in the mirror disappeared and the smell of cigar smoke and alcohol filled the space.
She stepped out and onto the plush, blood red carpet, deciding she didn’t like the new row of lighted red tiles built into the middle of chocolate brown walls. Her trembling legs were thankful when she spotted white leather half-moon sofas and coffee tables descending down six levels to the fighting ring—as of now cloaked by a thick red curtain.
“Let’s go.” Stone nodded for Hawk to follow.
His father gripped Stone’s arm before he turned to leave. Stone covered the older man’s hand. “Keep them safe. I’m okay.”
Slate nodded with what appeared to be a painful action.
Stone’s eyes landed on Bowie’s for a split second and yet so many silent words were exchanged. She told him to be safe and he promised her he’d walk out alive. Old habits die hard. She watched the two men until the far door shut behind them.
Breathe.
Needing to be the stronger person, she looped her arm in Emerie’s and felt her friend shiver. She hated having to involve her, but she’d had no choice.
“This way.” She gave her hand a final pat as they approached the top of the stairs. Taking the lead, she made her way down the white carpeted stairs, eyes trained in front of her. She could address each rich regular attendee by name—organized crime members, sports players, even the mayor would be in his regular seat at his table in the top row. Aware of their reserved tables, she chose a table away from all those she planned to avoid, an empty area on the second row.
After she took her seat, the room faded away and the curtained ring devoured her attention. From top to bottom, the red material taunted her with her father’s memory. Not one person in this room would give a second thought to his memory now. If he weren’t here, alive and ready to win them money, he was nothing. Not like Stone’s father who’d fought, won and was still worshipped for the sport.
She almost wanted to apologize to Slate for dragging his son here, for dragging him here to watch Stone fight, but it would be a waste of breath for a man who already didn’t like her. She could tell him Stone only took three hits top and his opponent would be down, but she’d be saying it out loud only to ease her own anxiety.
Damn, this anxiety. It would be the death of her. A joke that fell short in her situation.
She reminded herself she had only three fights to endure and this would be past her ... again.
Three fights.
“And she lives and breathes. Here in the flesh.” The sneer of Walker’s voice sent shivers through her body. “And accompanied by none other than Slate the Slaughterer.” He stretched a hand out to Stone’s dad. “It’s a pleasure to be in the presence of a champion.”
Slate eyed his hand without moving. “And you are?”
“Walker Mahon. Old acquaintance of your son.”
Hardness stole the already rigid lines of Slate’s face. “The man prepared to fight a man while he’s down.”
Walker retracted his hand. “Some of us will go extra lengths to bring justice to those we love.”
“From what I’ve read, your love was the driver and one can’t help but wonder what she was doing in another man’s car at that hour and in that condition.”
Bowie’s eyes widened and she almost choked on her own breath. Then she fought the smile tugging at her lips.
Well done, Slate. Well done.
Walker kept his cool, although breaking out in a fist-fight would land both these men with a one-way ticket out. “Unfortunately, you can’t ask the dead.”
“And yet, you’ve already decided the circumstances of that night.”
He leaned into their circle and lowered his voice to a rasping whisper. “Let’s not waste our time pretending either of us were loyal to our bitches and instead agree we’d both punish the one responsible for taking away anyone we love, regardless of fault.”
“I would never call my wife a bitch and a man who does, doesn’t deserve her in the first place.”
“Are you sure a
bout that? Your wife left you.”
“And yours was on her way down the same path. The difference is I accepted her choice while you pretend differently.”
“Maybe it should be you in the ring with me.”
“Don’t make threats when you haven’t played with the big boys.” Slate waved for a waiter’s attention, dismissing Walker.
Instead of leaving, like the beat-down and wounded dog Walker was, he sat beside Bowie, purposely brushing against her side. “It’s been a long while, sweetheart.”
Bowie made it a point to shift her body to the opposite side of her sofa. “Not long enough.” She might’ve been worried if she didn’t know he got off on ignorance. Having Slate at her side boosted her bravery.
“Ouch,” he hissed, amused. He leaned back, lifting an ankle over his opposite knee like he’d had an invitation to stay. “But in the end, you just can’t stay away.”
“This isn’t about me.”
“The hell it isn’t.” He nodded at the ring. “He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to get in a ring with your pansy smug brother, but Stone gave me a bad rep.”
“You did that yourself.”
“Why him, babe?” He ran his fingers down her bare arm, and her skin crawled at the touch. “I’ve got so much more to offer.” His fingers lingered at the crook of her elbow. “You see his future right over there—” He nodded beyond her at Slate. “A dried up drunk.”
Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Slate shift and she hoped he’d keep his fists to himself. They didn’t need a scene, not at Stone’s first fight.
She tilted her head to where she’d be scrubbing away the evidence of his touch later that night. “If you don’t take your hands of me, I’ll have you removed.”
“Sweetheart, you haven’t been here long enough to call the shots.”
She glanced across the room and made eye contact with the man in charge, a close friend to her father’s. He nodded a promise of safety exclusively for her, obviously having been watching the entire confrontation.