I slept hard.

I mean, slept like-the-dead type of hard.

And it felt good.

I scrubbed last night from my face and immediately pushed against the rock hard erection that was my constant morning companion and turned to see Charlie still fast asleep.

Memories of the first time I woke next to her were hard to ignore, except this time…I remembered falling asleep beside her.

Her hair, wild as she was, floated around her head, splayed across the pillow, the sunlight picking up hints of gold in the gently curled ends.

Charlie, I mused, such a boyish name for a woman with a face and body like hers.

Petite but stacked, she was a wet dream come to life.

I wanted her so badly my hands shook.

The taste of her still teased my tongue.

The sound of her moans echoed in my brain, banging around like a can kicked down an alley.

A surge of utter possession traveled down to my cock, stiffening the fucker to the point of pain.

How had she remained untouched all this time?

She was a mystery to me.

Hot, fiery, feisty, definitely bitchy at times…and yet, that fucking face and body were pin-up quality.

Like I said, I ain’t no poet but Jesus, the woman could inspire a motherfucker to try to put some words together in her honor.

No wonder Davonte was hard up to have her.

I got it — because I wanted her, too.

I’d never been one to spend too much time thinking of my future beyond the ring.

I guess that was short-sighted but when you live day to day, fight to fight, the only thing that mattered was moving up the chain.

Fuck, I should’ve seen a long time ago that Manny had been using me to push other fuckers — young studs — up the chain I’d been hoping to climb.

Jesus, I’d been a bait dog.

Disposable.

Used to sharpen the skills of the kids Manny thought had potential.

That stung.

My battered pride — what was left of it — demanded blood.

Manny had used me as surely as Davonte had.

The only thing they hadn’t counted on was my refusal to quit.

I was stronger than they’d anticipated.

In spite of their efforts, I’d inched up the ladder on my own.

Until my shoulder got fucked.

Charlie stirred, her parted lips moving with a soft sigh as she rolled to her back.

She was like candy.

I could stuff anger or desire, but not both.

My cock surged again, impatient.

I wouldn’t take her V-card.

But I needed a taste, something to get me through to the next moment.

Need crashed against the knowledge that she didn’t want me and I rolled away abruptly, flinging the blankets to stalk to the bathroom.

Taking a piss was going to be fun.

I was going to have to lean at a forty-five degree angle just so I didn’t piss myself in the face.

After a ridiculous amount of time I finally managed to make it happen but wrangling with my cock for a simple biological function was a reminder of how fucked my situation was.

Well, no time like the present to wake up the princess and share the misery.

I exited the bathroom to see Charlie awake, blankets tucked around her as if they were a suitable barrier if I chose to push the issue.

“Get over yourself,” I said, sliding on my jeans and dropping into the one small chair in the room. “We’ve got problems.”

Charlie blinked, perhaps in surprise that I wasn’t going to try and jump her bones, and regarded me warily. “New problems or the same ones?”

“New.”

She groaned. “What happened?”

“I went to Pussywillow’s last night to talk to Chantel. She didn’t take the bait as easily as you’d hoped. I had to sweeten the deal.”

“Sweeten it how?”

“I told her Terrance Johnson wanted in, that he was interested in taking down Davonte.”

Charlie paled as her gaze widened. “Why did you do that?”

“Because it was the only way. And I if hadn’t found a way to get Chantel on the hook, she was going to go straight to Davonte to save her own ass. I had to do something. This was the first thing that came out of my mouth.”

“Fuck,” she groaned. “How are we supposed to make that happen? Do you know anyone who can get you an audience with Terrance?”

“He’s not the King of England,” I growled. “I know where to find him.”

“And then what? Why the hell would he care what our beef is with Davonte if there’s a truce between the two?”

That’s what’d kept me out until three in the morning.

After leaving Pussywillow’s, I drove around, waiting for something to slam into my brain that would unfuck the situation I’d just created.

And then I realized there was only one way to make Terrance Johnson get on board.

Fucking lie through my goddamn teeth.

“Because I’m going to make Terrance believe that Davonte is working to bring him down under the guise of the truce.”

Her blank stare prodded me to elaborate.

“Look, they both hate each other, the truce is a fragile thing to begin with. All it will take is some creative manipulation of the facts to put them both snarling at each other like two alpha dogs after the same bitch. Davonte has had his eye on down river for some time, he’s just been too pussy to go after it. All we have to do is find out when Terrance Johnson has a shipment coming into the docks, leak that info to Davonte’s people and see if he takes the bait. If Davonte can’t resist getting his fingers on Terrance’s shit, then we’ve got the trap set. Once Terrance finds out that Davonte violated the truce…it’s game on.”

“Brilliant,” she quipped with a dark frown. “And when that blows up in your face, we’ll have two sociopaths after us. Jesus, Damon…what are we going to do?”

“Well, whatever we do, we have a ticking clock to make it happen, so get dressed princess. We got work to do.”