Ten
Blake
“The fuck it’s not!” Cocksucking asshole. I’ll kill him. I shove my hands deep into my pockets, hoping to God I don’t put my fists through every car window in this piece-of-shit parking lot.
“Blake?” The concern in her soft voice calls me away from my plan-o’-destruction.
I’m breathing hard, like I just pulled out of a fifteen minute round with Wanderlei Silva. My heart’s pounding, injecting volcanic blood straight to my muscles. Frantic, I search for a target, eager to take a fucker down for the offense of simply breathing.
My control slips. Shit. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Sweat beads on my skin. I run my hand over my head and flex my fingers. I’m a loaded gun, cocked and trigger-happy.
“Blake.” Her voice is firmer now. “You’re shaking.” She moves in close, her eyebrows dropped low over her dark eyes.
I hold my hand up, keeping her back. Safe. “Give me a minute.”
This is fucked. I can’t think straight.
A few deep breaths. In… out… in… out. Hanging on by a nut hair, I search for a distraction. Anything to take my mind off the fact that Layla was raped, probably repeatedly, by some fuckhead. Probably some douche with a hard-on for pushing people around. His wife, the mother of his child? Dammit!
My chest rumbles as a growl claws up my throat. I need something, anything, to redirect my thoughts. My eyes dart around, cars, the neon sign, her shirt. “Pantera.” I breathe the word, grasping for a lifeline, a change of subject.
She tugs at the hem, peering down at the bright red letters printed on her chest. “Oh, yeah. I didn’t actually go to the concert. Elle was a baby when they came to Seattle. I had a friend get me the shirt.”
I grunt, acknowledging that I heard her.
She smoothes the worn cotton fabric against her flat stomach. “You like Pantera?”
“Mm-hm.” Fuck, that’s better. I sound more man than animal now. Progress.
Running her finger below her eye, she shrugs. “Reinventing the Steel was by far their best album.”
What? “No fuckin’ way.” I lock my gaze on her sparkling eyes. “That album was their biggest fail. Nothin’ but an overproduced hunk of crap made for critics. It wasn’t even—what’s so funny?”
Fuck me if the sight of her tear-streaked face, red eyes, and big white grin doesn’t have me fighting a smile.
“You’re right. Reinventing the Steel is crap.” Her eyes dance and soften. “Just making sure you’re okay.”
I take my first full breath, and feel my shoulders unwind. “Did I pass?”
She pulls her top lip into her mouth with her tongue, a grin still playing across her lips, and nods.
Kicking my foot out, I allow her smile to soothe me, and lean back against a parked car. “Their best album was—”
“Vulgar Display of Power.” She sniffs as if it’s no big deal that she robbed me of those exact words.
I lose the battle with my lips and smirk. “Yeah.”
And with that, my heart rate is back to normal, my mind clear. That crap about her husband isn’t cool, and I’d still like to pull a series of fist-meet-face action on the douche-bag, but at least I’m not in danger of hurting anyone around me.
Fuckin’ DNA. I’ve always loved fighting, the power that surges through my body with every punch. It’s addicting. But this shit’s been happening outside of the octagon more than I’m comfortable with. It’s like some dormant cells straight from the General suddenly came to life. As if the shit he pulled in the past didn’t fuck me up enough, his cyborg cells are kickin’ in to finish the job.
“I need to call a cab.” Her voice pulls me from my biological Armageddon.
The light from her phone casts a blue glow against her face and hair. Her perfect teeth tug on her lower lip while she scrolls through her directory.
Damn, she’s beautiful. “Don’t go.”
She recoils slightly. Shit. I scrub my face with my hands. No clue why I’m asking her to stay. But the thought of watching her drive away makes my skin itch and my bones ache.
For the first time, it’s not all about wanting to fuck her. I’d be a disgrace to the male species if I didn’t entertain the idea once or twelve times. But this feels different. It’s like wanting to hit replay on my favorite song, or watch ten more minutes of a good flick. I’m not ready for it to end. “Where’s Axelle?”
She pulls a long strand of hair over her shoulder and twirls the end. “Double feature at The Cineplex.”
“Let’s go somewhere. You and me.”
Her eyes get wide and dart to where the SUV was parked earlier. “Oh… uh…”
“Just to hang out.” I hold my hands up and put on my most innocent face. Yeah, right. Like I have an innocent face. A laugh catches in my throat. “Really, on my honor.”
She ducks her chin and giggles, the trilling sound of her laughter settling against every inch of my skin. “Oh, yeah, I saw you and your honor in full force earlier tonight.”
“I’ll keep my honor in its zipper cage. Promise.” And fuck, but for the first time in a long time, I mean it. Getting Layla naked isn’t the priority. Shocker.
“Okay, sure. Where do you want to go?”
Anywhere. As long as it’s with you.
Layla
“Oh my gosh, Blake. This is… wow.” My mouth is hanging open as we walk into the living room of Blake’s condo. Ha! Condo is a joke of a word that doesn’t do justice to this place.
The open floor plan allows me to see everything from the kitchen to the dining room to the sunken living room. Clearly lacking a woman’s touch, everything is sleek dark leather, granite, and stainless steel.
But what gives this place the wow-factor is the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city. I drop my purse on the real leather couch—I know it’s real because I can smell it—and move across the room. Pressing my face up against the glass, the steam from my breath turns the bright twinkling lights of the Las Vegas strip into abstract watercolors.
The sound of the wall sliding open jerks my face from the window. “The glass wall opens?” I stand back and watch in fascination as the glass folds in panels, dissolving the line between inside and outside.
“It’s a nice night. Let’s sit on the patio.” He smiles, ignoring my question.
“But…” I point from floor to ceiling. “The wall just… like… poof… disappears.” Even I can hear the excitement in my voice, but who cares? This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.
With a tilt of his head, he motions for me to follow him to a set of gorgeous teak lounge chairs complete with perfectly white, overstuffed cushions. We take our separate seats. Not wanting to put my dirty shoes on the cushions, I kick off my biker boots. He doesn’t need to take his shoes off as his long legs take up the entire length of the seat, leaving his feet to hang off the end.
“How tall are you?” The question rolls off my tongue in such a casual way that I forget I’m in the home of a virtual stranger.
“Six-two.”
Wow. That’s super tall. A whole foot taller than me.
We sit in silence, our eyes cast out into the night, the cool air still and relaxing. My mind drifts, taking a reprieve from the usual crap that eats away at me daily. I lay my head back and think about how long it’s been since I’ve been this comfortable around a man. Alone. Gosh, years. And even back then I—
“I’m not into her.” Blake’s words are distant, but direct.
My face instantly heats at the reminder of what happened earlier tonight. How could I forget? Somewhere between Blake’s freak-out in the parking lot and our peaceful patio sitting, I’d pushed my embarrassing interruption from my mind. Self-preservation has me hopeful that I’d misunderstood his statement. “Into who?”
“The girl I was… the blonde. I’m not into her.” He avoids making eye contact and studies the colored lights. “It was a hook-up. That’s it.”
It was worth a try. “You don’t need to explain. It’s none of my business who you… you know.” This is so uncomfortable.
He nods a couple times then drops his head back against the cushion. “Yeah, I know. Still wanted to tell you.”
“Why?” I speak the question and grimace. Didn’t mean to say that out loud.
“Fuck if I know.” He takes this opportunity to lock his eyes with mine, and even in the dark, with the only light coming from the stars and distant exterior lighting, I can see the intensity in his emerald gaze.
Like always, when he sets his eyes on mine, I’m helpless to look away. Heat gathers beneath my skin, all over my body. My cheeks, my chest, and places a lot lower simmer and liquefy under his visual assault. He tilts his head, pressing his temple deeper into the cushion.
I reach in deep, trying to pull up the image of him in the back of the SUV. If anything can zap me back to reality, it should be that, but it’s like a dream I can’t remember. There, but fuzzy. The fire in his eyes when he towered over me in the parking lot comes back clearly. He didn’t break eye contact then, and he’s not now. I wet my lips, trying to cool my heated skin.
He takes a sharp intake of breath and looks away. “So, uh… tell me about him. Axelle’s dad.”
Talk about a mood killer. I blink a few times and return my eyes to the lights. “What do you want to know?” Hell, I already told him the worst part, and he didn’t run off screaming. Nothing to hide now.
“How’d you meet?” It’s an icebreaker question, but it sounds like he forced the words through his teeth.
“High school. He was the big guy on campus. Football all-state whatever, debate extraordinaire, student government blah, blah, blah.”
“Hm. No Pantera or Metallica worship? Doesn’t sound like your type.”
“Exactly. He’s not my type, never was. I always went for the bad boys, the dropouts and druggies. I hated guys like Stewart. Putting on an impressive show, but behind closed doors…” Memories of exactly what happened behind closed doors trickle through the cracks in my protective mental wall.
“His name is Stew.”
“Stewart. Yeah.”
“Stew.”
I nod.
“Stew Moorehead.”
The crooked smile on Blake’s face, along with the way he said Stewart’s name, strikes something deep inside. An uncontrollable giggle erupts from deep in my chest. I try to muffle it with my hand but end up snorting with laughter until I can finally reclaim myself.
He doesn’t laugh with me but grins. “So if you two were so different, how’d you end up…”
Making a baby? I finish his question in my head. “I’d just turned sixteen. Saved up for two years to put a down payment on a car. Babysitting, cleaning houses, collecting cans… you name it, I did it. Finally, I had enough money saved to get the sickest ’78 Trans-Am.”
Blake’s handsome face splits with a huge smile.
I sit up, cross-legged, and face him. “It was cobalt blue. Like something out of a Mötley Crüe video. It literally purred when I hit the gas.”
He chuckles. “I bet.”
“There was a huge party. I was crushing on Trip Miller, this shaggy-haired rocker kid.” I lean in, excitement tickling my stomach, just like it did that night, hours before my fate was sealed by my stupidity. “He was a bad-boy. You know, faded metal T-shirts, tattoos made with a straight pin and Bic ink.” I’m lost in the memory and not paying attention to Blake as I relive my past.
“I rolled up in my Trans-Am, wearing skin-tight dove grey jeans, my black monkey boots, and a Whitesnake T-shirt that I cut and shredded myself.” I laugh at how hot I thought I looked. “I knew that night would be the night I’d win over Trip.”
I’ll never forget walking in and seeing Stewart there with all his friends, drunk as hell. I should’ve turned around and gone home. But if I had, I wouldn’t have Elle.
“And did you?” Blake’s deep rumbling voice calls my eyes to his.
“No. I drank and flirted with Trip. Far as I can remember, he played hard to get.” My mind cranks back to how much I drank in an attempt to show him I was a wild-child like him. And somewhere between the beers and the shots, things got fuzzy. “I don’t remember much. Only waking up naked, a blanket thrown over my body, next to Stewart in the back of his 4Runner.”
He swings his long legs off the lounger, turns toward me, and leans in. “Pretty fucked up. Dudes know when a chick’s too hammered to consent. He should’ve left you alone.” The anger in his voice is unmistakable.
I make sure to hold his stare. “Yeah,” I whisper.
He studies the ground, his elbows on his knees, hands hanging between his legs. “Someone should have kicked his ass.”
“It’s not all his fault. I knew better than to drink that much.” Even now, I remember the cold that seeped into my body, the aching between my legs. The disgust I felt at having lost my virginity and not remembering a thing. “I was such an idiot.”
“The fuck you were.” His growled words make me jump. “That pussy-ass bitch knew exactly what he was doing. You call the cops?”
Cops? Why? To announce to the Seattle PD that I’m a teenage slut? “No.”
He drops his head into his hands with a muttered “Fuck me.” He passes his big palms over his cropped hair a few times, looking away. Then, with a groan, he’s back to my eyes. “Where the hell was your dad? He had to know that fart-suckin’ douche-bag took more than you wanted to give him.”
“After I found out I was pregnant, my dad’s the one who encouraged us to get married. He’s from a different generation.” I can’t take the disappointment in Blake’s eyes. Suddenly the frayed strings of my jeans become interesting. “Told me I had to make it right.”
“Make it right? You’ve got to be shittin’ me.” He’s up and pacing the length of his deck. “What is it with dads and their daughters? First Raven, now you,” he mumbles to himself. “Not a fucking decent one out there. Should be protecting their girls, not sending them into the arms of a predator. Shit.”
“I don’t regret it.”
His glare swings to mine, eyebrows pinched.
“That night brought me Elle.”
A tenderness that starts at his mouth bleeds across to his jaw and up, relaxing his expression. “Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
He steps back to his lounger and sits on the end. His shoulders are still tense, and he doesn’t recline. “Why do you call her Elle?”
“After I found out I was pregnant, my parents flipped out. They dragged me to Stewart’s house.” I twirl a piece of hair around my finger. “It was so embarrassing. Listening to our parents talk about…” My cheeks heat. Even sixteen years later, the memory is still so vivid. “They decided we needed to get married. Holding up appearances and all. Stewart was on his way to taking over his dad’s pharmaceutical company. Didn’t want the messy scandal of an illegitimate child running through the papers.”
Blake’s face is hard, his expression blank.
“I had no choice. They took my choices away from me.”
The big fighter across from me flinches. Actually flinches. He recovers fast, the impassive expression back in place.
“The day I gave birth to Elle, I knew it was the end of my choices. But…” I drop my face, peek up at him from beneath my lashes, and smile. “I had one more to make. Her name.”
He nods.
“Naming her Axelle Rose was my big ‘fuck you’.” I giggle and cover my mouth, a little ashamed at how I used my daughter to get to my parents.
“You rebel.” His lips twitch, and something that looks like pride shines behind his eyes. “That’s fuckin’ beautiful.”
“Yeah, it was. It felt really good. If you could have seen their faces when I told them I named my daughter Axelle Rose.” I double over, holding my stomach as a wave of hysteria hits me hard. “Stewart’s… mom…” Unable to finish my sentence through the laughter, I suck in a deep breath and regain my calm. “No one would call her Axelle. They called her Elle. Guess it stuck.”
He runs his thumb over his eyebrow. “Took a lot of strength. Becoming a mom in high school.”
I shrug. “You’d be amazed the things you’re capable of when you have no other choice.” Both good and bad.
A low grumble of approval, and then silence. We sit like that for a while, each of us wrapped up in our own thoughts. Not an awkward What the hell do I say now silence, but a Felt good to unload that pile of bricks silence.
I haven’t told that story in… well, ever.
After a few more minutes, I check my watch. Almost midnight. “I better get back.”
He reaches over and grabs my boots, handing them to me. I slide them on and settle my feet on the ground. He offers his hand and pulls me up. Standing only inches away, he doesn’t drop my hand. I tilt my head back to look at his face.
He’s not smiling.
Blake
Punch something. As soon as her perfect ass walks out of my door, I’m going to punch something.
It’s taken every damn thing I have not to pound my patio furniture into kindling.
Sixteen. Drunk. And totally fuckin’ vulnerable.
Staring down at her now, a grown woman, she’s the picture of innocence. All big brown eyes and pouty lips. And this woman has been through some shit. The kind of shit that changes a person forever, and rewrites the grand plan of who she’s supposed to become. All so some horny teenage kid could get his dick wet at a party. Probably showin’ off for his crew of walking hard-ons. If Layla was even a tenth of the beauty she is now, she must’ve had those boys following her around for years before they finally got her drunk enough for a chance. The second he got the stumbling-drunk green light, that motherfu—
“Thanks for understanding… ya know…. everything.” She fidgets, and her eyes look everywhere but at me. “Sorry about busting up your plans.”
“Plans?” I blink and try to clear the image of a teenage Layla, broken and alone.
Her cheeks flush pink. “The parking lot? Thanks for being so cool about it.”
“It’s not the first time a good-looking woman has pulled me away from a chick.” I internally groan, my attempt at humor only making me look like a bigger jackass.
But I can’t tell her the truth. That the only reason I hooked up with that chick was because she looked a little like Layla. She’d never understand that being around her makes me feel like I’m caged, ripping at my skin to get to her.
Layla pulling me away from that girl did me a favor. Although she looked a lot like Layla, she didn’t smell like the sweet vanilla that makes my mouth water. She didn’t throw sass or give me the attitude that makes my dick hard. Once I got the girl alone, all I wanted to do was get rid of her.
“Whatever.” She holds up her hand. “Again, not my business.”
No, but why do I wish like hell it was?
We stroll in silence down to the car, and then drive to her house. It’s quiet in the Rubicon except for the sound of Lagwagon as it fills the vacant space. Her apartment complex is dark, most of the security lights in need of new bulbs. I grind my teeth as I imagine her and Axelle making the trek from the lot to the stairs at night. Alone.
I park the Rubicon and hop out to walk around to her door.
She’s already out. “I’ve got it from here.”
“I’m walking you up.” I make it a point to lock eyes with her, daring her to argue.
Shrugging her purse onto her shoulder, her lips curl into a smile. “That’s very chivalrous of you.”
“I am chivalrous.” Fuck. Why did that sound so defensive?
I never gave a second thought to the way women see me. They like what they see, they let me know. They don’t? No sweat off my sac. Don’t remember ever having a lack of women ready and available.
But for some reason, Layla’s opinion matters. She’s implied I have no honor and that I’m not a gentleman. Her assumptions aren’t far from the truth. This is just the first time that I wished she wasn’t right. And why is that?
She lifts one eyebrow and tilts her head. “You’re chivalrous?” The sound of her tapping boot against the pavement pounds along with the throb in my chest. I’m overcome with the urge to prove her right. Show her that I’m an asshole by taking that sweet mouth like I’ve wanted to since we met. Not giving her the option to say no. Turning her objections into needy moans.
Maybe if I kiss her thoroughly enough, she’ll forget her opinion of me. Or maybe I’ll prove her point. Either way, I win.
I jerk my head toward the stairs. “Let’s get you inside. It’s late.”
Walking to her door, I guide her up with my hand on her lower back. She flashes a shy smile that has my heart hammering. After she unlocks the door, I follow in behind her.
I turn on the light in her kitchen and living room. “Axelle home?”
Her gaze swings to the digital clock on the stove. “She’d better be.”
“Go check. I’ll wait.”
She moves down the hallway, and I check the rooms and windows. Everything looks good and locked up tight.
“Yeah, she’s asleep.” Her whispered words come out with a yawn.
Her wide-open mouth, pink tongue, and full lips pull me in. I move toward her, eyes locked on hers. “Good.”
She watches me, curiosity etched in her expression. “Um… so…”
I lick my lips, hoping she gets my intention loud and clear. “So…”
Panic sparks in her eyes. Her body tenses, and she rolls her lips between her teeth. She doesn’t want this.
I freeze and drop my gaze to the floor, feeling like a complete ass. “Right. Lock up after I leave.”
She exhales hard, a small smile back on her face. Is that… relief? Fuck me.
“Will do. Thanks for the ride.”
A grunt is all I can manage. If I had the balls, I’d roar in her face that it’s not fair. Not cool that she’s as fucking mouth-watering as she is, but also every single thing I told myself to stay away from. And it should be a crime that a girl who is unbelievably perfect, like she was designed on the storyboard of male imagination, should be fun to talk to. Interesting. Smart. And so damn entertaining that I’d pick her company over any one of my bros.
I head down to my car, mentally dropkicking myself for being such a tool. This whole time I thought we’d been feeling the same thing. I’ve seen it. I know I have. The desire in her eyes. The slight parting of her lips when I get close. Her nervous smile when I flirt.
Shit. This ends here. No more thoughts of the unpredictable beauty. From here on, I’m all about my fight.
The only constant that I can rely on.