Oh. Fuck. No. My father has his lecherous eyes all over Lennon … and her stepfather is seriously no better, which is fuckin’ disturbing. I’d noticed weirdness emanating from him every time he’s around her, but I was chalking it up to his frustration with her and all her sleep issues. But … no. In fact, despite Morgan sitting between them like a sparkly piece of eye candy, they’re both watching Lennon’s every goddamn move. I have an awful feeling that if we were to leave her unattended, things would go south quickly.
“Fighters ready? I want a clean fight. Touch gloves.”
Fucking hell. My attention jerks back to my opponent, and I step forward, purposely extending my right hand to Wild Man so I don’t immediately make him curious. He knows that I’m a righty, so it’d be a dead giveaway to give him my left. I roll my eyes at myself, knowing wholeheartedly that it won’t be long before he grasps I’m not fighting quite the way he expects me to. No doubt any fighter out there worth his salt has studied the way I approach a fight, so it’ll be odd if Wilder doesn’t catch on. I’m going to be relying on my left arm as much as possible and try to get him to the mat as quickly as I fucking can. I’m bigger than he is. Possibly stronger. But this one is so creative with his fighting, it’s hard to say what he’ll try to pull on me from his bag of tricks. And I’m not myself tonight.
I’m in no shape to handle shenanigans, and Wilder will, no doubt, pull out all the stops. I lift my gloved hands in a defensive stance as the bell beginning the round sounds, and we start to circle each other.
He steps in relatively quickly, taking a jab at me, which I sidestep. I’ve gotta play this just fucking right or I’m in real trouble. He dances around a bit and before he can steady himself, I jab with my left. Fuck, I’m in trouble anyway, but the look on his face when I clip him on the chin is one first of shock then of confusion. He wasn’t expecting that. Good.
While I have him thrown, I come in close and we collide. Grappling for dominance, spinning around, grunts and groans of exertion fill the air as we each attempt to take the other down.
It’s too much. I can’t work him the way I want to because of the searing fire raging in my shoulder. We lock together as he studies me while the crowd goes nuts. Shit. He knows something’s up. I shoot him a small smirk, then push him off me, disengaging. It may have looked good to the cheering crowd, but I don’t know how I’m going to finish this fight.
Wilder grins around his mouthpiece, and it’s like he’s baring his teeth, taunting me as he watches every move I make … and every fucking move I don’t. Dude has a crazed look in his eyes, like he can sense I’m injured and is prepared to take full advantage. I don’t like it.
But I’m not going to give up so easily. Drawing in one ragged breath after another, I figure there’s only one way to do this. I’ve got to go on the attack. And I have to do it now before I’m in worse trouble than I already am. Catch him by surprise again.
Fuck it. I step in with a lightning-fast one-two jab cross combo that has the crowd on its feet. Sweat begins to roll off me, not so much from the exertion of it all, but from the pain in my shoulder. I blink hard, backing up as Wilder comes at me to trade a few more punches. He catches me on the cheekbone, and I retaliate by smacking my fist into the hard wall of his abdomen. It doesn’t faze him more than a second, and my attempt to hook his leg and take him down to the mat is thwarted when he grabs my arm and yanks. Angry flames lick through my body, the burning sensation intense, and I wrench myself away, breathing hard.
My eyes shift for a split second to where Duke, Mason, and Lennon are sitting on the edges of their seats. Lennon’s lip is clamped securely between her teeth, and they’re practically coming out of their skin, worry slashed across all three faces. But I can’t take on any of their concerns right now, I have enough of my own. My gaze flicks back to the cocky combatant before me, and I wait for whatever he’s going to attempt next and hope I can manage to hold him off. I’m struggling more with every agonizing second that passes.
Wilder squints at me, tilting his head, then comes at my right side with a vengeance, like he senses now where my weak spot is. Sweat continues to pour off me. I force myself to see nothing but my opponent. I can’t fuckin’ afford one misstep.
I grit my teeth and keep going, throwing a right at his jaw. He takes it, then laughs. We circle, and a moment later, he slams his fist into my arm, high on my bicep. The injured one. I see stars, the pain is so goddamn blinding, I’m fearful for a second that it might make me pass out.
And the next second, none of that matters anyway as his left fist collides with the side of my head. I fall to my knees, dazed stupid.
My eyes flicker open to see the rafters in the ceiling of the warehouse, and I grunt with pain from the flat of my back. The crowd is losing its shit, the roar so loud and angry it’s near deafening. What the fucking hell? Confused, I groan. Someone beside me tries to touch my arm, and I lash out, realizing belatedly it’s the ring doc checking me over. My brow furrows as the ref calls a victory by knockout for Wilder Emory. Motherfucker.
The weight of it all crashes down on me. There are so many bets that probably went to shit because I came into the cage with an injury. Oh, fuck. What have I done? My heart clamps hard inside my chest. And my rib cage feels like it’s caving in on my lungs. I can’t breathe. But what could I have done differently?
I breathe out in haggard, tense exhales. A moment later, I recognize that I struck the doctor and hadn’t said a goddamn thing to apologize. Slowly, I grit out, “Sorry, sir. Didn’t know what I was doing.”
“It’s alright, son. You got your clock cleaned good. Sorry to tell you that.” The older gray-haired man grimaces as he grips my head in his hands, looking into my eyes. One, then the other and back again, gently humming as he does. He moves his finger around in front of my face, encouraging me to follow it with my eyes. I don’t know what he’s looking for. Blown pupils or something, maybe. Signs of concussion. Does anyone realize it’s my arm that’s jacked up? Or did it just look like I got knocked out? Fuck, I don’t know which to hope for. Cold, hard, ugly reality slams into me.
Jesus Christ, I just lost my first fight ever. My dad’s going to kill me.
“Bear!”
I hear Lennon’s panicked voice right outside the cage, and when I turn my head, all three of my people are right there, hovering. Wild-eyed. Nervous. I swallow hard. Guilt swamps me, practically sucking me under. Maybe I deserve to be engulfed by the fucking mud. I’ve shocked my friends. I’ve disappointed myself.
And one look beyond them, and I see the scariest shit ever. I was right in my earlier assessment. I’ve enraged my father. His face is an ugly, ruddy red as he hisses under his breath to Tristan, shaking his head vigorously at whatever his friend replies. Thank fuck I can’t hear either of them. Derek Pierce is good at keeping everything hush hush. He’d never allow anyone else to hear the venom he’s likely spewing. He’ll save the explosive tirade until he gets me alone. Then, he’ll let loose with his fury.
I frown, watching Wilder climb the cage and throw his arms up in a V for victory. Blowing out a hard breath, I shake my head. Nice of them to announce Wilder’s win before I was even up off the fucking mat. That’s unheard of. I grind my teeth and take advantage of the hand the doc is offering to help me up. I make it to my feet relatively easily, but I’m unsteady as fuck and don’t let go of the doctor for a full ten seconds as I try to get my bearings.
By that time, Wilder has bounced down to the mat, and turns to me with a smile that’s somewhere between Eat shit, loser and Sorry for your embarrassing fucking loss. He holds out his hand to me, and I gingerly grasp it in mine. He lifts his chin toward my arm, eyeing it with a bit of a smirk. “You didn’t have to fake being injured to have an excuse for losing to me. We all know I’m the better fighter.” He shakes his head, withdrawing his hand, then turns away with a demented chuckle, striding his cocky ass out of the ring with his head held high, leaving me to my misery.
“Fifteen minutes, Bear. In the fucking office, you hear me?” I knew this was coming from my dad, so I simply exhale sharply through my nose and nod my understanding. He spins on his heel, pointing at a few of the security guards who are standing around watching the soap opera unfold instead of doing their jobs. “Get everyone outta here. Now!”
A moment later I leave the cage with my jaw tightening as my face floods with embarrassment. I take an unbalanced and wobbly few steps down from the raised platform. I’m terrified to meet the eyes of my friends—these people who mean so much to me—because I’m afraid of what I’ll see there. I falter on the last step, and they close the distance, Mason and Duke both putting out steadying hands for me to grab onto to. I’m dizzy and probably shouldn’t even be standing right now, but I’ll be damned if I’m not walking out of here under my own steam. My eyes flick around the warehouse arena at all the people—some of them really fucking unhappy that they lost their wagers, while other nosy fucks are more interested in discovering how I just toppled so ungracefully from my throne.
“Bear, you’re gonna be okay,” Lennon whispers softly as she circles my waist with her arm, seemingly not caring about the sweaty, pathetic mess that I am.
As we walk through the remaining crowd, the jeering begins.
“What the fuck’s wrong with him?”
“He’s such a joke.”
“You lost. What the fuck? I’m out like three thousand dollars, you piece of shit!”
“Thought you were a sure thing, man. So goddamn disappointing.”
“Don’t listen.” Lennon tucks herself more firmly under my left arm. Mason’s on her other side, wrapping an arm around her back, and Duke walks on my other side next to my traitorous shoulder. We begin to move as a unit toward the back hallway.
Get me the fuck out of here.
I can feel Duke’s eyes on me, and finally allow my tortured gaze to meet his. He murmurs low so the vultures surrounding us don’t hear. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry it went like this, man, but it means nothing.” His blue eyes blaze. “Your father can get fucked if he says otherwise. He knows the score.”
And from my other side, Mason grits out, “This whole thing is his fucking fault, anyway.” He kicks at a bottle that’s in our path as we continue down the hall toward the dressing room. “He created this mess. Caused this chaos.”
The problem is, I only partially disagree. If I hadn’t been so goddamn weak as to get addicted to the painkillers the first time … if I hadn’t fallen right back into the same fucking pattern … That whole hindsight is twenty-twenty thing isn’t bullshit at all. I don’t know why I was stubborn when I knew my arm was getting bad. Should have just told the team doc. By surrendering to my pride and avoiding getting things checked out, I’ve well and truly fucked myself over.
“We need to get you healthy. That’s all that matters right now.” When I still don’t respond at all, Lennon squeezes me tightly. “Do you hear us? It’s you we care about. We’ll figure out how to handle everything else.”
I exhale heavily and nod as we get to my room and file inside. Mason shuts the door with finality behind us.
“Are you ready for the shit your dad’s about to give you?” Duke’s brow goes up, and I feel all eyes on me.
I press my lips together. “If you mean the shit about how I lost him a lot of money tonight. How I fucked up. How I’m a failure. How he’s going to continue to hold shit over my head, then yes. I’m as ready as I’m going to get.” I scrub my hands over my scalp, digging my fingertips into my skull. I’m unfit for discussing anything else. I point toward the bathroom. “Gonna shower. You can wait in the SUV while he flays me, if you want. I’ll be out as soon as I’m done.”
“I can help you in the sho—”
I don’t let Lennon finish. “No. I’ll be fine.” I need a minute to myself.
Mason lets out a low whistle, but keeps his mouth shut, despite the look on his face that tells me he thinks I’ve made a tactical error with Lennon.
He’s not wrong.
A wave of stubborn energy vibrates from her. “It’s fine if you need time to yourself, but I’m sure as hell not going anywhere until I walk out this door with you.” She lets out a huff as she spins around, giving me her back. “Leave the bathroom door open if you won’t accept help. We don’t need you hurt worse than you already are because you’re being a concussed idiot.” She curls up on the couch, keeping her eyes averted from me.
“The fuck,” I growl and leave Duke and Mason to deal with whatever bitch switch I’ve flipped on our girl.
I don’t stay in the shower long enough to have time to think. I know if I’m late to speak to my father, I’ll be in a worse world of hurt than I already am. Wrapped in a towel, I hurry out of the bathroom. Duke and Mason are in conversation at the table, which stops as soon as I appear. Lennon is still in a ball on the couch right where she was a few minutes ago. Digging around in my bag, I pull out clothes and drop my towel, dressing as quickly I can, only slowing when I have to work my arm up to put it through the sleeve of my shirt. Without thinking, I pull out a bottle of ibuprofen and uncap it. All eyes immediately fly to me, watching hesitantly.
I close my eyes and draw in a breath. “You have the good stuff, remember? I have Motrin. I’m taking four. Is that okay with everyone?” It’s hard to keep the snark out of my voice when I’m shaky and in pain. I hope they know what’s behind my words.
Mason gets up from the table, crossing the room to me. He approaches me cautiously. “We’re just worried about you.” He glances around the room, meeting Duke’s and Lennon’s eyes before he holds out his arms to me in that semi-tentative way that guys have with each other. “Bring it in.”
I let a few beats pass, scraping my teeth over my lip, then allow him to man-hug me while I wrap one arm around his shoulders. “Thanks.” A little bit of the tension begins to ebb.
Duke gets up, and we do the same, only before I can pull completely away, he puts a hand to my cheek, studying me. “This was some bullshit tonight. Lennon’s right. We’re not leaving this place without you. And we’re not letting you face off with your fucking father alone either. Period.” He presses his lips together, then pats my cheek before dropping his hand. “Stella Bella? You coming with us or staying here, baby?”
The shaky breath she drags in is audible, and when I really look carefully, I can see the way her jaw trembles, even as she works it to the side. This is my fault, too. “Little Gazelle? I—” Pausing, I wonder how badly I fucked up by letting the disappointment I was feeling in myself make me snap at her. Right now, looking at the sadness in her eyes as she turns her head to look at me, I feel like it’s worse. “Baby, I need you with me. Please.”
She blinks a few times, taking in the regret vibrating from me and nods, then unfolds herself as she stands from the couch. I hold my breath as she approaches me, but then she softly smiles up at me as she takes my hand, lacing her fingers with mine. “Let’s get this over with so we can go home and take care of you.” She lifts our interlocked hands to her mouth, kissing the back of mine.
Well, shit. At least I didn’t completely fuck everything up.
I don’t know which is worse, this walk to my dad’s office or the earlier one to the ring. The warehouse is mostly dark now. It’s turned into a ghost town in the measly fifteen minutes I was given to decompress and clean up. I’m relieved there’s no one else around to spout off about my performance.
“Glad the fucking crowd cleared,” Mason mumbles, voicing my thoughts as we get close to the office the OG Bastards share when business calls. And I guess I am the business tonight. Specifically, I’m a failed investment. My stomach churns with apprehension.
“Don’t think too much until we know what the asshole has to say,” Duke grits.
Lennon gives my hand a tug, making me stop right before I knock on the door. “Gideon, you’ve got this. I—” Her penetrating blue eyes flash with something I haven’t seen before, but maybe I’m imagining it. She doesn’t finish, only shakes her head.
My brow furrows, and without thinking, I turn the knob and throw the door open, only to immediately regret it. Morgan sits astride my dad, rubbing her sparkle-covered pussy over his cock, riding him like she’s the star of a dirty rodeo. His face is buried between her bare tits since it’s obvious he’s yanked the small triangles of her top to the side. Her head is thrown back, mid moan as we enter.
“Jesus,” I bark. “You said fifteen minutes.”
Derek—because I can’t even make Dad process in my brain so soon after witnessing this fuckery with Morgan—looks up with a practiced leer and pulls her top back into place. “Sorry, darlin’ I’ve got business to attend to.” He then picks her up and sets her on her feet, all while she lets out a whiny noise of exasperation. His eyes meet mine, and he smirks. “I was warming her up for you, son.” He bodily spins Morgan to face us, then slaps her ass to usher her out, which makes her squeak in surprise.
“Derek, what the hell?” I think she must be in a daze from the good time she’d been having on my dad’s dick because she doesn’t seem to have caught on yet just who interrupted her fun. Her face morphs into a frown when it finally registers. She looks from us—specifically me—to my asshole father and back again before she scowls.
“Go on back to your sorority house, Morgan,” my father intones, hardly paying attention to her … because he has his eyes on someone else.
I pull Lennon close to me as Morgan’s face reddens and her eyes flash. “Whatever.” She marches toward us and we part, letting her through. Glancing over her shoulder as she struts past us, she spits at me, “Sorry, I don’t fuck losers.”
My father chuckles at her words and leans back in the seat. “She’s a feisty one.” He wets his lips. “I see you’ve brought your little entourage.” His gaze slithers from one to another of us until it lands on Lennon again. “Sorry my son fucked up, honey. I’m sure that was disappointing to see him get his ass handed to him.”
I can sense the steam about to blow out Lennon’s ears, so I put a hand on her shoulder and squeeze. At first, I think she’s going to bite her tongue, but then she fires at him, “What’s disappointing is the idea that his own flesh and blood would talk about him that way. Especially when you’re the one forcing him into the ring like the disgusting—no, revolting—excuse for a father you are.”
He narrows his eyes on her, looking her up and down. “Yeah, things are making sense now.” I don’t get a chance to puzzle out his cryptic words, though, because he follows with, “Son, you’re turning out to be a worthless piece of shit. Get your priorities straight before you cost me any goddamn more money.”
This time, sensing Lennon’s rising fury, I belt an arm around her, then take my time answering. “That’s all I am to you, isn’t it? A paycheck?”
“Yeah. I won’t deny it. You were a hot fucking mess out there tonight. Pathetic. No help to me at all.”
Lennon struggles against me, huffing out, “None of this would be happening if you weren’t supplying him with illegally obtained prescription drugs.”
My dad’s brow raises, but he doesn’t respond to her at all, like her opinion doesn’t merit a bit of his attention. I didn’t know she knew where I was getting them. Did they all know? As I glance at Mason and Duke, it becomes crystal clear that they aren’t surprised at all by Lennon’s outburst. They’ve figured out the other half of my ugly truth on their own. Humiliation burns through me. My eyes flick to Lennon, who looks like she’s about to pull out her claws and rake them down my father’s face. “Don’t, Lennon. He can think whatever he wants. Old man, I hope you lost your fortune tonight.”
“Watch your mouth. One phone call to the team doctor and you’re fucking done, son.” He steeples his fingers together, smiling at me with a twisted, psychotic grin. “Or I can just stop paying off the tech at the drug testing facility at any time. Fuck you over good.”
The startled intake of breath from Lennon and the glances coming at me from Duke and Mason tell me they hadn’t seen the big picture at all. Just how fucking low I’ve sunk. I bow my head for a second. And fuck. We don’t need him getting ideas in his head.
Seeking help, I glance to my side where Mason has been paying careful attention to the volley of words. His head moves subtly, and I know he’s read the expression on my face. Eject. Get us out of this line of discussion.
Mason throws out a hand, grabbing the spotlight for himself. “So, Derek, Hunter told us the two of you didn’t appreciate how we handled the events that occurred at the auction. But I want to know just what the purpose was of some of that. Elliot Ashford’s involvement, for instance.”
Lennon stiffens in my hold, tilting her head to the side. From behind her, I can’t see her expression, but I’d imagine she’s probably got those curious, intelligent eyes beamed straight at my father.
“I’ll second that one.” Duke exhales harshly. “Hunter very specifically told us she’d be brought up onto the stage, that he’d handle getting her there. And he did do that. But then he disappeared, leaving us without a clue how to handle her or what you wanted done. It was fucked. Whatever you and my father choose to believe, we did follow your instructions.”
Derek’s brow lifts on his forehead, but then he chuckles, like this isn’t news to him. He seems to be weighing carefully whatever he’s about to say. His lips curl into an amused smirk. “Elliot lucked out. We found something else.”
Lennon’s body jerks in surprise, and my brows dart together at his strange choice of words. What. The. Fuck. But sometimes, it’s better to let my dad just speak his mind and gather all the little crumbs of information that spill out. I had no idea we’d be getting into this vein of conversation tonight, and the pain in my shoulder is almost too much to be able to process anything. I’m sweating. Mentally exhausted, too. But I have to stick this out. We didn’t discuss this at all, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to go down this road either. Not when Lennon’s name was on that fucking list, and she ended up getting taken. It can’t be a goddamn coincidence. If only we knew what really happened and the purpose behind it. The horrendous thought that maybe my father was involved swirls in my head, making me want to vomit.
Beside me, Duke clears his throat. “Where is my father, anyway? That was his pet project, and it went to complete shit.”
My old man smirks. “I’m afraid Tristan didn’t hang around. Must have had better things to do.” His beady eyes travel to Mason. I don’t like the look in his eye. He sits up straighter at his desk, rearranging some papers and setting some sort of ledger on top of them. “Mason, your daddy—we’re getting closer and closer to getting him home to you. Things have come to light, and I really think it’s going to happen.” He pauses, watching the blood rush from Mason’s face. “I know you’ll enjoy having your father around, won’t you, son?” He pauses—for effect no doubt—before bringing his filthy gaze to our girl. “Oh, and, Lennon?” He gets up, keeping his eyes pinned on her, and comes around the side of his desk, standing there with his arms crossed over his massive, puffed-out chest. My throat goes dry, unsure what else he could possibly have up his sleeve. “You’re welcome to try your hand at being one of our cage girls, sweet thing. I’m certain Morgan would be happy to train you up right. There are some hidden benefits to it.”
Stunned, my grip on Lennon loosens, and she jerks free of my hold, lunging at my dad, ready to plow her fist into his gut. In a flash, he subdues her, each of her wrists in one of his hands. But apparently, she’s ready for him to do just that. Before any of us can leap into action, she takes care of him herself. Our girl brings her knee up and slams it right into my dad’s junk. He howls, rage spitting from him in foul curses and bellows. “Take that, you limp-dick motherfucker.”
It’s all we can do to pry Lennon away from the monster and make our exit.
