Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)(11)

“Yeah, he’s around here somewhere.” He looks around then shrugs. “Can I get you a beer or something?”

“No, thanks.” I search the area for Axelle. “I’m not staying long.”

“Suit yourself.” He throws back a shot of something.

“Is Axelle around?”

“Yeah, man, she was just here. Might have hit the can or wandered off to pass out.” He laughs.

I clench my fists.

“She was pretty f*cked up.”

Ryder, that piece of shit son of a bitch!

“I’m sure she’ll turn up…” His voice fades as I plow through the house, practically flipping over furniture to find her.

Don’t freak out, Killian. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to rescue her from a party. She’s probably outside or in the bathroom.

I move to the backyard, but she’s not there.

I knock on the bathroom door, and three girls stumble out. They try to talk, but I spin on my heel and head for the bedrooms, my blood boiling to the point of f*cking murder.

I tell myself this isn’t my business. Axelle’s old enough to make her own decisions, she can f*ck who she wants, and as far as I know, she probably does; although I’d never ask because the confirmation would destroy me.

But she’s drunk and Clifford is a dirtbag.

I wouldn’t put it past him to take advantage of her.

Dammit to f*ck, why didn’t I just suck it up and bring her to the damn party? At least then I could’ve kept an eye on her all night and convinced her to go home when she’d had enough.

I fist my hands in my hair and try to calm my breathing.

No, I need to find her and get the hell out of here.

I bang on one of the doors. “Axelle, you in there?”

“Fuck off!”

I jerk away from the door at the sound of a woman’s voice, which is very much not Axelle’s.

I knock on the next door, but find it unlocked and cracked open. I peer inside. “Axelle…?”

It’s as if my mind has memorized every single curve of her body, because even with her lying there on her side, facing away from me, on top of a faded black comforter, I recognize Axelle immediately. She’s sound asleep.

“Shit.” What the motherf*ck is she thinking? Any * without a soul could creep in here and— A growl rumbles in my chest as I cross to her. What the f*ck is she wearing? My eyes devour her plumped-up breasts barely encased in a black lace bra, the flat plain of her belly that flares into hips wide enough to grab hold of, and her ass—f*ck! I rein in my libido and focus on her perfect face relaxed with sleep.

I run a hand through her silken hair. “Axelle, baby…” I whisper.

Nothing.

I lean down and a slight hint of sugary booze is on her breath. I resist the urge to taste it from her lips. After all, that would make me the * without a soul. I scoop her into my arms; she weighs next to nothing. When I straighten, she startles, but only nuzzles deeper into my chest and inhales.

Is she…smelling me?

A long sigh falls from her lips, followed by a soft snore.

My blood heats just as my ribs seem to fill with something warm, something that feels really f*cking good. Or maybe that’s just having her body so close to mine.

I walk carefully, turning sideways to squeeze out of the doorway without knocking any part of her on the doorframe. The hallway is a challenge, but pulling her tight to my chest, I’m able to negotiate it without cracking her head on the wall. People part out of the way as I head straight for the door, one girl even opening it for me.

“Thanks.”

I move to my Jeep that’s parked illegally across the street. With the thing stripped down without a top or doors, I easily lay her in the back. I contemplate strapping her in, but decide against it. It’s a short drive to her place and…shit. How the hell am I going to get her into her place? There are no pockets in her pants for keys, and I didn’t see her purse anywhere near the bed. I turn back to the house, but ripping the place apart to find her shit would mean leaving her out here alone.

“Fuckin’ hell,” I mumble and prop my hands on my hips.

Guess that only leaves one alternative.





Three





Killian





The closer I get to my place, the more pissed I become.

Why would Axelle put herself in this situation at a party, and where the hell was her f*ckhead boyfriend?

She has a B average in her classes—which is impressive seeing as she hardly ever studies—so I know she’s not stupid. But something about her personality, it’s like being around dumb people making jackass decisions rubs off on her. She hitches her cart to the biggest f*cking loser and sits back oblivious while he takes her for a ride.

I pull into the parking lot of my apartment complex and slide into a spot. It’s student living and most days the lot is full, but Friday nights are pretty dead around here. The entire complex consists of studio apartments, which keeps things fairly quiet. Hard to have a rager in 500 square feet.

Not that I give a crap. I sleep, study, eat, and shower here. It’s paid for with my academic scholarship money, close to school, and anything is better than living with my mom.

Axelle’s out cold, her mouth wide open, and damn if her snore isn’t adorable.