Survivor (First to Fight #2)(12)

He pulls back, grinning so wide he shows his perfectly straight teeth. “That’s not why I wanted to go.”

Heat curls low in my belly. “It’s not?”

He pulls me closer with an arm around my waist. “I think I promised you a bed,” he murmurs.

My breath shortens. “So you did.”

His nose traces a path of lightning down the skin of my neck. “I’ve only got about an hour left here. Why don’t you get changed and I’ll take you out somewhere?” He finishes his tour at my face, rubbing my nose with his, and then kisses me on the forehead.

My eyes slip closed and I nod. “That sounds perfect.”

“I’d say let’s blow this place off because it’s just that one match, but Alvarez kind of bombed tonight and Dad’s on a rampage.” He pulls back a little, dispelling the illusion of our own little cocoon.

I shake my head to clear my brain of fluff. “Yeah, I’ve gotta shower anyway. Meet you here in about an hour?”

He gives me a long, drugging kiss. “Can’t wait.”

When I regain rational thought, I give him a goofy smile and walk away feeling lighter than air. I can feel Jack’s eyes follow me out the doors and into the parking lot. I cross the empty spaces to my parked car and hiss out a breath at the sight of a flat tire.

“Great,” I say, my mood dampening. Maybe the drive to New Orleans and back was a little too much on the poor old car.

“Need a little help?”

I peer into the darkness and find Damian strolling up. My hackles rise for a second, then I relax and manage a small smile, in spite of my hesitance, because yes, I do.

“Looks like it,” I say. “You know how to change these things?”

“Sure. Piece of cake. Why don’t you hop in and pop the trunk so I can grab a spare for you?”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” The car is about fifteen years old, so it doesn’t have fancy button on the keychain to unlock it. As I fold myself into the front seat and reach for the release lever for the truck, I hear the resulting pop, followed by a peculiar slam. I peer toward the back to see if it opened.

I manage to get a glimpse of Damian rushing at me with what seems like preternatural speed when his hand slaps over my face and nose, stifling my scream. Panic and vomit explode into the back of my throat.

“Don’t make a sound,” he says, jabbing something into my ribs.





Pain explodes in my midsection as the blow connects with my ribs. “Jesus, you tryin’ to kill me?”

Logan grins. “Sorry, Jack.”

“This is a warm-up not the championship match,” I tell him, rubbing my ribs. If he wasn’t one of my best friends, I’d enjoy breaking the rules and punching him right the f*ck in the face. When my side twinges, I give the thought some serious consideration.

“Couldn’t resist. Your dad has talked so much shit about you, I had to see what’s up.”

My dad grins across the ring where he’s advising one of the competitors. I throw up a middle finger in his general direction, but my ribs twinge. Fucker has a hell of a right hook.

“Go find another punching bag,” I tell him and hobble off to find some ice.

I press the bag against my ribs and glance at the clock above the ring. A half hour until we shut this circus down and I can go out with my girl. It’s been too f*cking long.

And the thought of being away from her while she goes to school for the next four years kills me almost as much as the pain in my side. At least this will go away in a couple hours. When I wake up tomorrow, she’ll still be going to school hundreds of miles away.

“You look like shit,” Dad says.

“Thanks to you, *.”

He chuckles. “You looked so sad, I thought you could use a little pick-me-up.”

“Well f*ck you very much. Don’t do me any more favors.”

“Sure about that?”

I look up at him and gesture with my free hand. “Damn right.”

“Then I guess you don’t want me to cut you loose.”

“You are such an *,” I say.

He knocks a fist against my shoulder and I wince. “Get out of here. I’ll handle the rest.”

“I’m not even going to ask if you’re sure.”

“Give that girl a hug for me,” he says over his shoulder.

“I’m not giving her shit.”

His laughter follows me out of the gym and into the locker room hallway. I grab my bag from my locker, shower, and dress all in the span of a half hour. The spectators are dwindling and the stands are nearly empty when I stroll through the lobby. I get caught in a bottleneck of people trying to get out of the door so I pull out my phone.

Jack: Done. You on your way?

The congestion clears and I plunge into the parking lot with relief. I suck in a few deep breaths of the cool night air as I cross to my truck in the employee section on the side of the building. I toss my bag into the back of the truck and scan the parking lot while I wait for her response.

Thoughts of having her alone, finally, drift through my mind as I watch everyone spill out of the gym and get into their cars. It’s not until the parking lot is nearly empty that I notice her car.

Frowning, I push off from my truck and check my phone as I walk over to see if she texted me back. When a cursory glance shows no response, the hairs on the back of my neck raise and the laser-fine intuition the Corps has honed over the past year is telling me something is wrong.