Fighting: Fighting for Forever Part 2

It actually hurts. The glare I'm aiming at this d.a.m.n man is making my head ache and my eye twitch. I'm not at all surprised that he's pinning me with a similar scowl that only manages to p.i.s.s me off more.

Handsome men think they can win women over on looks alone. All good-looking guys are just that-good to look at. Then they open their mouths, and I'm reminded that G.o.d seemed to give up on making real men about twenty-two years ago. Instead, he's created stuck-up, self-serving, prima donnas who wouldn't know how to take care of a woman if their wieners depended on it.

I pinch closed my eyes, immediately feeling guilty for my blasphemous rant. Sorry, G.o.d. You know I don't mean that.

I shift my eyes from the icy-blue stare of this Abercrombie-model-looking jerk and settle on Angel. She's already plopped down on the lap of a big guy with a strong roman nose and a goofy smile.

It takes all of five seconds to do a quick a.s.sessment of the type of men we're dealing with. They're rough, but not scary. Sure they've got the tattoos, one even has a scar, but everything else about them softens all that. Tan skin seems to make all their eyes appear light, and even the brown eyes look tawny in comparison. Sun-bleached blond and brown hair adds sweetness to their wannabe hard looks.

"We've been hired to keep you guys company tonight," Angel says, addressing the room. "This is Vegas, but that doesn't mean we don't have rules. You boys keep it respectful, and we won't have to get Santos over there to feed you your own blood. Sound good?"

Santos is a huge Mexican-American, who I'm pretty sure spends more time in the gym than anywhere else in the world. He's been a bouncer at Zeus's Playground since before I started working there and thinks of all the girls as his little sisters. I've seen him break fingers, arms, and noses. The dude doesn't mess around.

"You girls got names?" A shorter guy, probably not much older than I am, asks, and I do a double-take. He looks exactly like the guy leaning against the pool table only his light brown hair is longer than the shaved-headed, tattooed version. Twins.

I avoid broken-phone guy's eyes and move to the pool table twin to lean next to him. "I'm Trix. This is Angel."

"You girls gonna stand around and talk all night or get naked?" The second biggest guy in the room looks a lot like the rest save for the scar and the fire of irritation in his eyes. I zero in and size him up.

He's dressed nicer than the others, although not as nice as the guy I ran into downstairs, but the way the room quiets when he talks says a lot.

He must be the head d.i.c.khead 'round here.

I move to him slowly, making sure he tracks every roll of my hips, until I'm standing between his feet. "You tell us, big guy. What do you want?"

His expression turns from annoyed to hungry, and his hand darts out to my thigh. "Depends. What're you offering?" He rubs from my knee up under my dress to almost my hip.

This guy has b.a.l.l.s. "Dancing." I still his hand before he's able to continue his course that's leading to my bare a.s.s. "That's it."

"Oh, come on." He licks his lower lip, and I have to give him credit. He's handsome in a dangerous kind of way. "For the right price, I bet you'll change your mind."

A low rumble catches my attention, and I turn to find cell-phone guy shooting daggers at the guy's hand as it caresses my leg.

I gasp as the hand clenches my flesh. "What do you say, Trix? You feel like getting f.u.c.ked-"

"Drake." Cell-phone guy growls in warning, and for a second, I want to tell them both to f.u.c.k off, until I see the barely concealed rage in his eyes.

"We're here to party, Mason." Drake says his name, and it drips with contempt and sarcasm as they stare off. "I'll make sure she spreads the love."

Something is off between these two.

"Boys, boys . . . No s.e.x. Just dancing." I swivel out of Drake's hold and over to the stereo. "Relax." I turn up whatever they're listening to, well aware that men respond better when they're able to listen to their own tunes, and Angel and I can move to anything.

I take a deep breath and push back the part of me that hates what I do. I tell myself that my body is my superpower. My s.e.xuality works like kryptonite, weakening men and making them pliable. I remind myself why this is necessary, and with every article of clothing I remove, the power surges from within.

For me, nakedness doesn't equal vulnerability. It's strength in its purest form, used by women since the beginning of time, and I'd be an idiot not to take advantage of it.

Three.

Mason I hate this. I hate every f.u.c.king thing about this, and yet I can't leave.

From the moment I walked into this fancy, freakin' suite, I've been battling two opposites: the pull toward my brother and the anger that pushes me from him. Throw into the mix the violet-eyed panther who's currently shaking her G-string-clad a.s.s in Jayden's face, and I'm d.a.m.n near homicidal.

But why?

This girl with the fruity cereal name, Trix, and her a.s.sociate, Angel, aren't here against their will or being taken advantage of. As a matter of fact, they seem to be the only ones in the room, with the exception of their bodyguard, in total control.

After they started dancing and ended up in nothing but small strips of satin between their legs, I sat there as long as I could. Trix kept her distance from me, choosing to focus on everyone else, not that I'm surprised. My guess is I'm not her favorite person after our less-than-pleasant meeting. And for some stupid f.u.c.king reason that bothers me.

The uncontrollable urge to touch her becomes too much, and I make my way to the small bar in the corner of the room. My annoyance is curbed by a sense of sympathy for Trix and Angel. It's not healthy for a woman to expose the most private parts of her body to a room full of strangers, letting every man fantasize about a body meant for just one man. Her man, whoever she ends up with.

And yet I'm hard as steel. My conservative opinions apparently have zero effect on my d.i.c.k's response to Trix. Something about her, maybe it's the yin and yang of our earlier argument to the sultry enticement of her moves, but the stirring in my pants ignores my command to chill the f.u.c.k out.

Why I even care about any of this is stupid. This girl hates me. h.e.l.l, I hate her. Okay, maybe I don't hate her, but I sure as s.h.i.t don't like her.

Jayden palms her breast. Don't f.u.c.king touch her. A low growl rumbles in my chest. I take a step forward to remove his arm from his body, but Trix takes care of it with less bloodshed. Rather than shove him away, she simply grabs his wrist, moves it from her body and shakes her finger in his face while biting her lip. He drops his hand to his lap and grins like a good little puppy.

"What's wrong, Tiger?"

I dip my chin to the pretty dark-haired girl, Angel, as she runs her hand from my forearm to my shoulder.

"Whoa . . ." Her wide dark eyes meet mine. "You're big." She squeezes my bicep a few times. "You must work out."

With a slow grind of her pelvis to my thigh, I grip her wrist. "Don't."

Her eyes widen, and I immediately release my hold. "It's not you. It's just"-my gaze slides to Trix-"strippers don't do anything for me." I'm such a f.u.c.king liar.

"Well, thank gawd. I needed a break." She pushes into the spot next to me and smiles. "So, what do you do for a living?"

I have a hard time keeping my eyes from her perky naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s and wonder how she can so easily have a conversation while standing here topless. "I'm an athlete. Universal Fighting League."

"Ah, well that makes sense." Her eyes shift around the room. "Are all you guys fighters?"

"No, just me." I shrug and settle back, at ease now that I realize she's more interested in conversation than anything else. "Can I get you a drink?"

"I'd love a Diet c.o.ke." She nods toward the mini-fridge. "Think there's any in there?"

My lips curve into a smile, and I reach down to grab a Diet c.o.ke from the fridge. I pop the can open and hand it to her. "Here ya go."

"Thanks." She takes a few greedy gulps and then shifts to lean her back against the counter in a casual way, like we're just two friends in bar. "So, you're the only fighter. These guys your groupies?"

"No, Drake's my little brother." I nod toward him, and I try to avoid staring as Trix moves to straddle his lap. "They're in town, visiting."

"Visiting from where?" She takes another pull off her soda.

"Santa Cruz, California."

She tilts her head up, eyebrows pinched in thought. "Is that north of Los Angeles?"

"Mm-hm." I nod.

She shrugs and takes another pull from her drink. "Anywhere near San Jose?"

"Yeah, but coastal."

"Trix knows-"

"Drake . . .?" We all still, heads swiveling toward the small frame of a woman as she comes into view from a darkened bedroom off to the side of the living s.p.a.ce.

My eyes dart to Drake, whose mouth is in Trix's ear while she straddles his lap on the couch, her perfect t.i.ts pressed to his chest and her blond-and-purple-streaked hair tossed all around him. The woman steps into the light, and my breath catches in my throat.

Long golden hair parted in the middle cascades over her shoulders to her ribs. She's wearing a tank top and floor-length hippie skirt, which hangs off narrow hips, showing bare feet.

She's aged since I last saw her; time combined with rough living has made its mark on her once youthful face, but it's her.

"Babe, get your a.s.s back to bed." There's no kindness in Drake's command, not even a hint of shame at being caught red-handed with a naked stripper on his lap.

Trix cringes and pushes off Drake, her expression twisting in pure disgust and hatred. "I'm taking a break."

"No, stay right where you are." Drake reaches for her, but Santos moves in, and with one look, he sends Drake's hand back to his lap.

"Drake, what are you doing?" Jess moves farther into the room, her pained expression meant only for him.

"I said go the f.u.c.k back to bed!"

I move to him in a few long strides. "Drake!"

He jumps up, whirls toward me, and within seconds we're in each other's faces. Nose to nose, fury charges the air between us, and years of time dissolve as old feuds resurface.

"Mason?" Jessica's voice shakes.

"Back off, Mason, or I swear to G.o.d-"

"You'll kick my a.s.s?" I push back my anger, telling myself taking my little brother to the ground in front of her will only make matters worse. I step back and relax my stance. "Love to see you try, brother."

I slide my eyes to Jessica and force a smile. Her eyes glaze over and a shaky smile touches her lips.

"Hey, Jess."

She rushes to me and throws her arms around my neck. "Mason, what are you doing here?"

"Jessica, get the f.u.c.k over here." Drake holds out his arm for her.

A m.u.f.fled whimper sounds against my chest, but she ignores his command. "I've missed you."

Drake glares at me from over her shoulder, and the rest of the guys shift uncomfortably around the room.

"Yeah, hey . . . shhh, me too, Jess. Shhh . . . it's okay." I run my hand up and down her back, hoping the touch is soothing enough that she'll drop the death grip from my neck.

"Jess, now." Drake's not giving up, clearly jealous by her clinging to me. f.u.c.k him. She may've chosen him after three years of dating me, but right now, she's choosing me.

I squeeze Jess a little tighter, noticing how different she feels in my arms now compared to when we were in high school. Fragile and frail rather than the muscled track star she was back then. "How are you?"

Took years for me to get over them being together. She was my first everything, my first love. Back then, I thought we'd end up married with two point five kids and a d.a.m.n retriever. That is until a month before I left for Penn State and I caught her and Drake f.u.c.king in his room mere feet from my bedroom door. That was it. She wanted the bad-boy version of me, and she f.u.c.kin' got him.

I should feel some kind of vindication over the s.h.i.tty way he's treating her, but my chest aches at how broken she's become. The lost look in her eyes I feel in my gut.

"I'm okay." She releases me and turns to the strippers, who are now fully clothed and whispering heatedly with their bodyguard. "Why would Drake hire prost.i.tutes when I'm right there in the next room?" A single tear rolls down her cheek.

Can she really be that clueless?

"Oh, them? Yeah, um . . . they're not prost.i.tutes. They're with me." f.u.c.k, I don't know why I said that. I don't want to protect Drake, but the big brother in me can't help it. That and I'd say anything to wipe the look of sheer betrayal from her face.

Her eyebrows pinch together. "With you?"

"Yeah." I hold my arm out to the girls and hope that one of them is smart enough to follow my lead.

Trix click-clacks over and tucks into my side. The second her heated body hits mine I bite back a groan. d.a.m.n, she feels good. And smells even better.

"Hi, I'm um . . . I'm really sorry about all this. We actually have a policy that we only entertain couples when both parties agree." Trix tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "If I'd known you were here and not in favor of our being here, we would've terminated the contract."

I squeeze Trix tighter to my side, proud of her quick thinking and relieved by Jessica's now-relaxed smile.

"See, Jess? It's fine, and really, it's my fault. I had no idea you were here."

Trix looks at her wrist and taps it even though she's not wearing a watch. "Yep, and our time's up, so we'll be leaving."

A few of the guys grumble from behind me, well aware that their time is not up. I shoot them a quick glare to quiet them. They groan, but don't protest further.

"See? We were just leaving." I keep Trix close, safe from the h.o.r.n.y group of men who look like they're about to pounce.

"You're leaving too?" Jessica asks and pleads with watery-gray eyes.

"I am, but, um . . . you guys are going to be here for a few days, right? I'll see you again." I run my hand along her upper arm.

"Okay." She hugs me close, and Trix ducks out of my hold to avoid the group hug. Reluctantly, I let her go, but pat Jess and pull away, hoping to grab Trix before she takes off.

There's something I need to say, and I know if she gets away I'll never see her again.

Trix Santos, Angel, and I move from the penthouse and toward the elevators, eager to get h.e.l.l out of there.

Talk about an uncomfortable situation. That poor woman who walked out of the bedroom looked like she'd been kicked in the gut and spit on when she saw me on her boyfriend's lap.