Fighting: Fighting for Forever Part 33

I throw a hand on my c.o.c.ked hip. "You gonna let us in, cowboy?"

His lips curl into a crooked grin. "Hatch!" He calls over his shoulder.

Hatch appears at the mouth of the marble foyer. He barely spares us a glance, and if I'm not mistaken, it looks like he avoided looking at me altogether. "Yep, let 'em in." He disappears deeper into the place or, rather, palace.

The ceilings are taller than I've ever seen in one of these suites, and everything is decorated with an old-world flare that screams rich and pretentious. We stick close to Santos as he follows the younger guy down a long hallway and into a room. There's a pool table and a bar, similar to the last place, but through the patio doors are a pool, spa, fire pit, and another bar that, even from this distance, I can see is fully stocked.

"Who the h.e.l.l has this kind of money?" Angel whispers form behind me.

"No clue." But certainly not Hatch.

"They're in a meeting. Help yourself to the booze." The guy who answered the door doesn't look like anyone I'd ever seen hang around the MC guys. He's too clean. Too young.

Kayla busies herself behind the bar while I do a slow walk through the room. It's late, and yet we're the only ones here? I thought this was supposed to be a party. Unless there's a separate wing to this place where all the people are stashed . . . I wouldn't be surprised.

Kayla comes out, holding three drinks between her two hands. "Lemon drops!"

We all grab our shots, and with the lingering throb of a hangover, I choke it down.

"Let's play pool!" Angel says, and Santos starts to rack up the b.a.l.l.s.

"I'll make more shots!" Kayla grabs my gla.s.s and heads back to the bar for round two, which, knowing her, will turn into three and four.

The guy who let us in moves back to a room at the far end of the villa, turns his back to the door, and stands like a guard.

Ah, so that's where all the people are. Who the h.e.l.l is behind that door and what are they talking about that's so important it takes a guard to protect it?

Another drink is shoved into my hand, and I throw it back, this one easier than the first. "One more."

Kayla squeals and heads back to the bar while Angel takes her first shot at the pool table.

I don't know what's going on here tonight, but something tells me whatever it is could bring me closer to finding Lana's killer.

And back to Mason.

Mason "You sure you'll be okay?"

Jessica's plopped on my couch beneath a blanket with the remote in one hand and a saltine cracker she's been nibbling on in the other. "How long will you guys be gone?"

f.u.c.k, not any longer than we have to be. "I'll get him home as soon as I can."

She blinks rapidly, as if she's fighting tears. "Do you think . . .?" She swallows hard. "Do you think he'll let him go?"

Drake's dad let him out of the family business? Funny, the a.s.shole never acknowledged Drake as being family until the guy was old enough to do is his bidding. p.r.i.c.k.

I blow out a long breath and drop to the couch at her feet. "I have no idea. But I'm going to try my hardest to convince him to."

She studies the glowing screen of the TV. "The pregnancy changes everything."

"The baby changes everything, yes."

Her tired eyes meet mine and her bottom lip quivers.

"It's okay, Jess. You just worry about taking care of yourself. There's food in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever you want and try to get some sleep."

Drake's heavy footfalls sound as he barrels down the stairs, freshly showered. "Let's get this s.h.i.t over with."

I nod to Jessica, and her gaze slides to my brother. "Be careful. Promise me you'll be careful, Dr-"

Her words are cut off as my brother presses a kiss to her lips, cupping her jaw with a tenderness I've never seen between them before. I push up and move to the kitchen to give them some privacy.

"I'm not giving up on us, Jess. Not you or our baby, understand?"

She mumbles something I can't hear.

"We'll get back as soon as we can." The sound of him kissing her mixes with the sound of her sniffing back tears.

I don't know what Drake's dad has planned for us tonight, but my guess is it'll be nothing more than a stern talking to about me staying out of Drake's life, keeping my mouth shut about what I've seen, and Drake trying to convince the man that his baby is worth him letting him go for.

I've always known D's dad had no soul. I only hope he's finally grown one. If not, Drake's f.u.c.ked.

"This is it." Drake nods toward the huge doors to a fancy-a.s.sed suite of some kind.

Music filters through the doors, hard-hitting ba.s.s that would rattle the f.u.c.kers if they weren't made of solid wood.

He hits the glowing orange doorbell, opting out of a simple knock, knowing it won't be heard over the music. Voices call out, and soon the locks click and the door cracks open to reveal a guy who's vaguely familiar. One of Drake's crew.

"Jase, man. What's up?" Drake shakes hands with the guy, and they pull together for quick back-slapping hug.

"Drake, glad you could make it." Jase opens the door wider to let us in.

"Like I had a choice?" Drake laughs, but there's little humor in it. "This is my brother, Mason."

I nod to Jase, and he doesn't offer to shake my hand, which is good. I'm not sure who's an enemy and who's a friend yet, but if this guy is on Drake's dad's crew, he's an enemy.

"Nice to meet you. You guys got here just in time." Jase bounces his eyebrows, and I deduct a few years off my original age estimation.

f.u.c.k, these guys are recruiting high school kids. Great.

"My dad around?" Drake asks while Jase leads us through what looks more like a mansion than a d.a.m.n hotel room.

"He's here. Been meeting privately with some of the guys, but my guess is they should be finishing up." Jase continues to head toward the direction of the music. Male voices blend with the occasional girls, no different from a typical Vegas party.

We turn the corner into a large living s.p.a.ce filled with partygoers. I scan the area, noting the distinct mix of people. Most of the guys look similar to Drake or me, dressed in some variation of the west-coast semi-casual attire of loose-fitting plaid and d.i.c.kies. But the rest are distinctly different. Denim, leather, and in desperate need of a razor, bikers are sprinkled throughout the room.

It's a d.a.m.n sausage party in this place, although there are women, but they're heavily outnumbered. And most of them seem to be of the working variety. A few lean in to men and talk close, and there's another moving to the music and-holy f.u.c.k.

Strippers.

My eyes frantically bounce from a familiar redhead who's in nothing but her bra and underwear to a brunette who is topless and-dammit, it's Angel.

Hesitantly, I move deeper into the room to a back corner that's lined with couches and a small crowd of people. I hear my brother ask where I'm going but wave him off as my feet carry me forward.

The music throbs in my head, matching the pace of my pulse as I push through bodies. My steps falter, and I take in the view before me.

"No f.u.c.king way." Drake's voice mumbles at my shoulder, surprising me that he followed. "Is that . . .?"

Motherf.u.c.king s.h.i.t.

"Trix."

Thirty-two.

Trix Stupid f.u.c.king lemon drops. How many did I have? Five. No six? I retrace my steps and count in my mind while I rock my body against Hatch. He's basically ignoring me, talking to the guy next to him, but he keeps a firm grip on my hip to keep me from toppling over.

If only I could feel my legs, then maybe I'd be able to hold myself up from Hatch's lap rather than falling into it every time I try to dance. I didn't intend to drink so much, but the only way to tolerate what I have to do is to be inebriated. Not so much that I can't think, just enough to go numb.

I've been eavesdropping on every conversation I could get close enough to, and all I've learned is that this is some kind of celebratory party thrown by some bigwig dude who has his hands in more illegal s.h.i.t than I could keep up with.

Apparently, his guys are going into business with Hatch's guys, and they've all gathered in Vegas to shake hands, toss out threats, and kiss each other's a.s.ses.

Nothing new. Total waste of my time. And d.a.m.n, I'm so sick of being drunk.

As if on cue, my ankle twists, and I drop into Hatch's lap. A giggle bursts from my lips, and Hatch grabs my hair and pulls my face to his.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were looking for something." He flexes his hips, grinding his hard-on into my a.s.s.

"No, Hatch." I pull my head for him to free my hair, and he does. "I'm not."

Whipping my hair around, I give him my back and sway my hips along with the music. If I weren't so drunk, I'd be asleep out of sheer boredom.

A firm grip pinches my thigh. "Ow!" I move to slap the hand away, but meet Hatch's glare that brooks no argument.

He pulls me to him, turns me around, and pulls me down to straddle his crotch. His hot breath pants in my ear. "You're p.i.s.sin' me the f.u.c.k off." Strong fingers bite into my side.

I close my eyes, locking down my jaw to avoid whimpering. His hand tangles in my hair, burning my scalp. "You're . . . hurting me."

Where the h.e.l.l did this come from?

He growls against my neck. "Lying little b.i.t.c.h." He emphasizes his words with a firm tug that wrenches my neck.

My heart races with panic.

"Get your f.u.c.king hands off her." The menacing voice stills my blood, and I shudder in Hatch's hold.

Anger melts from his expression and is replaced by something that almost looks like excitement. I follow the line of his gaze, and my heart slams so hard behind my ribs I fall back onto Hatch's chest.

Mason. And Drake? What . . .?

Oh my G.o.d, Mason. I scramble off Hatch's chest only to be slammed back down onto his lap, this time facing away from him. His arm comes around my waist, holding me to him. "If it ain't my two favorite brothers."

Mason doesn't take his eyes off me, pinning me with a glare that screams complete devastation.

Drake hooks Mason by the arm and tries to pull him away, but Mason shakes him off easily, stepping closer in the process. "I'm only gonna say it one more time. Let her go."

My spine goes straight, panic and fear making me want to run. I don't want Mason to see me like this, half naked and straddled over another man.

"Who the f.u.c.k invited you dips.h.i.ts?" Hatch laughs then slides me off his lap to his side so that I'm pressed between him and the biker guy named Cage he was talking to.

How does Hatch know Mason? Why is he here?

Paralyzed with shock, my booze-fogged head tries to sort out what my eyes see, but I come up short, refusing to believe Mason would ever a.s.sociate with guys like Hatch.

Drake moves forward, glaring. "Where's Elijah?"

"Lookin' for Daddy? How sweet." Hatch motions to the mysterious door at the opposite side of the room where people have been coming and going all night.

Mason shakes his head as if he has no idea he's acting out the one word his mind is probably screaming. A single tear builds and spills over my lower lid. Unable to hold his accusing glare for another second, I drop my head into my hands.

"s.h.i.t, you gonna toss?" Hatch's hand grips the back of my neck. "If so, get your a.s.s to a bathroom."

I nod, feeling the acid from my stomach rush to my throat. He shoves me to standing and I take two quick steps, before my shoe snags on the carpet. I fall forward. My hands move to brace my fall, but two arms wrap around me, and I'm slammed into a wall of muscle.

The scent of fresh gra.s.s and honey surround me. "Mase-"

"Shh," he says into my hair while guiding me through a crowd.

"Stop, don't." I try to wiggle out of his hold, but his grip only tightens. "Let me go."

"Can't. Not until we talk." He guides me to a door and pushes me into a room, plunging me into darkness when the door closes.

I whirl around, searching for him, grateful when the light finally clicks on. I squint against brightness and turn to catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My top is made of fishnet, and my shorts cut up high on my a.s.s, lacing up the back and leaving very little to the imagination. G.o.d, he must think the worst of me.

"What are you doing here?" I'd hoped the question would come out more accusatory than desperate. "Did you follow me?"

His jaw is clamped down in barely concealed rage. "That's your f.u.c.king source? That guy?" He practically spits the words through clenched teeth.

"Yes, but . . ." I blink up at him, thoughts whirling and trying to put the pieces together. "You know each other?"

He runs a hand through his s.h.a.ggy hair, gripping it tight at his scalp. He's not denying it.

"Mason . . . how?"