Riot (Bad Boy Escorts #1) Page 21

“Jesus, Riot.” She clutches at my T-shirt. “They can’t force you.”

  “Yeah, they can.” I lick my lips, my mouth parched. “They’ll hurt people I care for. Kyle. Gale. You. No fucking way. I do this one thing they want, and I’m free.”

  “How do you know you’ll be free?” But her face has paled. “How can you trust a single word they say?”

  “Club code. The fight club boss has agreed to this, set this up. My blood for Markus’s blood. If I walk out of the fight alive, then they can’t touch me or the boss is bound to punish them.”

  “If you walk out of it alive?” She curls her small fist and smacks my chest. “Good God, Riot! You can’t. You can’t go.”

  But it’s too late. My past has caught up on me, sunk its hooks into my present.

  “I have to, Pax. It’s the only way to be free. I won’t die.” I hesitate, because how can I promise that, though? “I’ll do all I can not to die. And if I win…”

  I wince, and not just because Pax is pressing on my bruised side. As I ran here, everything seemed possible, but I’ve always called a spade a spade, and I can’t deny the odds are definitely not in my favor.

  “Can you win?” she asks softly.

  Yeah, that’s the billion dollar question. “Maybe. I’ve been training at the gym almost every day. I’m in good form.”

  That’s true, at least.

  “You don’t really believe it.”

  Shit. “It doesn’t matter. But I can promise you this.” I grip her chin, lift her face until she’s looking right at me. “I won’t die. I’ll do everything in my power to stay alive.”

  She nods, a tiny jerk of her head, her eyes filling up again. “That’s all I want. The agency, you sleeping with other women for money...I couldn’t care less compared to this. I love you, Riot, and I want to be with you.”

  It’s a jolt to my system every time she says something like that—a jumpstart to my heart, to my resolve.

  “Then I’ll make it.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Paxtyn

  Fear is threatening to take over, to pull me under, and I can’t let it. But it’s hard when the man you love tells you he’s going off tomorrow to fight a killer, and that he may not come out of it alive.

  But he says he will. He says he might win. And even though he can’t promise anything like that, not really, even if I want to run away screaming and hide…I have to believe it. That he’ll make it, that he can do it.

  Have to believe in him.

  No choice. He won’t let anything bad happen to the people—and pets—he loves, so he’s set on it. Wouldn’t I have done the same in his shoes?

  “What can I do?” I straighten, my arms around his neck, and look into his pale eyes. “How can I help?”

  “You already are.” He nuzzles my cheek. “You are the purpose, the reason I’m coming back.”

  Then his mouth is on mine, demanding, harsh and salty and white hot, stealing my breath. His hands slip under my sweater, under my tank top, over my bare breasts.

  “No bra?” he whispers against my lips, grinning.

  “I got ready for a movie night, not—”

  “Damn gorgeous,” he whispers. He grabs my hips and twists me around so that I’m straddling him, my knees on either side of his legs. “If Corey knocks, don’t open,” he orders, and I barely hear him because right then he pulls my sweater and tank top up and off me, throwing them over the side of the sofa. He bends his head to mouth my nipples, his hands sliding down to steady my hips.

  “Oh God.” I tangle my fingers in his tousled hair, still cold from the wind outside, and rock against him as his tongue moves in wicked circles on the puckered tips of my breasts. Pleasure rips through me like a bullet. “Please—”

  “Yes.” He rocks against me, his cock long and thick and rock hard inside his jeans, the piercings hard points. “Do you feel me? This is us,” he whispers. “This is how much I want you. Now and always.”

  “I want—” One of his hands slides down the inside of my thigh, slipping under my panties, and I shudder when he parts my seam. “Holy crap.”

  “I need you, Pax,” he says, his hot breath teasing my nipples. “Never needed anyone so much in my life. I’ll come back to you. I’d come back from hell itself to be with you.”

  I pull his head to my breast and just hold him there, stroking his hair. “You’d better.” Speaking past the lump in my throat is difficult. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you.”

  He rubs his stubbled cheek on my breast and my breath catches. He draws back, looks up. His eyes are very bright with something that looks an awful lot like happiness.

  Then his hand presses between my legs, one finger pushing into me, and I moan, spreading my legs wider. He pumps in and out of me, long, deep strokes, alternating with pressure on my clit, until I see stars and come, moaning his name.

  No way to stop it. He owns my body.

  Like my heart.

  As I return to earth, my ears buzzing, he kisses me, softly, then more urgently. He draws out his fingers and I settle back in his lap, against the bulge of his erection.

  Suddenly, the need to feel him inside me grips me like a fist. Need to feel his skin, his bare flesh. I break the kiss and smile at him.

  “Off.” I tug at his jacket—Good God, he’s still in his jacket and I’m naked in his lap—and claw at the sweater he’s wearing underneath. “Take it off.”

  “Okay, I—”

  “Everything. I want to see you.” I gulp, not sure why this urgency to get him naked. “To feel you.”

  He nods as if he understands something I don’t, and starts undressing. He shrugs off his jacket, then grabs the hem of his sweater and T-shirt and pulls both off. I run my hands over his bare chest, over his tattoos.

  “It’s okay to be afraid,” he says, and I shake my head.

  “No, I’m over that. I can’t be afraid anymore.”

  “Pax.” He cups my face, waits until I look up. “I’m here. Right here. It’s okay.” He strokes my cheeks. “You can’t stop the fear. You can only learn to live with it. Push it to the back of your mind with everything else and be happy.”

  “It’s not fear for me,” I manage to say. “It’s for you.”

  “I won’t leave you. I’ll come back. You have to believe it.”

  My heartbeat calms down after a moment and he brushes his lips over mine.

  Then he slides his hands down my body to his lap and starts unbuckling his belt. “No more barriers,” he says, his gaze locked with mine as he unbuttons his jeans. “No secrets, nothing hidden. I swear.”

  He pushes down his pants and briefs and I rise on my knees, my hands gripping his shoulders, so he can shuck them off.

  Then he’s naked, bared to me, finally. He doesn’t let me lower myself, though, clasping my hip with one hand, with the other taking hold of his cock. I can’t see it, even as I strain to catch a glimpse, but I feel his movements as he strokes himself, one, two, three, four times.

  “Riot…” I’ll beg if I must.

  The head of his cock brushes my entrance, hot and wet, slips into me just a fraction, but it’s enough to make me tremble with desire. His hand on my hip clenches and unclenches and his breathing turns irregular and shallow.

  “Damn,” he mutters, then tugs on my hip, lowering me on his cock. He pushes into me, little by little, and I feel every hard, hot inch of him filling me until I’m sitting in his lap once more. The barbell on the top of his cock presses a point deep inside of me that sends flares of pleasure up my spine. “Christ.”

  Both his hands are now on my waist, fingers digging into my flesh, but I barely notice, the feel of his hard cock inside me overwhelming.

  “Oh God, I need…” I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue, not sure how to explain. Deeper. Maybe it’s not even physically possible. “More.”

  “Put your legs around my waist,” he says, his voice gone hoarse.

  Excitement flutters in my chest as I obey, a
nd instantly he slides deeper into me. I hiss at the burning ache, and he grunts, his head falling forward. He’s so deep inside me, I can’t tell where he ends and I begin.

  Then he rolls his hips and the ache transforms into sharp pleasure. I moan, impaled on him, and when he lifts me and lowers me again, I cry out, unprepared for the delicious pulses in my core.

  God, I won’t last long, is my only thought as he does it again, his mouth on my shoulder, lightly biting, muffling his own moans as he makes me ride him, fast, and then faster, until I scream his name, convulsing around him, my mind filled with white light.

  He muffles a cry against my skin as his cock jerks inside me, filling me with heat in long pulses. And then he holds me all night until the dawn.

  ***

  I wake up in Riot’s arms in my bed. Can’t remember how we got here last night. I only remember talking, crying, more talking and then mind-blowing sex on my couch.

  No more secrets.

  A fight that could end in life or death.

  I carefully extricate myself from Riot’s hold and turn around to study his face in the morning light. The swelling in his jaw has gone down, but the bruising has spread, darkening one side of his face. His dark hair falls over his eyes. He looks so young.

  Too young for all that violence and pain, for a past so troubled.

  I climb off the bed soundlessly and grab a house robe, then pad to the kitchen. I stand at the window, twitch the curtain aside, gaze at the buildings. It’s a bright winter day, the sun hitting the shiny façades in blinding reflections.

  Fear taps icy fingers down my back, making me shiver. Learn to live with your fear. Don’t let it stop you.

  Okay. But even if I trust Riot, if I believe he can make it, I don’t trust the guys who set this up and beat him up.

  I don’t trust them not to rig the fight somehow to make sure he loses.

  He has no allies but me right now. We need more allies. Someone with money and contacts. Someone powerful.

  Ellen Morris. The elderly lady he visits sometimes. She comes from an old, powerful family, Gale said.

  And Riot said he would call her, which means her phone number has to be in his cell phone contacts.

  Pushing off the window, I start toward the living room before I even know what I’m doing. Or what I intend to do.

  Call her? And then what? Ask her for what exactly? Her money? Her influence to put a stop to an underground fight?

  Why should she care? Why should she involve herself in something illegal on behalf of an escort, no less, who missed their last appointment because he was beaten up so badly he’d drowned the pain in booze?

  But the doubts don’t stop me from going through Riot’s leather jacket and pants until I locate his phone and scroll through his contacts until I hit gold.

  There. Ellen Morris.

  Can’t call from his phone. And he might overhear me. So I grab for a pen and paper and quickly jot down the number and hide it under a snow globe my parents sent me from one of their trips.

  Just in time, too. A shuffling noise, and then Riot is standing at the door, rubbing his face, his dark hair standing up in all directions.

  Naked. Perfectly gorgeous.

  He shakes his head, blinks and gives me a heart-stopping smile. “Morning, beautiful.”

  Shucks. “Morning.”

  He comes over, takes me in his arms. “Come here.” He kisses me, deeply and thoroughly until I’m slack in his arms, then sighs as he draws back. “Time for a coffee before you run off to classes?”

  “Yeah.” Though the last thing on my mind right now is classes. He drags me off to the kitchen and puts his arms around me as I prepare the coffee. “And you? What are your plans for the day?”

  “Feed the boys. Take Batman out for a walk. Train.”

  I turn in his arms. “I want to see you fight. I want to be there.”

  His expression shutters. “Babe, you can’t. It’s only thugs and mafia there. It’s dangerous.”

  “I don’t care. I’m coming with you.”

  He opens his mouth, closes it, and for a moment something like panic flashes through his gaze. “Those men, Elliot and Oliver, told me that they’ll hurt you if I fuck up. I don’t want you anywhere near them. Please, Pax. If I see you there, I’ll lose what courage I have. All I’ll be able to fucking think about will be you. Do you understand?”

  Crap, yeah, I do. I nod. “Yes.” I put my arms around his waist, pull him closer. “Can I at least see you before you go to fight?”

  “You’re seeing me now.”

  No, no. “I need to see you—”

  “Pax.” His throat works. His eyes are too bright. “Saying goodbye will fucking kill me, don’t you get it? I can’t say goodbye to you.”

  “Then don’t say it.”

  We stand like that, not speaking, holding on to each other.

  “I will come back,” he says in the end.

  “I know.” But my eyes burn. “I know.”

  He releases me. “Why don’t you make the coffee and I’ll go get dressed.”

  “Sure.”

  A shadow crosses his features, like a wince of pain, and I wonder if his ribs hurt, but before I ask, he backs away and leaves the room.

  Afraid, worried, faintly panicking, I set about finishing the coffee and setting two mugs on the table. I call his name, but I get no reply.

  I putter around, putting the sugar and cookies on the table, check the fridge for cheese. Call his name again.

  He doesn’t answer.

  It’s not until I’ve walked through the apartment, looking for him, that I understand what he meant when he told me he didn’t want to say goodbye.

  He’s gone.

  ***

  “Take a deep breath,” Corey says over the phone. “Did you try calling him?”

  “Of course I did! He won’t reply.”

  “How about going around his place? I can come with you.”

  “I don’t know.” I’m pacing a furrow into my living room carpet. “God, he didn’t want to say goodbye, Corey.”

  “I know,” he says gently. “For some people it’s hard.”

  “But he promised he will come back, so why—?” I swallow back tears. “He doesn’t believe he’ll come back, does he?”

  “One never knows with these things, right? Even if he does all he can, a bit part is up to chance.”

  Christ.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I confess, dropping on my sofa. “I’m terrified he’ll die there and I won’t ever see him again.”

  “And in that same fatalistic vein, darling,” Corey drawls, “he could be hit by a truck while crossing the street and you wouldn’t see him again. How’s that different?”

  “Corey!” I smack my hand on the sofa cushions. “It’s not the same and you know it. He’s going to be in a deadly fight. With no legal protection. No boundaries. The chances of getting a fatal injury are far more than…” I choke. “God.”

  “Not sure about that.” Corey sounds thoughtful. “You said Riot fought this Crusher guy once, and he obviously survived to tell the tale.”

  “But Crusher killed Markus!”

  “Yeah, but Riot isn’t Markus, sweet pea. Think about it. Riot faced Crusher once, and hit his head and lost the game. His boss decided to put him back in the ring with this Crusher dude soon after. His boss thought Riot could take Crusher down. Why can’t you?”

  I wipe my sweaty hand down my leg. “Do you believe that, Corey? You’re not saying it just to make me feel better? ”

  “I think it makes sense. Of course, Riot’s been out of the game for two years and—”

  “Stop. Don’t make me change my mind again.”

  “Sorry, darling.” Corey is quiet for a few beats. “You know I can hear cogs turning in that sharp little brain of yours, right? What are you up to?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You can’t lie to me, Paxtyn Pauline Page.”

  “I’m not up to anythin
g.”

  I don’t even have a plan. Which sucks.

  “He’ll do fine. If I was in his place, I’d want my girlfriend to think I can do it.”

  “But that won’t help, Corey. How can that help?”

  “Trust me,” he says. “And trust him.”

  ***

  “Mrs. Ellen Morris?” My heart is racing like a train with broken brakes. “This is Paxtyn Page speaking.”

  “Hello?” She sounds uncertain. “Do I know you, Ms. Page?”

  “We have a common friend. Riot Gallagher.”

  A moment of silence.

  “How did you get this number?”

  “From Riot’s phone. Please, Mrs. Morris, don’t hang up. Riot’s life is at stake.”

  She produces an incredulous sound, half cough, half laughter. “His life?”

  “He’s facing Clay the Bone Crusher tonight at the Hellfire fighters club, against his will. Please, please tell me there’s something you can do to help him.”

  “The Crusher,” she repeats, as if she knows him. “A vengeful move.”

  “Yes. How do you know that?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She harrumphs. “Riot can take him.”

  “He killed Riot’s friend.”

  “Yes, yes.” Impatient. “But not Riot. Riot’s a hard one to kill.”

  Oh God, this old lady and Corey have more faith in Riot than I do. Or else I’m more scared for him because I love him more and I care if he ends up dead.

  “So there’s nothing you can do to help?”

  “Help. What kind of help—? Ah! Of course.” She chuckles in the phone. “Give me your address, sweetie, and I’ll come pick you up.”

  “Pick me up? To go where?”

  “To see Riot fight, of course. I can get us good seats. Oh yes,” she hums faintly a tune I don’t recognize, “I’ve waited for this a long time.”

  ***

  It’s frigging cold. The scent of snow is back in the air, the clouds low and white. I jump from foot to foot, feeling it even through my thick coat, boots, woolen mitts and scarf.

  A limo cruises by, shiny and black, and I watch it go.

  It stops. A gloved hand reaches out of one rolled-down tinted window and beckons.

  I stare.

  It beckons again, imperatively.