LUST: A Bad Boy and Amish Girl Romance (The Brody Bunch Book 2) (47 page)

C
rap
. I was running
so
late.

The senator had shown up to our meeting at Café Franz a whole twenty minutes after I did. He took his sweet time ordering, too, letting me know that he had all the power here. I did my best not to look like I was watching the clock, but I couldn’t help it. Kellan was out there suffering through the last fight of his career, and I wasn’t there to cheer him on like I’d promised.

I couldn’t show Senator MacFarlane my cards, though. Not with so much on the line. So I sipped my wine and ground my teeth and waited for the right moment to sink my teeth into his throat—so to speak.

Once our food arrived and the senator was too busy cutting his steak to interrupt me with small talk, I sprang it on him. “I want to talk about the bill, Senator. That’s what we’re here for, and I’m not about to waste any more of my time. Not when there’s so much on the line for our veterans.”

Senator MacFarlane smirked as if that amused him, but didn’t look up from his dinner. “By all means, continue.”

I didn’t even bother with my food, just leaned across the table. “You know as well as I do what this bill is about. It’s about giving back to the men and women who have given us so much. They’re coming back from serving our country, only to find there’s no place for them in it anymore. Giving them job preference is the least we can do. So why haven’t you agreed to support it?”

The senator chewed a bite of his steak before answering, savoring every pink morsel. He rolled his eyes skyward. “Well, let me answer your question with a question, Ms. Jones: do you believe in capitalism?”

“Are you asking if I’m a communist, Senator?” I answered, and he smiled.

“If you believe in capitalism, you’ll understand my reservations,” he continued. “Employers in this country are always looking for ways to lower expenses, and of course, we hope they’ll pass those on to us, their consumers. It’s much more economically sound to employ a college graduate or hell, even a high school dropout who’ll take the job for eight dollars an hour rather than ten or fifteen, which is the rate of pay this bill encourages for the veterans it encompasses. If we force employers to give preference to employees who will demand higher wages, it’s my constituents who will suffer the consequences. Higher prices on goods and services never make anybody happy except the manufacturers, and they’re not my primary voting base.” He winked.

I stared at him. “So what you’re saying is that, essentially, if employers have to hire vets and pay them living wages, the rest of us will all get screwed?”

The senator chuckled. “Boy, you really have a way of boiling things down.”

I drummed my fingers on the table. This was an argument I’d heard before, and one I had prepared for. I said, “Okay. Let’s talk about McDonalds.”

Now the senator frowned. “All right. What about it?”

“You remember Occupy Wall Street?” I asked. He vaguely nodded. “They wanted fifteen dollars an hour for fast food workers, and everybody and their mother said that if the minimum wage went that high, we’d see ten-dollar Big Macs the very next day. That’s your argument, right? That paying workers more will result in higher costs for consumers?”

“It’s basic math and common sense,” he answered. I smiled.

“I’m not sure Seattle would agree with you.”

“You’re losing me, Ms. Jones,” the senator warned. “I’m not sure what McDonalds and Seattle have to do with this bill you’re so gung-ho about.”

“Seattle passed a wage-hike on restaurant employees back on April first,” I told him, pausing to take another sip of my wine. I was going to need it if I wanted to get through this without screaming at him to Google the misinformation he was spewing. “There was some real concern from business owners and politicians, as well as corporations, that raising wages that high would have a negative effect on growth, as well as inflation. But this year, more permits than ever have been issued for restaurant openings, and the cost of a meal has seen no substantial increase. Everyone there seems pretty happy with more equitable wages.”

“One city mandating a wage-hike for one set of businesses is hardly comparable to the effect something like that would have on an entire state,” Senator MacFarlane said with a smugness that made me wish he would choke. “I love our veterans as much as any red-blooded American does, Ms. Jones, but I have to think of the greater good here, too.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. “One city isn’t comparable to a whole state.” The senator sat back, satisfied, until I added, “Let’s talk about New York, then, which has approved a similar wage-hike for fast food workers. Or for that matter, the increasing number of cities who have taken setting a higher standard for a living wage to heart. This bill wouldn’t even propose a sweeping measure like that. This would be beneficial strictly to veterans, and honestly, neither of us can say with any certainty that they’ll be demanding that much compensation. And honestly, Senator, the alternative of not supporting this bill has way worse consequences for
everyone,
including those ‘Joe Schmo’ constituents you’re worried about.”

“Okay. I’ll bite,” the senator said, abandoning his meal for the first time this evening and focusing his attention solely on me. “How so?”

I hadn’t planned on it when I came here, but since I couldn’t get my mind off him anyway, I told Senator MacFarlane about Kellan. I told him about what Kellan had experienced after coming home from Afghanistan, and all the vets he knew who were in the same boat. I interwove my narrative with some of my own independent research on how vets with PTSD or other, physical injuries often couldn’t get a job due to their sacrifices. I told him about the illegal fighting rings Thom and I would be exposing soon, and ended on a note about the human interest piece I was writing on Kellan and how it would be interspersed with details about this very meeting.

“So,” I concluded, “this could either look really bad for you, or really good. Either I pepper my article about a vet who has served his country well with details about how you’re working hard to ensure people like him get a fair shake, or I make sure to mention how you’re so worried about fat cat corporations complaining that you wouldn’t even entertain the idea of giving our vets the opportunities they deserve. I hear you’re coming up for re-election soon. Which story do you think your constituents would prefer?”

The senator sat silently for several moments, just staring at me, his face an unreadable blank slate. I stared right back, refusing to even check the time on my phone again. I wanted to, desperately, but I got the impression that the senator and I were currently engaged in a battle of wills. Kellan would never back down from a fight, and he’d never let anything distract him from winning, either. I wasn’t about to let him down by showing weakness now.

Finally, the corners of the senator’s lips quirked just a little. “I see I underestimated you, Ms. Jones. I have the feeling that people do that a lot.”

“All the time,” I answered. “It’s my greatest asset.”

The senator chuckled. “Well, I’m impressed. And intimidated, if I’m being honest. Obviously, I’m not interested in having my name on a piece that pits me against veterans. In the hearts of Americans, vets will win over politicians every time—as they should.” He clasped his hands. “So, I think you should write that I’ve changed my mind. That in light of new evidence, I’ve seen what a great boon this would be for our state, and I’m ready and willing to fight for the social changes that will pay back our vets for all they’ve given us.”

My heart leapt into my throat. My stomach felt like it was dancing. I blurted out, “Really?” before I could stop myself, then covered it up with, “I’m exceedingly glad to hear that, Senator MacFarlane. Now, if there’s nothing more to discuss…”

I stood up and he followed suit, reaching over to shake my hand. “You’re a damn good reporter, Ms. Jones. I’m looking forward to reading your article, and to hearing more from you, someday.”

I allowed myself a little smile and took his hand. “Likewise, Senator. You’re doing a lot of good.”

Then I walked out of our private dining area, through the main hall of the restaurant, and once I was outside, I sprinted to my car.
Shit.
Kellan’s fight had started almost ten minutes ago. He was up there getting bruised and bloodied, and I was nowhere to be found. I could only hope he hadn’t noticed I was gone, and that I wasn’t too late to give him something to fight his heart out for.

We did it, Kellan,
I thought as I leapt into my driver’s seat and turned the key.
We won!

I couldn’t wait to tell him to his face.

I
was dying out here
.

Tutera was the most vicious fighter I’d ever encountered. It was like once he saw blood, he developed and undying thirst for it. He had to have more. Besides myself, I’d never seen anyone go so crazy over inflicting harm. Was this what my opponents felt like when I beat them? Was this gnawing dread, this unbearable sense of impending doom, the same thing they’d experienced when they looked into my eyes?

I didn’t have a whole lot of time to contemplate it. Tutera was on me like a fly on shit, and I could just barely move fast enough to avoid the worst of his blows.

The crowd around us was howling. There was enough of my blood on the mat to make it slippery in places. Some of it was Tutera’s too, but not nearly enough. My strength and endurance were waning. I could hardly manage to keep my hands up.

Don’t drop ‘em,
I reminded myself through the bleary haze of pain tearing through my body.
The second you drop ‘em, he drops you.

Maybe that was for the best. Maybe I should just give up, let Tutera win. The longer we went at this, the longer I felt like all I was doing was prolonging the inevitable. I was exhausted, covered in sweat and blood, and at this point, only fighting for my ego.

Parker’s not even here to see me. It’s not like she’d care if I threw in the towel.

Tutera responded to that thought with a kick to my hip that brought a new stab of agony to those ribs I kept fucking up. I snarled and my knee gave way on the same side, bringing me down to the mat where Tutera pounced.

We rolled, and I kicked and thrashed as he tried to get me into an arm bar.
Fuck.
This was bad. Tutera was strong and way more energetic than I was. He could hold out and stay the course. I was flagging, my confidence and will to see this through sinking faster than the
Titanic.
If he got me into position, I was doomed.

Why fight it?
that voice in the back of my head reasoned as I slipped out of Tutera’s hold, only for him to grab me again.
You know this isn’t going to end well. Just lie still and let go. Let him have his win. You were always the sacrificial lamb, Kellan. You were born to lose.

And let Vic have the last laugh? No. No way. Not without giving it my all, at least.

I got a lucky break when I jammed my elbow back at Tutera’s face. He wasn’t expecting it and I smashed him straight in the teeth. Blood gushed down his chin and I struggled free, panting and stumbling once I was on my feet, waiting for him to get back up.

He did. Slowly. And he looked pissed. There wasn’t even a splinter of pain in his eyes. Tutera wasn’t feeling anything tonight.
Fuckin’ coke!

He sprung at me like a tiger, and in my weakened state, I couldn’t block the body blows. All I could do was keep my face and my head covered as Tutera pushed me back onto the ropes, landing shot after shot on my ribs, my kidneys, everywhere that would hurt the most.

Pain blinded me for an instant, but it felt like an eternity. And in that moment, everything around me dimmed and slowed. The world took on a gray pallor, and I could feel the shockwaves from Tutera’s fists spreading through my whole body, penetrating my bones. I was brutally aware of my ribs cracking again, splintering, threatening to break in half. I couldn’t take much more of this. No human body could.

It was over. I had to make it stop.

Knowing the consequences, I raised my head for one last look at the cheering crowd. They weren’t yelling for me. They were yelling for Tutera. This crowd had never been mine. They’d always been his. They’d come here explicitly to see him drop me.

Better give ‘em what they want.

And that was when my gaze snagged on the single, radiant face I’d been anticipating all night. My lips parted as her blue eyes met mine, her fist raised in the air, a pained smile on her face. Parker Jones was out there watching me, cheering me on, dressed in a fucking silk blouse and a skirt and looking for all the world like the ace reporter I knew she was.

Concern wrinkled her face. Worry clouded her pretty eyes. She could tell I was losing, and about to give up.

No. Fuck that. I couldn’t let her keep looking at me that way. I couldn’t let her see me fall. Not like this.

Parker had fought tooth and claw for me, and now I had to do the same for her.

Tutera, noticing I’d lifted my head, got in a good hit to my cheek. This time, I didn’t even feel it. Seeing Parker had given me the adrenaline rush I needed to get my second wind, and with all the force I had in me, I launched myself at Tutera and wrapped my arms around him, dragging him to the ground.

Off-balance, he fell and landed hard on his side. It was easier to deal with him when he wasn’t swinging at me, and as he turned to get up on his knees, I jumped on his back and pulled him back down. I had him on top of me on his back, and sliding across the mat in my own blood, I used it to my advantage to get one of my legs over his face.

Tutera grabbed at me, but in a second, I had my other leg across his chest and under his arms. Then my fingers were around his wrist, pulling his arm hard toward me, my ankles locked, and I had no intention of letting go.

The crowd around us went berserk. I pulled hard on Tutera’s arm, bending it back in an arm-bar I knew had to hurt. Even as coked up as he was, there was no way Tutera could ignore this agony. Arm-bars hurt like a bitch no matter what you were on. I could tell by his snarling and struggling that he was feeling it.

Good. Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it, kid?

I held onto him tight while he bucked, trying to push me off him, but there was no point. I had his arm locked good and tight, and the more he flailed, the more pain he caused himself. Bending backward, I yanked, feeling his joint strain. Tutera froze, his whole body contracting in a spasm of excruciating misery, then with his free hand, pounded the mat. The ref came to our sides and knelt down.

“Tap out, you bastard,” I gritted. “It’s over. I got you.”

Before the ref could call it, I gave another hard yank and Tutera pounded the mat again, grabbing for the referee. He blew his whistle and I let go, Tutera rolling onto his side to cradle his nearly broken arm.

I lay there on my back as I heard those sweet syllables I never thought I’d hear again.

“Killer Kellan wins!”

Holy shit.
I laughed, covering my face with my hands as the world exploded into chaos around me. Lights flashed, people cheered, and above it all, I could hear them chanting:
Killer! Killer! Killer! Killer!

When I let my hands drop, the ref was offering me his hand. I let him help me to my feet and leaned on him bodily, raising one fist in the air the same way Parker had when I’d seen her watching me. Everyone else in the room faded away until there was just her face again, smiling broadly, cheering, her lips moving in a way that let me read them. Out of everyone gathered around me, she was the only one who was actually calling me by name.
Kellan! Kellan! Kellan! Kellan!

And then, shaking her head, tears sparkling in her eyes, she screamed something else:
I love you!

Warmth blossomed inside my chest, nullifying all the pain I’d been keeping there. I couldn’t wait for the winner’s room to be with her. I had to have Parker in my arms. Now.

I broke away from the ref and made my way over the ropes, then jumped down from the mat and pushed my way through the crowd. Most of them parted for me, but not before touching me, totally in awe of the nobody who’d beat Johnny fucking Tutera in an illegal match. I could hardly believe it myself, but that wasn’t what I was focused on right now. Right now, all I could see, all I could think about, was Parker. My Parker.

I reached her and swept her into my arms, swinging her around heedlessly, pressing my damaged face into her beautiful, golden locks of hair and inhaling her scent. That was the only thing I wanted to smell for the rest of my life. I could die happy, here in her arms. But I wanted to live. For the first time in damn near forever, I wanted to choose life over death, pleasure over pain. I wanted to be the man Parker believed I could be.

I leaned up for a kiss, closing my eyes as I tasted her sweet breath on my tongue. Then I cradled her in my arms bridal-style and pushed my way through the crowd again, this time toward the hall that would take us to the winner’s room.

“Wait!” she laughed, gingerly touching my bruised and bloodied face. “Don’t you have to get your winnings from Vic?”

“Trust me, I didn’t forget,” I told her, kicking open the door. “But you and me have something to settle up on, first.”

Parker blushed, and I grinned back as I stepped inside the room and shut the door.