Redemption (7 page)

“Picking up pointers? Good, you’re gonna need ‘em.” Lucky feinted left and danced back. Johnson didn’t take the bait. While he’d never fought a female agent, his sister had taught him to take it easy on a woman at his own risk. Charlotte had kicked his ass a time or fourteen.

He turned to match Johnson’s movements. Her steps were heavier, her movements clumsy. “Yeah, go on, try to lull a man into a false sense of security.” He’d seen her take steps three at a time on raids, and had also watched her on the dance floor at a local club, trying to make a drug deal. She had more grace than Lucky ever hoped to match—when she wanted to.

“I heard you got a mean right hook, once you shut up and fight.” She settled, braced for impact.

Who’d said that?

The shift was so subtle that if he hadn’t prepared, she might have pulled a fast one. Muscles bulging in her legs gave her intentions away. All her weight on one leg, she kicked. Lucky ducked. A shoe roughly the size of his Camaro whooshed over his head.

“You gave yourself away. Too much time between planning and doing.” He dove for her leg.

Johnson stumbled but regained balance.

Lucky rolled and came up with his fists ready. “Nice.”

Her right hook went wild. No way had she studied boxing or any formal fighting. This woman had gained her moves on the street. Lucky’d learned early in battles with his brothers and added to redneck fighting tactics in prison.

The powerhouse spun, elbow aimed at Lucky’s face.

He bent back. The blow grazed his cheek. Johnson hit and hit hard, but she threw too much of herself into the punch and needed time to recover.

Lucky laughed. He was her trainer. Time to train. “You’re counting too much on the blow connecting to buy yourself time to regroup.”

They danced. Her arms gleamed with sweat, the black Celtic tats around her biceps bulging. She swung wide, exposing her back.

Lucky dodged beneath her arm and landed a solid punch to her right deltoid. He jumped out of her reach. “You left your kidney wide open. In a real fight you’d be in pain right now.”

He dropped to the mat and kicked hard.

Johnson hit the mat, rolled, popped back up, and so did he—though her size made her slow. Something about her changed. The glint in her eyes took on more serious menace.

She came at him. Right, left, right. She plowed a glove into his jaw.

Fuck! That hurt! Lucky stumbled backward and countered with a few punches of his own.

Johnson hit, she meant business, but landed one out of every four punches.

Lucky punched twice, and connected both times, though with his short arms he didn’t command the power she did. As far as upper body strength, they were pretty evenly matched. She must bench press Mazdas.

Lucky ducked a swing and slammed his fist into her solar plexus.

Johnson reeled backward.

Punch, punch, punch.

Flat on his back on the mat. Texting boy needed to dust the ceiling fans. Solid weight landed on top of Lucky. He wriggled, fighting to break free from an octopus. No matter how hard he struggled, or where he went, Johnson matched him.

Oh hell. In trouble now!

She pinned him and grinned, her knees on his shoulders holding him to the floor.

“Wrestlers pin, not boxers,” Lucky managed enough breath to grunt. He jerked his knee up into her back.

Johnson straightened.

Lucky took the microsecond of distraction to buck up and throw her off. That was close. He didn’t get away. His opponent jumped up and grabbed him from behind. Lucky went limp. His dead weight toppled them both.

How long had they been fighting? He crawled away. Johnson grabbed his ankle. He fought for purchase on sweaty skin.

They rolled, tumbled, and wound up panting, side by side on the mat.

“Do you yield?” Johnson forced out between gasps.

“Fuck no!” The fight was on again.

Johnson pinned him. “Whoot! I kicked your ass!” She wobbled to her feet and held her arms up, bowing to nonexistent spectators. Thank God the gym was almost empty or they’d have attracted a crowd.

Lucky crawled to the ropes and hoisted himself up. Johnson turned her back. He locked his gloves together and brought them crashing down.

She never knew what hit her.

Lucky threw all his weight into pinning her for a three count. Hey, she’d started it! He rolled off and lay panting beside her.

“Feel better now?” came out on gasped breaths.

Did he? Not really. At least he no longer wanted to punch someone. Been there, done that. “Define
better
?”

After a few minutes of catching her breath, she asked, “Want to talk about it now?”

No. “Nothing to talk about.”

“Coulda fooled me, you storming around the office ready to kill someone.”

Out tumbled “Too late.” Lucky’d never learned when to shut the fuck up.

“Oh.”

If the woman pushed him, asked questions, he’d shut her down. Her lack of asking gnawed at him. She’d been with Southwestern for five years before her transfer. No telling what she’d seen.

“You ever shoot a man?” he asked.

With their breathing now calmer, the rest of the gym came back into focus, the shriek of tennis shoes on the floor, the booming voice of a trainer in another ring, instructing a fighter.

Minutes ticked away before Johnson answered, “Yeah.”

Interesting. “Kill him?”

“He might’ve wished he died, but no.”

“What happened?” While Loretta Johnson’s picture probably appeared in the dictionary under “bad ass”, shooting didn’t seem her style. She’d more likely beat someone to death.

“Former cop went bad and had a baby up on a bridge, threatened to throw the kid over if Mama wouldn’t give him drug money.”

If Charlotte’s no account ex threatened one of her boys, she’d blow his ass away in a heartbeat. “You shot the man to save the kid.”

“Would do it again in a flat minute. What happened with you if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Shootout with a wannabe drug lord.” Images formed in his mind: Lucky taking aim, the guard falling. Were those memories or dreams? “I don’t regret pulling the trigger, I mean, it was him or me, or even my partner. It’s just”—fuck!—“I wanted him dead. I wanted him stopped. It all happened so fast I didn’t look for any other options. I see his blood in my dreams, but I can’t for the life of me work out for sure if I was the one to kill him or not. You think I’d remember.”

Johnson rolled on her side to face Lucky. “They train the hell out of us. When a threat happens, there’s no thinking to it—we react, like we’re drilled to do. If I hadn’t pulled the trigger, that asshole might have killed an innocent child and the mama too. If you hadn’t acted, your partner might be dead, or a few other people. If you shot, you put your training to good use. Trust yourself. You did the right thing.”

Not one of the textbook answers Bo spewed, and might make sense to a more rational man. “No regrets at all?”

“Just one.”

“What’s that?” Lucky stood and offered Johnson help to stand.

“I’m not looking forward to the day when I have to tell my boy why I shot his daddy.”

Chapter Six

What body parts were still speaking to Lucky either hurt or no longer worked. Cat Lucky wound around his ankles.

“Not a safe place to be, unless you want me stepping on your tail,” Lucky told him. He dropped his gym bag onto the floor, shuffled into the kitchen through the maze of Bo’s belongings, fed the cat, grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, and downed three ibuprofens.

Loretta Johnson came way too close to kicking his ass. And forced him to see things clearly.

He dug his phone out of his pocket and set it on the counter. Two missed calls. And a half-dozen texts—all from Bo.

Holding his phone to his ear with one hand and the water bottle in the other, he replayed the first message. “Lucky, can you come get me? I’ve convinced my doctor to let me come home.”

Fuck. Lucky glanced at the clock. Ten p.m. The call came in at six-thirty. Why hadn’t he checked his phone before going out for pizza with Johnson? He brought up the second message. “Lucky? Where are you? I’m packed and ready.”

He grabbed his keys and punched in the number for the center. Dear God, let it not be too late. How he ached to hold Bo again. He stopped to open the front door.

“Bout time you got home,” sounded behind him.

Lucky spun. Bo leaned against the living room wall, hair mussed and blanket marks etched into his cheek. Looked like a fucking model.

The phone and water bottle slipped from Lucky’s fingers. Fuck ‘em. He’d get them later. He ignored the ice water chill splashing his leg. With what little strength he had left, he threw himself across the room.

Bo caught him.

Ah, Bo.

Safe.

Here.

Now.

He’d come home.

To Lucky.

Bo held Lucky tight. “Today I realized I’d stayed longer than I needed to. There’s a fine line between getting help and hiding, and they weren’t about to push me out the door when the bureau’s insurance covers the bill up to eight weeks. But I have to continue therapy.”

They’d deal with details later. Lucky rose up on his toes and brought his mouth down hard on Bo’s. It didn’t matter why he’d come home—he was here. God, how Lucky missed his man.

Bo grabbed the hem of Lucky’s T-shirt and yanked.

Lucky helped him rip off the flimsy bit of cotton while toeing off his shoes. He resumed the kiss, calves screaming with the effort to match Bo’s height.

He ran his hands up Bo’s side. A breeze meant somehow he’d lost his shorts. The hard cock pressed against his own meant the same magic force must have claimed Bo’s.

Down on the floor, Lucky grabbed Bo behind the neck and held him in place while making up far too many missed kisses. Bo’s groan vibrated against Lucky’s tongue.

Lucky closed his eyes and reopened them fast. If he so much as blinked Bo might disappear back to the center, or Mexico, or any other God-forsaken place. No, best to keep him in sight.

Maintaining constant contact, he trailed his lips over the scruff of Bo’s jaw, down to the long column of his neck. Bo’s heartbeat throbbed against Lucky’s tongue. Lucky sealed his lips over the pulse and sucked. In the morning Bo would wear a bruise. What would once have caused alarm was now almost a compulsion, to mark the man for the world to see.

He worked lower, the hair on Bo’s chest tickling his face. Down lower to Bo’s abs. The muscles there tightened.

Bo flipped him over onto his back and climbed on top. “Damn it, Lucky. I missed you.” He lowered his mouth to Lucky’s and all brain cells fizzled out.

Lucky interlocked their fingers, wrapping his legs around Bo and bucking up into him. “Me too.” His cock slid against Bo’s, both trapped between their bodies.

Fucking A.

They rolled and tumbled.

A table fell.

Lucky’s head hit the wall. Pain stabbed at his overused muscles. Then, everything but Bo faded into nothingness. The touch of Bo’s skin, the rasp of his beard, the slide of his hands over Lucky’s body, those were important.

“Oh, God!” Bo gasped into Lucky’s ear. He shook and froze, flying apart in Lucky’s arms. He barely even missed a beat before picking up the pace again, sliding through the wetness he’d left between their bellies.

The scents of cologne, come, and man filled Lucky’s senses, driving him on and on and on. Deep inside the trembling began.

Bo’s “Ah, ah, ah,” against Lucky’s mouth kept time with their thrusting.

Once more, twice more. Lucky tipped over the edge, clinging to Bo. He shot again and again, and fuck, fuck, fuck.

He lay on his back on a scratchy rug, sweat cooling on the parts of his body not covered by Bo.

Bo slid off, onto his back by Lucky’s side, sucking in air like a marathon runner. “I missed this.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.” Hallelujah!

Bo raised his hand and gave Lucky a lazy swat. “I needed to get my head together.”

“Did you?”

“It’s as together as it’s gonna get, I suppose.”

Still not an answer. And sorrow laced the words. Bo wasn’t all the way back. Lucky hadn’t expected overnight miracles. He grabbed Bo’s hand. “You’re here.”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For waiting.” Bo rolled to his side, facing Lucky, and propped his head on his hand. “For calling every damned day when I told you not to. For showing up at all hours wanting to see me. For bringing me food.” He leaned in and swiped his lips over Lucky’s nose. “For convincing me that no matter how fucked up I am, you’re still here, and you’re too stubborn to leave.”

Covering Lucky’s mouth with his own, Bo forced his tongue inside.

Lucky grabbed the back of Bo’s head and moaned into the kiss.

Yeah. Bo gave Lucky plenty of reasons to keep him around. No matter how fucked up Bo might get, Lucky still had him beat. “Sorry I missed your calls,” Lucky said.

“It’s okay. I assumed you were busy and caught a cab.” Bo grabbed Lucky’s shoulders and pushed him back, nose wrinkled. “Umm… you kinda smell.”

“I’ve been sparring with Johnson.”

“Wow! Who won?”

What kind of question was that? “Did you doubt me for a minute?”

Bo gave a half smile. “Well, I’d like to think you were distracted, thinking about me getting out soon.”

No matter what went on in life, more and more Bo had crept into Lucky’s mind, pushing other thoughts aside. Much better to have him in the flesh. Lucky hugged him tight. Nope, not a dream. “Were you sleeping?”

“Not really.”

“How about I make you a cup of tea, take a shower, and then we go to bed?”

Lucky showered, cleaned up the water he’d spilled, let the cat in, and locked up the house. Better put his phone on the charger. A new message appeared on the screen. Oh, fuck. The Realtor. He dialed his voice mail with trembling fingers.

“Mr. Harrison? The bank accepted your offer. Does an early December closing suit you?”

He’d have to bust ass, but he’d damned well move him and Bo into their new home by Christmas. Their home. With the thirty year mortgage. If Bo wanted. What had he gotten himself into?