Rev (25 page)

“And why the hell not,” Dean said, sitting with his arms crossed on the nearest chair.

I looked him over. I loved looking him over.

Should I even say more? I hardly even know him.

“Because he doesn’t really want me around.” I sat down. “I’m not his daughter and Roman’s all about family and legacy. He never really trusted my mom’s loyalty with me around.”

Dean tensed visibly. I noticed the muscles of his forearms tighten as he clenched the armrests of his chair. “Yeah, well…fathers can be real assholes.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Chapter 7

All I could think about was how much I wanted to fuck her.

I mean, look at her…

The delicious curve of her ass. Her jeans stretched across thighs I wanted to pull open and get between.

I wonder what she tastes like?

Her loose fitting top couldn’t hide the enticing swell of her soft breasts. My eyes traced the plunge of her cleavage.

Easy there…

My cock surged almost painfully against the rough denim of my jeans. I was in full commando mode relaxing in my own home.

Ironically, Saylor was the first girl I’d brought back here. I was getting my most agonizing erection from a girl who hadn’t even wrapped her lips around the head of my cock.

Speaking of those lips…

She had those soft, pillowy ones I just wanted to shove myself into. If her lips were that arousing, I couldn’t imagine what her pussy would do to me. My cock stiffened further at the thought.

I couldn’t hear anything she was saying. My head was filled with thoughts of what I wanted to do to her. But eventually I snapped back to attention, gripping the sides of my chair in an effort to shake myself from this lusty captivation.

This is why you don’t get involved. This is why you avoid commitments.

“Listen,” I interrupted her. “I get it. You can’t go back to that shithead Ace and Roman’s got some weird family complex.”

She looked up at me, relief in her eyes.

“But I’ve got a workout in half-an-hour and I’m not letting you stay here. Ace knows where I live.”

Saylor hesitated then bit her lip. “Listen, don’t think you have to protect me or something.”

“Honestly, I don’t care what you think—I’m not leaving you alone.” I stood up and put my hand over her slight little shoulder. That action alone made me feel things I’d tried to avoid for so long. “I’m going to go grab my shit. You’re coming with me.”

She nodded, and I went into my bedroom to get my shorts and gear.

What the fuck am I doing?

By far, this was the worst series of decisions I’d ever made in my life.  I’d told myself no commitments. I’d told myself I don’t get involved.

But I can’t get this girl out of my mind.

That was the simple truth. I wasn’t thinking clearly. After everything I’d lost, I had to preserve the last few things I had in this shitty life.

My house by the beach, the job, the fights, the respect. Not only would I lose all of that…well, I might’ve already lost it. I could imagine Ace, with his tail between his legs, cowering in front of Roman and asking for my head on a platter.

Why am I even entertaining any of this?

I should have grabbed her and delivered her right back to Ace and Roman. I should have thrown her back to the wolves.

What kind of girl is worth this much trouble?

When I walked into the gym with Saylor next to me, I already knew what was coming. I put my bag down and motioned across the parking lot to a café she could hang out at and do some reading while still remaining within sight.

The moment she walked out the door, Jay walked over and crossed his arms, staring at her ass as she turned to follow the sidewalk up to the coffee place. “That’s some fine grade-A right there Dean.”

I grabbed my lifting belt and headed over to the weight rack. Jay followed. He had a habit of following. Maybe he was bored. Not too many people came by in the late morning since they were busy enjoying the beach in the middle of the summer.

And this wasn’t your typical gym. Instead of those Life Fitness machines and scrawny benches you saw at the run-of-the-mill commercial places, all you got here was an open expanse of hard rubber flooring, racks sticking out everywhere like torture contraptions and large stacks of thick metal plates.

This was
Wild Iron
—a gym for fighters. We affectionately called it the dungeon. We didn’t train like bodybuilders, doing endless curls with 30-pound weights. We loaded hard, cold, iron, hundreds of pounds of it, on our shoulders and pushed our strength to the limit. We’d go outside into the parking lot and drag a 250-pound metal sled until it scraped up the concrete. Then we’d swing 150-pound beer kegs straight above our heads before throwing them over a raised metal pole where they’d crash into the pile of wrestling mats on the other side.

And that was before we even got to the bags and conditioning. This was for strength. There was no better way to break through your limitations than reaching into that deep, primal need to absolutely wreck something, exert yourself and your presence in the most basic sense. We called it beast mode.

“Didn’t think you were the kind to get so attached you’d bring a girl around.”

Jay suddenly announced his unwelcome presence. I shrugged and began loading up the weight plates. I’d start with squats and work my way to shoulder presses. Strong legs were key.

“Always thought you were the poster boy for the hit-it-and-quit-it kind of life,” Jay continued. “You two steady or something?”

“Fuck no,” I snapped back in a knee-jerk kind of way. Just because Saylor was getting to me didn’t mean I was about to throw away my guiding principle: don’t get too attached to anything.

“So it’s not too serious is what I’m asking here,” Jay pressed on. “Same old, right? On to the next?”

“Sure. Whatever.” I finished loading up the weight.

“Good man. Good. Just asking.” Jay held up his hands in some indication of feigned deference. “Because she’s some fine looking piece of ass.” He stared out into the distance like he was contemplating something of great significance. “I mean…when you look at that juicy ass, those plump tits, and fuck man—remember I always said you want the girls with the lips that look like they can really get that soft, tight grip on your dick—well, that”—Jay nodded thoughtfully—“that’s the real deal, something I’ve been looking for myself.”

Something inside of me snapped. I shouldn’t have cared.

Why would I?

Jay and I talked the worst, filthiest shit about women all the time. I didn’t mind at all. We were both consummate chauvinists. Came with the territory and the girls never minded. Not like we cared. It was all about racking up the score points, one lay after another.

But this was different. Even though nothing had happened between us, she was mine. I had no idea why, but just the thought of another man thinking sexually about her brought a rush of hot blood to my head and my muscles tightened.

“If you ever”—I raised a pointed finger in front of Jay’s surprised face—“say any of that shit about Saylor again, I swear I’ll throw you in the fighting cage and put you in a world of hurt.”

He was taken aback, to say the least. His eyes widened with instinctive fear and emerging regret. He backed away and finally left me to my work.

I thought of Saylor. The image of her worked its way into my mind. Somehow I’d let her lay siege there. Somehow, she’d suppressed my capacity to reason. And now I had to admit it.

She’s gotten to me and I hate it.

There was a load of trouble waiting, but there was nothing I could do. So I stepped under the bar and pressed up until the weight sat on the shelf formed by my flexed back muscles. The cold, crushing iron dug deep, but I gave back that and then some. I needed to get her out of my mind.

Chapter 8

I sat in the coffee shop with a book I bought at the supermarket. It was the latest release by a name-brand author and it honestly wasn’t any good. Sometimes they got too big and things went downhill. I didn’t find an unimaginative reiteration very attractive. I was exhilarated by the unusual and drawn to the mysterious.

Like Dean.

He was stuck in my head, playing over and over like a Taylor Swift song. Even though I knew he was bad for me. Even though I knew every minute I stayed with him put me in more and more danger.

I mean, what did I think was going to happen?

Besides staying with Ace, I didn’t really have any other options. I could run. Get a job, move away from all of this. But who was I kidding? I wouldn’t survive one week in the real world. My life had been one carefully controlled situation after another. Plus, Ace would find me. And my stepfather, Roman Carmichael, didn’t want me around.

Or was I expecting Dean to save me?

Dean was a rough, rude, inked fighter. I’m Roman Carmichael’s stepdaughter. That’s the only reason a man like him was helping me—because Roman’s his boss. In a couple days, Dean would be back to the strip clubs, back to the easy girls at Headlights, and back to only giving a shit about himself.

I knew how hot-shot underground guys like him worked. My mom was married to the biggest criminal kingpin in the South. I spent two years of my life with the man who managed his massive illegal gambling network. I heard things.

And what made Dean all that different from Ace anyway? They were both men who worked in the underground. All they knew was crime, corruption, egotism, and greed. They solved all their problems with violence and their lives were full of problems.

Except Dean isn’t Ace.

One look at the two of them and the conclusion was obvious. Dean was built like a god, with bronzed washboard abs and muscles that could crush any man. Ace was a goon. Dean had a box of military service medals he kept hidden away; he was closed-off, abrupt, a mystery of a man. Ace paraded around in expensive suits and hid behind a bullshit nickname; he was smug, pompous, an overbearing windbag.

I remember that day we left the Sunshine Fellowship. My mom told me there were two types of men in this world. There’s the charmers, the duplicitous charlatans, those sweet talking phonies. They were the pseudo-men who tried to maneuver their way into respect and admiration.