Unleashed (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance) (151 page)

“I could tell,” I say. “The pointing wasn’t exactly subtle.”

“It’s part of the personality.”

I shrug. Somehow, I don’t believe he compartmentalizes his fighting from his everyday life that much.

Our shoulders touch, and I feel this current of electricity shoot through me, right into my belly.

“You’re not comfortable.”

I blanch. “Sorry?”

“You’re not comfortable, are you?”

“Um, no, I guess?”

“First time to a fight, and going by the way you’re dressed, I’d say your friend didn’t tell you what the atmosphere was going to be like.”

My cheeks burn. “You know, I’m not really feeling this. I’m going to go home.”

“Don’t,” he says. “I want you to join me.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?”

He stops, turns and looks at me. “You can leave any time you like.”

Again, I’m put on the spot. I hear Rose hiss my name, only this time she’s getting impatient.

“I get the feeling you do this after every fight, right?” I ask.

“Go celebrating?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re right. I
do
always win.” He grins.

“I meant pick out some girl you think you’re going to get with.”

“
Think?
”

“Wow,” I say. “And just before you said it was all an act.”

“That’s not what I said.” He turns around and says to Jason, “Alright, see you guys there. Wait for me at the front door, or they won’t let you in.”

I do a double take, and then look behind me, but Rose and Jason are already crossing the street.

“Hey!” I yell. “Where are you going?”

“To the car.”

They keep going, and I turn back to Pierce, and he’s just regarding me. I feel like I’m on display or something. Being tested.

Is this some kind of setup?

“I won’t bite,” he says.

“Where are we going?”

“To my car.”

“Oh.”

We round a corner, and there I see a black sports car. It’s a Porsche.

“That’s your car?”

“Yup.
911 GT3
.”

“I didn’t realize fighting paid so well.”

“It pays well – I won twenty-five grand tonight – but not
this
well.”

“So where do you get your money?”

“I bet on myself in the fights. Usually it doesn’t amount to much, but sometimes I’m the underdog.”

“Is that legal?”

His expression says:
Are you serious?
He opens the passenger side door for me. “It’s low,” he says.

“So?”

“Never mind,” he says casually. “Usually they’re wearing heels.”

“Um,” I say, climbing into the car.
What the hell was that?

He’s right, the car
is
low. “Why did you say that?” I ask as he climbs into the car.

But he doesn’t reply. He buckles up, starts the car, and I grip instinctively onto my seat as I feel the thunderous vibration rattle in my bum.

He pulls out of the parking space, and the car accelerates so fast I can barely breathe, and even though the windows are closed, it’s so loud I can hardly hear anything but the roar of the engine.

“Wow,” I whisper, grinning. I can feel adrenaline coursing through my body as he weaves us through the quiet suburb.

The seat beneath me shakes violently beneath my bum. It’s like every crack and crevice in the road is transplanted straight through the car and into my ass.

“The suspension is too hard,” I say, and he just laughs. “What?”

“There’s no switch or anything. This is a track car.” He points up with his finger, and for the first time, I notice the roll cage. It was practically invisible in the dark. Not exactly my preferred choice for a daily driver.

“So why is it so hard?”

“Soft suspension transfers momentum to absorb shock and centrifugal force,” he says. “Slows you down, wasted energy. You can’t take corners as aggressively.”

“Oh,” I say. “But we’re not racing.”

“I like to feel the road.”

“An underground fighter
and
an amateur race car driver, huh? You’re just full of surprises.” Now it’s me who is grinning at him, and he takes it on the chin.

“You know me better than I know myself, Penelope.”

“Women’s intuition,” I joke.

We laugh, and for the first time, I’m starting to feel comfortable. No longer in the presence of Rose’s urgent stares, and the others’ silent observation, I feel less awkward.

“Could you drive a bit slower?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

“But we’re right up on the limit.”

“That’s why it’s called a limit. What’s the problem?”

“I barely know you, and you’re driving in a car with way too much power. I’m a cautious person. Your insurance must cost you loads, but I’m guessing they don’t know you fight for a living and then drive your own car to clubs.”

“Relax,” he says. “I won’t be driving back.”

“So who will drive you?”

“Nobody. The club’s in downtown Melbourne, near Southern Cross station. I live in a block of apartments nearby. We’ll walk.”

Apartments
in
the city center? He must really be rolling in it.

Wait a minute, what did he mean by
we’ll
—

“What’s that supposed to be?” He nods at my wrist.

“It’s a tattoo.”

“I know it’s a tattoo, Pen. What’s it of?”

“Oh, so this is the part where you come up with a nickname for me?”

“I didn’t exactly come up with it. Penelope… Penny… Pen… P.”

“How about we just stick to Penelope?”

“What’s it of? Your tattoo? I can’t see from here.”

“It’s Chicago’s skyline. From the lake.”

“When did you get it done?”

“Why?”

“I want to know.”

Sighing, I tell him. “Just last month. I didn’t get it done. I did it myself.”

“No shit,” he says. “That’s on your right hand, and I noticed you were a righty.”

“You notice these things, do you?”

“Got to when you’re in the cage. So, you did it with your left hand?”

“Yeah. I’m a little ambidextrous.”

“So am I,” he says, and he smiles at me. “That’s really impressive.”

“So is this the part where you flatter me? Say nice things, do your little routine?”

“I really couldn’t give a fuck about flattering you, Pen. I’m just making conversation.”

“Oh, just making conversation, huh?”

“Yes, trying to loosen you up.”

He looks at me, and I feel my indignation flare up.

“Ten minutes ago you were shaking like a wet puppy. I know I’m hot, but there’s no need to be nervous.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh my God.”

But he just smirks.

I’m beginning to dislike him intensely.