Fighting: Fighting for Forever Part 8

I depended on Hatch for information. She depended on him for survival.

"Gia, I'm sorry. That didn't come out right. I meant that-"

"No need to apologize." She shakes her head as if she's trying to shake free the memories. "I know exactly what you mean, and of course I have. I know the feeling well." Her fingers toy with the ripped ends of her paper napkin. "Rex, he, uh . . . he doesn't like to talk about it."

"I don't blame him. You should've seen him the night he found out where you were." A shudder runs through my body at the memory.

She nods. "Yeah, I know, but how can we move past it without talking? He never brings it up, refuses to even mention Hatch's name. Even in therapy he shuts down. And the nightmares . . ." A long breath escapes her.

"Give him time. I'm sure he'll come around."

"Anyway what you and Hatch had was not the same as what I had with him."

"It wasn't what it looked like. I just . . . I need to find him and have him be okay." Just, not for the reasons she might think.

She takes a deep breath, and upon exhaling, her shoulders relax. "It's weird. Part of me wants him to be okay, but then there's this other part of me that hopes he's not." She sits back and slumps in her chair. "If Rex ever gets his hands on him . . ."

Only nightmares could do justice to what Rex would do if he were confronted with Hatch again. Rex and Gia are like one soul, bound together for life and beyond. I've never seen anything like it, except for with my parents. Their love transcends all understanding, survives through the most tragic of life's events, even death.

What would it be like to feel that kind of love? I can't even imagine being at a point in my life where I'm free enough to experience it.

"Anyway, I'm sorry I brought it up." She waves me off with a flick of her slender fingers.

I pick at my warming beer bottle. "Can I ask you a question? What was it like living in the MC compound? Did you, I don't know, hear or see anything that freaked you out?"

"I was out of it most of the time. If I wasn't, I'm sure it all would've been pretty freaky." Her eyes go unfocused over my shoulder. "They had prospects that they'd push around: young guys who one day would be serving drinks and taking their s.h.i.+t and then swagger in with their cuts and emblems as full-fledged members. They would talk a lot about rites of pa.s.sage and being bonded by blood." She tucks her bright orange hair behind her ear. "I didn't really hang out to listen."

"I'm glad you got out of there. That could've ended very differently." A s.h.i.+ver tracks down my spine.

"Because of you, Trix. You saved my life by going to Rex. I'll never be able to repay you for that."

"No need to. That's what friends do."

A wicked grin curls her lips. "Speaking of friends . . . I don't care what you say. I know there's something going on between you and Mason."

My stomach bottoms out at his name. "There's not-"

"Stop denying it!" She slaps her palm on the table and leans in to whisper. "Mason was going to rip Lane's arms off right there in my kitchen."

I groan and drop my head into my hand. "Nothing's going on. I'm just as confused as you, I promise." I push back and down the rest of my beer. "We keep running into each other, and every time we do, I can't tell if he wants to kiss me or kill me."

"In my limited experience, I'd say if he likes you he wants to do both."

Likes me? Mason likes me? Do I like him? A swarm of b.u.t.terflies takes flight in my belly, answering my internal question.

Oh s.h.i.+t! That's not good. Sure, his hot-cold routine keeps me guessing. He's definitely not hard on the eyes with his casual just-walked-off-a-Quicksilver-photo-shoot look. My body heats at the thought of his strong hands on me, his mouth covering mine, and his breath at my neck.

I slurp down some water, hoping to cool the heat, and search for a quick subject change. "You guys still looking for a house?"

She glares. "Nice try." Her eyes study me so intently that it takes everything in me to not give her what she's asking for and admit I maybe kinda dig Mason. "Fine, I'll leave you alone for now. Just know he's a really good guy, Trix. You could do worse."

"Ha! All I've ever done is worse." Mason's too good for me. Too clean. Unburdened.

We sit and chat for another hour before our b.u.t.ts numb and our jaws are exhausted.

I drop Gia off at home and drive blindly the few blocks to my place. Most of our casual girls' nights out aren't littered with the heavy conversation we had tonight. Next time we'll stick with a more standard less thought-provoking topic.

I pull into the garage, thankful that my roommate's car isn't there. She spends most nights during the week with her boyfriend. Not that I mind. She pays her rent on time, and I get the house to myself.

Grabbing my hobo-chic purse in the dark, I hear the contents ping-ponging down between the seats. "Dammit." I reach over and fish up much as I can, shoving it back into my bag.

I push out of the car and, in one step, almost slam into the towering figure of a man. I gasp and clench my chest. "Holy s.h.i.+t!" My eyes tighten into a glare. "What are you doing here?"

Eight.

Mason What am I doing here? Excellent question.

I was forced to listen to Lane talk about Trix while playing poker, so caught up in his graphic descriptions of his time with her that I ended up losing all my money along with my patience. He'd called her a "groupie," said she was "fun to play with," and as if that weren't enough to have me wanting to lunge he'd made reference to the fact that the whole band had had her.

The whole band!

When I turned my glare to Rex, I fantasized about the next time we'd step into the octagon together. I imagined crus.h.i.+ng his throat under my forearm until the f.u.c.ker pa.s.sed out. He must've felt what was coming because he quickly clarified that he was excluded from that statement. He had never been with her.

Saved from an a.s.s-kicking.

I left, unable to take being in the same room with a man who had been more intimate with Trix than I had. Trix . . . What a stupid f.u.c.king name! And if the stories Lane told are true, it would seem the name matches the girl.

She blinks up at me, hand still to her chest as if to calm a racing heart. "You gonna tell me why you're here?" Her eyes narrow. "You followed me."

I nod toward the door that leads into the house. "We need to talk." The words come out on a growl that shocks even me. I have no right to demand answers. All we did was share a meaningless kiss. Even as the words filter through my head, my gut roils at my lie.

"Talk." Her eyes are still narrow, and her lips quirk in a way that makes me want to suck them. "You expect me to just invite you into my home after you followed me home like a d.a.m.n psychopath?"

I step into her s.p.a.ce, her body heat drawing me in. "Are you afraid of me, Trix?"

She pushes back with a step of her own. "I'm not afraid of anyone, but you haven't been overly nice since-"

"Did you hook up with Lane?" The words fly from my lips like arrows and strike.

She recoils slightly. "What?"

"Cut the bulls.h.i.+t. Just tell me the truth."

"Why do you care?" Her question is barely a whisper.

"I have no f.u.c.king clue." I rip my hands through my hair. "Answer me."

She swallows hard. "Of course I did."

Ouch. I knew she had, but why does hearing her confirm it p.i.s.s me off? "Why?"

Her eyebrows pinch in confusion. "Why not, Mason?"

G.o.d, hearing my name from her lips, the light ring of her voice, I imagine what it would be like to hear her crying out my name in pleasure. I bite back the urge to take her mouth and press her up against her car. "Because your body . . . you . . ."

"My body is a tool, a means to an end." She holds out her arms then drops them hard to her sides. "It's just flesh and bones and nerves. I make money with it, and I have fun with it. And if you're going to stand here and judge me, you can turn your s.e.xy-as-h.e.l.l a.s.s around and go home."

The air charges between us and I stop breathing. "You think I'm s.e.xy."

"You're an idiot." She moves to push past me.

I grab her elbow and pull her back to face me. "I don't like you."

She juts up her chin. "I don't like you either."

"You fascinate me." I reach out and rake both hands through her hair, pulling it off her shoulders and face to fist it at the back of her head. "And you're so f.u.c.king beautiful it hurts."

Her lips part, breath catches. "Mason . . ."

That voice . . . This time it's heavy with something that makes my blood pound in my veins. "You're gonna break me." I tilt my head and crash my lips to hers. She opens to me without hesitation, welcoming the intrusion of my tongue into her hot, slick mouth.

We moan in unison, as if we'd both been holding back and are finally reveling in the release. Her hands grasp at my arms, my biceps, and then pull at my s.h.i.+rt to bring me closer. I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, then the top one, and walk her back until her a.s.s. .h.i.ts her car.

I rip my lips from hers, running them along her jaw to her neck. The light salt from her skin mixes with the rich smell of her hair, and my eyes roll back at the sensory overload. "G.o.d, you taste good."

She holds my head to her neck. "Please, don't stop."

I flex my hips, grinding into her body, desperate for the friction on my aching d.i.c.k. I want to get lost in the feel of her naked body against mine, the warmth of her legs wrapped around me while she whimpers in ecstasy. If I could bathe in her scent, let it wash over me and wear it like skin, I would.

But this is her. What she does and how she gets through life. She's a master of seduction, and holy f.u.c.k is she mastering me now.

I slide one hand from her hair and down her body, palming her breast over her s.h.i.+rt. Full and round, it fits perfectly in my hand, and her hardened nipple rakes against my thumb.

"So perfect."

"Yeah, well, they better be." She drops her head back, and I nip and lick at her pulse point. "I paid a fortune for them."

I pull back and meet her heated stare, eyelids dropped low, and lips parted and pink from my kiss. "They're fake?"

She shrugs one shoulder. "Is that a problem for you?"

I bring my other hand down and cup both her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, groaning at the feel of their weight in my hands. "No, they're gorgeous." A small grin ticks against my lips. "They feel really good."

She looks down at my hands on her b.o.o.bs, and I almost laugh at the awkwardness of it all that for some reason doesn't feel that awkward. "I had an excellent plastic surgeon."

"Huh." I squeeze her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and we both burst into laughter. "Sorry." I drop my hands and do a quick readjusting of my shorts to alleviate the discomfort.

"No need to be sorry. I'm not ashamed that I have breast implants."

I shove my hands into my pockets, my palms raging to be pressed back into the softness of her chest. "Occupational necessity I suppose."

She shakes her head and smooths her hair tangled by my hands. "Necessity? No, but you're right, being well-endowed doesn't hurt in my business."

I push down the reminder of what she does for a living. Feeling brave, I reach and tuck a swirled purple-platinum lock behind her ear. "I like your hair."

A tiny blush hits her cheeks. "Thanks." She ducks her chin. "I get bored, so I'm always changing it." She runs her teeth along her bottom lip, eyes darting to the door. "Listen, um . . . do you still want to come inside?"

f.u.c.k if this shy side of her isn't getting me hotter.

"I thought you weren't stupid enough to invite in a psychopath." I lift an eyebrow.

"I'll take my chances."

Silence builds between us for a few seconds before she clears her throat and grabs her purse from the ground where she'd dropped it. "Come on. I want to show you something."

Trix This is stupid. I shouldn't invite him in. His presence alone takes up all the s.p.a.ce in my head and the air in my lungs.

He followed me to ask me about Lane, and when I told him the truth, he was jealous. I've never had a guy get jealous over me before. Even the men I've been intimate with have always understood what I am, what I do. It's a mutual agreement of no attachments. I've never had an opportunity to have a real boyfriend, not that I'd want one. Since the beginning, I've been on a fact-finding mission. Relations.h.i.+ps are a distraction I don't need. Not that anyone's offered me a commitment. I get naked for strangers for a living for crying out loud, not exactly the kind of woman a guy wants to settle down with.

I move through the kitchen, flicking on lights, and hear Mason's heavy footfalls behind me. He doesn't say anything, but I catch him checking out the place from the corner of my eye.

My place isn't a dump; it's a nice two-bedroom house in a subdivision where all the houses look the same. My furniture isn't anything to brag about, but it's comfortable and serves its purpose. But something about having him in my home makes me wish I had things he'd be impressed by.

We move through to the living room, and I click on a lamp at the side table. "Make yourself at home. I'll be right back."

He doesn't sit, but meanders to the back sliding gla.s.s door and parts the vertical blinds to peek outside.

I head to my bedroom and pull open a drawer at the bottom of my dresser. Tucked in the back, beneath my everyday clothes, is a stack of pictures, and I grab it to sort through them until I find the right one.

A questioning voice in my head asks why I'm exposing this part of my life to a guy I hardly know. I've had plenty of guys in my home and in my bed, and I'd never dream of opening myself up to them like this. But something about Mason feels . . . different.

When I saw him with the kids at the Youth Center, he seemed genuinely invested. Then came the night at the club, our kiss, and his brief rage of jealousy about me having to go back to work. No one has ever expressed that for me before. And as much as it p.i.s.sed me off, it flattered me. That he would think I'm special enough to keep hidden from the pervings of other men was sweet, even if his actions right after were just as infuriating.

I find the photo I'm searching for, shove the rest back into the drawer, and head out to the living room.

"You live here alone?" He's studying a row of DVDs in my entertainment center.

"No, after Gia left, I found a roommate through a girl I work with." I plop down on the couch, lean on the armrest, and tuck my feet up under me. "She's a nine-to-fiver, has a serious boyfriend. I rarely see her."

He holds up a DVD. "You watch cartoons?"

I squint to read the t.i.tle. "It's not a cartoon; it's Disney."