The Final Fight (Fighting Series Book 8) Read online

  “AJ, nice to meet you. I’ve got a tee time at nine o’clock tomorrow if you’re interested.”

  I can’t fight off the smile that pulls at my lips. “Sure you do.”

  “So that’s a no?”

  “Sorry, I have to work.”

  He nods and glances around before bringing his arresting green eyes back to me. “You’re a Las Vegas performer, huh? Any chance that’s burlesque?”

  “Oh my God! You’re awful.” And yet, I’m laughing. God, what is wrong with me? Something about this guy’s blatant honesty I find so refreshing. Either that or I’m more tired than I thought. “And no, I’m an acrobat in the show Eros.”

  “An acrobat. Wow.” His eyes shine with genuine interest. “I’m impressed.”

  “Well, don’t be. I’m performing on a very entry level.” But, hey, at least I’m on stage, doing what I love.

  “Entry level performer . . .” He sips off his beer. “What does that entail?”

  “You have a lot of questions for a guy who—”

  “Miss Pines.”

  My back stiffens at the all-business sound of my name. I know immediately it could only be one person.

  The almighty ruler of the Kairos Hotel & Casino.

  My boss, Mr. Monroe.

  His expensive-suited body slices the space between Braeden and me, cutting us off completely. My cheeks heat as he scrutinizes me. The guy is unnerving and attractive in an old-mafia-movie kind of way.

  I tug on my sweatshirt, self-consciously. “Mr. Monroe.”

  “What are you doing here?” He looks around us as if to check and make sure no one sees him talking to me.

  “I . . .” Am I not allowed to sit in the bar after a show? “I’m sorry?”

  With a huff that gives away his impatience, he flicks a quick finger to Bruce, who reluctantly drops what he’s doing to serve the boss. Bruce places an open Red Bull down next to a highball glass with two ice cubes.

  Mr. Monroe doesn’t even make eye contact with Bruce, but pours and then takes a few pretentious sips.

  My skin breaks out in a nervous sweat as he uses his silence to torture me. Finally, he sets down his drink and leans in close. “I don’t have a problem with employees hanging around after their shift, but I need you to try harder to look the part.” With lifted eyebrows, his gaze drops to my Victoria’s Secret sweatshirt.

  Dammit, I fucked up. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “It’s okay, but from now on, maybe bring a nice dress or something to keep in your dressing room.” His hand moves to my ponytail, and he rubs my overly thick hair between his fingers and grimaces.

  The urge to stumble all over myself in apology is overwhelming, and the words bubble up in my throat. “I’m still learning.” I wrap my hair up and around into a neat bun, and his expression softens.

  “You’ve been here two weeks, right?” He pushes his drink aside and closes in until my back presses against the wall.

  My heart speeds at having someone as powerful as Mr. Monroe so close to my face. Other than the time I met him when I was hired on officially, I’ve only seen him in passing where he’s given me nothing more than a bored glance.

  It’s not only his status that’s intimidating, but his appearance. He can’t be older than his mid-thirties, and he’s hot, ya know, in a Good Fellas kind of way.

  “It’s ah . . .” I clear the nervousness from my throat. “It’s been three weeks, sir.”

  His lips tilt up in a grin that’s part feline. “Dinner.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He checks his watch, which probably costs more than what I’ll make in five years. I bet this guy never worries about how he’ll keep the water running, electricity on, or a roof over his head. Hell, he probably has a gold-plated roof just because he ran out of logical things to spend his fortune on.

  He acts uninterested in everything around me, but when his eyes come back to mine, he smiles. “Friday. And”—he studies me again, this time with less disdain— “wear something nice.” He turns to leave.

  “But . . . I have a show that night!”

  He ignores me as he disappears into the crowd.

  “What the hell was that?” Bruce hisses while finishing up a half dozen drinks on the bar.

  I have no idea, so I just shrug. It isn’t until I feel the heavy weight of his presence next to me that I remember Braeden. And when I look up, I see him turned completely around in his chair, slumped with his back against the bar, staring in the direction Mr. Monroe just left.

  My cheeks run hot when I question whether he heard any of that conversation. He must feel me looking because he turns toward me, and I think I catch the tail end of an evil eye, but it disappears so quickly I wonder if I imagined it.

  He flashes the most devilish grin. “Daddy Warbucks is not happy with you, Little Orphan Annie.”

  I don’t know if it was the release of tension that I so badly needed or what Braeden said, but a burst of laughter flies from my lips.

  I’ve been so on edge about screwing something up and losing my chance to succeed in acrobatics that it’s been a long time since I’ve relaxed enough to laugh.

  Ya know, AJ, this won’t be funny when Mr. Monroe fires you at dinner for dressing like a hobo in his casino.

  Shit.

  My smile fades into a frown.

  Is that what he’s doing? Is he going to fire me?

  Because I can’t afford to start over some place new.

  And I want this more than anything.

  ~*~

  Braeden

  Ain’t this a lovely fucking diversion.

  I figured I’d blow into town, go straight to my hotel room, and catch a little shut-eye before I head over to Blake’s to drop in on his ass in the morning. Now that he’s got a kid at home, I can’t just show up at midnight like the old days.

  I hadn’t planned on being restless as shit when I got here and then poppin’ into the bar for a quick four beers to help put my ass to sleep. I never would’ve anticipated seeing a girl who’s dressed like she belongs barefoot in a sorority house on some college campus rather than in a black-lit bar spinning techno. She’s got a ton of brown hair pulled back off the most perfectly oval-shaped face. And I am not the kind of man who gives a crap about shit like face shape, but it’s hard to notice anything else what with her hiding under a sweatshirt that’s two sizes too big.

  Any other day I’d be throwing out my best lines to get a peek under all those clothes and search for an added nightcap in the softness of a woman’s body, but not tonight.

  God, she looks hot when she laughs though.

  It’s almost as if she can hear my thoughts, because she instantly sobers.

  “You know . . .” I turn toward her. “You should laugh more.”

  Worry takes over her expression. “I should?”

  “You look good smiling.”

  Her face crunches up on one side. “Oh, so I don’t look good when I’m not smiling? Is that what you’re saying?”

  I shrug, grinning into my beer. “You’re alright.” Lie. She’s hot as fuck, but then again, I’m a Marine who spends his days around more dicks than a gay porn star.

  “You’re so charming, I’m surprised the woman aren’t flocking to you by the dozens.”

  I make a show of looking around me in surprise. “What the fuck?” I shrug. “I think you’re chasing them off.”

  “AJ.”

  She looks up to the bartender, who’s been giving me a non-verbal fuck-off since I got here.

  “Enrique called in. He needs a shift covered tomorrow.”

  She perks up. “Really? What time?”

  “Ten to five.”

  “Yeah, tell him I’ll do it.”

  The dude nods and punches a few things out on his phone.

  “What, you work here too?”

  “When I can pick up a shift that doesn’t conflict with the shows.” She pokes at the mass of dark hair she’s piled onto her head then checks
her phone. “Which means I better go. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.” She reaches down and scoops a backpack off the floor, hooking it over her shoulders. “It was nice to meet you.”

  I lift my beer in a quick salute. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  “Sure.” She doesn’t look at all convinced. “If not, have a nice stay.” She waves to Bruce, and I watch her walk away all while cursing that motherfucking backpack that hangs low enough to cover her ass.

  She’s an acrobatic performer, so I know what she’s hiding underneath has got to be smokin’.

  “You want another beer?” The bartender’s asking, but his expression says he prefers my attention to be off his little friend and back on him. I might take offense if it weren’t for the gold band the dude has on his left finger.

  This guy isn’t in love with AJ; although he’d have to be dead not to feel something below the belt for the girl, but he’s clearly protective.

  “Nah. I’m good.” I push my empty beer toward him and stand. “Question.”

  He tosses my bottle into the trash and then turns back to me, looking completely uninterested. “Yeah?”

  “Where can I get tickets for the acrobatics show?”

  He frowns.

  I fucking smile huge.

  I’ve got some family shit to take care of in Vegas, but I’m going to make it a point to see AJ again. If for nothing else than for something—or someone—to do.

  Two

  Braeden

  “. . . I’d really like you to be there to see me walk down the aisle, naked.”

  I glare across the patio table where my now very womanly and engaged niece is standing and staring down at me. “The fuck did you just say?”

  She crosses her arms over her chest and lifts a brow, pursing her mouth just as her mother does. I gotta admit I can see how my big brother Blake fell in love with these two. Their ’tude is fucking adorable. “Oh, so now you want to listen. What were you thinking about that’s more important than what I’m asking you?”

  “Nothing.” I may have been thinking about the ticket to the show I have in my pocket, but she doesn’t need to know that. “I’ve been listening this entire time.” Maybe I was a little sidetracked, but I heard the important parts. “You’re fucking stupid if you think you’re doing anything on your wedding day nekkid, kiddo. I don’t care what the rules say.”

  I tilt my head back and sink deeper into the poolside chair. Even though I’m wearing shades, I close my eyes into the sun because being sprawled out poolside at Blake’s house is nicer than living on a regimented military schedule.

  “Who’s doing what naked?” My brother’s voice sounds to my left as he steps out through the sliding glass door. He presses a cold beer into my hand.

  “Thanks.” I take a swig. “I was just explaining to your daughter here that there will be no nudity on her wedding day.”

  She groans and rolls those beautiful blue eyes. “Oh my God, you can’t be serious.”

  “He’s dead serious.” Blake grunts as he takes the seat next to mine.

  I clink my beer with his in agreement. “They still make chastity belts, right?”

  “Yep. Real solid too. Made of iron, I think.”

  “I was kidding when I said naked. I was just checking to see if you were listening—”

  “I think they come with padlocks, like the kind we had on our high school lockers where you twist the dial.”

  “Guys—”

  “I’m pretty sure we could get her a chastity onesie.” Blake motions to his own chest and crotch. “One that locks all this stuff down for life.”

  “Now you’re talkin’.”

  “Who’s locking down what?” Axelle’s fiancé, Killian, comes out, swishing around some protein concoction in a shaker cup.

  “We are.” I point between Blake and me with my beer. “We’re locking down your wife so you can’t touch her, you fucking horny bitch.”

  Killian grins and ogles his soon-to-be wife in a way that makes her bashful and makes me want to vomit.

  “Watch it, Killer.” Blake growls. “Just because you two are engaged doesn’t mean I won’t break your arms.”

  Kill hooks his woman—my niece, who I swear seemed to go from sixteen to twenty-one overnight—and pulls her to his side. “You guys don’t need to be worrying about my girl being naked. Let me handle that.”

  “I think we should gouge out his eyes,” I say to my brother.

  “Then I’ll have to memorize her with my hands and lips and—”

  “Enough!” Blake sets his beer down and leans toward Kill. “Boy, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you want to die.”

  He presses a kiss to his fiancée’s temple. “You assholes started it.”

  “Right, there’s enough testosterone out here to drown a horse.” Ax pushes up on her tiptoes and kisses her man’s cheek. “I’m going to go help Mom in the kitchen.” She passes by me and drops a kiss on the top of my head. “I was just saying I want you to stand with Kill at my wedding.”

  My heart lodges in my throat. “I’d love to, kiddo.”

  She smiles softly. “Good.”

  It’s so fucking quiet when she walks away you could hear a tick fart, so when I clear my throat, it attracts the attention of both men.

  “Dude.”

  “Shut up, Blake.”

  “Are you crying?”

  I sniff. “I told you to shut the fuck up. And no, I’m not crying.”

  He chuckles along with Killian.

  “I’m allergic to these desert plants or . . . shit, whatever.”

  “Pussy.”

  I punch my brother in the bicep and grit my teeth past the pain that explodes in my fist. A few seconds of uncomfortable silence swirl between us, and I’m dying for a subject change.

  “You guys ever hear of the show Eros?” I kick my feet up onto the patio table, crossing my ankles.

  “Yeah, it’s the show at the Kairos.” Kill gulps from his shake.

  “What about it?”

  I try to act as casual as possible. “I’m seeing it tonight.”

  “Oh yeah?” Blake smiles, that asshole. “What’s her name?”

  I stare at him with my mouth gaping. “What? I can’t go see a show unless it’s a way to get my hands in some girl’s pants?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Pretty much.”

  They answer in unison.

  “Dicks. Both of you.” Even though they’re somewhat right. Although this won’t be a date; this is straight up stalking.

  Because women loved to be pursued, right? Um . . . not like that they don’t.

  Whatever.

  “It’s getting great reviews.”

  “I heard it’s sexy as hell too.” Blake says. “Perfect for a date.”

  “You want to talk about dates? Eat a dick!”

  “Whoa . . . easy, brother.” My prick older sibling is grinning. “Judging by your overreaction, I’d say I’m spot on.”

  “About as spot on as you were with Katie Vanderhoff in tenth grade when you accidently fingered her butthole instead—”

  “I can’t believe you’d bring that shit up.” He squints. “Wait. How’d you even know about that.”

  I shrug and lean my head back, closing my eyes into the sun once again. “Who do you think all those girls came to after you left?”

  “You’re five years younger than I am.”

  “Don’t worry. I held them off until it was legal.”

  ~*~

  AJ

  “What’re you waiting on?” I yell over the noise of the crowded bar to the cocktail server as she waits for drinks with an empty tray.

  “Vodka tonic, vodka cran, rum and Coke, two Long Islands, Bud Light, and six shots of Cuervo.”

  “Got it!” Some big medical conference in the hotel let out about an hour ago, and since then, we’ve been slammed. I check my phone behind the bar while filling shot glasses then call over to Bruce. “I’ll stay until five fifteen!�
��

  He slides four cocktails onto the bar and snags the offered cash. “You sure?”

  I was supposed to be off at five, but Enrique’s running late, and there’s no way I’d leave Bruce to fend for himself.

  Loading up Cammie’s tray with drinks, I pop the cap off the Bud. “As long as I’m ready by six, I’ll be okay.”

  He mouths thank you, and we both continue to grind.

  Even after the crappy sleep I had last night, I’m buzzing with unspent energy. There’s no better feeling in the world than a hard day’s work and a fat paycheck to back it up. I should take home a couple hundred plus in tips alone—

  “Hey, AJ!”

  I whip my head around toward the calling of my name and lock eyes with a pair as green as clover leaves. “Braeden?”

  He manages to squeeze his big body between people to get to the bar. He smiles at me, and for a few seconds, the murmur around us fades as I’m locked in his gaze. Bruce bumps into me from behind, and Braeden frowns, calling me from my temporary fog.

  “Can I get you a beer?” I push more drinks from the service bar and blow a few strands of hair that fell loose from my ponytail off my face.

  “You guys are slammed, huh?” His eyes move from my hair to my neck then back, and I catch a hint of concern in his expression.

  “Yeah, but . . .” I check my phone. “I’m off to my other job in a few, so if you want something, let me know.”

  He flicks his big fingers, motioning me to come closer. We lean over the bar towards each other, and I assume he’s going to give me some complicated drink order and wants to make sure I don’t miss it.

  “I want your number.” His hot breath smells like mint as it ghosts across my jaw.

  As I shut down the shiver I feel building behind my skin, I shake my head. “Of course you want my number.”

  He doesn’t look apologetic just simply waits for it.

  Man, I’d bet no woman has ever thrown up an obstacle. I mean he’s got the hot-guy thing going on, confidence for days, but his delivery is . . . typical.

  “Why don’t you just come out and ask me?”

  He frowns and his thick brows pinch together. “I’m pretty sure I just did.”