AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I can’t believe you saw that. I’m so bloody mortified.” He tucked his chin to his chest. “I never wanted you to find out this way. I don’t know what the hell you were doing there. Please, for the love of God, don’t ever go near one of those places again. It’s not safe.” He lifted his head, and his eyes found mine again as my nails bit into my palms.
“It was genius Rick’s idea. I didn’t know where we were going until it was too late. Believe me, watching a fight is not my idea of a good time.” He should know that.
I guessed I should have let him come clean about his life. I’d never have ended up at the fight tonight if I had.
“So?” I waited for my answers, impatience burning through me like fire on the short wick of a candle.
“The main event is in November. The fight tonight was sort of practice for me. And, yes, my opponent is okay. I waited until I knew he was okay before I left to find you. He’s probably just got a broken nose.”
Just a broken nose! “So you’re beating up other guys for practice?” I sat down on the bed, my knees tingling, my legs going weak. I looked up at Adam as he took my old position of leaning against the wall in front of me. “You’re a billionaire. Don’t you have enough money a hundred times over to pay this guy to leave you and Leslie alone? And, speaking of that, how’d you get into underground fighting? I’ve seen the UFC stuff on TV—my older brother used to watch it. Those guys do it for the money. What’s your excuse?”
“I told you that this guy, Donovan, didn’t want my money. He has a reputation he cares about, and he also likes the idea of drawing his biggest fighting crowd to date. There’s some publicity you just can’t buy.” He shrugged as if that would satiate my need for answers.
“And my other questions?” I folded my arms, glaring at him. Jeez, what had I gotten myself into? He was a billionaire businessman by day, and a fighter by night.
“This is a heavy conversation to be getting into right now. Can we take a moment to breathe?” His brows pulled together, and he unzipped his hoodie. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, but then he lifted his T-shirt, and I stared in shock at his chest. There were flecks of red on it. “Could I at least wash the blood off me?”
Shit. “Uh, yeah, you can use the shower,” I muttered.
He dragged both palms down his cheeks, something he did a lot when he was around me, and I realized now that he did it when he was stressed or struggling with his emotions.
A few painful moments later, he turned and entered the bathroom, leaving the door open as he got out of the rest of his clothes. I tried to pull my gaze from his body as he stepped naked into the shower, but I couldn’t.
His head bent forward as he braced both palms against the tiled wall in front of him, his beautiful, raw, and powerful body on display through the clear glass shower.
He was a fighter.
And he didn’t do it for the money.
I wasn’t sure what that meant, or how I was supposed to digest it. And I probably couldn’t—not without more information.
After a few minutes, he stepped out of the shower. He swiped at his wet hair and wrapped a white cotton towel around his hips. Water dripped down his body as he came toward me, now smelling like my flowery soap.
I was still glued to the same position as before, my hands making permanent imprints in the plush comforter at my sides as I waited for him to make the next move. I didn’t want to press.
He sat down next to me and his hand slipped down and covered mine. The gentle touch was so different from what I had witnessed tonight in the fighting ring.
“I’m so sorry. After everything you went through with your ex, you shouldn’t have been caught up in this shit situation.”
“It’s not your fault. Well, not really.” I peeled my eyes from our hands to meet Adam’s intense, soulful eyes. “Am I in danger, though? Those guys who showed up at Leslie’s . . .” I never had told Adam about that guy at the pub.
He blew out a breath. “You’re not in danger. No.”
“So, when you texted me the next day that you handled it—it was because you gave into those jerks? You agreed to fight?”
“Aye.” His attention shifted to the inside of his forearm, to the black markings there.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
He pulled his hand from mine and traced the tattoo with his fingers. “It’s nothing terribly poetic.” His lips curved into a half smile as if he were trying to shrug off the inconvenience of emotion that might have bruised his insides. “This,” he said, while pointing to a line that had dashes going through it, “means family. And the other . . . means fight.”
“Family and fight? They don’t seem to go too well together.” My gaze flickered up his chest and to his face.
There was a darkness there. A pain. “That’s the point. It’s a reminder to myself so I’ll never forget. If I fight, I can’t have my family.”
The back of Adam’s hand slipped up to my cheek. “I don’t . . . I don’t want to be this guy. I don’t want to be a fighter anymore.” His voice was low, gravelly, pure—like a confession.
“Then don’t,” I whispered, our eyes locking, my body tight with a sudden need that seemed out of place. Of course, both my body and mind always reacted when I was around Adam. He did something unexplainable to me—made every inch of me electrified. Alive.
