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Chapter 1
It was wise to call John Garcia by his street name—Beast. Calling him John reminded him of the asshole who’d fathered him, which tended to bring out his violent streak. He supposed he should have legally changed the John to something else, but he liked having an excuse for being the Beast. The nickname fit with the life he lived in the underbelly of Atlantic City. And it worked well with his profession—cage fighter and sometime bodyguard. Although, according to the four guys who knew him best, it was time he stopped using his face as a punching bag and got a new profession.
One of those four guys was the reason for Beast’s current visit to the Amazon rainforest—Joe Barone had married into a UK acting dynasty, and his new family had arranged a week-long wedding party to celebrate. Week-long. Beast shook his head at the thought. Where he came from, wedding receptions took place in an evening at the local bar.
“Is there anybody here who isn’t famous?” Noah Merchant, one of Beast’s four closest friends, leaned back against the bar, his eyes on the crowded dance floor. Noah was an Atlantic City cop who’d flown down with Beast. Neither of them had been able to take the full week off work to attend the entire event.
“Us.” Beast raised an eyebrow at the sight of two ageing Hollywood directors as they tried to line-dance. They were laughing hard while holding each other up. At least somebody was having fun.
“This is too weird,” Noah said. “I never thought Joe would marry into a bunch of celebrities. I thought he’d end up in jail.”
Beast chuckled his agreement. It was hard to get past the fame in Joe’s new family. His father-in-law was an Oscar-winning director, his mother-in-law a multiple-Oscar-winning actress, his brother-in-law was an action movie star, and his sister-in-law…
His eyes found Belinda Collins, yet again. She was magnetic and he was cheap-as-dirt tin. She pulled him to her, the same way she pulled the eyes of most every man in the room. And each and every one of them looked at her with a need to possess, something she seemed oblivious to as she danced with sensual abandon. The woman moved like smoke. Elusive. Sensual. Provocative. She was messing with his brain and making him sound like a weird fragrance commercial.
Noah caught the direction of Beast’s gaze and shook his head. “She’s not for the likes of us, Beasty-boy.”
There was no need to reply. An MMA fighter who lived in the underbelly of society and a Hollywood princess? Yeah. Wasn’t going to happen. Unless…she fancied slumming it. But then, even if she did, Beast wasn’t about to lower his standards to appease her curiosity about the rougher side of life. His life wasn’t a tourist destination. He’d spent enough time as a kid dealing with well-meaning outsiders who treated him like a curiosity, or worse, a charity case. As far as he was concerned, if the Hollywood princess wanted to see how the other half lived, she could look elsewhere. He wasn’t giving any tours.
“Doesn’t cost anything to look,” Beast said.
It was the mantra of his life. Plus, if a Hollywood actress wanted to put on a show, he sure as hell wasn’t going to pass up the chance to watch.
“Looking is all any of us can afford with this crowd. What the hell are we doing here?” Noah drew Beast’s attention away from Belinda’s long legs.
“Damned if I know.” If Joe had given a crap about their friendship, he’d have eloped and sent an email telling them after the fact. Hell, the ceremony hadn’t even taken place in Peru. That had been a tiny event in Scotland. Now, if Joe had stopped with that, Beast would have been more than happy.
“We’re here to support Joe,” Harvard said as he sipped his girly champagne. Out of the five childhood friends, Michael Carter, a.k.a. Harvard, was the only one who’d gone to college. Ironically, his big brain had earned him a full scholarship at MIT, but it had been too late by then to change his nickname. “And, hopefully, get laid.” He grinned. “I call dibs on Morticia.”
Their heads turned to watch the woman Harvard couldn’t take his eyes off, Rachel Ford-Talbot. She was mega-rich, related to British royalty, and an ice-cold bitch. She was also one of the owners of Benson Security, the firm Joe worked for and wanted his friends to join.
“She’ll freeze your balls off,” Beast warned.
“Yeah, but what a way to go.” Harvard grinned. He put his glass on the bar beside him and tugged at the cuffs of the white shirt where they poked out from the sleeves of his charcoal suit. He ran a hand over his shaven head and turned to them. “How do I look?”
“Black,” Noah said. “And I don’t think the princess does homeboys.”
“You know what they say about going black…” Harvard waggled his eyebrows at them. He was six feet six inches of pure muscle and genius brain, but he was also a horny black man with his eye on the prize. “Wish me luck. I’m going in.” And with that, he sauntered through the crowd and straight towards Rachel.
“Ten bucks says she eviscerates him within five minutes.” Noah reached for his wallet.
“When are you gonna learn that you never bet against Harvard?”
“Next time.”
“Fool.”
“You taking the bet or not?”
“Hell yeah, I’m taking your money.”
Beast shook his head. It was a miracle Noah had become a cop instead of the world’s worst gambler. And growing up in Atlantic City, the pressure was on to become the latter. Not for the first time, Beast thanked God that they’d all been roped into a church boxing group when they were teens. That group had saved all of them.
