Fighting Dirty. Lori Foster
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she asked, “Why not?”
They both verbally stumbled, then Cannon said, “It’s Saturday.”
“So? The bank is open.” She slanted an accusing gaze at Armie. “Do you plan to skip the gym?”
He frowned. “No.” At the moment, nothing appealed more than pounding the hell out of a heavy bag.
“So why would the two of you assume I’d miss work?”
Armie half turned his head. “They expect you to come in?”
“They offered me the day off. I said no thank you.”
Wow. Okay, so it could be that, like him, she needed to stay busy. A day off would only give her time to dwell on the violence.
Firmer now, Cannon said, “Come home with me and we’ll talk it over.”
“It’s my decision,” she said, sparing her brother the heat she’d thrown Armie’s way.
“Yvette is making up the guest room for you.”
“Cannon.” She smiled at him. “I love you so much. Yvette, too. Thank you for offering. But really, I don’t want company tonight, and I don’t want to miss work tomorrow. I just... I want to deal with it, you know?”
He touched her chin. “You don’t have to deal with it alone.”
Her bottom lip quivered, and damn it, Armie couldn’t take it. Like her brother, she had an amazing inner strength. Few strong people wanted to advertise their moments of weakness. “Let up, Cannon. She knows she can count on you, but maybe right now she just wants some privacy.” God knew she’d been through hell and probably felt like crumpling. She needed to let go, but she’d never do that with an audience.
“That’s it exactly,” she said quickly, and then with an appealing pout, “Please understand.”
Cannon studied her face, glanced at Armie and finally relented enough to say, “As long as you check in a few times, tonight before bed and tomorrow before work—”
Her laugh sounded of tears and heartache and gratitude. “I bet you drive Yvette insane.”
Cannon softened. “Grant me the right to worry about the people I love.” He pulled her coat lapels closer under her chin. “It can be one of your usual messages if that makes it easier.”
“Yes, okay.”
Rissy’s usual messages consisted of Rissy was here. She left those three small words in texts whenever someone missed her call. She sometimes left notes, or in his case, wrote in the dust on a truck window. Armie knew her philosophy was that she wanted folks to know she’d stopped by or called, but didn’t want them bothered if they were busy.
Knowing she’d be in touch, Armie felt as much relief as Cannon did.
“I’ll drive you home,” Cannon offered.
She bent another stern look on him. “I want my car. I don’t want to be home without it.”
“Tell you what,” Armie said, seeing her start to shiver in the cold. “Ride with Cannon and I’ll bring your car.”
“But you’re hurt. You need—”
“A shower,” Armie said. “And some sleep.” And he wouldn’t mind getting his hands on those two creeps again. “That’s all.”
She looked at the cut on his head, which had thankfully stopped bleeding due to the butterfly bandage, and then the other bruises on his face.
“You’ve seen me looking worse after fights.”
“Not really.” She searched his face. “Armie, I—”
Softly, he said, “I know. We’ll talk later, okay?”
She turned to her brother. “You know what he did?”
“Logan told me.”
Armie scoffed. “It was nothing. Now let’s go. I’m freezing my ass off.”
He had her walking through the parking lot when she said, “What about your truck?”
“I’ll get one of the guys to pick it up for me, or Cannon can swing back by here and drop me off. It’ll be fine.”
“All right.” After a long look she handed him her keys—and then took him by surprise with a hug.
Stunned stupid, Armie inhaled, hesitated, but he couldn’t resist returning her embrace. Never, not for a million years, would he ever forget the fear of losing her. Unable to stop himself, he cupped a hand to the back of her head and pressed his jaw to hers.
She smelled of warm skin, flowery shampoo and pure sensual appeal, a scent guaranteed to keep him in turmoil for the rest of the night.
“Armie?” she whispered. “Thank you. For everything.”
With no words to suffice, he nodded, stepped back and watched as she got into the passenger side of the car.
Cannon narrowed his eyes on Armie. “You sure you’re okay to drive?”
“Yeah, I am.” He started away. “See you over there.” He planned to drop off her keys, and then stay out of the way, giving her and Cannon plenty of time to talk.
He needed some privacy—to do his own crumpling.
MERISSA LOVED HER BROTHER. She’d always seen him as Superman, larger than life, a rock whenever she’d needed one. He was only a couple of years older than her, but for as long as she could remember he’d seemed grown-up.
Right now, Superman was in her kitchen, insisting on getting her a drink when all she really wanted was the time alone to let go. She knew if she fell apart in front of him, Cannon would never leave her.
He didn’t need to be a savior, not right now.
“Here.” He returned with a cola over ice, urging her to the couch. He smoothed back her hair, his gaze drawn to the bruise. Yes, it hurt. But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the fear.
And here she’d promised herself, long ago, that she’d never again let herself be that type of victim.
But this fear—it was more about Armie standing in front of her, using himself as a shield. Risking his own life.
Willing to die.
“Take these.” Cannon handed her two aspirin.
She tried a teasing smile. “This feels so familiar.”
He stalled, then shook his head. “Don’t think about that.”
She couldn’t help herself. They’d lost their dad when she was only sixteen. As the owner of a neighborhood bar he’d resisted the extortion of local thugs, refusing to pay their demanded fees for “protection.” Late one night when he’d been closing, men had come in and beaten him to death.
Devastated but determined, their mom had nearly worked herself into her own grave trying to keep them afloat. Merissa could remember it all like yesterday. The goons wanted her mother to sell but she’d refused.
Until some of those goons had cornered Merissa on her way home from school.
“It’s all the same. You coddling me, being the strong one for both of us.”
“You were a kid then.”
“You’re only two years older than me,” she reminded him with a shoulder bump. “You were a kid then, too.”
“Maybe. I remember feeling so damned helpless.”
“Like you feel now?” She knew her brother, knew he wanted to make