An interested crowd molded around us, eager to see if we were about to start a second, free-of-charge fight.
Rather than hang around and argue to death with these suckers, I told Max I’d meet him in his “office” upstairs and cordially suggested Kade should go to hell where he belonged, and get a hearing aid and a pair of glasses on his way there, if he truly believed anything about the fight wasn’t kosher.
Max’s office was what was supposed to be the management floor in the mall that never came to be.
“You’re not getting away with this.” Appleton made a slashing motion at his throat. “Consider yourself a dead man walking, St. Claire.”
“Dead or alive, I still rode your ass tonight, and I’m not the one limping out of here.”
I cut through the mass of people cheering and slapping my back. The random chick who’d handed me water waved at me, smiling and batting her lashes at me. She had long blonde hair almost down to her ass, and her smallness reminded me of a certain infuriating little hick.
“Legal?” I breezed past her, not stopping. Her friends thrust her my way, giggling into their palms.
“About to turn twenty on August sixth!”
No need to get specific. My ass is not about to get you flowers.
I jerked my head upstairs.
“Really?” she squeaked.
“No talking.”
“Okay. Sure. Totally.”
That was three fucking words, but I let it slide.
“This ends here,” I warned.
“I know. You’re West St. Claire. Duh. My name is—”
I gave her a cutting look. She wasn’t getting it.
“Sheesh. Okay.”
Half an hour later, Max came upstairs, shaking his head and apologizing. I sent the blonde back down. I was pretty much out of it during our hookup, although I did remember going through the motions, showing her something of a good time.
My mind drifted to other things. My parents’ relentless calling, Texas being impossible and difficult for no reason at all, and Appleton being a killjoy and a bad sport.
Max explained that Kade, Shaun, and a few other guys in his entourage had cornered him after the fight, making a big stink about his loss. He said he’d gotten them off his back by handing over some of his cut to settle the misunderstanding. It was Bullshit with a capital B. Everyone in that room knew Max had blown the whistle, including Max himself.
But if he wanted to pay them lip money, it was his problem, not mine.
Max handed me my cut. It was what I’d normally make in two months of fighting. He praised me for my form and good taste in women (“Melanie, huh? She’s bangin’.”) and sent me on my way. I was glad to get the night over with. It was late, I was sore from all the illegal jabs Kade had managed to throw in, and I had a morning shift tomorrow at the farmers’ market.
I had no idea what mood I was going to find Texas in, but if she thought I was going to put up with her crap just because other people felt sorry for her, she was gravely mistaken.
I shuffled back to the Ducati, which was parked on the other side of the mall, hidden away from the throng who got in through the main entrance. I’d learned early on that Christina attracted star-fuckers and high school kids who wanted to hop on her and take pictures.
Christina was my one and only indulgence. I’d chucked her out as an expense, seeing as I played the role of someone who had their shit together. I couldn’t afford having people dig into who my family was, get dirt about my life, find out I was as broke as a stick horse. So I pretended to be someone else.
Someone to fear.
Someone who had a sick ride and a sinister taste for fighting.
Ironically, pretending to be someone I wasn’t only made me even more tired of living than I already was.
As I ambled to my bike, I heard rustling coming from the bushes behind me. I stopped, twisting my head. The rustling stopped. I turned back to Christina.
The swooshing resumed.
It sounded like people were whisper-shouting behind the scrubs.
I turned around fully now, cocking an eyebrow.
“If you’ve got something to say, come and fucking say it. See if you have any teeth left by the end of your speech.”
Silence.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Deciding it wasn’t my job to coax whoever waited for me in the bushes for another brawl, I got on my bike and drove off.
Once I got home, I crawled into my room and collapsed on my bed without taking a shower. I lifted my pillow, plucked a picture from under it and kissed it, rubbing my thumb over the person imprinted on it.
“Night, A. Sleep tight.” I pressed a kiss to the photo.
I tucked the picture back under my pillow, hating that I was still breathing, living, fighting, fucking.