Our Broken Love

  “Move out of the way, Goth,” Biker One commanded, making “Goth” sound insulting. He had a horrible scar going from the bridge of his nose to the edge of his jaw. His teeth were yellow from years of too much tobacco and not enough toothpaste. He stood a good six inches taller than me even in my own three-inch-heeled biker boots. Probably outweighed me a good two hundred pounds too.

  “You may go. But the girls stay,” I told him, my tone cool as always.

  “Says who?” Biker Two questioned, sounding more amused than concerned. “I don’t see anyone here who could stop us.” His smile was considerably whiter than Biker One’s, but there was a chip in his front tooth. Like his friend, he outweighed me, but his height was not that of the first biker.

  “I say,” I told him. “And I will stop you.”

  Biker One shoved the pretty college girl away. Some of the bikers didn’t care if they hurt a woman or not, while others would tear a man a new one for even looking meanly at a female. But I wasn’t intimidated by him or his friend, who stepped closer to me. His whiskey-scented breath made me want to gag, but I controlled the reflex, used to it after having worked in the bar for so long. “How you going to stop us, Goth?” he sneered. “Going to cast a spell? Maybe do a little voodoo on us?”

  “Try to leave with the girls, and you’ll find out.” I blew in his face, knowing that it would piss him off. Knowing that I would just be asking for them to hurt me. Or at least attempt it.

  The bar had grown quiet. Even the music had been turned down as people watched me, a five-feet-eight inch, one-hundred-and-five-pound Goth girl, confronting two drunken bikers. The regulars were taking bets. The newcomers were anxious. The men, those who had a decent bone in their bodies, were tensed to come to my rescue. The ones who didn’t have any such decency were giddy at the threat of a fight and the possibility of blood being shed.

  Movement out of the corner of my eye alerted me to someone approaching, but I shot the man a glare to hold his ground without taking in much of him. If he was coming to assist the little woman, I had this, my look told him. If he was coming to assist the bikers, my look told him he really didn’t want to have anything to do with what was about to go down.

  Biker One got in my face right beside his buddy, and I turned my glare back to them. They crowded my space, and I gritted my teeth. I couldn’t stand to have anyone so close to me, and now there were two invading my personal space. My hands dropped to my sides.

  “Maybe we should ditch the blondes and take you instead,” Biker One told his buddy, his eyes skimming down over my body. “You look like a chick who could use a good—”

  He didn’t get to complete his sentence. I had my baton in hand, and with a flick of my wrist, the steel rod extended. I swung and connected with Biker One’s left knee. He screamed and went down. Biker Two roared with rage, but before his beefy fist could connect with my face, my baton connected with his forearm. I felt the bone snap more than heard it and it made my skin crawl, but I pushed the feeling down as I turned back to Biker One, who had made it to his feet. He limped toward me once, his fists swinging. Baton still in hand, I kicked him in the chest with one spike-heeled biker boot, sending him back to the floor.

  The whole incident lasted less than two minutes. I retracted the extendable, steel baton and sheathed it in its case strapped to my thigh. Biker Two was screaming about his arm, and Biker One was still winded from the kick I had given his sternum. As I passed him, I kicked his side for good measure before crouching down beside the fallen biker. “Now, are you going to leave with the girls?”

  He muttered a curse, and I punched him in the face. His nose began bleeding instantly. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t quite hear you. What was that again?”

  “No!” he screamed at me, his hand holding his gushing nose. Spittle and blood sprayed as he spoke again. “No, you fucking bitch. No!”

  “And do you still want to leave with me?” My tone was bored, just as I was with the entire situation.

  “No!” he shouted.

  “That Goth bitch broke my arm,” Biker Two was mumbling to himself. “She broke it.” I doubted he had ever been more surprised in his life.

  “Pick your ass up, and get out. I’m sure your friend needs a doctor.” I straightened and turned a glare on the quiet room. “Any more takers?” I challenged the room at large. “No? Then go back to your good time. Entertainment’s over.” The music was turned back up, and people returned to their own business. Money was exchanged between some of the regulars who had won or lost their bets.

  After making sure the two shaken girls got safely into a cab outside, I returned to my place behind the bar and set another beer in front of Bubba before he could ask. He was grinning at me, probably happy it had been someone other than him on the other end of my beating. I gave him a wink but otherwise ignored him as I returned to my other customers seated at the bar.

  As I put two Boilermakers in front of a guy and his dominatrix date, I noticed a man seated at the end of the bar. Bubba had just vacated his seat, leaving me a nice tip, and I snatched it up to put in my tip jar before turning my attention to the newcomer.

  He was the guy who had attempted to approach me while I had been dealing with Biker One and Biker Two. I gave him a good once-over, taking in his short, dark-blond hair, those unusual steel-gray eyes, and the scar over his right eyebrow. He had nice lips and an even, white smile I noticed when he grinned at me. That smile made something deep inside twitch, as if a dead muscle was trying to jump-start itself back to life.

  I ignored the feeling as I took in the rest of him. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt and jeans that I was probably the only one aware of being designer. But his arms were sleeved with tattoos that I had to admire. Skulls, tribal symbols, and even a Celtic knot were among the many tats that were so at odds with each other, but fit so perfectly together. I put him in his late twenties, maybe even early thirties. His size and physique told me he was either a body builder or some kind of fighter. Muscles on top of muscles, veins popping ever so slightly, making his tats stand out more.

  Then I saw the logo on his shirt and recognition hit me. MMA.

  “Kieran Stone,” I said his name, and he inclined his handsome head in acknowledgment. “What can I get for you?” Famous mixed martial artist, he might be, but I was nowhere near impressed with his stardom. I might have been a big fan, but I had met plenty of celebrities and athletes in my old life.

  “Beer.” He grinned as I popped the top on a Bud and put it in front of him within seconds of the word leaving his mouth. “Nice moves, by the way. You handle yourself well.”

  I should, I thought with a grimace. I had spent years learning self-defense and martial arts so I would never be at the mercy of someone else again. “Want anything else?” I ignored his compliment.

  His smile stayed in place. He was not the least bit intimidated by me. I kind of liked that. “As a matter of fact, yes. You run the place?”

  I shrugged. “My boss is on vacation.” Of course, I had been running the place pretty effortlessly for the last two years on my own without Mel having to worry about it. She liked that I ran the everyday of Safe Haven. It gave her time to enjoy her life. And if anyone deserved it, Mel did. She had taken me in, fed me, given me a job, and been the mother figure in my life I had always needed. She hadn’t looked down on my Goth side, nor chastised me for running away when I was younger. Mel knew what it meant to have a hard life, and she wasn’t going to hold it against anyone else for doing what they had to do to survive in the big, bad world.

  Kieran, or Stone as everyone in the MMA world called him because of his hard punches, nodded. “Good. So you probably know the person I’m looking for. I heard through a friend that she works here.”

  “She?” I questioned. I was the only “she” who worked at Safe Haven. Everyone else were bouncers. We had six. Two Monday through Thursday and four on Fridays and Saturdays. My eyes narrowed on the fighter, and I dropped my hand to my side. “What’s her n
ame?”

  “Rebecca Daventry.” He spoke the name, and my entire body went ice-cold. I hadn’t heard that name in over five years. There was no way of knowing how this man knew that name, because I sure as hell had never seen him in person before today. Or maybe I did know the reason he knew that particular name…

  But I didn’t betray my inner turmoil with so much as a blink. “What do you want with her? She family?”

  “Her grandfather sent me to check up on her.” He took a deep swallow of the beer. “He knew I was going to be in the area for a fight and asked me to make sure she was all right.”

  “I might know a Rebecca,” I told him after the smallest of hesitations. “But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to tell you where she is.” Someone called out for a beer, and I sent a glare in the general direction of the caller. “Give me a minute,” I yelled back.

  Stone nodded. “Understandable.”

  “Maybe the Rebecca I know isn’t even the Rebecca you are looking for.” I leaned closer, trying to read the expression in those hypnotic gray eyes. “You got anything other than a name? You say that you’re here for her grandfather, but have you even met the girl?” He shook his head. “So how are you going to know if it’s her or not?”

  He dug into his back jeans pocket and pulled out his wallet. The leather was handcrafted and expensive. Stone removed a small picture and offered it to me. I refused to let my fingers tremble as I took it and frowned down at the picture.

  Long red hair with a mixture of gold and sunshine natural highlights. A dimple in her left cheek that went perfectly with the innocent, almost carefree smile. And vibrant blue eyes so full of sweet, little-girl innocence. Her peaches-and-cream complexion was clear and nearly radiant. The designer clothes she wore told me she came from a rich, well-to-do family.

  One that should have taken better care of her.

  I handed the picture back to Stone. “That girl couldn’t be more than sixteen.” Fifteen in that picture, I knew, because it had been the last picture I had ever smiled in. Taken my sophomore year—my last year—of boarding school. I had been happy then. I’d had friends at boarding school, teachers who looked after me for the most part. “The Rebecca I know is in her twenties.”

  Wide, powerful shoulders shrugged. “It was the only one her grandfather had. They haven’t seen each other in a few years. But how much can someone change in five years, right?”

  More than you could ever know, I thought as I moved away to serve a few drinks. I had to take a few minutes to get control of the anger I could feel slipping. Anger was the driving force that had saved me from so much over the years. Anger which had turned darker than the lipstick that I currently wore. Mel had helped me push most of it down, helped me move on from my past. But Kieran Stone was bringing everything to the surface, and I didn’t know if I was ready for that.

  It was more than fifteen minutes before I returned to the end of the bar. Stone was sitting patiently, playing with the label on his beer. That was what had made him so good in the steel cage world of MMA, his patience. He could be as single-minded as a cobra, hypnotizing you into feeling calm right before he struck. I set another beer in front of him before he could ask. “When you check up on Rebecca, what do you plan on doing? There must be a reason why her grandfather wants you to find her now. You said they haven’t seen each other in years, so why now?”

  “I’m just the messenger here.” He frowned. “What’s your name?”

  “Goth Girl,” I supplied. It was what everyone called me at Safe Haven.

  His shook his head. “Your real name, baby.” The way he called me baby…

  Okay, not going there.

  My eyes narrowed, but I found myself giving him my name anyway. “Reese.”

  “I’m just the messenger, Reese. I owed the old man a favor, and he called it in. I have no idea what went on between the two. All I know is that he asked me to check in on her and to give her something.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.” He took another long swallow, and I looked away, hating the fact that I had started to become mesmerized by the way his throat moved as he swallowed. He set the beer down, half empty after only one sip. “So can you help me out?”

  I thought about that for nearly a full minute. I had no reason to believe this guy, but something told me I could trust him. I glanced at the skull-covered watch on my wrist. It was just after one in the morning. The bar closed at two thirty, and I still had to clean up. “I can help you.” I grabbed a napkin and wrote out an address on it. “She lives here. But she won’t be home right now. Best time to try to catch her is between three and four in the afternoon.” He glanced down at the address and nodded. “Thanks, Reese.” He stood and tossed a few bills on the bar top. “I really appreciate it.”

  I inclined my head. “You wouldn’t have gotten that address unless I trusted you. Which is really crazy. I don’t trust anyone.” Except for maybe Mel, but that had taken time. “Don’t make me regret trusting you, Stone.”

  He just grinned as he walked away, his stride both confident and dangerous.

  I stared after him for a long moment, my eyes more fascinated with the sight of his rear in those expensive jeans than I had ever been in my life.

  “Hey, how about another beer over here?” someone called.

  I grunted and returned my mind to work, trying to forget all about Kieran Stone for now.

  two

  I didn’t get home until seven. I had helped the bouncers clean up, then did paperwork for a few hours so I wouldn’t have to do it when I got back to the bar that evening. After I got home, the first thing I did was shower and wash away the smell of booze and smoke. Then I fell into bed in my flannel pajamas and snuggled under the covers.

  But I didn’t fall asleep right away. My mind was too alert for that. So I tried to listen to the humming of the AC and count sheep. Instead, my mind kept going back to Kieran Stone. Lord, the man was sexy. On TV during one of his cage fights, I had been interested. In person, he was so overwhelmingly sexy that even I, who had never had such a problem before, had been enthralled.

  He was in Phoenix for a fight, that much I knew for sure. But that fight wasn’t for two weeks yet. Or so all the advertisements on the billboard, a few posters, and of course, the marquee outside the Comerica Theatre, even a commercial or two over the last month or so had informed me. It wasn’t uncommon for a fight like his to take place in Phoenix, but Stone was such a high-ranking fighter in the MMA that I would have expected it to be in Vegas. His last five fights had taken place there, after all.

  When I thought about his reasons for being in Safe Haven, I gritted my teeth. So he had owed Greg Daventry a favor? Plenty of athletes owed the old man favors. Greg Daventry liked making money, but he loved sports to the point that he was forever investing his money in football players, baseball teams, and boxers. It hadn’t surprised me that Kieran Stone was among the long list of celebrity athletes with whom Greg was involved. Hell, I wouldn’t be altogether surprised if he was the money behind the upcoming MMA fight.

  When I thought about the man who was my grandfather, I couldn’t help but feel a little of the old anger surfacing. It had been five years since I had run away, longer really since I had last seen the man who was my paternal grandfather. When my father died, I had been seven, and Greg had promised to take care of me. Of course, that had only meant on the financial end. I had rarely seen the old man over the years, not even on holidays or birthdays. I, like everything else in his life, had to be penciled in to so much as speak to him on the phone.

  Which was why I was confused as to the reason Greg was interested in knowing how I was after so long. I had little doubt that he had known about my running away right away. He hadn’t even responded to my many urgent calls before all the shit had hit the fan. And I had taken great strides to make sure I was never found by my mother and stepfather when I had first left. Not that they would have tried all that hard, I was sure. The only reason
my stepfather had cared if I was around or not was to….

  Yeah, not going there!

  But it looked like I hadn’t covered every base as well as I had thought if my grandfather now knew where I was. Most likely, he had found me through my social security number, which I had used to file my taxes. Still, I was a little confused as to why he had sent someone else and not come himself. But then again, I was only his granddaughter, not someone who was all that important to him. Not the way his business or his passion for the sports he invested in were.

  Sighing, I rolled onto my belly and forced all thoughts from my brain. I started breathing deeply and practicing the meditation Mel had taught me. Mel was big into yoga. She was big into all sorts of hobbies lately with so much free time on her hands now that I was running things for her.

  A small smile touched my lips as I thought of my mentor. In her late forties, Mel was still attractive even with the hard life she had lived. She was born addicted to crack, then had been pushed through the foster system from day one. She had quit school, ditched her last foster family, and started working on the streets. Addiction had found her again, and she had worked for her next fix until her best friend had been murdered in front of her.

  After that, she had fought her way out of the drug haze and somehow had bought Safe Haven, a bar that catered to all walks of life. I didn’t know all the details, but I was sure I knew more about Mel than most.

  Just as she knew more about me than anyone in the world.

  I had met Mel when I walked into Safe Haven right off the bus from Indiana. I’d shown her my fake ID that had said I was nineteen. Reese Graves was the name on the ID, and I had liked it the best of the three fake names. She had taken one look at me, seen right through all my Goth paint, and offered me a job, knowing full well I was not nineteen. I hadn’t started tending bar right away. Instead, I became Mel’s assistant. I was great at bookkeeping and had mad organization skills. I cleaned up her office, started keeping the books for her, and took care of all the errands she couldn’t do herself.