The Dirty Dozen: Alpha Edition Page 5

  “I don’t know,” I admit. I’ve had some injuries from boxing over the years and my doctor has advised me that it’s perhaps time to focus on training the next generation rather than staying in the ring. I’m not super old, at twenty-six, but I am starting to feel older. “Plus, someone has to train you,” I add with a smirk.

  “Whatever, old man,” Mark retorts. I laugh because he’s only three years younger than me.

  “Takes one to know one,” I reply before we get back to our sparring. I’m aware as a few regulars start to trickle into the gym, but it’s a sleepy-eyed Cam that gets my attention.

  Mark and I call it quits, and I turn to face her.

  “What’s up, little fighter?” I ask her as I wipe my face with a towel and chug some water.

  “Is Bridget here?” she asks, rubbing her eyes and looking around. I shake my head and frown.

  “She’s not up with you?” I ask because, last I saw her, she was passed the fuck out in the bed with Cam.

  Cam shakes her head. She looks slightly worried.

  “Does she have a phone? Did you call her?” I ask, wondering why I didn’t think to buy them both pre-paid phones.

  “Her phone isn’t working well, and I don’t have one,” Cam says.

  “Stay here. I’ll go see if I can find her,” I command as I pull on a hoodie and head out the door. The cool air that has come in seemingly overnight gives me a chill as I walk down the street. It’s early still, only ten thirty. I check the coffee shop on the way to the restaurant. No one has seen her. I almost kick myself for wasting time somewhere that requires money. She would have only gone one place and that’s where I’m heading.

  BRIDGET

  Of course, the one time my phone works is when Phil texts me that he needs me early at the restaurant. I quietly get dressed and head there. I sneak past the gym, not wanting to bother Maverick who is in the middle of some sort of boxing ring with the guy I saw Cam talking to yesterday.

  I pull my coat around me as the cold wind penetrates through the threads. I really need a new coat.

  Soon, I think to myself.

  I open the restaurant door, and it’s empty. The front lights aren’t even on yet, but we don’t open for another hour.

  “Phil?” I call out as I walk back toward the kitchen. I see him then. He’s got himself a glass of wine and is chopping something on a cutting board.

  “Uh, Phil,” I say again.

  “You made it,” Phil says. Something about his voice creeps me out.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Have a seat, Bridget. I’m making us something to eat,” he says. I’m so confused that I obey his order and sit down on a stool near where he’s chopping vegetables.

  “You like meat?” he asks, looking up at me.

  “Y-yes.”

  “Good,” he answers as he pours me a glass of wine and pushes it over to me.

  “Phil, we really should get ready. We open soon. Where is everyone?” I say to him as I look around the desolate room.

  He shakes his head. “I put a ‘closed for lunch’ sign up. No one will bother us until the kitchen staff come in at one to prep for dinner,” he announces.

  “I-I don’t understand,” I stammer, setting down the glass of wine.

  “I saw you with that guy last night. He’s all wrong for you. You needed to be reminded who you belong to.”

  His words scare me. He’s not making sense. “Phil, I can just come back this afternoon. You don’t need to make me lunch.”

  He sets down the knife and walks around to me. I lean back against the wall, trying to keep my distance. He runs his hand over my cheek, and I flinch. He slaps me.

  “Don’t back away from me, you little slut. You are mine. Now, drink your wine. You and I are gonna have a little chat,” he says. Tears fill my eyes from the sting where he slapped me and from the fear welling up inside me. Phil just went from creepy strange to a creepy serial killer. Abby had always warned me to stay away from him, that he didn’t seem right, but I just had to keep on being nice to him. God, I’m such an idiot.

  I decide playing along is the best course of action. “What are you making?” I ask him, trying to keep the tremble in my voice under control.

  “Beef stir-fry,” he says as though nothing just happened. He looks up at me, and I take the smallest sip ever of wine. This seems to appease him, and he goes back to work, chopping vegetables. I survey my surroundings. He’s between me and the front door. I glance over at the service entrance and wonder if it’s locked. It shouldn’t be because our delivery guys usually come in between seven and eight in the morning to bring us the fresh produce and meats for the day.

  When he sets the knife down and picks up a spatula, I decide to make a break for it. I bolt to the service entrance. As my hand turns the doorknob, my heart sinks; it’s locked. I don’t have any time to contemplate my next move, because Phil is on me, yanking my hair back with such force that I scream in pain.

  “I don’t think so,” he whispers in my ear and his hot breath makes the bile rise in my throat. “I thought you would be cooperative, tsk, tsk. Looks like you aren’t the good girl I thought you were, Bridget.” He growls my name with such loathing that I shiver.

  He drags me through the kitchen and tosses me onto a chair at a table that’s been set. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve given me no choice,” he says as he grabs handcuffs and fastens them around my wrist through the slits of the chair’s back. He leans in and smells me. “Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel all better after I feed you.” He licks my neck as he stands. I can’t stop the tears as they stream down my face. He’s going to kill me; I just know it.

  I’m not sure where it comes from, but somewhere in the crevices of my mind, I recall a kick that Maverick started teaching me yesterday. Once Phil stands, I kick out with my leg with as much force as I can muster considering I’m tied to a chair. I manage to kick him in the knee. He leans down and grunts. I kick again and get his face.

  “You bitch!” he yells as he comes at me. His hands fly to my neck and squeeze. I manage one scream before I have no more air. I can’t breathe. That’s all I can think. I can’t breathe. I’m going to die.

  My vision starts to blur, and then as darkness creeps in, I hear a loud thwack. That’s the last thing I remember before I pass out.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MAVERICK

  I hear her muffled scream, and I throw open the door. A guy I recognize from the restaurant is choking her. I don’t fucking think, I just charge. I barrel into him, and he releases his hands from around her neck. I turn. The guy is short compared to me, and nowhere close to as fit as I am. He shrinks back slightly before I punch him. He goes down, knocked out in one punch.

  I whip around. Bridget’s head lulls to the side. I check her pulse. Thank the fucking lord, she has one.

  “Bridget?” I ask, shaking her slightly. Her eyes blink a little. Thank fuck.

  “It’s OK. I got you,” I say as I realize she’s handcuffed to the chair. I don’t even think. I break the fucking wooden, piece-of-shit chair, and pull her into my arms. I find my cell phone and call nine-one-one.

  Once I’m assured an ambulance is on the way, I look down at Bridget.

  “Where do you hurt?” I ask her.

  “Maverick?” she mumbles, clearly confused.

  “Yes, it’s me, sweetheart. I got you. Are you OK?”

  She starts to look around and then moans in pain. Her hand flies to her neck, where I can already see bruises forming. That motherfucker is lucky I didn’t kill him.

  I hear the sirens in the distance. “The ambulance is on its way. Stay with me, knockout,” I say to her softly as I stroke her hair.

  Her eyes widen. “No, no ambulance,” she says, her voice raspy.

  “You need to get checked out,” I say to her.

  “Insurance,” she manages. I shake my head.

  “Don’t worry abou
t it, OK?”

  Her eyes well with tears, and I pull her against me. “Shhhh…it’s OK. You are OK.”

  I don’t have time to say anything else before the door flies open and police and EMTs are everywhere.

  “Sir, is she OK?” one of them asks me.

  “He was strangling her,” I say.

  “Sir, please lay her down for me, I need to check her vitals, OK?” the man says softly. I reluctantly lay Bridget down, but I keep her hand in mine the entire time the medic checks her.

  Once he’s established that she’s in no immediate physical distress and is stable, he goes to move her onto a stretcher.

  “No, I’m fine,” she says in a hoarse voice.

  “You need to be checked out at the hospital, miss,” the man says.

  “I…” She trails off and looks up at me.

  “I can carry her to the ambulance,” I say, giving her a look that says she’s going to the damn hospital. She doesn’t fight me on it but instead clings to my shirt as I stand up and lift her with me.

  The next few minutes are a blur as we fly down the street with the lights on and get taken into a curtained-off area in the emergency room. A nurse takes her vitals again and hooks her up to an IV.

  I squeeze her hand. Once the doctor assesses her and gives her a neck brace to wear, we wait for the police to come and interview us.

  “You saved me again,” she whispers.

  I smooth the hair from her face. “You were doing a pretty good job when I got there. I saw that last kick, knockout,” I assure her.

  She smiles slightly. “I have a good teacher.”

  The cops come in, and one of them knows Bridget because he’s a regular at the restaurant.

  “Hey, Bridget,” he says.

  “Hi, Officer Walters,” she says on a cough.

  I keep my hand entwined with hers as she tells us what happened. I want to bend her over my fucking knee for not getting me when she left. None of this shit would have happened if I had been there. She keeps looking at me guiltily. It’s hard to be mad at her when she’s in pain.

  Once the police have their report completed, the doctor clears us to leave. I help Bridget out to a cab. She leans on my shoulder the whole way home. I call Mark and tell him what happened and to keep Cam busy in the gym, so I can take care of Bridget.

  I refuse to let Bridget climb the stairs to the apartment. I carry her back to my bedroom and lay her on the bed.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask her.

  She shrugs. “Sore,” she admits.

  “You’ll be sore for a few days,” I explain to her.

  “You’re lucky it’s just some bruising around your neck,” I point out.

  Her eyes fill with tears. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming. I’m so stupid.”

  “Hey, you aren’t stupid. He was your manager. You should have been able to trust him.”

  I lean forward and wipe a tear from her cheek. “I’ll make you some tea with lemon and honey. It’ll help.”

  “Thanks,” she replies, forcing a small smile. I caress her soft cheek, the one that’s not bruised from him slapping her. My blood boils at the thought of a man laying a single hand on this woman.

  I head to the kitchen and make the tea. Mark calls me.

  “What’s up?” he asks.

  “Is Cam there?” I ask him.

  “She’s jumping rope.”

  I quickly relay the events of the day.

  “Shit!” he says.

  “Yeah. Don’t tell Cam, OK? I don’t want her to worry.”

  “OK. I’ll keep her busy for a while,” he says. “Is the guy in police custody?”

  “Yeah,” I respond.

  “Good.”

  I hang up and carry a tray back to my room with the tea.

  “Here,” I say, handing it to her.

  She takes a small sip.

  “Cam is downstairs. Mark will keep her busy today. I’ll stay up here with you. We’ll tell Cam you had an accident at work, no big deal.”

  “OK,” she says frowning. “I don’t like to lie to her, but I agree, this is too much for her.”

  I sit back on the bed next to Bridget.

  “How old are you?” I ask her.

  “Nineteen. I’ll be twenty soon.”

  “How’d you end up living with Brad?”

  Her hand trembles at the sound of his name, and she sets the mug down on the tray. She takes a breath and turns toward me.

  “Our mom ran out on us when I was younger. She was into drugs and was all kinds of messed up. I honestly don’t know where she is or if she’s alive. She wasn’t the greatest mom. Anyhow, Brad was her current husband, and we were living with him. He was gonna turn us over to foster care but then found out he could get paid to keep us. I was fourteen, so I was old enough to work, which meant, triple the income for him. And that was that. I only stayed there ’cause of Cam,” she explains.

  “Did he hurt you? I mean before the other night?” I ask.

  “No, not really. He’s slapped me a few times, but nothing like that,” she says, her eyes looking down in shame.

  I caress her cheek, needing to touch her, needing to protect her.

  “Bridget, it’s not your fault, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong,” I assure her.

  She looks up into my eyes. “I should have taken us away from there. We could have slept on Abby’s floor. Cam deserves so much better…” She trails off as tears slide down her cheeks.

  I can’t help myself any longer, I lean over and gently slide my lips across hers. She stills for a moment but doesn’t move away from me. “You deserve better, too,” I murmur against her silky skin before I press my lips harder against hers.

  She doesn’t shy away from me. Instead, she relaxes into me. I trace her lips with my tongue. She parts them on a moan, allowing me access into the heat of her mouth.

  She tastes just as sweet as I thought she would. I’m careful to not touch her neck or her bruised cheek as I kiss her. I run my hands down her back and cup her ass as she wraps her arms around my neck.

  “Easy,” I say to her as she crawls into my lap and straddles me.

  “I’m OK,” she says, but her hoarse voice is a dead giveaway that she is not fine.

  “Knockout, you just were in the ER, and you have a fucking brace on your neck. I would not call that OK.”

  “Please, don’t stop, Maverick. Make me forget,” she pleads. And I can’t say no to her, she already has me wrapped around her fucking little finger, and if my girl needs me to kiss her in order to forget everything bad that’s happened, then damn it, I’m gonna kiss her.

  I don’t know how long we kiss, but I know it’s not long enough. She’s grinding her center against my dick, and it takes all my self-control not to flip her over and slam into her. I pull back after a while and look into her eyes, they are glazed over with lust.

  “Knockout, you need to get some rest,” I say to her.

  She huffs, and I smirk. “Be a good patient, and you might get more later.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “Do that and you might get spanked later,” I say to her as I lift her from my lap and set her down on the bed.

  She looks up at me with a combination of surprise and pouting. I lean down and plant a kiss on her lips before I walk back out of the room.

  “Stay with me?” she asks.

  “Let me get you something else to wear first,” I say, motioning to the work clothes she still has on from earlier. I walk into her room and find some sweatpants and a t-shirt.

  I bring them into her. “Here,” I say, turning around to give her privacy. After a minute, she winces.

  I turn around abruptly to find her with her shirt halfway off, but she’s struggling to get it over her head with the neck brace on.

  “You need help?”

  She sighs. “Yes,” she says begrudgingly.

  I lift her
shirt up, trying to keep my eyes on hers the whole time. I help her put the new shirt on and then turn back around so she can change into the sweatpants.

  “OK,” she says softly. I look at her snuggled into the middle of my California king bed. She seems so small and fragile. I crawl onto the bed, and she snuggles against me. I run my hands through her hair, and she winces again.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  “It’s OK. How’d you get a name like Maverick?” she asks, changing the conversation. I laugh.

  “My mother had a thing for the film Top Gun,” I admit.

  “Seriously?”

  I nod.

  “What’s your last name?”

  “Denton. How about you?”

  “Haddon,” she replies as she starts tracing shapes on my chest.

  “How’d you start boxing?” she asks.

  “My mom OD’d when I was little, and my stepdad was a dick and used to use me for a punching bag. When I was twelve, he used another woman as a punching bag and was sent to prison. I got thrown into foster care. I was in and out of homes until I aged out at eighteen. I met Zeek at a foster care program right before I aged out. He told me to come by the gym. I don’t know why I did, but it changed my life. I got into boxing. I was good at it and it gave me a place to vent my frustrations. I did one tour in the army and came back and trained with him. Unfortunately, I was injured. That’s why I’m not boxing professionally now.” I pause and look down at her.

  “You still awake, knockout?” I ask her.

  “Yeah,” she says with a yawn.

  I kiss the top of her head. “You should rest, sweetheart. You’ve had a long day.”

  “Mav?” she asks.

  “Yes?”

  “I owe you one,” she says sleepily. I want to ask her what she owes me, but she falls asleep too fast.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BRIDGET

  My neck is sore when I wake. I’m also aware that I’m alone in bed. A blanket is over me, keeping me warm.

  I hear Cam out in the kitchen.

  “Do you think she’ll wake up soon?”