Unleashed: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance Part 22

I was courted by agents for the United States Olympics Committee, asked if I would represent my country, Team USA, when the time came. I was asked if I would do my duty.

That was when the hype was getting big, and Mom just checked-out.

She always hated the fighting.

I left home at seventeen, toured South East Asia, won an amateur tournament, and brought home a car, and some money. Enough to rent my own place a little closer to the city.

And Mom and I just grew further apart. She left me alone, for the most part. She knew she couldn't contain me, control me. She knew that I was going to do my thing no matter what.

But now she's taking an interest. Now... now her instincts have kicked in again.

"I don't want you to do this fight, Chance," she says as soon as I shut the door. I expect an argument, but when I see the look in her eyes, I see there is going to be none.

"You are his wife," I say, pointing toward their hotel room. "What possessed you to get married in f.u.c.king Vegas I'll never understand, but I understand this: It means his debt will be pa.s.sed on to you if they can't get it from him. The loan sharks care about the money, not where it comes from."

"I'll get the marriage annulled."

"Is that a risk you want to take? Hope that mobsters respect marriage law?"

"I don't want to take the risk that you might get killed!" she hisses. "In that G.o.d-awful cage. You know I hate you fighting. I've hated it since you started. Every single day!"

Her voice is shaky, and her eyes red. "The wrestling was okay. I could take the wrestling. But when you started that terrible MMA-"

"It's what I'm good at. It's the only thing I'm good at."

"No, it's not, Chance," she says. She lifts a shaking hand to my face, strokes my jaw. "You're good at so much more. You are so much more intelligent and capable than you give yourself credit for. You just choose to fight."

"I like to fight," I say. "And it's what I'm best at."

"I can't stop you, can I? My own son, and I never had any control over you. You get that from your father."

"I'm nothing like that p.r.i.c.k," I growl at her. "I would never leave. I would never abandon-"

"I know," she says, putting a hand on mine, silencing me. "I wish you didn't carry that around with you."

"How could I not? It gave me strength, anyway."

"But you see the irony, don't you, Chance? Your father always did his own thing. When he decided he didn't want us anymore, he left, and I couldn't stop him. Just like I can't stop you now from fighting. You say you won't abandon me, but I'm here asking you not to fight."

I lick my lips. "It is the only way out! I have to do this. Kyle's in for over a million. He's not going to get that on his house and car. I have to protect you." I pause, grit my teeth. "I have to protect Ca.s.sie. I'm not leaving you, I'm doing this for you. For her."

Mom's eyes grow hard, lock onto mine. "She's not your responsibility."

"You would just leave her, come what may?"

"If I'm being forced to pick between my own child, and-"

"You're not being forced to pick anything. Do you have several million buried somewhere so we can take care of this debt? Do you? Do you want to run away from home, go into hiding, quit your job, start your life all over again? Huh?"

"There's a chance they don't come after us. There's a chance Kyle finds some way to fix it."

"You want to put your safety in the hands of a man like him?" I ask, pointing toward their hotel room door. "He's a buffoon, an idiot. What is it with you and men, Mom?"

"Don't start."

"I'm serious. How is it you always pick those who can barely even take care of themselves, let alone you?"

"I don't need taking care of."

"Fine, I can respect that," I say. "But let me ask you this: If you had known he was deep in a hole to loan sharks, would your relations.h.i.+p have progressed past a drink or whatever the h.e.l.l it is you guys did when you first met?"

She presses her lips together. "Of course not. But it was, oh you wouldn't understand. Everything just came together perfectly in Las Vegas."

"Yeah, an impromptu Vegas marriage, that's true love right there," I say nastily.

I know it's a bite, and I know she'll flinch, but I say it anyway, and when she does recoil a little, it hurts me.

But f.u.c.k it, I'll never censor myself. I'll take the pain, and dish it out, if it means telling the truth.

"He withheld it from you, Mom. He lied. And now you want to risk that he, a liar, can make it better? He's useless, a bad husband and worse father. What kind of man is that?"

"You don't get it, do you, Chance?" she says, shaking her head. Her voice has gone soft, like she's a breath away from giving up. "I don't want you to fight not because I don't want to be safe, not because I don't want to be caught up in this. Of course I want to be safe. Of course I don't want to be involved."

She takes a shuddering breath, looks at me out of imploring eyes.

"I don't want you to fight because I can't bear to see you get hurt."

I take her hands. "Mom, I can beat this guy. You've seen me fight before. You know how good I am."

"I hated every second of it. I keep all your trophies in a box in the attic for a reason. Every time you came home with a lump on your head, a bruised cheek, a bloodied or broken nose... fractured ribs! Sprained wrists! Over and over again! Do you know what that is like? Can you even fathom it?"

"It made me stronger."

"It made me weaker!" she cries, her voice echoing down the hallway.

I hold her shoulders, make her look at me. "I'm going to do it."

She looks past me at the door behind us. "This is about her, isn't it?"

"A big part, yes, but not the only part."

"Why?"

I lick my lips. "Her father obviously can't take care of her."

"Tell me it's not because you want to fight, want to test yourself against an ex-pro."

"Not like this, Mom," I tell her. "I wouldn't wish it like this, with our safety in the balance."

"But you always did like a challenge, a thrill."

"I am who I am. You can't change me."

"Can she?"

I hesitate. "I don't know. It's too late, anyway. I already arranged the fight. It's for next week, Wednesday. That's six days."

"Do you like her, Chance?"

I grind my teeth together. "Yes."

"How long have you two been-"

"Not long, but long enough."

"Are you falling in love with her?"

The question drops on me like an anvil.

"I could in a blink."

Mom's eyes dart down quickly, and I follow them. There's a shadow beneath Ca.s.sie's door.

It moves away after a moment.

Chapter Twenty Five.

Knuckles rap against my door. I know that it is Chance by the way that he knocks. He must not have brought his keycard out with him this morning.

I creep toward the door, unsure of what our conversation is going to be. Did he know I was listening through it the night before? Does he know that I heard what he said?

Does it even matter?

Last night, when he came back into the room, I pretended to be asleep. I was curled up in bed, facing the wall, and I didn't turn around.

I heard him get ready for bed, heard him shower and brush his teeth, the springs of his bed creak beneath his weight as he climbed in.

I couldn't catch a wink. All night my mind raced.

I feel like we are one long shot away from being over. Dad will have to leave the States, go on the run, if he wants to get away from the debt collectors.

I spent all night reading up horror stories on the internet. Beneath my blanket, phone-screen near blinding, I read of people borrowing money from loan sharks, and then not being able to pay it back.

Stories of people having bones broken, losing limbs, being beaten to within inches of their lives... those were the tamer stories. The most gruesome ones terrified me.

The ones about women were the worst.

If it's really over a million dollars that Dad owes, they're not going to just let that slide. Maybe a few hundred thousand, they might give you some extra time, might loosen the leash a little.

But a million?

There's no way in h.e.l.l they don't collect on that, in one way or another.

So Dad will have to run. Either that or change his name, a.s.sume a new ident.i.ty. Or something. I don't even know how it all works.

And what about me? No college, no degree. We won't be able to afford it! And I was never granted a scholars.h.i.+p...

"Ca.s.s," I hear Chance call through the door. "Open the door."

I glance toward the clock, see that it's half-past eight in the morning. I barely got a wink of sleep last night. I'm groggy, tired, and my eyes are dark rings.

When I open the door, I see Chance standing there drenched in sweat. His neck s.h.i.+nes in the hotel hallway light. Beads drip off his chin. He's got a shadow a he must not have shaved yet.

It's amazing to me that the first thing I think is that he smells good when he sweats. I want to be grossed out by that, but I'm just not.

It's like I want everything about him, every smell, every feeling, every single thing.

I've never felt like that before.

"What the h.e.l.l happened to you?" I ask him as he steps in.

"I need to get my conditioning up," he says, panting. There's barely any emotion on his face. "I'm going to shower, and then we'll go get breakfast."

I frown, furrow my brow, follow him into the bathroom. "What are you talking about?"

"Museums. Our plan."

"No, I don't think we're doing that anymore."

"Get ready, and I'll see you in half an hour."

"Don't you think we should talk, Chance?"

"We'll talk while we walk. We're going to be doing a lot of walking if we're hitting three museums."

He begins to undress, and I watch him while he does. The carved lines of his body never cease to be pleasing to the eye, but he disappears behind the shower's opaque gla.s.s quickly.

"Get ready!" he tells me.

Thirty minutes later I'm as ready as I'm bothered to be, and slumped in one of the armchairs in the lobby. I see Chance stride out of the lift. Not many people make everything they wear look great, but he always does.