Page 79 of Back in Black

He didn’t want to see her ever again. For him, she ceased being his mother long ago. She’d allowed his father to vent on him physically during drink-induced fits. She’d relegated him to least importance in their family by begging the bastard to stay. And she’d gone against his pleas by not only drugging away her pain, but selling her body for the money to do so.

No, Brett didn’t miss her. He wasn’t even sure he pitied her anymore.

Fighters dubbed him “the Pit Bull.” Appropriate, he supposed, recalling how his mother used to curse him for refusing to see things her way. Even after his dad had smacked them both around, leaving behind bruises and blood, she’d wanted the bastard to stay.

For her, accepting verbal and physical abuse was better than being a woman alone. Then, when his dad had skipped out, his mother had a complete meltdown; and she became an addict and a whore in less than six months.

A flush of heat, of remembered shame, washed over Brett.

Thanks to his mother, he’d learned that anything and anyone could be left behind. And knowing that had made him a stronger person.

He loved the idea of fighting for the SBC; it had been a goal from the day he started serious training. But, as with everything else in life, it’d have to be on his terms.

Luckily, Drew had backed down from his insistence that Brett’s background could be used as a sideshow attraction to pull in viewers.

He put his head down and pounded the pavement in a furious sprint.

When the flush of resentment eased, he slowed again. Last he’d heard, his mom was sitting in jail, and truthfully, it was a blessing. At least while she was incarcerated, Brett didn’t have to think about someone killing her with a dirty needle, disease, or just for kicks.

An hour later, with dawn casting hues of pink, orange, and red over the horizon, Brett came back up to his apartment. Sweat soaked his hair, his shirt, but he felt physically good. Loose, relaxed.

He thought of Audrey, either at the table sipping coffee or, better yet, still snuggled in his bed. The now familiar tightening of desire rippled through him.

He opened the front door and found her wrapped in the quilt, sitting on the sofa and talking on her cell phone. She glanced up, her big brown eyes warm with welcome. After a small wave, she went back to talking with her caller.

Brett paused inside the door to look at her.

Her bare shoulders above the quilt looked soft and sleek and pale. Fresh from the bed, her blonde hair flowed down her back in long twining tendrils. Cute bare feet poked out from the bottom of the quilt.

Unable to resist, Brett went behind the sofa and touched his hand to her soft hair, her shoulders, her collarbone. She went still, paused in her talking, and then leaned into his hands.

He needed a shower, but that didn’t stop him from brushing aside her tumbled hair so that he could kiss her sensitive nape. A small shiver ran through her.

Damn, she enticed him.

“Millie,” she said in a voice gone high and thin, “I need to go now.” She stammered and then said, “No! Don’t doanythinguntil I get there. Yes, I’m serious. Forget dead-lines. It’ll wait. I won’t be”—she glanced back at Brett—“too long.” A pause. “That doesn’t matter. I want to hear it all for myself before we start posting the story, okay?” She looked at Brett again, over his sweaty shirt and his loose jogging pants. She licked her lips, and her voice went husky. “I’ll be quick. I promise.”

Brett grinned. By quick, she better mean an hour from now, because he’d have to have her before he drove her back to her place.

After a few more verbal exchanges, she disconnected the call and tossed the phone near her purse. “I left my phone out here and missed a bunch of calls.”

Nothing important, he hoped.

Still looking at his body, she said breathlessly, “You need a shower.”

“I know.” When she finally met his gaze, he held out a hand to her. “Why don’t you take one with me?”

CHAPTER 13

ALL her life she’d been a responsible person. For years now, she’d felt a driving sense of duty that kept her from most social endeavors, particularly romantic involvements. She knew she shouldn’t leave Millie waiting, especially under the circumstances: Millie claimed to have solid proof of the brutality and corruption in the SBC.

But . . . for once her heart overruled her head.

She stood and took Brett’s hand.

As if she’d accepted more than his offering of shared intimacy, his gaze darkened, heated. She felt it, too. They were on a precipice of commitment, and she couldn’t be happier—or more nervous—about it.

Walking backward, her hand held securely in his, Brett led the way into the small bathroom. “What do you have going on today?”

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