Page 5 of Reckless Pawn

As much as I didn't want to hear about Axel's dick or my being anywhere in the vicinity of his bedroom, my mouth was already watering over the tequila Patty held. If I played my cards right, I could possibly drink enough of it to escape for a little while without going too far.

Everyone in this compound assumed that I needed to be handled with kid gloves because I couldn't get over what happened to me in that house with Marco. But they couldn't be more wrong. What that bastard did to me was nothing in comparison to the pain I endured every time I thought of Houston.

He'd walked away as if I was no more important than some dirt on his shoe.

He'd left me here.

Alone.

Aching for something I no longer believed in.

To go God only knew where.

One day I would find him though.

And then he could pay like I did…

Chapter Two

Houston

He grabbed the chain link currently surrounding him and the fight ring while narrowing his eyes at his opponent. He hated like hell being on the receiving end of a beating, especially while being forced to take it on purpose.

Sweat and blood dripped down his face and into his numerous cuts, all of which stung like a bitch.

It was hard to fucking believe that just six weeks ago he'd woken in a bed he recognized all too well with an IV stuck in his arm and pain burning in his chest that made it difficult to breathe.

Getting shot should have killed him. Definitely would have if he hadn't put a vest on out of fucking habit. There were so many valuable things the Marine Corps drilled into him over the years, but none so important as the use of body armor out in the field.

Unfortunately, the bullet from the guard's rifle had been particularly nasty, leaving a grapefruit sized contusion on his chest and two cracked ribs.

That his supposed Wrath brothers had dumped his ass at a club safe house deep in the Cascade mountains with a surly nurse old enough to be his grandmother and no means of transportation had nearly driven him insane.

If they hadn't gone back and pulled both his ass and his bike out of the line of scrimmage before the fire had fully engulfed the sex slave operation they'd rescued Izzy from, he might have hunted down Axel and JD for their bullshit.

However, as they'd reminded him too many times to count over the last several weeks a deal was a deal and a man had nothing if not his word.

His attempts to renegotiate his deal and be allowed to see Izzy had fallen on deaf ears. Well, not deaf, but certainly stubborn as fuck.

She had been in a bad way and they all knew it. They'd had to hide her in a small clinic run by the club in order for her to recover from the drugs her captors had pumped into her. They also couldn't take any unnecessary risks that could draw attention to her and that included any visitors at all. Thus JD had allowed no one entry. Except Patty, the old lady who ran the place.

He had to hand it to them though. In an attempt to appease him, he'd received weekly reports on her progress, albeit with only the bare minimum of details. By the time he'd healed enough to leave, he was climbing the walls and itching for action.

"It's time to get this over with, Houston. You've dragged this out long enough." His trainer Mac, and only friend here at the private fight club in the Seattle underground, wasn't happy with the situation.

Which was nothing compared to the anger he kept bottled inside, waiting to blow. He'd given up everything for this mission and after a month he had absolutely nothing to show for it. This fight amounted to his final Hail Mary.

"Is he here yet?" He tried to search the crowd, but the swelling around his eyes made everything more than a little blurry. The he Houston referred to was one Frank Mazzeo.

Notorious crime boss.

Probable sex ring operator.

And…

Izzy's father.

The last being the only thing that kept him going through all of this. Yes, he had an assignment from his club because of the deal he'd made, but he had his own ulterior motives for wanting to get inside the Mazzeo operation.

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