Page 163 of A Little Broken

“Don’t worry, Birthday Girl. I’ll be fine.” His hand finds mine. Lifting it into the air, he kisses my knuckles. “Where’s your phone?”

I pull it out of my pocket, and he takes it, sliding it into one of the side bags on his bike. As I watch it disappear, I ask, “Why do you need my phone?”

“Phones aren’t allowed in the building.”

“Why?”

He locks the side bag, offering his hand. “So it can’t be used against anyone inside.”

“That sounds promising.”

“Welcome to The Drift,” he quips. “Come on. I don’t want to be late.”

46

TATUM

Pax’s hold is tight as leads me inside, keeping me behind him. Thethump-thumpof my heart quickens with every step as we move toward the heavy metal doors separating us from whatever’s inside the building. Well, heavy metal doors and a tall, black man with a shaved head and arms the size of my legs crossed over his burly chest.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

Pretty sure the guy stole Barry White’s voice, but there’s an intimidating edge hidden beneath the low, smooth timber that is scary as fuck. Feeling out of place, I lean into Pax’s side, and he squeezes my hand.

“Tacos,” Paxton answers.

The guy nods. “Phones?”

“Left them at my bike.”

“I’m sure you did,” he replies. “Mind if I pat you down just in case?”

Pat him down? Okay, so they take this stuff seriously. Good to know. The security guard searches Pax for a phone, then crooks his finger at me, motioning for me to step toward him. When I do, he runs the backs of his hands along my torso, then feels my waist and down my legs, confirming I’m not hiding acell phone anywhere. With an apologetic look, he checks beneath my boobs too, and I quirk my brow. “Is this really necessary?”

“Considering the people inside, yes,” he grunts. He drops his hands and bobs his head. Stepping aside, he gives us room to pass, adding, “You’re good to go. Have fun.”

Once we’re out of earshot, I turn to Pax. “Tacos?”

“Ford is obsessed with Mexican food,” Paxton answers.

“Who’s Ford?”

“One of Judge’s nephews,” he explains. “Whenever he gets to pick the password, he chooses a Mexican dish.”

I chuckle softly. “Okay, but why is that kind of adorable?”

Paxton smirks. “Bet he’d love to hear you call him adorable. Come on.”

As we move a little further into the building, I try to keep my jaw from unhinging, but it’s kind of hard, considering the atmosphere. Dim lights hang overhead, highlighting the lack of color in the entire establishment. Everyone is dressed in different shades of gray and black, and for once, I’m grateful to have chosen the same so I wouldn’t stand out. Not in this crowd. They blend into the cinderblock walls and concrete flooring while the musky smell of weed clings to the air. My nose wrinkles as Paxton tugs me around the crowd circling a round platform in the middle of the large space. Someone’s getting their ass kicked in the middle of it. Two shirtless men, their strong bodies on full display, go head-to-head. Or at least, it’s what I assume they’re supposed to be doing. Instead, the bigger guy is bent at the waist, covering the back of his head with his arms as his opponent wails on the dude like there’s no tomorrow. I squint, realizing I’ve seen the smaller guy before. Well, small is relative. Every inch of his body is corded muscle, but compared to the man who’s getting his ass kicked, he’s like a tiger compared to a bear. Not that it matters. He’s clearly the better fighter, and it shows.

“I’ve seen that guy before,” I tell Pax. “At the bonfire, maybe?”

“Jagger Harden. Another of Judge’s nephews.”

The ones Rory told me to stay away from. Guess she was onto something.

I nod. “Oh.”

“What do you think?”

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