Page 80 of A Little Broken

Ford settles back in his chair, looking less than pleased with his brother’s contribution to the conversation. Meanwhile, Hawke stares at Roman, and Roman stares at me, his expression unreadable, and fuck if it doesn’t remind me of Rafe’s. But the worst part? Roman’s right. Rafe would be all over something like this. A way to rake in a shit-ton of cash for a single, measly fight? Fuck, yeah. And how many times have I willingly fought before this? More than I can count. So, what’s wrong with handing Rafe’s little brother an opportunity to do the same?

One night. It’s one night.

“Fine,” I mutter. “Go for it. Exploit the shit out of me. But if you wind up in a cell next to your brother, it’s on you, and I’m not hiding this shit from Judge, either. We clear?”

Roman nods. “Yeah, man. We’re clear.”

“And we’re not going to jail,” Ford adds, hooking his hands behind his head. “Stop being dramatic.”

“Whatever you say, Ford.” I pick at the tape along my knuckles, ready to get the hell out of here, when Jagger stops me.

“Hey, Pax?”

“What?” I seethe.

“You ever wanna brawl again, I’m game.”

23

TATUM

Headphones cover my ears as I grab the hide-a-key from its place and slip it into the front door lock. There’s no need. It’s unlocked. Which isn’t very promising. Why would it be unlocked? Unless… My lips bunch on one side, and I twist the handle, pushing the door open while trying not to look like I’m about two seconds from having a heart attack…or killing someone.

It’s been a week since our little hot tub rendezvous. Ever since, I’ve heard nothing but crickets and have never been happier. I’ve even managed to keep from searching a certain someone’s social media, which is a little bit of a miracle, though I’d never admit it out loud.

Keeping my head down, I glance around the foyer, then deeper into the kitchen. It’s empty. Maybe Pax forgot to lock up before he left? It’s not like he doesn’t already have a shit-ton of security. I lift the headphones off and let the black band hang around the back of my neck, listening for…something. I’m greeted with silence. Sweet, sweet silence. A relieved sigh slips out of me as I head up the stairs when the jarring clang of weights mingles with low grunts from the exercise room.

Shit.

Indecision courses through me, but I tiptoe toward the sound and reach for the door knob but hesitate. What if it’s an intruder? What if it’s Pax? Does it even matter? Honestly, I don’t even know. Neither option leaves me with any warm fuzzies. I pause and press my ear to the door. The same sound of metal on metal ceases, replaced with a rhythmic thud, thud mingled with low grunts. The punching bag. Whoever’s in there is using the punching bag. That has to be it. And, am I crazy, or is the heavy, stilted breathing…familiar, almost?

“Careful,” Pax growls. “If you keep squeezing me like that I’m gonna come.”

My walls tighten around him, my breath brushing against his parted lips. “If you keep hitting that spot, thenI’mgonna come.”

Yup, I’d recognize that sound anywhere.

Definitely not a stranger.

I let my hand hover over the brass knob for a moment, wipe my palm against my jeans, and turn on my heel, striding toward the master bedroom without a backward glance. Why torture myself with a hot and sweaty Pax who’s still pissy at me for giving him the wrong number?

Okay, pissy’s probably a strong word. He wasn’t mad per se. More amused than anything else, but still. I’d rathernotreplay the night, thank you very much.

The real question is, why is Pax here when he’s literally never been here? To be fair, I don’t have a lot of experience to go off of. I’ve only cleaned this place two or three times. But it’s always been empty. Up until Roman. And today. Maybe he forgot I was coming. Maybe it’s a coincidence he’s still here. Maybe?—

“You’re late,” a low voice calls.

I peek over my shoulder, finding a shirtless, sexy as ever Pax leaning against the bedroom doorjamb with his arms folded. Sweat clings to his sandy blonde hair as he cocks his head,staring at me. Yup. The image is just as droolworthy as I imagined it would be. And even though I kind of hate him, my knees still go weak at the view. Seriously, this man is…he’s something else. When I recognize the bruises marring his right side and along his jaw, my brows knit. Where did those come from? Not that it matters. Besides, it’s none of my business.

But also, I’m pretty sure they weren’t there during the hot tub encounter. Were they?

It doesn’t matter, I remind myself.

Sucking my lips between my teeth, I force myself to look him in the eye. “Am I late?”

“Your boss said you’d be here by nine.”

“I thought you’re my boss,” I toss back at him.

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