Page 1 of Dirty Love

part one

dirty whispers

—one—

Wilson

present day

Baltimore

February

I’m driving my beater truck that’s just for nights like tonight, but I still park a few blocks from the warehouse.

Some guys might think that’s foolish. They can’t run as fast as I can. They don’t fight as dirty as I do.

And they don’t know what it’s like to be trapped.

I’m never going to be trapped again.

I always know where my out is, even if it means I have to run like the wind for a few blocks to get to the car—but it won’t be boxed in down an alley.

I check my phone before I head inside. She has a concert in San Francisco tonight. Won’t go on stage for another thirty minutes.

Which means I have nearly three hours to beat the living shit out of anyone idiotic enough to try and take my money.

Then I’ll want to make sure she gets back to her hotel safely. Not that I can do anything from the other side of the country, but this is the deal we’ve settled on.

For now.

My gut twists.

That’s fine. I’ll use that impotent rage in the ring.

Ring. That’s a civilized term. Inside this warehouse there’s just a concrete floor, crowded with people. And the two assholes in the center of the swarm pound on each other until one of them drops to the ground or begs for mercy.

Unlike some, I grant it if they ask.

Not because I’m soft. I’m not. I’m black inside, and I believe more than most that violence has its place. But I’m no longer a ghost, a secret shadow gliding through society. I have a business now, and partners, and doing the right thing makes sense for more than one reason.

Work, yes.

And now Tabitha as well.

Although when it comes to the woman I love, doing the right thing means doing a lot of wrong things first. She struggled with that at first, because she’s innocent to the true darkness in the world. For all that she’s done and experienced, she—like ninety-nine percent of the population—has no idea of what churns beneath the surface.

Her resistance didn’t stop me. I’ve carefully been sliding domino pieces into place so when she’s ready, when she’ssafe, I can push the first one and watch the chain reaction free her from her bonds.

Free her for the taking.

And until that point, I’ll fight.

For Tabitha.

For justice, of a sort.

And sometimes, just because it feels fucking good to smash my fist into things.

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