Chapter 1
I gave the guy at the warehouse door a desperate look. "But whycan'tI go in?"
He was huge, nearly seven feet tall and half as wide. He crossed his beefy arms and said, "Because I don't know you."
I craned my neck to stare up at him. "So?"
"So you don't get in."
Well, that was helpful.
It was nearly midnight, and I was huddled outside the nondescript warehouse with a dozen other poor slobs who'd gotten here too late to get inside without a hassle.
But in my own defense, I was three hours from home in an unfamiliar city. My GPS was on the fritz, and I'd gotten lost somewhere between Zippy's Title Loan and Marvin's Pistol and Pawn.
Behind me, I heard a female voice say, "Hey, are you gonna move aside or what?"
I turned to look. The voice belonged to a buxom brunette in a black mini-skirt and matching bustier. She was showing a lot of skin, and I gave an involuntary shiver. It was mid-November, and we were north of Detroit. It wasn't quite freezing, but it was long past bustier weather.
Where was her coat? Cripes,Iwas wearing a coat – a long one, too – and I was still freezing. Either she was immune to the cold, or she was willing to die, literally, to look like a high-class call girl.
She gave me a nasty smirk. "You see something you like?"
Embarrassed to be caught staring, I looked down, only to feel my heart leap out of my chest.Oh, my God.Idid, in fact, see something – or someone, depending on how I looked at it.
The something was the slick black-and-white photo clutched in the girl's hands. The someone was the guyinthe photo – and not justanyguy.
Myguy.
Joel.
In the photo, he was shirtless and glistening. His hair was damp, and his eyes were dark. The photo appeared to be some sort of publicity shot, like something a movie star might sign for a fan.
But Joel wasn't a movie star. He was an underground fighter – not that I'd realized it the first time we'd met. That was how long ago?
Eight weeks.
Six of those weeks had been utter bliss. I'd slept in Joel's arms. I'd kissed him a million times over. I'd felt his hands on my ass and his lips on every private inch of my suddenly warm body.
Now I could hardly breathe. My eyes were still glued to his image. It was a perfect likeness from what I could tell in the dim light of the warehouse parking lot.
His body looked amazing, practically a work of art, with all those chiseled muscles and interesting ridges in all the right places. But it wasn't primarily his body, or even his beautiful face, that I was desperately missing.
It washim,theincredible person I'd discovered underneath that tough exterior. He was warm and funny, and surprisingly sensitive, especially for a guy who made his money by beating the crap out of people.
My stomach sank as a terrifying realization hit home. He was probably doing that right now, inside that big gray warehouse, just a few feet away.
Ihadto see him.
And I had to stop him.
But how? Right now, I could barely move. And it was because of the photo. I couldn't bring myself to look away.
But then, suddenly, it was gone, yanked back by the girl holding it. She made a sound of annoyance. "What's your problem, anyway?"
I looked up. "What?"
"Well, first, you're staring atme. And then, you're staring athim. What are you? Desperate or something?"
