Bare Knuckle: Vegas Top Guns, Book 5 (34 page)

Trish knew the difference. She’d endured a million and twelve auditions over the past month, but she’d gone into each one convinced it would go her way…or that the next one would.

Christ, he missed her. Wanted to be near her. The women who’d ditched him before…maybe they’d done so because Eric wouldn’t have
cared
had they walked. They’d felt that distance.

He needed Trish. No more distance.

After he met Carey’s girlfriend, Lila, saw the halfway house for himself and hugged his brother one last time, Eric caught the first flight back to Vegas.

Except Trish wasn’t anywhere to be found. She didn’t answer her cellphone. His car was parked in the spot outside his loft with the keys on his kitchen counter.

Chills splashed over his skin in waves of hot and cold. Something was wrong. He found himself cruising out to Trish’s trailer. She’d never wanted him there, though she hadn’t said so in words. When he knocked on the front door, he better understood her discomfort. The place was worse off than it looked from the street. Paint flaked under the eaves. The door creaked when it opened.

A worn, too-skinny woman opened the door. Her gray-streaked hair might have once been the same honey blonde as Trish’s. She crossed her arms over her artificially ample bosom and lifted her eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m looking for Trish.”

Her smile was cruel, though he’d be damned if he knew what he’d done to deserve it. “Ain’t we all?”

“Is she here?”

“Depends.” She dug a soft pack of cigarettes out from between her boobs and fished one out. “You a bill collector? Or an agent?”

“Neither.” He was…something to Trish. Damned if he knew what.

Maybe it was a failing of his, but he’d never been the possessive sort. Safer that way. Except now, being unable to find Trish made him want to stake his claim. Grab her and hold her. The feelings that had crystallized in Detroit were growing rapidly.

Trish’s mom shrugged. “I don’t know where she is anyhow. She got her nose in a snit and moved out a month ago.”

“She what?” Shock poured freezing water down his spine. “She didn’t say anything like that.”

But…the barbeque. Her tension. The fight she’d mentioned, and the night she’d spent with Mal. Even since then?

The woman took a long drag off her cigarette and blew the smoke at him in a stinky cloud. “Guess that leaves two of us out in the cold.”

“You have any idea where she went?”

“Last time she left, she ran off to that Mallory girl. Bad influence.” She wore a sly, mean look. “No telling what those two get up to. You sure you want any part of that?”

Trish would’ve mentioned if she were involved with Mallory again. To conceal that would’ve made their threesome one huge charade. He knew down to his bones that wasn’t right. They’d done something true that night. Gone to real places together.

He turned away from the door and stepped down the concrete steps. “I want any part of Trish that she’ll give me.”

“Have at the twit.” She sniffed with disdain. “But if you see her, tell her the rent’s overdue.”

Eric spent the rest of his Saturday tracking down Mallory. She agreed to meet him at the back entrance of New York-New York’s theater—her new gig.

Dressed in a tiny orange miniskirt and a close-fitting black halter top, Mallory looked ready to slay men dead. Or women, as her interests turned.

“You mislaid your chick already?” Her mouth pressed flat. “Knowing Trish, that makes me think you’ve screwed up. Big time.”

He shrugged, but he knew the answer.

“She’s got a huge heart,” Mallory said. “You’d have had to push her hard to make her run.”

“I know.” His hands were rocks, clenched tight. He had nothing to slam except his own shit-for-brains head. “Tell me where she is.”

She studied him. “I’ll tell you, but only because I want her out of that shitbag motel.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ll see.”

The address provided was only four blocks from the Strip, but it was another side of the universe. The sallow-skinned clerk seemed five minutes away from one hit too many of heroin. His eyes drooped with every breath, and he didn’t protest when Eric asked for Trish’s room. He offered a key for an extra fifty bucks.

Fuck all and Christ on a cracker. Eric didn’t want to touch the railing as he went up. Dark splashes appeared sticky and uncomfortably like blood. The chug of window air-conditioning units was punctuated by the occasional raised voice and a siren from a block over.

If he’d had half a clue this was where Trish was living, he’d have fucking
insisted
she stay at his place. He was turning to stone as he knocked on the door, because it was dawning on him. To stay in that place meant Trish had iced him out. Hadn’t given him a hint.

That last, useless burst of righteous anger flipped back on himself as soon as she opened the door. Her eyes were reddened, her nose pink. She wore a slim-cut pair of sweatpants and a spaghetti-strap tank. Her expression was coolly distant. “You.”

“Me.” He kept his hand flat on the door. He had the feeling she would slam it shut.

She slapped on a completely artificial smile and lifted her brows. “Something wrong with the Camaro? I left it locked up tight. Made sure of that.”

“Not the Camaro. Wondered where you were.” He rocked up on the balls of his feet. This was unusual. He wasn’t normally the one trying to make her talk. His gaze flicked over her shoulder.

A queen-sized bed with dingy, washed-out sheets and a faded orange comforter folded at the foot. The TV was buckled to the dresser.

“And right now,” he said, “I’m wondering why the fuck you’re living here.”

Her smile dropped away. “Maybe because no one worries about Barbie once she’s no more fun to play with.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Trish forced herself to breathe. No shouting. No slapping his goddamn face. But rage was a safer emotion than the others pinging through her brain and stinging her heart. He looked as strong as ever. His dark, deep blue eyes were a lure to reel her in.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You’re the one who ran to ground. Hiding out
here
?” he said in a near growl.

“I’m not hiding,” she spat. “I’m
surviving
. All my show cash went toward tuition, which made Mama oh so happy. Try finding a decent place on the money I make strutting my ass—and after tonight, I won’t have that anymore. A stripper makes more than I do in the ring, which believe me really makes a girl wonder about stupid things like self-respect.”

“You wouldn’t,” he said. “You’re not built that way.”

A hard laugh escaped her. She hated the sound.
Jaded.
She couldn’t help it. He was steadily chipping away at whatever optimism she’d secretly stored. “What’s that old song? You didn’t know me when. And I don’t remember you giving a damn.”

They glared at each other in the doorway. At least they were in a place where a man and woman’s raised voices wouldn’t gather attention. In that complex, it took gunshots before anyone noticed.

He’d made her into a fool, when she had hoped to have left that stomach-sick place well behind her.

He smashed his lips together, ran a hand over his cropped hair, looked at his boots. “Let me in, Trish.”

“No.” She tightened her hand on the doorknob. He’d be able to force his way past, but let him be the bullying asshole to make the move. At the moment, she doubted he had it in him. That would mean giving a shit. “I don’t want you here. In fact, it’ll be better if I never see you again. Believe it or not, I have better things to do than wait around to see if you’re alive.”

“What the hell?”

She tried to shut the door. Couldn’t do this anymore. The fear she’d suffered through that night at his loft choked in a ball of tears at the back of her throat. No way in Christ was she letting him see her cry.

The last time she had—the only time she’d let her defenses down so completely with a man—had been at the end of their night with Mal. Pure rapturous release. Happy tears, she’d said. It hadn’t felt wrong at all. Freeing. Close. As if they’d shared something precious.

A complete fool.

Eric was having none of her attempt to shut him out. Maybe he gave a damn after all, because he pushed past her and slammed the door. Or maybe his goal was winning the argument. That seemed more likely, and it sure as hell was the safest thing to believe.

He thumbed the padlock she’d bought for the door. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Would you rather me be robbed? Raped?” Her stomach ached. “I’ve come too damn close. It’s not an experience I want to repeat.”

He looked as knocked sideways as he had in the ring against that bruiser Harley. “
What
did you say?”

Another sharp laugh. She was fraying like an old blanket. At least she was seeing him, seeing
them
, more clearly now. “You really expect me to open up, don’t you? Spill out another story from my life? That’s almost precious, sugar,” she said, sneering her usual endearment. “When you give me nothing.”

“Give you nothing. That’s a crock.”

She tipped her head. The backs of her thighs were pressed against the bed, and he’d slowly closed the gap between them. Backlit by the room’s only window, his scars were more intimidating and prominent than ever. “Go ahead and convince me of that one, right after you tell me what happened when you crashed. It’s been here the whole time, Eric. All you gave me was the knowledge that a training exercise could be devastating.”

“What the hell do you want to know?” His voice was an explosion in that tight room. He smacked his fist against the nightstand. Trish would’ve flinched as recently as a few months ago, but righteousness was a strong shield. She’d need it to keep poking him. To show him how much he’d hurt her—and make it stick.

“It’s not hard. Tell me what happened.”

“I crashed,” he snarled. “It hurt like fuck. I got better. That should be enough!”

“It’s not and you damn well know it.”

“Well, that’s all you’re going to get. The past is done.”

Trish shrugged. Even her mouth relaxed. That same eerie calmness she’d felt when fighting with Mama, or facing Hank Yardley, helped her leave her body. This was happening to someone else. The real Trish would deal with the fallout later.

“Well, that’s all you’re gonna get from me too,” she said. “The past is done.”

“Like hell.”

“Fine. Let’s deal with the
immediate
past. Why did I deserve you bailing on me? You
left
. I waited for you
in your home
, for hours, all night, worrying whether you’d smashed into a mountain in Alaska somewhere. I had to hunt down Sunny to make sure you weren’t dead. Do you get that? Do you understand how scared I was?”

“It was nothing to worry about.”

“You are so goddamn thick. Look at you!” She gestured to his face. “It’s happened before. Don’t tell me flying around at Mach whatever is like heading down to the office.”

“I had to go. Carey needed me.”

She sank on the bed. Easy as that, tears welled behind her eyelids. She blinked them back. Hard. She stared at the dingy gray-green shag rug as her insides wilted. “I have seen you step into a boxing ring how often now? For him? And I don’t merit a phone call. That’s some priorities you got there, Eric.”

“Women need attention. I’ve been here before, with some girl making me choose between her and my brother. It’s no contest.”

“Some girl? Wow.” Trish was cold in a way she’d never been. Left naked in a snowstorm. “That puts it in perspective. Sorry to have stolen so much of your attention, Eric. At the time it seemed like you enjoyed it.”

“You’re being irrational.”

“Nope. You’re being a chickenshit asshole.” She pushed back on her elbows, finally able to meet his eyes when hers had cleared of tears.

He leaned against the wall so heavily that it looked like he was trying to prop it up. His bowed shoulders nearly got to her. He only carried that weighty tension when he was tied up in knots, hurting, confused. But she shouldn’t need to interpret rune stones to get an answer. She deserved better. The painful irony was that Eric had been the one to help her see that.

“What would you have done?” His voice was thick, so extremely low. “Had I told you?”

“Well,” she said, almost conversationally. “I wouldn’t have spent the night in your bed with my hands curled around my cellphone.” He flinched. About goddamn time. “No, I take that back. I would’ve. I’d have waited there, phone in hand, expecting you to call. Hoping to be someone you could turn to in case Carey was in trouble again. I
could’ve
been there. Apparently you didn’t need that, so all’s well that ends well.”

“Don’t joke about this.”

“Okay. You want me to get pissed and keep shouting? Believe me, Eric, I’m capable of it.”

So quietly, he exhaled. “This isn’t how I wanted it to be.”

“Bit late for that sort of regret. Too bad you didn’t let me in on how you wanted it to be. I don’t even think you knew. I rated that low on your priority list.”

“That’s not true.”