Untamed (A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance) (139 page)

“Did you see how fast he was?” Rose asks me. “God, he’s good.”

“I saw it,” I say as we leave the warehouse. The entire audience is filtering out at once, and it’s slow progress. The hubbub of excited chatter is thunderous. I can barely hear myself speak.

Everybody’s talking about how fast Pierce won. They’re saying that if this was a scored match, Stocky would have only received points for getting out of the first hold with that single blow onto his thigh.

I have to admit to myself that Pierce was impressive. Deceptively light on his feet despite all that muscle… it was graceful. Incredibly athletic.

“What are we going to do now?” I ask Rose.

“Well,” she says, grinning at me. “Now we see if we can talk to Pierce.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Yeah. I’m going to tell him your dad is dating his mom.”

“Damn Rose, why?”

“So we get a chance to meet him.”

“Rose, I don’t want to do this. You can’t tell him that.”

“Why not? You’re free to leave.”

I frown. “God, you can be such a bitch sometimes.”

“Hey, I want to meet him.”

“And what about Jason?”

“Oh, he’s not the jealous type.”

“I’m not?” Jason says, appearing from behind us. He was supposed to be using one of the porta-potties, but apparently the line was too long.

“It was going to be a hazmat zone in there once it got to my turn,” he explains, grinning.

“Gross.”

“Anyway,” Rose says, “Now you’ll get a chance to meet him. See what all that pointing was about.”

“I don’t really care,” I say. “To be honest, I might just head off early.”

“No!” she says, gripping onto my arm. “No, stay. Come on!”

“Rose…”

“They say Pierce’s nights out are legendary.”

“He drinks?”

She snorts. “What do you mean he drinks?”

“Well, aren’t athletes supposed to take care of their bodies?”

“Aren’t you adorable,” Rose says, laughing. “Anyway, if we can’t meet Pierce, Jason and I are going to go out anyway. Want to join us?”

“Where are you going?”

“Oh, probably a club or two.”

I pause. “I, uh, I’ve never been to a—”

“A club?”

“Well, no, back home you gotta be twenty-one.”

“You never used a fake ID?”

“No!”

She waves her hand. “Don’t worry about it, there’s nothing to it. Have a drink, feel the music, do what you want. Dance, sit, whatever. You only have to be eighteen here, anyway.”

“I don’t know, Rose,” I say. I’m starting to feel nervous now.
I can’t dance!
I’m not dressed for it at all.

“Oh, come on, Pen—” Rose’s eyes widen, and she looks past my shoulder. I turn around, and see Pierce Fletcher walking out of the train depot. He’s wearing a maroon dress shirt tucked into black slacks, and it all fits his body almost too perfectly.

“Pierce!” she screams, waving her hands. He’s already got a crowd of people around him. Everybody’s trying to get a selfie with him. Mobile phone cameras are going off left and right.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think we were at some red carpet event in Hollywood.

But Pierce isn’t paying attention to any of it. His eyes have found me, and he’s making a beeline straight toward us. Each of his steps is a long confident stride. He’s got a sway to him.

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was filming a commercial. The way each camera light flashes in seeming slow motion… it’s almost cinematic.

“Great fight, Pierce,” Rose says as he comes toward us. He doesn’t even acknowledge her. His eyes stay on me.

“You kicked arse tonight, mate,” Jason says. Pierce ignores him, too.

He closes the distance between us. I almost want to laugh. This whole scene has been so surreal. I feel like
I’m
in the commercial now.

His cologne is subtle, takes a moment to reach my senses. On his face he’s wearing an amused smirk, as if he’s finding something funny.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says. Apparently he just can’t help the grin that parts his lips. He’s got a mix between an American and Australian accent. It’s weird, like nothing I’ve ever heard before.

This time I really do laugh. “Jesus,” I whisper, tucking hair behind my ears. “That’s the best you could do?” I don’t even know why I say it. What was I expecting him to do?

“You’re joining me tonight,” he says. “You and your friends.”

Rose grips my arm, and I can almost hear her mentally pressuring me to accept.

“I, uh—”

“Hey, it’s the best club in town.”

“Juice?” Rose asks.

Pierce’s eyes don’t leave mine. “Yeah. We’ll get our own section.” His face grows serious. It’s all hard lines and angles. He’s a looker, but it’s better when he smiles. “Shall we go?”

I bunch my brow together. “You can’t be for real.”

Rose cuts in excitedly. “You know your parents are dating, right?”

Pierce levels a curious look at me. “Is that right? So
you’re
Penelope?”

“Yeah,” I say.

He only smiles. He just keeps looking at me, as if he’s measuring me, somehow, adding up everything he sees of me and labeling me, categorizing me, figuring me out.

I feel put on the spot; I feel hot, and I feel flushed.

I’m at a loss for words. Whereas in the cage he was all aggression and showboating, somehow now he’s no longer just a brute with a penchant for violence and lifting weights. His personality is intense. I can’t place it, can’t describe it.

I feel off-balance. I feel like I’m in the cage with him, and that I’ve got to hold my own.

“Well, nice fight,” I say. “Sans the showing off.”

Somehow – it’s subtle, but I don’t miss it – he uses his body language to guide me into walking with him. An arm out, a gentle gesture, and we’re walking down the street. Someone calls out his name, but he ignores them. Rose and Jason fall into step behind us. She’s positively giddy.

“First fight, Penelope?”

“Yeah.”

“Like it?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

“It’s not for everyone.”

Feeling on an island, I look behind me. Rose and Jason urge me on with their looks. Behind them are Chance and Cassie. I guess we’re all going to the club together.

Rose winks at me.

“I noticed you tonight,” Pierce says, and I snap my head back around and look up at him.

“I could tell,” I say. “The pointing wasn’t exactly subtle.”

“It’s part of the personality.”

I shrug. Somehow, I don’t believe he compartmentalizes his fighting from his everyday life that much.

Our shoulders touch, and I feel this current of electricity shoot through me, right into my belly.

“You’re not comfortable.”

I blanch. “Sorry?”

“You’re not comfortable, are you?”

“Um, no, I guess?”

“First time to a fight, and going by the way you’re dressed, I’d say your friend didn’t tell you what the atmosphere was going to be like.”

My cheeks burn. “You know, I’m not really feeling this. I’m going to go home.”

“Don’t,” he says. “I want you to join me.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?”

He stops, turns and looks at me. “You can leave any time you like.”

Again, I’m put on the spot. I hear Rose hiss my name, only this time she’s getting impatient.

“I get the feeling you do this after every fight, right?” I ask.

“Go celebrating?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re right. I
do
always win.” He grins.

“I meant pick out some girl you think you’re going to get with.”

“
Think?
”

“Wow,” I say. “And just before you said it was all an act.”

“That’s not what I said.” He turns around and says to Jason, “Alright, see you guys there. Wait for me at the front door, or they won’t let you in.”

I do a double take, and then look behind me, but Rose and Jason are already crossing the street.

“Hey!” I yell. “Where are you going?”

“To the car.”

They keep going, and I turn back to Pierce, and he’s just regarding me. I feel like I’m on display or something. Being tested.

Is this some kind of setup?

“I won’t bite,” he says.

“Where are we going?”

“To my car.”

“Oh.”

We round a corner, and there I see a black sports car. It’s a Porsche.

“That’s your car?”

“Yup.
911 GT3
.”

“I didn’t realize fighting paid so well.”

“It pays well – I won twenty-five grand tonight – but not
this
well.”

“So where do you get your money?”

“I bet on myself in the fights. Usually it doesn’t amount to much, but sometimes I’m the underdog.”

“Is that legal?”

His expression says:
Are you serious?
He opens the passenger side door for me. “It’s low,” he says.

“So?”

“Never mind,” he says casually. “Usually they’re wearing heels.”

“Um,” I say, climbing into the car.
What the hell was that?

He’s right, the car
is
low. “Why did you say that?” I ask as he climbs into the car.

But he doesn’t reply. He buckles up, starts the car, and I grip instinctively onto my seat as I feel the thunderous vibration rattle in my bum.

He pulls out of the parking space, and the car accelerates so fast I can barely breathe, and even though the windows are closed, it’s so loud I can hardly hear anything but the roar of the engine.

“Wow,” I whisper, grinning. I can feel adrenaline coursing through my body as he weaves us through the quiet suburb.

The seat beneath me shakes violently beneath my bum. It’s like every crack and crevice in the road is transplanted straight through the car and into my ass.

“The suspension is too hard,” I say, and he just laughs. “What?”

“There’s no switch or anything. This is a track car.” He points up with his finger, and for the first time, I notice the roll cage. It was practically invisible in the dark. Not exactly my preferred choice for a daily driver.

“So why is it so hard?”

“Soft suspension transfers momentum to absorb shock and centrifugal force,” he says. “Slows you down, wasted energy. You can’t take corners as aggressively.”

“Oh,” I say. “But we’re not racing.”

“I like to feel the road.”

“An underground fighter
and
an amateur race car driver, huh? You’re just full of surprises.” Now it’s me who is grinning at him, and he takes it on the chin.

“You know me better than I know myself, Penelope.”

“Women’s intuition,” I joke.

We laugh, and for the first time, I’m starting to feel comfortable. No longer in the presence of Rose’s urgent stares, and the others’ silent observation, I feel less awkward.

“Could you drive a bit slower?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

“But we’re right up on the limit.”

“That’s why it’s called a limit. What’s the problem?”

“I barely know you, and you’re driving in a car with way too much power. I’m a cautious person. Your insurance must cost you loads, but I’m guessing they don’t know you fight for a living and then drive your own car to clubs.”

“Relax,” he says. “I won’t be driving back.”

“So who will drive you?”

“Nobody. The club’s in downtown Melbourne, near Southern Cross station. I live in a block of apartments nearby. We’ll walk.”

Apartments
in
the city center? He must really be rolling in it.

Wait a minute, what did he mean by
we’ll
—

“What’s that supposed to be?” He nods at my wrist.

“It’s a tattoo.”

“I know it’s a tattoo, Pen. What’s it of?”

“Oh, so this is the part where you come up with a nickname for me?”

“I didn’t exactly come up with it. Penelope… Penny… Pen… P.”

“How about we just stick to Penelope?”

“What’s it of? Your tattoo? I can’t see from here.”

“It’s Chicago’s skyline. From the lake.”

“When did you get it done?”

“Why?”

“I want to know.”

Sighing, I tell him. “Just last month. I didn’t get it done. I did it myself.”

“No shit,” he says. “That’s on your right hand, and I noticed you were a righty.”

“You notice these things, do you?”

“Got to when you’re in the cage. So, you did it with your left hand?”

“Yeah. I’m a little ambidextrous.”

“So am I,” he says, and he smiles at me. “That’s really impressive.”

“So is this the part where you flatter me? Say nice things, do your little routine?”

“I really couldn’t give a fuck about flattering you, Pen. I’m just making conversation.”

“Oh, just making conversation, huh?”

“Yes, trying to loosen you up.”

He looks at me, and I feel my indignation flare up.

“Ten minutes ago you were shaking like a wet puppy. I know I’m hot, but there’s no need to be nervous.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh my God.”

But he just smirks.

I’m beginning to dislike him intensely.