Thirteen.

Trix After getting home at the crack of dawn and catching a few hours of sleep, I woke to my alarm as it pulled me from the most delicious dream: waves, sand, and Mason. I dragged myself to the gym and hit the treadmill hard before coming in for my shift. As much as I enjoyed my time with Mason, things ended strangely.

When he left me at my door, he didn't mention our date we'd set up for tomorrow night. I don't know if we're still on or not, and I can't even call him because I don't know his number. I suppose I could ask Gia, but there's a tiny part of me that's apprehensive. The intensity of what I feel around Mason scares me, and as much as I want him to smother me with it, I'm terrified of being lost to it.

My phone on my dressing table chimes with an incoming text, and my heart leaps. I drop the magazine I'd been mindlessly flipping through and snag the device.

d.a.m.n, not Mason.

My brother Isaac.

I MADE THE TEAM! BooYah!

I grin at how much my little brother is starting to sound like the teenage boy he is.

Of course you did! It's your highly-tuned Mother Mary.

Hail Mary, Doofus.

When I spoke to my parents earlier today, they'd mentioned that he was going to find out if he made the football team tonight. I guess they leave for some kind of training camp to get all the players geared up before the beginning of the school year. It's almost midnight, so I a.s.sume he's been out celebrating.

My fingers furiously type and I giggle out loud.

Whatever . . . will I get to see you when I come home or will your big-shot football-playing self be occupied with your admirers?

I hit "send" and bite my lip to keep from laughing while I wait for his reply.

Have your people call my people.

"Let me guess." Angel shuffles over, dressed in nothing but patent leather and metal, having just come from her S&M routine. She drops onto her stool at her dressing table and rips off her spiked collar. "Mason?"

I sit up straighter and curse my eager response.

She dips her chin to motion to my phone. "It's so obvious! You're grinning like a queen at the Pride Parade."

A long sigh falls from my lips, and my shoulders droop in defeat. "Nah"-I hold up my phone and shake it-"it's my little brother. He's just really funny."

"Oh, well"-she continues to unbuckle and remove the painful looking corset until she's bare naked-"never mind. I a.s.sumed after all the hot and heavy spit swapping y'all did last night he'd be blowing up your phone today."

I roll my eyes and regret filling Angel in on the details of my time with Mason. The second I got to the club after the way she saw us leave last night, she was begging for the tell-all. I gave her most of it just because it felt so good to share it with someone. Being with a man like Mason isn't something a woman can keep to herself. That goodness doesn't seem real until it's spoken out loud between friends. And even then, it almost seems too good to be true.

"You tease, but it was ah-maze-ing." I check the timer on my mirror and realize I have ten minutes before I'm up. "When was the last time you've been with a man that was content to kiss and feed you jerky?"

I drop my robe and pull on pieces of the costume I laid out earlier.

Angel ties the satin sashes of her black Zeus's robe. "That's easy. Not since high school." Her eyebrows pinch and a slow smile tugs at her lips. "What're you wearing?"

"Huh?" I'm tugging on a pair of board shorts over a bright yellow G-string. "This?" I stand up and loop the yellow triangle bikini top around my neck and tie it at my back. "I'm changing things up."

She stares at me like I slid on a muumuu.

"What?" I hold out my hands and twirl, grabbing at the super long strands of extensions I put into the back of my hair to make it twice as long and board straight. "Don't I look like a little surfer girl?" I pop up on my dressing table, cross my legs, and wiggle my painted toes.

"You're batting your eyelashes." She laughs and shakes her head. "Holy s.h.i.t, they're gonna love the whole innocent thing you got going on. And barefoot . . . f.u.c.king genius."

"Thanks!" I don't tell her where my s.e.xy surf-inspired idea came from.

"Trix, you're on in five!" Santos' call comes thundering through the room.

"On it!" I hop off the table and check my look one more time.

"What're you dancing to, The Beach Boys?"

I turn toward her with what is probably a wicked grin. "'Drunk in Love,' baby." I snap my fingers and move past her. "Beyonce up in this bi-"

"Trix!"

Angel and I dissolve into a fit of giggles. "Coming, Santos!"

"Kick a.s.s, babe."

And with a smack on the a.s.s from my girl, I'm off to work a crowd.

Mason As I sit in my truck, not far from the alley that I dragged my brother's broken body from only a week ago, I can't help but wonder how this is going to play out. I don't know why I didn't think of it before, but now, as I stare down the dirty backstreet, a wave of dread comes over me. These guys could easily take my offering-this offending burden wrapped in brown paper and twine-and then leave me with a bullet between my eyes.

I need to stay semi-public to avoid that. Close enough to the back lot of Zeus's that any gunshot would be heard and reported, but far enough away that I won't be seen.

"Pa.s.s it on and get the h.e.l.l out of here." My gaze swings to the red beat-up Honda Civic at the opposite side of the lot and my chest aches.

Trix is here.

I'm tempted to duck inside and watch her dance from a back corner where she won't notice. After the way I stormed off last night, I can't imagine she's interested in seeing me. But as much as my draw to be close to her pulls me in, the reluctance of being witness to her stripping holds me back. The memory of her dancing in that hotel suite is enough to make my blood boil and my fists clench. She seemed to enjoy what she was doing, and I have to wonder how she can possibly draw the line between where her job ends and real physical arousal begins.

The low growl of motorcycle engines pulls me from my thoughts, and I watch as a small fleet of bikers pulls up to the alley. I recognize all four of them from the other night, the bigger one standing out like a bad omen.

Kicking out their stands, they lean the bikes and dismount then linger, lighting cigarettes and settling in.

f.u.c.k. Here we go.

Eager to get this s.h.i.t over with and go the h.e.l.l home, I grab the stupid package and shove it under my arm. With long strides, I head toward them and the bikers notice me right away, stilling conversation and all turning to face me.

I don't hesitate in my approach, and the big f.u.c.ker I dealt with last week steps forward.

"I didn't think you'd pull through." His voice is gravelly and low, jagged in a way that speaks of hard living.

"You didn't give me much of a choice." I hold out the package and he takes it.

He doesn't even glance at it, but pa.s.ses it back to one of his brothers, keeping his eye on me. "Was kinda looking forward to b.l.o.o.d.ying that pretty-boy face of yours."

My fingers itch to ball into fists, but leaving this parting peacefully is in the best interest of all involved. "You're a man of your word; you back off me and Drake." It's a statement of fact, a promise that I need to hear him confirm.

The biker grins wide, whiskered lips curling back over the yellowed teeth of a chain smoker. "You tell your boy if he crosses us again he won't live to talk about it."

The guy's eyes dart over my shoulder an instant before I hear the low rumble of male voices behind me. I turn to see a group of guys I instantly recognize just as the roar of motorcycle engines fire to life.

"Mase?" Wade says, his gaze moving between me and the retreating bikers as they mount their bikes to take off down the street.

Dammit, f.u.c.k! I dip my chin, hoping to sidestep into the shadows.

He shoves my shoulder. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing here, man?" There's humor in his voice, but when I turn to face him, his expression grows hard as he takes in the motorcycle taillights. "Those your friends?"

I notice Wade is with a few of the newer fighters, some guys who've just joined our camp and are clearly being given the hot-spots-in-Vegas tour.

"No." The urge to get out of here is so strong my legs cramp with the desire to move. "They were asking for directions."

He nods. "Oh, well then, come with us. I was just taking the boys here to check out all Vegas has to offer." He grabs the back of my neck and motions for me to join him.

"No, thanks." I motion to my truck and act casual. "I was just headed out."

He's back to glaring at me with suspicion. "You were already inside?"

s.h.i.t!

"Yeah, but uh-"

"Come on, Baywatch." Pauly, one of the new guys, smacks me on the shoulder. "One drink!"

It's easier to just have a d.a.m.n drink than to figure out a way out of this that won't get my a.s.s teased for weeks. "Sure. Okay." I shove Pauly-"It's Mason or Mayhem to you, a.s.shole"-and reluctantly follow, thankful that Wade hadn't shown up two minutes earlier and seen me hand off at least ten pounds of drugs. I'll pop in with them and then disappear as soon as I can.

Santos, working security at the back door, recognizes me and holds the door open for us, and we shuffle into a dark hallway. I feel the huge bouncer's eyes on me as I pa.s.s, his glare burning into my head. Clearly this guy is protective of Trix. Threat received.

Techno music gets louder as we move down the corridor and get spit out into the main club. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the contrast of dark and day-glow as we shuffle through the room to a vacant table in the back. Thankfully, it's busy enough that we've avoided being right up against the main stage. This might keep Trix from seeing me, and I could still get away with slipping out of here unnoticed.

We order drinks from a s.l.u.tty-looking cheerleader and watch as a few dancers I've never seen before swivel their hips in nothing but a thin string tied between their legs. Judging by their lack of clothing, I'd say we're catching the end of their dance.

"Tomorrow Cam's going to talk to you guys about training partners . . ."

Wade's involved in UFL Training 101, so I tune him out and scan the room, looking for the flash of platinum and purple, and coming up short. That means she's backstage or in a private room. My skin p.r.i.c.kles with irritation, and I'm tempted to throw open the doors and bust open skulls.

I shift on my barstool and try to shake off my severe mental discomfort. Fresh off a drug deal, I'm hopped up on adrenaline and what-the-f.u.c.k. I breathe through a mix of relief and jumpiness. Don't go kicking the a.s.s of someone who doesn't deserve it. After all, this is a legitimate job. Trix's job. It's her f.u.c.king job! I fist my hair and ready to make my hasty exit when our drinks arrive.

"Here's to a successful fighting year, boys." Wade holds up his beer and clanks bottles with the newbies, but I avoid the cheery "hear, hear" and slug back a good half the bottle.

"Gentleman, have we got a treat for you tonight!" The announcer's voice grates on my nerves, ratcheting my agitation. "You got wood? Because we've got a girl who's ready to grind on that. Put your hands together for the sugary-sweet and sultry-"

Oh, f.u.c.k no . . .

"Trix!"

Motherf.u.c.ker! I slam down my beer bottle as the room goes dark. Rippling blue lights flash on the stage, and the sound of crashing waves trickle from the speakers. The crowd roars and yells at a blank stage. The music builds, waves mixing with some Indian snake charmer music, s.e.xy and seductive. My heart pounds in my chest, and I'm transfixed on what I know is going to be a scene that will destroy me as much as turn me the f.u.c.k on.

A soft sultry voice singing about drinking drips through the speakers. Bright lights flash.

And she appears. Bare feet, bikini, and board shorts. No f.u.c.king way.

I suck in a quick breath and hold it, spellbound by the way she looks combined with the slow roll of her hips. Hypnotizing. The ba.s.s drops, but the tempo stays slow, lazy. Like love-making.

"Holy s.h.i.t, it's her!" Wade shoves my shoulder, but I'm locked on the beautiful woman on stage, unable to rip my eyes from the vision before me.

Her hands move over her body, sensual swipes of her palms over her belly that move between her legs, reminding me of last night. I shift in my seat, harder than steel, and watch as she dances just for me. All that hair, longer than it was the last time I saw her is draped and thrown around her face, which is fixed in an expression of ecstasy.

She turns, sliding her shorts down with a tug of her thumb, teasing to within an inch of my sanity. My fists clench against my thighs; the urge to rip those tiny sc.r.a.ps of material from her body and sink deep inside her is so strong it's all I can do to remain in my seat.

The shorts drop to her ankles to reveal a bright yellow G-string, and she kicks them into the crowd to get swallowed up by a group of hungry men.

I blink, mesmerized by how she can move her body. Like liquid, she glides. Crawling on all fours, she dips her chin to the floor. Her chest, belly, hips, thighs . . . like a serpent. f.u.c.k, she's outstanding.

My legs push me to standing, and before I realize what I'm doing, they carry me toward the stage.

She pushes up to her knees, legs wide, and her hands glide up over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, squeezing them gently before she moves them to around her neck, and with a flick of her wrist, her top is gone. Adrenaline fires through my veins; l.u.s.t and the need to pop the eyes from every man in the room battle for dominance.

She drops into a wide split, the globes of her tanned a.s.s in the faces of the entire front row. The song goes on at an erotic pace and sings about swerving on a surfboard. She mimics the motion of s.e.x, her knee c.o.c.ked as she rolls her hips in waves and grinds down on nothing beneath her.

For a split and selfish second, I imagine this is all for me. I take my head to a place where everything she does is for me and only for me. Where her body and all she has to offer she gives freely to the one man she can trust with it.

Me.

Warmth explodes in my chest.

She inches her gorgeous a.s.s toward the edge of the stage, and hands come at her from every direction. I jerk from my fantasy and blink away the fog of l.u.s.t as patrons shove as many bills as they can fit into the tiny strings of fabric that cover her most private places.

Rage, hot and welcome, fires beneath my skin. I move, grab the first body that stands between my woman and me, and toss it away. One by one, I pick them off like ants, grabbing the backs of their shirts, flinging them aside to get to her, and making a path that will get my arms around her to protect her from these lecherous animals that can't keep their f.u.c.king hands to themselves.

The murmur of chaos explodes around me, but I ignore it. Fists pound at my back and arms, but it's static compared to the drive to get to Trix.

Her head jerks around, eyes wide, mouth agape. "Mason?"

I can hardly hear her over the commotion, but I'm so transfixed on her face I read her lips. In one long stride, I'm on stage. I scoop her into my arms.

"Put me down!" She kicks her legs, but it only makes me squeeze her tighter to me.

"No."