Fight for Forever (BreakNeck Rockstar #3.5)

Chapter One

I awake to bright sunlight pouring in through the massive window in the bedroom of my loft, my eyes squint tight to block it out, and I throw my forearm up because my eyelids are doing jack shit to keep the sun out of my eyes.

Usually, the blinds are down, preventing this from happening. For whatever reason, I didn’t do it last night. It’s not like I have to get up. All the blinds in my loft work via remote control. It’s a perk of being a heavyweight champion for the fifth time in a row. As is the place I live.

My Brooklyn loft is the quintessential bachelor pad with its exposed brick and steel beams, huge warehouse windows, and leather furniture. It’s not barren. I like things to be cosy and comfortable. This is my home, a place very few people step foot in, my private sanctuary. It’s very different from what goes on out in the real world with my insane life.

The sheets are tangled around my legs, and I kick at them, opening one eye to look around the room. It comes back to me when my head feels as though I’ve just gone ten rounds. Malice came around last night. And the asshole brought a lot of tequila and a few of his friends.

One of whom is still here. The body beside me shifts, disturbed by my fighting with the sheets that are now pulled taut across her ass. She’s lying on her front with her face turned away from me.

Ah shit, I must have got fucked up to let her stay over. I never let that happen. I scratch my head. My usual buzz cut is longer than I normally wear it, the curls growing back in. I need to get it cut.

I have a certain image now and curls aren’t a part of that.

Shit, that isn’t important right now. How do I extract myself from this situation? And not just getting out of my bed unnoticed, but getting this woman out of my apartment. Having people in my private space makes my skin itch, especially people I don’t know.

I’m not a small guy. When I lift off the bed, the mattress is gonna shift, so stealth is out.

I glance at her again. Her hair is covering her face. I vaguely remember fucking her, but also thinking about other stuff while doing it. My body moved by muscle memory on auto pilot, my head somewhere else.

My relationships with women are mostly that way. Nothing and no one is doing it for me lately. Maybe it’s a sign of getting older. Jesus, I need to slap myself. I should be fucking grateful I have women falling at my feet. Problem is, I can never tell if they want me for me , or The Slayer.

I don’t remember her name, or whether I asked for it before we disappeared into the bedroom, me yelling at Malice and the rest of his asshole friends to get lost.

The thought of not even talking to this chick before we fucked is depressing as hell.

I’m not about to tiptoe around my own place. I get up and walk over to the bureau to pull out some fresh underwear.

Her voice cuts through the silence and grates on my nerves. I look over my shoulder as I pull the tight boxers over my ass .

“Don’t cover up on my account,” she purrs. Her hair is a mess, and her face looks puffy, probably from the alcohol last night. She flips the sheet back, revealing herself.

She has a tight body, fake tits but they’re not like tennis balls beneath stretched skin, and despite the just woke up look, she’s pretty. But I’m done. My head hurts too much to care about being polite.

“Get up, I’ll call you a cab.”

Her face contorts from sex kitten to confused, to pissed off. I go back to my bureau and grab a t-shirt, tug it on, then step into some grey sweatpants.

“Are you serious?”

Spotting her clothes on the floor, I scoop them up and toss them on the bed. That should answer her question. I’d leave the room to finalize the point, but I don’t want her in here alone. So I cross my arms over my chest and watch her. She clambers out of the bed in a huff and gets dressed, mumbling something I don’t care to listen to. I grab my phone and check my messages, keeping one eye on her.

Once dressed, she struts across the room in her heels, her hips swaying like she’s letting me know what I’m missing out on if she leaves. I pull the bedroom door open, making it clear I’m done.

“You weren’t even that good,” she snarls as she passes me.

“It was definitely forgettable.”

Now she’s really pissed and is about to start in on me when I stride past her without another word and open the front door. As soon as she steps through, I slam it shut, then scrub my hand down my face, feeling the scratch of stubble.

“Fucking hell,” I groan when I turn back to my living room. The place is a mess. Fucking Malice. He’s never coming around here again.

I pick up the mess, throwing out bottles and putting glasses into the dishwasher, then straighten up the couch cushions, grimacing at the ground up chips that have been dropped on the rug.

After a long hot shower, a protein shake and some scrambled eggs, I felt better. Checking my schedule, I have an appointment with my nutritionist later, but that’s all. For the rest of the day, I’m free to do whatever.

A run will help sweat out some of the toxins I put in my body last night. My running shoes are by the door, and I’m always dressed to work out. It’s what my wardrobe consists of.

I don’t have any fights lined up for a while, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to slack off.

My keys and phone go into the pouch. I strap it around my biceps and grab my earbuds. I’m about to leave when my phone buzzes. I think about leaving it. It could be important, so I grab it back out of the pouch, surprised to see Sam, my trainer’s name.

He doesn’t beat around the bush. Sam is straight as they come and has never been one for small talk. What he says shocks the hell out of me.

“Jenna and Megan were attacked last night. Megan was arrested.”

“What?”

“Are you deaf?”

“No, I’m not deaf, but I am like… What the fuck, Sam. Arrested?”

“I’m only calling you because I know you’re somewhat friendly with Jenna and won’t have bothered checking out the news. It’s fucking everywhere, with her dating that blue-eyed ass.”

I’d roll my eyes if I wasn’t so shocked. Jenna isn’t a friend, friend, but she’s more than an acquaintance and the thought of her being hurt makes me sick to my stomach. She’s been dating some guy from a band for a while. That is a wild underestimate about her relationship with a rock God, but I will not get particular about it.

“Are they hurt?”

“I know about as much as you do. I’m just letting you know,” he goes quiet for a moment. “From the sounds of it, if Jenna didn’t know how to defend herself, it could have ended different. ”

It’s obvious from his tone he’s upset and worried. That isn’t normal for Sam. Which means this is serious.

He knows about my relationship with Jenna, but I don’t think he realizes the slight thing I’ve had for Megan since she joined the gym. I’ve pushed it out of my mind because of her situation. I figured it out pretty quick when she started going to the self-defense classes, one of our ex-fighters runs.

I was almost floored the first time I saw her, with her dark blue eyes and her golden caramel hair. I’d stop dead by the ring, watching her as she looked nervously around the room.

She is off limits, but it never stopped me fantasizing about her or watching her when she’s around.

The rest of what Sam said registers.

“Wait, wait,” I straighten up from the wall I’d leant against without realizing I needed the support. “Megan got arrested? For what?”

“For killing the guy who attacked them,” Sam sighs. “And before you ask, I don’t know what happened. I’m sure we’ll find out in the coming days, but… Shit is serious. I like Megan, she’s a good kid, tries hard and keeps to herself. But I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”

“Do you know who the guy was?”

“Yeah, they’re saying it’s her boyfriend.”

Boyfriend? I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, everything coming together in my head. And a part of me can’t help but think good fucking riddance. If what I’ve suspected is true, then this fucker is the one who hurt her.

But I wouldn’t want to wish what is happening right now on anyone, especially not Megan.

“Stay out of it.”

“What?” I break out of my thoughts.

“I know you, Joey. You think I haven’t noticed, but I have. This is a messed-up situation. It’s far too complicated for you to help.”

My jaw clenches. “I wasn’t going to do anything. ”

That is met with silence. Fuck.

“It will play out how it plays out, Joey. Leave it alone.”

I hang up. He’ll be pissed. I’ll get an earful, but I don’t care right now. Walking to the window, I look out but don’t see anything, not the beautiful blue sky, not a cloud, or anything else going on out there.

All I can think about is Megan and what she must be going through right now. One of my biggest fears when I’m fighting is that I hit someone wrong and something catastrophic occurs. It happens.

There have been a lot of accidents where fighters have died. Fortunately, I’ve never experienced it, or known anyone who has.

It would fucking devastate me to know I’d ended someone’s life.

This is different. Sam’s right, I don’t know the full circumstances and I don’t have any right to step in.

What could I do anyway? Megan barely knows me, regardless of how I see her. Deep down, I know I should follow Sam’s advice. But…

If there is something I can do to help her, because she doesn’t deserve to be punished for this, then I am going to help her.

No one can stop me.