Dirty For Me (Motor City Royals) (15 page)

The few women were in tiny skirts or poured-on jeans and tight tops, hanging off the arms of the men. They too were shouting and gesticulating at whatever was happening in the center of the circle. Money looked like it was changing hands, bills being shoved to and from various people.

Swallowing her nervousness, she slipped through the crowded rooftop as best she was able, trying not to bump or knock into people. Not that anyone else seemed to care about that, but she really didn’t want to draw attention to herself.

The crowd thickened the closer to the center she got and she finally came to a standstill, trapped behind some huge muscle-bound guy who was screaming at the top of his lungs, unable to go any farther—or at least not without shoving someone out of her way.

Twisting, she managed to see past him just at the right moment, the crowd suddenly parting in front of her, enough to see the wide-open space in the middle of the rooftop.

And the two men in the center of it.

She stilled, the breath catching in her throat.

Zee stood there, dressed only in a pair of black shorts and gloves that looked a bit like boxing gloves but weren’t. He had his hands raised, his whole body motionless and yet vibrating with energy, the leashed violence and danger she’d sensed in him from the moment she’d laid eyes on him coursing through him like a current.

Light came from the city around them and from a floodlight set up down one end of the rooftop, a raw, white kind of illumination. It picked up the sheen of sweat on his hard, muscled body, making him gleam. Making the ink of his tattoos look darker and denser on his skin.

He looked like he’d been dipped in silver somehow, a battle angel fallen to earth. Magnificent. Beautiful. Terrifying.

Her chest tightened, hunger beginning to uncoil inside her.

The other man was in blue trunks and he’d begun to circle Zee, coming closer and closer, though Tamara barely looked at him. All her attention was on Zee.

The man made a few feints with one hand that Zee easily dodged, then he came in with a sweeping kick, only to have Zee dodge that one too. The two circled each other a couple of times while the crowd heaved and screamed all around her.

She found herself rooted to the spot, her heart thundering as the man in blue rushed at Zee and Zee danced back, the crowd moving with them almost to the low and dangerous parapet that bounded the edge of the roof.

Fighting on the rooftop of a building. Were they insane? Perhaps that was the appeal.

Zee was now dodging more feints and avoiding kicks, leading the guy around in a circle, and it became apparent to Tamara he was either toying with the other man or maybe tiring him out.

The crowd’s excitement seemed to build the longer Zee held out attacking, people screaming at him to go for it, to rip the other guy apart, to take him down.

Zee himself didn’t appear to notice. His expression was fixed, silver eyes burning and focused wholly on his opponent. As if the crowd wasn’t even there.

Tamara found herself almost chanting along with the audience, her heart hammering, her hands out of her pockets now and clenched in fists at her sides. Excitement poured through her as she watched, adrenaline firing through her bloodstream. She could feel the excitement build in the crowd like a wave, as if they were all waiting for something. A moment they were anticipating. The point where the wave would break.

In the center of the crowd, Zee had come to a stop as his opponent circled and she had the impression that he was gathering himself. That the moment the crowd had been waiting for was coming, was almost there . . .

He moved, an explosion of lethally controlled violence that had him feinting a punch before dropping to the ground for a sweeping kick that took the other guy’s feet out from under him.

The crowd roared their approval as Zee was instantly on top of his opponent, grappling with him, shoving him down to the ground, his hand on the back of his neck. The other guy was struggling, trying to throw Zee off, but failing. Then Zee sprang away, pulling back.

His opponent got to his feet, his hands coming up. There was blood trailing down his face from a split eyebrow and a cut lip, a bruise around his eye socket.

Tamara frowned. Why had he let the other man up when Zee was clearly winning the round?

Then Zee shifted again, another series of powerful yet contained movements that had him feinting a kick before launching a punch at the other man’s face that snapped the man’s head back and had him dropping to the concrete like a stone.

He didn’t get up again.

The crowd gave a deafening roar as Zee looked down at his felled opponent for a long moment. Then he punched one hand into the sky while the crowd howled their approval, and Tamara found herself howling right along with them, the excitement of the victory pulsing through her like it was her own.

People began to move, some converging on where Zee stood, others gathering in groups to shout and argue as money once again changed hands. Chaos reigned and Tamara had to quickly slip away to the side of the rooftop to avoid getting trampled.

A couple of muscle-bound bouncers waded in and began shoving people away, clearing a space around Zee. The crowd pulled back muttering, more money being tossed around amid loud arguments and laughter.

Tamara inched around the side of the rooftop, trying to see where Zee was. Then she spotted him down one end. He was standing there with a towel around his neck, holding a beer bottle loosely in one hand, talking to his friend, the other mechanic she’d met, Gideon. Both of them were surveying the crowd, tense expressions on their faces.

She barely noticed, her gaze drawn inexorably to Zee’s body gleaming under the floodlights, sweat outlining every perfect muscle, blood trailing from another split eyebrow down the side of his jaw and farther down the powerful column of his neck.

Everything gathered tight inside her with want. He was intimidating and dangerous, no doubt about it, and God, she liked that. So different from all the men she knew, in their suits and ties and with their country club memberships. Zee was like another species entirely. He was life in the raw, in all its gritty, physical glory. A tiger in a field of antelope.

He’d played with that guy, toyed with him, before taking him out with what looked like ridiculous ease.

He’d told her he fought to let off steam, but was it more than that? Did he like beating the shit like that out of people? What was it that drew him to this?

Because she did. She just . . . did.

Too busy staring, Tamara didn’t notice the man backing into her until it was too late. The impact almost knocked her off her feet and she stumbled, her hand going out to grab on to something.

“Shit,” a male voice said. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Someone had grabbed her hand and was holding on tight. She looked up, the sudden movement making her hood fall back.

An older man with rough, brutal features and cold dark eyes was steadying her, his grip almost painful. He smiled as her hood fell away. “Hey, honey, sorry ’bout that. Didn’t see you there.”

There was no mistaking the interest in his eyes. Damn.

Tamara forced herself to smile back, trying to untangle herself from his grip. “It’s okay, really. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” He didn’t release her.

Double damn. “Yes. I promise. It’s all good.” She flicked a glance over to where Zee was, hoping he hadn’t disappeared, still attempting to pull away from the man who seemed bent on holding her fast.

And met Zee’s eyes, glittering like polished steel.

Z
ee had been counting on Victor turning up to the fight tonight and he wasn’t disappointed, which was just as well since the guys he and Gideon had gotten together were in the crowd just waiting for Zee’s signal. A show of strength for Victor to take back to Zee’s old man, a line in the sand from his son.

And Zee had nearly gone ahead and given that signal.

Then Victor had backed into a slender figure at the side of the rooftop, some chick nearly swamped in an outsize black hoodie. She’d stumbled and her hood had fallen back, exposing the bright gleam of a blond ponytail.

No mistaking that color. And when her face had turned toward him, he knew there was no mistaking the woman either.

It was Tamara Lennox standing on the rooftop and Victor fucking Krupin, more commonly known as the Pitbull, was holding on to her hand.

His blood had turned to ice at the same time as a black fury rose inside him, strong as a fucking hurricane. He wanted to go over to the other guy, smash his face in, then hurl him from the rooftop like King Kong.

Then maybe he’d fling that stupid little rich girl over his shoulder, take her somewhere quiet, and put the fear of God into her. Because what the
fuck
was she doing here? After he’d told her no? He thought he’d been very specific, been very clear that they were not going to see each other again.

She stared at him from across the rooftop, her dark eyes defiant, and no matter that his father’s henchman was right next to her and that he had more important shit to do, he could feel beneath his rage the hunger for her begin to rise too.

Whatever his head was telling him about not seeing her again, his dick, the stupid fuck, had clearly not gotten the message.

Jesus. She had no idea what she was messing with. She had no idea who was holding her hand. A man who’d kill her without a shred of regret.

“What the fuck?” Gideon muttered at his side. “Is that your girl?”

“The others need to stand down,” Zee said roughly. “We gotta get her outta here.
Now.
”

“I’ll tell them.” Gideon glanced at him. “I’ll get her too. Take her back to the garage.”

Zee could only nod. He couldn’t go over and get her himself, not with Victor there. Doing so would single her out, make her seem special and with his father’s favorite attack dog nearby, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Luckily Gideon seemed to understand so Zee just stood there, sipping casually on his beer, pretending that the rage the fight had already unleashed wasn’t about ready to blow his head off.

After he’d told his friends the truth about himself, he’d gone out himself to try to track down his father. But in Joshua’s inimitable way, once he’d shown Zee he knew where he was, he’d vanished. Zee, impatient now for everything to be over, had wanted to go to his old man’s house and rattle on the goddamn gates to get the guy to come out. But Gideon had had a better idea.

Make the guy come to them. Get him in Royal territory. Their territory.

So he and Gideon had engineered a fight especially to draw either Joshua or Victor out of the woodwork. And sure enough, at least one of those cocksuckers had come. But he couldn’t make a move now, not with her here. She’d fucking ruined it.

Zee forced his gaze away from hers, watching Gideon move through the crowd instead. Adrenaline was a loud buzz in his veins, fury and a dread he wasn’t going to admit to only adding to it.

Jesus Christ, he needed another fight to burn this shit off somehow.

He couldn’t help himself; his gaze returned to where Tamara stood. The hood of her sweatshirt had fallen back completely now, her long blond ponytail a golden waterfall down her spine. The top hid her figure, except for those long slender legs, encased in worn blue denim.

Gideon had approached them and was talking to Victor, smiling as he put an arm around Tamara’s waist, pulling her against him in a blatantly possessive gesture. Tamara wasn’t looking at Zee and her face was white, but clearly she could think on her feet because after a moment’s hesitation, she put her own arm around Gideon’s waist, letting her head fall on his shoulder.

Something inside of Zee growled.

Insanity. He’d wanted this confrontation, needed it. To draw a line in the sand, to show his motherfucking father that he wasn’t seventeen anymore. That he wasn’t going to be pushed around or threatened. He had his territory and he was going to defend it.

But the goddamn woman had ruined it. She’d shown no sense at all by coming down here looking for him, and then, to add insult to injury, had gotten tangled up with Victor of all people.

The very last thing he should be doing was getting possessive because she had her arm around Gideon.

Yet all of that made no difference to the feeling inside of him. The one that wanted to rip her away from Gideon, from Victor, and show her who she really belonged to.

As if to punctuate how true this was, as Gideon and Tamara moved toward the entrance to the stairwell, Zee noted Victor’s gaze tracking them all the way there. Then the fucker turned and that cold gaze met Zee’s.

Victor smiled, gave him a salute, then casually he began shouldering his way through the crowds to the stairwell too.

The rage boiled up inside him, demanding an outlet. A rage he hadn’t felt since his father had told him about Madison’s car accident. About how it hadn’t actually been an accident at all.

Something cracked in his hand, the neck of the beer bottle shattering in his grip, the bottle falling onto the concrete of the rooftop and smashing.

Christ, he needed to get out of here, figure out what his next move was. No, correction. First he needed to make sure Tamara Goddamn Lennox took that pretty, rich-girl ass of hers back downtown and stayed there.

It took him nearly an hour to finish up the fight, then get back to the garage, and by the time he slammed his way through the doors, he was in a towering fury.

Tamara was sitting on the white plastic chair with a beer in one hand, still enveloped by that stupid fucking sweatshirt, while Gideon sat on the metal stairs. He was also nursing a beer and the pair of them were chatting like old friends.

Zee wanted to strangle both of them.

“What the
fuck
do you think you were doing?” he demanded, slamming the door behind him, then heading straight for Tamara’s chair.

A flicker of fear chased through her dark eyes—which was good, because if she was afraid, then maybe she’d stay away from him—only to be followed by something else. Something that looked a hell of a lot like that same defiance she’d shown him up on the rooftop.

She lifted her chin as he stalked up to her, slamming his hands on the arms of the chair, caging her into it.

“Zee,” Gideon said. “Calm the fuck down.”

Zee ignored him, staring down at the woman in the chair. “Answer me.”

She stared right back at him, her jaw tight. Then she lifted her beer and took a sip.

He growled and snatched the bottle out of her hand. “Fucking answer me, Tamara.” Jesus Christ, she should not be messing with him right now. Not given the mood he was in.

“Zee.” Gideon’s voice was low with warning. “Don’t be a prick. She didn’t have any idea what was going on.”

Of course she hadn’t, and he
was
being a prick.

Zee shoved the thought away. He didn’t want to care about that, he couldn’t afford to.

“Fuck off, Gideon,” he ground out. “This is between her and me.”

Gideon muttered something under his breath. “You okay, Tamara?”

For some reason that enraged him even more. “You really think I’m gonna hurt her?” he demanded, shifting his attention to the other man.

Gideon’s dark gaze was level. “Just making sure she’s okay.”

“Well?” He looked back down at her. “Are you? ’Cause Dad over there is worried.”

Her mouth flattened into a line. “It’s okay, Gideon. I’ll be fine.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then Gideon let out a breath and got to his feet. “I’ll be in the office.”

Zee didn’t watch him go, his attention fully on the woman sitting in the chair in front of him.

It had taken him three days to text her to tell her it was over and he’d told himself that was because he’d had other more important shit to think about. But when she’d called him back and he’d heard her soft, husky voice on the other end of the phone, he’d known that was a goddamn lie.

It had taken him that long because he hadn’t wanted to do it. The end of the month wasn’t up yet and he wasn’t ready to say good-bye. But now this shit with his father had blown up, Christ, he hadn’t had a choice. It should have been easy and definitely nothing in his chest should have clenched tight at the sound of her voice. At the undercurrent of disappointment in it, a disappointment she’d been trying to hide that he’d heard anyway. Nevertheless it had.

He’d had to force the words out. Had to make himself say them.

All for nothing, it seemed. Because here she was, having not paid the slightest bit of attention.

“What the fuck did you come down here for?” he demanded, not caring how rough he sounded. “I told you it was over. I fucking meant it.”

Something he couldn’t quite read glittered in her dark eyes. “I wanted one last night.”

He didn’t know why that made him even angrier. “If all you wanted was a fuck, then you should have found one downtown, Tamara. You didn’t need to come to Royal to find it.”

“I didn’t want just a fuck.” Her jaw had gone tight. “I wanted you.”

That got him, made something twist hard inside him. Something traitorous he didn’t want. “Yeah well, you shouldn’t. You should be staying the hell where you belong and not coming anywhere near here.”

“Why? Or better yet, why the hell are you so pissed with me?” Anger vibrated in her voice. “So I didn’t take no for an answer and came to one of your fights. What’s the big deal?”

His fingers curled on the white plastic of the chair. Perhaps he should tell her what she’d interrupted, so she knew exactly the level of shit that was going down. That would make her wish she’d never left her pretty, expensive apartment and her clean-cut New York boyfriend.

Which meant he should tell her. Yet the words didn’t want to come out of his mouth.

The way he was leaning over her had brought her so close, her dark eyes inches from his, her full, pouty mouth right there. She smelled so good, like sex and heat and hunger. And he was so full of adrenaline and fury, and nothing was going to make it any better.

He could fight or he could fuck. He knew which one he wanted to do.

Maybe she was right. One more night to say good-bye. Then she could fuck off back to where she belonged.

Zee shoved himself away from the chair. “You wanted one more night. You sure about that?”

She blinked. Then her mouth firmed. “Yes.”

“You better be. ’Cause I’m not in the mood for gentle. Understand?”

She didn’t look away. “I didn’t come here for gentle.”

Desire wrapped around him, squeezed him. Making his heart slam against his chest and cock harden in his jeans.

“Then you’d better come with me.” And he held out his hand to her.

* * *

Zee must have gotten changed somewhere because he was now in low-slung jeans and a black T-shirt. The blood had been cleaned up, a cut on his cheekbone taped, and he should have looked if not respectable then at least less threatening.

But he didn’t.

There was wild lightning in his eyes and it burned bright as he held out his hand.

She shouldn’t take it, not when his mood was like this. When there was so much anger in him and he refused to explain any of it.

The encounter with the man at the fight had frightened her, especially when he wouldn’t let go of her hand and had looked at her with those cold, cold eyes. Then Gideon had appeared and put his arm around her and mentioned something about her being “already taken,” and luckily she’d had the presence of mind at least to go along with it.

Gideon had brought her back to the garage, explaining how there were always a few weirdos at the fights and how it wasn’t a good idea to turn up by herself. She’d been okay with that, though she’d felt like a bit of an idiot for not thinking it through.

It had been nice just sitting there with Gideon, chatting and having a beer. They’d talked about Zee, Gideon mentioning the work Zee’d been doing with the kids at the local outreach center, and about Zee’s gym and what Zee was trying to do with it. She already knew he was a pretty decent guy and hearing about the difference he was trying to make in his neighborhood only deepened Tamara’s respect for him.

Then Zee himself had come in, bringing the lightning with him.

She had no idea what he was so angry about, though she’d guessed it had something to do with her turning up at the fight. He hadn’t wanted her there; that much was obvious, though again, she didn’t know why. And clearly he wasn’t going to tell her.

Tamara met his hot, burning gaze and briefly debated pushing the issue. But then she knew if she did that it wouldn’t get her what she wanted. Which was him in all his rough, dirty glory.

So she took his hand, feeling the heat of his touch steal up her arm. Letting him draw her up and out of the chair. And when he turned and went back out of the garage, she followed him, the grip of his fingers around hers drawing her along.