He was enticing in every way. The way his body moved swiftly around the ring as I watched him from behind the bar. He was the best. And the best never loses.
When Blake Anderson gets a job as a bartender at the local fight club, Chargers, she meets...
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The alleyway was dark when he pulled me into it.
"Harry! Where are we going?" I laugh breathlessly as he pulls me along random streets and through different tunnels.
"Somewhere fun! Just let loose a little." His hand runs through his hair while he turns back to face me for a second and flashes me a large grin. It's something I haven't seen in a week or more.
"But-" I start, but he cuts me off by stopping his run abruptly. Thank God too, because I'm in stilettos and I was having a hard time keeping up as is.
He turns around to face me with a breathless, saddened expression. His hands enclose mine as he brings our hands to his mouth. He peppers soft kisses along my knuckles as he speaks, keeping his eyes on me the whole time.
"Babe, you gotta stop worrying. We are going to the other side of the venue. It's more private. I just got you back and I don't want you to be worried for the rest of the night. We can talk things over tomorrow, okay?"
I nod silently, smiling with my lips as I watch his face change from sad to elated. He was so happy right now, and so was I. Even though in the back of my mind I had to remember the situation we were in right now.
He's a part of the drug cartel and I just got dragged into it, solely on being associated with him.
But I love him.
I should run, but I don't think my feet would carry me away from him while he holds my heart in his hands, even if he doesn't know it.
You sunshine, you temptress.
"Follow me, Blake." And then the tug on my hand pulls again, lurching me forward gently so I can try and run with him again.
"Harry wait! Let me take off my shoes." I pull back against his grip, making him stumble a little bit and then eyes widening at the realization.
"Oh shit, sorry." He mumbles and then gets on one knee to untie them for me before I even get the chance.
His hands untie the strings that hold my stilettos in place, his fingers looping things through and under other strings as he unties the crisscross mess I have made. His hair dangles in his face, his abdominal and chest tattoos showing even in the dark of the night.
His hand slips underneath my heel, pulling it from the shoe gently.
That's what confuses me the most. How could such a lovely guy, maybe dangerous, but nonetheless lovely, be a murderer? How could he physically walk around after taking another human's life when it wasn't his to take? How could his bastard of a father instill such horrible and sociopathic logic inside his son's brain by the use of blackmail?
I didn't know.
I wanted to know everything about him and his past. Maybe that was the doctor in me, maybe my whole life I wanted to know every detail of everything so I was never blind sided or unknowingly.
