Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
I’m the bad boy. She’s the good girl.
I’ve fought for survival all my life. My best friend and I have built an empire with our fists, sweat, and blood.
There's nothing I won't do to protect her, no matter the sacrifice – even my own heart.
I should know better than to want her. She’s got big dreams that don’t involve me.
I need to set her free so she can escape our small town. Not just for her sake–if her brother finds out about us, it’s more than my heart that could be broken.
But one kiss from her soft lips, I know I’ll never let her go.
USA Today bestselling author Autumn Jones Lake welcomes you to her captivating new series full of passion, longing, and the unbreakable bonds of chosen family.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
My best friend’s little sister Molly is the only person in the world distracting enough to make me miss a foot flying at my head.
The kick slams into my temple. Pain explodes through my skull. My vision blackens around the edges. I rock sideways but stay on my feet.
Stupid mistake.
Everything in front of me blurs for a second. I grit my teeth, refusing to give in to the throbbing ache. Shaking off the blow, I put my fists back up, and weave away from my opponent.
My wandering attention could’ve cost me the fight. But Molly’s here. Watching. Even though she’s what pulled me out of the fight, she’s also the reason I’m diving back into it.
So she can watch me win.
I weave away from my opponent’s next strike. He already had his shot. He’s not getting another one.
Molly is my ultimate forbidden fruit—my best friend’s little sister. She’s sweet, shy, innocent, and gets good grades while I’m gruff, loud, definitely not innocent, and earn extra cash by beating the shit out of people in illegal underground fights.
Why is she even here?
The bloodthirsty spectators roar. This is a rougher scene than I’m used to. Dirtier fighting. Fewer rules. The dank, sweat-soaked air crackles with expectation.
My opponent—a skilled fighter, no doubt—goes in for another shot and that’s when I retaliate, pummeling him with several calculated strikes. He sways on his feet, then crumples to the concrete floor.
Stay down, motherfucker.
He groans and flops his forearm over his eyes. The crowd erupts in chaotic cheers and shouts. The ref stomps over and toes my opponent in the ribs. The guy curls into a ball on his side, signaling he’s done.
Breathing hard, I allow the ref to hold my hand in the air and show me off to the heavy bettors outside the cage.
“Give it up for Stonewall!” the ref shouts, using the ring name I was given years ago.
The people chanting my name are nothing more than a colorful, frenzied blur. My mind’s already left the ring. I’m too busy searching for Molly to pay attention to the spectators, girls, or anyone else.
The organizer of tonight’s matches approaches with a big smile stretched across his face. He hands me my stack of cash and slaps my back.
“Good match!” he shouts in my face. “Come back anytime.”
Not likely. I don’t plan to make a habit out of visiting Ironworks.
I nod to acknowledge his open invitation, then hustle out of the ring and into the fray. Need to reach Molly before the crowd swallows her. These aren’t the sort of people she should be mixed up with.
I shoulder through the mass, bumping guys out of my way. There. No more than ten feet from me. She’s in a shadowy area, waiting patiently against the back wall. My lips curve up as I recognize the logo of my fight club stretched across the front of her purple T-shirt. Brass knuckles and roses. Kind of like Molly and me.
Guys eye-fondle her as they walk by, but no one dares talk to her. They know better than to mess with Remy’s little sister. Because she’s my Molly—sweet, oblivious Molly—she doesn’t notice their attention.
Her eyes are focused on me and nowhere else.
Unfortunately, a lot of ring bunnies are also focused on me. One approaches with a sway to her hips and her full, red lips curled into an enticing smile. My gaze shoots to Molly in time to catch the turndown of her mouth and quick glance toward the exit.
I need to reach her fast.
“Congratulations, G,” Layla says. She waits for me to kiss her cheek. Give her some sign I want her to accompany me to the locker room or maybe my car so she can be my trophy for the night. Leaning in closer, she drops her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Were you messing with him when you took that kick?”
I don’t bother bending down to hear her better or return her smile. “Nope.” My clipped answer’s meant to satisfy her questions—both spoken and unspoken.
Layla knows a brush-off when it’s happening. She’s too proud to beg and too beautiful to bother trying to convince me. She lifts her chin and stalks away. On to the next fighter.
My eyes lock on Molly again. She’s staring at the floor now, arms wrapped around her middle like she’s trying to make herself as small as possible. She lifts her head as I approach. A tentative smile flickers over her lips.
“You didn’t have to hurry up for me,” she says, nodding in Layla’s direction. “I know you have fans to attend to.”
The words come with an edge of hurt—pain I wish I could erase from Molly’s mind.
“Does your brother know you’re here?” I ask, holding out my arms to her.
Instead of answering, she flings herself against me, wrapping her arms around my neck. I lift her up, hugging her tight, burying my nose in her cherry-vanilla-scented hair.