Page 37 of Arm Candy Warrior

“Unless they give it to me,” I tell him, forming a plan in my mind. In the car, Mag’s knife lies in the bottom of my bag. Johnnyiswilling to give me weapons. Now I just have to convince him I need a gun for self-protection. If that doesn’t work, I’ll get Brawler to hold on to it for me.

“Is there anything in here you want?” Brawler asks. He places his hand on my neck, gently massaging me there.

“There’s really nothing here that’s mine anyway,” I tell him, realizing I’ve been living in a place that isn’t really mine, yet I have very real memories attached to it. “I bought everything second-hand. The clothes, the furniture, the kitchen stuff.” I glance over at him. “You have the only two things that are mine.”

He cups my face, making me face him. “How much time do you think we have?”

I don’t know, but I don’t care either. I’ll survive Johnny’s wrath, but for right now, I’m sinking back into the girl who had the apartment. The girl who was almost free. And that girl? She wants Brawler more than she can stand.

15

Brawler takes my hand, holding me tight as we exit my apartment and move down the hall. He stops at the last door and unlocks it, using a key. Thankfully, no one else is in the hallway to see us together or notice we’re entering Brawler’s apartment alone.

Brawler clicks the door shut behind us softly. “My mom should be taking her afternoon nap, depression medication induced.” He locks the door, flicking across three interior locks. I turn to find an apartment that’s laid out the same as mine, except there are bedrooms on both sides of the main room. Brawler takes me to the one on the left, pulling me inside and practically collapsing against me once we’re on the other side, flicking yet another lock just behind my hips before dropping his hand to cup my ass. I’m interested to see what his bedroom looks like, but his touch distracts me. I’m so damn easily distracted these days.

“What’s your real name?” he asks, teasing my ear with his teeth.

I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer. “I’ll tell you, but I want to be Kyla. Even after all of this, I still want to be Kyla to you. To everyone that matters. It’s been a long time since I’ve been that other person.”

He pulls away, running his hands through my wild hair. I’m sure it looks a mess after drying from the training session. “I promise. I just want to know everything about you.”

I smile a little. “Jo. Short for Joanne, but everyone called me Jo.”

His lips quirk. He doesn’t tell me I look like a Jo, or that I don’t look like a Jo. He just takes in the information, internalizing it.

“What’s your name? Yourrealname?” I qualify because everyone—and I mean everyone—calls him Brawler. Even the teachers at school, though I doubt that’s the name on his birth certificate.

“Marcus, but I used to make people call me Mack until I got the nickname Brawler.”

I stare into his face, his halo of blond hair contrasting the ink on his neck and arms. I don’t know if I’ll ever use his real name, but knowing it makes another barrier slip away between us. It’s like we’re two normal people right now, not holding back any deep, dark secrets.

He nips at my ear again, running his hands up my back until I’m forced to raise my hands above my head so he can lift my t-shirt away from me. His hands dip into the waistband of my joggers next, then he moves them over my ass. I lift my legs, so he can take them all the way off. He leans back, gaze moving over my sports bra and panties. Hell, I’m not even wearing sexy panties. I learned a long time ago that having underwear ride up your ass while training is a terrible idea, but Brawler looks at me as if I’m a Victoria’s Secret model, anyway.

I slip my hands down the back of his joggers, cupping a handful of his ass. All thoughts of needing to get back downstairs or what will await me back at the tower, are gone. This is just about Brawler and me.

Brawler kicks off his shoes while I lower his joggers. His muscle tank is next until he’s standing there with pitched boxers. He leads me to the bed, and for the first time, I can see more of his room. His comforter is a solid dark blue. A dark shade of gray coats the walls. He has a Rocky poster on one wall, and Muhammad Ali on the other.

He captures my mouth again before I have more time to look around. He moves me to the mattress, and when I sink into his comforter, the smell of fresh sheets greet me. He hovers over me, and for the first time, I get a good picture of his muscled chest and torso. There are more tattoos there. A fiery sun over his pec that’s done in black ink, thick, broad lines shaping the circle and rays. I run my hands over it while he watches me. “What’s this one about?”

The lines are faded, not as bold or as dark as his neck tattoo. It’s older. “That one’s about waking up every day, feeling like it’s a fresh start. Maybe the sun is shining. The wind is blowing. And you take a breath of that fresh air…only to realize it’s just the same old day, laced in darkness.” He blinks. “I got it after my sister died.”

His brother died the same day, but when we discuss anything to do with that day, it’s about his sister and her innocent life. Not his brother.

I don’t know what to say to that, so I push up onto my forearms and kiss the center of his sun. He shivers. “I’m going to have to get one to represent you now.”

“Me?” I lick my lips. “That’s kind of, I don’t know, permanent.”

“You’re kind of permanent.” He kisses a trail down my neck, warmth spreading through my chest. “The sun is the old me. Since you got here, it’s been different. I’ve been different.”

“You mean like I might be your ray of sunshine?”

He maneuvers his hands to my back, unclasping my sports bra. “I mean like you might make everything worth it.”

Even after everything I’ve told Brawler, he can still look at me the way he is now. He can still think such nice things of me. Maybe I can come out the other side of this a normal person. He gives me hope.

He helps me out of my bra, tossing it over the side of the bed, taking me all in. He doesn’t immediately go for my breasts. Not like Johnny. His touch skirts around them, trailing over my needy flesh. Fire erupts in his wake like a lava flow chasing after his fingers no matter where they touch. After he’s mesmerized every freckle on my torso, he tugs on my panties. I lift my ass to help him and then they make their way over the side of the bed too.

He trails his fingertips over my lower abdomen, skirting my mound before he cups my hip. “When it occurred to me that you might’ve died in the shootout, I promised myself that if we ever got to do this, I’d take my time. I’d worship you like you deserve.”

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