Slam: A Bad Boy Romance (3 page)

I had to admit, my initial thought was to turn and run away, despite the attraction raging through my blood. It was in my nature to fall for a man like that— dark, mysterious...

And fucking sexy as hell.

His 'type' fell into a class of their own. I'd been there before, used and tossed away; shoved to the side when things became dull.

I
wasn't
going to feel that pain again.

Quinn, however, seemed different. What he did for me contrasted everything I had seen in my past.

It was hard to grasp the idea. Never in my life had someone placed themselves in harms way to help me.

Quinn took a stand, he didn't back down.

Shit, he could have been killed, never mind just hurt.

There was no reguard for his own safety.

He protected me.  

Although, after the way he moved and pummeled Nico into unconsciousness, fighting seemed to sit well with him.

“Cadence!” The deep bellow rang from the front door as it flew open. A gust of air pressed forward, napkins flew weightlessly off the tables.

My eyes lifted rapidly, taking in the large, purple faced man who stormed in.

It was my father, Louis Powell, sole owner of  Whiskey Sour; among other endeavors he had his greedy hands in.

A flashback of Willy Wonka and the girl who blew up into the giant blueberry crept into my mind. I half expected him to pop; his face swelled with anger, ready to explode.

My father's eyes bulged out of the sockets, his chest lifted heavily under heated breaths.

If it was cold in there, steam would have spilled from his nostrils like dry ice crawling over a smooth surface.

He stomped across the old wood floor, the walls rattled around me with the heavy weight of his feet.

Fuck. This is not what I need right now.

“Cadence, what the FUCK happened here!?” Using the word 'angry' to describe his tone didn't give it enough justice.

He was fucking pissed.

“Dad, it was just a stupid fight. No big deal, nothing was broken.” The wide eyes I had when he entered swiftly returned to the newly shined counter.

I couldn't look directly at him; I knew exactly why he was so upset. This hadn't been just a stupid bar brawl with two drunken idiots.

This was different, it involved one of his own. His fighters weren't allowed to use their fists outside the ring.

“No Big deal! No big deal, Cadence! How about Nico, huh? His face was broken. What am I going to do now? He's my top guy, I need him, and you know that!” His hands vigorously rubbed back and forth against his temples, wrinkles across his forehead created a stairway back to the thin hair line resting in the middle of his skull.

Under his breath he whispered to himself, “You couldn't just do your job. You had to go start shit with him, had to.” The thick muscle of his neck rotated side to side with his head.

I couldn't speak, no words formed against my tongue. I wanted to yell,
“I don't care that he's your head fucking crony! I could give two shits about that dirt bag!”
Instead, the scream sat in the back of my eyes, burning against my pupils.

My father was a tough man. Even with me, his daughter, his own flesh and blood, I was spared nothing. A quick lash of his tongue or strike of his fist, that was how he ran things.

I wish Quinn was still here.
It was easy for my inner thoughts to reach for him, call for him from the depths of my body.

The way he took control, standing in front of me as my savior. Every nerve stood on end, a prickling wave of goosebumps flooded my skin.

My lip pulled up to reveal the hint of a smile. Instantly, fire filled my fathers glare. His eyes gaped open, the charcoal centers reflecting my image. “You better wipe that fucking smile off your face,” he said, as a deep lunge of his foot brought him directly in front of me. “How did Nico end up this way? You know one man couldn't have done that. What happened?” His teeth grinded together as he spoke.

“It was a guy named Quinn. Nico got in my face, like he always does.” I couldn't stop my voice from lashing out; the normal obedience and respect I was trained to have, was  shadowed by my hatred for that man. “You know how he treats me!”

My father's fist slammed down on the counter. “Don't lie to me, Cadence!”

My body jolted back from his fervor. Trembling inside, I struggled to speak. “I-I'm not. Really, it was just Quinn.” Taking a step back, my spine brushed the register; my hand caught the edge, tipping the cash drawer.

His hands came up quick, drawing long strokes down his chest, pulling on the collar of his black button-up shirt to straighten it. “You say that one man, a single man, did that much damage to my best fighter?” A new life emerged from the cold eyes set upon his face. “Then I have to have him. He needs to work for me.” From within his grizzly face, a smile burned. “And
you
, you my dear, are going to bring him to me.”

“Wait... What? How do you expect me to do that?” My mouth hung open, brows furrowing deep into my nose.

I couldn't understand what he was trying to ask. Where would I find him? I didn't know his last name, where he worked, nothing.

He was a stranger to me.

But, I would love to thank him for what he did. He deserved that.

“He was dragged out of here by the cops, wasn't he?” my father said, the empty hollows of his eyes widening. My head shook a soundless 'yes.' “Then you know where to find him.” His lips transformed into a devious arch as he leaned in over the bar.

I tried desperately to push myself further from him, wishing I could melt into the wall of liquor behind me.

Shifting my face to the side I asked, “Why me? You know where he is, go get him yourself.” The blood drained from my fingers the tighter I gripped the trim of wood against my back, numbness setting in.

A deep, ominous chuckle purged through his lips. “Cadence, sweetheart, you see...” His arm reached for a bottle of vodka. Pouring it into a glass, he brought it to his lips. “He knows your face, he doesn't know mine. So you will go and you will bring him to me.” The drink went down, chasing his last word.

The sound his lips made smacking together as he indulged himself with the harsh liquid made me sick to my stomach.

No, I won't do this. I can't do this.
It felt wrong; I knew my father and what he stood for. Quinn had helped me, I couldn't throw him into the belly of the beast.

Yes, he had fought Nico; ruined him even, but this had the feeling of leading someone to their grave.

There were no guarantees, no assurance he would even agree to do what was about to be laid out for him.

But my father— would force him; and I won't have that.

“No, I can't do that. I'm sorry, I don't want to be a part of this one,” I finally said. The proponent tone of my failure to obey his request pushed fury into his body.

The evil smile he held faded, and his face turned to stone. “You
will
do this for me. You're the reason I'm in this
shit
to begin with. You don't have a choice.” His massive hand fell down, slapping the bar with demand.

I knew he was right; I had no option.

He was family, he was my father. The need to keep my allegiance to him weighed higher than any crush I may have felt for my knight in shining armor.

Quinn had helped me, but my dad held the strings that bound me here, that kept me alive.
I have to do as he asks. If I don't... Who knows what will happen to me.

There were expectations set on him that he needed to stand by. Without his top fighter, my father could lose his high bidders. That would mean a loss of money for him; and even worse for me.

“Alright,” I said, exhaling a large heap of air. “ What am I supposed to do then? Walk into the station and ask nicely if I can see him?” A softness fell over my voice, while my heart scathed over what I was about to bring Quinn into.

“Good girl.” His smile reappeared, sending chills down my back. “You're going to go wait outside for them to release him. Tell him I want to thank him for protecting my daughter.” He brought his leathery hand to my shoulder, slowly he spoke. “Don't come back without him.”

His hands fell into the depths of his pockets, spinning on one heel he turned and vanished through the back door behind the bar.

I heard the crackle of the speakers above, tumbling out was the sound of old classical music.

Mozart... he's in thinking mode.
My father listened to certain music based on his mood or the happenings of the day. Beethoven was for times he made a lot of money, Bach was on days he was pissed.

This choice had been to figure out his plan.

Glancing at the clock, I realized it was three in the morning.
I better go, who knows how long they'll hold Quinn for. Hopefully they didn't let him go already.

Reaching under the bar, I grabbed the small orange purse and headed for the door. Pulling my keys out to lock it, I stepped into the still bustling street.

The sidewalk was full of people, the road was stacked with yellow taxis and buses, a multitude of sounds rained down from every direction.

The city that never sleeps, always true to its name.

The police station was on fifth street, twelve blocks from the bar. Swiftly, my feet pounded against the pavement towards the subway.

I can't believe I'm doing this, tracking down Quinn for my father, for the 'Macro.'

Around the business, everyone called him the Macro. He was the man in charge, the one who gave the orders.

In the grand scheme of things, he stood above us all. All the fighters looked up to him, he had money, control, power.

I despised him.

He schemed people, took them for all they were worth to better himself and those who protected his business.

I didn't want to get Quinn involved.
He should have just let me deal with Nico
. I know how to handle shit, I wasn't raised to be weak.

The Macro would never allow any piece of his own flesh to be easily damaged or short of strength. That would have only brought shame to his name.

At least, I'll get to see him again.
The thought sent a rush of butterflies cascading down to my stomach.

What will go through his head when he sees me standing outside?

What if he doesn't come back with me?

He has to. I need him to.

If he decided to not take my father's offer, to turn and walk away; I needed my father to hear it from him. I couldn't go back empty handed, telling him Quinn said
'no,'
that wasn't an option. He would think I failed him, who knows what he'd do then.

The cool metal of the turnstile grazed my hip as I passed through into the terminal. The doors slid open and I stepped inside the train. Looking around, I made my way to the nearest empty seat.

Staring out the large window I rested my head against the glass, letting his face emerge; his rugged jaw line, the small dimple that rested beside his lip when he smiled.
I want to feel his skin against my thighs, watch his face bury in my warmth.
My hand softly ran over my shoulder with this thought.
His arms, the colorful ink that coated each massive forearm. It's so fucking hot.
Tattoos were one of my weaknesses.

They showed a fearlessness for pain; a mark of individualism. For some it's a memory, for others it's power.

Anyone who has a permanent tag on their bodies knows the pain it took to put it there, for most it's worn proudly and displayed.

Quinn's arms would look good draped over my body, wrapped around my stomach as his lips laid delicate kisses over my skin.
I caught my reflection in the glass, pushing me back into reality.

What the hell am I thinking? How could he have had this much of an impact on me?

Yes, he helped me out. But, I could have done that myself.
Shaking my head, I needed to get him out.

I don't even know him! Stop this Cadence! You swore off men like him a long time ago, and for good reason.
He was cocky, wore his assertive nature on his sleeves.

If he did agree to what my father was going to offer him... I wouldn't be allowed to have this crush anyway. I'm forbidden to have any type of relationship with the fighters.

It's one of the
few
rules my dad set in place. He doesn't want his guys to have any distractions.

And for me... Well, let's just say he has a whole different set of rules.

That aside, I certainly couldn't mix business with pleasure.

The screeching of heavy breaks signaled my stop. A gust of wind flew through my hair as I stepped from the world below back onto the street. It hit my face with such force, my breathing paused, lungs seizing for a mere instant.

Adjusting myself, my heels pressed with need into the cracked, eroding sidewalk. The police station was still a ten minute walk; and time was essential.

How the hell am I even going to know if he's still there?

There was no way I was just going to stroll in and ask.

What was I supposed to do? Stand outside and wait god knows how long, hoping he walked out the doors?

Running my hand through my hair, I checked the time on my phone, it was almost four thirty in the morning.
Fingers crossed he's not gone yet.

The large brick building came into focus. It shined brightly against the dull, mop water gray of the skyline. Several cruisers lined the front of the building, the blue and red lights flickered off the windows as headlights reflected off them.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed the shelter of a bus stop.
Perfect,
I thought. Darting across the crowded roadway, a horn blared into my ear, my heart leaped into my throat. A few cuss words were ejected at me through the driver's side window of a taxi.

My mind had been so distracted, I hadn't seen him. I waved my hand in the vehicles direction and continued across. Looking over at the police station, a few faces had turned to see what was going on.

Oh, shit. Please don't come over and ask if I'm alright.
The idea was to stay hidden, not draw attention to myself as I stalked the one place on earth no one ever should.