Legend (Real Book 6)

Reese

He won. I heard it from the team. Depending on the rankings of the fighters, they get to fight on separate nights in each location now that we’re heading to semifinals. Even numbers fight on one night, odd numbers on the next.

Maverick didn’t get to fight Remy in Chicago. But he beat every single man put in his path.

We’re in Chicago now, and he’s shot up in rankings from 148th (where he started, with no record) to thirty-ninth (after his first five match nights) to seventh now. Everybody is talking about the way Cage “cages” his opponents against the ropes, then knocks them out with what they’re calling the Maverick Jab because of his long arms and incredible reach.

The question on everyone’s mind is if he has it in him to stay there and make semifinals and win against the experienced fighters he’ll be facing.

But the main question is if he has it in him to beat Riptide.

“I’m telling you, he does. You need to stop training with him,” Coach said that night after the fight.

“The more you tell him not to, the more he’s going to do it,” Pete advised Coach Lupe when Remy stayed mum.

“Why, Rem?” Coach demanded.

“Because he’s unstoppable, and I’m challenged to see if he’ll stop . . . or not. I’m hoping not.” He lifted his fist and looked at his bruised knuckles that reminded me exactly of Maverick’s bruised knuckles.

“So you help Scorpion leave a legacy rather than protect yours?”

“He’s less the son of that bastard than he thinks he is,” Remy answered. “All he has of his father is the scorpion on his back. Scorpion was never this good this early on. Hell, ever. And he was never this clean.”

“I still don’t agree with you mentoring him,” Lupe growled.

“You don’t have to agree, Coach.”

“FUCK, RIPTIDE, LISTEN TO ME! That kid IS POISON! He’s a SCORPION IN THE MAKING.”

“Coach.” Remy’s voice turned threatening.

Coach quieted down. And Remy just sent him a look that said to drop it.

“I like Cage. He’s got fire burning in that soul,” Riley said.

“Saying he was on fire in the ring tonight is an understatement,” Pete said.

Coach Lupe shook his head. “Talent like that, untamed, can go wrong in so many ways. Like it did with the father. One trigger, and it snaps, and he’ll be the worst nightmare you’ve ever encountered up there. Anyone has ever encountered up there,” Coach warned.

I was so sick of spying on the men to hear about the Underground that I headed over to Brooke’s bedroom, where she was lying on her stomach on the bed reviewing the flight schedule. “Brooke, is there somewhere online where I can watch the fights?”

She sat up and reached for the pad and pen on the hotel nightstand. “Oh, of course. Sometimes, not always, depending on the location. Here, I’ll list a few sites.” She tore off a page and scribbled down half a dozen web links. “Try those,” she said, handing over the page.

I headed to my room and did a search on my phone, trying to see if the latest match was being replayed. I found an image of Maverick’s broad, muscled back with his phoenix tattoo, and there were hundreds of comments on it. This guy fucking scares me but I can’t get enough of watching!

I kept scanning for the fight when he texted me. For the first time ever.

Hey Reese Where are you training tomorrow?

And let me just say that those elusive little butterflies, the ones I’d always overheard girls talk about but I had personally never met until Maverick, they have found a new home in me.

I can’t tame them when I think of him. Hear his name mentioned. They’ve become a part of every thought of him. Of remembering him in my room, of bending down to kiss the beak of his phoenix. Wanting more. So much more.

Trying unsuccessfully to tame them, I text him the gym I planned to be at, and he replied, I’ll look for you.

I spent all night watching the matches, wincing when he caught a few hits. Most of the time, I winced for the others.

Maverick is an intimidating force, slowly and surely overtaking the Underground.

♥   ♥   ♥

NOW I’M STARING at the doors of the gym as I push myself hard on the stationary bicycle.

Chicago is windy, but Brooke tells me to enjoy it because Miami—our next stop—should be blistering. I’m blistering now in the crowded gym. I’ve grown addicted to exercise, the endorphins, the way my body reacts to the stimuli. Sweat beads on my forehead. My body’s hot and my muscles burn. I’ve never felt stronger. My muscles are getting so firm and lovely. Even breathing is easier now: my lungs becoming more efficient these past few weeks. Same goes for my heart. It takes more to agitate it, much more.

I keep pushing, breathing in and out, in and out, and then I breathe in and hold it and my heart definitely gets the kick it needs when Maverick “the Avenger” Cage steps inside.

The gym quiets.

Really, the more people hear about him, the more scared they become.

I’m scared of him too, but in a wholly different way.

I’m scared of the power he has. Not in his fists. But over me.

I stop pedaling, the wheels keep turning on momentum, and I feel as if my whole world is spinning too. Lungs and heart, here’s your favorite workout now . . . approaching soundlessly like a panther. . . .

And his lips are forming the sexiest male smile ever smiled on this earth. “Look at you,” he says in that deep-thunder voice.

Oh god.

I can’t look sexy right now, not like Maverick looks sexy now. He’s freshly showered, his lean, muscled, tanned body covered in a pair of sweatpants and a clean T-shirt, a little sexy cut on the corner of his lips.

I’m concerned about the cut.

And oddly attracted to it, for it is right on that lovely smiling mouth of his.

“Did you get hurt last night?” I ask.

He shakes his head like that cut is nothing. He notices that I’m panting, I guess. He lifts up my water when I try to reach for it and cracks it open for me. He watches me take a long swig. I down it all, then gasp for air, smiling. “Sorry.”

He steps before me and straddles the bicycle wheel, then he folds his arms over my bike handles as he looks directly at me. The shirt is straining over his muscles. His voice low and barely audible through the gym’s background music. “Hey. Want to go for a late-night run with me tonight?”

I lift my finger and absently touch the cut on his lip. Then I realize what I’m doing and pull my finger away. “What?”

His eyes twinkle happily. So . . . he likes me touching him? “Come run with me, Reese.”

I hesitate. But somewhere between meeting him and giving him my V card, I’ve come to feel things for him that I’ve never felt for anyone in my life. He’s also my friend and I miss him. “I’d love to.”

“I’ll pick you up at your hotel. Ten p.m.?”

He steps closer, and I roll my eyes pointedly at the people in the gym, staring covertly at us. He’s the Avenger. People have been talking about him nonstop.

He glances at them in silence, then they all scatter or turn away, and he looks at me. “Is someone bothering you?”

“No.”

He nods and heads to the vending machines, brings me a new water, sets it down, then we look at each other.

He stares at my face as if he misses the look of it.

And I stare at his face, missing the look of his.

I find myself staring at his retreating back, at the black T-shirt that ironically reads i don’t know what i’m doing in white letters.

I exhale, aware of all the looks coming my way. I pull out my music, turn on “Geronimo” by Sheppard, think of us as if I’ve been oddly finding a little bit of us in every song I hear, and pedal like I want to burn off the arousal Maverick left lingering in me.

♥   ♥   ♥

IT’S 10:02 P.M. when I step off the elevator, dressed top to bottom in exercise gear, the laces of my sneakers double knotted, and from the blazing lights in the hotel lobby, I walk out into the cool streets. I see his hooded figure, waiting against a wall at the start of the hotel driveway.

I start to walk over and then trot, and he quietly starts trotting next to me. Silently. I follow him toward the park.

Yellow lights dot the walkway, but the deeper we head in, the darker it is. I can smell freshly cut grass. And fresh air. And guy.

Guy who makes me happy inside. And tremble.

And ache.

And yearn.

“It looks different at night. Almost mystical,” I say when we’ve been running for fifteen minutes. The sound of our feet smoothly hitting the pavement eases up as he slows his pace, and I slow mine.

We end up stopping to look at each other.

Or rather, Maverick seemed to want to look at me.

I laugh. “I’m silly.”

But when he tips my face up to the moonlight, I don’t laugh.

It’s not silly.

This is serious.

Him. And me.

I gave him my V card.

And he’s the Avenger.

And I want him.

I don’t know if being brave is stopping now or going all the way. I only know what feels good right now. I edge into the shadows, backing away from him. Maverick follows me.

We silently drop down on the grass, on our backs, and we stare above.

“Makes me sad when I stare up at the sky and can’t see any stars. It’s like all the noise in the city and the lights keep you from seeing what’s right in front of you,” I admit.

He takes my hand. “I don’t want that to happen to us.”

I turn my head.

“All the noise,” he specifies, studying me. “Keep you from seeing me. And me from seeing you.”

We’re kissing.

Completely.

I tip my head upward, and he props himself up on one elbow and leans down, grabbing the back of my head to pull me up higher so his lips—his glorious lips—can settle on mine. Firmly, without hesitation, like his mouth was made for me and mine for him.

We pause for breath, and I find myself lifting his hand in mine and stroking my fingers across his knuckles.

“Did Tate know you were coming with me?” He runs the back of one finger down my face as he asks. The touch is achingly tender, very unlike the violent passionate need in his eyes.

“No, but I think they suspect.”

His eyebrows furrow thoughtfully, and a muscle starts to flex in the back of his jaw. “Tate won’t let you spend time with me?”

“I don’t know, Maverick, but they’re not judgmental. And Remy seems to like training with you.”

“We respect each other professionally,” he says.

Once again, I stare at the scars on his knuckles. I raise my brows. “And you don’t like him at all?”

“It’s not whether I like him or not. It’s that he’s standing in my way.”

He plops down to his back and uses his arm to pull me to his side, inhaling my hair for a long, delicious second while I also discreetly inhale the soap on his shirt. “Are you close? You and the Tates?” he asks me.

“We’ve grown very close these days.” I hesitate for a second. I want to ask him about his dad. I peer up at him: “You and your dad?”

Shadows cross his face. “Not yet.”

“And you and me? Are we close?”

He looks at me with frustration. “I keep thinking of how it was being inside you. I want you that close again. All the time. I get frustrated that we can’t spend time together out in the open.”

“Is that why you asked me out for a night run?”

“Would you say yes to one by day?” He looks at me, his face in shadows.

“No, but because Racer’s awake, not because I don’t want to be seen with you.”

“It raises questions. You’re with the Tates.”

“What happened between Remy and your father? Do you know?”

“They’ve been at odds for years. Supposedly my father did anything to stop Tate. He was obsessed with beating him.” He scrapes a hand down his face, his eyebrows low over his eyes. “I have to believe there’s more to him than what I’ve heard. I have to believe that. For me.”

I’m feeling so much for him, I can’t find words.

He eyes the sky, deep in thought. “He was in an accident recently. He was driving a stolen car. Went down a cliff . . .” He shakes his head against the ground, lips pursed as if he’s struggling to be at peace with it. “He was up to his eyeballs in drugs. Had nothing on him, no ID, nothing but a picture of Tate with a target mark on him.” He exhales roughly through his nostrils, and shifts onto his shoulder. Then he softens his expression. Softens his voice. “What about you, Reese? Tell me about yourself.”

“You heard my story.” I sit up and wrap my arms around my folded legs.

He sits up and wraps his arms around his, eyeing me. “Yeah, I heard.”

I rest my chin on my knee and look at him. “I wanted you to know.”

“I’m glad I know.”

“My V card,” I say, smiling wanly when I slide my eyes shyly away and then peer sideways at him. “It was all I had left that I didn’t give to the alcohol. It was something nobody could take from me unless I chose it.”

His jaw tightens visibly, his whole face tightens visibly. He holds my gaze as he reaches out and gently runs his knuckles down my cheek. “I wanted it to be me.”

Oh god. This guy.

This. Guy.

My soft voice returns. “I wanted it to be you too. You turn on all my lights, Maverick.”

His smile flashes and proceeds to do exactly that, warming me in every shadow of my heart and mind and body, in every cloud in my soul. How does he do that?

Even Racer adores “Mavewick!”

“Racer will get jealous I got to see you and he didn’t,” I blurt out happily.

He laughs. “That little guy? He gets the most time with you. I’m jealous of him every day.”

“Ahh! But he doesn’t get my kisses.”

My eyes widen when I realize what I said, but Maverick’s eyes start to smolder so bright that I don’t regret saying that one bit.

He plants a hand on the grass between us as he starts leaning over, and I slowly start to lie down on my back. My heart pounds. The night envelops us. And he’s so close, his eyes are all I see.

I want him inside me. Us alone, in privacy. I want that again so bad.

No.

I want more than that. I want every tiny layer of his personality for me to see, every ambition, every thought, every memory . . . and I want, I desperately want, to be seen by him. All of me.

Lying here with my hormones all crazed, I’m telling myself that I’m not going to do anything sexy until he does it to me when he exhales.

He shifts, his hands curling a little at his sides as he looks at me for a long time.

I look at him for even longer.

I’m looking at the Avenger right now.

His eyes. They feel like hot, sheet-clawing sex on my skin.

I brush my hips against his. He groans. “Reese.”

I open my legs to fit him against the part of me that aches and I slant my head, sliding my hands into his hair.

We kiss for a long, long while, and I can feel how much he wants me in every kiss, in the tension coming off his body. He’s holding back, and knowing he’s doing it for me makes me weak inside.

“I feel like I’m on top of a mountain with you,” I whisper, as he kisses my neck. “Let’s never come down.”

Looking at me, he spreads my arms up over my head. “I want to make you feel like you’re on another level, and I’m going to do everything I can to put you there.” Determination shines in his eyes as he smiles down at me. “I want to show you how I see you. Everything about you drives me crazy. You’re irresistible on every level, Reese. The way you talk, move, the way you taste.” He presses his face to mine, tasting my lips briefly, then he melts me with his metal eyes again. “You’re incredible, Reese.” He wraps his arms around my torso and lifts me up for his kiss.

And our mouths mesh again, and I feel incredible.

Incredible.

♥   ♥   ♥

WE MAKE OUT in the dark, on the grass. No more talking. Only whispering. Only knowing each other. Touching each other. Kissing each other.

♥   ♥   ♥

WE’RE HEADING BACK two hours later. I’m fixing my clothes and he’s zipping up his hoodie as we walk to the hotel.

He takes my hand on our way there, and we walk instead of run. Prolonging the moment we leave each other.

“I fight tomorrow, Reese,” he says when we reach the corner of the hotel driveway.

“I know.”

“My kiss,” he demands.

I grab his hand and open it, then meet his smoldering silver gaze as I kiss his palm. He curls his hand again, and he grins.

“Reese. Tell me how to help Oz,” he says softly.

My eyes widen, and my heart starts aching for him and Oz. “Does he want to get better?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head, drags his hand over it, his expression tightening with frustration.

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

“No,” he says with sudden protectiveness, but a flash of determination crosses his face. “You’re done with that. But I’ll do everything I can to help him.”

“You won’t be able to if he doesn’t help himself though. Oz needs to believe he’s better off without it. He needs to believe he can overcome it.”

He nods, smiles one of his slow thank-you smiles, and heads away.

“Maverick.”

He turns.

“The fight is tomorrow night, right?”

He nods. I walk up to him, raise on my toes, and quickly kiss his lips. “The other kiss was for fun. This is for luck.”

Then he grabs my hips and pulls me to him and kisses me a little harder. Deep, possessive, and wet. And he says, “I’m in love with you, Reese.”

And he walks away, pulling his hoodie over his head.