Mine (Real Book 2)

“So it’s all over the headlines that Riptide’s girlfriend is pregnant,” Pete says as we fly to Austin.

Now Josephine flies with us too, and today she sits with Pete, Riley, and Remington in one of the living room sections, while Coach is on the bench, and Diane and I occupy one of the other living room sections. Remy and the men seem to be discussing my security for the two Austin fights. Apparently, we’re approaching semifinals, so Scorpion will now be fighting on the same evenings as Remington.

A part of me is anxious to see if we’ll bump into Nora at the fights, while another part of me dreads the outcome of such an encounter.

Remy is in a gruff, overprotective bad mood. The fact that his fucked-up parents live in Austin and that he sold the house where we usually stay undoubtedly annoys him. Pete rented another house to keep us away from the media, but Remington is not appeased. I know he doesn’t like the thought of me being in the same state as Scorpion, much less the same zip code.

While I show Diane the pictures Melanie sent me of color schemes for the baby’s room, I hear Remington’s voice, low, as if he doesn’t want me to hear, but authoritative. “Anyone approaches her or so much as looks wrongly at her, you take care of it immediately.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see how Pete nods somberly and smoothes a hand down his black tie. “Don’t worry, Rem, I’ll protect her as if she were mine.”

“She’s not yours, dipshit. She’s MINE.”

“Mister Tate,” Josephine interjects, “I’ll be on standby making sure she’s not in any way threatened or inconvenienced.”

“I really love this blue-and-green scheme,” Diane tells me, disconnecting me from the conversation on the other side of the plane.

Turning back to the images, I sadly tell her, “I wish that ring thing had worked. Remington doesn’t want to know, and I don’t want to find out from a doctor and spoil it accidentally for him.”

“Hey!” Riley yells from the other section. “What are you guys going to call it?”

Remington’s shoulders are hunched as he leans over and studies something Pete is showing him on his phone, and I don’t think he’s even listening to me, but I still say, “If it’s a boy, I haven’t been able to think of anything. But I have the perfect name if it’s a girl.”

“Oh, yeah, what?” Riley asks, leaning back on his arms, curious.

“Iris,” I say softly. Remington instantly turns to look at me, and the intimacy of his gaze bores and burns through me like a wave of lust and love crashing through me.

“I like Iris,” he says gruffly, nodding approvingly.

It takes Pete a lot more effort to get Remy to concentrate again on whatever Pete was showing on his phone, for Remington keeps looking at me across the plane. I can’t concentrate on what Diane says either, for I keep looking back at him.

It just feels wrong to have all these seats between us, my iPod tucked in my bag, and my guy so far away.

He leans as far back in his seat as possible, and across the plane aisle, he stretches his arm and opens his large hand. I link my fingers through his, and then it feels right again. He keeps checking out his man stuff, and I keep talking with Diane about baby stuff, his hand holding mine across the aisle.

♥  ♥  ♥

AS PETE AND I settle down in the Austin Underground, I have the misfortune of spotting two of Scorpion’s goons watching us from across the ring. I blink in surprise and immediately scan the crowd for Nora.

I can’t find her anywhere, and when my attention drifts back to the goons, I find that their attention is still on us.

One of the guys has a shaven head, and the other proudly wears a scorpion tattoo on his cheekbone, just like his boss used to before Remington carved it out the day he went for Nora.

Nora . . .

The thought of her fraternizing with Scorpion and his minions makes me wretched, and the thought unfortunately also comes with the sensation of a thousand legs crawling on my skin. I’m torn between the multiple urges: to vomit, to run away, and to march over to these thugs and demand they tell me where my sister is. I feel like a compass gone crazy and I don’t know what to do, where to point, or how to react, so I instead sit here and keep watching them—feeling very much like a little baby doe, even if Pete sits beside me, armed to the teeth with little gadgets.

When the two men slowly rise and start working their way around the ring, the realization that they’re heading straight for us makes my lungs constrict. My heart kicks fiercely into my rib cage while my rioting insides fall completely still in dread.

Tense in his plastic chair, Pete whispers, “They’re probably going to watch Scorpion fight later—or they’re scouting Remington. Check how he’s fighting, if there’s any visible injury. Please, for the love of god, don’t do anything, and ignore them.”

I watch the pair stop before us with a sinking in the pit of my stomach. “Don’t move, Brooke,” Pete warns under his breath.

Fiercely aware of the now nearly six-month-old baby in my round little stomach, I force my eyes down to the cement floor while my blood vessels dilate inside me. My legs shake as I curl my hands protectively around our baby, whose heart we’ve already heard and who I want as far, far away from these men as possible.

But these are two of the jerks who tried to provoke Remington into fighting at a club last season, and pretending I don’t see them when I can actually smell their stench goes against all my instincts to kick their insteps and smash their nuts in.

“Hello, Remy’s bitch. Want to give us a little kiss?” one of them sneers.

Rage and impotence well inside me as the rows of seats start filling up around us, and I force myself to keep my eyes on their feet and hope they’ll go away, or that Pete will finally grow some bigger balls and do something.

“I suggest you two get lost,” Pete says calmly.

“We’re not talking to you, skinny, we’re talking to the whore. She don’t remember her pussy got as wet and sopping as a seal when the boss made her kiss him? Right at this very moment your little sister is getting fucked well and hard by the boss, right in front of all his other girls.”

My head snaps back up as my body flushes in humiliation. Shaking in my seat, I clench my teeth and fist my hands at my sides as I wish for a couple of bottles to crack across their skulls. “Go back to the hole you crawled out from and tell your asshole boss that Riptide is gonna bury him this year!” I grit out.

“Brooke,” Pete grabs my elbow in warning while the two assholes laugh.

“You want us to tell him you said that? Remy’s newest whore?” The bald one spits on the ground, a centimeter from my feet. “Do you—bitch?”

“I’m warning you guys to leave,” Pete repeats, rising to his feet and reaching into his jacket.

I’m full force defense mode, and my blood is pumping as I flip out my middle finger at them. “By all means. Tell him to fuck off and that he’ll soon regret not leaving my sister alone.”

Suddenly, Josephine grabs the guys by the backs of their shirts, her voice deceptively calm as she asks, “Looking for a real woman, gentlemen?”

Pete pulls me up from my seat and drags me down the row while my heart pumps with such violence, I can barely breathe.

“What was that about?” Pete spins me around, his eyes aflame in indignation. “A little bit of pepper spray in my pocket make you feel all freaking feisty?”

“Pete, you’re a daffodil. Why didn’t you use it? They were breathing down our necks!”

“Brooke, a little subtlety, please! You can’t provoke these dudes! If they come back when Remington is fighting and he sees they’re within two feet of you, he’ll leave the ring and be disqualified, and that’s the last shit we need. . . .” He trails off, drags in a deep breath, and scowls at me. “What did he tell you to do just now in the locker room? Huh?”

I remember Remington’s request clearly, and instantly my voice drops. “To sit tight in my seat.”

“Well then! He might like that you’re a little firecracker, but I don’t want you going off on my watch, and I certainly don’t want to get burned.”

“Pete, Remy wouldn’t like me to sit with my head bent while those two bozos called me names. I am certain he wouldn’t expect me to do nothing.”

“He does not expect you to do nothing—which is why he appointed me to try to keep things under control.”

“If he were you, he would’ve done something, and if I weren’t pregnant, so would I !”

“I’m not fucking Riptide, Brooke. Look at me!” Pete signals at himself in his black jacket and tie. “I admit I’m not pregnant myself, and I could’ve used one of these little toys I have on me on them, but that would raise all kinds of red flags so that when Rem came out, he’d notice something was up around you and drop the fight. It’s not always about attacking. Sheesh.”

“Pete, I’m sorry, I get it. Let’s go sit—I’m just glad they’re gone,” I say, and we both exhale as we head back to our seats and settle down to watch, but my hands still shake with the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

The room is swarmed with people by the time the first fight is announced through the speakers.

“Welcome, welcome, ladies and gentlemen . . .” I hear.

The noise and excitement surround us as we watch fighters come and go. Seeing all that blood again, hearing the crushing sounds of bone against bone, begins to make me anxious.

Remy . . . oh god. Just thinking about how he could bump into Scorpion in the locker rooms spikes my nervousness to the roof.

I’m breathing in and out when Pete tells me, “You know what, Brooke? He told me he didn’t want anyone looking at you, so you’re right—he would’ve wanted me to take them as far away from you as possible, immediately. But I can’t take it so literal, dude. I’m trying to keep things calm around here. Please understand I have to be the cool head here.”

“I understand, Pete, but you,” I exaggeratedly say, “are like a loaded gun without a trigger.”

“We’re in direct negotiations with Scorpion, Brooke,” he tells me then, under his breath. “The last thing I want is to aggravate the situation, or it’ll only cost Remington more.”

“What?” My eyes widen. “Do you know anything about Nora?”

“Only that this time Remington is taking care of things—and you’re to be left completely out.” He purses his lips meaningfully and nods, and I can’t even argue, for just then Remington is called out, his name exploding through the speakers and around the crowd.

“Yes, sir, bring out Riptide for these people!” the announcer yells, and the crowd roars, “RIPTIDE!”

My heart skips a beat, my awareness immediately shifting to focus on the one flash of red approaching the ring.

This fight night is so meaningful. Not only because we heard that Scorpion was disqualified for using brass knuckles at a fight the night before and because Remington is in first place point-wise by a lot of points, but because I know that Austin is the place where he was born—where he, in his head, believes he was rejected. But not by this crowd. Oh, no. Never by this crowd.

The arena reverberates with bloodthirsty screams as Remy hops into the ring, bringing all the color to that blank and boring space.

“If he goes through tonight with no loss, then we’ll be leaving Scorpion way behind. All good news,” Pete tells me.

I nod in excitement, my eyes focused on nothing else but Remy now.

Riley and Coach take their places at the corner while Remington removes his RIPTIDE robe and hands it over.

While his opponent is called up, Remy raises his arms and grins to his public, then he points at me—and the people roar. “Brooke, Brooke, Brooke,” they begin chanting.

He laughs, and I’m red-cheeked with the sudden knowledge that everyone here knows about me now. His adoring fans all know I’m Riptide’s pregnant girlfriend, so what the hell. I wave like a dope and send him a kiss, and I love the way he grabs it and slams it to his mouth. I think that’s what the people were asking for when they chanted Brooke, because the instant his arm swings out to grab my kiss in the air and slam it down, the crowd goes wild, and we laugh in unison.

A new fighter gets into the ring, lacking any of the fanfare of Remy’s entrance, and the fight begins.

Remington is especially playful with the younger fighters. They seem to expect him to be powerful, but not so fast, and I can see it drives them insane. He feints a lot, gives them a little play, and then he finishes them off without mercy—to the delight of his crowd.

Tonight he goes through twelve fighters and ends up soaked and slightly bruised on his left side. When we head back to the rental house, he starts drilling Pete as soon as he hits the large living room that separates into long halls, each leading to a separate room. “Everything okay on the sidelines?”

“Uh, sorta.”

“Any scouts around?”

“Two. The same as usual.”

“They look at Brooke?”

“Uh . . .”

He swings around, his eyebrows furrowing. “They fucking look at Brooke?”

Pete looks at me, then at him. “They came over to talk. Brooke flipped them the finger. I told them to go. Josephine came over. I pulled Brooke aside.”

Remy looks at me, and now his brows are raised high. “You flipped them the finger?”

I bristle. “Would you rather I’d kicked them in the nuts?”

His disbelief shifts to Pete. Ever so slowly, he drags a hand through his hair in frustration, down to the back of his neck, then he shakes his head and grabs my nape as he steers me toward our hall. “We’ll discuss it in our room,” he grumbles at me.

“Good night, guys,” Pete says.

Remington stops and swings around. “No sign of Brooke’s sister?”

“None,” Pete says, and the emotion in his face almost breaks me. He and Remington engage in some silent form of man-to-man communication, and then that’s it, and we head in different directions.

As soon as Remy ferrets us into our bedroom, I’m pressed back against the door and I find his nose buried in my cleavage as he smells me again.

My pussy clenches as he growls, “Why’d you flip off those assholes?” He jerks his head back and gives me the full force of his blue-eyed stare. “What did they say to you?”

“They were just in our faces, and I hate to say this, but Pete’s like a loaded gun without a trigger.”

“Is he now?”

“It was actually a good thing that he could keep his cool tonight, because I couldn’t. I’m crazed just thinking Nora is out there with those men. What are you going to do?”

He shakes his head and heads for the shower. “You’re to stay out of it.”

I start after him. “Won’t you at least tell me?”

He opens the shower stall door, and levels his most somber stare to date on me. “For us, Brooke,” he sternly whispers, stroking his hand all along the curve of my abdomen. “For the three of us. I’ll have your promise you’ll stay out of it. And if you break your promise to me, so help me god . . .”

“No! So help me god, if you put yourself in danger because of her . . . because of me . . . I’m going to . . .”

“What?” He cocks an amused brow, then pats my ass with a smirk. “I like it when you punch me, and I like you angry too.”

“But I’ll be very fucking mad—like you’ve never seen me!” I glare menacingly at his chest as he starts stripping his boxing gear. “Don’t, Remy.” Reaching out before he enters the shower, I grab his jaw and force him to look at me. “Promise me.”

Amusement twinkles in his gaze as he runs the back of one finger down my temple. “What am I going to do with you, firecracker?”

“Promise me,” I urge.

“I promise you,” he tells me, “that your sister will be back with you very soon, and I’m crushing that insect this year.” He chucks my chin and goes into the shower, and I can’t explain the relief I feel. He’s never lied to me. His words aren’t so bountiful, but they carry such weight. He is winning this year, and whatever he’s negotiating, Nora will be free soon. Marginally relieved, I go pull out my oils. It takes him exactly four minutes to soap up, wash his hair, and step out with a towel around his waist while he uses another to dry his chest.

“Get over here and let me rub you down,” I tell him, and as he follows me to the bench that we usually find at the foot of most of our hotel beds, he pulls me into his arms and kisses the hollow of my ear.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks softly.

Melting.

“Some lucky guy.” I urge him down to sit, fighting the urge to kiss every inch of him just yet.

“Tell me his name,” he commands as he drops down so that I can rub his muscles. He watches me kneel before him and set all my materials nearby, and he wears a devastatingly sexy tilt to his lips that is frankly irresistible.

“Why? Do you like the way his name sounds in my voice?” I ask as I unscrew the lid of my arnica oil.

“I fucking love it. Tell me his name now.” Hot blue eyes watch me as I pour the oil into my palms and rub my hands together to warm the liquid before sliding it slickly along his chest and shoulders.

“But . . . he’s . . . complicated,” I whisper, curling my fingers around his collarbone and throat. “I know him very well, and yet . . .” I pause and rub the arnica oil all down the solid length of one muscled arm. “And at the same time, he’s always still a mystery.” Sliding back up his arm and to stroke the oil across his trapezoids, I whisper in his ear, “He goes by Riptide sometimes, but I call him Remy. And I’m crazy about him.”

His chest rumbles with a chuckle, and I see the little stars of delight dancing inside his eyes as he looks into my face and tweaks my nose. “You’re good for my ego, Brooke my-pregnant-beauty Dumas.”

“But don’t let that ego get even bigger,” I warn him, now rubbing the warm oil along his pecs as I drop my voice and tell him, “You’re mine.”

Smiling, I slide my fingers down his forearm, I stroke down to his palm, then I impulsively lift his hand and kiss his knuckles, looking into his blue eyes, which shine with tenderness as he watches me. “This is mine, too?” I ask uncertainly.

He lowers his voice to a playful rasp as he runs the back of a finger along my cheek. “Depends, little firecracker. Do you want it?”

“I want it.”

“Then it’s yours, baby girl.”

Taking his other hand, I repeat what I did with the first one and kiss his knuckles. “And this one?”

“Do you want it?” He raises his eyebrows and happily jerks his head in the direction of the door. “All those ladies out there wanted it.”

“But I want it,” I protest.

He smiles indulgently and runs the back of a finger down my jaw again. “Then it’s yours.”

My voice thickens when I jerk down his towel so I can slick the oil into his calves and powerful thighs. I admire his sexy smile, those dimples and that rumpled hair. I ask, “What about you? All of you?” As I slick my oily hands up his eight-pack, I lift my head to search for his lips. He groans when I lick the seam of his mouth. Softly. I continue massaging his flesh as I start moving my lips over his. He’s a fighting machine and he’s mine, and my eyes briefly slide shut as I tend to him and breathe, “What about you, Remington? Are you mine?”

His thick rasp makes my nipples bead. “Do you want me?”

God. My adorable big man of a boy. A boy with the strength of a thousand men. Playful and possessive. I am dying from need and love as I whisper, “I want you,” in his ear. “All of you. Black and blue and any other shade you come in.”

Groaning, he draws my head down to his lips and kisses me, hard and deeply. “I’ll answer that to you in bed.” He grabs my hand as if ready for the bed part, but I laugh and pull back.

“Five more minutes!”

He shakes his head. “Two.”

“Four.”

“Three, now take it or I’ll toss you up on the bed right over there, right this second.”

“Done.”

“Done, I toss you up on the bed?” he prods.

“Done, three more minutes!” I cry laughingly, speeding up my hands as I rub them along his hard pecs. My laugh fades when my thoughts drift back to the Scorpion’s men. “She used to slip into my bed at night when she had nightmares. She had such a vivid imagination, she’d see things, good and bad, where there weren’t any.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks huskily.

“Nora,” I say, unable to hide the sadness in my voice. “I just want you to know why I . . . I don’t know. Why I’ve always protected her. She seemed to need me, and we fell into those roles. She’s always needed protecting. But now I wonder if I don’t let her solve her own problems, will she ever learn a lesson? I’ve always wanted to protect her but now nothing will ever make me risk the baby and you, not even her.”

His expression is so gentle and understanding, a little knot of emotion winds in my chest. “Shh. Relax,” he says, stroking a hand down my hair. “He’s not getting the championship, or the prize, or your sister. He’s not winning. I. Get. It all. Do you hear me? I get the gold, the championship, the sister’s freedom . . . And I get to protect, and please, and love my girl.”