Fight For Her (More Than A Cowboy 1)

Mr. Casale stood, and after Gray held my gaze for another moment, stood as well. Taking his wallet from his back pocket, he pulled out a white k

ey pass. “This works on the outer door of my building and on the elevator to get up to my apartment.” I took it from him, our fingers brushing.

“Everything will be fine by morning, but I will continue to watch over you since Marco is in love with you.” Mr. Casale looked to Gray, who nodded, and they left. I felt my heart going with them. I ached to get up and follow, to grab Gray’s hand and hold him back, to tell him not to go off with some connected man hell bent on vigilante justice. In this case, Gray was of the same mind and if he was the man I…I loved, then I had to let him go.

Christy and Paul were watching me and I felt a flush creep up into my cheeks. I took a sip of my wine as Christy leaned in and asked, “Who’s Marco? You have two guys in love with you? Should he be worried Gray will beat him up?”

GRAY

It was after one when Frank dropped me off at the restaurant to get my car, then drove home. I glanced up at the windows to my apartment, but all was dark. Surely Emory was asleep. I envisioned her in my bed, her dark hair fanned out across my pillow, ensuring the coconut scent lingered long after she awoke. I realized after sharing the bed with her for only one night I didn’t know how she slept. Was she a stomach sleeper? Side? She’d been curled up against me all night, but that wasn’t the norm, for she hadn’t been with a man since her ex. It was this lack of knowledge that had me climbing from the car and clicking the lock button. I was eager to get upstairs and find out. It made my night’s activities worth it. I curled my fingers into fists at the thought, swiping my key fob across the access panel in a tight grip.

Casale’d had information about the man who was using women to get his drugs through the clinic—and other clinics around town—but the little fucker wasn’t at the place we’d gone. It had been a rundown row house on the other side of town, an area I’d never been and well away from Casale’s turf.

I spent fifteen minutes in the back of Casale’s SUV as he talked on his cell, working his connections, whoever they were, to find the guy. He’d brought Frank and a couple other men were in a second car following us. Casale had only offered first names as way of introduction. They all knew who I was and shook my hand with a certain level of what seemed to be respect. Obviously, they knew I could hold my own in a fight, but I was content letting them keep the guns. My gun shooting days from the army were over.

I remained quiet as Casale talked, listening and watching. I’d dealt with some bad people, some bad shit, but this was outside of my comfort zone. The men were organized and calm as if this kind of thing was something they did frequently. I wanted my hands on the fucker, but finding him was up to Casale.

The second place we went turned out to be a few blocks from the clinic. I knew of her volunteer work and where the building was, but at night, being driven by it with men carrying guns, this wasn't a place I wanted Emory on her own. She wouldn’t be driving to the place on her own anymore. We parked in front of a row house that was rundown, the one next door vacant and abandoned.

A light was on in the front window, the blue flicker of a TV indicating someone was home. Frank rang the doorbell and the fucker had answered it. Gangbangers didn't ring the bell so he probably thought he was safe. It seemed too easy. I’d wanted a chase, a fight, something, but he was just a dead-beat low life who pissed his pants at the sight of Casale and his men pushing him back into his living room.

“This is him?” I asked. I wanted to beat the shit out of the right person.

“Dante, we've met before,” Casale said, his voice low and even.

Casale gave a little swipe with his fingers and he and his men went back outside, giving me a minute alone with the asshole without being asked.

“You broke into a house the last night.”

His eyes widened in his gaunt face, his hands shaking.

“The woman who had to climb down a fucking rope ladder to get away from you? Yeah, she's mine.”

I punched him and he fell to his knees, blood splattering from his nose, dripping like a leaky faucet. While it had felt good, he was a worthless piece of shit. He cried, actually cried when confronted with breaking into Emory’s house.

“Dude, she wouldn’t give over the scripts,” he said, using the back of his hand to wipe the blood off his face.

“So you break into her house. What were you planning to do?”

He held up his hands as if to ward me off. His eyes were wide and wild and I recognized a guy hyped on drugs, on meth, and he was flying now. “Just scare her, that’s all, man.”

Just scare her. Right. If he was high in Emory’s house like he was now, he wouldn’t have stopped at finding her keys or a script pad and leaving. He’d gone up the stairs looking for Emory. Turned on the light. Shouted for her. He was either a complete dumbass or had intended to kill her…and other things first. My anger flared back to life.

“Do you know who I am?” I growled. For once, I wanted someone to recognize me.

He nodded.

“Who am I?” I asked. I wanted confirmation that he knew it wasn't just Casale who was watching out for Emory.

“The…The Green Machine.” Good, he knew who he was facing now.

“Yeah, and like I said, Emory’s my woman.” When he stood and started to back away from me, not just in fear, but absolute terror, I continued. “I’d say I’m a more matched fight than a woman, don’t you?”

I cracked my knuckles and I saw him swallow.

“You wanted to just scare her? Well, dude, I don’t plan on just scaring you.” I stepped toward him and sought the retribution I wanted.

Five minutes later, I met Casale on the front steps and Frank tossed me a rag while the other men went in to retrieve the guy. I wiped the blood from my knuckles as the fucker was dragged out of the hovel he called home and tossed into the backseat of the second SUV. One of the men held up his hands and I tossed the rag to him. He walked over and leaned against the car, face impassive, waiting for direction from Casale.