Fighting for What's His (Warrior Fight Club 2)

Right.

Which brought her back to Billy. She wondered what Ryan had told him about what’d happened. Her gut squeezed, because she shouldn’t wonder. Not if Ry blamed her the way she blamed herself.

“I really hope it’s not going to be weird living here with you,” she said, staring at Billy’s picture for one more moment. It’d been more than three years since Shayna had last seen him, so there was a better-than-average chance of weirdness.

First, because it’d been so long and, really, she barely knew him. Second, because once upon a time she’d crushed on him so bad. And third, because there was no way that a single, thirty-three-year-old man could be thrilled about her invading his space for two months. For free.

When Ryan had raised the idea of staying with Billy, she’d offered to pay, of course. After working an unpaid internship for the last year, she didn’t have a lot of savings, though her second part-time job had allowed her to set some money aside for the relocation. But the guys had insisted she put that toward the deposit she’d need on an apartment in the city.

She just hoped that Billy was really okay with that. Otherwise…awkward. And awkward sucked so bad.

A chill rushed down her spine as the air conditioning kicked on.

Shayna hugged herself, her hands pressing damp fabric to her skin. After driving all day from upstate New York and getting caught in the cold September rain, a hot shower sounded like heaven. She peered down the quiet hallway. Waffled on how bad of an idea it might be to shower in someone’s home after having broken in. Checked her phone, still finding no texts from Billy.

And then she uttered a “fuck it” as she dashed downstairs to retrieve her things. This was her home, too. At least for a while.

She dropped her belongings on the bed, yanked out her toiletry bag, and closed herself into the hall bathroom.

Shay made quick work of getting undressed. In the shower, the hot water raining down on her nearly made her moan. Seven hours of driving had left her achy and stiff, and the needling heat relaxed her muscles and chased away the chill.

But it didn’t ease the guilt she felt in her heart of hearts.

No, nothing could do that.

This day fucking sucked.

That was the tenor of Billy Parrish’s thoughts as he fought through Friday night rush hour traffic on the way to his rowhouse in Upper Northwest DC. The leads on his case had gone stone cold. His charging cord wasn’t working and his phone had died an hour ago. And he was late.

He fucking hated being late.

Especially when it involved a favor for one of his brothers. Didn’t matter that Billy wasn’t enthusiastic about this particular favor. He’d known Ryan Curtis for more than a decade—since West Point, had fought and bled by his side, and owed the guy for having saved his life. So when Ryan had asked, Billy had said yes. Simple as.

Not that he thought having Ryan’s kid sister in his house for the next two months was going to be simple. Not when her very presence and his obligation to look out for her was going to be one helluva cockblock.

Finally, he turned into the alley that ran behind his rowhouse on Farragut Place and pulled into the parking spot behind his house. He killed the engine and, for just a few moments, sat still and listened to the rain hammer on the roof of his Explorer.

Christ, he was tired.

Problem was, he slept like shit unless he did one of three things—fuck, fight, or choke down one of the year-old Percocets his doc had prescribed back when things were bad. Or, at least, worse than they were now. Billy tried like hell to avoid taking the pain pills, especially after he’d had a bad experience with them, but that required the fucking or the fighting.

Neither got rid of the phantom pain. Hell, both often made it worse. But they managed to quiet all the shit in his head, and that was what he needed more than anything else.

He blew out a breath and forced his ass out into the rain, and it was with his first steps in the direction of his house that he noticed. The lights were on inside.

Prickles ran over his scalp and his blood turned to ice. Because he hadn’t left them on. On the fucking day that Ryan’s sister was arriving, some asshole had broken in?

Unfuckingbelievable.

He raced to the basement door and let himself in as quietly as he could. He traded his dead cell phone for the gun in the holster at the small of his back. And then he went in search of the scumbag whose day was about to get even worse than his.

Billy eased up the steps to the door that opened into the kitchen. He winced at the creak of the hinges, cleared the corner, and then stepped into the light. One, two, three heartbeats, and he swung around the corner to find that the first floor appeared empty. Still, he cleared the entire space methodically.

Thump.

Billy’s eyes drifted to the ceiling above him. Gotcha.

He kept his footfalls light as he ascended the stairs, stopping to check the second-floor hallway before climbing all the way to the top. His bedroom door remained closed, but light poured out of his office and from under the bathroom door.