Worth Fighting For (Fighting to Be Free 2)

dotting the carpet in multicolored sprinkles, not caring about the paper cuts that tore into my fingertips as I wrenched the map down in several tattered pieces. A guttural cry left my lips as I bent and picked up the largest section of the map, tearing it in half and screwing the pieces into a ball before tossing it to the floor with the rest of the litter I’d created.

Tears fell, wetting my pink T-shirt, as I gasped for breath, kicking out at the photos, sending them fluttering away from me. When my legs gave out, I sank to the floor, put my face in my hands, and cried.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, probably a long time. Eventually, the tears dried up and my breathing evened out. I hadn’t gotten up; I’d just scooted over so I could rest my back against the wall and pulled my knees to my chest. And that was how Stacey found me. Eyes glazed, head aching, room littered with traveling souvenirs, brain fuzzy, and anger still fizzing in my stomach.

“Ellie, what happened in here?” she asked, letting herself into my room, eyeing the chaos.

I looked up and shrugged one shoulder. I had no words.

Her lips pressed together. I looked away from the sympathy in her eyes. She didn’t speak, just walked over to me and slid down the wall to sit next to me, her arm coming up to lie across my shoulders. I tilted my head, resting it on her shoulder and pressing against her tighter, grateful for the hug that I so desperately needed today.

She blew out a slow breath, her hand rubbing my arm soothingly. “Your nana called earlier and asked me to come over after work. She said you were going to have a rough day and would need some cheering up.”

“Oh.” I’d wondered why she’d just showed up out of the blue like this.

She turned slightly and pressed her lips to the top of my head softly. “Are you okay?” she whispered into my hair.

I shrugged again, not even sure if I was all right or not. “Not really,” I admitted, pulling away and swiping at my sore eyes. “I guess it all just got on top of me. I saw the map and my mom, she’d...” I frowned at a photo of Natalie and me picking grapes in France that peeked out from under a torn section of map. “I don’t know. I just got angry, I guess.”

“At what?” Stacey pressed.

“At myself for leaving. I should have been here. I never should have gone in the first place, or I should have come home two years ago when Natalie left. I should never have stayed in London.”

Stacey was quiet for a few seconds; then she reached out and snagged a photo of me standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, smiling at it before showing it to me. “When your mom got this picture, she drove all the way into town and came to the café I was working at just to show it to me. She gushed about how proud she was of you for living your dream and seeing all these beautiful sights. She stood at the counter while I served and bragged to everyone in line about how her smart, gorgeous daughter was taking time off and traveling. She was so proud of you, Ellie. She never said it when you were living here, goodness knows that, but she just gushed about you while you were gone.”

I scowled down at my hands, seeing the paper cuts for the first time as Stacey’s words sank in.

“Ellie, you needed to go, it was the best thing for you. You needed time away to heal yourself, to find yourself again after”—she ground her teeth angrily—“him.”

Him. Jamie. The beautiful, wounded boy who tricked me into falling in love with him only to shatter me completely. I swallowed around the lump that formed in my throat at the mere thought of him. Three years on and thinking about him still hurt, opened up old wounds, left my heart bleeding.

I knew she was right. The trip had been a necessity. I’d had to leave; I was broken and lost, damaged so badly that at times I wasn’t sure I would ever put myself back together again. But time away had helped, Natalie had helped, traveling to different places that didn’t remind me of him helped, Toby had helped.

“I should have made time to see them or talk to them more. Came back to visit. Brought Toby to meet them. I should have done things differently,” I croaked.

“Hindsight is a spiteful bitch,” Stacey replied softly.

“Ain’t that the truth,” I mumbled.

Stacey cocked her head to the side and smiled at me sadly, reaching out and taking one of my hands in hers. “You’ll drive yourself crazy, thinking like this.” She rubbed a small circle on the back of my hand. “You need a break. You’re under so much stress, got so much going on that you just need a break. I have an idea.” Her eyes brightened as she straightened her shoulders. “We’re going out tonight. Dinner, just the two of us, and maybe a drink or two after. You need to loosen up or you’re going to have some sort of mental breakdown.” She looked around at my messy room and her eyebrows rose. “Well, more like another breakdown,” she corrected.

I shook my head. “Nah, I just don’t feel like it.”

One of her perfectly plucked eyebrows rose. “You’re going. No arguments. You haven’t had a proper American cheeseburger for three years. I’m taking you out, that’s the end of it.”

I laughed humorlessly, knowing there was no arguing with this girl—she always got her way and she knew it. Besides, I actually could do with thinking about something else, even if it was only for an hour or two. I sighed, resigned. “Okay, fine. You had me at cheeseburger.”

“Atta girl.” She grinned. “Oh, but how about you have a shower first? No offense, Ellie, but...you stink.” She playfully waved a manicured hand under her nose.

“Cheeky git!” I laughed.

“ ‘Cheeky git’? Aww, you’ve picked up cute little British cuss words!” she gushed.

I grinned and rolled my eyes as I pushed myself to my feet. I dipped my head and sniffed in the direction of my armpit. I hadn’t showered since London, simply hadn’t made the time or felt like it. Four days and one long-ass plane ride. She was right, I smelled pretty ripe. “Eww, I’ll go shower,” I muttered, wrinkling my nose in distaste.

CHAPTER 9

JAMIE

THE FLOOR AND walls in my second-most-used office quivered in time with the thumping bass of the music being played downstairs. Red’s, the newest acquisition in my club line, had benefited from a full sound system upgrade as well as an aesthetic makeover in the last couple of months. I thought a refurb would bring in classier frat boys who spent more on their booze, and it meant I could up the door price. But with the music making my whiskey vibrate with impact tremors similar to those in the movie Jurassic Park, I was thinking I’d made a huge fucking mistake. I couldn’t concentrate, which meant I’d have to redo all this shit tomorrow. This place wasn’t just used as a means of income—as far as my income went, it was way down the list of high earners—but the eight clubs and bars I owned across the city did serve a purpose: laundering some of the money from my less-than-legal ventures. I just had to get a little creative with the paperwork and let my extremely overpaid accountant take care of the rest.

As one song seamlessly morphed into another, I groaned and closed my eyes, reaching up and massaging my temples in small circles. Tomorrow I’d put in orders to have the office soundproofed.

A knock at the door interrupted my internal grumblings. “What?” I barked, leaning forward and picking up my drink.

Dodger stuck his head around the door. “Alberto Salazar is here. His car just pulled up outside.”

“Okay. Have Ed show him up here, will ya?” I replied.

A frown lined his forehead. “Looks like he brought Mateo with him.” He practically spat the name, his loathing glaringly apparent.

“Oh, great.” I snorted, raising the glass to my lips and throwing the amber liquid into my mouth, swallowing the whole thing in one gulp and reveling in the burn, warming all the way down to my stomach. I’d requested a meeting with the elder Salazar brother, not his sociopath sibling. Mateo was a loose cannon with a reputation for being both reckless and ruthless. He had a crazed look in his eye most of the time, like he was envisioning twenty different ways to kill you. I’d h

eard rumors about him, a lot of fucked-up rumors, not the least of which was about his penchant for little girls who had a couple of years to go before becoming legal. Mateo Salazar was the one person in this world I would love to shoot right between the eyes. I would happily do time for it too, because assholes like him shouldn’t be allowed to walk the streets, but taking him out would start a turf war that I simply couldn’t get my crew involved in.

I met Dodger’s eyes and could see the concern there. He was worried about this, and probably rightly so. The last time I’d been in close quarters with Mateo, the little prick had tried to kill me—pointed a gun at me and everything. Being in a crowded place would definitely be safer on this occasion. “Tell you what, seeing as that junkie bastard came too, let’s have the meeting downstairs,” I suggested thoughtfully.

Dodger visibly relaxed at my suggestion, his shoulders losing some of the tension. “Good thinking.”

I stood and picked up my favorite automatic switchblade, pushing it into the pocket of my dress pants before walking over to Dodger. I wasn’t one for carrying guns—I had guys I paid for that particular task—but there was no way I was going to be near Mateo and not have at least something on me. “Come on then, buddy. Let’s go remind the little pricks who runs this town.” I gripped his shoulder, squeezing a couple of times in a supportive gesture. Dodger really hated this side of the business; he was into the cars, but he’d tried to convince me several times over to leave the other stuff alone and let the other organizations pick up the slack. But it wasn’t in me to do half-assed jobs.