Forever Yours (Forever Series) Read online

  When we’re far enough away from the truck Brett lets out a sigh. “Taylor, you know I love you like a brother, but you’ve got to stop letting this kid get to you. That’s what he wants.”

  “Easy for you to say. If it were Cindy he was after, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

  Brett opens the convenience store’s door and follows me inside. “Guys flirt with Cindy at school, Taylor. It’s natural. We’re not married, and guys are going to play. You used to be the same damn way. With tons of girls. Do you remember caring if she had a boyfriend?” He lifts a brow. So fucking true. “You’ve got to learn how to calm yourself down.”

  Picking up a Snickers, I give him a one shoulder shrug. “It’s him … he just … ”

  “Likes Layla. They knew each other before and it pisses you off. I get it. But, it’s only going to get worse when we get to Dallas. He knows her family. They probably like him.” Brett grabs a handful of candy from various different shelves. “But, she loves you.” He points a Hershey bar at my chest. “You, not him. Just remember that.”

  Oh, God. It’s not that I didn’t think it would be hard with Damon around us and her family. But, there is no need to bring it up. It’s not that I don’t know I’m being ridiculous. It’s just in my DNA. I have to protect her. It’s not possible not to. “I know, Brett. I’ll work on it.”

  He lifts an eyebrow, grabs a few cases of beer and walks toward the counter. We both know it’s going to take a lot more than just ‘I’ll work on it’ before it’ll happen. Shit, I’m not sure what it would take to stop being so protective. I’ve tried. I’ve contemplated having Brett tie me to a bed until Layla gets back from work. Because I know he’s there flirting with her. Trying to soften her up, to fuck. To touch her. It sends waves of violence through every molecule in my entire body. It sets me on fire. God, he’s right, I need to chill the fuck out. We both pay and walk back outside.

  The cool wind whips at my skin and I kick myself for not grabbing my jacket. Brett cusses underneath his breath, and I follow his gaze. The same asshole that smiled at Layla crossing the street is leaning inside the passenger side window.

  I faintly hear Brett saying something to me, but heat courses through me, giving me a surge of adrenaline that needs to be released on that asshole’s face. Am I hallucinating? I must be, because I know this fucker isn’t flirting with my girl. I know he isn’t leaning in my truck, to try and get my girl.

  He’s barking out a laugh when I grip his shoulder and sling him around to face me. Layla’s eyes are huge and she’s pressed against the console of the truck, as far away from him as she can get. A deep scar runs from his ear all the way down to the corner of his mouth. A smug grin is riding on his lips. “What the fuck are you doing?” I ask.

  He puts his hands up in surrender, shrugging his jacket back up onto his shoulders from where I knocked it off. “Talking to some pretty ladies,” he says in a lazy southern drawl. He winks.

  My hands curl into fists at my sides. Brett’s hand claps onto my shoulder. “They’re taken, bro. So just back off.”

  Jackass raises an eyebrow and looks back at me. “Can’t talk for yourself, Taylor Jacks?” he asks in a purposefully slow slur. “I expected more from you.”

  What. The. Fuck. “How in the hell do you know my name, asshole? You better start talking now before I beat you into oblivion.”

  He laughs and rakes his fingers through his dark blond hair. “Everyone knows ‘The Taylor Jacks.’ ‘Taylor ‘Badass’ Jacks.’ King of the underground.” He grins. “You’re a big YouTube sensation down here in Tennessee. Texas too. ‘Really’ big in Texas.” The way he says ‘really’ makes my skin crawl.

  God. Of course he would know who I am. “Well, if you’re a groupie, I’m taken. Sorry.”

  He keeps his smile in place but the corner of his lip curls up in a sneer. Before he can say anything else, I say, “Whatever. Get away from my girl. We’re leaving.”

  “Ah, so soon? I heard y’all are heading to Texas? I’m from Texas myself.” He looks over at Layla and gives her an expression I can’t pinpoint. “Maybe we’ll see each other over Christmas break? Or tonight?” He gives me a wicked grin. “You are one of the top fighters. Why don’t you come show these kids how it’s done?”

  Brett grabs my elbow and pulls me toward the driver’s side. “Not interested, bro,” he says. “Thanks for the invite. See you on the flipside,” Brett says, trying to stop any chance of a fight.

  He laughs as I watch him, while Brett tries to drag me toward the other side of the truck. “My name is Seth by the way. I’m fighting tonight. You probably couldn’t handle it, anyway. Country boys don’t play no bullshit.” He spits a spray of tobacco onto the ground.

  “Let me go, Brett,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m going to rip his head off.” Brett grabs my shoulders and holds me in place.

  Seth eats it up, relaxing onto my side view mirror. “Maybe those pretty ladies could be my award tonight. That’s way better than money.” He eyes Layla and slowly runs his tongue over his lip.

  Shit. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you, Taylor. Calm, Breathe. No, fuck that. I jerk my elbow back and hit Brett’s side. He yells and tries to grab me as I run toward this guy. His eyes widen and he braces himself for the hit. My fist flies forward and makes contact with his jaw. A loud crack echoes through the quiet, before Brett grabs me and hauls me back toward the driver side.

  Seth rubs his jaw and smiles over at me from the passenger side window. “It was nice meeting you! See ya on the flipside, brother,” he says before getting onto a motorcycle in the next parking space and speeding off.

  “Taylor!” Brett yells. He tosses his hands in the air and shrugs. “First off, ouch. You hit me? And second, what in the hell did we just talk about? Do you have short term memory loss? Fuck!”

  Rubbing my thumb over the corner of my mouth, I shrug. “Sorry. I told you I would work on it. That was progress. He’s alive, isn’t he?”

  Brett stands motionless staring at me for a few short seconds. Grinding his teeth, he jumps into the backseat and stares at me. “Christ, Taylor,” he says before shutting the door in my face.

  “Wow, way to fuck everything up, Taylor,” I mumble before getting in the driver’s seat.

  ***

  No one says one word when I get back into the truck. Layla has her head pressed against the window and won’t look at me. I don’t blame her. It’s like a dark cloud of depression is hanging over me, drawing the fucking wackos to me. The two minute drive to the hotel feels like hours. The only person giving me any attention is Mittens and she’s a fucking cat.

  Pulling into the hotel parking lot, I park and turn toward Layla. She is out of the truck before I can get a word out. Great. Getting out, I follow her to the back of the truck. She is trying to jerk the trunk door open when I get there. I pop the trunk using my clicker and lean against the back. “Layla, calm down.”

  She huffs and kicks her foot against the back fender of my truck. “I just want to have one normal day without you down Damon’s throat or you fighting. Damn! Is that too much to ask? Because I don’t think it is, Taylor!”

  God, she’s adorable when she’s pissed off. Her cheeks are flushed and a small wrinkle forms between her eyes. “No,” I say, stepping toward her. “It’s not too much to ask.” I run my finger over the wrinkle in her forehead, but she pushes my hand away.

  “Then apologize to Damon and apologize to me.”

  What? She’s gone bat-shit crazy? “What? That’s taking it a little too far, Layla. I’ll apologize to you.” I place my hands on her slender shoulders, gripping hard to keep her from pulling away. “I’m sorry, hustler. I’ll try my hardest not to get into any more fights. I said I wouldn’t start any shit, I didn’t say I would bow down and apologize to that asshole.”

  A small, sad, sigh escapes from her lips and she crosses her arms across her chest. I swear I expect her to stomp her foot like a three-year-old. “No deal.”

&
nbsp; “Oh, we’re making a deal now?”

  She presses her lips into a hard, straight line. “Apologize or … we’re going home.”

  I almost roll my eyes. I know she won’t take us back home. Especially after we’ve already put six hours behind us. And because I’m the one driving. Instead of calling her bluff, I sigh. It’s better to give her what she wants, because I don’t want to hurt her any more than I already have. I can see the fear in her eyes when I get into a fight. When I see red it makes her sad. I don’t want Layla sad. Ever. “Okay. Let me get him.”

  Goddamn. Damon is texting on his phone when I open the back door to the truck. All three sets of eyes direct toward me. I huff. “Damon, Layla wants us to have a quick chat.”

  He raises an eyebrow and glances over at Brett and Cindy who shrug. “Why?”

  “Just come on,” I say. “Let’s get this over with.”

  He sighs and climbs out anyway. “What’s up?” Damon asks.

  Layla glances at him and then me, slowly. “I’m sick of you two fighting. I’m sick of fighting in general. But, I want you both to apologize to one another and let’s move on.”

  Damon’s eyes bug out of his head. “You got to be fucking kidding … you want me to apologize to him?” He barks out a laugh. “Hell, no, Layla.”

  “My words exactly,” I mumble.

  Layla grits her teeth. “Then we’re going home. I won’t ride another ten hours with this bullshit. I’ll get on a bus and leave. You all can go to my family’s Christmas by your fucking selves, you big old assholes!” she yells.

  Damon exhales and throws his head back to close his eyes. “Okay.” Turning toward me, he holds his hand out. Swallowing his pride, he gives me a half-smile. It’s bullshit, we both know it. “I’m sorry, Taylor. I’ll act like a grownup from now on.”

  Layla glances at me and gives me a you better shake his damn hand look. I take his hand. “I’m sorry, Damon. I’ll try not to get pissed off when you flirt with my fiancée.” I let go of his hand and shove mine back into my pocket. “Is that better, Mother?”

  Layla holds back a smile but gives me a small nod. “Yes. Now, let’s get this stuff into the room.”

  ***

  We lug all of our stuff up to our room. We get Mittens’ bowls situated and she goes straight toward the bed to sleep. Like she hasn’t been asleep for six fucking hours. The room is huge. There is a living room with a pull out couch, a mini kitchen and a separate bathroom and bedroom. Layla claims the bed closest to the window and jumps to fall into the covers.

  “No fair. I like to watch the stars while I fall asleep,” Cindy pouts.

  Layla starts making snow angels in the covers. “You snooze you lose, kid. Plus, I like to be near the air conditioner and the air vent is right above my bed.”

  Leaning down on top of Layla, I take her lips with mine. “Our bed,” I whisper, nipping at her jaw.

  She wraps her slender arms around my neck and pulls me down the rest of the way. “I like the sound of that,” she mumbles against my lips.

  “No,” Cindy says, slamming a pillow onto my back. “None of that tonight. You guys will always have time for that. It’s party time. We have to get ready.”

  Layla leans up onto her elbow. “What are you talking about, Cindy? Ready for what?”

  Cindy rolls her eyes impatiently and starts to throw clothes out of her suitcase. “For the MMA fight tonight. Were you guys not listening to that guy?” She jabs her thumb over her shoulder and gives us an are you fucking stupid look.

  “What?” I sit up straight. “Are you blind? Did you not just see me hit that guy in the face, Cindy? I think that kind of cancels the invite he gave us.”

  She laughs and brings a shirt up to her chest to examine. “It only enhances our invite. He wants you there to fight.” She twirls around in her shirt in front of the mirror. “And since when does a little fight stop you from having fun, Taylor? You are ‘The Taylor Jacks,’ aren’t you?”

  “Stop calling me that. And no, we’re not going.”

  She whistles while she digs through another bag. “Come on, we’re only here for one night.”

  I glance at Brett for help. He shrugs and covers his face with his hands. He’s just as bad as me. When our women want something we give it to them. But Cindy is not my woman and I’m not going.

  “You guys can go. Damon can even go. It’ll give Layla and me some time alone.”

  Damon scoffs from the living room and comes to stand in the doorway. He has a smug grin on his face. “I’m not going if everyone isn’t going.”

  Bastard. All of our fake apologies go out the window. Cindy pokes out her lip and does some little girly dance. “Please, Tay. I promise we won’t stay long. Just for an hour. We’re in Nashville for one night. Just one.” She holds up her index finger.

  Jesus Christ. “One hour? If you swear not to get belligerently drunk, Cindy. And no drawing attention to us. I don’t want Scarface to see us.”

  Cindy throws her arms up and starts jumping like a kid. “Daddy said we could go out to play, Brett. Finally, Daddy says we can go.”

  I growl over at her.

  “Scarface?” Layla asks beneath me. I glance down at her. Her hair is spread out on the bedspread beneath us. She looks so innocent, which I know she isn’t, but I can’t stand the thought of something happening to her. It makes me really want to keep her locked in the hotel room for the night.

  I nuzzle her neck. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Turns out the coliseum isn’t an actual coliseum. It’s a rundown old warehouse on the outskirts of town. Known for underground fighting. After we asked ten random people in the lobby, we finally found a teenager working there that showed us the way. The place is dead centered of a damn corn field. There are trucks parked in every direction. Mostly old pick-ups. There is a roar from inside, and some old country music playing in the background.

  Layla clutches my arm when she gets around the truck. “Taylor, I have a bad feeling about this.”

  Me too. I swallow the lump in my throat and pull her close into the crease of my arm. “It’s fine. We’ll only be here for an hour and then we can leave.” Pulling the hood of my hoodie over my eyes, I glance down at her. “No one will even realize it’s me. Promise.”

  She gives me a frail smile. We wait in the line for ten minutes before we pay and get inside. It’s definitely an old warehouse. There is a second story where tons of boxes are stored. Old equipment is pushed out of the way in the center of the building. The entrance is huge and opens with a lever like a garage door only ten times bigger.

  Brett nudges my side and gives me a look. There are probably around three hundred people crammed into this building. Damon taps me on my shoulder. “Do you think this is such a good idea? Look.” He tosses his head toward a group of guys standing by the ring in the middle. Scarface is one of them. He has a smile on his face that looks like the damn Devil. He watches us as we walk across the floor. Fuck, we’ve already been spotted.

  “Maybe we should go,” Damon suggests.

  I give him a small nod and nudge Brett’s shoulder. “I think Damon’s right. We probably should go. They’re up to fucking trouble, I can see it on their faces.”

  “It’s probably best. Wait –,” Brett starts looking around. Cindy isn’t standing by him anymore. ‘Goddamnit.’ Fucking Cindy. “Where the hell did she go?”

  Layla shrugs her shoulders. “Let’s go find her so we can leave,” Layla says.

  We all start walking toward the ring. We get a bunch of people jabbing at us and cussing us out, but I don’t give a shit. We need to find Cindy’s dumb ass before we get jumped in the parking lot. I’m going to kill her.

  The announcer hits the microphone a few times, sending everyone screaming from the sound. “Sorry, y’all,” he laughs. “Who’s ready to see some fuckin’ fighting!” he screams into the mic.

  Everyone starts rattling the cage and hollering at the top of their lungs. Layla grabs my hoodi
e and points toward the front of the ring. Cindy has her fingers interlaced into the fence and is screaming to the stage, shaking the fence along with the rest of the fans.

  This girl is going to make me go gray before I’m twenty-five. Pushing my way through the crowd, I grab Cindy’s elbow. She turns to me and grins. Her breath smells like alcohol, and she breaths right into my face. “Taylor! Look at this crowd. It’s amazin –,”

  I don’t hear the rest because the announcer drowns her out. “Cindy we need to go back to the hotel. There is a bunch of guys that I think are going to start a fight.”

  She isn’t listening. She’s jumping up and down rattling the cage. She’s had way too much to drink. I told her not to drink those beers before we left, but she guzzled down three more.

  Brett comes up behind her and grabs her around the waist. He’s saying something into her ear but I can’t hear anything over the sound of the microphone.

  ‘Taylor ‘Badass’ Jacks’ is in the building, folks!”

  I hear that. I glance up slightly, and every set of eyes are staring at me right now. “Take that hoodie off, we all know it’s you underneath there, son!” he hollers and the entire building starts chanting my name. Taylor. Taylor. Badass. Jacckkksss!

  In the name of all that is holy …

  Snatching my hood off, I glare up at the announcer. He flinches but smiles and cups his hand around his ear. “I can’t hear you. ‘Taylor ‘Badass’ Jacks’ is in the mother fuckin’ building, y’all!”

  Girls are hanging on me now, one pressing her tits against my chest. Another one screaming in my face. I push her away, wrap my fingers through the fence and lift myself up into the cage. The announcer bows as I walk and grab the mic from his hand. The bright lights brighten the faces in front of me. They all look like kids and I’m Santa Claus.

  “Hi, guys. Thanks for the welcome. I’m just here to watch tonight. Let’s have ourselves a good fucking fight. Beat some ass!”

  I search the crowd for Layla. Where the hell are they?