Zak laughed. “I know. Holly told me.”
Nicole shook her head, shoving at the rusty, squeaking back door as she went back into the bar. Holly and Charlotte were waiting just inside, Holly grabbing the door to help hold it open as Nicole entered. Holly started to say, “Is everything okay—”
There was the sound of a car door closing, and Nicole heard Zak call out, “Hey, man. This is a surprise. What are you doing here?” Something in his voice had alarm bells ringing in the back of her head. She heard fear in it.
The blasting sound of the gunshot was sharp and fierce, and unmistakable. Nicole spun around, heart hammering in her chest. She saw the alley, gray and shimmering in the rain. The dumpster, lid open, and the trash bags scattered on the ground in front of it. And Zak, sprawled across one of the bags—blood seeping from his chest, turning his faded gray T-shirt a deep, ugly crimson. She saw the man standing over him, holding a gun.
For a second, she thought Zak might still be alive, but the man with the gun fired again, twice, and Zak’s head jerked back. Something in his body just seemed to go still. Nicole had never seen anyone die before—but she just knew he was gone.
Behind her, Holly cried out, wordless and horrified, as Nicole teetered back. She leaned too hard against the door, and it creaked open, hinges screeching. The man with the gun turned wildly. He was thin, wiry, small. Dark eyes were sunken deep in a rat-like face, half hidden behind stringy dark hair. He looked like anyone she might pass on the street—nondescript and normal, in jeans and a battered leather jacket. She wouldn’t have guessed she should be afraid of him. Wouldn’t have guessed he was a murderer. For a moment he looked shocked. She thought she heard him mutter, “Shit.” And then he aimed.
For a second, all she could see was the gun, the dark barrel aimed at her. Her heart thudded in her chest, too loud.
Michael. It was immediate and instinctive, the need for him. He’d protect her, he’d keep her safe. All these years, and in that moment, with the gun pointed at her, her ex-boyfriend was the only one she thought of when she needed someone to protect her.
Then Nicole threw herself back as there was another echoing gunshot, the sharp thud of a bullet landing in the doorframe right where she had been. She felt Holly and Charlotte right beside her as the three of them shoved the door closed with all their strength.
Holly was breathing hard, on the verge of hyperventilating, her eyes glassy and huge. Nicole wondered how much of this she was even taking in, or if she’d gone into a state of shock. Obviously reaching the same conclusion, Charlotte wrapped around Holly like a protective blanket, hugging her tight and murmuring words of comfort in her ear, tucking her head against Charlotte’s shoulder to make sure she didn’t look out the window again.
Nicole, meanwhile, swung into action, looking around desperately for something to shove in front of the door. Another shot, and another, as the window next to her shattered.
“Stay down!” Nicole ordered Charlotte, who immediately pulled Holly down to the floor. Nicole dug in her pocket for her phone. She had to force herself to dial 911. Not Michael. “McKinley’s Bar,” she said, when the 911 operator picked up. “Washington and West 12th Street. A man just shot someone and he’s still shooting at us.”
“I’m alerting the police. We have a patrol car in the area.” The operator’s voice was calm and steady. “Please stay on the line.”
Nicole nodded, looking to her friends. She hated to pull Charlotte away when it was clear Holly needed the comfort—but their safety had to come first. “Give me a hand, Charlotte. We need to barricade this door.”
“Right.” Charlotte’s face was deathly pale, her eyes huge behind her pink-rimmed glasses. But she nodded and scrambled over to one of the heavy wooden tables, her sneakers squeaking against the damp floor as she pushed. Nicole hurried over to grip the front of the table, and together they managed to drag it in front of the door.
Another peel of gunshots shattered the mirror over the bar, and splintered one of the front windows. Holly was curled up on the floor, sobbing. Charlotte knelt down beside her, wrapping her arms around their friend. Nicole sat down with them, tangling herself around them both as if she could shield them from harm. As the seconds passed like hours, she held on tight, silently praying that help would come soon.
Then, thankfully, there was the wail of sirens. Nicole could’ve sworn she heard rapid footsteps running away, and then the sound of a car peeling out. She let herself close her eyes and finally breathe as the police cars screamed to a stop in front of the bar.
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BLURB
Alice hates fighters.
They're arrogant, broody, and have an ego to match their hulking muscles. Not to mention her scumbag ex was one of them..
But when her dad, a legendary MMA trainer, suffers a stroke and the medical bills start piling up, she's forced to start training one of the infamous Burton Brothers. All she needs to do is pretend to be her dad for a few days. But from the moment Bryant Burton shows up at the gym, all bets are off. With his taut muscles, steely gray eyes, and simmering strength, fighting his pull is going to be the biggest challenge of all.
Bryant can't understand his cravings. If the desire he's feeling for "Coach Anders" wasn't disturbing enough, the man's daughter is starting to make him forget why he came. Her creamy skin, petite body, and full lips are driving him insane with need. And the fact she keeps disappearing doesn't help either. If he's going to be ready for his championship fight, he'll have to do something to satisfy his urges and get his head back in the ring.
One kiss is all it takes to ignite their chemistry, but with Alice's deception and Bryant's short fuse, things are bound to go up in flames...
*The BADDEST boys on the planet have finally met their match...*
Grab your copy of The Fighter’s Fierce Temptation (The Burton Brothers Series Book One) from
EXCERPT
Chapter One
Time. Therapy. Healing.
Those words had become Alice Ander’s lifeline over the last two weeks. Her dad was home—thank you, God—but under doctor’s orders to take things slow for the next twelve weeks. His therapist was scheduled to come to the house every day. Alice was glad of it—she was committed to seeing her dad get better. Terry Anders would live to keep on fighting—and keep on training fighters.
She heard laughter and turned to watch a group of teenagers leaving her dad’s gym. Alice sighed. They were the only source of income for the whole camp at the moment. Picking up the unopened mail, she carried it into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of iced tea. She headed into the sunroom off the back of the main cabin.
She was glad to be back in the mountains and out of the city. Nestled in the Cascade Mountains in Oregon, Gilson was a small town of around five hundred people, close enough to several other small towns to ensure the training camps never lacked for visitors.