20. The Brawl

TWENTY

THE brAWL

BECCA

I n the ladies' room, I don't even know the woman in the mirror anymore. I used to be so single-minded in my aspirations to dance. It's hard to keep focused with Cam around.

The warmth of his hands is still on my stomach. If I pull my dress down, there's probably an imprint, too. My fingers trace the sequins where he was while my thong soaks more, thinking about the way his cock hardened for me.

Or should I chalk that up to this being in the heat of the moment as well?

Are we both fooling ourselves here? If we are, I doubt either of us will admit there's an attraction here, and I'm certainly not going to blurt another thing to him ever again. My admission of virginity was embarrassing enough.

Sometimes being a virgin is like a rope around my neck, keeping me tied to a past of prim and proper ladylike behavior instilled in me from childbirth by my mother. The only time I was free to be who I wanted to be was in dance class or performances.

Depending on the music and theme, I could wear sexy outfits. I could become characters far and away different from me. Live another's life for the few minutes I graced the stage. I'm so grateful for the luxury my parents afforded me for dance lessons. But their demands I give up my foolish dream to dance pushed me away.

I cut ties. At the risk of losing their support.

Now, it's time for the next level. I want to break up with my virginity.

It's something always holding me back, and I want to be done with it. I want to lose myself to the ecstasy of sex with a man's cock inside of me once and for all.

I always said I'd choose when and who to give it to, to someone who means something to me. And there's only one man I can think of, now that I'm ready.

Cam says he wants to help me. Get a job. Get back on my feet. Well, taking my virginity would be really helpful.

Only I asked and he balked.

"This is ridiculous." I spit at the idea with such venom at myself in the mirror then leave the room. Clearly, there's no way Cam would agree to it based on what just happened on the dance floor.

Even if he did, I'm in denial if I think I can walk away from one special night with him without getting my heart broken.

When I fling open the door, I gasp and can't believe who stands there waiting for me.

"Hello, sweetheart. Remember me?" Max gives off that Hollywood golden boy type of vibe that must drive some women wild. Not me. "Grab her."

Suddenly, two large men surround me, each with a hand clamped on my arms tight.

"What do you think you're doing?" I shriek and struggle in their hold. Before I can start screaming, they drag me out the emergency exit door to the right of the bathrooms. The door slams closed behind us, and now no one will hear my screams and know I've been kidnapped by some creep who thinks his film accolades give him a license to thrill.

Only I'm not alone. My eyes double in size, seeing Cam is there in the alleyway behind the club, too. On his knees with tape across his mouth and his wrists, two other goons stand guard over him, one with a gun pointed at his head.

"Cam!" I shout, my eyes imploring him, trying to say everything to him I've been too chicken to admit.

I want you.

I need you.

Take my virginity.

His eyes strain to see me, and only then do I see marks on his face, like they've already pounded him with fists before I got here.

"You see, Cam, it occurs to me," Max starts, his hands in his pockets pacing slowly between us. "I've never given you a proper welcome wagon to Vegas."

He snaps his fingers, and the two men haul him up to standing.

"I'm Max, of the Largente family, and since you're new to sin city, you need to know we pretty much own shit around here. If you don't piss us—me—off, we'll quietly, peacefully coexist."

Max slams a punch into Cam's gut and I scream, "No!" He doubles over, gasping for breath through his nose and coughing.

"But you didn't do that, did you? Nope." Our tormentor raises his voice, stepping closer to me. "You embarrassed me in front of my uncle at poker. And you publicly humiliated me in the strip club over this…fine-ass woman."

His knuckles skim down my cheek, and I flinch away. He grabs my chin and forces me to look.

"There are consequences, Cam. You need to be taught a lesson, and your woman is going to watch." He continues to hold my head in place as the men in black take turns hitting and kicking him.

"You asshole. You're nothing but a bully!" I cry. I try kicking him, but another man kneels behind me and restrains my legs.

Cam's on the ground now, on his back, taking lick after lick. I scream his name over and over. Just when I don't think he can take another beating, the door from the club swings wide open, clattering against the building. A dozen burly guys come running out, doubling up two-to-one to fight Max and his goons.

A woman follows them, the same one who was hugging Cam earlier by the dance floor. She now holds me steady with an arm around my shoulder. "Stand back. The team will take care of this."

That's when I realize these are his teammates saving him. Us.

Between the melee, I spot Cam on the ground and I break free and run to him. I fall by his side and scrape my nails at the tape across his mouth, so concerned about him, I don't see the blood on it until it's too late. My stomach roils. No. I can't pass out now. I need to keep it together, for Cam's sake.

He groans, and his eyes can hardly stay open.

"Stay with me, Cam. Please." I get a good grip on the tape and pull it off.

I kiss him without hesitation, leaning chest to chest, smashing his lips with mine. No matter how salty he tastes, if anything happens to him, if this is the last night he takes a breath, in the heat of this moment, I need one more kiss from him.

"Princess," he croaks, breaking into a cough when I release him.

"I'm here," I assure him, right as a huge shiny black truck screeches to a stop beside us. The driver yells through the open passenger window, "Throw Max in the back."

The star of Hollywood doesn't seem so shiny now. He appears about as bad off as Cam does as they pass by me carrying him, a man holding each of his limbs. They toss him in the back and the teammates jump in as well. Max's guards hardly move on the ground. The brawl is over.

The driver yells again. "Cam, you coming?"

"Yeah. Help me up," he wheezes.

"What the—Where are you going?" I watch in horror as two of the hockey players pull him upright. One produces a knife and cuts through the tape around his wrists, freeing them. Cam immediately holds an arm around his ribs. The other guy assists him into the truck.

"You know what we have to do, Cam," the driver says. All kinds of scenarios run through my head about what they intend to do with Max. None of them are lawful. I run to him and implore him before he can shut the door.

"No. Stay with me, Cam. You need a hospital and?—"

"Don't worry, Princess. I'll be back." His voice ragged, his one good eye gives me a slow wink, and he looks like he can barely sit upright.

Someone pulls my arm, tugging me away. They shut the truck door and the guys take off. Tears stream down my cheeks as I watch them peel out of the alley. My chest hurts like they take my heart with them.

"We need to go, too. Hurry! Come with me." Only then I realize it was the woman, a stranger, now wanting me to follow her.

"I don't even know you."

"Look, everything will be fine. I'm Big D's girlfriend, Kallie. Cam's our roommate. You're Becca, right? They'll be back in a while, so why don't you come to our place. We can talk and you can wait for Cam there."

"Shouldn't we call the police or something? And what are they going to do to Max?" I don't get any answers as she rushes away.

What choice do I have but to follow? I couldn't walk away from this if I tried. I feel partly responsible for this happening to poor Cam. Until I know he's okay, I won't be able to sleep or do anything else.