Chapter 45

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Griff

If you'd like to learn more about Griff and Molly's story, here is an excerpt from Fighting the Forbidden.

My best friend's little sister Molly is the only person in the world distracting enough to make me miss a foot flying at my head.

The kick slams into my temple. Pain explodes through my skull. My vision blackens around the edges. I rock sideways but stay on my feet.

Stupid mistake.

Everything in front of me blurs for a second. I grit my teeth, refusing to give in to the throbbing ache. Shaking off the blow, I put my fists back up, and weave away from my opponent.

My wandering attention could've cost me the fight. But Molly's here. Watching. Even though she's what pulled me out of the fight, she's also the reason I'm diving back into it.

So she can watch me win .

I weave away from my opponent's next strike. He already had his shot. He's not getting another one.

Molly is my ultimate forbidden fruit—my best friend's little sister. She's sweet, shy, innocent, and gets good grades while I'm gruff, loud, definitely not innocent, and earn extra cash by beating the shit out of people in illegal underground fights.

Why is she even here?

The bloodthirsty spectators roar. This is a rougher scene than I'm used to. Dirtier fighting. Fewer rules. The dank, sweat-soaked air crackles with expectation.

My opponent—a skilled fighter, no doubt—goes in for another shot and that's when I retaliate, pummeling him with several calculated strikes. He sways on his feet, then crumples to the concrete floor.

Stay down, motherfucker.

He groans and flops his forearm over his eyes. The crowd erupts in chaotic cheers and shouts. The ref stomps over and toes my opponent in the ribs. The guy curls into a ball on his side, signaling he's done.

Breathing hard, I allow the ref to hold my hand in the air and show me off to the heavy bettors outside the cage.

"Give it up for Stonewall!" the ref shouts, using the ring name I was given years ago.

The people chanting my name are nothing more than a colorful, frenzied blur. My mind's already left the ring. I'm too busy searching for Molly to pay attention to the spectators, girls, or anyone else.

The organizer of tonight's matches approaches with a big smile stretched across his face. He hands me my stack of cash and slaps my back.

"Good match!" he shouts in my face. "Come back anytime."

Not likely. I don't plan to make a habit out of visiting Ironworks .

I nod to acknowledge his open invitation, then hustle out of the ring and into the fray. Need to reach Molly before the crowd swallows her. These aren't the sort of people she should be mixed up with.

I shoulder through the mass, bumping guys out of my way. There. No more than ten feet from me. She's in a shadowy area, waiting patiently against the back wall. My lips curve up as I recognize the logo of my fight club stretched across the front of her purple T-shirt. Brass knuckles and roses. Kind of like Molly and me.

Guys eye-fondle her as they walk by, but no one dares talk to her. They know better than to mess with Remy's little sister. Because she's my Molly—sweet, oblivious Molly—she doesn't notice their attention.

Her eyes are focused on me and nowhere else.

Unfortunately, a lot of ring bunnies are also focused on me. One approaches with a sway to her hips and her full, red lips curled into an enticing smile. My gaze shoots to Molly in time to catch the turndown of her mouth and quick glance toward the exit.

I need to reach her fast.

"Congratulations, G," Layla says. She waits for me to kiss her cheek. Give her some sign I want her to accompany me to the locker room or maybe my car so she can be my trophy for the night. Leaning in closer, she drops her voice to a conspiratorial tone. "Were you messing with him when you took that kick?"

I don't bother bending down to hear her better or return her smile. "Nope." My clipped answer's meant to satisfy her questions—both spoken and unspoken.

Layla knows a brush-off when it's happening. She's too proud to beg and too beautiful to bother trying to convince me. She lifts her chin and stalks away. On to the next fighter.

My eyes lock on Molly again. She's staring at the floor now, arms wrapped around her middle like she's trying to make herself as small as possible. She lifts her head as I approach. A tentative smile flickers over her lips.

"You didn't have to hurry up for me," she says, nodding in Layla's direction. "I know you have fans to attend to."

The words come with an edge of hurt—pain I wish I could erase from Molly's mind.

"Does your brother know you're here?" I ask, holding out my arms to her.

Instead of answering, she flings herself against me, wrapping her arms around my neck. I lift her up, hugging her tight, burying my nose in her cherry-vanilla-scented hair.

"You scared me when he got that kick in," she whispers against my shoulder.

No way will I explain she's the reason I took that blow. I'm too fucking happy to see her. And even though she shouldn't be here, I'm thrilled she came to see me.

Maybe too thrilled.

I need to let her go.

"I'm sweating all over you, girl." I squeeze her tighter, negating my warning. She's so soft and fits against me just right.

"I don't mind getting a little sweaty," she murmurs.

That takes my mind down a path it definitely should not travel.

Setting her down before I'm ready, I keep my hands on her hips. It's playing with fire. All the leftover adrenaline screaming through my system has me flirting with getting burned. Even though this isn't a fight club I visit often, I recognize plenty of people. Any number of them would be more than willing to report back to her brother that I had my hands all over his little sister. Her brother—my best friend and partner in crime—wouldn't hesitate to kick my ass.

I settle for a kiss on her forehead before taking my hands off her.

"You didn't answer me. Does Remy know you're here?"

"Of course not."

"Why'd you come?"

"Duh, to see you." She pokes her finger into my side. "I heard you were up against someone new. Sorry I missed most of it."

"You saw the best part."

Laughter spills from her lips, chasing away the leftover violent energy burning through my body from the fight. I glance around the open space. Still way too many people here to leave her alone while I go shower and grab my stuff.

"Follow me." I hold out my hand and she takes it, weaving through the throng with me. The hallway to the private locker room is dark and deserted. Molly trots a little faster, catching up and wrapping her other hand around my arm.

"You don't have anything to be scared of," I assure her. "You're with me."

"I know." Her lips quirk up. "You'd kill anyone who touched me."

I return the smile. " Kill is a little strong." Break a few bones, maybe.

She squeezes my arm tighter.

It's not fear that keeps her clinging to me. It's trust. And that's not something Molly gives freely.

The locker room's deserted. My opponent probably took off as soon as the match was finished. To the other side of the building, the local hospital, or home—I don't know or care. No one else has a reason to be in here right now except me.

"Stay here. I'm gonna take a quick shower."

She touches her fingers to my head. "You're bleeding."

"Shit, really?" I glance at the mirror on the wall. She's right. It's a small cut, but a trickle of blood mingled with sweat slides down the side of my face.

Her fingers lightly rake through my hair and my eyes close. The shivery sensation sends my blood pumping south.

"Are there any Band-Aids around?" Her voice seems to come from far away and I sway on my feet.

"Yeah." I open my eyes and stare at the beat-up white metal cabinet next to the sink. "There should be something in there."

"Go shower." She presses both of her palms against my chest and lightly pushes. "I'll take care of the cut when you're done."

She turns toward the cabinet. The metal door creaks as she pries it open. Standing on her tiptoes, she reaches for the top shelf. The movement lifts her shirt, baring the skin above the waistband of her jeans.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

"First-aid kit," she announces. Something metallic clanks against the porcelain.

"Can't tell you if there's anything in it." I open my eyes. She's at the sink, head bowed, fiddling with the rusty lock on the kit. Her long, shiny brown ponytail reaches the small of her back. The urge to wrap it around my fist seizes me.

Don't you fucking dare.

"It's stuck," she mutters.

I'd help her open it, but I need to put some distance between us for a few minutes. Get myself under control.

"I trust you to figure it out." Without taking my eyes off of her, I reach into my open locker and grab my towel. "I'll be back."

"I'll be waiting," she answers.

I'm more eager to get back to her than I have any right to be.

Molly

I wish I had the type of confidence the ring girls have. One of them would strip down and follow Griff into the shower. Or surprise him once he'd been in there for a few minutes. If I were braver, I'd pull the curtain back, startling him, and then he'd realize I was standing there wearing nothing but a smile and offer to wash my back.

That's how the fantasy plays in my head.

In reality, the water starts up, the curtain makes that screechy sound as it's pushed aside to accommodate Griff's big body, and I stay right where I am. Playing with a bunch of Band-Aids that look like they've been sitting in this rusty tin since before I was born.

Is Griff using body wash or a plain bar of soap?

I couldn't get naked in front of him, could I? No. He'd probably laugh in my face, throw a towel at me, and tell me to cover myself.

A tap on my shoulder startles me so hard, I jump, throwing little yellowing packets of Band-Aids everywhere.

I've been so lost in figuring out the mechanics of soaping up my brother's best friend, I never heard the shower stop.

"What'd you scare me for?" I scoop the scattered Band-Aids out of the sink.

He's wearing a lopsided grin and not much else. Nothing but a thin red towel wrapped around his hips hides his skin from my curious eyes.

I've been witness to Griff shirtless plenty of times, but this whole-body tingling reaction is a new development.

I've known him since I was little. What feels like my whole life, really. He's my favorite person in the world besides my brother.

He's also a man now. Nothing like the boys I go to school with. He's cut and muscled in all the right places. Ruthless perfection honed from years of fighting, hard work, and pure survival.

The innocent crush on him I've nursed since kindergarten flipped to inappropriate a few years ago. Unfortunately, he still only sees me as a little sister. Probably always will.

This attraction is plain cruel. Even if he wanted me, I couldn't have him. He'd never do anything to piss off my brother. And Remy's made it clear many, many times his friends aren't allowed to date me.

"Didn't mean to startle you," Griff says, and I cringe. Was it obvious that I was checking out his body? "What were you thinking about?"

"N-nothing," I stammer. My traitorous cheeks heat, blushing hard enough to advertise exactly what smutty daydreams were dancing around in my head.

He squints, studying my face. "You sure you didn't take a hit to the head tonight?"

"No." I wave my hand at him. "Come here so I can fix your cut."

He steps closer to the small sink in the corner where I set out cotton pads and antiseptic liquid. Gently, I dab the cotton over his wound. A small hiss escapes him.

"Sorry," I whisper, hating that I'm hurting him even a little.

"It's okay." His low voice flows over my skin leaving goose bumps in its wake. I smooth some antibiotic ointment over the cut and seal it with a small Band-Aid. "All better. I think the bruise you're going to end up with will be worse than the cut."

"Won't be the first." He squints at me, a teasing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Or the last, I'm sure."

I can't laugh. Not when I hate that he loves risking bodily harm in these stupid underground fights all the time. My brother, too. And if it's not fighting, it's riding motorcycles or racing cars. It's like the two of them are bonded by a common death wish. Fear vibrates at a low, constant hum in the back of my mind that one of these days one of them will get seriously hurt.

Maybe sensing the change in my mood, Griff curls his hand around mine and playfully swings it side to side. "Thank you, Nurse Molly."

His gaze travels down my body. Mine takes the opportunity to do the same to him again.

I suck in a quick breath. "Oh." It's even harder to tear my gaze away this time, but I do.

"I'll, uh, let you get dressed," I mumble. It's a big room. Maybe there's a locker I can shut myself inside of to hide from all these weird tingly feelings.

"Wait." He reaches out, wrapping his hand around my arm. "Sit here." Leaning sideways, he swipes his clothes off the bench. "I'll be right back."

As I lower myself to the bench, my arm brushes against his stomach. His warm, flat, hard stomach. My hand whispers over the knot in his towel. So close. I could easily flick it open. My finger twitches against the terry cloth.

Why'd I do that?

My face flames even hotter.

Griff grabs my rogue hand and our eyes meet.

"S-sorry," I mumble, too embarrassed to hold his gaze.

"What are you doing, Muffin?" His low voice prickles over my skin.

Oh, I love when he calls me that.

"I didn't mean to," I lie. "It was an accident."

He groans.

"What?" My eyes snap to his.

"Nothing."

His mouth says nothing , but his eyes tell a different story, staring at me with an intensity that sets my entire body humming. His clothes fall to the floor in a whispered rustle. He curves his arm around my waist and presses his hand into the small of my back, pushing me forward against his hard body.

Holy…wow…oh my. What's happening?

My heart races. He stares into my eyes for a few seconds, like he's fascinated or surprised. He dips in closer, his fresh, soapy scent surrounding me. I stare at his mouth, his lips that look soft and kissable up close. Wait, why is he so close? He leans in and dusts a gentle kiss across my lips. Sparks dance and race over my skin.

Knees weak, heart pounding, I rest my palms against his chest and melt into him. He groans and brushes his knuckles under my chin, tipping my head back. His second kiss is slower and sweeter. My arms slip around his neck and his grip on my waist loosens, sliding down to pin me against his body, our connection so firm and complete.

I'm kissing Griffin "Stonewall" Royal. My brother's best friend. The love of my life. The only boy I've ever wanted to kiss.

No, this is more than kissing. We're exploring each other's mouths. Slowly, lazily, our tongues meet and slide against each other's. It's sweet, a little sloppy, gentle but passionate. His hand dives into my hair, cradling my head, deepening our kiss. The wonder fades, replaced by a jolt of electricity shocking my nerve endings.

Could I flick his towel off and find out what's poking against my hip? Would he show me how he likes to be touched? Would I really strip off all my clothes for Griff here in the locker room?

A needy moan eases out of me. I tighten my arms around his neck, raising myself higher on my tiptoes, close to climbing him like a tree.

Griff's body stiffens.

He pulls back, trying to break our kiss, but I cling to him, not ready for this to end. Not when I've wanted him to kiss me for so long. To look at me as something other than his best friend's little sister.

He stares down at me for a moment, his gaze lingering on my mouth.

"Griff?" I whisper.

"We can't do this."

No. No. No. We were doing fine.

Am I a bad kisser?

Would he rather be kissing someone else? Like the girl who so brazenly approached him earlier?

That's it, isn't it? By showing up here tonight, I stopped him from hooking up with one of the girls who love to bang the winner after a fight. Ring bunnies. Older than me. A lot more experienced. They'd know exactly how to keep Griff's interest.

My legs wobble. Humiliation washes over me and I try to wriggle away, but his hold on me tightens. I lean up, aiming to kiss him again, but he jerks his head to the side and I graze his jawline instead.

"Griff?"

He finally releases me and places a soft, passion-less kiss to the top of my head. The kind of kiss you'd give a kid after they skinned their knee or something.

Ouch.

Griff

Kissing Molly was something I swore I wouldn't do. Not yet.

I'm harder than steel. So close to taking what's mine.

Against my better judgment, I bury my hand in her hair, tilting her head back for another kiss. I have to taste her one more time before I stop this craziness. Her eyes widen in surprise. A soft, hesitant smile curves her lips for a second before I seal my mouth against hers.

This second kiss, I take my time, slowly teasing and tasting. She's as sweet as I always suspected but also spicy. Cherry lip balm and cinnamon candy.

Tearing my mouth away, I stare down at her kiss-swollen lips and dazed eyes. I did that.

Remy's going to kill me.

Fuck it. I go in for one more kiss, spearing my fingers through her hair and cupping the back of her head. One more kiss to remember how good she feels, to keep with me through the next few months. Her blue eyes flash with desire. She wants this as much as I do. I'd have to be blind and stupid not to know how she feels. Messing with her is a damn shitty thing to do, but I can't help myself.

Her soft fingers trace over my shoulders and down my arms, brush against my chest, reminding me a thin piece of terry cloth is all that stands between my cock and Molly. We could lose control any second. I don't want to fuck Molly in the locker room like she's some ring bunny I don't give two shits about. I want our first time to be special. I want her to feel how important she is to me.

"Molly, we have to stop." What I want to do is take her to my bed and learn every inch of her curvy little body. Figure out what sets her on fire. But I don't have that right. Not yet.

"No, we don't," she says with a firm authority I'm not used to hearing from her.

"Not here."

Not anywhere . What the hell am I saying?

Don't encourage this madness.

We can't.

I take both of her hands in one of mine and press another quick kiss to her forehead before releasing her. I grab my clothes off the floor and hurry the fuck away to get dressed and regain control of myself.

"Stay there," I call over my shoulder as I head for the showers.

Behind the curtain, I bang my head against the wet tile, willing my erection to go away.

I shouldn't be this worked up for my best friend's little sister.

My plan's solid and I need to stick to it. Slowly, I've been trying to show Remy I'm serious. Cleaning up my act. Holding down a decent job. Saving some money. Turning down every ring bunny who wants to jump on my dick. Subtly proving to him I'll treat his baby sister right and can take care of her the way she deserves.

She's eighteen in a few months. Graduating from high school. Headed to college in the fall. That's when I plan to claim my girl. By then, either Remy will accept us as a couple, or he won't.

I don't want to lose my best friend, but I refuse to lose Molly.