Chapter Nine

“Fighter.” Mark looked up from his phone.

“What?”

“Your babysitter has been trying to reach you for an hour.”

“Shit!” Fighter dug out his phone. The fucking thing had run out of battery. He plugged it in and snatched up Mark’s phone to call her back while his own charged.

“Mark?”

“No, it’s Fighter, Ms. Carson. I’m so sorry, my phone went dead.”

“That’s okay. I just used one of the alternate contacts,” she soothed.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, I just wanted to know if you’d like some leftover casserole.”

He hesitated.

“I made way too much for me to eat alone and it’ll go bad.”

“Please and thank you.”

She ended the call and Fighter sighed. “I need to go.”

“Okay, we’ll keep working,” Bishop said.

“Thanks guys.”

“Let’s go eat and look up info,” Mark told Bishop, and they all left the run-down building together.

Fighter stood over the crib, gazing at his sleeping nephew.

“Daddy.” Emma tugged at him and her tiny arms clutched around his thigh. She was three and a half and already growing up so fast.

“Hey, baby. Shhhh, Eli is sleeping.” Fighter bent down and lifted her into his arms to nuzzle her downy hair.

“Shhhhh.” His niece placed one finger to her plump lips.

“Let’s go eat some dinner,” he whispered, and left the room. Leaving the door cracked, he took Emma into the room across the hall that he’d fashioned into a kitchen of sorts.

The two rooms he and his small family occupied were at the back of the Suwan Guardians’ building. There were more rooms, but they were filled with all kinds of junk from clearing out to make two available. One bedroom held his twin bed, a crib, and a foam pad he’d found that Emma slept on. The room he’d designated the kitchen held a mini fridge, a used microwave, and a thrift store table and chairs. It all painted a dismal picture, but someday, he’d give his sister and her kids the world. Thankfully, Ms. Carson watched both children at her place, which was much nicer than a place at the back of a building that didn’t even have a yard. Hopefully, by the time Eli was walking, he’d have something nicer for them all.

He only needed a break.

No breaks were coming his way when he left the grocery store the next day and found Cook’s men lounging on top of his beat-up four door. Not that he had any love for the thing he’d bought at a used car lot for twelve hundred dollars, but it got him from work to the babysitter, plus the store.

He had both kids bundled up against the weather with Elijah in the basket seat and Emma in the cart. Emma was touching the meager supplies he’d been able to afford. Her face had dried tears because he’d refused to buy a toy she’d spotted at the checkout. If store managers knew what stacking plushies near the checkout did to parents and kids, perhaps they’d stop. But he figured they were looking for the sale, not keeping kids happy.

“Hey, hey, hey,” the only guy Fighter knew by name called out.

Steve was sitting on the hood of his car with the bottom of his mud-caked boot planted on the top. Ice, rocks, and snow made a grinding noise when Steve scraped his heel against the metal hood. The paint definitely peeled from that, but Fighter didn’t care. He was more worried about the kids getting cold.

Stopping several feet away, he faced off with Steve and the three men who were with the guy.

If he had to, he’d fight to the death. He’d kill every single one of them if they dared touch him or the kids. Steve didn’t read people well, though, and stood on the hood before he jumped off. The guy skidded and almost slipped on his ass in the slush. “You’re late on your payment.”

“Tell him I need more time, please.”

“He’s not a patient man.”

Fighter knew that, so he thought fast. “Tell him I’ll call him.”

“Let me get him on the phone.” Steve pulled out his phone and Fighter waited five minutes while Steve asked for more time before he hung up.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. He’s growing more impatient.”

“I don’t have it yet,” Fighter said, squeezing the edge of the cart. He’d already placed himself in front of the basket. Cars were entering the lot, but he didn’t dare glance around.

“Why don’t I take those sweet kids until you do have the money.”

“You must have a death wish.”

Fighter was so stunned when Tyler Brick spoke from just behind him. He whirled around, meeting his enemy’s eyes, but after a very brief flick of those cool gray eyes, Brick was totally focused on Steve.

“Who the fuck are you?” Steve’s tone turned belligerent.

“Who I am doesn’t matter.” Brick waved a hand and Steve’s eyes darted in that direction. Three bodyguards stood next to Brick’s jeep, not relaxed at all. Instead of leaning like Steve’s crew, the Cobalt bodyguards stood alert and at attention, waiting for orders.

“So, you need to ask yourself…which leg you want broken. Or maybe, you want both?” Brick’s voice turned guttural.

“Fuck you,” Steve spat at Brick, but he backed up and gestured to his guys before he pointed a finger at Fighter. “Just you wait.”

The four assholes jogged through the snow to a pickup truck and Fighter swung his cart around to push to his car before Steve could leave the parking lot.

“Are you okay?” Brick said.

“After three days in jail?” Fighter snapped, placing Emma in her car seat and Elijah in his. He shut the door and turned on Brick.

“Save your concern. I’m sure you’re just here to do some shopping, so leave me the hell alone.”

Brick snorted an annoying sound. “Not even a thank you?”

“Fuck you very much.”

“Anytime,” Brick said silkily before his long strides and heavy snow boots took him back toward his vehicle.

Fighter glared at the man’s back and wished that he didn’t have the kids there.

He wanted to punch that fucker’s face so bad.

“One day,” he hissed, and then took a breath before getting in his car. He cranked the heater and blasted it. Thankfully, the thing still worked.

It was odd that Brick and the three bodyguards got back into the jeep and slowly drove away.

What in the world had Brick been doing there?

“Probably slumming,” Fighter murmured.

“Swimming!” Emma shouted from the back seat and Fighter had to laugh at that.