Free The Fighter Duet: Two Full-Length, Red-Hot New Adult Fighter Romances by Tia Louise Page B

rotisserie chicken. I could’ve eaten the whole buttery, greasy bird, but I wasn’t flush yet. I’d save the other half for tomorrow’s dinner. In the freezer was a package of pulled pork and some cheap ground beef. A supply of buns, mustard, and cheese, and I’d make it to payday. My one splurge was a burner phone and the cheapest package of minutes—just for emergencies.
    Showered and with my belly full, I stretched. My muscles ached in a good way from exertion they hadn’t felt in months, and I picked up the giant paperback I’d been reading. Even if it was pretty dry, I’d started to care what would happen next to the French kid.
    I read for almost an hour, but my skin itched, and my chest burned. That fucking hunger was back, and none of Doc’s mantras made it go away. What I felt was deeper than that. Time for Plan B—a walk on the shore. Hopefully, the wind and the waves and the fresh salt air would clear my head.
    At the water’s edge, I turned north, moving fast. Longing roiled deep in my stomach, and my pace quickened. Closing my eyes, I was surrounded by a curtain of dark hair, and slim hands kneading the muscles in my shoulders. Soft lips feathered my ear with husky whimpers begging for more, and I stopped walking. I pushed my hands against my head, growling deep, but it didn’t stop the faceless memories tormenting me. I remembered warm thighs circling my waist, and the squeeze of a hot, wet opening pulsing around my dick.
    “Fuck,” I hissed under my breath. I pulled off my shirt and shoved my shorts down, stepping out of them and running straight into the water. It was ice cold as I dropped to my knees, plunging my head under the surface and holding my breath until those tormenting memories drowned in the heat of my wake.
    Control came seeping back with the bitter cold making its way to my bones, and I waded to shore. Dripping wet, I went to where I’d left my clothes. I was at a pretty deserted section of beach, although I could see in the distance, maybe a half-mile away, one of those bars that fronted on the ocean. Rubbing my hands fast over my torso, I managed to get most of the water off me before stepping into my shorts. I held my shirt for a few minutes, letting the air dry my body a bit longer.
    It was a warm night, even though the water was frigid. My calm restored, I listened to the quiet sounds of evening—broken at once by a scream.
    My body went on alert as adrenaline shot through my veins. The scream cut off, but it came from the direction of the bar. Slowly I took a few steps when I heard it again—definitely a female scream.
    Jamming my shirt over my head and jogging toward the noise, I could barely make out the shape of a man behind a smaller form of a woman with long hair. She was pushing and throwing her arms all around, but he caught them, pinning them against her sides.
    Another man was approaching them, so I slowed my pace, waiting. I wasn’t about to let what seemed to be happening happen, but at the same time, if someone else could intervene and help her, that would be for the best.
    “My brother’s military,” I heard her scream. The sound of her ragged voice fanned the rage building in my torso. “He’ll rip your throat out and shove it up your ass.”
    My jaw was tight, and my fists clenched shut as I waited, hoping the skinny guy could help her. I barely heard him say something that sounded like “Let her go,” but the dick holding her shouted, “Go away so I can fuck her.”
    She screamed again, and rage flooded my vision. Skinny backed off, but I charged forward. In less than ten paces, my clenched fist made contact with the fucker’s jaw and a satisfying CRACK! ricocheted down my arm. He flew back, but his hold on the girl’s arms kept him upright. A left hook, another satisfying connecting punch, and he fell back, flat on the sand.
    Abuser, fucking worthless abuser . It took all of my willpower to control the fury blazing in my chest. I stood over him,