Brawler's Baby: An MMA Mob Romance (Mob City Book 1) (22 page)

"I wish you could," I said.

I really do
.

"But it's not up to me," I continued. "Time for school."

Conor looked at me sadly, with the kind of expression that said: "does he have to?"

I nodded. Sometimes I felt like my head was spinning – had this all really happened so quickly? How had Conor just slipped into our lives as easily as if he'd always been there, as if we'd always been a tripod.

"Awww," Eamon complained. "Really, really?"

"Really, really." I confirmed. "But you can play with Daddy later, okay?"

As Conor put Eamon down, the boy looked glum. "Okay," he said sadly. "I guess so."

"Race to the lobby?" Conor asked him.

Eamon forgot his disappointment instantly, and took off running. I knew the look on his face, because his father often wore one that looked exactly the same. He was determined to win.

"How do you do it?" I asked, astonished by how easily Conor seemed to know how to act around Eamon. Hell, I felt kind of jealous, it had taken me four years to get to this stage, and yet Conor seemed to take it all in his stride effortlessly.

"What can I say," Conor winked as he ran past me for the door. "Kids just love me."

Not just kids
.

The pair of them were waiting for me by the side of our brand-new Mercedes-Benz M-Class SUV by the time I made it down after them. According to Conor, it was the year's safest model. I told him we didn't need to spend a hundred grand in cash on the car, that any old used car would do, but he'd said that he wouldn't dream of putting us at risk just to save a few dollars.

Damn, I never thought that safety could sound so sexy!

Eamon piped up with a grin on his face. "Can I drive?"

"Did you pass your test?" Conor asked him with a straight face.

Eamon took a couple of seconds to reply, as if he was trying to figure out whether his dad might
actually
let him drive. "I passed
a
test," he said with a cheeky grin on his face.

Conor tossed him the keys. "That's good enough for me!"

"Conor!" I shouted, laughing. "He passed his first spelling test, not his driving test. Don't you dare let him anywhere near that steering wheel."

"Mom!" Eamon complained, staring at me with a face like thunder as he climbed back out of the driver side seat. "Why did you spoil it, I tricked him!"

"Oh, I guess you did. Sorry," I said. "But we’ve gotta get going. Come on, kid."

I turned to my lover, who was already gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles and concentrating on the road ahead of him like it was the most important thing he'd ever done. "Conor, you know the speed limit's sixty?"

He poked his tongue outside his mouth with concentration, and didn't glance away from the black asphalt ahead of him for even a second as he replied.

"I know."

Then again, a response that short couldn't have taken much thinking time…

"You're driving at forty." I said, a little stumped.

Again, all I got was. "I know."

"Care to share why?" I asked, baffled by his behavior.

He spoke in a monotone, as though he was devoting as little of his brain's resources to dealing with my question as he possibly could. "I'm trying to get us there safe and sound, that's all."

I sat back, realizing what the hell he was doing. And once I did, I knew better than to push him, or to pry.

He's afraid of letting anything happening to us.

I didn’t say anything at all that might distract him until we’d pulled up at the school.

The sound of my purse vibrating broke me out of another happy daydream. I'd let Conor walk Eamon to the gates alone. Not that there was much ‘letting’ involved. Conor was a hands-on dad if I’d ever seen one.

What the hell?

I could see Conor standing by the school gates, apparently unwilling to return to the car until he was completely convinced that Eamon was safe and sound inside. But he was the only person who had my number. At least, he was the only person who was supposed to have it…

I put the phone against my ear hesitantly. "Uh, hello?"

"Miss Antonov, you're a very hard lady to track down." A mysterious voice said.

My sense of danger kicked in immediately. Nobody should have this number, so the fact that someone found it was worrying, to say the least. "I'm sorry," I said carefully. "But I think you must have the wrong number."

"Wait, Maya," the voice said apologetically. "Hear me out."

I kept silent. I needed to know who this person was, why they were calling, and whether they were any danger to me or my family. I couldn't bear not knowing.

"Thank you. We met before, actually," the voice said.

I didn't say a word.

"It's Gene Simmons, from Simmons and Simmons, your father's law firm. I'm calling to discuss the will."

Surely the old man didn't leave me anything?

My mouth burst out before my brain had time to catch up. "The will?"

"Yes. I think it's best that we meet to discuss how your father's estate is to be distributed."

A red flag went off in my mind. "And I," I said firmly. "Think it's best that we keep this strictly over the phone."

I heard Gene sigh into the phone. "I understand. I'll keep things simple. Your father died," his voice broke, but he continued as if it hadn't happened. "A very wealthy man."

"Not surprising," I said bitterly. "He stole from a lot of people."

"Ah, well I wouldn't know anything about that, of course," the man hemmed.

Right
.
Like you didn't hide every penny for
him
.

He hurried to keep talking, to stop any awkwardness from kicking in. "As I was saying, a wealthy man. According to his will, there's only one beneficiary…"

"Oh…"

"Yes, one Eamon George Antonov."

Eamon?

"Oh."

On the way back, Conor drove like a man possessed. He was an entirely different a different man than the one who had driven his son to school, and the journey took less than half the time the way out had taken – and I knew why. The whole way back, his cock had been doing its best to break free from his pants, and I knew exactly what was on his mind.

Me.

The expensive gray German SUV screeched to a halt, and I half-expected the tires to be smoking when I stepped out. Conor tossed the keys at a surprised-looking valet, grabbed my hand and ran to the room, dragging me behind in his wake.

"Conor!" I laughed. "Hold up."

He didn't listen, and by the time his legs stopped pumping, we were back in the hotel suite – and I was gasping for air with my hands on my legs.

The hotel concierge had given me a sly wink as we brushed past him, so I wasn't just red with exertion, but embarrassment too. I knew he knew
exactly
what we were about to do. Then again, it was hard to care too much when I knew how good I was about to be feeling.

Conor pushed his mouth up against mine and kissed me hungrily, his hands roaming across my body, never stopping, not even for a second.

I wasn't even sure the hotel room door had swung closed, but I didn't really care. We'd fucked more times than I could count over the past few days, but I was still rediscovering Conor's body, and he mine, and there was plenty more to learn. I never wanted this honeymoon phase to end.

We're rich enough, now, that it doesn't have to
. I marveled.

I pushed my lover off me. I needed to tell him something important. "No fucking around, Conor," I said.

"What are you talking about?" He asked. I couldn't keep my eyes off the outline of his thick cock poking against his pants. It was exactly what I wanted, and I think he knew it.

"I want you to fuck me, got it?" I said seriously, but letting my eyes do enough smiling to let him know I was joking. Kinda. "No messing around."

He let out a throaty growl of approval and pushed me back onto a sofa. I fell back lightly, and before had a chance to compose myself he was on top of me.

I guess he's taking me seriously now
…

It was the last thought I remembered.

He ripped the dress that I'd so painstakingly chosen not even an hour before off my body, and when I say ripped, I mean
ripped
.

"I guess I won't be wearing that again…" I laughed.

"If it were up to me," he growled, half way through bending his lips to my nipples, "you wouldn't wear anything ever again."

I didn't say anything, just let my head fall backward as he took my left nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it.

"Yes…" I breathed.

I was wet already, and Conor was as hard as a rock. We'd been teasing each other all morning, and I didn't see any point in waiting. I was naked, near enough. "Hey," I moaned through the pleasure. "I'm half-naked, and you're still fully dressed. No fair."

I barely managed to get the words out of my mouth before Conor tore the shirt of his own back, unbuckled his belt and let his cock hang out, proud and free.

"You were saying?" He chuckled.

I leaned forward and grabbed his cock, stroking it gently. His balls jerked a little in response, and I felt an inordinate sense of power. "You know what I said about not messing around?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded.

"I meant it."

"You’re filthy, you know that?" He asked. He didn't give me a second to respond, just let his body fall on top of mine so that every pound of his delicious, lean bulk was pinning me down. I couldn't move. I didn't want to.

He reached over for a drawer. "No!" I said.

"You didn't bring your pills with you," he said. "We need to."

"No," I said firmly. "We don't."

Conor cocked his head to one side, thinking about what I had said. The primal half of his brain won. Hell, maybe both parts did – because he was just as good at parenting as he was in bed.

"You're the boss…"

He reached down and guided his cock between my legs. I let them fall as wide apart as I could manage. I wanted every inch of him in me, and I wanted it now. I bit my lip. "I love you, Conor Regan. You know that?"

He leaned forward and kissed me, and as he did I felt his thick cock bury itself to the hilt between my thighs. My lips began to pulsate around it, and I knew that after a morning of teasing, I wasn't going to last long.

He grabbed my hips and pulled himself tight into me, and it felt like his cock was impaling me almost into my stomach. I pressed against it, desperate to feel every inch of him inside me after so many years apart

"Me too, love, me too."

* * *

"
C
onor
." I said, poking at my sleepy lover's chest.

He turned over and looked at me with eyes that seemed to go on forever. "What is it, love?"

"I got a phone call, when you were dropping Eamon off."

He stiffened slightly, and not in a good way. I could tell he was worried, even protective. "Who was it? Did you give your number to any–."

I held up my hand. "No, nothing like that. Turns out Eamon inherited everything dad owned."

"We don't need that dirty money."

I shook my head. "No, you're right, we don't…"

I could tell that
he
could tell there was something more. "But?" He prompted, with a slight smile on his face.

"But… I want to go back." I confessed.

"Back? To Alexandria?" He said, sitting bolt upright in bed.

"Yeah. My father destroyed that city. Now that he's dead, and Arkady too, I want to save it."

Conor studied me for a few seconds, and I worried that he thought I'd gone mad. I started to say something.“We don't have to–."

"No, love, you're right. I think we do."

"Oh, and Conor, there's one more thing?"

"Shoot." He said.

"I realized that Eamon’s full name is Eamon George Antonov..."

He grinned. "You're right. I never did like that name. Let’s do something about that before we go back."

H
ill
57

35 miles east of Kandahar, Afghanistan.

"What are we doing up here anyway?" Tommy says, moodily thumbing the shot selector on his dented and dusty M4 carbine. "We're sitting ducks out here waiting for some Taliban fucker to light us up."

"Lighten up, Tommy," I say, grunting, struggling unsuccessfully to find a comfortable place to lie on the rocky mountainside, "can't you be more like Jake? He never grumbles – look at him, he’s happy as Larry lying there in the sun."

"He's a dog, Mike – he doesn't even know he's in a war zone. Look it him, the dozy bastard," Tommy says grumpily.

I watch through eyes lidded against the harsh sun and throat choking dust kicked up by the venomous wind off this cursed mountain range as, for once, Tommy cracks a smile.

"I mean, what the hell was Delta thinking sending us up here? We’re special forces operators, not fucking babysitters!"

"Well that's your first mistake, buddy," I say, wiggling my ass into a dent left behind by some long-ago dried out irrigation ditch, and sighing in relief. "Whoever said Delta thinks?"

"It's dumb, though." Tommy grumbles, chucking a rock down the mountainside which holds both our gazes until it skitters too far down, and out of sight.

We don't talk to each other again until the sounds of the small piece of tumbling volcanic stone hitting the cliffside stop echoing through the valley. "Of course it is," I agree, to nobody in particular. "Wait – what's dumb this time?"

"Aren't you listening to me, Mike?" Tommy asks, shooting me a grumpy glare. "Not really," I reply nonchalantly, reaching out and grabbing a handful of Jake's short, dusty fur to give him a hard scratch. Soldiers are all the same – they love to complain. And that’s no different, even when the soldier in particular is a hardcore motherfucker – a Delta operator like Tommy.

And like me.

Jake's a seven-year-old German Shepherd, and apart from Tommy, he's my best friend out in this dusty hellhole. Luckily for me, he doesn't moan nearly as much as the New Yorker I met in basic who's resting a few paces below me against the sandbags – and when he does, either it's because he's hungry, or because he's got a stone in his paw – both things that, unlike orders, I can actually fucking do something about!

Tommy's not one to quit, though, and keeps going. "Well think about it, Mike. You're a dog handler, right?"

"Right." I reply, absentmindedly scratching under Jake's collar as he languidly stretches beside me. "What gave it away?" I grin, pointedly glancing at the eighty-pound dog lying by my side.

"Oh shut up." Tommy grins, chucking a small piece of gravel at me the bounces off my helmet and lands on Jake, who just turns and looks at me with sad, doleful eyes as if to tell me I should bite my best friend. "What I'm saying is, shouldn't you and Jake be out there sniffing for car bombs?"

"It's too hot. And like you said, buddy –we’re special forces, not regular grunts," I say, grabbing the knife attached to the side arm holster on my right leg and using it to scratch an itch that has, like clockwork, appeared under the leather of my left boot. "Ahhhh," I groan, stabbing the blade of a knife into the soft, sandy soil by my side once I'm done.

"Still, man, I just don't get why the army sent us here," Tommy says with an annoyed grimace on his face.

"I told you, Tommy – it's the army. How long have you been in?" I ask.

He shoots me a funny look, like he thinks I’m messing with him or something.

"You know how long, you idiot. We went to basic together – what's it been, three years ago now? Why do you ask?"

"So you've been in the Army long enough to know that there's no point questioning why we do anything, or why they send us anywhere. Just do what I do – lie back and enjoy the ride," I say, shifting my ass slightly as another sharp stone somehow rides its way up my backside.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Tommy replies with a concentrated frown on his face. He settles back down, and we don't say anything for a while, just enjoying the day’s warmth as the sound of cicadas competes with an otherwise comfortable silence.

I don't get to chill out like this very often, because Tommy's got a big mouth.

It's not that I don't like it, but sometimes I wonder if a different man on a different hill might tell him to shut up every now and again. I wouldn't do that though, not just because I’m a decent guy, but because I suppose since Jake doesn't – or can't – say a word, things balance out.

Inevitably, Tommy’s Bronx accent breaks the silence. "Yeaaah," he drawls. "But it's such a waste, you know? Why spend all that money training you and Jake up just to stick you out here in the sticks?"

"I know," I agree, for Tommy's peace of mind rather than anything else. "But what you gonna do about it – go the the captain and complain?" I ask. "You sign up for your four years and the army gets to tell you what to do – that's the deal, isn’t it. Anyway, they’ve probably got a reason. What did they say in the briefing again? It’s some kind of weapons smuggling hotspot, isn’t it?"

Tommy doesn’t answer, and retreats into silence again.

I can't tell whether he's turning over what I just said, or whether he's just moved on to a completely different topic. His mind works like that – it gets stuck on a problem and can't let it go, like Jake with a bone. And, just like Jake, when he gets all the meat off it he moves straight on to the next shiny topic. So to distract myself from the inevitable, like I have every day for almost three months now, my mind inevitably gets drawn back to the breathtakingly beautiful woman who haunts my dreams every night – Katie.

"How long have we got left?" Tommy asks, "I could do with some chow."

My belly rumbles in agreement. We've been at this watch post for hours, watching the mountains for any sign of Taliban movement, but just like yesterday, and the day before that, we haven't seen a thing. I check my watch.

"Still two hours, buddy. Hey," I ask, "did I ever tell you about that girl I met back at the base? Man, she was just about the most attractive, most flexible, dirtiest girl I’ve ever met. Seriously, buddy, I can’t get her off my mind!"

"Mike, " he grins, "you haven’t shut up about that broad since we got posted…"

I blush, realizing that in my infatuation, I’ve probably been a little more open than I would normally be. I’m usually a closed book, a typical tough guy – more than willing to bottle up my emotions, just in case someone notices I have them at all. With Katie, though, it’s different. I don’t know if it’s just because she’s the only woman who’s been in my bed since I deployed to this dusty hellhole, or whether she’s actually every bit as goddamn sexy as I think she is, but either way – she’s messing with my mind.

I toss a rock in the general direction of Tommy’s head, hoping it lands true. "Ah, shut up," I say, grimacing, "if you’d met her, you’d understand!"

"If I’d met her, " he says back to me with a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face, "she wouldn’t have ended up going back to your rack. I’m a certain kind of man, Mike, and it takes a certain kind of woman to appreciate me…"

"Hey," I parry back, raising my voice slightly, and making it sound ever so slightly stern – feeling an angry, almost protective need to make it clear that
this
girl was different. She was off limits. "Don’t talk about her like that, okay?"

When you’re out in the field for months at a time, with no women for miles – or at least none that speak English – finding a gem like Katie is a pretty big deal. And there’s no way I’m going to let Tommy disrespect her, no matter how good a friend he is. And, to his credit – or maybe because I’ve got 20 pounds and two inches on him, as well as a fearsome bar brawl record, he quickly decides the safer course is for him to back down.

But not without one last parting shot…

Hell, I should have expected it. Guys like Tommy and I – the kind of guys who make it through Delta’s fearsome selection course, we’re not always that tactful… And a barracks environment encourages…a ‘certain’ kind of humor, after all.

"So do you reckon by the time we get back to base," Tommy says in an artificially raised, provocative tone of voice, ""she’ll be showing?"

I sigh. "Showing what, Tommy?"

"You know," he grins mischievously and rubs his stomach, "down there…"

It takes me a few seconds to grasp what he’s hinting at. "You think… Nah, surely not."

"So you were using a jonny, right? "

I suddenly try and cast my mind back to the alcohol-fuelled night that had led up to Katie ending up in my rack – but for a very different reason than I’ve been using for the rest of my tour. "Yeah…" I say weakly, "but she’d have been on the pill too, right?"

Tommy looks at me with a crowing smile. "You don’t know if you used a condom, do you?

Truth be told – no, I didn’t. And suddenly, I realize I’ve got a much more pressing reason than just boredom to get back to the base. I might be expecting a kid…

I don’t reply, not immediately, stunned into silence by the revelation – or realization, that Tommy’s provoked.

"This doesn’t prove anything…"

"You think they bother shipping the pill out to this dusty shithole?" Tommy asks, "especially since," he modifies his voice to mimic the Army rulebook, "
fraternization is highly discouraged, and you may be demoted for engaging in sexual conduct on an active military base…
"

"But there are other reasons to use the pill, aren’t there?" I ask plaintively, "mood regulation, and... hell, I dunno." This was well beyond my area of expertise. Finding and defusing bombs while being shot at? No problem. The intricacies of the female reproductive system? Now that’s something that gives me pause for thought.

"For your sake, buddy," Tommy laughs, "I hope so. Hey, if she is preggers, can I be the godfather?"

I toss another, bigger rock at him and slump down into the dirt clutching my rifle, with my mind desperately trying to figure out whether Tommy’s just trying to needle me, or whether he’s right.

Could I really have got Katie pregnant?

* * *

"
H
oly shit
, Tommy." I shout angrily. "Smaller rocks, okay?" I look down at him, and I see the terrified look on his face. "I didn't throw it!" he shouts up, his panicked voice a few octaves higher than normal.

"Shit, get down," I scream, realizing in that instant that we must be taking incoming fire.

I throw myself onto my belly, getting a mouthful of red mountain dust in the process, and grab Jake's collar as I wriggle over to Tommy to crouch behind the sandbags. Jake knows what to do, he's wriggling along himself, keeping his head low. He's a good dog. "Call it in!" I scream to Tommy, knowing that he’s got the medium-range radio.

"Okay, okay," he calls back, and his voice is lower now, more professional – and I can tell his training is kicking in, he's falling back on routines. All around us we can hear the cracks of bullets impacting against the rocky shale, and the wheezing hiss of more poorly aimed ammunition whizzing over our heads. Some of the bullets, though, are coming uncomfortably close, and Jake’s trembling with fear. We've been shot at before, the pair of us, but not like this – not so close, not so much.

"Echo Company, Echo Company, come in," I hear Tommy scream into the receiver to my left. I cling on to the M4 carbine clipped to my bullet-proof vest like it's my ticket out of here, releasing the magazine an inch or two to check it’s fully loaded.

I know it is, but it's a ritual, a routine, a way of taking my mind off the fact that there are men firing at me, men that want to kill me – and my dog.

I put my hand on Jake's back, pressing it in so that he doesn't panic and stand-up. "There boy," I say in a soothing tone of voice. "Help's on its way." He can't understand what I'm saying, but we've been together since I graduated Boot Camp, and he knows me better than I know myself. My low voice seems to soothe him, and it's nice to have someone to concentrate on, so I keep going. I can feel him trembling, the uncontrollable, terrified movements reverberating up through my arm.

"Echo Company, Echo Company, come in," I hear Tommy repeat into the handset beside me.

"What's going on?" I ask calmly, feeling adrenaline flooding through my sysem and calming me down, preparing me for the inevitable fight, "aren't they answering?"

"I'm just getting static," he says as the bullets keep pinging into the soil around us. I clap him on the shoulder to let him know that I'm moving behind him. "Keep trying," I say loudly. "I'm going to lay down some fire." I move towards the squad machine gun mounted at the front of the watch post, knowing that from this altitude I should be able to lay down fire into the whole valley. I reach it, flick off the safety and fire blind downhill, the gun's thunderous kick back luckily being absorbed into its tripod, rather than my arms.

"Echo Company, Echo Company, this is Echo Foxtrot, come in. We're taking fire from down in the valley, and I think there might be a flanking action. Echo Company, repeat, we're taking fire from all sides."