Unleashed (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance) (231 page)

I clench my jaw.

He just shrugs. “You reap what you sow. Maybe next time you’ll be a little smarter before crossing somebody like me.”

I spit on the floor, and wipe my nose with a finger. “Where’s the fucking tape?”

He grins, and claps at Micky the medic. He pulls out a roll of tape from his jacket pocket and chucks it at me.

“You got her into this, mate,” Fallon says. “It’s up to you to get her out.”

I start taping up my wrists, making sure they are tight, making sure I minimize all risk to sprain them.

“I’ll get her out,” I say quietly. “And then I’ll fucking break your leg.”

“What’s that, mate?” Fallon says, stepping closer. “Didn’t quite hear you.”

“I’ll… break… your… leg,” I tell him.

“Will you, boy?”

“Bet on it.”

“Come on, mate,” Fallon says, gesturing for me to get up. “It’s time.”

“I need water.”

“You
need
water?”

“You want a good fight?” I growl. “Hydrate me. Give me something salty to eat, and get me something sweet to drink. If you don’t I’ll cramp up. I’ve been sweating all night.”

“Something salty?” he echoes dumbly.

“Water retention!” I bark. “Gradients… Glucose and sodium. Didn’t you go to fucking school?”

“We’re not exactly near a corner shop, Pierce.”

“We came here in a fucking limousine!” I yell. “You dumb fuck, there’s a bar in the limo!”

Fallon grins, and looks at Micky who promptly runs off. He returns with a pack of peanuts, some candy, an energy drink, and a bottle of water.

“Drink the energy drink,” Fallon says.

“Fuck that,” I tell him. “I don’t need caffeine or yohimbine or whatever the fuck is in there messing with my timing.”

“He’s right, boss,” Micky says. “Might not actually be the best idea.”

“But it’s got, what are they called, electrolytes, right?”

“No fucking caffeine!” I shout, glaring at him. He puts up his hands, as if to say, ‘alright’.

I tear open the pack of peanuts and shove them all into my mouth. I suck the salt off them before spitting the peanuts out, one by one, until the last few that I chew up and eat.

“What a waste,” Fallon grumbles.

Next it’s the candy. They’re the cola-bottle type with sugar stuck on the outside. Perfect. I do the same, suck the sugar off, and then take a big gulp of water and swish it around my mouth. It’ll absorb into my blood stream quicker if it’s dissolved in water.

I drain the rest of the bottle, and hope that it’s enough. The salt and sugar should help me keep water in my tissue, rather than my bladder. The water will regulate my body temperature, lubricate my joints, keep me from cramping.

“So where are we?” I ask. “Judging by the drive, and the roads, I’d say we went west.”

“You’ll find out after you win this fight.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith in me, Fallon, and I’m injured. You might just lose twice as much.”

“Well, then I’ll kill you and give your girlfriend to Mogilovich, and we’ll be even.”

“But you still won’t have your money.”

“This isn’t about the money,” Fallon says, and he puts the tips of his fingers together. “I’m like you. I want to win, and I’ll do it one way or another. Whether that means beating Mogilovich, or beating you, I don’t give a shit.”

“You’re pathetic.”

He laughs, winks at me. “So are you, mate. Now let’s go.”