Fight For Me (Bad Boys of the City #2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  The End

  Hooked on You

  Chapter 2

  Other Books By Marie

  About the Author

  Fight For Me

  By Marie York

  COPYRIGHT

  All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.

  Published by Marie York

  Copyright January 2016

  Cover Photo by noltelourens

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Prologue

  Kenzie

  My sister ruined my life. If it weren’t for her, I would never know what a strip club looked like on the inside, or what a stripper even was. I would know how it felt to blow candles out on my birthday, and to not have to worry about making my own money at sixteen… seventeen in a few days, not like it mattered.

  Thanks to Mila, I hadn’t celebrated a birthday since I was nine.

  She was a selfish bitch who had denied me so much in my life and made me feel guilty for wanting more out of life than our rundown apartment and pathetic existence.

  It had been four days since I took off, four lonely days, and even lonelier nights. She hadn’t come for me. If she knew me at all, she would know where to find me. She would’ve come already. The first night I was too pissed to care, but by the second night, I was hopeful. I waited and waited, but she never came.

  I accepted the fact that I lost my sister, and not the woman she’d become. I lost the sister who I looked up to, envied, wanted to spend every waking moment with, until the day my parents died. The woman she became wasn’t the girl I remembered.

  The girl I remembered always found me, even when I didn’t want to be found.

  So, I made up my mind, and hid outside our crappy apartment, waiting for Mila to leave for work.

  Once she was out of sight, I snuck back into the place that was once ours, but never actually felt like home, and grabbed a few basics, enough to get me by until I could figure things out.

  I had some cash stashed under my mattress from the nights I worked at The Gaslight. A sad excuse for a strip club, but the cash made it hard to exist. I stuffed it all into my purse, grabbed some clothes, and the picture of my family as I remembered them—alive—and took off.

  I didn’t have many friends, and the ones I did have weren’t exactly reliable. They were alright for a good time, but when it came to anything else, I was better off on my own. There was nothing and no one in this city I would miss.

  Too many bad memories, just like California. My only hope was that if I kept moving, kept leaving the bad behind, I would eventually find the good? I walked across town to the bus stop, my legs tired and throbbing from the days of wandering.

  Inside, I went straight to the person at the window, a portly woman with ruddy cheeks and a crooked smile. I put almost all of my money in front of her. “How far will this get me?”

  She gave me a curious look, but after a few seconds, picked up the money and started to count. She turned to her computer, typed a few things in, then swiveled back to me. “What do you think about Miami?”

  I rested my hand on my stomach. There were no signs of it yet, but in a few months, I would be showing, and it was even more reason for me to leave. I wanted to tell Mila, and I tried, but another secret came out, one not nearly as bad as this. The way she reacted to finding out I worked at a strip club was proof I couldn’t tell her anything else. Just seeing the disappointment, anger and disgust on my sister’s face, was enough to know she would never be okay with her sixteen-year-old sister knocked up. And that wasn’t the type of life my baby deserved. My baby deserved everything that I lost out on.

  Miami sounded like a fresh start, a place where no one knew me and where I could stay hidden. To give my baby a better life. “Sounds perfect. I’ll take it,” I said, sealing my fate.

  Chapter 1

  Kenzie

  Two years later

  Some people dream about going somewhere exotic, winning the lotto, ruling a country, or going on some sort of adventure through the wilderness. Not me. I dream about sleep. I used to sleep like the dead, but that all changed after Joy was born.

  “Momma.” Joy tapped her tiny fingers to my forehead. I tried to ignore her, pretend I was still sleeping, but my little munchkin was relentless. Her fingers tapped over and over.

  I opened my eyes that had only been shut for maybe twenty minutes and smiled at my little girl.

  Blonde curls hung in her face, covering her big green eyes, and the biggest smile spread across her face. “Yes, baby,” I said, as I held my arms out to her.

  She shook her head at my attempt to get her to cuddle, so I could at least get another ten minutes of sleep. It was worth a shot, even if it was pointless.

  “I want pancakes and waffles and ice cream.”

  “Ice cream?!” I exclaimed. “Not for breakfast, you silly goose.”

  “Gamma gives me ice cream,” she said matter-of-factly, but being two, her mind quickly wandered. She started talking about princesses, but with my lack of sleep, I only got every other word, which was more than most people could get.

  I sat up, pushed my dirty blonde hair out of my face and rubbed my eyes. Before I could pull my hands away, I felt a thud in my lap. I blinked an eye open and Joy held her doll up to my face, practically knocking me in the nose. I managed to stop the hard plastic head from making contact with my face. My reflexes were always quick to deflect disaster ever since Joy busted my lip open with a Tickle Me Elmo doll. Those voice boxes hurt! I don’t know who cried more that day, me or her. If it weren’t for Frieda, I’d probably still be on the floor crying.

  I glanced at the clock and counted the hours I could have had left to sleep if it weren’t for Joy. Then I looked back at her angelic face and sleep didn’t matter. Not when I got to spend time with my baby girl.

  “Momma,” she said again, pressing her little fingers into my cheek. “Ice cream?”

  I scooped her up, pretended she was an airplane, then brought her back upright. “No ice cream.” I kissed her pudgy cheek. “It’s bath time.”

  “No!” she screamed and squirmed, trying desperately to get out of my arms. I held on tight and walked right to the bathroom. “No bath. No bath.”

  My daughter was terrified of the bathtub, as if a monster would come up the drain and pull her down to the dark depths of the sewer. I wish she would understand that even if it were possible, I would never let that happen. I’d protect her always. I vowed to be there for her and protect her from the evils of the world the minute I f
ound out I was pregnant and that went for tub monsters too.

  “What about you take a bath and then you can have ice cream?” Ice cream for breakfast wasn’t exactly the best showcase of my good parenting, but if it would prevent the hour-long struggle just to get her clean, I was willing to make the sacrifice.

  I looked into her big green eyes, glossy with unshed tears. Her cheeks were starting to turn crimson, and I only hoped the breakdown would stay at bay.

  “Deal?” I said.

  She shook her head and tears fell down her cheeks. “No. No bath.”

  “What if I go in with you?” I almost laughed, but managed to keep a straight face. Two years ago, I would never have expected this to be my life. Pleading with a two-year-old would have been the last path I thought my life would take, but then I got involved with stupid shit, all because I wanted new clothes.

  Seventeen and pregnant might not had been my choice, but sixteen and stripping was. It was so easy to steal my sister’s ID, put on a little extra makeup, and convince the owner of The Gaslight that I wasn’t a teenager. Not even sure the sleazeball ever looked at my face to notice. He had been too busy scanning my body.

  The money was good, though. More than I made now waitressing at the restaurant downstairs. I probably could have stayed at the club, too, if it wasn’t for my sister’s stupid ass boyfriend putting a monkey wrench in the whole thing and causing a scene.

  If I knew he would’ve been there that night, I never would have gone out on stage. Instead, he had to jump up like he was my hero and start throwing punches.

  I had agreed with Knox that I would stop stripping or he’d tell my sister. Not that it mattered. I wasn’t welcomed back after that, anyway. The owner didn’t like to have to call the cops or have someone arrested in his establishment, especially a UFC celebrity. The press blew it up more than they had to.

  Knox ruined everything that day. Pauly, a regular at the club, had come in during the commotion and heard Knox yell that I was sixteen. At that point, I didn’t even know I was pregnant. Pauly and I had just had sex the night before.

  Pauly had taken a real liking to me. He bought me things, things I never could have afforded and never could have imagined I would own. Being naïve and desperate for a better life, it would’ve been only a matter of time before I fell in love with him.

  Pauly was a businessman who wore fancy suits and smelled like a combination of heaven and success. I thought he could be the answer to my dreams. I had never been so wrong in my life.

  Once I found out I was pregnant, I looked for him. I knew he frequented the Gaslight, so I would walk there after my sister went to work and look for his car. It was weeks before I finally saw him again. He walked out of the Gaslight with his arm around Cynthia, a stripper with an IQ of two and big fake boobs.

  My heart plummeted to the ground. But it was okay because, once he saw me and knew I was having his baby, we would be together. He would take care of me, and everything would be perfect.

  Except it wasn’t. He denied everything. Denied ever taking me out to the desert and making love to me in the back of his truck. Denied the growing baby in my stomach, and worse, he denied the love I was desperately throwing at him.

  He left with Cynthia, and when his truck pulled away, I fell to the ground and cried my eyes out.

  I had no idea what I was going to do. Fear wasn’t a part of who I was, but in that moment, I was terrified. Terrified of being a mother, terrified of telling my sister, and of what the kids at school would think of me. It was bad enough that I was poor and couldn’t afford to wear the things they did, or do the things they did. Now, I was pregnant and poor. It was so stereotypical, and the thought of those bitchy girls at school looking down on me, had made me sick to my stomach.

  Once Mila found out about the stripping, I knew I had to go. I had to get the fuck out of Vegas, and away from every person who made me feel like a complete and total failure at life. They were all fucking assholes. Joy and I didn’t need that sort of negativity in our lives.

  I didn’t expect running away to be so hard, though. I thought I was poor before I left, and it wasn’t until I was begging for food on the streets of Miami from beautiful people all out on the town, did I realize that I was nowhere near poor. I had a roof over my head, food on the table, and clothes on my back. They might not have been designer, but they did what they had to do. I thought about going home, but to what?

  My sister never came to look for me. She gave up on me, and because of that, I was more determined than ever to make it on my own. Besides, she had Knox now, so she didn’t need me anymore. I was dead weight in her life, and I’m sure Knox was just as happy to get rid of me.

  “Out! Out!” Joy cried, as I stepped us both into the tub.

  “You have to get washed, baby. We’ll make it fast, and I’ll stay right here with you the whole time.” I picked up the cup I kept in the tub and poured some warm water on her head. As soon as it streamed down her face, she let out a guttural cry.

  I thanked the heavens that our walls were thick, and the crowd downstairs at the restaurant was usually loud enough to drown out what the insulation couldn’t, or they would think I was murdering her up here.

  “Almost done,” I cooed, but Joy wasn’t having it. Her little body went stiff as a board and the screams of murder only grew in intensity. The redness in her cheeks spread to the rest of her face and she held her arms up to me. “Out!” she cried again, but I still had to get the soap off of her.

  This was a battle every morning, and I couldn’t help but think of the battles I used to have with Mila about me getting out of bed for school. No wonder my sister drank coffee by the gallon. I shook her image from my thoughts because it was only a matter of time before those nostalgic feelings would turn bitter. She wasn’t worth my time to think about, anyway. She let me go. She never bothered to come after me…

  Finally, I got the last of the soapsuds off of Joy and lifted her up into my arms. She clung to me with a death grip, digging her stubby fingers into my shoulder. “It’s okay, baby. I got you.”

  I got her duck towel, the one with the hood she loved, and wrapped her up in it. She stood on the ground, cheeks fading back to normal, but her eye still red and puffy when she smiled. “Ice cream?”

  “You, my child, have a terrifyingly good memory.” I dried her hair and brushed it out of her face, which caused another outburst of disapproval. “All done! You look so pretty.”

  “Let me see!” she demanded, so I grabbed the mirror off the sink, and handed it to her. “So pretty,” she said when she saw her reflection. She spent a good two minutes making different faces in the mirror, and I couldn’t help but join her.

  After our glamour pose session, I put the mirror away, and got her dressed in her princess dress. I wanted to kill Frieda for buying it for her. Ever since Joy laid eyes on it, I hadn’t been able to get her to wear anything else.

  “Pretty,” she said again, as I straightened the dress into place.

  “Beautiful.” I scooped her up and placed her down with her doll while I got dressed the best I could before she lost interest in her doll and got into trouble. It amazed me how fast a two-year-old could wreak havoc. Last week I turned around for two seconds and she managed to get ahold of the baby powder. It took me days to get it all out of the carpet.

  I put my leg into my shorts and pulled them into place. Joy threw her doll down and came over to me. “Ice cream now?”

  The girl had a one-track mind, and I knew that if I didn’t get her some damn ice cream, I would never hear the end of it. So, I grabbed my bag, took Joy’s hand and went downstairs.

  Our apartment was an old office above the restaurant that the owners Frieda and Lou converted into an apartment after they bought the place. It let them work late night shifts and keep an eye on everything. If it wasn’t for them…I didn’t even want to think about it.

  They saved me in a time when I had nothing and no one and I owed them not only my life,
but Joy’s too.

  Frieda poured a cup of coffee for a customer. At sixty-seven, the woman was a ball of energy and couldn’t sit still for a minute. I liked to imagine what she would have been like when she was my age. Beautiful, boisterous, always out to have a good time, and made the boys fall at her feet. I could listen to her stories all day long and had many times since I first found myself inside the glass doors of Lou’s.

  “There’s my little princess,” Frieda exclaimed, rushing to put the pot of coffee down on the counter. She clapped her hands together and held her arms out as she walked toward us.

  “Gamma!” Joy yelled out, and I put Joy down to run to her.

  Frieda wrapped her arms around Joy and shook her back and forth, then planted a million red lipstick kisses all over her chubby cheeks. Joy let out the cutest of laughs—though every time she laughed it was adorable—and held Frieda’s face between her little hands.

  “No more kissies. More ice cream!” she stated, looking right into Frieda’s eyes.

  Frieda let out a howl of a laugh and positioned Joy on her hip. “Ice cream? For breakfast?”

  Joy nodded, sticking her fingers in her mouth and smiling.

  “I don’t know where she ever would have gotten that idea from?” Frieda said, giving me an expression of mock shock.

  “I have no idea,” I replied with an asserting eye, as I wiped the lipstick from Joy’s cheeks. Of course, she fought me on that too, swatting her hands at me like I was an annoying gnat.

  “I’m a princess. Princess eat ice cream for breakfast,” Joy said in her best convincing tone.

  Frieda and I did our best to keep from laughing, but a few giggles slipped out, anyway.

  “Lou.” Frieda called over her shoulder to her husband who, after forty years, still worked the kitchen.

  He poked his head through the tons of tickets hanging and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

  “Get this princess a waffle and some ice cream, would ya?”

  “Whatever the princess wants, the princess gets,” Lou announced.