All In (Caldwell Brothers Book 5) Read online

  She’s about to piss me off.

  “And there’s one more thing.” Joslyn pants under the effort of taking me down, and my dick pulses as her skin brushes against mine. She’s soft and hot, and suddenly, I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her. I don’t because I’m too busy trying to understand what she wants me to do next. Fight her or allow her to take me down?

  As Joslyn knees me in the crotch, I get my answer and fall to the ground, mentally howling in pain. Between my sore cock and balls, and the throbbing in my head, I feel like dying.

  Am I dying?

  Joslyn stands there with her arms crossed over her heaving rack. Before I can even attempt rising to my feet, she leaps over me and plants her foot firmly on the small of my back, pinning me to the hard, wooden floor. My head swirls into a tornado of agony, but the strange thing is, I’m not even thinking about it anymore. All I can think about is Joslyn, and the incredible power coursing through that muscular body of hers. What she’s capable of inflicting on a man. I’ve never met a woman who could so easily take care of herself before, it’s almost like she’s a creature from another planet.

  “Always remember one of my favorite movies, ladies. Miss Congeniality. You must sing. S-I-N-G. Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin. And that,” Joslyn flexes her biceps in a triumphant move that reminds me of the time Nixon and I saw The Rock during a WWE Smackdown event, “is how you defend yourself against the low-life predators of the world.”

  As the women in the class clap and cheer, I push myself to my feet, pissed and embarrassed in equal measure…and horny. But the only thing I can think about is how to get to know Joslyn better…but this time, not in a room full of people. I owe this pint-sized termagant a world of hurt. My cock pulses and twitches, demanding he be heard. It’s a fine line between pleasure and pain. And payback’s a bitch.

  Chapter Five

  Joslyn

  When Troy sinks into the mat like a flopping trout, my sense of satisfaction starts to fade away on a cloud of guilt. Pepper, Marcella, Haylee, and Taryn stare at me in shocked wonder, like I’ve grown three heads. Troy doesn’t even squirm under the full weight of my Ryka cross-trainer.

  “Get up,” I hiss, leaning down so Troy can hear me. In times of embarrassment, I always seem to revert back to my old standby. Righteous anger. “Fight me, you pussy-whipped asshole!”

  Troy mumbles something I can’t hear. To my embarrassment, a ripple of laughter goes through the class.

  “You sure gave him the old what for,” a woman calls out in a Southern accent. She claps her hands together and whistles. The other women in the class follow suit, and soon, my cheeks burn with something I don’t like one damn bit.

  Shame.

  “Get the fuck up!” I say, louder this time. “What the hell is wrong with you? Obviously, judging from your ugly face when you got here, you’re a fighter. Afraid to fight a little woman?”

  When Troy doesn’t move, I take my foot away from the small of his back and nudge him – not too gently either – with the toe of my shoe.

  “Get up,” I growl, leaning over and grabbing the big man by the scruff of the neck. For such a huge man, there’s a look in his eyes that borders on misunderstanding and something else. Lust? I narrow my eyes and glare at him, and he pushes to his feet. I poke my pointer finger into his chest and twist. Troy captures my wrist in a firm grip as he glares at me. Instead of becoming further enraged, I find all my bravado fade away. My heart races as we stand there locked in a silent battle of wills.

  “I thought we were done.” Troy breaks the electric bond between us. He steps back, severing the physical contact, brushes himself off and grins at me. Somehow, the smile disarms me. Two charming dimples transform his face. Damn, he’s hot as hell. For a few seconds, I forget our argument. Or even that we’d been arguing at all.

  “No, we’re not done. Not by a long shot.”

  The last part is a mumbled plea. Because a wetness floods my panties that has nothing to do with physical exertion. I don’t want to be done with this man. For some strange reason, I have a feeling this isn’t the end for us.

  Troy gives me an odd look and shrugs. “Thanks for letting me stop by,” he mumbles before turning on his heel and walking out of Tribe of Amazons. Walking away from me. When I realize he’s gone for good, the shame and embarrassment rush back in a hot flood.

  “Sorry about that.” I turn back to my class and force a smile. “Looks like we got the wrong demonstration dummy.”

  Another ripple of giggles cascade through the women in my studio and I can feel my forced smile deflating like a balloon. When will I ever quit? Troy had been a good sport, and I’d done nothing but deliberately humiliate him. Emasculating him just because I could. He has nothing to do with my past.

  Fuck the past.

  “Okay, ladies, enough of that.” I clap my hands, making my way to the front of the room. “We’re going to kick some major ass today, and we start now. No time like the present to get your inner Supergirl on.”

  The rest of the class goes well, but I can’t ignore the occasional smirk and feigned punch that I see in the mirrored wall. The women were clearly impressed by the way I beat Troy up like a sack of bricks, but I’m not impressed at all. In fact, I’m incredibly angry – and my anger only grows stronger with each passing minute. Invisible fingers point at me with censure, and leading that pack of phalanges on a rampage is my own.

  By the time class ends, I’ve turned into an expert at self-castigation.

  “Thanks, Joslyn, that was great,” Taryn says with a friendly smile. She’s covered in a glowing coat of sweat, and she wipes her forehead down with a terry-cloth towel.

  “No problem.” I have trouble answering her through my gritted teeth.

  “Yeah,” Pepper echoes. “I’m flying back to Los Angeles tonight – bummed I’m going to miss the rest of the classes. But I’ll never forget SING. And that part about closing my eyes. Damn. I never would have thought of that, but you’re so right, Joslyn.”

  “We’ll be here when you get back.” A muscle in my jaw twitches. “Definitely not going anywhere, I promise you. If you need private sessions to get caught up, I’m your girl.”

  As the women filter out, all chatting about how “badass” I am for kicking Troy’s, I feel like a failure. I didn’t even have to try. He didn’t even fight back. Maybe he’s one of those old-fashioned Leave It To Beaver on TV Land watching male chauvinists who can’t bring themselves to lay a strong hand on the little woman.

  What a pussy, I think to myself as I take a quick shower in the locker room. What a baby. And he has the nerve to show up at my class. As if.

  When I’m toweled off, I throw my unruly curls into a messy bun and change into a pair of denim shorts and a cotton blouse to ward off the ferocious Vegas heat. I know I should let it go – after all, this is my studio – but I can’t. When I get myself worked up, there can only be one outcome. Somebody has to pay. So, instead of heading back home, I lock up Tribe of Amazons and storm down the hall to the main arcade of the Armónico. As usual, gamblers of all ages buzz about, flitting from machine to table. But this time, I don’t even look at them as I push my way through the crowd.

  I storm through the casino until I hover outside Nixon Caldwell’s luxurious office, wondering if I should change my mind. His assistant, Carol, has already left for the day and her station’s dark and empty. Gritting my teeth, I slam my fists against Nixon’s door. I am about to commit leasee suicide. And tomorrow, you can ask me if I give a shit.

  “Nixon, I need to talk to you. Are you in there?”

  A girlish giggle floats to my ears. When the door opens, I see Marcella perched on Nixon’s desk. Lincoln’s there, too, playing with a fidget spinner.

  “Marcella, can I have a moment alone with Nixon?” My voice shakes with palpable emotion. I try to stuff it down, but I can’t. I’m too angry – mostly at myself. And that’s something I’ve never been very good at handling without losing my shit.r />
  “Sure.” Marcella’s gorgeous face twists into an unusual grimace. “Is everything okay? That was a great class, by the way, Joslyn. The best. What a fun way to get in a good workout. Like killing two birds with one stone. I can’t wait for the next one. I sure hope Troy’s coming back.”

  “That remains to be seen,” I mutter through clenched teeth.

  Because he better fucking not be. I never want to see that man again. Outside of the minor issue with my dad, Troy Cass is responsible for every annoying emotion I’ve encountered in the past few months. And I don’t even know why.

  Marcella gives me an odd look, but then slides off Nixon’s desk and kisses him on the cheek. She takes Lincoln with her, calling a cheerful goodbye to Nixon over her shoulder.

  “Behave, honey.”

  I stare at Marcella’s retreating back until she disappears from sight. Turning, I slam the door and cross my arms over my chest, glaring at Nixon. He’s about to become the target of all of the useless, baseless emotion that I can’t rationally work through and toss aside.

  Nixon raises an eyebrow. “What’s going on, Joslyn?” His voice is careful, cautious, and measured. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, for one, you can fire your pussy-boy, Troy Cass!” I spit it out as anger flares hot and wild inside of my belly. Once I really get going, it flattens everything in its path like a steamroller rolling down a gooey stretch of pavement.

  Nixon chuckles. The sound fills me with even more white-hot anger, and I have to dig my fingernails into my arm to keep from screaming at him. I need to remain professional. I have to remain professional.

  “That’s certainly one thing I’ve never heard Troy called before today. Joslyn, you asked for a man to come and help you with your class,” Nixon says, his face a mask of rational calm, and his words measured. “And Troy’s a great man – he’s been working security for me for years. Besides, it’s not as if he’s not muscular. And huge. As far as I can see, I’ve over-delivered.”

  “That’s not the point,” I snap. “You sent someone useless, someone who didn’t even try. He didn’t even fight back. I took his pansy ass down in thirty seconds. I thought you said it was very important that your wife learn how to defend herself in case of hand-to-hand combat. God forbid.”

  I throw a sign of the cross into the air for good measure. Nixon did tell me that Marcella and his sisters-in-law might be in some type of danger from a rival casino owner. Doesn’t he want them to learn self-defense, so they can handle any situation that might come at them?

  At my quasi-prayer, my mind drifts back to my childhood, and a shiver runs down my spine. I shake my head. No. Never again. I’m not going back to that place where ghosts of the past mire me down in my own hopelessness.

  “Then you should be proud of yourself,” Nixon says. “I don’t think many women – not even women like you – could boast a similar record.”

  “What does that mean, women like me?” I narrow my eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

  “Nothing.” Nixon waves it off and shoves a pencil into an electric sharpener. We both stare until he grinds it down to a wooden nub. The scent of fresh wood assails my nostrils. “Look, Joslyn, I can’t exactly rearrange my staff just so you can have the perfect practice dummy. Troy’s a good man and my Director of Security. Very capable. He deals with anything and everything down on the casino floor. Just tell him what you want, and I’m sure he’ll do it. It was probably just a miscommunication. After all, it was the first time he came to your class. And if I’m not mistaken, you two were supposed to work out the details today. Right?”

  This isn’t going the way I want – not at all. In fact, Nixon’s cool, calm, and collected responses just cook up even more anger inside my body, ready to explode. He makes too much fucking sense, and I’m having difficulty handling it.

  “No,” I snap. “Sorry, but that’s not going to happen – there’s no way. I can’t work with someone like that, someone who can’t hold space for me to do my best work. We’re a bunch of strong, independent women, Nixon.”

  “I see.” The only sign of his own irritation is when he snaps the freshly sharpened tip off his nubby pencil. I’m sure he’s imagining it’s my head.

  “Do you want your wife to learn how to defend herself or not?” I demand. “Because if you do, I’m telling you, using that big oaf isn’t going to get it done.”

  Nixon narrows his eyes at me, and for a moment, I wonder if I just pushed a very powerful man too far. A man who could tell me to take my self-defense studio and shove it straight up my sculpted ass. He could break my lease, pay the fine, and send me on my way without batting an eyelash.

  “This has nothing to do with Marcella.” Nixon impales me with that piercing blue gaze. His eyes tell me to stand down even if his words don’t. “And if I may say so, Joslyn, you’re the one teaching the class. Not Troy. You.”

  His remark stings, but it does little to soothe my anger.

  “Look,” I say. “You’re the one who sent your girls to my class. Marcella, Pepper, Taryn – all of them. How the hell are they supposed to learn how to be strong when the demonstrations are inadequate? You disappoint me, Nixon. I can’t believe you of all people don’t understand the importance of my work.”

  “Joslyn–”

  “And he’s not even a good security guard.” I lean forward on Nixon’s desk, invading his personal space with my bristling anger. “Rumor has it that he got hit in the head with a goddamned statue of Eric Clapton. Do you know how that looks, for your security guys to be that uncoordinated?”

  Nixon doesn’t reply.

  And I don’t stop.

  “Well, I’ll tell you.” In that moment, I lose complete control. “It makes it look like you don’t take casino security seriously.”

  Nixon glares, his nostrils flaring. “Joslyn, you’ve got a lot of nerve storming in here and reading me the riot act. If you weren’t a lady, and I use that term loosely, I’d ask you to step outside. Never, ever, attack a man’s life’s work, especially when you don’t know the full story. It not only insults me but my deceased father.”

  “Well, you’ve got a lot of nerve sending me Baby Huey!” I slap my hand down on his chrome throne and delight in the sting. “And there’s no fucking way I’m going to keep working with him! The girls and I deserve better. Get it done!”

  Chapter Six

  Troy

  After Joslyn dismisses me from her class, I slump down the hall and back into the Armónico. My chest aches from the kicks and blows, but it doesn’t bother me all that much. After all, compared with the golf-ball sized swelling on the side of my forehead, it feels like a mere twinge of pain.

  What the fuck was her problem? As I make my way to the private elevator, I can’t figure out the root cause of Joslyn’s rage. After all, she told Nixon she wanted a man to demonstrate moves. And she’d welcomed me inside, without incident. What the fuck was I supposed to do, charge in there with my fists out and my muscles ready for a fight with a woman I outweigh by over a hundred pounds?

  Joslyn impresses me, but I’m not sure that she’d stand a chance against me if I exerted even the slightest effort.

  As I move down the corridor, a loud volley of voices peals out from Nixon’s office. Immediately, I pick up speed, sensing a threat. When I get closer, I recognize the female voice. Seems she’s going to haunt my every waking moment.

  Joslyn and Nixon’s voices are raised in annoyance. Frowning, I freeze in my tracks when I hear Joslyn’s shrill, angry cry.

  “He’s a piece of shit pussy who doesn’t even have one brain cell floating around in his overinflated head, Nixon! Jesus, I thought you were going to send me someone who could give an adequate demonstration, so the ladies could learn!”

  “Joslyn, watch your tone,” Nixon growls back. I can tell he’s angry, too, but he’s not shouting. Nixon has the best self-control of any man I’ve ever known. He’s a machine. An emotionally unavailable machine. Especially when it
comes to business.

  As the barrage of insults continue, I feel my blood start to boil. Who the hell is this bitch, anyway? Some young fitness instructor thinks she can cut me down because I didn’t live up to her unspoken standards? The ones she didn’t even tell me beforehand, so I could comply?

  Joslyn’s voice escalates in pitch with every word she spits out, and I’m too angry to take the insults anymore. There’s no way I’m going to keep working with this termagant. How the hell can she insult Nixon Caldwell and not hang her head in shame? She’s nothing. Nobody. Nixon did her a fucking favor by asking me to step into her stupid women’s fitness classes, and–

  “And I can’t work with him again!” Joslyn screams. “My girls and I deserve better!”

  That’s it. I ball my hands into fists and storm into Nixon’s office. There’s no fucking way I’m going to take this shit lying down.

  When the door bursts open, Nixon and Joslyn both jump. Joslyn whirls around. Her pale cheeks bloom pink with anger, and curly tendrils of black hair have escaped from a messy bun, making her look like a very, very pissed off angel. Nixon’s angry, too, but when he sees me, his glare fades, and he looks embarrassed.

  “A little bird told me you were talking about me.” I stomp inside and cross my arms over my chest. “An ugly, black crow.”

  Joslyn’s nostrils flare, and she snorts like a bull. I half expect her to start pawing the ground and charge me. Too bad I don’t have anything red to throw in her face.

  “Damn straight we were talking about you.” She locks her steely blue eyes with mine. A shiver of arousal runs down my back and my cock twitches, but I ignore it. There’s no way I can think about fucking her right now.

  “And?” I smirk at her. “I see your highness thinks that I should have been able to read her mind. Sorry, that was quite impossible with the thick layer of total bitch that got in the way.”