Beyond the Shadows - Chapter 4: Run, Little Lamb
Blood stains the sand as John lives up to his last name and drops like a stone. The fight had lasted a few minutes, and my shadow, Lucas Morrows, had managed to swerve, duck and block nearly every incoming assault his opponent threw his way.
Benson steps into the pit and takes the hand of the last man standing, holding it up as the crowd cheers. "Round one goes to, Lucas Morrows!"
I swallow the lump in my throat as steel-blue eyes remain locked on mine. The moment my shadow had knocked out the other fighter, he'd turned, his gaze clocking me in the crowd and remaining transfixed as the referee counted down the end of the round. With poor John Stone being unceremoniously dragged from the ring, Lucas picks up his shirt and shoes then pads over the cool concrete floor towards the bar. My back leans against the countertop as he stops right in front of me. Noticing my empty glass, he calls to the bartender, ordering another martini and a small glass of Argentinian red wine -- the man has good taste in wine, I'll give him that.
Biting my lip but remaining silent, my eyes travel up the loose-fitted black jeans, to a dark leather belt, then up to my shadow's bare chest. He's muscled to fuck, but with a little fat reserve around the centre, like a man who's ready to be trapped in the wild, not starving or purely aesthetic, but radiating strength.
The bartender places the drinks on the counter beside me and immediately heads for the next eager customer. Still standing with his thighs touching my knees, Lucas puts on his shirt, leaving the buttons undone as he glances down at the jacket still covering my legs. I shift in my chair under the weight of his scrutinising gaze, flinching when he plucks the coat from my lap and leans forward, wrapping it around my shoulders.
"I'm not cold," I insist, shrugging off the jacket and doing my best to appear unperturbed.
Lucas chuckles. "Listen, little one," he says, leaning down and placing his hands on the counter either side of me. "Unless you want me to kill the next man who tries it on with you, I suggest you cover those beautiful fucking curves." As if to prove a point, he snaps his head to one side, and two men quickly divert their attention, looking anywhere but towards us.
"You don't own me, Mister Morrows," I say, feeling brave despite the slight tremble in my voice. "I can talk to whomever I want." Meeting him square in the eye, I cross my legs and lift the martini glass to my lips, taking a long sip before resting it in my lap once again."
A deep rumble reverberates through him, and his hand whips up to my throat, fingers gently squeezing. "I told you I've made up my mind, Riley."
Anger blooms in my chest and I slap his hand away. "What the hell does that even mean? I don't know you, and you certainly don't know me," I say a little louder than intended.
Lucas steps back, his shirt swaying open to reveal his chest rising and falling with every deep, heavy breath. "I do know you, Riley Summers...and you'll come to know me sooner than you think." Picking up his glass of wine, he downs the drink in one then turns and heads for the ring just as round two is announced and the next fighter walks into the pit.
"Fuck," I breathe out a sigh. The moment he'd left, it was like the air returned to the room, previously sucked out by his presence. How does he know me? I suppose anyone can do a google search and find my books online, along with my bullshit bio and seemingly blissful author photo. If that's the case, he doesn't know me at all.
I pick up the phone and dial my Uber, Gloria. Despite my pleas, the woman insists she's fully booked until our previously agreed upon time...two hours from now. I can't be around him that long, he'll give me a heart attack...or impregnate me.
The crowd gasps and I lower my phone, placing it back in my clutch as I return my focus to the current fight. My shadow has his second opponent of the evening trapped in a headlock, but instead of waiting for the man to tap out, Lucas Morrows lifts his slightly smaller adversary, and throws him into the first row of tables, knocking a man from his seat.
Those blue eyes meet mine once again as Lucas strolls around the ring, and I swear his cheeky, dangerous little smile could make a nun lick her lips. My stomach does a pathetic little flip-flop, and I avert my eyes back to the commotion in the audience. That's when I realise why my shadow is grinning. The man sitting at the table, the same one directly impacted by the flying, human projectile...is the same young man in the Armani suit who had approached me earlier this evening.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a breath, then look to Lucas. His grin widens, but he turns his attention back to the fight as his rival returns to the ring. Fists start flying and I seize my chance while he's distracted.
Taking his coat, I hand it to the bartender then pick up my own jacket and quickly put it on. Tucking the clutch purse under my arm, I head for the front door, not daring to look at the ring incase he's spotted me leaving.
