Underground fighter Remington Tate is a
mystery, even to himself. His mind is dark and light, complex and enlightening.
At times his actions and moods are carefully measured, and at others, they spin
out of control.
Through it all, there's been one constant:
wanting, needing, loving, and protecting Brooke Dumas. This is his story; from
the first moment he laid eyes on her and knew, without a doubt, she would be
the realest thing he's ever had to fight for.
Teaser from Remy
“Pete, you think I need a sports
rehab specialist?” I ask.
“You’re an asshole, dude. You hardly
let the masseuses massage you for more than twenty minutes.”
“I need one now.” Pushing my iPad
over to him, I tap the screen and signal to the name below her image. “I need
Pete lifts an interested eyebrow.
“You do. Do you?”
“I need a sports rehab specialist on
my payroll. I want her to tend to me every day. In whatever ways they do.”
He smirks. “They don’t do blow jobs,
I’ll tell you that.”
“If I wanted a blow job, I could
have had three just now. What I want . . .” Once again, my finger taps over her
name. “Is this sports rehab
Pete’s eyebrows fly up to his
hairline, and he leans back and crosses his arms. “What exactly do you want her
I chomp down the rest of my food,
then take a long gulp of water so I can speak. “I want her for me.”
“Rem . . .” he says in warning.
“Offer her a salary she can’t
Pete answers me with a puzzled
silence. He seems taken aback and is trying to make sense of me. He’s looking
into my eyes, and I can tell he’s observing whether they are black or blue.
I’m not black. So I wait quietly. He
sighs, slowly jots down her name, and speaks cautiously. “All right, Remington,
but let me say, this has Bad Idea
written all over it.”
Shoving my plate aside, I lean back
and cross my arms.
My head betrays me half the time.
One day, it tells me I am god. The other, it tells me that I not only rule
hell, but I invented it. Does Pete think I give one fuck about what his own head thinks about my idea? I don’t listen to my head
anymore. I listen only to my gut.
“I want her watching me fight
Saturday,” I remind him as I get up and shove my chair back under the table.
And I want her watching from the bet seats in the house.”
“Remington . . .”
“Just do it, Pete,” I say as I cross the
living room back to the master.
“I already have the tickets ready to
go, dude, but it’s hard enough keeping Diane from knowing of your . . . er,
issues . . . It’s going to be even harder to keep it from someone like this
sports rehab specialist.”
I prop my shoulder at the threshold
of my bedroom and think about that. I lower my voice. “Make her sign a
contract, so I have guaranteed time with her. And stabilize me the instant I
start losing my shit.”
“Remington, just let me get some
“No, Pete. No other girls.”
I shut myself in my room and grab my
headphones, then just lie there with my iPod in my hand, staring at it.
What will it be like if I make her
I don’t delude myself into thinking
that she will accept me, but what if she does? What if she can understand me?
The way I am? The two parts of me? No. Not two parts. Every. Single. Fucking.
Part. Of me.
My gut tightens as I remember the
way her eyes shone when she looked at me. The way they softened after I kissed
her and she looked into my eyes, wanting more of me.
I have never seen a look quite like
that before. I have been wanted by thousands of women. Nobody has ever looked
at me with such open, frightened longing as her.
She was not frightened of me. She
was frightened of “it.” This same thing clenching my gut that has me all
tangled up. Every cell in my body is buzzing with awareness. Every inch of my
skin is awake. My muscles feel primed like they do when I’m ready to fight.
Except I’m not ready to fight now. I’m ready to go get my mate.
Hey! I’m Katy Evans and I love family, books, life, and love. I’m married with two children and three dogs and spend my time baking, walking, writing, reading, and taking care of my family. Thank you for spending your time with me and picking up my story. I hope you had an amazing time with it, like I did. If you’d like to know more about books in progress, look me up on the Internet, I’d love to hear from you! www.katyevans.net