The Fighter and the Fallen Woman Read Online Free PDF Page A

Mr. Adams earlier.”
    She glanced over her shoulder again, this time at Jonathan. He seemed to be having fun in his fight. She looked back to King, who hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “You should be watching the fight. You’ll probably face Jonathan at some point, you know.”
    “It’s only the first round. And judging by the way Mr. Adams is studying him, I won’t have to. He’ll tell me how to fight and I will.”
    The way King watched her was unnerving Lady. She was finally starting to understand him—his scars, his name, his shackles—the same burdens Lady carried as one of Mr. Adams’s investments, but she didn’t like that he could possibly see into her as deeply.
    Holding the towel loosely, she turned his hand palm up and looked at it. With the right, the burn was all she could see, but with this one she saw a webbing of lines that a gypsy could probably read like a book. Lady trailed one finger over those lines, wishing she could read them, as well. The way his hand flinched made her wonder if he was hurt, some tiny bone of his fist broken against Brutus’s head, but she couldn’t stop touching him. She let her finger lightly run up to an old scar at his wrist and wondered if he ever lay awake at night and felt like his soul was bruised too.
    “What if you want to choose?” she asked, not daring to fall into his eyes again. That way she couldn’t do anything foolish like tell him to run, get away, before it was too late. Take her with him. “Since you’re the fighter, it seems like you should be telling him how you’ll fight.”
    King rolled his wrist and grabbed the towel in his hand, using it to pull her closer as he leaned forward, stopping them inches from each other but not speaking until Lady met his eyes. They looked haunted, but that tempered strength so unique to him was there too. “You know as well as I do, Lady—with Mr. Adams, we never get to choose,” he said in a low voice. “Or are you telling me that cruel little bastard lets you tell him how to fuck?”

Chapter Three
    Hannibal Adams, born George Leslie Tuttle, watched the fight with only half of his attention. With the other half he watched Lady tend to King, and with the third half he watched the people around him. All of those halves were the key to his success—he gave more effort than the people around him. That was how he got to be one of the wealthiest and most powerful businessmen of East London and that was why he’d renamed himself. George Tuttle wasn’t powerful. He didn’t command respect. Hannibal Adams was. Hannibal Adams did. Hannibal for the man who took what he wanted, conquering the Alps, and Adam for the first man, the perfect man, the man without whom there would be no other men.
    Yes, Hannibal Adams was a man to be reckoned with.
    Just then, King stood up so abruptly it drew all of Hannibal’s halves into a whole. He watched as King stalked off, rubbing his hands over his face and head again and again.
    “Well, well, well,” Hannibal said to himself. “It looks like King still has his blood up. I know how to take care of that.” Without even looking to see if the other man was watching, he beckoned Shade over with one hand. He took one deep, sweet puff of his cigar and by the exhale Shade was at his side.
    “Shade, go to the Red Door. Tell Mrs. Henderson to send one of the girls to see to our King tonight. Tell her to make the girl...active.” Hannibal smiled. He knew how to take care of his property. He grabbed Shade’s arm before he could walk away. “But not too active. I want King to burn off some energy, not be drained of it.”
    He returned his attention to the activities of the room. Lady hadn’t moved from her perch, and he took advantage of the view, from the slope of her neck to the lush fruits of her bottom. His cock stirred and he smiled, thinking of later tonight when he’d be fucking that lush bottom. As though she could feel his gaze, she looked over her shoulder and met his