Rage

  Books by Elizabeth Reyes

  Desert Heat

  Defining Love

  Moreno Brothers Series

  Forever Mine

  Forever Yours

  Sweet Sofie

  When You Were Mine

  Always Been Mine

  Romero

  Tangled—A Moreno Brothers novella

  Making You Mine

  5th Street Series

  Noah

  Gio

  Hector

  Abel

  Felix

  Fate Series

  Fate

  Breaking Brandon

  Suspicious Minds

  Again

  Rage

  His to Guard (2016)

  Uninvited (2016)

  Rage

  (Fate #5)

  Elizabeth Reyes

  Rage

  Elizabeth Reyes

  Copyright © 2015 Elizabeth Reyes

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Edited By Theresa Wegand

  Cover Design by Amanda Simpson of Pixel Mischief Design

  To my nephew Christopher Reyes,

  Ask me why and I'll remind you.

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Coming in 2016

  Also by Elizabeth Reyes

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Prologue

  AJ

  One of the first things they teach you as a baseball catcher starting in little league is it’s a leadership role. As a leader, you have to be in command and demand respect. But, no one’s giving respect to or taking orders from someone who doesn’t know what he’s doing. As a catcher, you also have to be the toughest on the field. No game is too long, no opponent too hard, and definitely no foe too strong to stand up to. Most importantly, being the leader on the field, you have to anticipate all situations. Stay in control at all times. By high school, AJ Romero had mastered all except the latter. But it wasn’t always his fault, and he was determined to master every requirement if he were going to reach his ultimate dream: to be the best catcher Major League Baseball had ever seen. He just needed to check a few things off his list to get there.

  High school

  Repeating the sign for a low curve ball between his legs for the second time, AJ raised his glove and stretched his left leg out in anticipation of the next pitch. The pitcher threw the ball, and just as intended, it curved and fell low and left into AJ’s glove, just as the hitter swung and missed.

  “Nice,” he said, taking the ball from his glove and throwing it back. “Just like that,” he yelled out to the pitcher. “One more, we got this.”

  “Yeah,” the batter muttered under his breath as he readied himself for the next pitch, “just like I used to get your mom every Friday night.”

  AJ’s head jerked back, not sure if he’d heard the guy right, so he took a second before giving the pitcher the sign for the next pitch. “What was that now?” he asked without standing up.

  The guy chuckled, lifting the bat up over his shoulder. “I said just like I used to get your mom—”

  Instantly on his feet, AJ pulled off his catcher’s mask, feeling his insides heat, and got in the guy’s face but tried desperately to stay calm. “I know you’re not talking about my mom.”

  Obviously startled by AJ’s quick reaction, the batter backed up a bit, but smirked. “Sure I am. The stripper whore—”

  AJ buried his fist in the guy’s face, and both benches emptied as the umpire and several other players on his team attempted to break it up, but not before he got a few more good ones in. A couple of others started to get into it as Chino, his good friend and third baseman, managed to pull him aside and talk AJ down.

  “He was talking trash about my mom,” AJ said through his teeth, still unable to calm himself.

  “Alright,” Chino said calmly, looking him in the eyes. “You got’ em, AJ. He’ll be sportin’ a good shiner for at least a week. Now be cool.”

  The team started to make its way back slowly into the dugouts. AJ was still full of adrenaline and ready to land a few more blows in that asshole’s face if he could get to him, but Chino was right. AJ needed to calm down. One glance in the stands showed him the disapproval in both his brothers’ faces.

  “You might just get off with a—”

  “Out of here!” the ump said before Chino could even finish what sounded like his usual optimism “Both of you out,” he added, pointing at the asshole batter.

  The ump wasn’t even looking at him anymore, already writing something down on the small notepad he’d pulled out of his pocket. AJ’s head fell back, knowing exactly what that meant. He’d been right too. Not only were he and the other guy ejected from the game, they were both suspended from school for a couple of days and the next game in the series.

  His oldest brother Isaiah was adamant that AJ had been set up. While it did piss both his brothers off that the guy would take a stab at their mother, Isaiah insisted AJ needed to work harder on practicing better self-control.

  “I probably would’ve decked him too,” Isaiah admitted.

  “Fuck yeah,” Nathan, his other brother, immediately agreed.

  “Clearly the guy knew saying something like that was way out of line,” Isaiah said. “Anyone would’ve reacted the same way you did. If it were anyone else, it wouldn’t be so suspicious. There was no question you’d react, and you’re batting cleanup with a batting average of over .500.”

  Isaiah shook his head, completely annoyed with the fact that the other team would stoop this low and take a stab at their recently murdered mother. It’d been in the papers the whole year, so those assholes knew all about it. He’d also made mention of her being a stripper, something they’d often had to clarify to the press. She tended bar at a seedy nightclub. She wasn’t a stripper. So that alone was clear evidence that they’d meant to bait him.

  “Of course they’d try riling you to get you out of the lineup next game. This is the playoffs. Why do you think they chose one of their shittiest players to do so? They knew you’d both be suspended, and that guy was no sacrifice for them. You gotta get your shit together, man. I know it’s hard to not lose it, especially hearing someone trash-talk Mom, but you make it way too easy for them.”

  The team went on to win the playoffs anyway, and his sc
hool took the state title, but not before a couple of more flare-ups that nearly had AJ’s fists igniting again, including getting beamed by the ball once. The incident did clear the benches again, but not because AJ went after the pitcher. The next batter up was Chino, and he started talking shit to the other team’s catcher, who’d likely told the pitcher to hit AJ. Of course, AJ was right there to back his friend up when the benches cleared, but no one was ejected since no one took a swing this time. Still, while it took AJ just as long to come down from the adrenaline high, he was getting better at conquering his elusive self-control. His coach had always said taking the title would grab the notice of the minor league scouts. He’d have to prove himself if he ever wanted to make the big leagues. Check.

  Minor Leagues

  The lead AJ took off of first base was significant. With his status as the leading base stealer in all of Triple-A Baseball, it was no surprise the pitcher could barely concentrate on his pitching because he kept stopping to throw back to first. AJ was just a few more steals away from breaking the record for most bases stolen in a regular season. Once again the pitcher spun around and threw to first, making for a dramatic and dusty dive back into first because AJ’s lead had been that big.

  “That’s right,” the first baseman Higman said as AJ squinted and spit dirt out of his mouth. “Get your ass back on base, bitch.”

  AJ stood up, dusting himself off, refusing to look at the guy. Readjusting his helmet, he took a deep breath, remembering his brother’s words. He would not get baited so easily anymore. It was fucking infuriating. Instead of progressing in conquering the fire that ignited so easily in him, he’d deviated in the opposite direction. With so many using his temper against him, his reputation as one of the hottest hotheads in the league preceded him now. Some critics even suggested it was what would ultimately be his doom if he ever made it to the big leagues. Even his brothers agreed, especially Isaiah, who insisted it didn’t matter that some of the players like this asshole were just as heavily criticized for being instigators.

  With the ball back in the pitcher’s hand, AJ began taking his lead off the base, jumping back once when the pitcher spun around but didn’t throw. The crowd booed at the pitcher. Others cheered, urging AJ to steal that base. He took the lead once again, this time getting a little braver, going even further than he did the last time.

  One look at the third base coach and he got the go-ahead to run the moment the ball left the pitcher’s hand. He took an even farther more dangerous lead, and the pitcher spun around suddenly and threw a missile to first. For a second, he thought about diving back, but he was too far and knew he wouldn’t make it, so he decided to chance it and fake trying to make it to second. After just a few steps, he turned around because he knew by then the ball was already headed to second. He was still closer to first, so he shot back.

  The crowd went nuts as his adrenaline pummeled through him. He could do this, damn it. He dove into first just as the ball zoomed by his head and hit Higman’s glove but bounced out. Lucky for Higman, the pitcher was already behind him and recovered, so in no way could AJ get up and take off to second.

  He exhaled, holding on to the base for dear life for a moment. It wasn’t pretty, but at least he hadn’t blown it. The crowd, of course, had gone wild and was already chanting the nickname he’d been dubbed with for over a year. The same one Isaiah hated with such passion. “Rage! Rage! Rage!”

  The local paper had commented more than once about “Romero’s rage,” and soon afterward he’d become Rage. “Who’s the bitch now?” he asked with a smirk but didn’t bother looking up at Higman, who he was sure was glaring at him as AJ dusted himself off again.

  As expected, butterfingers didn’t have much to say now. Over the next several pitches, AJ managed to steal second and third, only to be left stranded at third when the batter finally struck out. It was a pisser, but he was damn proud of himself that he hadn’t let Higman win.

  Headed slowly back to the dugout, he could hear some of the people in the stands yelling out for him. Many chanted for him to break the record today. He hadn’t even noticed Higman so close to him when he heard the comment.

  “Baby sister’s not such a baby anymore.”

  AJ looked up in time to see Higman and another player on the opposing team smiling big as they gazed up into the stands. Curiously, he glanced up just as Higman responded to the other guy’s comment. “Yeah, I’d tap that sweet thing in a heartbeat.”

  The instant he saw Emi holding up her homemade poster that read “Break that record, big brother! Romero #9,” he knew who Higman was talking about. She was shaking her hips along with the sign, looking far more womanly than her eighteen years. Even then, he still would’ve kept his cool, too, if he’d just done the right thing and ignored Higman and his asshole friend. He shouldn’t have even glimpsed their way, but he did just in time to see Higman rub his dick over his pants and squeeze. He was still looking up at the stands.

  “Damn! The junk in that trunk. What I wouldn’t give to get my cock into that ass.”

  The fucker would’ve likely gone on to say more, but AJ tackled him before he could, and it was on. Another bench-clearing brawl ensued with the crowd going wild, chanting his nickname over and over.

  AJ had actually been a little surprised when Isaiah hadn’t protested too much after he’d been ejected from the game. He’d told him why he tackled Higman. Isaiah just shook his head, but AJ got the feeling his brother was likely thinking he would’ve done the same because he’d been spared the usual lecture. The only thing he did say was, “Yeah, well there’s only two games left in the regular season, AJ. You get ejected next game, and they may sit you out the last one. There goes your chance of breaking that record.”

  The next game AJ checked one more thing off his list. He broke that record. Once the season was over, he checked off another. He signed a major league contract with the San Diego Padres. He’d already been called up a few times to stand in for the injured catcher. Only with their regular catcher expected to be out for most of the season, AJ would likely be their starting catcher until their regular was back. Check!

  Chapter 1

  AJ

  Throughout his young career AJ owed a lot of people for his success. First and foremost was his entire family for their love and support as he continued to follow his dream. Many coaches along the way made an impact on his game and his confidence—his ability to continue to believe in himself as a leader, even when things got tough. One of the coaches that made the biggest impact on him was a relatively new coach to him: Coach Lara, his major league team’s catching coach. The man was a former major league catcher himself, recently inducted into the Hall of Fame and wise beyond anyone AJ had ever known.

  He also had the patience of a saint. When AJ came into the majors, everyone already knew about his legendary temper. It’d been well-documented and discussed by sportscasters even before he moved up from the minors and even more so his first few years in the big leagues. Lara had told AJ from the moment he took him under his wing just over a year ago that it didn’t have to be that way. He could use that anger as energy—use it as a driving force to push his passion for the game and make it work for him, not against him.

  Up until AJ met Lara, it’d been suggested that he attend anger-management classes on more than one occasion. In some cases, it’d been mandatory after some of his worst explosive moments on the field. The classes were always lame. AJ never got anything out of them. Maybe if he had, he might’ve done so with more enthusiasm. He wanted to be able to conquer that part of him. It always felt like a weakness.

  Lara, however, suggested other forms of mental training. He said lack of mental training was the number-one cause of underperformance, and he’d been right. AJ had attended and done all the training Lara had suggested.

  After the first three years of AJ’s career in the big leagues, he was finally making some major progress, and it was even noted by the press. His first year he’d been a mess: b
ringing on the attention and reinforcing his nickname in the media, something that exasperated his brothers.

  His teammates suggested he embrace the notoriety. His moments of rage on the field excited the fans.

  “Hell, it’s part of the reason some of these people come out to watch you,” his good friend Sabian, the starting short stop and one of the other superstars of the team, had said. “They’re not just coming for the game; they’re waiting to see if they get to see a Rage show.”

  AJ got how it could be exciting for the fans, but it made him feel like a fucking clown. He was there to impress them with his talents as a player, not amuse them with the show he put on when he lost his cool. Not to mention there were fines and time on the field he could lose, which, during those first years, happened a lot.

  It was spring training of his fourth year in the big leagues, the year Lara had come into his life and with him his adorable six-year-old granddaughter, Clair. AJ had seen photos of her in the coach’s office before, but in most of them, she was still a baby. She looked nothing like the pictures he remembered seeing. While Coach Lara often spoke of her, AJ had never met her because she lived out of state.

  “My daughter Addison and Clair are moving in with us for a few months while she gets situated here in San Diego,” the coach had explained previously. “But she has to make a few trips back to Chicago to get all her stuff moved out here. In the meantime, the Mrs. and I are on Clair duty. Clair started following the team pretty closely in the last year, so I promised to get her out here first chance I got. She’s been dying to meet with you guys, but especially you.”

  The day Coach brought her over AJ had been lifting weights in the team’s gym at the stadium. AJ had eyed the coach walking around and introducing her to some of the other players. She was a tiny little thing, a bright-eyed brunette wearing glasses in a Padres jersey, who held her grandpa’s hand as he walked her around the gym.

  “Meet my pride and joy, Clair,” he said with a big smile when he finally brought her over to AJ. “Clair, this is AJ, our superstar catcher.”