by Quinn, Cari
“Don’t bother.” He didn’t look up, just kept soothing Olivia. “We’re done here.”
I stared at him for a moment longer, torn between staying with him while he waited for the ambulance—for his sake, not Olivia’s—and going to check on Mia. But the thought of the ambulance pushed me up the steps. Ambulances often meant cops, and cops usually meant bad news when it came to illegal fighting.
I had to get Mia out of there. Home safe, where she belonged.
I ascended the stairs three at a time, realizing when I reached the top that I was in a whole other building, just as Gio had warned me. Another old warehouse apparently. I headed to the closest exit, hoping like hell I’d find it unlocked. Strobing red and blue lights cut through the window across the dusty floor, illuminating my way.
The ambulance was here already. That was fast. I had to hustle Mia out of there in a hurry.
I shoved open the door and ran outside, crossing the parking lot. People were streaming out of the building like rats scampering back into their hidey holes, but that was usual after a match. As soon as the victor was declared, the crowds got lost. No one wanted to get caught in the wrong place at the wrong time if there was a bust. Cops usually had better things to do than to shake down underground fighting rings, but—
“Fox!” Carly’s frightened shout stopped me dead halfway to the ambulance. I’d intended to tell the EMTs where to find Slater and Olivia, even lead them there if necessary.
After I’d made sure Mia was okay.
Then I saw the drape of the dark braid on the stretcher being carted out of the building, and everything inside me shut down. Every vital process screeched to a halt. Breathing first. Vision next, until it narrowed to a pinprick hole that only contained the stretcher and the white, white sheets. My heart last, stopping so swiftly that I would’ve lost my footing if Carly hadn’t been at my side.
“What happened?” My mouth was operating independently of my brain, because that part of me had ceased functioning too.
“She’s hurt, she’s hurt.”
I couldn’t make sense of what I was hearing.
The gears started turning again, slowly, painfully.
Hurt. Alive then. Not dead.
Not dead.
“How bad?” I managed.
“I don’t know. They won’t tell me. Make them tell us.” She turned her tear-tracked face up to mine. “Please.”
Together, we shambled toward the stretcher being loaded into the ambulance like drunks, arms locked. Carly was crying. I still wasn’t fully aware of what was happening, only that my renewed breaths burned on the way out of my mouth.
“She’s mine,” I said to the nearest EMT when he tried to shoo me away. I bent over the stretcher, relief swelling inside me when I saw Mia’s face. It was almost perfect. Just that solitary cut bisecting the corner of her mouth, the bleeding stanched now.
Somehow I’d thought I would see her eye swollen and puffy like mine had been after the fight with Giovanni, as if the universe had wanted us to have matching wounds. I didn’t want her to deal with the headaches I still had.
“Mia, baby. Wake up.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Then I saw her arm bandaged against her stomach. From the angle and temporary bandages they’d given her, my guess was it was broken.
I looked up, enraged, my gaze going to the open mouth of the warehouse where people still spilled out in every direction. Talking, laughing. Inside, Evie was probably whooping it up too. She was the victor.
Goddamn her. I didn’t care if it wasn’t politically correct to want to harm a woman. She’d harmed mine, and I wanted to kick her ass.
“Ame,” Carly whispered, crying, brushing her hand over Mia’s unblemished forehead. She just looked like she was sleeping. Calm. Peaceful. “Wake up.”
“Sir, ma’am, you need to move back. We need to load her into the ambulance and get her to the hospital.”
“How bad is it? Please tell me,” Carly begged, glancing up at the EMTs. Giovanni was behind her, his hand on her shoulder, but I doubt she even noticed.
Ignoring them, I ran my fingers over the base of Mia’s throat. Her pulse was strong and steady. She was just sleeping again, like she’d checked out last week. I’d make myself believe that before I allowed myself to think for even one second that she would wake in pain, or afraid. I couldn’t bear it.
“Damn you, you better wake up. Now. I need you here with me.”
Lowering my head, I pressed my mouth to hers. Hard. This was no sweet gentle kiss or delicate stroking like Slater had done. We’d fought too long and hard to get to this point. She was coming back to me, this instant.
There could be no other alternative.
When it didn’t work, I did it again, knotting my fingers in the end of her braid. She smelled like my Mia, tasted like her too. Still in that position I looked up and saw Kizzy—and oddly, Sutton, from behind her—watching us, just like Carly and Giovanni, who were flanked by a tall, dark woman who resembled Gio. Carly leaned back against him, pressing her fist to her mouth as she cried, and his hand moved rhythmically up and down her arm.
Someone tugged on mine. “Sir, you need to move back. She needs help.”
Ignoring him, I bent over Mia and kissed her again, even harder than the last time. “Goddammit, Mia Knox, you wake up. This fucking second.”
I watched her eyes for any change. Even a flicker of her lashes. Nothing.
Disappointed, heartsick, I stumbled back as the EMTs rushed in to do their job. Blocking her from my view as they prepared to put her in the ambulance and take her away from me. But not for long.
Then I heard her voice. Thready and weak, but it was Mia. “Fox.”
Carly rushed forward, a smile breaking through her tears. “Ame?”
I elbowed aside the ambulance guys and leaned over the gurney, my hope vanishing when I saw her eyes were still closed. I’d heard her. I knew I had.
“Fox,” she said again, her pale lips barely moving. Then her lashes lifted for barely a second. “You called me Knox.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. Less than no idea. Blankly, I stared at Carly, whose gaze was riveted on her sister’s face.
Not caring if Mia was babbling in Swahili, I bent down and pressed my cheek to hers. “No sleeping on the job. Up and at ‘em, tiger.”
“You…called me…Knox,” she said again, and then I understood.
Well, huh. “I didn’t mean to,” I mumbled.
“I know.” Her lips twitched and weakly, she lifted her good hand to me. I took it and clasped it between both of mine. She was burning up. “Carly?”
“Right here,” her sister whispered, kissing her forehead. “You’re not allowed to give us a scare like that again.”
“Sorry. Stupid…guillotine.” Her throat worked. “Need. More. Jiu-Jitsu. Gotta. Practice.”
“Think you can hold off on the practices for a while, fighter girl.”
Her eyelashes flickered again as she angled her head toward me. “She…won anyway.”
Then her hand went limp in mine.
Would that mean Lorenzo and his guys would leave her and Carly alone? She’d lost, which was what they wanted. I never would’ve wanted her to take a drop—or worse, get hurt—but maybe this would buy her some room.
Especially if Olivia was out of the picture. I couldn’t imagine Olivia would wake up and want more of what she’d gotten tonight. Even a crazy person had to have the occasional moment of lucidity. And she had Slater to help her find them.
Slater, the last person I wanted to think about right now.
She might have the police on her case too, if Mia and I could gather enough evidence to start a case against her. There wasn’t much proof, and what there was would lead us right back to Lorenzo’s door. But none of that was for tonight.
Somehow I found it in me to smile at the nearest EMT. “My girl’s going to be fine.”
“Yes, she is. Her vitals are go
od, but she has a concussion. And a broken arm.”
I grimaced. I’d had a couple of both of those. No fun. But I’d be there to help her get better, every step of the way.
Every day for the rest of her life.
“You know, underground MMA fighting is illegal,” the EMT added.
I glanced up and caught Giovanni’s eye. He had his arm around Carly, which was the least of my worries at the moment.
“Yeah.” Sighing, I shook my head. “Damn shame what kids today do for kicks.”
Twenty-One
One month after the fight
“So now that you’ve had a while to adjust, how you feel about living with your boyfriend?”
I bit my lip to smother my smile as I slid a glance at Tray, who was seated beside me on Dr. Phelps’ oh-so-comfy couch. “Well, I appreciate the easy access to sex.”
His eyebrow winged up, and I shrugged. He hadn’t been there the first time, so he wasn’t in on the punchline.
“You’re using humor to deflect, Mia. Or does Tray’s presence make you uncomfortable? Would you like me to ask him to leave for this portion of the session?” She shot an apologetic glance at Tray. “I have to think about what’s best for my patient. You understand.”
His fingers loosely curled around mine on the cushion between us. “Of course.”
“No, he’s fine. I don’t have any secrets from him.”
Dr. Phelps looked as surprised as Tray did. Though that was a better look for him than the slightly pea-green cast he’d been sporting since we’d taken a seat. This was my third week of two sessions. He’d also been to the last session, but only for half. That was our way of easing him in.
Carly had been to one session so far as well. Baby steps.
I’d been on antidepressants for a week. So far, so good. My mood didn’t seem appreciably better yet, and I still lived in an almost constant state of panic over Carly’s whereabouts, but I was trying to be patient.
Giovanni’s questionable “friends” believed I’d lost on purpose as requested, although personally, a broken limb was kind of overkill, but whatever. Little Miss Crumpet was now considered the best female fighter in the tri-state area. According to local scuttlebutt, I was a has been or I’d fallen for easy money, take your pick.
At least I hadn’t had any more mental checkouts recently. That was a plus in my book.
“I suppose if I ask if you continue to use rough sex as a substitute for fighting, you’ll drag out your original answer as well.”
Wow, was Dr. Phelps actually smiling at me? Fondly?
I glanced at Tray. Smirking, he averted his gaze. He was leaving this one all for me.
Wuss.
“No, I won’t. Because I’m going to start fighting again.” I sucked in a breath and let it out again. “Tray’s okay with it.”
“I think okay is a bit of an overstatement, since she just got out of the hospital a few weeks ago. But I’m dealing.”
He’d also deal when I set up a rematch fight with one Ms. Evelyn Pierce. That wasn’t a maybe. That was a when.
And I’d just handle the fireworks with Lorenzo and his goons if they came.
“I’m better off mentally when I’m fighting.” I lifted a shoulder and winced at the pull in my arm. I was always forgetting it was broken, which was kind of ridiculous considering the pain it still caused me. “I need that outlet, otherwise my mind just spins.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps you could also try other, safer outlets.”
“Oh, don’t worry. We still have rough sex too.”
Tray coughed into his fist.
“I won’t be fighting for a while, obviously.” I pointed at my other arm in its cast. “So if the medication helps, maybe I’ll change my mind by the time I’m in fighting shape again.”
I highly doubted it, but I was trying to be more open-minded.
The conversation went to other usual topics. A bit about the Olivia situation—which wasn’t much of one, because I had no evidence except a bunch of phone calls and a few texts and nothing solid that connected her to either—and what it meant for our relationship with Slater. I didn’t have much to say about it. Tray had nothing.
Slater wasn’t responding to us. Period.
It hadn’t been that long since everything had exploded at the fight, so I was trying to convince Tray to give his best friend time to come to terms with everything. He wasn’t nearly as patient as I was. His solution was to break down Slater’s door and force him to talk to us, and then knock some sense into Slater for falling for a psychopath. His phrase not mine.
Probably not the best approach.
And I wasn’t even going to get started about his desire to see Olivia in jail. I didn’t know if that would ever happen. She wasn’t bothering me anymore. That didn’t mean I wanted to forget the whole thing, but I’d adopted a wait-and-see approach.
Tray answered a few questions about his parents, and his mom in particular. She was still living with us, but she’d found an apartment to go see next week. She hadn’t mentioned filing for divorce or anything that permanent, but we were trying to take it day by day.
That was pretty much our life motto at the moment.
“Mia’s recent change in financial status has to have impacted your lifestyle.” Dr. Phelps consulted her notepad. “I imagine it’s been a big transition.”
The biggest transition I’d been dealing with lately was not sticking my big nose in Carly’s love life. She’d gone out with the Salad Hut dude again, and I hadn’t said a word. I also resisted trying to put a lock on her jeans when Giovanni came around, something he was doing with distressing regularity now that Tray and Slater were on the outs.
I still didn’t like the guy, but nothing was going on with him and Carly that I could tell. And everything was all quiet on the Lorenzo front.
For now.
Tray locked his hands behind his head. “Not really, because Mia won’t touch the money.”
I frowned. “That’s not exactly true.” Mostly true.
Aunt Patty hadn’t exactly enjoyed being confronted about the settlement money, but she’d handed the bulk of it over with surprisingly little argument. She hadn’t wanted me to pursue legal action, though that had never been my intention. She’d already spent some of the cash, and I’d told her to keep a large chunk. The rest she’d given up fairly willingly, saying the Lord would provide.
Why that hadn’t occurred to her when she’d hoarded all the money that wasn’t rightfully hers in the first place, I didn’t know.
“Do you feel undeserving of good fortune, Mia?”
I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t help it. “What do you think?”
Tray cleared his throat and I tried again. He was trying in spite of his many reservations when it came to therapy, so I had to also. Even when it was hard.
Especially when it was hard.
“Yes. I feel undeserving. Good things make me wonder when I’ll lose them.”
“Good things like your relationship with Trayherne, for example.”
“Well, he’s not exactly ugly.”
His fingers tightened on mine. “Aww, honey. So sweet.”
I couldn’t hide my grin. “But yeah. He’s one of them. The money is another. But I’m going to use it. It’s going toward Carly’s education. She’s in culinary school,” I reminded my therapist, unable to hide my pride.
“That’s wonderful, and a positive use for money that came from a difficult situation. But you’ll still have some leftover. The amount was sizable, wasn’t it?”
I snorted. “Uh, yeah. You could say that.”
“She wants a treehouse,” Tray offered, and I narrowed my eyes. “She’s going to make me build her one when we buy a house.”
“Yeah, like you can build. Shut up.”
Dr. Phelps smiled. “Is that something you plan to do with the money? Buy a house?”
“Eventually, maybe. I’m happy where we are.” I bit my lip. I didn’t want to assume. “Are you happy w
here we are?” I asked quietly.
“Yeah. Just need that big screen TV we talked about, and maybe a cardboard cutout of Megan Fox, and the place is perfect.” He squeezed my fingers to let me know he was kidding.
As if I didn’t know that. He’d much rather have a cardboard cutout of Scarlett Johansson.
“I actually had another idea for some of the money.” I searched Tray’s face for a reaction. He only waited.
“And what would that be?” Dr. Phelps asked pleasantly.
Here went everything.
“I want to open a kind of shelter for the lost. For missing and endangered kids and adults who have nowhere else to go. A safe space, where there’s no judgment and you don’t have to share more than you want to. There will be counselors on staff and people who understand, as much as anyone can.” I exhaled. “Like me.”
No one spoke.
“Well?” I demanded when I couldn’t take one more second of silence.
“I think that you’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” Tray murmured.
Then he slid across the couch and kissed me. Full on the mouth, with tongue. Right in front of Dr. Phelps.
I kissed him back. I might never stop wondering when the goodness I’d found would be snatched away, but for this moment, I was going to enjoy it.
And hang on fucking tight.
Turn the page to get a sneak peek about Carly and Gio’s story. You know you want to.
Thanks for reading SNEAK ATTACK. I’m keeping a secret from my sister Mia, spending my nights in a club she would never want me to even know about, never mind work in. And now I’m in the sights of the wrong men, who are determined to use me as a weapon against the one man I want.
One-click ON THE ROPES now!
I’m willing to die for vengeance. Until she gives me a reason to live…
I’m a rising star in New York City’s underground MMA scene. I’m winning all my matches, and I can have any woman I choose.
Except the one who was lost to me, and now, the one I want but can never allow myself to have.