by V. Theia
Last year, Tag thought it was a good idea. But now? He was uncertain if his fighting career had legs to go much further. The doctor already warned Tag if he took another hard knock to the head, he might not be so lucky again with his eyesight returning.
With the next fight coming up in January, he still had a lot to think about.
Was he willing to risk brain damage so he could live off the high he got from being inside the cage?
Was it worth it?
Not like he had a family to keep himself safe for.
Liking his life, he’d fed off the risks for years, putting his all into training, every kick and punch. He studied martial arts obsessively, training to the highest levels he could.
“I’ll give it some thought, Prez. We need to know if Bianchi is genuine and not trying to move on our territory. He could invest in many New York fighters.”
He wanted to reach his thirtieth birthday alive next year and not do it shaking hands with Elvis. The Italians were unpredictable. They didn’t know yet if Bianchi was trustworthy.
“Have you heard anything about what Bianchi could be up to, is there talk he wants Colorado?”
“Nothing. But we wouldn’t hear shit until it was too late. He’s coming back this way in January. Your decision, Tag. Don’t throw yourself back into a cage if you’re not up to it.”
He kept his face neutral. He hadn’t shared his doctor’s concerns with anyone yet.
“S’all good, Prez.” He half-smirked, rubbing the itch along his scar and climbed to his feet. Reaching across the desk, he slapped his friend’s hand. “Can’t keep a champ out of the cage, it’s where I’m most useful.”
It was no longer about the revenue his fights brought for the club.
They made more than enough with the weed and gambling dens. Now they had legal businesses all over Armado Springs. Nah, the club had their fingers in many pies these days. Even from his prison cell, Lawless was still keeping their investments ticking over.
For Tag, the fighting was more than money.
Though it didn’t hurt to make half a million for each fight.
Like most men with a healthy ego, he got off on the victory.
He liked knowing he’d made something of himself.
“I’m gonna take the prospects with me if you don’t have jobs for them today.” He added.
“They’re all yours.”
At the door he turned. “Hey, you think Z-girl would do me a favor?”
Rider’s eyebrow popped up, and Tag chuckled. Before he got a bullet in his larynx, he went on. “Marianna… the woman working at my gym… she could do with having some friends, Prez. And there’s no one friendlier than your Zara.”
Their MC queen collected friends like football cards. It was funny to watch her stalk a brother’s new woman until she belonged to Zara’s little girl gang too. Against all odds, she’d even roped in Luxe.
“She’ll talk to her if you give her some incentive.” Smirked Rider.
Tag arched his eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Amused now. “She’d wanna know if you had an interest in this chick.”
Tag rolled his eyes. “Don’t you start. I catch enough shit from The Butcher. I’m just looking out for her, that’s it.”
No lies detected.
“Sure, brother.” Tag wasn’t rising to the bait. “My Zara can smell a potential relationship two states over, fair warning.”
“So noted.” He took off, had a fast word with the club’s queen, and then whistled for the prospects to bike up and follow him to the gym.
Marianna was carrying an armful of towels when Tag and his prospects prowled into the building. She hesitated a step, blinked and then disappear around a corner.
He knew she wasn’t frightened of him; she didn’t act skittish.
Maybe he rubbed her the wrong way.
He was too used to women falling over their feet to talk to him. This was new, and it put burning embers in his gut to find out why.
He didn’t hunt her down. Not right then, heading to the basement instead to help with the boxing class.
It was a few hours later he got a text from Zara.
She’d stopped by the gym to talk to Marianna.
Zara: I think I have cooties. She politely refused all my invites to go for coffee!
Stubborn woman.
She was probably one of those natural loners.
Or a tea drinker.
FIVE
“A mother is always a mother even when her arms are empty.” – Marianna
These stolen moments were her entire world.
The reason she kept going and didn’t fall into a heartache so painful she wouldn’t recover.
Marianna’s behind rested on the edge of the desk, unable to relax for fear of being discovered. Teary with laughter, she listened as her three-year-old daughter talked.
She loved kindergarten and her grandma, mashed potato dumplings, and dollies of all kinds. Lily also loved picking out her own outfits, most often she was a mismatched delight.
Marianna missed seeing her daughter try to pull on pink tights with a blue skirt and a green sweater. She missed the laughter at bath time, even the tantrums.
Her heart leapt and rolled over.
It was a mother’s love that made her ache this way, deep inside her chest. It never eased. Only these rare phone calls made it disappear into the crevices of her soul for a short time.
Using the gym’s phone for personal use to Russia, left her feeling shameful. Stealing from Tag was up there with her horrible decision making.
Her guilt racked up.
What else could she do?
Only owning a burner phone, the one-time she’d charged it with forty dollars, it ate the entire thing after only a few minutes.
The alternative was never speaking with her children. That was an unbearable thought.
When the twins grew bored, she spoke briefly with their grandmother. Her ex’s mother. Who thankfully was a saint to help Marianna.
In Russian she asked. “Are they eating okay? Lily said she got sick.”
“It was a little sniffle. Do not worry. How are you?”
“Missing you all. I wish you were here already.”
“The children talk of nothing else. They want to see the Colorado mountains and watch Sesame Street in their funny voices.” The real American voices they meant, not dubbed like they have at home.
Marianna smiled. “Are they doing well with their English?”
Since birth, she’d oscillated between languages with her twins, in hopes one day they would live in the United States.
“Da. Very good. We do lessons every morning. They’re better than me.”
“I should send more money to get them a tutor.”
“No, Marianna, you give too much and have nothing for yourself.”
“What I earn is for my family, Galina. I want them to have the best I can provide.”
“Lapushka, you have always given your all to the children, look at your sacrifice to give them a better life.”
“I miss them so much. I can’t seem to figure a way to get them here or me back there without causing too much suspicion with the authorities.”
“They will be with you soon, Lapushka. Do not lose sight of what you are working so hard for, da? Is it still safe there?”
Marianna knew what she was asking.
Galina was well aware of how bad the Bratva were, having lost both her husband and son to them.
“Yes. They left for good.” She didn’t mention it was through Tag and his motorcycle club why she was free of the Bratva trouble. She suspected, as helpful as they seemed to be, they were as dangerous, but in a way that made others feel safe.
Having seen firsthand how many feared the Renegade Souls and others revered them.
Whatever it may be, Marianna was grateful.
The call was over far too soon, and her heart ached.
Pasha didn’t want to talk to her again.
Marianna knew he was angry and didn’t understand why his mama wasn’t at home.
She came off the phone dejected and barely holding her emotions on the inside.
Sneaking out of Tag’s office undetected, a frown marred her face when she saw a familiar white paper sack sitting on top of her purse.
She knew before opening it he’d brought her lunch again.
Marianna forgot her sandwich one time. Only one time. Tag thought she might starve to death and brought her food like some Knight in leather armor. She couldn’t refuse, largely because it came from her favorite food truck parked down the street.
The guy didn’t do anything in moderation, that much she knew.
Was he a modern-day Robin Hood, taking food to all the pathetic females of Colorado?
There were so few men who displayed his kind of confidence. A successful man, one who was respected in the community.
But his sheer force of nature intimidated her.
As much as she avoided him, she was drawn to him too.
Such a good man, possibly the only one left in this world.
And she was stealing from him.
God, she was fucking horrible.
If she didn’t already hate herself, she would for that.
When the woman stopped by to talk to her yesterday, she knew it was Tag’s doing. Determined to set her up on a playdate like a loser.
Manners dictated she thanked him for the food. He didn’t need to feed her. She’d always been skinny, even when she was pregnant, she hardly showed at all.
Intent on finding him in the basement, another male caught her attention.
The swagger was natural, and he wore the biker vest. It was Arson, she noticed. Tag’s friend.
Wow, an aroma hit her nose. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet, and he smelled drunk.
She’d known men like him.
No drunk man was ever a truthful man.
They were users, corrupters, manipulators.
As much as she refused Tag’s friendship, she didn’t like the thought of someone else misusing his kindness.
She followed the man at a slower pace, but he stopped suddenly, and her nose nearly grazed his leather jacket.
“Whoa, babe.” He caught her arms, grinning like an idiot. “I thought someone was behind me, you shoulda made a noise.”
His smell was stronger up close, and Marianna had to control the urge to gag.
Did he bathe in liquor? Looking up into bloodshot eyes, she pulled her arm free of his grasp.
“You shouldn’t have stopped so abruptly.”
“Fuck. I love that accent.” He all but purred. Marianna cringed away from the hint of desire. It made her take a step around him, where a pair of blue eyes were already watching her.
“How about we spring this place, gorgeous, and go somewhere else?”
Her mouth gaped open. He was asking her out?
It would be laughable if not so tragic.
Arson was gray smoke to her. He was a spider web, a black hole of nothing. Just someone else in a deep well of things that Marianna didn’t care about. Things like attraction and desire were no longer important to her. Dating? What was that?
Men approached her. Even a few women, but she’d respectfully turned them down.
Arson smirked like a man who was used to getting his own way with women. Even if she could feel all those female feelings again, she wouldn’t have them for a high functioning drunk.
He was bad news, wrapped up in a disaster and surrounded in a tsunami of self-destruction.
Trigger warnings flashed loudly for this one.
“No, thank you.” She responded, at the same time a deep growl almost tore open the seams to her closed heart. “Get away from her, Arson.”
They both turned to watch Tag jump down from the boxing ring and prowl over.
Several thumps jolted in her chest as she watched him. His eyes didn’t leave her face. The once summer blue was now firing thunder, and when he reached them, he pointed a finger at his friend. “What have I told you?”
What was she missing?
Arson shrugged. “Relax, Prince Charming, no one needs a rescue here. I was only asking the Russian beauty out for lunch.”
“Honest to fucking God, Jase. Learn to read the room. Does it look like she’s interested? She doesn’t want some idiot crowding her. Get the fuck back.”
Frowning, the other man finally got it and moved his bulk away from Marianna.
“You okay, Anna?”
Anna? That was new and sent warmth to her kneecaps. She nodded and set to walk away. “Of course, Sir.”
She was several feet away when she caught Arson saying. “She calls you sir? Fucking hell, you gotta give me the green light, Tag. If you don’t want her, tap a brother in.”
“Shut your mouth.”
She heard no more because her feet moved fast until she was out of sight.
Her heart pounded. Not fear. Not quite nerves. Something else unexplainable. Reaching up to her throat, Marianna regulated her breathing.
Still hearing Anna in his grumbly voice.
She couldn’t think of him as Luke. She’d never used it, though he’d introduced himself as Luke Drake the first day they spoke.
It felt too intimate somehow when no one else used his given name.
Luke.
Prince Charming.
Tag.
Whatever guise he wore, the guy was unraveling Marianna against her will.
Maybe she should just give in and let him befriend her brains out.
What could it hurt?
SIX
“She moves in her own way.” – Tag
It was the sound of soft classical music that brought Tag out of his office that night.
Two days since he’d warned Arson away from Marianna like an overprotective father.
Tag couldn’t say he’d ever heard prissy music in his gym before.
Usually, his manager, Joe, blasted hip-hop.
Yeah, his eyesight might be shit these days, but his hearing worked just fine.
The gym closed hours ago.
Only the wall spotlights casting shadows on the boxing ring and equipment.
He loved this place, this big room especially, with the bags hanging from the ceiling.
It was unpretentious, unlike most gyms nowadays.
When he’d bought the building to open a boxing gym, he knew he wanted to keep it basic for people like him.
All the upmarket stuff was in the next room for the fancy fuckers who came to run twenty minutes on a treadmill before posting a green juice selfie on their social media. Back there was a juice bar, vending machine that spat out protein bars and hot coffee. He hired fitness instructors to deal with the clientele while cashing in on the get fit fads during the year.
Tag’s domain was this large brick space with the smell of sweat and blood in the air.
Two reconstructive surgeries on his cheekbone and he almost resembled his old self.
Miracle. The doctors said. Lucky, another told him.
Even now, he knew he should be at home before the burgeoning headache erupted into a full-grown migraine. A bonus gift from the accident.
Against the doctor’s advice, he was itching to get back inside the cage.
Walking a little further, the ebb and flow of music continued.
What he saw froze him in the doorway.
He’d assumed Marianna had gone home for the night.
She was an enigma who avoided him as much as possible.
And he was the guy who couldn’t leave well enough alone, even when her signs showed she wasn’t interested in his friendship.
They’d met in the weirdest, most cruel of circumstances when the Souls finally got the drop on the Bratva underboss, a year ago. Disbanding his filthy porn warehouse. Marianna had been among their female captives.
And now here they were all these months later in this weird limbo.
He remembered how forthcoming she’d been w
hen he’d offered her the job and apartment above the florist shop owned by the Souls. He’d laughed when she’d told him in a cold Russian accent, “I have no desire for a relationship if that is what you are here for.”
Tag wasn’t about that.
Feeling a peculiar sense of responsibility for the quiet woman. They’d never talked about what happened. He still didn’t know how she ended up in the States, trapped in a porn ring.
Tag wouldn’t call Marianna panicky, but she wore the potent aura of a woman who didn’t trust a fucking soul.
What he knew about her, he could write on his thumbnail.
Seeing her dancing in the shadows, with the skill of someone who knew what they were doing, fucking floored him.
She was a ballerina?
Each twirl and lift of her leg was too precise for it to be a random dance.
On and on, her spins continued.
She didn’t stumble.
Transfixed in the water-like moves, his stomach muscles clenched like a greedy fucker tasting hot sauce for the first time.
He didn’t know much about proper dancing, other than grinding on a woman in a nightclub. Christ, she was good.
He felt a tug in his lower gut as he watched.
Tag knew he shouldn’t. He was spying on something private she obviously only did when she thought no one else was around.
He could no longer deny what he’d been trying hard to.
Not when his dick reared its ugly fucking head and took an interest in the sight before him.
It thickened in his jeans, swelling to full hardness.
When did this attraction start? A few days? Weeks?
Or right now as he watched her elongating body in motion to music.
Standing on the very tips of her toes in those weird block ballet shoes, she did moves he didn’t know were humanly possible.
Cycle shorts and tank top sculpted to a pair of small breasts and an ass that made water pool his mouth. Her waist tucked in the middle, tight enough he knew he’d be able to span it with his two hands.
Jesus Christ. He felt sick with dizziness. And it had nothing to do with the threatening headache yanking on the back of his eyeballs.
She was seriously beautiful.