Consumed: A MMA Sports Romance

by Claire Adams

  I threw myself against his chest, smiled brightly, and ran a hand around the back of his collar. "There you are. I've been waiting for you."

  The pockmarks deepened as the man laughed. "Sure, honey, whatever you say. She's with us. Stratosphere."

  The bouncers shrugged, accepted the password, and let us all inside. The harem of women quickly spun me to the side and the ugly man continued without me. The basement room was cleared out except for a raised boxing ring, a long metallic bar, and a few rows of folding chairs. Most people were standing, hands up in fists, as they watched the fight.

  I was glad I did not see the two men who had threatened him. I moved around the room, but did not see Fenton. Had he come down here to meet someone?

  "Get him, knock another tooth out!" a fan yelled.

  I pushed my way into the crowd to get a better view of the boxing ring. Fenton was inside, barefoot and bare-knuckled, with a smear of red down the side of his naked chest where he had wiped off the other man's blood. His opponent stood at Fenton's eye level, bald as a cue ball, but wider and barrel-chested. He was slow, but his punches had a heavy sound that made my heart clutch.

  In order to get near him, Fenton had to take a few hits. The two lunged together and dull thuds buffeted my shocked senses. They broke away bloody, sweat standing out on their skin. Fenton smiled as they circled. He taunted the man, opening his fists to beckon the bald man closer. He laughed when his opponent charged like a bull and they stumbled back, locked in another brutal exchange of punches.

  Where Fenton normally would have raised a knee to the man's side, he stopped himself. This was a boxing match and though it looked like a free-for-all, there were rules. I could hardly watch as they slumped against the ropes, the larger man pummeling Fenton a few inches from the screaming crowd.

  The basement room was foggy with sweat and cigar smoke. The crowd churned and exchanged money. In the center, Fenton grimaced then smiled. He finished the bald man with a quick one-two to the head. Another tooth slipped out as the man fell to the mat. The crowd erupted.

  "Fight again! Fight again! Fight again!" the crowd chanted.

  A large man with his blue shirtsleeves rolled up jumped into the ring to talk with Fenton. He pointed to another challenger, already stripping to just his shorts. Fenton raised both hands and strutted around the ring, a busted lip swelling underneath his still cocky smile. I felt sick, but stepped forward with the crowd, hoping he would see me.

  Fenton turned the corner of the ring, coming towards me. Underneath his raised arms I saw a man with pure white hair. Darius Johnson was hard to miss, even in the wild crowd. The fight promoter was almost as notorious as Fenton, except he kept a strict handle on the fights he set up. If he recognized Fenton, the next fight and his next step towards the title would be canceled.

  I shoved my way around the ring and looked up as I passed Fenton. His laser blue eyes widened as he saw me, and he stopped his victory lap. I blew him a kiss, but inclined my head in the direction of Darius Johnson. Fenton glanced over and turned away. I kept going until I bounced in front of the white haired man.

  "You are just the man I need," I told him.

  Darius Johnson gave me a slow smile and twisted one of his oversized rings around his pinky finger. "And, I could always use a pretty thing like you around."

  "I work for James Cort. I think you know him. He sent me out here to sign some young boxer, but how about I sign you, instead?"

  "Cort? You work for Cort? That can't be right. You look too fine to be working with that swine," Darius said.

  I slipped my arm through the older man's and led him towards the bar. Behind us, I saw Fenton hesitate, his eyes on me. The crowd was still chanting for him to fight the next challenger. He was tucking a large stack of money into the waistband of his shorts and sizing up the next guy.

  "Boxing is not really my sport," I told Darius, "but maybe you could teach me to like it."

  "Sounds like a date. Here's my card. You call me. Now, excuse me, I need to see what kind of raw talent is cracking heads around here." The fight promoter handed me his card and turned back to the ring.

  I held my breath, but Fenton was gone. He was no longer in the ring, I could not see him in the corner where the fighters got ready, and his black hair was nowhere in the crowd. I moved through the people as they placed bets on the next fight and slammed strong drinks from the bar. It was a rough room, and I was starting to think my cab driver was right – I needed to get out.

  A hard hand grabbed my elbow and I could not wrench myself free. I was trapped at an underground, bare-knuckled fight, and absolutely no one would know where to look for me. This was exactly how people disappeared.

  "Kya, calm down. It's just me," the man in black hat said. Fenton's blue eyes blazed from under the rim. "You shouldn't be here. Are you crazy?"

  "Am I crazy? I'm not the one that almost compromised his whole career to make a few bucks. You could have broken your hand! If Darius Johnson had seen you the fight would have been off. You know the rules," I said.

  "Rules? Give me a break. No one else plays by the rules, so I'm not going to waste my time."

  "Is this about those men? The ones that are trying to fix your next fight?" I asked. We were deep in the shadows in the back of the basement. I should have been scared at the angry flash in Fenton's eyes, but I was not. My bright sparks of worry only igniting the fire between us. I lifted one hand to his bruised jaw. "It's not business, it's you. I want you to know you're not alone."

  Fenton leaned his forehead against mine. "Stay away from my problems, Kya. I can't let you get hurt."

  "I won't," I said. "In fact, I just met the man that will put an end to the fight-fixing. If you'll stop trying to kill yourself for a little cash, we might just make it."

  "We?" he asked. He stumbled forward into my arms.

  His head lolled. Fenton was hurt and I had to get him out of the Ling Pho Lounge before anyone else noticed.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Kya

  I got up the stairs and onto the sidewalk before Fenton passed out. I held on as he slumped onto his knees on the sidewalk. There was no way I could hold him up.

  "Bet the pit bosses are clocking you because you are one lucky gal," the cab driver said. He rushed over and helped me haul Fenton into the backseat. "I almost left, but decided to give you just a few minutes more."

  "You've been waiting here this whole time?" I asked.

  "Like I said, with your luck, you're going to win big one of these days and then you'll remember ol' Mike," he said.

  "Thank you, Mike, I will. But I don't know why you think I'm lucky. Everything I get near is turning into a mess." I climbed into the seat next to Fenton and cradled his head in my lap.

  "Honey, you climbed out of the basement of Ling Pho Lounge without a scratch on you. That's lucky." Mike jumped into the driver's seat. "I've heard they take women from the crowd and toss them into cat fights. You don't even have a hair out of place."

  "I wish I could say the same for him," I said.

  "Just banged up," the cab driver eyed Fenton through the rearview mirror. "Probably drank a lot, fought like an animal, and then crashed when the adrenaline ebbed."

  Despite his optimistic prognosis, the cab driver flew through the Vegas traffic until he reached the driveway of the Tropicana. There, he slowed and pulled over on the street. "Looks like he's got other problems," the driver said.

  Fenton Morris fans had converged at the entrance to the hotel. Women in tight, white t-shirts imprinted with his name bounced by. Large cardboard cutouts of his face covered in lipstick kisses bobbed above the crowd. Flashes went off like fireworks and multiple entertainment crews stood around with cameras and microphones ready. Word had spread that Fenton Morris was partying at the Tropicana and everyone wanted in on his no-holds barred fun.

  "I'll never get him through that unnoticed," I said. "Is there a back way?"

  "Stevie? This is Mike, yeah, I know it’s late, bu
t I'm calling in a favor," the cab driver clutched his phone. "I got a high profile drop off and I need the loading dock at the Tropicana."

  He pulled back out into traffic one-handed and kept talking as he steered around the giant casino and pulled up to a blocked entrance. Within minutes, he was thanking his friend and a uniformed guard unlocked the gate.

  "I can let you in the back, no problem," the guard said.

  "Thanks, man. I gotta leave the cab and help her up. Okay?"

  The guard looked at me and nodded. "Service elevator goes all the way from the dock to the top floor. Opposite end, it's a long walk, but you'll miss the crowds."

  We slung Fenton between us and he came to enough to shuffle along to the service elevator. When the doors closed, I asked, "How did he know I needed to get to the top floor on the other end?"

  "You're staying in one of the big time suites. The entire hotel has seen your picture so they can cater to you. A little invasive if you ask me, but definitely a perk," Mike said.

  We made it to my suite, and I unlocked the door. Fenton came to as Mike lowered him to the couch. "No hospital, I'm fine," he said.

  "That's what I told her. Though if you don't start treating her right, I can assure you there'll be a tire iron in your future. Then, you'll need the hospital."

  "Nice guy," Fenton commented as Mike left.

  "Yeah, I'm lucky I got into his cab." I took off Fenton's hat and pushed him back down on the couch. "We're lucky. Now just relax for a while, recover."

  I went to get ice and a wet washcloth and when I came back, Fenton scowled up at me. "How do you know those men from the bar are trying to fix my next fight?"

  I sat down next to him and started swabbing away the dried blood. "I, um, may have followed them and watched them do it to another fighter. Some poor featherweight boxer over at the MGM Grand. They must have some pull because it was all out in the open and no one seemed to notice."

  "Except you. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?" Fenton asked.

  "More dangerous than letting one of them buy me a drink?" My joking tone was lost on him.

  Fenton snatched the washcloth from me and sat up. "You have no idea, do you? You're just running around doing whatever you want, whatever you think will land you this deal, and you don't even care what danger you're stepping in."

  I slammed the ice into a small towel and folded it up. "I don't care? What about you? You just up and decide to join an underground fight for a little cash? What about your career? Like it or not, you have people that care about you and what you do. Why would you do something like that?"

  "For this," Fenton said. He pulled out the stack of cash and handed it to me.

  I dropped the ice to the floor. "That is an insane amount. For one fight?"

  "For one fight, just me. I needed it to pay for the private gym. You think I'd make Kev or my coach pay my way? I only switched gyms because the owner is in on the fix."

  "I know you think you didn't have a choice, but you did. I could have helped you. I would have." I scooped up the ice and handed it to him. "I will, if you'll let me."

  "And, I'm telling you I'm fine." Fenton took the ice, but stood up. "All your help comes with strings attached. You just want me to sign your endorsement deal, so you can go trotting back to Chicago, buy your little house, and live your comfortable life in your new office. I learned a long time ago not to lean on someone who has one foot out the door."

  I picked up the washcloth and twisted it in my hands. "I'm not going anywhere."

  "Yeah? Well I am," he said. He unzipped his sweatshirt to reveal his hard and bare chest. Then, he yanked a t-shirt out of his back pocket and pulled it over his head. He could not hide the grimace of pain as he raised his arms. There was a wicked bruise forming over his ribs.

  "You're hurt; you need to rest. I'll leave. I'll get out of your way. Just stay here and give yourself a break," I told him. "You can't go out there. A sea of paparazzi is waiting for you."

  Fenton tugged the black hat back on his head. "I'll be fine. And, I'm not about to let you leave. You'd probably end up in some back room betting on a cockfight."

  "Only if that's where you're going," I stood up and marched in front of him.

  He shook his head and the ghost of smile brushed past his mouth. "I'm just going to that expensive private gym of mine. I left all my stuff there." He pulled a card out of his pocket and checked the address.

  "You don't need any of it tonight." I moved to block his way.

  "I need my phone. I'm expecting a call," Fenton said.

  I dodged in front of him again. He put his wide hands on my waist and went to lift me out of the way. As soon as he flexed, he grimaced again. Fenton's hands dropped from my waist and one pressed over his ribs.

  "You're not going anywhere," I cried.

  "It's just a bruise." He swayed on his feet. "But maybe I should lie down for a few more minutes."

  He made it back to the couch and smiled when I came back with another cool washcloth, a blanket, and pitcher of juice. "Please tell me you’re going to mix some tequila in that for me. You know, for the pain," he said.

  "Oh, so now you'll admit you're in pain?" I asked. I slipped onto the couch next to him and laid the cool washcloth on his forehead. I retrieved the ice and placed it under his sweatshirt where his ribs hurt. Then, I poured him a glass of juice, tequila, and pulled a few aspirin from my pocket. "What was the last thing you ate?"

  "Please, no, I can't stand the angry chef slamming his pots around all jealous over you," he said.

  I laughed. "Then it’s a good thing we've got leftovers. I'll make you a steak sandwich."

  Fenton reached for the remote, dimmed the lights, and turned on the fireplace. "To help me recover," he said with a devilish glint in his eyes.

  I came back with the sandwich and sat down next to him again. "That's all I want, you know. I don't really care about the endorsement deal or whether or not you sign. I just want you to be okay."

  "Is that all?" He propped himself up on one arm and ran his other hand over my hair. "I'm not interested in doing business with you. I want more."

  His hand guided me closer and I met his lips willingly. The kiss was light and gentle. I did not want to hurt him, and he seemed to be testing something. Our lips brushed gently, and I felt a warm glow of tenderness wrap around me. This was more – not just attraction or passion, but something more precious. The kiss was fierce and delicate. I felt his pulse pounding in his neck, but it was nothing compared to the wash of longing that flowed between us.

  "I was jealous," I said. "I couldn't stand to see you with those other women, rival agents or not. I wanted to make you jealous, too."

  "I wanted to protect you, keep you safe. I need you safe. I need to know nothing bad will happen to you," he said. His soft kisses seared me more than our other passionate entanglements.

  "I am safe. We're both safe. Just stay here tonight, please," I said.

  Fenton leaned back onto the couch cushions again and pulled me alongside him. I happily tucked myself against his body, careful not to lay my arm over his sore ribs. I nestled my face into the crook of his neck and felt his body relax. We dozed in the flickering firelight, wrapped up together.

  I woke up a half an hour later to Fenton muttering in his sleep. I sat up, worried that I was hurting him, but his dream continued.

  "It's not like that, sis. I can do it. I can take care of us this time. Don't hang up, please don't hang up," he mumbled.

  "Fenton?" I laid a hand on his shoulder, but he did not wake up.

  "Don't hang up, sis," his hands fluttered in his sleep.

  I slipped off the couch and found the card he had looked at earlier. The address of the private gym was printed on the plain white card stock. No wonder he wanted to get his things; he was expecting a phone call from his sister. I remembered that was what I had overheard him discussing with the private investigator. He had tried to make contact with his sister.

  The addr
ess was not far away from the Tropicana. I could get there and back before he woke up. I looked at Fenton. He was more actions than words, and I had to find some way to show him he meant more to me than a business deal. It would be easy to bring him his phone and clean change of clothes.

  I sneaked out the suite door and headed out into the Vegas night with a smile on my face.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Kya

  I got to the cabstand, still feeling confident. Fenton was upstairs asleep, and I could get back before he woke up. I would not even have to tell him I was the one that left to get his things. I stopped for a moment and considered asking Kev Casey to do it for me, but the last thing I wanted was to owe that man a favor.

  "Is Mike here?" I asked.

  The uniformed man at the cabstand shook his head. "No, he's off-duty. But I suppose you could call him. He's a sucker for requests."

  "No, he deserves a little time off," I said. I got into the first cab in line and handed the driver the white card. "Can you take me to this address?"

  The driver nodded without a word and slipped into traffic. He drove fast, with no music on and none of the chatter I had come to expect from cab drivers. He only gave me one sullen glance in the rear view mirror and then concentrated on the road.

  In the silence, I had plenty of time to second-guess what I was doing. If Fenton woke up and found me gone, he would be angry. Not only was I off and, according to him, more likely to get myself in trouble, but I was still trying to impress him. I had to make sure he knew it was for him, not the business deal.

  The cab slammed to a stop before I could figure out how to convince Fenton I was not just another sneaky agent. The driver handed me back the little white card and tapped the digital meter.

  "How much if you wait for me?" I asked.

  The driver handed me a smudged business card with his cab company's number on it.

  "You can't wait a few minutes? Leave the meter running," I said. "Seriously, I'll be right back. I don't want to call another cab and wait."

  The driver shrugged and took my cash. As soon as I got out the car, he drove off. A nervous chill slipped down my back. I missed ol' Mike and could see him shaking his head at me. I had told myself this was a simple gesture, something nice to do for Fenton, but I was getting the feeling I was only going to make more trouble. I shivered on the street, feeling exposed, and looked around for the address on the card.