Tapout

by J.C. Valentine

  Olivia thought it over and nodded. “You’re right. Spencer needs help.” Alyson heard the hopeful words she left unsaid—With any luck, he’ll need me.

  She prayed that things worked out, because there was nothing sadder than having to watch her friend nurse a broken heart and not being able to do anything about it.

  With the flip of a switch, Olivia shook off her melancholy. “So, I noticed you didn’t hesitate to abandon your bestest friend in the whole wide world to hop into bed with your lover boy the second you heard his plane had touched down.” She winked playfully as she dug into her soup. “How’re things going in Jami and Ally Land?”

  Alyson shook her head as she resumed playing with her salad. “I’m sorry, I know I should have told you I was leaving, but it was a spontaneous decision,” she said—for the hundredth time!

  “You’re forgiven. Besides, you did an amazing job on my apartment, which is a kind of apology in itself. For a second, I thought I’d walked into the wrong condo,” Liv said cheerfully. Her eyes brightened. “So, has he been screwing your brains out, or what?”

  “Liv!” Alyson scanned the dining room. Thankfully, no one seemed to be listening, and if they were, at least they weren’t staring.

  “What?” Olivia’s sculpted blonde eyebrows reached her hairline. “I’m just asking. You guys were apart for days. Does that not require hot makeup sex?”

  It did. Alyson felt the blush touch her cheeks as she thought about all the ways Jami had taken her. The shower was still her favorite. Jami could do some interesting things with water.

  “I’m right,” Liv said proudly. “Judging by that dopey smile, he’s definitely been screwing your brains out.”

  Alyson gave her an unamused look. Touching her temple she said, “Last I checked, my brains were fully intact, thank you very much.”

  “Then Mr. Hottie Pants isn’t doing his job properly.” Liv shrugged.

  Alyson huffed. “Could you stop calling him that?”

  “What?” Olivia’s expression was all innocence.

  “Hot. Stop calling my boyfriend hot.”

  “Just calling ‘em as I see ‘em. Why? You don’t think he’s hot?”

  “Of course, he is!”

  Liv winked again. “Just checking.”

  Eyes narrowing, Alyson said, “You’re insufferable.”

  “And you’re a wench. But I love you anyway.” Waving her hand in the air, she called out, “Check please!”

  This time, everyone did look their way. Alyson covered her face with her hands. She’d never be able to eat at this Wendy’s again.

  FIFTEEN

  Bending with his knees, Jami hoisted the barbells. He’d been working out all afternoon and most of the evening, and his muscles were showing their wear.

  “Come on, don’t quit on me now!” Don stood directly in front of him, his aged mug far too close for Jami’s comfort and—in his current state of mind—Don’s safety.

  Jami bared his teeth—pretty much the only response he could give beyond the old evil eye, which he did with zeal.

  “That’s right, get angry,” Don taunted. “Only pussies quit. You’re not a pussy are you, boy?” Jami’s flashing eyes answered for him. “I didn’t think so. Now get those weights up!”

  Drawing in a deeper breath, Jami held it in his chest and summoned the last of his strength. His shoulders and biceps protested, but they got the job done. The moment Jami finished the last rep, he dropped the barbell on the floor with a thunderous clang. Three hundred pounds was nothing most days, but today he had worked himself into exhaustion. He might as well have been trying to lift a car.

  Losing that fight in Nevada had taken an unexpected toll on him. Jami hadn’t just been defeated, he felt defeated. He’d spent every day and night berating himself, his every move circulating in his brain as he thought of what he had done wrong, and how he could change it if he had it to do all over again—but he didn’t have the power to turn back time. He’d thrown himself into his training before, but now he was giving everything—everything—he had in an effort to ensure that it never happened again. Maybe Don was right to call him a pussy. He certainly felt like one. What kind of man allowed one pitfall to take over his mind and make him question everything?

  Outwardly, Jami blamed himself for the failure. It was, after all, his choice to enter that ring knowing that his head wasn’t in it. Instead, he had been combing over all the possible outcomes, designing probable solutions, to fix this thing with Spencer. It was consuming him. He knew it. Don knew it—Jami could see it in his cold, hard stare every time those gray eyes focused on him.

  Still, preoccupied or not, Jami should have walked out of that ring victorious. He put so much into his training, it seemed impossible to come away with anything less—but he had. He’d lost against a guy almost twice his age. It shouldn’t have happened, and if he didn’t get his shit together fast, another loss like that would put an abrupt end to his plans of winning the title and taking down Anthony Michaels once and for all.

  Jami’s grudge hadn’t been forgotten. Michaels had interfered with his life and tried to hurt the people he cared about. For that, he would pay. He just had to track the fucker down first. Michaels had dropped off the radar. All the calls, all the notes, every single threat just stopped. Jami wasn’t dumb enough to assume that he’d grown bored. No, Jami’s gut told him that Michaels was up to something, and until Jami figured out what that was, he was keeping his guard up and his eyes open.

  Just thinking about Michaels caused a spike of adrenaline to punch through his veins. Combined with this constant worry over what would happen when they met at the drop point, which was coming up in less than two days, Jami felt like every muscle in his body was swollen with tension, and every nerve electrified. With an edge to his voice, Jami barked, “I’m done.”

  Looking satisfied, Don nodded and followed Jami to the back wall where they kept his bag of supplies. Jami dropped down onto the mat, pressing his back to the cool cinder block, and draping his arms over his bent knees. Don retrieved a towel and a fresh bottle of water, and handed them over. “Are you still pissed about Saturday?” Jami glared his answer. “You should be. I am, too.” Don looked away, scanning the gym and the people in it.

  Business had increased since Jami’s fight with “The Iron Fist.” His name was becoming known. It seemed enough media attention could make a name out of anyone. Despite Jami’s dream of recognition, he wasn’t enjoying the feel of everyone watching his every move. He felt exposed, and with his emotions rubbed raw, he suddenly craved the privacy he had before all of this got started.

  “This is all Idiot Spencer’s fault,” Don was saying, calling back Jami’s attention. “He knows how important it is to stay focused. I can’t say I’m surprised he dropped this bombshell on you hours before your fight. It’s almost like he wanted to screw it up for you.”

  “Spencer wouldn’t do that.” Jami didn’t like what Don was suggesting. Spencer wasn’t perfect, but Jami knew, the last thing he would ever do is sabotage him.

  “Are you sure about that?” Don’s hard stare peered down at him.

  Jami turned a defiant glare on him. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said through clenched teeth. “You don’t know him like I do.”

  “Neither do you, it seems,” Don muttered.

  Jami stiffened, feeling his temper creeping dangerously close to the edge of snapping. He loved Don, but lately, he’d been pushing all the wrong buttons. “Excuse me?”

  Don acted as if he hadn’t heard him. Jami continued to stare up at him, silently daring him to repeat his words. Between Don’s distain for Spencer, and his outright and unfounded dislike of Ally, Jami had been finding himself entertaining visions of taking a few shots at him in the ring. Don used to be a seasoned fighter. He may be a little grayer and a little more wrinkled than he had been, but he wasn’t too old to take a hit. Hell, the exchange just might do them both some good.

  Drawing in a heavy breath, Don finally
looked down at him. “I want to talk to you about tomorrow night,” he said gravely. Hearing the seriousness in his voice, Jami discarded his previous thoughts and listened up. “I don’t think Spencer should do this alone. He’s a total fuck up, and there’s a good chance that he just might be dumb enough to pull something stupid.”

  Jami dried off and thought about it. Spencer wasn’t stupid, but he was impulsive. He had always been a little wild and daring, which was why it seemed odd that Jami was the one to end up in the ring instead of him. Just like Jami, Spencer hadn’t always stood on the right side of the law, but they’d both cleaned up their act and gotten their lives on the right path. Spencer made some bad choices as of late, but Jami had faith that he could get back on the right track again. This was just a little glitch, a hiccup. If given the chance, he knew Spencer would set things straight. He’d learned his lesson. At least, he hoped he had.

  Tilting his head back, Jami closed his eyes against the bright lights hanging overhead. “What do you suggest? That we walk in there hand-in-hand? Somehow, I don’t think Marco would take too kindly to that.” He looked at Don. “Spencer will take care of it.”

  “I know you two have history, but you’re not seeing this clearly.” Don leveled him with his intense gray eyes. “Spencer has a problem. Twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of a problem. Don’t you think handing him a wad of cash is a bad idea?”

  Jami knew what he was saying. Truth be told, he had a few of his own concerns, but Spencer wasn’t like that. He knew the severity of the problem, and he knew the consequences if it wasn’t solved. “What do you think he’s going to do, gamble it away somewhere between the car and the door?”

  They had already planned for all three of them to drive together to the prearranged meeting spot—a sports bar located on the tail end of a newly built plaza in the middle of downtown Columbus. It was nice and public, drastically reducing the possibility of death. Talk about a bonus. Don and Jami would wait in the car, acting as added muscle if anything went wrong. He didn’t anticipate anything going wrong, because they couldn’t afford for it to go bad.

  “Spence’s got this,” Jami insisted, but his lack of confidence reflected in his voice. Jami was riding on faith alone. He had to believe that everything was going to work out and that his friend was smart enough to fix it—that he wouldn’t screw them all over—again.

  “Jami—”

  Jami held up his hand. “Stop. I’m done with this conversation. Spencer is going to drop the money, while we wait outside. End of discussion.” Capping his water bottle, Jami rolled to his feet. “I’m headed home. You coming?”

  Don’s steel gaze held Jami’s, searching his eyes for something. Finally, he sighed. “Yeah, sure. Suddenly, I’m in need of a stiff drink.”

  That made two of them. “I’ll go get my stuff and meet you in the truck.”

  Don saluted him and stalked off toward his office. Jami’s gaze lingered on the empty hall long after Don disappeared through it and wondered if he shouldn’t have been so quick to brush him off. Don was a good judge of character—most of the time. His thoughts strayed to Ally and Don’s inexplicable dislike of her. One day, he planned to get to the bottom of that. In the meantime, Jami couldn’t refute some of the things he had said. Spencer was a loose cannon—unpredictable. He couldn’t be sure what he would do with that money once he was out of their sight. The bank had given him the loan for the rest of the money, but if Spencer did what Don was suggesting he might do, then it was over. He wouldn’t be able to gather this kind of cash again.

  If only they had some kind of insurance that it would all go their way tomorrow night.

  As much as Jami needed to control things, he didn’t possess the power to control this.

  On his way out, he walked past the punching bag and didn’t think twice before driving his naked fist into it. His knuckles felt the impact all the way to the bone, the shock of the blow vibrating into his wrist, but Jami didn’t care. He needed the sharp bite of pain to help clear his thoughts and refocus. In less than forty-eight hours, they would either be penniless but free of debt and rich with life, or Spencer would be dead or dying.

  SIXTEEN

  Alyson was worried about Jami. Since he returned from Nevada, he seemed depressed. Or stressed, perhaps. She couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t even directly involved, but she felt the tension radiating off him, and it set her on edge, too. It seemed like, no matter the moment they found themselves in, whether it was cuddling, making love, working out, or just eating a meal, they couldn’t escape the ever-present stress.

  Jami, Spencer, and Don were supposed to meet with Marco and his goons to pay him the money tomorrow night. To say that Ally wasn’t comfortable was a massive understatement. She was terrified. She’d watched plenty of true life crime shows dealing with similar problems, and never once had they worked out well.

  Someone always died.

  Public venue or not, what would keep men like Marco from shooting them point-blank? She wanted to plead with Jami not to go. Let Spencer deliver the money alone. But she knew he would never go for it. Noble Jamison Weston had everyone’s back—but his own.

  Fast asleep, Alyson soaked in Jami’s hardened features. Long, dark lashes rested lovingly on slightly bruised cheeks. The small cuts and bruises from Saturday’s fight had begun fading quickly, but her eyes noted each one, cataloguing them with no small amount of concern.

  If Marco hurt him, how bad would it be? Worse than what she’d already seen? Her arm stretched out, her fingers drifting lightly over the dark stubble coating Jami’s cheeks. She had been to many fights since they reunited, but the pain of seeing him get hurt never lessened. Jami was so flippant about it, accepting because it was his job, what he loved to do, but Alyson didn’t think she could ever learn to love the fights. Not when the man she loved continually got hurt.

  Maybe she wasn’t seeing it through the right lens. Jami was stronger than anyone she had ever met. He was fierce, loyal, and so smart. She knew he could hold his own no matter the challenge, against any force. It was the voice in her head that filled her with doubts. She couldn’t shake it. She just worried about him. Wasn’t that what a person was supposed to do when they loved someone?

  And love him she did.

  Jami filled her life with a radiant light she’d never experienced before. He chased away the darkness that had prevailed for twenty-three years of her life. Each day she woke up in his arms, she felt stronger, more confident, and happier than the last. He would never take credit for that, but Alyson knew it was true. Without Jami, her life would be an empty shell—hollow, weak, and vulnerable.

  Watching him sleep was cathartic. Every time she looked at him, she was filled with the warmest feeling. If she could, Alyson would wrap herself around him and never let go. She would gladly use her body to shelter him from any storm. The thought should have been a happy one, but she couldn’t help feeling that if Jami knew what she was thinking, he would freak out.

  They were official—Jami made that decision—but she knew he had his reservations. Jami had told her once that he never pictured himself being in a committed relationship. Not that he didn’t want one—someday—but that he never even considered it. Alyson was a surprise. Granted, a welcome one, but sometimes, he wondered about the future. He didn’t want to hurt her, but sometimes he had doubts. She knew those doubts stemmed from his relationship with his parents and witnessing his own father’s dysfunction. Jami operated on the notion that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, when Alyson knew, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. He was so much better than his father was.

  His words hurt her—deeply—but she never let it show. She wanted to understand, but if he knew how much his confession affected her, he would push her away. It would be the excuse he needed to verify that he wasn’t good enough for her.

  As Alyson traced her fingers over the lines of the dragon peeking over his thick shoulder, Alyson allowed herself a moment of truth that she
had been avoiding. She was lying to Jami. She still hadn’t told him about losing her job. She was going through each day as if nothing had changed—when in reality, everything had.

  At first, she told herself that it was just bad timing. Jami was leaving town, and she didn’t want to upset him before his fight. That was true, but when Jami told her about Spencer and the gambling debt, it gave her the excuse she needed to put it off a little longer. Now, she just had to admit it, if not to him, then to herself.

  She was petrified.

  Jami’s reaction couldn’t be predicted. He would be upset, yes, but how much? Their relationship was fresh, fragile. It hadn’t occurred to her before, but she was coming to realize that the pressure she felt weighing on her wasn’t from her job, her friends, or even being displaced from her apartment, but from her unstable relationship with Jami. She feared that, at any moment, the delicate balance they had struck would shatter.

  The loss of her job, combined with everything else going on, would be just what Jami needed to affirm that she would be better off without him. She didn’t know what she could say or do to prevent that from happening, so she’d chosen silence.

  “What’s wrong?” Jami’s voice was soft, ruff with sleep, and startled the hell out of her. With his eyes still closed, his hand found hers and brought her fingers to his lips.

  Alyson sighed at the contact, closing her eyes as she concentrated on slowing her rapid heartbeat. “Can’t sleep,” she whispered truthfully. The last time she had gotten a good night’s sleep was almost a month ago, when Miles and Victoria were still safely harbored in her home. But she didn’t want to think about that right now.

  His chocolate brown eyes, appearing black in the low light, found hers. Even in the dark, she could see they were brooding. “Why?”