On The Ropes: Tapped Out Book 3

by Quinn, Cari

  Right now, even taking a full breath was a challenge, but it would get better. It always did.

  Remembering the stuffed dog he’d left on the fire escape, I rushed back to the bedroom window. Just as I pulled up the sill, I saw the black Escalade idling at the curb on the side street below.

  Gio. Oh, God, Gio had come back.

  I slammed the window shut again and whirled to grab my purse from the doorknob. I ran through the apartment and out the front door, dancing around a yipping Vey who wanted to play. I was in such a hurry I barely remembered to lock up. Jeez, I was like a silly schoolgirl. But knowing that didn’t keep the smile from my face as I jogged down the flights of stairs to the lobby and out to the street.

  And breathed a sigh of relief that the truck was still there, waiting. He’d waited for me.

  I rushed over to the SUV, wondering if he’d shown up to drive me to class. That was sweet. I frowned. But how had he known I’d be late?

  As the hairs on the back of my neck rose, I stopped and squinted at the driver. I couldn’t make out anything but a dark hoodie. Gio rarely wore his hood up.

  Why wasn’t he looking at me? What the hell?

  The back door slid open soundlessly and a pair of men all in black jumped out. They surrounded me before I could draw breath to scream. One grabbed each elbow and they tossed me inside the back like a sack of potatoes, knocking the wind out of me.

  My mind whirled, my jumbled thoughts crashing together. Not Gio. They’d tricked me.

  Facedown, I felt a streak of pain shoot down my arm as my purse was ripped away. When I would’ve screamed, my head was smashed against the cushioned seat. Darkness swam in my vision an instant before the door shut behind me.

  Both men hurtled into the front of the oversized SUV, and I fought to sit up as the truck raced away from the curb.

  I’d made it to my knees when one of the men reached back and fisted his hand in my hair, slamming me into the back of the front seat. “Say goodnight, Carly.”

  Twenty-Four

  I paced the length of the makeshift locker room and pressed a finger in my opposite ear to block out the dull roar of the crowd. They were already pumped, and the undercard hadn’t even started yet. “Are you sure you’re all set?” I asked again.

  Dante heaved out a breath. “Vaffanculo. Okay? Seriously.”

  My brother telling me to fuck off shouldn’t have made me smile. Nothing should have right now. I was on the verge of fighting a man I considered a friend, just for the privilege of maybe laying eyes on Roberto Andretti before the night was through.

  In the meantime, I had to put on a good enough show to ensure my worth in the Andrettis’ eyes until I got close enough to take out their leader.

  That wasn’t even mentioning the hit I was supposed to pull off once the fight had been called, assuming I was still in the position to be taking out anyone. Fox might like to play the laidback card, but he was one hell of a competitor, and that wasn’t taking into account the payback he’d want for our fight last January. He wouldn’t make it easy for me tonight.

  I didn’t want easy. I just wanted this goddamn fight in the books, and me on the other side of it—preferably without having to hold a gun to someone’s temple, unless it was Roberto Andretti’s.

  And without one getting held to mine.

  “It’s going to be a simple nab and grab.” Dante sounded bored. “You told me she danced in a cage, and Luke and I will take care of it.”

  “Don’t scare her.” I was already doubting the wisdom of this plan, but I didn’t have a lot of options. I couldn’t be watching her at the club while I was fighting Fox—and then there was everything that was supposed to come after. “She’s been through a difficult experience recently, and she’ll spook easy. Be gentle. Explain you’re with me.”

  “Let me handle it, little brother. You’d be surprised, I have some skill with women.”

  Yeah, I didn’t really need to be thinking about his supposed skill when it came to Carly. I’d lost more than a couple girls to my dangerous older brother as a teen, and it wasn’t entirely because he knew all the important people in the old neighborhood back home in Vegas.

  Women liked him. Too much.

  “She’s not on the market,” I said through gritted teeth, though that really wasn’t true. Carly was available. Just not for me.

  “Noted. So don’t you have a fight to get ready for?”

  “Yeah. Dante—”

  “Skip the soliloquies. I owed you.” He paused. “Kick ass, little brother.” He clicked off.

  I prepared for the fight the same way I prepared for each of them. I said a quick prayer on my mother’s rosary. It was only when I reached for it out of habit that I realized it wasn’t mine anymore. The other half of my heart had it.

  So I prayed for her and for tonight’s results. Not that I asked to win. That would happen as it was meant to. I asked for guidance and for help to complete what I was supposed to do.

  How that would play out remained to be seen.

  Once the undercard battle had been fought and a winner declared, I strolled out like it was any other night. My music was playing, an old Jay-Z song, and my corner mates were waiting. I had a couple of trainers I worked with, Timmins and Bufort, but Timmins was back in Fox’s corner like the good ol’ days. Bufort was in mine, along with a couple guys I sparred with now and then.

  I didn’t need anyone behind me. I’d gotten too used to operating on my own.

  I liked it. Or I had, before. Before seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “You ready?” Bufort waited for my nod before shoving a mouthguard in my mouth. “Timmins has been working him hard. He’s been in the gym mornings, afternoons, nights.” He nodded at Fox across the ring.

  Unlike me, Fox had a goddamn crowd in his corner, and I knew some of his vital pieces were missing. Like Slater. That rift evidently hadn’t healed.

  He had plenty of people surrounding him to make up for it. Timmins, Emerson, Mia. Even that wild-haired chick, Kizzy, who was friends with Mia and Carly and apparently was a trainer at Mark’s Gym. She poked Fox’s chest every few minutes, instructing him in a commanding way that made him roll his eyes and finally give her the finger.

  It made me grin.

  “What’re you grinning at? Were you listening to me at all?” Bufort demanded. “Fox is probably in the best shape of his life right now.”

  I shrugged. I wasn’t that worried about it. I trusted my own skills, and I’d use them to the best of my ability.

  Crushing him was my intention. But intentions often didn’t mean shit.

  “We’ll see,” I mumbled around the mouthguard, holding out my hands so one of my other corner guys could wrap them.

  Five minutes later, Kim, tonight’s ring card girl, sashayed into the octagon with her sign.

  Fight’s about to begin. Place your final bets now.

  The crowd’s roar reached a fever pitch, with boots stomping and posters being waved. I judged the crowd as roughly fifty-fifty, maybe sixty-forty due to the sentiment going on regarding Fox’s return.

  Kim flashed me a smile and a wink, then shook her long dark hair back and climbed out of the ring. We’d hooked up a couple of times shortly after I started fighting.

  That seemed like a lifetime ago.

  The ref told us to tap gloves, and I met Fox in the center of the octagon. He waggled his eyebrows at me, and it made me fucking laugh.

  Before a fight, for fuck’s sake. What the hell was happening to me?

  That I could find even a moment’s humor in any of this disturbed me. Carly thought the company I kept was dangerous? Falling in love was almost as much.

  The bell went off and I went into my stance, intending to let him come to me. I did my best work on the mat, and all it would take to get him off-balance was one punch that didn’t connect.

  And oh, fuck, did he come to me. He didn’t try the usual jab-jab-jab to get past my guard as he had in our first fight. He swung hard an
d up, smashing my head backward. The crowd gasped and blood exploded in my mouth. The tang of it choked me momentarily, but I ducked low and broke through his guard, driving him back. Fuck a few testing punches.

  Friend or not, this shit was on.

  But he swept my leg out, bringing me down and slamming me in the jaw again. Pain exploded through my skull. It felt like he’d taken a torch to my goddamn bone. Christ.

  I rolled over and spat out a mouthful of blood, then timed it so when he went to grab me by the hair, I scissored my legs and got him down on the mat. Just where I wanted. We rolled and grappled, straight old school wrestling style, until I got his legs tied up beneath me and I straddled him. I looked down in his already bloody face—whether it was his or mine, it was hard to tell—saw that cocky ass grin, and pulled my punch.

  My mouth was bleeding like a bitch, and I pulled my motherfucking punch.

  He bucked me off him and bounced to his feet, so fast that I had no chance of guarding my face before he aimed a short-armed punch at my temple. The stars that sparked in my head this time were red and pulsing. Then he followed it up with the low blow of a kick right to the nuts, and I was done.

  Round one in the can, and he’d owned me like a damn chump.

  I hauled myself back to my corner and held up a hand to Bufort as I yanked out my mouth guard. “Don’t say it.”

  “I told you he was going to bring it,” he said almost smugly.

  “Vaffanculo,” I muttered, knowing he had no idea what it meant.

  Round two started much different than round one. He’d gotten me out of my rhythm. I didn’t like being in attack mode, because I preferred to see what my opponent would bring to the table. But I already knew. He’d bitched and whined how dirty I’d fought in our first match, so he was determined to out-dirty me.

  Yeah, well, we’d see about that.

  My first blow was aimed right for Fox’s eyesocket, also known as the one I’d blown out in January. Or it would have been, if the jackoff hadn’t anticipated me and bum-rushed me right across the octagon, driving me into the ropes, then tangling me up while he rained punches over my face.

  Jesus, at this rate he was going to blow out my eye socket from the amount of hits he was landing.

  I kicked out and twisted him around, bending him forward and repeatedly plowing my knee into his ribs. Then when he was in a weakened position, trying to guard his unprotected core, I snatched a handful of his hair and sent him flying across the ring.

  He didn’t get up right away, so that round was mine.

  “Fucker,” I said the minute I pulled out the mouthguard.

  He sat up and pulled out his own mouthguard, flashing me a grin with red-stained teeth.

  We were a pair of insane bastards.

  The bell rang again, and he resorted to his prior tactic of drawing first blood. He hammered an elbow into my throbbing jaw, following it up with a kick and punch combo to my stomach that knocked the breath right out of me. I maintained my feet, but I was winded and he knew it. Madness gleamed in his eyes, the kind that any opponent knew to fear. He sensed he could win.

  Like hell.

  I drove him back into the ropes, grabbing his hair again to slam his head into the post. It was as dirty of a move as they came, but he made me pay for it by kicking back and dropping me backward to the mat. I wasn’t even fully sure how he did it. One minute, I was on top of him, crushing his head into the post, the next he was on top of me, swinging so hard and fast that I couldn’t protect my face. Then he grabbed my leg, twisting it away from my body, and used it for leverage to plow his elbow straight into my solar plexus.

  The howl I heard was mine.

  I didn’t even realize I’d tapped out until the ref was calling the match.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  The crowd was stomping and screaming. Everyone was going nuts. And I was too stunned and sore to move.

  Fox hauled me to my feet. “Great fight, man.” He tapped my glove and grinned. Just grinned.

  I shoved him away. He threw back his head and laughed.

  Vindication tasted sweet, I knew. I was hoping I’d get some of my own soon, and not inside the ring.

  I spit out my mouthguard and glared at him through squinty eyes. “You know this means best two out of three, right?”

  He kept walking to his corner. “I’m retired,” he said over his shoulder as he walked into Mia’s arms.

  Some stupid yearning inside me made me do a quick scan of the crowd. She wouldn’t be here. She was dancing. Then she would be with Dante, far away from here. Safe.

  But for this moment, when my entire body ached like a rotten tooth, I really wanted to walk into her arms and have her kiss me, bloody lips and all.

  Not in this lifetime, pal.

  I looked up and saw Marco and Lorenzo near the edges of the crowd. There was always space around them, as if they generated an invisible forcefield that others responded to. Unshockingly, they didn’t looked pleased I’d lost.

  Yeah, well, join the club.

  They weren’t only hanging around to show me their displeasure. They were watching to see how I’d take care of the Z situation. I was to call Marco once he’d been “handled”—their word, not mine—and then we could talk about my insistence on getting a meeting with the man in charge.

  Z and some of the other associates were milling around, slapping hands, talking about the bets they’d placed. From Z’s rowdy laughter, I was pretty sure he’d bet against me.

  Maybe I should rethink not killing the bastard.

  I made my way back to the locker room and cleaned my ass up. I dressed in record time, deciding I’d worry about a shower later. Depending how the night went, it might not be an issue.

  I half expected Fox and his crew to parade through the locker room, but they didn’t show. It was just as well. I didn’t want to look him in the eye before I slipped my .45 into the back of my waistband and pulled down my shirt.

  My jaw throbbed and I flexed it, figuring I was in just about the worst shape possible if I needed to defend myself. As far as planning death plots went, I sucked.

  But I couldn’t wait any longer. Two years of planning, of waiting, of strategizing and I was sick of it. Though I might not get my shot tonight, I was damn well going to try.

  Come what may.

  I headed outside and circled around the back of the warehouse, intending to scope out where Z was parked. He drove a cherry red convertible Mustang, not exactly the most unobtrusive of vehicles. I figured he’d come out with his crew, I’d ask to speak to him, then take him out in my vehicle. We’d get out somewhere, away from any possible wire taps on my car or his, and if he didn’t act like a posturing dick, I might explain to him that getting gone would be to his advantage.

  If he did act like a dick, my finger might slip on the trigger. Because I’d never forget how he’d smiled and laughed when he knew they’d already stashed Carly in the back of that VIP room and what lay ahead for her. For us.

  I crouched between a Ford Explorer and a Jeep, hoping like hell I wouldn’t be stuck out here forever. I was so sore I wasn’t entirely sure I’d be able to make it back up to a standing position, so Z better not give me any fucking trouble. I’d drop him just because I was in a pissy mood.

  The only consolation I had in any of this was that Carly was safe. Or she would be soon. Trusting Dante was a big leap of faith, but I had to believe in someone. Carly had nothing to do with the war between the organizations, so he had no reason to harm her.

  I hoped.

  Z and his associates came outside not twenty minutes later. I almost missed them in the steady flow of people out of the building, scattering like mice out of their holes. They were slower to disperse than they usually were at a lot of the fights, but that was probably because this one had generated a lot of press and a lot of money had changed hands tonight.

  A lot of money had been lost, because I had.

  And the fucker didn’t even want to go for two o
ut of three. Hell, why should he? Everyone would remember he’d won our last fight. That I’d put him in the hospital the first time would be a distant memory.

  As Z approached, I crabwalked backward and emerged from behind the Jeep as if I was just heading past the vehicle.

  “Gentlemen,” I said, all smiles. “Enjoy the fight?”

  “I did.” Z returned my toothy smile, then gestured at his friends. “These two not so much, since they put money on you.”

  My smile didn’t falter, but my right hand crept toward the small of my back. “That hurts me, Z. Here I thought we were friends.”

  “Right.” He inclined his chin toward his car. “We’re heading out. Want to catch a ride, or would you rather be alone to lick your wounds?”

  “Actually, I was hoping to talk to you in private.”

  He exchanged a glance with the two men with him. “I just bet you were.” Before I could analyze that statement, he gestured for his friends to take off. Once they’d jumped into a vehicle and peeled out of the lot, he flashed another smile at me. “Here, why don’t you drive my car? It’s a nice night, and you look like you could use a boost.”

  Did he think I was a moron? If he’d figured out something was up and I got behind the wheel, he’d put a bullet behind my ear before I pulled out of the parking lot. Theoretically, he had no reason to suspect I’d been commissioned to take him out, other than the fact he was a dirty motherfucker and eventually, dirty motherfuckers got flushed.

  Applies to you too, doesn’t it?

  That didn’t mean I couldn’t let him think I was obliging him. He’d momentarily let down his guard, and I’d pin him against the car and use my gun to influence him to go for a ride with me.

  It would be his choice whether that ride ended in bullets or a bus ticket out of town.

  “That’s awful nice of you, Z.” I moved toward the Mustang. “I sure do appreciate the offer—”

  Two gunshots, muffled by a silencer, split the air and I dropped to the ground out of reflex. Z fell to the concrete in front of me. His body jerked like he’d been zapped with electricity and fell still.