“Dude, what the hell is going on with you?” asked Jack. “You know better than to fight in those backyard brawls. They’re nothing but bad news.”
“I need the money.” Slade was putting ingredients into a blender. “Protein shake.” He pointed at the machine. “Want some?”
Jack nodded and reached for a glass. “For what?”
“You should know exactly why I need the money. I don’t want to fight forever. I can’t fight forever. I’ve had so many concussions, the docs say that the next big blow may cause some permanent damage. I want to open a gym. With my notoriety, I can get some big clients. I can train the next generation of MMA fighters. But I need some startup capital.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before? There has to be another way of getting money. Why don’t you get a loan or something? Go legit.”
“That’ll take months. My next fight is right after your fight on Thursday night. Assuming I win, I’ll have all the money I need.”
“You mean you’re not done? There’s another fight? While you’re still out on bail?”
“I need this one, brother. It’s big. A hundred thousand dollars, dude.”
“How about your sister?”
“What about her? You better not rat me out. I don’t need her lectures. I need to train these next few days in peace. While I’m in the cage trying to concentrate, I don’t want to be worrying about her getting felt up by the jerk-offs that come to watch.”
“Why are you such a douchebag to her?”
“I’m not trying to be. I just never seem to do right by her. When Dad was alive, we were pretty close. I mean, she was always annoying, but in a kid-sister sort of way. She thinks of me as a fuckup who only calls her when I need something. Since Dad died, I’ve always felt as if she hates me, and I have no clue why. I’m going to pay her back the three thousand dollars she spent on my bail bond. I’m sure she can’t wait to get back to Miami. She hates it here. She ran away the first chance she could. By the way, you need to help me get these charges dropped. I don’t want to spend a fortune on an attorney.”
“She doesn’t hate you. She loves you. You guys need to hash this shit out. A heart-to-heart, or whatever it is that chicks call it. You’re being a real asshole by only calling her when you need something from her. You’re only thinking about yourself.”
“She tell you that? She tell you I only call her when I need something? Well, it’s bullshit. I call her to say hello too, but she’s always hard to get hold of, since she’s usually oversees. Dude, she left for Haiti for a year and called like two times! What the hell was I supposed to do? We emailed back and forth, but if we’re being real, I probably made more of an effort than she has. She barely calls me, and when I try to call her it’s almost impossible to reach her. I guess I can see where she might think I only contact her when I need something, but it just seems that way because we speak so rarely. If she’d try to stay in touch with me, she’d realize that I’ve made an effort throughout the years.”
Jack thought about what his friend was saying, and it made sense. Most of the times Slade hadn’t been able to reach Chrissy since she was in some remote jungle somewhere; therefore the few times they did speak and it just so happened that Slade needed something—well, Jack supposed it hadn’t looked great. He’d known Slade a long time, and truth be told, Slade wasn’t a heartless or selfish bastard who wouldn’t call his sister. In fact, Slade had bragged about his doctor sister and all the accolades she’d gotten, even if he didn’t know where she was.
“Well, then, more reason to hash shit out. And about the charges … dude, you beat up the mayor’s nephew! I’m going to do my best, but I can’t promise anything. This is a small town. The mayor practically owns it. You know that.”
Pouring the shake into his glass, Slade said, “Speaking of which, this is mostly your fault. You made me stay in the tank overnight. I wouldn’t have had to call her if you’d bailed me out sooner or pulled some strings.”
“You needed to sober up and calm the fuck down. I did you a favor. I never thought you’d call her.”
“Whatever, dude. What’s done is done. No hard feelings.”
“Wait, are you forgiving me? I didn’t do shit. I wasn’t even there. I wasn’t the one that made you get into a fistfight over some chick. This is all on you, buddy.”
Slade sat down with his glass full of the green liquid. He seemed completely unperturbed by what Jack was saying. His I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude was really starting to piss Jack off. “You know what, man? I’m done. I’m not bailing you out again. I suggest you don’t fight. If I catch you fighting in a nonsanctioned underground event, I’m arresting your ass and everyone else involved. I don’t want it on my conscience if you get killed. There are no rules and anything goes in those fights. Look at you. I’ve never seen you as fucked up after a real fight as you were last night.” Slade’s right eye was swollen shut. There was a big gash under his left eye, and his lip was split.
“You hate protein shakes, man,” Jack went on. “I know you’re only drinking this shit because your jaw hurts too much to chew on real food. I don’t think you’re even physically capable of fighting right now. You’re all fucked up. And you’re going to get seriously hurt next time.”
Slade didn’t seem concerned and didn’t even bother with a reply, which just angered Jack even more. Before walking out the door, Jack turned around to ask a final question. “Do you even know where Chrissy is? Do you care?”
Slade shrugged. “I suppose she’s home and getting ready to fly to the other side of the world for work.”
Jack shook his head in disbelief, slamming the door so hard on his way out that he heard something come crashing down on the other side.
He crossed the lawn and went back home, unsure whether to let Chrissy know about the upcoming fight. If he told her, surely she’d go, and Slade was right—he’d be more worried about his sister than about the guy inside the cage with him. Also, Jack didn’t want her there. One groping was enough; he didn’t want a repeat of yesterday. On the other hand, if something happened to her brother and he didn’t say anything, she’d never forgive him.
The house was silent; she must have still been sleeping. He walked upstairs to find Drogo sitting in front of her door. “What? Are you the daytime guard too?” The dog barked at him, and Jack shook his head. “You growl at her almost as much as you growl at me. I don’t understand you. Move over, buddy,” Jack said to the dog, who seemed to understand, because he moved aside so that Jack could quietly open the door. Chrissy was sprawled out on the bed diagonally. It amazed him how such a tiny woman could take up so much space. Her hair was spread over a pillow and the sheets were wrapped around her body, half covering her and half displaying her sexy, toned legs. She looked so peaceful. He almost jumped in bed with her, but managed to control the urge. Quietly he closed the door and made his way downstairs to make breakfast. Drogo didn’t follow, apparently deciding to stay on guard duty by the door.
Several minutes later, a half-asleep, half-naked Chrissy padded barefoot into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and yawning, Drogo contentedly walking next to her.
“Smells good,” she murmured sleepily.
Jack’s eyes, of their own volition, scanned her body from her pink toenails up to her very well-endowed breasts, which bounced with every damn step she took. Her long black hair was on the top of her head in a big messy bun. Her blue eyes were crystal clear as she took in his stare.
He didn’t even pretend not to stare. In fact, he might even have drooled a little. She had to know that walking around like that was bound to get his attention.
“I’m making bacon and eggs. There’s coffee and juice. Help yourself. I’m almost done cooking,” said Jack.
“I’d never have taken you for a guy who cooks.” She bent down to reach into the refrigerator for the juice, and the hem of the T-shirt she’d borrowed shifted up, giving him a phenomenal view of her pantyless behind. What the fuck was she thinking
? He dropped the spatula, causing her to jump.
He quickly picked it up and shook his head, trying to get the image out of his mind. “I don’t cook many things, but bacon and eggs I can handle.”
“Juice?” she offered. He nodded.
She placed two glasses of orange juice on the table and sat down, pulling the tail of his long shirt under her. He fixed them each a plate of food and brought them over to her. Then the most astounding thing happened: Chrissy patted her lap, and Drogo the vicious, ferocious killer Chihuahua jumped onto her lap and peacefully rested his head on her knee while Chrissy caressed behind his ear and along his spine as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Jack even thought he heard the dog sigh. Traitor!
“Finally! I knew you’d fall in love with me,” she squealed, and gave a triumphant fist pump in the air. God, she’s adorable.
“I can’t believe he’s on your lap. What the hell?”
“We sort of reached an understanding,” she said to Jack. “Didn’t we, little guy?” Drogo sighed again, and Jack rolled his eyes.
“Understanding?”
“Yeah. I give him food, and in turn he gives me love. Don’t you, cutie?” Chrissy cooed as she continued to pet him.
As unbelievable as it might seem, the damn dog nodded happily.
“Fucking traitor,” Jack said under his breath, with a hint of a smile.
Chrissy took a bite of the food Jack had prepared. “Wow, Jack. This is delicious. I was starving. Thank you.”
“With everything that happened, I forgot to offer you something to eat last night. Sorry about that.”
She shook her head and waved her fork as she chewed. When she swallowed, she said, “Mmm … don’t worry about it. Wow, so good. I haven’t had bacon in forever. They don’t exactly have bacon in poverty-stricken countries.”
She surprised him when she reached over the table and grabbed a piece of bacon from his plate. She then tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and put the thin strip of bacon into her mouth, savoring each and every crumb. He adjusted himself under the table as he took in her nipples pressing against the thin material of the shirt. Had bacon always been so erotic?
He cleared his throat and smiled, taking her out of the bacon orgasm she seemed to be having across the table from him. “So, what’s your plan today?” he asked. He couldn’t help but notice how adorable she looked eating. He was used to women who ate only salads and other healthy stuff. It was refreshing to see a woman who ate heartily.
“Well …” She took a sip of the orange juice while feeding Drogo small pieces of bacon. “First I have to deal with my car. Once that’s fixed, I guess, the plan is just to drive home.”
His heart fell at the thought of her leaving, and apparently Drogo felt the same way, because he whimpered. Dude, where’s your loyalty? Jack thought.
“You’re not going to stay and talk to Slade?” he asked.
“What does it matter? Slade made it clear he’s going to do whatever he wants. I might as well go back home and deal with the mess I left behind.”
“What mess?” he asked.
She waved her hand and shook her head. “It’s nothing, really. Let’s just say I’ve had a shitty few days.”
“Well, it’s about to get shittier. I have to tell you something.”
“What now?” she groaned, pushing back her plate. She rested her elbows on the table and buried her forehead on her palms, obviously bracing herself for whatever bad news lay ahead.
Jack got up from across the table and walked over to her. Startling her, he pulled her chair out from under the table and turned it sideways. Drogo growled at him. “What the hell? You’re my dog, Drogo,” he scolded the dog. Then he grabbed the chair next to hers, turned it, and sat down so they were facing each other and their knees were brushing. He took her hands in his.
“I went next door this morning. I know why he needs money. It’s not a bad thing. It’s not for anything illegal. I hate to admit, I thought it would be, since he was being so secretive,” he said as he lazily caressed the tops of her hands with his thumbs. “He wants to open a training center for boxers and MMA fighters. He realizes that his shelf life in the fighting world is about to expire. He’s had too many concussions.”
Her hand involuntarily squeezed his. “Concussions? Plural?” she said. “I know that for a professional fighter, concussions are the norm, but how many are we talking about here? Has he had MRIs? Has he—”
He interrupted her. “Listen, Chrissy. He knows he can’t continue fighting. Haven’t you noticed the slight shake in his right hand?”
“I saw it the other day at the diner, but I didn’t think much of it. He’d just been released from a night in jail, and … I don’t know, I just let it go.”
“It’s just the way it goes,” he told her. “I fight for fun, but I have a job, a career. He doesn’t. Fighting is his life. It’s his career, it’s his fun, it’s his everything. He wants to open a gym and train others. He’s always told me about his dreams, but I wasn’t sure how serious he was.”
Her back straightened, and a smile began curving at the corners of her mouth. “This is good news. He’s maturing. Giving up that barbaric fighting nonsense and opening a gym. A legitimate business. If he has some cognitive degeneration from the concussions, maybe it can be reversed, or at least it shouldn’t progress any further.” She let out a breath. “Whew—I thought you were going to give me bad news.” She squeezed his hands, and her eyes beamed.
He didn’t want to be the one to dim the light in her eyes, but he knew he was about to do just that. “Chris, he doesn’t have all the money he needs yet. He’s going to fight again in a few days. I’m afraid that because of the big purse in this fight, it’s not going to be an easy one, and I know he’s not going to back out.” And there it was! All the light in her eyes vanished. Her shoulders drooped. The corners of her lips trembled. “I’m sorry, Chris. I thought you should know.”
She sprang to her feet, the dog jumping off her lap to the floor. “No. He can’t! We just have to convince him. This is crazy. There has to be another way. One wrong blow to the head and he’s a vegetable for the rest of his life. Does he understand that?” She didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Of course he doesn’t understand, otherwise he wouldn’t be doing something so insane. He could die, Jack. I have to explain it to him.” She got up, leaned over, and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for telling me. Really, thank you.”
He pulled her back down to the chair, and Drogo immediately jumped back onto her lap. “I don’t think he’ll listen,” Jack told her. “All he sees are dollar signs right now. If I had the money, I’d give it to him. I have a little savings I can—”
“No. No! Thank you, Jack, but no. This is ludicrous. He needs to understand that this is reckless.”
Chrissy thought for a moment. Drogo seemed annoyed, if that was possible for a dog.
Finally she said, “Why can’t he get a loan?”
Jack shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“There are other options. He doesn’t have to fight. I’m going over there.”
She stood up again and started walking toward the front door, the dog right on her heels. “Drogo, stay! Chrissy, wait.”
She twisted back around and huffed, “What?”
The annoyance in her voice made him chuckle, even though Drogo had of course completely ignored Jack’s command and was standing next to Chrissy.
“We’ve already established that you can walk around my house dressed like this anytime. However, I think your brother may have issues with it, especially since he doesn’t know you spent the night here. You are coming out of my house dressed in just my T-shirt and nothing underneath.”
She looked down. “Oh. Right. Fine.”
She ran up the stairs. Jack tried not to watch her go, but he couldn’t help his wandering eyes. Damn, she had a nice ass. Two minutes later she was headed back down. She had slipped on her jeans, and he could tell she had not bothered with
a bra.
“You don’t mind me borrowing your shirt, right?” It was more of a statement than a question. He shook his head, and before he had a chance to say anything, she stormed out. She was a woman on a mission, and apparently Drogo was her sidekick, because he went with her. Jack followed after them. He loved this fiery side of her.
Chapter 6
“Slade, I know you’re here. Open up.” Chrissy pounded on the door, and Drogo barked.
“Fuck, Chris. You’re going to wake the entire neighborhood,” her brother said as he opened the door and stepped aside so that she could walk in. Drogo immediately began growling and gnawing at the bottom of Slade’s sweatpants, so Chrissy bent down and scooped him up.
“What the hell? Be careful with that thing. That dog hates people,” Slade said as he took a step back and put his hands up in surrender. Then he saw Jack right behind her. “Wait a minute! Where’d you come from, Chris?”
“From Jack’s.”
Slade looked Chrissy over, top to bottom. “Why the fuck were you at Jack’s? And why are you wearing one of his shirts?”
Chrissy looked down at her shirt. Perhaps she should’ve chosen one of Jack’s plain white tees. Instead, the shirt had the logo of Jack’s gym, WtF Academy, emblazoned right on the center. It looked bad. Jack took a cautious step back as Slade glared at him.
“ ‘WtF?’ ” Chrissy asked. “Your gym is called ‘What the Fuck’? That’s an awful name.”
Jack shook his head. “ ‘Worth the Fight.’ Not ‘What the Fuck.’ The old man doesn’t know about the modern-day acronym.”
“Oh!” Chrissy cocked her head. “Someone should really think about telling him.” Chrissy squared her shoulders and glared at Slade. “Anyway, that’s not why I’m here.”
“What the hell were you doing at Jack’s and why are you wearing his shirt?” Slade repeated, his arms crossed and his legs shoulder width apart. He looked like a bouncer.
“Is that really what we’re going to talk about?” She crossed her arms, mimicking his stance.
Against the Cage (Worth the Fight #1) Page 8