Killer

by Heather C. Leigh

  I have no answer. All I know is when I lean forward and press my mouth to his, everything in my world becomes right. For the first time in ten years, I’m exactly where I belong.

  K is hesitant at first, his bulk tensing up under my hands. I part my mouth, gently swiping my tongue across his full lower lip, and he gives in. With a groan, K opens his mouth to tangle his tongue with mine, the slick, velvet surface sliding into my mouth. I sink into the kiss, letting K take what he wants, giving me what I need.

  A small moan erupts unbidden from low in my throat and it demolishes the rest of K’s control. His huge hands leave my back to wrap around my waist, nearly spanning the entire circumference. In one swift move, he spins me around until we’re out from under the desk and I’m straddling his lap, chest to chest, face to face. From this position, I can feel beneath me that K is excited. Very excited.

  He uses his big hands to press my hips down on his hard length, dragging a gasp out of me. Electricity crackles in the air around us, charging the tiny room. The rub of his groin against mine sends hot sparks of lust up and down my spine to swirl and grow until I’m writhing on his lap and we’re both panting and groaning. I nearly tip over the edge right then and there on the floor of Gabriel’s office.

  K must be close too, because he slows his kisses, allowing both of us to catch our breath. His eyelids are half shut, his mouth swollen and red and slick, his skin flushed with desire. He’s so beautiful I can’t believe he’s real.

  Without warning, K jolts upright, as if he just awoke and realized what was happening. Hazy silver eyes pop open in disbelief and refocus on the present. “Oh my god. I’m sorry,” he mumbles, attempting to push me off his lap so he can stand. I resist, clinging to his body like a barnacle, refusing to part with his strength, his calm, the comforting way he silences my inner demons.

  “Don’t,” I whisper. “Please don’t let go.”

  K gives me a grim look, but stays. His muscles are still bunched up under my hands, as if he’s ready to bolt at any second. I press my good ear to his broad chest, listening until the pounding of his heart slows to a steady rhythm.

  “What happened, Britt?” K’s voice is strained.

  I tuck in closer, not wanting him to see the lie. “I-I don’t know.”

  “Britt.” K shifts, pushing my shoulders back until we’re face-to-face. “I don’t believe you.” Before I can protest, his eyes go soft. “I’m not going to make you tell me, Britt. As you’ve probably guessed, I’m not exactly a… discuss your feelings kind of guy.”

  And just like that, K once again took my fears and demolished them. I giggle at his description of himself. “No, you’re not.”

  He grins. That single dimple appears and I melt. “As much as I love the feel of you against me, can we get up off the floor?” he asks. “I think my ass fell asleep.”

  In a very unladylike manner, I snort. K’s eyes go wide and we both crack up, laughing until we’re finally able to stagger to our feet. It’s strange to see this stoic, angry, defensive man let down his walls. I thought he was attractive before, but now? Now I fear I may be hopelessly addicted to someone who may never be what I want. Never be what I need. Someone who will always keep himself at arm’s length.

  The jovial mood from moments ago vanishes when K reaches for the doorknob. “Wait.” I grab on to his wrist to keep him from leaving. Shining silver eyes lock on to mine and that sensation of déjà vu sends chills up my arm, raising the tiny hairs on my neck. “Thanks, for helping me.”

  K nods, brushing his thumb across my lips. Then he’s gone.

  I slump into a chair, taking a moment to recover from the whiplash of shifting emotions so quickly. From paralyzed with fear to nearly orgasming on K’s lap to laughing and joking around with the usually reticent man—my head is spinning.

  Now that I’m no longer in the safety of K’s arms, anxiety floods my system and I begin to shake. My teeth actually chatter from the adrenaline letdown. I reach into the neck of my shirt and pull out my pendant, squeezing it in my hand. Memories… my memories are coming back. Visions of huddling under the desk in the school’s office flicker through my mind. And K’s eyes. What is it about them?

  Thankfully, no one enters Gabriel’s office while I fall to pieces. The only thing worse than remembering would be everyone knowing why I freaked out.

  6

  Killer

  I’ve never been so relieved to get on a plane in my life. The last two weeks have been brutal. Between cutting weight, training, dealing with that idiot Jackson and that sick fuck Max, plus having no clue how to process my feelings for Britt after what happened in Gabriel’s office, I’m a fucking wreck.

  I close my eyes and think about that day. Seeing the normally fearless girl—the only one who can look me in the eye—so vulnerable, huddled on the floor cowering in fear, was shocking. And it takes a hell of a lot to shock me, especially since I don’t usually feel anything. But having her pressed against me, it was so right, so perfect. The desire to have that again is so strong, it’s all I think about when she’s around.

  I tried to avoid Britt after mauling her like an animal, but every time I turned around she was there, too close, too warm, smelling too fucking good. If I didn’t know how sweet she was, how innocent and good, I would have thought she was getting some perverse pleasure in torturing me with her presence.

  The empty seat next to me sinks down and I inhale a soft breeze of citrus. It wraps around my dick, jerking it from soft to hard in a heartbeat.

  Fuck.

  “K.” Britt’s voice caresses my stiffening cock, making it throb painfully in my jeans. “Are you nervous for the fight?”

  My fingers tighten around the armrests. How the hell am I supposed to talk to her here? We’re in an extremely small, enclosed space, she smells so good, and now my dick is so goddamn hard. All I want to do is push her to the bathroom, push up her obscenely short skirt and bury myself in heaven. Three weeks since I kissed her and I’m more obsessed than ever. I don’t even need her sitting next to me to get me hard. Hell, Roxie made me a citrus protein shake the other day and I started to sprout wood at the front desk of the gym just from the scent.

  “No, Britt. I’m not nervous,” I grit out through clenched teeth.

  “Oh.”

  She sounds odd, unlike the perky girl I’m used to. Against my better instincts I give in and turn toward her sitting in the aisle seat on my right. Sunlight is filtering through the small window to my left, highlighting every inch of her gorgeous face. High cheekbones, a delicate nose with a slight upturn, a smattering of light-colored freckles across the bridge and continuing beneath those piercing blue eyes—she’s stunning.

  And I’m staring.

  “Sorry.” I slouch down in my seat until my hoodie covers my eyes. If I let her in any more than I already have, Britt could easily peel back my defenses until I’m exposed and squirming under her gaze. Better to hide, to keep her at arm’s length so she won’t figure out I’m not the man she thinks I am. I’m not a man at all. I’m a monster. A killer. She deserves better than half a human with a black heart and no soul.

  “I didn’t mean to bother you, K.” I flinch when her warm hand curls around my wrist. Against every rational thought I have, I push back my hood and meet her intense gaze. She’s leaning out of her seat, her entire body turned toward me. “Jack kept bugging me.” Britt uses her thumb to point over her shoulder and rolls her eyes, smiling.

  Of course he is. That fucking douche is begging for a flying knee strike to the face.

  My revulsion must be evident. “Don’t worry,” Britt laughs. “I can handle Jack.”

  “I’ll handle him if he doesn’t fuck the hell off,” I growl.

  Britt’s eyes widen and she shoots me a huge grin. Her hand tightens around my wrist. My calmed-down cock fills up again in less than three seconds.

  “That’s sweet of you.”

  What? She thinks it’s sweet that I want to rip Jack’s arms off hi
s body and beat him to death with them?

  Britt gives my arm one last pat before sitting back and placing her hands in her own lap. She pulls a book out of her bag, cracks it open, and begins to read. Naturally, I’m gaping at her like a teenager who saw his first pair of tits. Great, now I’m thinking about her tits.

  Britt stops reading and tilts her head in my direction. “Is it okay if I sit here? I can’t deal with his chatter.”

  Unable to think past the image of running my mouth all over her breasts, biting and leaving dark red marks in that creamy white skin to claim her as mine, I nod. Cheeks burning, I sink down in my seat, adjusting my hard-on as discreetly as possible stuck between the window on my left and her sitting six inches to my right, and close my eyes. I think every hideous, non-sexy thing possible to cleanse my mind of Britt and how badly I want her. I can’t have her. Not when I know I can never be worthy.

  Britt

  The schedule the week of the fight is so crazy, I’ve hardly had two seconds to speak to K even though we spend nearly all of our time together. There’s always something to be done or someone else with us—Gabriel, Max, Jack, journalists, AFL officials, fans—it’s insane. Even though he’s a rookie in his first fight, K has garnered massive amounts of interest. I’m not sure if it’s his unheard of training experience in Thailand and Brazil, the scouting reports, or if it’s just K, all tatted up and scary-looking, but excitement surrounds us wherever we go.

  As do the women. Lots of them. Half-naked, desperate, clingy women all over K every minute of every day. Three days in Vegas and I want to scream, put my hand up, and shove them away by the face. Only the fact that K ignores every last one of them, his signature hood pulled down low over his eyes whenever we’re in public, keeps me sane and gives me smug satisfaction. It’s not like I haven’t noticed I’m the only woman he makes eye contact with.

  I’m watching K spar in the cage at our Vegas training facility, a gym owned by a good friend of Gabriel’s. The week before a fight is crazy busy, but the workouts are cut back to about seventy-five percent to prevent burnout by fight night.

  Truthfully, he doesn’t really need me here. K’s form is perfect. Every kick, punch, jab, and takedown is fluid and beautiful to watch.

  Max drops onto the bench next to me, huffing. He motions towards K. “Jesus, you’d think he’s the second coming of Anderson Silva with all the freaking fuss being made.”

  My mouth twists up, but I don’t acknowledge Max’s dig at K. He’s been unreasonably hostile this week when it comes to K, especially over the attention K is getting from the media and fans.

  Naturally, Max continues ranting, clueless to the fact that we’re supposed to be here to help K succeed, not to cut him down over petty bullshit. “I mean, he’s not that special.”

  I twist my head to face Max. He’s been my friend at work for the last two years, but I can’t let him continue to badmouth any member of our team. And we are supposed to be a team.

  “Can you just shut up?”

  Max’s mouth drops open in shock. Never in a million years did he think I would go off on him, but he doesn’t know I’ve been playing the passive-aggressive game with my mother for the last decade. I’m an expert at recognizing it.

  “I… but… seriously?” he stammers. “You’re defending that stuck-up asshole?”

  Now I’m flat-out fuming. “Stuck up? What on earth are you talking about?”

  Max quickly works himself into a frenzy, his arms flailing all over the place. “He thinks he’s so much better than everyone else! Never speaking to anyone, turning his nose up at all of us! Fuck him for being such a dick.”

  Don’t punch him.

  I inhale deep, attempting to calm down enough to respond rationally instead of yelling. “Max, did it ever occur to you that maybe he’s like that for a reason?” I think of how tortured K looks sometimes and it makes me sad. I’ve spent hours wondering what happened to break such a strong man.

  “Uh-uh. No way!” Max jumps to his feet, towering over me, still gesturing wildly. “He’s a fucking—”

  I don’t hear the rest of Max’s tirade, because one of his flailing arms swings wide and he accidentally backhands me across the right side of my face. Stars explode behind my eyes and the hearing in my right ear fades in and out. His hand hit so hard I topple backward off the bench, landing on my shoulder.

  Blistering white-hot pain shoots down my arm and I let out a cry.

  “Oh my god, Britt! I’m sorry!” Max is kneeling beside me, hands hovering, unsure what to do.

  I’m about to tell him to back off when a gust of air ripples over me and Max vanishes.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” At first, my hearing is still wavering, so I don’t know who’s shouting. Dazed, I begin to sit up, using my good arm to push off the ground. Gabriel appears at my side, helping me back onto the bench.

  “Sit here, meu filha. I need to stop K before he disqualifies himself.”

  Max’s panicked voice rings clear. “I didn’t mean to—”

  Bewildered, I glance around and my stomach clenches at the sight in front of me. Oh no. K is holding Max up off the ground by his shirt, thumping him against the concrete wall like a rag doll.

  “I don’t give a shit what you meant, you sick fuck!” K roars.

  Now I know why I didn’t recognize the voice. K is raising his voice. It’s so rare, most of these people have never even heard him speak, let alone shout loud enough to be heard by every hotel on the strip.

  “I know what you are,” K hisses, his face less than six inches from Max’s pale visage. “Don’t go near her again.” He slams Max against the wall again. I flinch when his head bounces painfully off the painted cinder blocks. “Don’t ever touch her, don’t look at her, don’t fucking go near her.” His voice is chilling.

  “Meu filho. Por favor, let go. You will be disqualificado.” Gabriel puts his hands over K’s, gently, but firmly, prying his fingers out of Max’s shirt.

  I don’t notice who hands me an ice pack for my face. Numb, I simply take it and press it to the throbbing ache.

  “I’ll have someone take you back to the hotel. You need to calm down.” Gabriel waits until K steps back from a wide-eyed Max. “Take Britt with you. She needs to rest for later. We have a press conference and dinner tonight.”

  Gabriel turns to me, waving me over. I gather my notebook and purse one-handed, balancing the ice pack with the other. “Go to the hotel with Killer,” Gabriel instructs.

  “But—” K frowns and takes a step toward Max, causing Max to scurry back in fear.

  “No.” Gabriel’s voice is firm and final. “I will take care of this one.” He flicks his hand at Max. “Both of you leave, now.”

  There is no arguing with Gabriel when he’s like this. The only option is to do as he says. I step forward and take K’s wrapped hand. “Come on, K. Let’s go.” I can see the raw fury in his eyes, the reluctance to leave without his pound of flesh. He is a fighter after all, but a good fighter must also be able to control his urges no matter the circumstances. I tug on his hand and he finally relents.

  Ten minutes later, we’re dropped off in front of our hotel. The silence on the short ride was excruciating. I wanted to crawl into K’s lap and kiss him senseless for defending me, and then chastise him for endangering his career. The AFL and the Nevada Athletic Commission can and will suspend his license for bad behavior outside the cage.

  We enter the crowded hotel elevator without saying a word. K dips his head, letting his hoodie cover half his face to hide from any AFL fans. When the elevator stops to let more people on, K grabs my waist, tugging me to his side possessively. My heart leaps into my throat and I have to hide a smile. He’s so close I can smell the seductive combination of sweat and man and K.

  I squirm uncomfortably and catch him glancing at me from under his hood. His eyes land on my cheek and go cold, the silver turning the color of hard stone.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper.
/>   He shakes his head but says nothing.

  After an eternity and about five different stops to let other guests on and off, the elevator finally reaches our floor. K slides his arm from my waist, effortlessly finding my hand and entwining our fingers. The sweet gesture is so contradictory to the man I know, I nearly melt into a puddle on the floor.

  “Come to my room.” His voice is rough, strained. Like he even has to ask. I’d do anything he wanted. Anything.

  “Okay.”

  With a sharp nod, he leads me down the hall. K deftly removes a card from his pocket and opens the door.

  “Go sit.” He points at the bed. “I have some first-aid supplies.”

  I drop onto the pristine white duvet. “What?”

  “A medical kit. I have to fix you up.”

  A medical kit?

  He brought me to his room to give me first aid? The thought is more depressing than I imagined. Maybe that kiss in Gabriel’s office was a one-time thing, a mistake in K’s mind. Either way, I don’t need or want his pity, or anyone else’s for that matter.

  “I’m fine, K. I’m not bleeding. Ice is really all I can do for it.” I move to get up and K pins me in place with his eyes. The argument drains out of me and I sit back down.

  K scowls. “No. You need anti-inflammatories. It’s going to swell and it’s going to hurt. Fuck.” K squeezes his eyes shut, his beautiful face twisted as if he’s in agony, the tendons in his neck bulging. Those haunting silver eyes pop back open, locking on to mine. “I wanted to kill him for touching you.”

  Stunned at his admission, I pat the bed. “Come sit with me.”

  His lethal expression vanishes, replaced by uncertainty. The bravest man I know takes a step back. “I shouldn’t,” he whispers.

  I stare at this big, strong fighter as he attempts to turn away. No. I refuse to let him do his usual dodge and flee routine. This time, he’s going to answer my questions. “Why not?”