by Josie Kerr
“Hey, Hector.”
Junior raised his chin to Brad’s fiancé. “How you doin’, Tim?”
Tim stammered a response, and then both of the men made some excuse to leave and scurried away.
“You are awful,” Nanda said with a snicker.
Junior shrugged. “I can’t help it. El Galán has some strong magic.”
“Oh, jeez.” Nanda rolled her eyes again. “Let’s go.”
Once back in the car and on the road, Junior sighed and said, “Spit it out.”
“Is that what you meant when you said you hadn’t had any ‘special’ Georgia peaches?”
He huffed a laugh. “Maybe.”
“Wow.”
Junior cut his eyes to the side and then quickly returned them to concentrate on the road. “Are you judging me?”
“Judging you? God, no. I just . . .”
“Just what?”
“Didn’t think you would need to . . . I don’t know. Maybe I thought you’d have a regular fuckbuddy but not anything serious. That place . . . was kind of depressing, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I don’t go very much anymore. Or didn’t in the past few months before Derek and I got back together.”
“I see.” Nanda saw a new side of her brother, one that seemed to want companionship but not intimacy. This new view made her sad.
Junior chuckled. “Yeah, you do. Don’t tell Marta or Ines, okay?”
“Oh, you can be sure about that, Big Brother. Dios. Neither one of us would ever hear the end of that. Oof.”
Junior cackled and continued back to the apartment.
Chapter Thirty-five
Nanda shot out of the car, if only to avoid Junior’s knowing leer.
“I know what you’re going to do, Little Sister. Have fun,” he called after her. She flipped him off without turning around and bolted into her bedroom and shut and locked the door
She groaned and shook her head even as she loaded the batteries into the Toyfriend.
As she waited for the bathtub to fill with hot water, Nanda rummaged through her duffle bag in search of her journal while she wrapped her hair in a bandana. Frustrated by not finding the journal in the duffle, she let out a huff of breath and tried to figure out where she put the small book. She rummaged around a few moments longer and then triumphantly pulled a journal from her folio, where she must have shoved it during her mad dash to gather her things.
Her phone chimed and she rolled her eyes, assuming it was Junior texting her from the next room. She woke the phone up and laughed at the selfie Dig sent her of himself lounging in the bed, his lip stuck out in an exaggerated pout. Nanda could see that he was naked, but he had his hand strategically placed. They traded flirty messages until Nanda insisted they stop lest they have a repeat of the other night, which was fun, but most definitely against the rules of training camp. Dig sent another pouty photo, this time showing off all the goods. Nanda let out a groan, because damn, was that man fine or what? She briefly contemplated sending one last photo of her with the new Toyfriend but decided to be good and just blow him a kiss. And then she turned the phone off, at least until she got out of the bath and was ready to set the alarm to get up in the morning.
Nanda sank down into the bathtub, happy that she had just about all she needed to relax: a glass of nice red, her waterproof Toyfriend, and lightly scented bath oil, though she’d gladly substitute a big fighter for the toy. But that wasn’t going to happen for at least two months, or, if she was completely honest with herself, ever. She closed her eyes and drank her wine, but thoughts of that damned book’s location kept her from completely relaxing.
When a round with the Toyfriend didn’t work, she gave up and leaned over the side of the tub to get her journal. Although thankful that Junior’s tub had a large ledge, Nanda wished that she got the same satisfaction from journaling on a tablet as she did writing longhand. But she didn’t, so she carefully dried off the edge of the bathtub, set her journal on top of a towel, and clicked her pen.
Nanda opened the journal, and instead of a pristine, blank sheet of paper, she saw a page covered in scribbles. She blinked and looked closer. The scribbles were actually a mixture of traditional shorthand and some sort of code, all lined up in neat columns with entries in red and black and what looked suspiciously like phone numbers.
“Oh, holy fuck. Holy fuck.” Nanda wrapped up the book in a towel and slid it across the floor before scrambling out of the bath. She hurriedly dried off, and not bothering to drain the tub, pulled on the first thing that she saw and yelled for her brother.
“Dios, Nanda. I thought you were asleep.” The television was blaring, but from the look on his face, Junior was dozing on the couch.
“What does this look like?” Nanda thrust the journal into Junior’s hands.
“What? Your journal?”
“Read it. Look at it.”
“I can’t read it, Nanda. It’s in some sort of . . . oh, holy fuck.” Junior blinked at Nanda. “Is this what I think it is?”
She nodded and gulped. “I think it is.”
“Where the hell was it?”
“It was in my folio, which is a smart place to hide it because I never really look in it. I just use it to keep my important paperwork in one place—social security card, passport, birth certificate, that sort of thing. Gene would know that if I did take off, I’d make sure I had that folio.”
After a few moments of rubbing his mouth with his hand, Junior said, “I’m calling Johnny.”
Nanda was sick of police stations, both northern and southern. She had talked to more police officers and detectives in the past six months than she had in her previous thirty-six years.
“Here you go, honey.” Johnny Richards’s partner, Dolly, handed Nanda a cup of coffee. “It’s not as good as the diner around the corner, but it’s better than hospital coffee.”
Nanda smiled weakly at the woman but accepted the coffee, if only to have something to do with her hands.
Dolly sat across from Nanda for a moment but then patted her hand and excused herself. Nanda lay her head on her arms, completely exhausted. She didn’t think she’d slept more than twenty minutes at a time during the night. She had finally gone into the living room to watch television, only to find Junior already there, blankly looking at some caper film. He had chuckled and scooted over so that Nanda could lie down, and they had watched the movie two more times until the sun had come up and they headed to the police station.
She felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder and lifted her head off her hands. “Hey, Junior. What’s going on?” Nanda looked past her brother at the three people that lingered behind him. Two she knew—Johnny and Dolly. The other man, however, she had never seen before, but he looked familiar.
“Johnny has something he wants to run by you. Or rather, us.”
Junior took a seat and crossed his arms over his chest. His stance would intimidate a meeker person, but Johnny just rolled his eyes and said, “Simmer down, big guy. I wouldn’t suggest this if I didn’t think it was safe or the best way to handle things.”
Junior snorted but put his arms down, though he still glowered at the detective. Johnny shook his head and sat down at the table with Nanda and began to outline his plan. At the first mention of protective custody, Nanda balked, but then when Johnny suggested that she not take it, she snapped her mouth shut and listened to him.
In the end, Nanda and Junior went back to his apartment, content with the knowledge that the newest member of the DS Fight Club training roster would be Darren Richards, undercover vice cop.
Chapter Thirty-six
Dig eyed the clock and frowned. Nanda was usually behind the desk by this time, greeting the more casual gym members and sassing the stragglers.
“I told you, you need to cool it, man,” Tig cautioned from the side of his mouth.
“Where is she? Did Charlotte talk to her this weekend?”
; Tig shook his head and then frowned. “No, she didn’t, which is weird. They usually do something on Saturday when I’m on the weekend rotation, and I know they didn’t because Charlotte . . . let’s just say she had an unsuccessful foray into French cuisine.”
Dig barked a laugh. Tig’s girlfriend was a lot of things, but a cook she wasn’t.
Colin stuck his head around a corner into the main gym area. “DiGiacomo, Mashburn, in my office now!”
“Fuck,” the two fighters muttered simultaneously. For Colin to use their given last names was never a good thing.
“I said, NOW!” Colin disappeared back around the corner, and Dig and Tig practically ran to his office.
When they got there, Colin was not the only one in the office. Nanda was perched in a small folding chair, looking ready to spring into action and punch someone in the neck if they looked at her wrong, while Junior leaned against the wall, looking as formidable as he ever had, no hint of the easy smile that he usually wore.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tig’s growled question pulled Dig’s attention away from Nanda. The smaller fighter had snapped into his southpaw stance, his body coiled to spring, and all the people in the office held their breath. “C, what the fuck is this guy doing here?”
Tig pointed at a man Dig didn’t recognize who sat on the couch next to Ryan, who wore a bemused expression.
The unknown man stood up and stuck out his hand. “Darren Richards.”
Tig frowned but kept his hands up. “Richards?”
Ryan stood and looped his arm around the other man’s shoulders. “Yep. Remember last year when you asked how I knew the fight site was going to be raided?”
Tig nodded and looked back and forth between the two men.
“Well, shit. You’re a cop.” Tig dropped his hands and cracked his neck. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled as he shook Darren’s hand.
Darren turned to Dig. “You must be Dom.” He offered Dig his hand.
“Dig.”
“Are we finished sniffing each other’s asses and pissing on shit so we can get down to business?” Colin scoffed at them all. “Good. Let’s go into the conference room. This place it too small for me to think.”
Colin stomped down the hall and the others followed, though Dig hung back to walk next to Nanda.
“How you doing?”
Nanda managed a weak grin. “That’s Junior’s line.”
Dig chuckled because that was Junior’s line. Dig unconsciously rested his hand on the small of Nanda’s back. “Seriously, how are you? What’s up with all this?”
Nanda reached behind her and removed Dig’s hand but gave it a squeeze before she let it go. “You’ll find out in just a few, okay?”
After they all got settled in the conference room, Colin made the announcement that Darren was going to be joining the DS Fight Club as a secondary wrestling coach in order to protect Nanda.
Tig raised his hand. “How the hell are you going to explain coming to DS Fight Club? Aren’t you tight with Jett Raptor?”
Darren huffed a quiet laugh. “Let’s just say that Raptor was the victim of a hostile takeover. He’s not running the fights anymore.”
Dig raised his eyebrows at the news that Raptor was actually running the illegal fights.
He turned to Tig. “That’s why you left Raptor Pryde, wasn’t it?”
Tig nodded solemnly. “Yep.”
“That’s why Raptor’s matchmaker left, too,” Ryan added. “At least, that’s the word on the street.”
Darren tapped his fingers on the conference room table. “Does anyone know where we can find Tommy? Has anyone talked to him in the past few months?”
“Pierce would probably know.”
“Damon Pierce?” Colin’s voice was icy.
Ryan squirmed in his chair. “Yeah. Damon Pierce. Look, C, I know there’s bad blood between you two —”
“Yeah, and I know he did Tig a solid, but I still don’t like the guy, and I don’t want him near my fight club.” Ryan started to say something but snapped his mouth closed and huffed air through his nose. “But, Ryan, I can’t tell you who to socialize with outside of the fight club, like if you saw him at Foley’s or somewhere.” Colin’s teeth flashed white in his dark beard as he grinned.
Colin bent his neck, the popping of his vertebrae sounding through the room. “Okay, we’ve run our mouths enough. Let’s get to it. Tig, you’re with Darren in the cage. Junior, you’re reffing. Dig, you’re with me on the mat.” Colin clapped his hands together and pushed out of the chair. “Well, what are y’all waiting for? Let’s move!”
Tig and Nanda shot out of their chairs and almost got into a shoving match when they hit the door at the same time, but Tig’s manners won out, barely. Nanda was halfway to the front desk before Dig caught up with her.
“Nanda, are you okay with this?” Dig leaned across the counter, trying to get a good look at Nanda’s face.
Nanda waggled her head in a weird yes-no-maybe motion and then shrugged. “I have to be.”
He caught her hand. “No, you don’t. Say the word, and I’ll pull out of this fight, and we’ll go somewhere and lie low for a few weeks until all this blows over.”
“Dom . . .”
“I mean it, Nanda.” And he did. Every word. What surprised him was that he wasn’t freaking out about meaning it.
“I know you do.” Her words were so soft that he barely heard what she said.
Nanda cleared her throat. “It’s a little more complicated now.” Nanda proceeded to tell Dig about finding the black book hidden in her bag and how she had the feeling that someone was watching her.
The longer she talked, the more Dig shook his head. “This is not right, Nanda. They’re basically using you as bait. You realize that?”
“I know, but they’re not going to stop unless someone gets that book, and . . .”
Dig cradled Nanda’s face in his hands, tipping up her chin until she looked into his eyes. “Just say the word, okay?”
Nanda pressed her lips to his palm and nodded. “Yeah.”
Dig smoothed her hair and passed a thumb over her rosy lips. He didn’t dare kiss her right now, and he figured she wouldn’t let him anyway, so his pressed two fingers first against his lips and then against hers.
“DiGiacomo, get your ass on the mat and quit your goddamn flirting!” Colin bellowed.
Nanda giggled. “You better go before Gordo pops a vein.”
Dig shook his head. Instead of “Ice Cold,” Colin’s nickname should have been “Cockblocker.”
Dig gave Nanda a little smile and trotted off to join Colin on the mat.
“Okay, C, what are we doing today?” Dig halfway listened to Colin while he ran through the day’s training schedule, but his mind remained on Nanda. Dig redirected his attention, though, when the big man grabbed his shoulder and all but shook him.
“I can tell you that what we’re not doing is playing grab ass and flirty-flirt with the gym manager. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but it stops now, Dig. You need to stop thinking with the little head and get your brain in the cage, or you’re going to be in for a world of hurt. I don’t think you need me to tell you that you’ll probably never get another shot like this.”
“What the fuck, C?”
“Get your mind settled, DiGiacomo. No piece of ass is worth—”
“Whoa, there, C. I’m going to ignore the fact that you referred to Junior’s little sister as a ‘piece of ass.’ ”
“No, you listen to me, Dig. She’s sure as hell not just a piece of ass; she’s a coworker. She’s family. So you need to stop playing around with her, for both her sake and yours.”
Dig had never seen C so serious, ever. The big ex-champion’s silvery-blue eyes bored into Dig’s dark brown ones.
“I’m not playing around, C. Trust me when I say I am fucking dead serious.”
Colin looked hard at Dig and
then nodded once. “Okay, good. So let’s go.” Colin shoved Dig and fell into a staggered stance. He beckoned Dig with his fingers, taunting him, and Dig answered with his own nod and rushed the big heavyweight.
Yeah, I’ll show you who’s not playing.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Nanda wandered through the grocery store, absentmindedly selecting produce and putting it into her small basket—so absentmindedly, in fact, that when she stopped by the butcher’s counter, she didn’t remember picking out half of the things she saw in the cart.
She placed her order, and as she waited, she ruminated over the events of the past two months. Or rather, the nonevents. After all the preparation, all the precautions of Darren joining the DS Fight Club training team, nothing.
Not that she was complaining about a lack of threats, not at all. The distinct lack of action was a refreshing change. She couldn’t remember the last time she had no drama in her life. Back in Newark, there was always drama to be had, whether it was boyfriend or girlfriend induced.
She didn’t miss that, not one little bit.
But she did miss Dig.
She didn’t know what Colin said to him—and she knew it had to have been Colin for Dig to have backed off as thoroughly as he had—but she hadn’t been the recipient of a wink, a flirty comment, or a cheesy-ass smile in nine weeks. He had been coolly friendly, not overly friendly, and she missed it.
She was scooping out bulk quinoa when a bulky guy knocked her elbow and sent the scoop and grain flying across the bins.
“Whoa, hey! Watch where you’re going!” Nanda scowled at the guy who bumped into her.
He smirked at her. “Oh, my bad.” He looked her up and down and shook his head. “What a waste. That’s going to be a damn shame,” he said and pushed past her.
Nanda watched him until he neared the door. Abandoning her cart, she followed him, keeping her distance, and watched him get into a dark car. She noted the license plate—eidetic memory for the win—and after she made sure he was gone, she ran to her car and called Darren.