by A. Rivers
“Hey,” Gabe grunts, watching her with those weirdly intense eyes of his. He’s the brother of my soul, but if I didn’t love the guy so much, he’d come across as a bit of a creeper. “You’re the one who’s going to fix this thing with Erin?”
Lena lifts her chin. “I’m going to try.”
“Good.” Gabe sticks his fist out and—to my complete astonishment—she bumps it. “That’s all we can ask for. You need anything, sing out, okay? Dev and I will help in any way we can.”
She shoots me a hard-edged look, as if to say, ‘Hey, they’re willing to help.’ Of course they don’t mind talking to her. It’s not their livelihoods and years of work at risk. “Thanks, Gabriel.”
Gabe cringes, his shoulders coming up to his ears. “Just Gabe, please. Gabriel was an angel. You won’t find any of them around here.”
“Noted.”
“You want to join in?” This brilliant question comes from Devon. He’s always the first to make nice with a pretty girl. Gabe is too focused to flirt, and me… well, frankly, I don’t bother. It’s usually unnecessary.
She scoffs and glances down at herself, drawing all of our attention to her tight skirt. “Do I look like I’m dressed to grapple?”
Devon’s mouth hitches higher on one side. “You look just fine, Lena, but point taken. Don’t rush off, we’ll talk to you after.”
She nods and sits in one of the chairs, primly crossing her legs and balancing a notepad on her knee.
“She is hot,” Devon murmurs when we’re halfway across the mats. “But you lucked out, bro, she doesn’t like you. What’d you do?”
“Hit a girl,” I mutter. “Supposedly.”
“Ah, right.”
“Yeah, she thinks I’m guilty.”
Devon thumps my shoulder. The punch is solid, but I’m used to it and it barely rocks me. “Guess it’s up to me and Gabe to scrap over her then.”
“Go for your life.” I don’t think Lena is looking for a fighter boyfriend, and even if she is, the thought of Gabe fighting over a girl is laughable. His temper is so level, it’s a miracle he can muster enough aggression to take his opponents down in the ring. Probably the only thing that would set him off is if someone messed with his best friend, Sydney.
Gabe ignores our exchange, hauling himself into the octagon. “It’s king of the ring.”
Seth, who’s been pounding a bag, comes over, chest heaving. Our coach is a big dude, and like Gabe, he’s not much for small talk. “Each time someone taps out, they swap with the third person. Jase, I want you shadowboxing in the corner until you’re warm.”
“Got it.” I get out of the others’ way and start skipping on the spot, flexing my calves, getting my blood flowing. Once the muscles are starting to burn, I raise my fists and throw a jab-cross at an invisible opponent, pivoting out of the way as I imagine them returning the blows. I stay light on my feet. Uppercut, hook, move.
And then I’m in the zone.
4
Lena
The three guys have been sparring for ten minutes before their coach, a man in his late thirties or early forties and built like a freight train, sidles over and drops into the seat beside me. He watches them for a while, neither of us speaking. I sense he wants to talk, but this isn’t the kind of man you can hurry into anything, so I wait patiently, my eyes on “Dangerous” Devon Green and Jase as they circle each other. Lightning fast, Devon’s foot flies out and knocks Jase’s legs out from under him. He crashes to the ground, then rolls back to his knees, and is up again like it never happened.
“Fast recovery,” I remark. “That was a tidy sweep.”
The coach turns and I can feel him appraising me, but I don’t look around. “You know kickboxing?” he asks.
Finally, I give him my attention. His face looks like it’s seen a few knocks, but he’s a good-looking guy if you like the commanding military type. His reddish hair is shorn short, his eyes a bluish green, and his jaw is square and strong. “Only the basics.”
“Never been in a ring yourself?”
The idea is so ludicrous, I laugh. “No, and I have no intention of changing that.”
“But you’ll happily date fighters?” His voice drips with disdain.
My jaw drops. So much for waiting for him to open up. It seems he’s here to question me. “Excuse me?”
He doesn’t look away, his eyes boring into mine. “I’ve seen you with Karson Hayes. Is he your boyfriend? Did he send you here to do recon?”
I’m so stunned, I sputter, at a loss for words. After a few seconds, I get a hold of myself. “I’m here because Jase hired me.” Even if he hadn’t been enthusiastic about it. “I used to date Karson, but we broke up.” A shiver passes over me, despite the warmth of the gym. “It wasn’t pretty.”
“Ah.” There’s a wealth of understanding in that one word. “Don’t judge us all harshly because of Hayes. A few bad seeds don’t make all MMA fighters bad. Jase is a good guy.”
Is he reading my mind? How can he possibly know that my past with Karson would prejudice me against Jase? But despite his insight, I’m not sure I believe him. So I settle for making a noncommittal sound and refocusing on the octagon.
“What’s your name?” His voice is soft in my ear, like he knows he’s hit a sore spot.
“Lena.” At the opposite end of the gym, Jase tags Devon on the chin and ducks a retaliatory strike. “And yours?”
“Seth.”
“Is this your gym?”
“Yeah.” He spreads his legs wider and rests his forearms on them. The position brings him closer to my height. “Do me a favor, Lena. Bear with Jase. He may come off as all ego and hot air, but he’s a decent person and he didn’t do what Erin says he did.”
Relief filters through me, intense and baffling. I shouldn’t care one way or the other if he’s guilty. He’s a job, that’s all. But Seth is the first person to outright proclaim his innocence, and for some reason, I’m glad that someone has. He’s certainly not doing it himself.
Frustration chases on the heels of my relief. “Maybe he should come out and say that, then.”
Seth shrugs. “He’s not the type. He’d rather just get on with business and wait for people to stop talking.”
The men in the ring swap around, Devon subbing out and Gabe subbing in. Jase goes for Gabe’s legs, thudding his shin into the other guy’s thigh. Gabe responds with a straight punch, and then pulls him in to grapple. It’s easy to see how Gabe got his nickname, The Mind-Reader. He seems to anticipate each move Jase makes and responds fluidly, without hesitation. Over Gabe’s shoulder, my gaze locks with Jase’s. His eyes are hot and furious. I hear my own intake of breath, and feel Seth staring at me, but my attention is on Jase’s stunning gray eyes.
Until it’s not.
His ass hits the floor. Gabe sweeps his feet out from under him while he’s distracted. Devon whoops from the sideline as Jase picks himself up, red in the face, and sneaks a look over at me. His expression is so mortified, I can’t help but laugh.
Devon cackles louder. “You hear that, brother? You took a beating because of her, and she’s laughing. That’s cold, man.”
I cover my mouth to hide my smile, but it’s too late. The mortification fades from his face, though the flush lingers, and slowly, he sends me a crooked, sexy-as-hell grin.
Jase
After the tripping incident, I manage not to embarrass myself in front of Lena again. The guys have seen me hit the mat more times than I can count, but when a gorgeous girl is watching, it’s different. Maybe it’s stupid, but I want to impress her.
When we finish, I grab a kettlebell and start a set of reps. Swings, squats, overhead raises, repeat. And repeat again. For fighting, it’s important to strengthen my body using functional movements. Back when I first started, I spent hours benching and deadlifting as much as I could without killing myself, and all I ended up with was shitty cardio and a bulky body that seized up midway through sparring.
Yeah, maybe I
’d looked like a gladiator, but it hadn’t been worth it. I’m older now, and my ability to win ranks higher in my priorities than how shredded I look on weigh-in day. I’m into my third set of reps when Lena leaves her seat in the corner and pads across the mats toward me. Her feet are bare, and they’re as white as the rest of her, with delicate toes and manicured nails. Why the hell am I noticing her feet?
“Can we talk more?” she asks, kneeling beside me so she can rest her notepad on her thigh. Having her on her knees is not helping my concentration.
I grunt. “I’m kinda busy.” Training is the important thing now. Beating Karson is all that matters.
She taps her pen against the paper, impatient. “Come on, Jase. Seth told me you didn’t assault Erin, but you have to give me something to work with or you’re feeding yourself to the piranhas.”
Of all days, Seth chooses this one to open his mouth? The fucker. Most days, trying to get anything out of him is like prying secrets from a CIA agent. “I need to train.”
“I get that.” She shifts onto her butt and tucks her legs to the side. “And I don’t want to interfere, just give me something.”
I finish a set of swings and move to squats again. Her eyes track my movements, and her pupils dilate when they reach my thighs and ass. Yeah, she’s into me. Maybe she doesn’t like it, but there’s no denying the fact. I bet right now she’s wondering how big my cock is, and whether it’s proportionate to the rest of me. Good news, cutie pie: it is.
Not. Helping.
I need to think with my brain rather than my dick. And my brain knows that whatever motherhood-and-apple-pie story Seth sold her about me, she doesn’t completely believe it. It will take more than sentimental words from a semi-retired fighter with the charm of a mountain lion to convince her of my innocence.
“Why should I tell you anything?” I demand, feeling sweat trickle down the back of my neck and soak into my top. The whole damn thing is drenched. Typical for me, but I’m beyond grateful I’m not one of those guys who stink when they sweat. I don’t think I could handle her turning her perfect little nose up. “You’ve already made up your mind about me.”
She sighs, and one of her hands goes to the edge of her skirt, toying with the hem. It’s unconscious—she’s not trying to tease me—but man, I want to peel it up and see what’s beneath.
“My opinion doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah, actually, it does.” Where did that confession come from? Her gaze snaps to mine, a gasp passing between her ruby red lips. Oh well, I’m the type to go big or go home. “It matters to me, Lena.”
She holds my gaze for a long time, emotions warring in her eyes. I think I’ve gotten through to her, but then she shores up her defenses and says, “As if you care what I think. You’re just messing with me.”
Then she gets up and stalks off, her spine straight, shoulders stiff. Jeez, this girl really has issues, but for the first time, it occurs to me that maybe she’s prickly for a reason. Maybe someone did a number on her. Someone like me. Perhaps that’s why I rub her the wrong way. The thought makes me feel like a bastard for being hard on her.
“Bro,” Devon calls as she slips on her shoes and makes for the door. “You gonna go after her, or what?”
I probably should. I lower the kettlebell to the mat and follow her out the exit, catching her just outside. “Hey, wait up.”
She doesn’t stop, although her step falters. I don’t want to grab her and cause a scene—or give her a reason to join Erin in condemning me in the court of public opinion—so I jog around and block her path.
“Stop,” I puff, holding up a hand. “I’m not trying to mess with you.”
She quirks her brow in an ‘are you for real’ expression.
“Seriously. I just…” I sigh. “I get the feeling you don’t like me, and it pisses me off because you don’t even know me.” She starts to interrupt, but I gesture for her to hold off. “I’m not finished yet. I don’t want you to think I’m making excuses for myself, but my upcoming fight is a really big deal. I’ve been working toward it for years, and I need to keep my head in the game. If I let Erin mind-fuck me, then I’m a goner, and that’s what she wants. She wants me to suffer because she tried to get me back and I turned her down. That’s all this is. Revenge. I can’t let her get to me. She won’t press charges, she just wants to make me squirm.”
Lena backs up a step, increasing the distance between us, but her eyes have softened and I think perhaps I see a glimmer of something other than dislike. “Jase.”
I shiver. Fuck, I love my name in her mouth. I want to hear it when I’m driving into her. Unfortunately, that’s unlikely to happen, and please God don’t let her look down.
“You’re right, I don’t know you, or Erin, but even if you’re being honest, I think you’re underestimating the problem. Have you ever heard that saying about a woman scorned?”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t count. There was never anything serious between us.”
“Maybe Erin sees it differently.”
That makes me pause and think. I picked Erin up at one of Devon’s fights and knew from the outset that she wasn’t interested in my heart or personality. Despite that, it was possible I’d read her intentions wrong and she’d wanted more than a casual fling—not because of any deep feelings but because of my money and pseudo-celebrity status. Some women like being able to lay claim to the biggest, baddest fighter available. Perhaps she wanted to be the one standing by my side, basking in the glory when I kick Karson’s ass and win the championship belt.
I shrug. “It’s possible.”
She smiles, and it hits me like a liver punch. She’s so damn radiant when she smiles, like the sun’s shining out of her face. “I’m glad you’re open to the idea.”
“I’m not a total fuckwit.”
“Never said you were.”
She thought it though; she’s crap at hiding her emotions. Slowly, so as not to scare her off, I take her by the shoulders and step closer, gazing into her eyes. Flecks of gold sparkle in their depths, and one day I plan to count them and figure out if they change depending on her mood. But not now.
“I meant what I said in there, Lena. For some godforsaken reason, your opinion matters to me. Do you believe I hit her?”
She sucks her lower lip into her mouth and glances down. “What I believe is irrelevant.”
Bitter disappointment settles over me and I let her go, resisting the urge to kick the ground. I can’t risk injuring my foot at a time like this. “Fine, then. Go.”
5
Jase
After jumping rope for an hour and doing so many burpees, I can’t do another without face planting, I stand beneath the scorching shower in the gym’s toilet block and wash a day’s worth of sweat down the drain. My muscles tremble, and I rub the meaty parts of them, working out the lactic acid. Once I’ve soaped and rinsed off, I towel dry and spread liniment over my legs, arms, and shoulders. Smelling like menthol and aftershave—my usual scents, along with sweat and leather—I return to the gym and clap each of my brothers on the back, then collect my carbohydrate-enriched protein shake from the fridge and head to my car.
During the drive to the salon where Erin works, I drink the protein shake. I haven’t told the others where I’m going because I don’t need a lecture, or anyone standing in my way. Erin and I are overdue for a heart to heart. Parking a few blocks from the salon, I pull my hood up and speed walk the rest of the distance. I’m on a mission, and if anyone delays me, I might not arrive in time to catch Erin. She’s not the type to work overtime.
As I walk, I wonder where “home” is for her these days. As far as I can tell, she only ever lives by herself for as long as it takes to find a new man who has a little fame and plenty of money. The name of the salon is written in pink script on the glass door, and pushing it open to enter feels plain wrong. The sign may as well read: girl zone, keep out.
I throw my hood back, then stuff my hands into my pockets. “I’m her
e to see Erin.”
After eye-fucking me so thoroughly I need another shower, the receptionist calls out, “Erin, babe, there’s someone here for you.”
Erin turns from where she’s trimming an elderly woman’s hair and goes as white as her bleached blonde locks, fumbling with the scissors, which clatter to the floor—thankfully without removing any of her client’s scalp.
“J-Jase,” she stammers.
The receptionist’s lust morphs to disdain. “This is the guy who gave you that black eye?”
I can’t help but notice that the black eye is visible even across the room. Erin is more than capable of concealing it if she wants to, but she’s enjoying the attention.
“Erin.” I jerk my head toward the door. “Can I talk to you outside?”
Erin exchanges looks with several other women. One of them, who is painting a teenage girl’s nails, advises her not to go with me. Frustration roars through me, but I tamp it down. Letting my temper get the better of me has never done any good when it comes to her. For someone who enjoys poking at people’s vulnerable places, she doesn’t like it when they poke back. Her mouth firms and she thrusts her chest out like she’s about to enter a gladiatorial arena. I roll my eyes. How did I ever get past her attitude for long enough to find her attractive?
“Two minutes,” she says, then reassures her colleagues with a quiet, “We’ll be fine, girls. We’ll stand in the window so you can see if I need help.”
My jaw cranks impossibly tighter. She’s making me out to be a monster, when all I’m guilty of is not being enough of a sucker to take her back. She sets aside her tools and brushes hair from the front of her pink blouse in an action intended to draw my gaze to her tits, which are exposed by a plunging V-neck.
The bruise around her eye is turning yellow-brown, and if anyone really thought about it, they’d see it’s older than she claims, but no one is inclined to question her story. I wait for her to exit before following. I’m not stupid enough to leave first and let her lock me out. She leads me outside and when she turns to face me, her fearful expression has changed into smug self-assurance. She honestly believes this is going to play out how she wants. That I’ll abide by her terms. She doesn’t know me as well as she thinks she does.