Broken: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance

by Scarlet MMA, Simone

  “Ola,” Silas murmured, his face a mask.

  “Are you okay? Can I get you anything?” Wiping her hands with a tea towel, Celestina pushed her chair back to get up.

  “No,” Silas growled. “I’m fine. I’m not useless, you know.”

  Even as he said that, Silas wheeled himself over to the old kitchen counter, and reached for a glass. Sat down, as he was, he hardly had the reach – and he knocked one of the glasses into the sink.

  Celestina was out of her chair as soon as she heard the sound of breaking glass.

  “Sapristi,” Silas cursed, as he wheeled himself back and let Celestina step between him and the sink. “Goddammit, that was just an accident.”

  “Relax, cariño,” she said soothingly, which seemed only to infuriate Silas more. “It’s fine. Here. Let me.”

  And she poured him a glass of water.

  As Silas accepted the glass, he stared up at Celestina with narrow eyes. His cheeks burned red; and he looked almost like a resentful little boy, sitting there in his chair.

  Alberte snorted as he watched.

  “You’ll get the hang of it,” his brother growled, pushing back his chair and standing up from the table. “After all, you’re going to have to.”

  And then he grabbed his flat cap from the table, and headed for the door.

  “Lots to do,” Alberte complained, as he headed out into the courtyard. “And only me to do it.”

  And even after he’d gone, the hostility of those words remained in the kitchen; almost as if he was still standing there.

  Silas sat in resentfully in his chair for a moment, and then he span it around – headed in the other direction.

  Celestina and Lyssa found themselves alone.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Lyssa

  She didn’t know why she’d find him there – but somehow she knew he couldn’t possibly be anywhere else.

  After Silas and Alberte had both stormed off in separate directions, Lyssa had decided to follow the younger of the two brothers – and she’d headed straight for the barrel warehouse Alberte had shown her earlier.

  Somehow, she’d known that was where Silas would go.

  Lyssa hefted open the towering wooden door, and as soon as she spotted the wheelchair tracks in the dust on the dirt floor, she knew she’d made the right choice.

  Stepping into the cool, dark warehouse, Lyssa followed the wheelchair tracks past the towering wooden vats, and into the barrel rooms. There, around the corner, she found Silas hiding out in his makeshift gym.

  And he wasn’t idle.

  Thwack!

  Even sitting in his chair, the big hanging punchbag rattled as Silas punched it.

  Thwack!

  Dust fell from the rafters overhead.

  Thwack!

  Silas was so intent on punching that old bag that he never even heard Lyssa approach. It wasn’t until she cleared her throat that the big Spaniard looked up, and saw the pretty American staring at him.

  “Oh,” he growled, self-conciously. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough,” Lyssa forced herself to smile. “You can still throw a pretty mean punch.”

  With a sneer, Silas wheeled his chair around to face her.

  “Yeah,” he acknowledged. “But the last time I checked, boxing wasn’t one of the sports they did at the Special Olympics.”

  Lyssa didn’t have much to say to that.

  “So how did you know I’d be here?” Silas demanded, looking up at her with a growl.

  Lyssa blinked.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Alberte showed me this place this morning… and somehow I just knew.”

  Silas snorted bitterly.

  “This was where I always used to go, as a kid. When my father would yell at me, or when Alberte and I would fight.” He shook his head, and looked over at the barbell and weights rusting over in the corner. “When I learned English, I read this essay by this guy Henry Rollins…”

  “Oh, shit, everybody knows Henry Rollins,” Lyssa admitted.

  “Yeah,” Silas narrowed his eyes, annoyed at the interruption. “It was called The Iron. And it was about how training was the only friend who wouldn’t let you down.”

  Lyssa nodded. She kept her body trim by lifting weights, and the SteelBunz gym she was a member of back in Jersey had Rollin’s essay painted on the wall.

  “When my dad was mad at me, or when Alberte and I fought,” Silas continued, “I always knew this place would be waiting for me.”

  He turned and looked over the small, abandoned gym.

  “The iron weights. The punching bag. They were my real friends. The iron would always be there for me.”

  “The Iron never lies to you,” Lyssa read, from memory, reciting the Henry Rollins essay. “You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of talk, get told that you’re a god or a total bastard. The Iron will always kick you the real deal.”

  Silas looked up as Lyssa recited the familiar passage.

  “The Iron is the great reference point,” Lyssa continued, still quoting Henry Rollins. “The all-knowing perspective giver. Always there like a beacon in the pitch black.”

  Silas smiled as he listened, and Lyssa continued talking:

  “I have found the Iron to be my greatest friend. It never freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and go. But two hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds.”

  Silas looked up at her and snorted, clearly impressed.

  “I memorized that passage,” Lyssa admitted, as she basked in Silas’ admiration. “I didn’t make the smartest decisions when I was younger, and when I tried to turn my shit around, it was the gym that helped me.”

  She looked down, at her trim, lean figure.

  “Trust me. I didn’t end up with this figure guzzling skinny lattes and rice cakes.”

  Silas grinned.

  “I guess maybe you’re not so different, you and I.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Lyssa took a step forward, and knelt in the dust – sinking to Silas’ eye level. “But I get where you’re coming from. I get why you needed this.” She indicated the makeshift gym. “And, maybe, you still do.”

  Silas snorted.

  “Look at it.” He gestured towards the mildrew-covered punching bag, and the rusted weights. “This shithole is a perfect metaphor for my life. It was a rickety, home-made piece of shit when I left for America – and it’s a rusted, broken-down pile of shit now I’m back.”

  He shook his head.

  “Alberte told me I was an idiot for going. A selfish idiot. He didn’t speak to me for a year after I boarded that plane to New York. And now look at me.”

  Lifting his hands, Silas sunk his head into his palms.

  “The fact that Alberte even took me back… Fuck, man. I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve any of them.”

  Lyssa reached over, and took Silas’ bear-like hands in hers. Gently, she peeled them away from his face, and saw that his cheeks were glistening with tears.

  “Well, maybe it’s about time you did something about that. Do something that makes you feel like you do deserve him.”

  Lyssa squeezed Silas’ hands.

  “Alberte he loves you, Silas.” She breathed. “He hates you, too. But he loves you.”

  And then, without even thinking about it, Lyssa leaned forward and pressed her mouth against Silas’ lips.

  Silas’ eyes opened as he felt the softness of her lips against his. But before he could react, she was pulling away again – looking up at him, biting the corner of her lip.

  She looked adorable.

  “Sorry,” Lyssa breathed. “I just thought you needed that.”

  And Silas’ felt his heart skip a bit.

  Because the moment her lips had touched his, his body had reacted in ways he’d forgotten it could.

  And he’d suddenly discovered he wasn’t as dead below the waist as he’d feared.

  Chapter Thirty Three

&n
bsp; Lyssa

  The next morning, fog hung over the faded buildings of Bodegas Batras. It was eerily beautiful.

  A rushed breakfast of cheese and meats preceded Celestina hustling the kids outside, into the rusted old van with the winery’s faded logo painted on the side.

  “Come on, niños,” she barked. “We’ll be late if you don’t hurry up. We still have to load your uncle.”

  As the engine rumbled into life, Alberte grumpily hefted wine crates and boxes out of the back. That made just enough room for Silas’ wheelchair.

  “Pain in the ass,” Alberte grumbled. “Every week, I have to do this shit.” He shot Silas, who’d wheeled himself out into the cobblestone courtyard, a dirty look to illustrate his resentment.

  “Sssh,” Celestina remonstrated her husband. Turning to Silas, she murmured: “Ignore him. He’s a grumpy old ass.” Her hand laid across Silas’ massive shoulder. “We’ll drop the kids off, and then head to your physiotherapy appointment.”

  Arms wrapped around her chest, to fend off the morning chill, a sleepy Lyssa had joined the family in the courtyard.

  “Lyssa,” Celestina looked up at the pretty America. “You want to come? We can go shopping while Silas is with the doctor.”

  “Sure,” Lyssa shrugged; which was a typical New Jersey way of acting nonchalant, despite the fact she was excited by the idea.

  Lyssa crammed herself into the back of the van, between Silas’ chair and the chattering kids, and Celestina hauled herself behind the wheel.

  She let in the clutch, and with a backfire and a puff of blue smoke, the old van rumbled off through the archway.

  That left Alberte alone in the old winery.

  He watched them go, his face a weathered mask.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Lyssa

  The capital of the La Rioja region is Logroño, a beautiful Spanish town that seamlessly blends historic grandeur with clean, modern sophistication.

  “You can thank the wine industry for that,” Celestina purred, as Lyssa stared out of the window at the smooth, new roads and gleaming buildings. “They invest a lot of money making the town look good for tourists.”

  Lyssa had always imagined Spain would resemble the streets she’d found on her ill-fated trip to Cancun; but this was a different experience altogether. There was lush greenery, and clean streets, and plenty of modern amenities to explore.

  The kids had already been dropped off – and that had led to a quiet, sullen silence in the van as Celestina powered it through the streets.

  Lyssa wasn’t much of a morning person, and Silas didn’t seem to say much of anything unless prompted.

  On the outskirts of town, Celestina pulled the clattering old van to a halt outside a long, low white building with a sign saying “Fisioterapeuta” on the wall.

  The door rattled open, as Celestina clambered out. Lyssa struggled out of the back of the van too, and together they managed to help Silas out, and into his wheelchair.

  “Stop it, stop it,” he hissed, as Celestina tried to push him down the smooth sidewalk. “I can manage.”

  And he could. With his big hands, Silas powered the wheels of the chair, and rolled off away from the two women.

  “Stubborn as a burro, that one,” Celestina scoffed, wrapping her arms around herself as she followed him. “Just like his brother.”

  And curious, Lyssa followed.

  * * *

  Again, in total contrast to Lyssa’s Cancun-based expectations – which had involved treatment for food poisoning and crabs – the interior of this Spanish doctor’s office was white, gleaming and spotless.

  The Europeans clearly didn’t fuck around with their universal healthcare.

  In fact, this place made even Lyssa’s doctor’s office back home in Jersey look like a back-alley stitch-shop.

  A pretty receptionist in too-much eyeliner took Silas’ details as he wheeled himself in, and shortly afterwards the door to the doctor’s office opened, and a young and handsome man in a white coat can barreling out.

  “Silas, mi amigo,” he offered the wheelchair-bound fighter a handshake, and then turned to Celestina. He asked her a question in fluent Spanish, which Lyssa assumed was about her.

  “This is Lyssa,” Celestina helpfully translated, introducing her to the doctor. “May I introduce Dr. Montoya.”

  “Encantado,” Dr. Montoya took Lyssa’s hand, and kissed it. He then followed, in almost perfect English: “I studied medicine at John Hopkins, in Boston. I’m always delighted to meet an American.”

  The doctor was young and handsome, and despite herself Lyssa’s cheeks burned as he squeezed her hand.

  Silas looked up at her reaction, and his eyes narrowed.

  “Perhaps after work today,” Montoya grinned, not letting go of Lyssa’s hand, “we could go for a coffee. I’d be delighted to… practice my English.”

  Lyssa laughed dryly. She didn’t need a dictionary to translate that euphemism.

  “We’re going back after my appointment,” Silas growled, from his chair. “I don’t think she’ll be available.”

  Lyssa turned and glowered at him as he said it. A hot spurt of anger filled her belly; but at the same time she was a little gratified by Silas’ jealousy.

  “We’ll see,” Lyssa said teasingly, giving the doctor a wink that she knew Silas could see. Then she awkwardly extricated herself from Montoya’s grip. “But I think you have a date right now with him.”

  “Ah, yes,” Montoya laughed. “Him”

  “Come,” Celestina grabbed Lyssa’s elbow, and ushered her towards the door. “Let’s let Silas do his stuff. We’ll go to town. I need to pick up a few things.”

  Throwing the handsome doctor a final, flirty smile, Lyssa followed Celestina back outside with a little spring to her step.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Lyssa

  Even at ten in the morning, not much was open in Logroño – but Lyssa didn’t mind.

  They parked the old van in the center of town, and Lyssa followed Alberte’s wife as she led her through the winding streets and up narrow passageways, to the shops and stalls of the historic town.

  While the shops were shut, the market was bustling.

  Celestina brought fruit from one dealer, and fresh jamón from the local butcher. It seemed laborious to Lyssa – but also so much more authentic and enjoyable than pushing a shopping cart around her local Stop ‘n Shop.

  “We have supermarkets too,” Celestina explained, as they headed down a cobblestone street towards another morning market, “but Logroño is a small community. If we support local businesses, they support us.”

  And, to demonstrate, she pointed through the window of a local

  tienda de vinos and Lyssa saw a bottle of Bodegas Batras Gran Reserva proudly on display.

  “That’s nice,” Lyssa smiled as she saw it. “Where I’m from, it’s all strip-malls and sidewalks. You’re lucky if you get so much as a ‘ma’am’ from the kid behind the cash register.”

  Lyssa followed Celestina down the alleyways, and was enjoying looking around. Or, at least, she was until Celestina stopped suddenly right in front of her.

  Lyssa almost walked straight into her back.

  “Hey, watch it!”

  “Sorry.” Celestina muttered the apology half-heartedly. She was clearly distracted; looking down the narrow alleyway, as three men rounded the corner at the opposite end.

  “You think it’s a nice thing, everybody knowing who you are,” Celestina murmured warily, as she recognized the three strangers. “But sometimes, it isn’t as positive as it sounds.”

  Lyssa narrowed her eyes.

  She wasn’t dumb. Something was wrong. Lyssa had noticed that Celestina’s cheerful and carefree attitude had instantly evaporated.

  “What’s wrong, Celestina?”

  Alberte’s wife didn’t answer, so Lyssa looked down the alleyway, towards what had spooked her.

  It was those three men – walking down the opposite e
nd of the alleyway towards them.

  At first Lyssa was confused. They looked just like typical, regular-looking Spanish dudes, as far as she was concerned. Lyssa wouldn’t have given them a second glance if Celestina hadn’t stopped so suddenly, and acted so weird.

  But then one of the strangers called out to them, with a sinister intensity.

  “Ah, Señora Batras,” the man called, and his two buddies fanned out to block the path ahead. “Buenos días.”

  Lyssa froze. She’d been mugged enough times in Jersey City to know that this wasn’t good.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Lyssa

  “What’s going on?” Lyssa hissed at Celestina. “Who are these assclowns?”

  The three men were young – in their late twenties, she’d guess. The one who’d called out to Celestina was the tallest of the three, with a shaved head and hawkish face.

  He led the three of them down the alleyway, towards Celestina and Lyssa, and Lyssa noticed that Celestina’s breath caught in her throat as they approached.

  “Señora Batras,” the tall stranger repeated, and then spoke in English, as he turned to face Lyssa. “And who is this? El Americano we’ve heard so much about?”

  Lyssa narrowed her eyes as the man approached. As a Jersey girl, she knew bad news when she saw it.

  “What do you want, Bruno?” Celestina finally spoke up, also in English.

  The stranger – Bruno – stepped closer.

  Lyssa could see Celestina’s knuckles tighten around her shopping bags as he approached.

  “There’s no need to be rude, el cariño,” this ‘Bruno’ character purred menacingly, sneering as he stepped up in front of them.

  The towering stranger ignored Celestina, and turned to face Lyssa instead.

  He towered over her, and reached for Lyssa’s hand.

  Fearless, she let him take it.

  “And who are you, el novio?” the stranger purred, pressing his dry lips against the back of her hand.