Flashbulbs went off as bloggers and reporters took photos.
“Now then, y’all – you got any questions for Rashaan?”
Members of the press raised their hands to speak to the intimidating new fighter – but Lyssa just settled back in her seat to listen.
She’d get what she needed to hear from tuning into the other reporter’s inquiries. Besides, the only questions she had for Rashaan probably couldn’t be answered in a press conference like this.
For example: She was wondering what Rashaan Jackson’s appearance on the MMA league roster meant in the context of previous fights – and previous fighters.
Rashaan was an unknown new element in the super-heavyweight division. Did that mean, if he won this upcoming fight, there’d be an argument to pit him against Silas Batras?
Or, to cut to the chase: Did her Spanish lover still have a future in the sport?
Chapter Seventy Two
Lyssa
After the press conference, Lyssa hung back. She’d spent so many hours at Bright Iron she didn’t want to just duck out without saying ‘hi’ to the owner, or some of her favorite patrons.
Travis and Nikolai might have dumped her, but she still had friends in this smelly old gym.
As it happened, it didn’t take long for ‘Uncle Tony’, the wiry old Italian who ran the place, to swagger on over and embrace her.
“Lyssa! What are you doin’ here, girl? Haven’t seen you in so long!”
“Hey, Tony,” Lyssa gratefully hugged the old man. “You know, since things went south with Travis and Nikolai, I haven’t wanted to be around as much.”
Tony snorted dryly.
“Well, as much as I love those boys, you’re much prettier to look at.” He squeezed her arm. “Don’t be a stranger, capiche?”
As Lyssa made a hollow promise to visit more often, something caught her attention over Tony’s shoulder.
The rest of crowd of reporters and bloggers had sidled out by this point, but it looked like Rashaan and his crew had hung back – presumably to avoid the flashbulbs and questions from the press.
But as the new super-heavyweight finally left the locker room, with Delwood and Jack Ranger in tow behind him, Lyssa was surprised to see a black car waiting outside to collect them.
The black car wasn’t such a weird site – unmarked limos and towncars were perennial even in the more remote boroughs of New York.
No, what was surprising were the man and woman who’d climbed out of the back of the towncar to greet Rashaan.
“Hey,” Lyssa interrupted Tony, and pointed over his shoulder. The old Italian turned, and peered out of the window she was pointing towards. “Who are they?”
“Oh, those two?” Tony stretched his head. “They’re the cash. Payin’ the bills for this Rashaan Jackson kid. Some rich douchebag and his wife, from out on Long Island.”
But that part Lyssa already knew.
Because the couple ushering Rashaan and his promoter into the back of the black towncar were very familiar to her.
Nicola and Jared Hedberg – the same rich couple who’d previously been sponsoring Silas.
Chapter Seventy Three
Lyssa
When you make the sort of money Lyssa did, as a columnist for a failing newspaper, you can’t afford to spend that much time in ritzy hotels.
Nevertheless, a couple of hours after the press conference in Brighton Beach, Lyssa found herself walking into the exclusive Bull and Bear restaurant, in the Waldorf Astoria in Manhattan.
Lyssa was achingly self-conscious of the fact that she was wearing jeans and a leather jacket, as she strode past women in thousand dollar Donna Karen ensembles, and men in Brooks Brother’s suits. But the courteous staff didn’t even look at her twice as she took a place at the bar and ordered a martini that cost more than she’d spend on food that week.
“Straight up, very dirty,” she told the bartender, and as they prepared her drink, Lyssa turned in her seat and surveyed the crowded restaurant.
There they were!
Across the sea of heads, Lyssa spotted a secluded corner booth – and inside were Jared and Nicola Hedberg – sandwiched either side of the imposing figure of Rashaan ‘Hungry’ Jackson.
It had taken a dozen calls and calling in more than a few favors to track down where the up-and-coming MMA star would be staying that night; but the job had become much easier when the name ‘Hedberg’ had been thrown into the mix.
Lyssa’s contact at the hospitality desk of the Herald-Tribune had tracked down a reservation in their name to the Waldorf Astoria; and from there, the only thing Lyssa needed to do was see them for herself.
And so there they were.
Swaggering businessman Jared Hedberg, and his sultry trophy wife Nicola. The ones who’d once been paying Silas’ bills, back when he’d been fighting on the MMA circuit.
And now they were having dinner with Rashaan Jackson. Apparently, that meant they’d found a new fighter to support; and this one looked even meaner and more dangerous than Silas ever had.
Lyssa sipped her delicious martini, and stared at the couple from across the crowded room. They were laughing and joking with Rashaan – sipping drinks while the burly, black fighter drank water and cut into a massive slab of steak.
Delwood Grey was sitting at the same booth, and soon Jack Ranger joined them. It was clear this was quite the MMA league reunion. Apparently Jared’s money was more than enough to buy the businessman an ‘in’ into the sport he loved so much.
Lyssa didn’t know whether she was seething with anger, or smug with satisfaction. Part of her was impressed that she’d managed to track down the rich couple, and her hunch about them finding a new fighter to sponsor had been accurate.
But at the same time she was angry – hurt that they’d cast aside Silas Batras so easily, and replaced him with another burly brute with a fast swing.
Over the past few weeks, Lyssa had really come to care for Silas; and he deserved better than the way the Hedbergs had treated him.
Not that it mattered, Lyssa shrugged. Silas was done with fighting. He’d told her that himself.
Lyssa was probably more upset about this new development than he would have been himself.
“Hey!”
The voice startled Lyssa so much that she spilled her martini.
Spinning around on her seat, she turned and found herself staring up into the bright, blue eyes of an achingly familiar face.
Travis Oates – the lean, handsome MMA fighter from Texas.
“T-Travis,” Lyssa blinked, as she recognized the features of her former boyfriend-of-sorts. “W-what the hell are you doing here?”
Rashaan and Travis? Two unconnected MMA fighters, eating in the same swanky restaurant? That was too much of a coincidence, even for Lyssa.
Without being invited to do so, the lanky Texan slid into the stool next to Lyssa, and squeezed her knee through her jeans.
“I could ask you the same question, darlin’,” he purred, in that infuriatingly delicious Texas accent of his. “I had a meetin’ with Jack Ranger, from the MMA League. He’s stayin’ here, don’t you know?”
Lyssa did know, thanks to those twelve calls and a few called-in favors. But she pretended she didn’t, and tried not to give the game away by glancing over at the Hedbergs, or Rashaan.
“You don’t say,” sipping her drink, Lyssa feigned ignorance.
“But, seriously, girl,” Travis purred, “what are you doin’ here?” He touched her knee again, and Lyssa shivered at the familiar touch. “Nikolai and I haven’t heard from you in weeks. They said you disappeared off to Spain, or some such.”
“Yeah,” Lyssa nodded, trying to act nonchalant. “For a story.”
That was almost the truth, she justified to herself.
“Well,” Travis clicked his fingers, and ordered a beer, “You didn’t call. You don’t write.” When an ice-cold bottle of Budweiser appeared in his hand, he leaned forward and asked: “Are you still mad
at us, darlin’?”
Lyssa didn’t say anything. She just stared into Travis’ infuriatingly sexy blue eyes.
Eyes she’d lost herself in many times before – normally when this rangy Texan had been balls-deep inside of her.
“No,” Lyssa lied, through clenched teeth. “I’m not mad.”
If Travis knew she was lying, he didn’t act like it.
He just squeezed her knee again, and slurped his beer.
“Well, shit,” the handsome Texan purred. “I’m glad to hear it. ‘Cos Nikolai and I miss you, girl.” He squeezed her arm again. “Tell you what: Bright Iron sure is a lot less fun without you around.”
Lyssa couldn’t believe it. Here was one of the two men who’d broken her heart – cast her out of their apartment like she was a bag of garbage – and now he was making oblivious small-talk with her, like nothing had ever happened between them.
Was he for real? Was he really that dumb?
But as Lyssa drained her martini, she accepted that he probably was.
All men were dumb. That was what kept getting her into trouble with them in the first place.
For a moment Lyssa thought of Silas, all those miles away back in Spain.
Hell, maybe men weren’t the only dumb ones. Silas was gorgeous, and sexy, and into her. And he’d begged her to stay with him, in Spain.
And, instead, Lyssa had come home. She’d tossed the most promising relationship she’d ever had, and found herself alone, and lonely.
Maybe she was as dumb as anyone.
And now look at her. Sipping a drink she could barely afford, and being flirted with by one of two men who’d recently cast her aside like a used condom.
Shaking her head, Lyssa tried to push those thoughts out of her head and focus on what Travis was saying, as the handsome Texan kept talking.
“…so Jack Ranger thinks there’s still a place for me in the MMA league,” Travis was saying, excitedly.
Travis was referring to his similarly lackluster MMA career. The talented young Texan had recently suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of Benjamin ‘Bruiser’ Broderick – and many thought that Travis’ days in the octagon were numbered – including him.
But apparently, that was about to change.
“Jack Ranger thinks that with ‘Baller’ Alexander back in the league, it’s going to open up the whole division again.” Travis sipped his drink. “People’ll still want to see me fight, he reckons.”
“That’s… That’s great, Travis,” Lyssa tried to feign enthusiasm.
The Texan snorted and continued talking:
“Anything’s possible. And if I get another go at Nikolai, I won’t go so easy on the Russian bastard – even if he is my best friend.”
Lyssa reluctantly smiled when she heard that. Travis had suffered an even earlier defeat at the hands of the very same man he’d shared Lyssa with – his best friend and training buddy of countless years, Nikolai Bukov.
Two defeats in a row was threatening to cost Travis his MMA career; and the fact that one of those defeats was to his best friend was a bitter pill to swallow.
But Travis seemed optimistic, and Lyssa forced herself to admit: “I’m happy for you.
And she was. Really.
Lyssa knew how much mixed martial arts meant to this poor kid from Galveston. As much as he and Nikolai had hurt her, she didn’t want anything but the best for Travis – and that included breathing continued life into his MMA dreams.
But just as Lyssa said something sweet, Travis had to go and ruin it all.
“Hey,” he breathed, leaning into Lyssa, and breathing Budweiser fumes into her face. “You know how much Nikolai and I miss you, right?”
Lyssa shuddered, as she detected the faint scent of his cologne.
“Instead of haulin’ your ass all the way back to Jersey City tonight,” Travis continued, “why don’t you come and stay with us again? Just for tonight. For old time’s sake?”
Lyssa blinked, and looked up into Travis’ wide, excited eyes.
Was he for real?
He and Nikolai had kicked her out of their apartment, and cast her aside like garbage. And now this handsome MMA fighter expected her to just forget everything that had happened, and come crawling back to them?
What’s more, to do it ‘for old time’s sake’? As in, without even the promise of a phone call the following morning?
But the worst part?
The more Lyssa thought about it – the thought of taking the train back to her cold, lonely Jersey City apartment – the more it tempted her.
She could lie awake in her draft apartment tonight, wondering if she’d made a huge mistake leaving Silas back in Spain.
Or she could enjoy the delicious distraction of two sexy, mixed martial artists.
Draining her martini, Lyssa took a deep breath and looked Travis squarely in the eye.
“Sure,” she growled, with a combination of arousal and resignation. “Why the fuck not?”
And then she slipped off the stool, and followed Travis from the bar – wondering if this was going to be the biggest mistake since letting Silas Batras slip through her fingers.
Chapter Seventy Four
Lyssa
The truth be told, the journey to Travis and Nikolai’s Brooklyn apartment was probably no shorter than the one to her studio in Jersey City – but at least this way she got to enjoy it in a taxi cab.
Twenty minutes after they’d left the Bull and Bear, Travis was slipping the cab driver thirty bucks, and Lyssa was clambering out of the old Crown Victoria, and staring up at the looming brownstone she’d become so familiar with over the past few months.
“C’mon inside,” Travis grabbed her hands, and led her up the old stone steps. “Nikolai will be stoked to see you, girl.”
Inside, the ground floor apartment was just as she remembered it – neat, but not clean, and smelling equally of cologne and man-scent. Russian pop music was playing from the radio, and the scent of something rich with paprika bubbled from the kitchen.
“Yo! Nico! Guess who I ran into in the city?”
Emerging from the kitchen, with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder, the intimidating bulk of Nikolai Bukov looked surprisingly domestic.
His craggy brow wrinkled as the Russian recognized the pretty woman in the leather jacket, standing self-consciously in the doorway.
“Lyssa! What are you doing here, lapochka?” The dangerous-looking fighter cracked a smile, as he strode out into the hallway and embraced her. “You’re not still angry with us, are you?”
Lyssa extricated herself from Nikolai’s embrace.
“Angry?” She snorted, folding her arms. “About you guys kicking me out of the apartment?” She shook her head, and sneered sarcastically: “Nah, bro. We’re all good.”
If Nikolai detected the dripping sarcasm, he didn’t acknowledge it.
“I am so happy,” he hugged her again, and this time Lyssa allowed herself to sink into the embrace of his bulky, muscular body. “We missed you, you know?”
Sure, Lyssa scoffed to herself. But not enough to make a commitment to her.
Nikolai peeled himself from the slender little Jersey girl, and growled: “Come, come. I have made pelmeni. You must be starved.” He grabbed her slender hand in his bear-like grip, and wrenched her towards the kitchen.
Lyssa didn’t resist. After six ounces of martini on an empty stomach, she was starving – and the thought of Nikolai’s homemade Russian cuisine made her stomach growl.
As she stumbled into the tiny kitchen, she acknowledged that this felt all wrong. She shouldn’t be here, with these two sexy men. It felt like a betrayal to just pretend that the argument they’d had never happened, and that they hadn’t kicked her out of the apartment.
But, worse than that, it felt like a betrayal of Silas.
But Silas was thousands of miles away, in Spain. And Lyssa was here, alone and hungry, and desperate for comfort.
So she pushed aside the doub
ts, and took a seat at the tiny kitchen table.
For tonight, at least, maybe she could pretend everything was still the way she remembered.
Chapter Seventy Five
Lyssa
“So, what were you doin’ in Spain, darlin’?”
Travis poured Lyssa another two inches of neat vodka, and sunk down next to her on the couch.
She was painfully aware of the heat of his long, lean body as he casually pressed his weight against hers.
“I was writing a story,” Lyssa explained. “About Silas Batras.”
“El Torro?” Nikolai was sitting opposite then, on the armchair, and he sat up when he heard the name. “I saw that fight on TV. Is he really in a wheelchair?”
“He’s making a recovery,” Lyssa admitted happily. “He was very lucky.”
“Shit, not that lucky,” Travis scoffed. “Poor bastard’s out of the league for good now. Two straight losses in a row.”
“They said the same about you, tovarish,” Nikolai warned, as he slurped his own vodka. “But it’s not over in MMA until – how do you say? – the ‘fat lady sings.’”
“Well, she’s croonin’ for poor old Silas,” Travis shrugged. “The big Polish bastard whupped him good.”
Lyssa shivered as she remembered watching that fight – and seeing Wlodek “The Bear” Winogrodzki’s massive bulk come crashing down on Silas in the octagon.
For a moment there was a still silence in the room – and then Nikolai purred: “Maybe. I don’t know.”
Travis looked up.
“What do you mean, you cryptic Russian bastard?”
“Now that new guy is in the league – “Hungry” Jackson. Maybe there’s still space for Silas. If he wants it.”
The two fighters turned to Lyssa, and looked at her expectantly.
“Do you think he wants it? To come back to fighting?”
Lyssa drained her drink. The vodka was deliciously fiery in her belly.
Broken: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance Page 13