Lyssa paused.
She remembered that evening in Las Vegas, just after the fight – when Dan Blanc, the CEO of the MMA League, had sat down and patted her knee paternally.
“Silas,” she began uncertainly, “when I was in Vegas, I spoke to Dan Blanc.”
“You did? Sapristi, girl. You’re in some exclusive circles if you get to do that. He’s a big deal.”
“Yeah,” Lyssa dismissed the comment. “He actually asked after you. If you and I were still in contact.”
There was a pause.
Hesitantly, Silas demanded: “He did?”
“Yeah,” Lyssa nodded. “I mean, he didn’t say why, exactly… But maybe you should get in contact with him. Maybe… I dunno. Maybe there’s an opportunity for you.”
There was another long pause.
“I’m done fighting, cariño,” Silas eventually responded. “My place is here, with my family.”
“But if there’s a chance he could get you back in the octagon…”
“Jamás,” Silas snarled. “I nearly lost everything because of the MMA League. And even if I did want to go back… Do you think they’d take me?”
He sighed.
“I’m broken, Lyssa. I might not be in that chair any more, but they all saw what happened. First Magnus Bjorn knocks me out. Then Winogrodzki puts me in a wheelchair.”
He laughed bitterly.
“I should have listened to my brother… I never should have left in the first place.”
But even as he said these things, Lyssa heard doubt in his voice – like Silas was trying to convince himself more than her.
“I already have a fight on my hands as it is,” he finally concluded. “The fight for Bodegas Batras. And I’m not going to go down easy.” He snorted bitterly. “If Adolphe Buenaventura wants this place, I’m going to make damn sure works for it.”
Lyssa said nothing. She just listened to Silas’ angry breathing, as he finished his rant.
Finally, as courage built up within her, she found enough gumption to murmur: “Just call him, Silas. Or email him.” She shook her head. “Maybe there’s something Dan Blanc can do to help.”
“Ha,” Silas sneered. “I doubt that.” But then he paused, and admitted: “But maybe I will. Since you won’t quit bugging me about it.”
And Lyssa smiled when she heard that – because she knew Silas well enough to know that the moment he started blaming other people for making him do stuff, it was only because part of him had been looking for an excuse to do it all along.
Chapter Ninety Four
Lyssa
Her cell-phone rang at one in the morning.
Bleary-eyed, Lyssa rolled over in her rickety bed and scrabbled to grab it.
She didn’t recognize the number. It had a 702 area code, which Lyssa seemed to vaguely remember was Las Vegas.
For a second, she considered ignoring the call. After all, it was probably some marketing bullshit – a pre-recorded message telling her that ‘your business has been approved for a loan.’
But something inspired her to swipe the green arrow right and take the call. Just in case…
“Hello?” She murmured sleepily into the phone.
“Lyssa?” A gruff voice. “Lyssa Meadows?”
She recognized it immediately.
Dan Blanc, from the MMA League.
Struggling to sit up in bed, Lyssa rubbed her eyes and asked:
“Mr. Blanc?”
“Good evening, Lyssa,” came the response, blithe and curt. “Sorry about the late hour. I’m on Vegas time. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“N-no,” Lyssa lied.
“So,” Dan demanded. “You packed yet?”
“Packed?” Lyssa shook her head. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve got a flight to Logroño booked for eight tomorrow morning. There’ll be a car service to pick you up at 5am.”
Lyssa blinked.
“Wait… What?”
“The tickets are booked under your name. Pick ‘em up from the check-in desk. Just remember to pack light, though. I’m not paying for checked bags.”
“Wait,” Lyssa repeated. “What do you mean I have a flight booked?” She blinked sleepily. “Mr. Blanc, I have work tomorrow. I’ve got to…”
“Eight in the morning,” Dan repeated. “Iberia. You’ll need to be there two hours before check in, so don’t keep the driver hanging around.”
“Mr. Blanc,” she snapped, now much more awake. “What are you talking about? I can’t go to Spain. I have a job. I have…”
“You have to get Silas Batras to give me a call,” Dan snapped back. “We’ve done some polls and there’s major interest in having him squared up against Rashaan Jackson. I want him back in the MMA League.”
“I-I understand that,” Lyssa blinked, flailing blindly to switch on her bedside lamp. “B-but he told me he wasn’t interested. He told me…”
“That’s why you’re going,” Dan Blanc interrupted her. “You’re going to convince him.” He snorted. “Tell Silas there’s $25,000 to show, if he takes the fight. The same again if he wins. And another $10,000 if he gets that win by submission or knockout.”
Lyssa blinked.
$25,000? Just to show up? Even at the current exchange rate, that was twice what he and Alberte needed to pay for the injunction to save Bodegas Batras.
“B-but why me?” Lyssa threw back the covers, and clambered out of bed. The apartment was rattling as a P.A.T.H. train rumbled past. “Why don’t you just call him yourself?”
“Because he’s not taking my calls,” Dan snapped. “He sent me one email – mentioned you by name, and said that’s why he was writing – but nothing else. And we want him back.”
Lyssa remembered how fervently Silas had said he wasn’t getting back into the octagon. How his place was with his family, in Spain.
But if this fight could save his family home… Shouldn’t he take it?
“I don’t know what the deal is between you two,” Dan continued, although the way he said it heavily implied he did, “but the big idiot listens to you. So you’re going to Spain to convince him to take the fight.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an order. But, by that point, Lyssa didn’t even care.
She was already digging out her pink carry-on case, from under her bed. It was still half full – she hadn’t had the motivation to unpack from the last time.
“Tell your boss you’re writing an article, or something,” Dan continued, as Lyssa unzipped her case. “We’ll throw in some advertising for the fight… Make it worth his while.”
Lyssa remembered the last conversation she’d had with her editor, Steve. Truth be told, he’d probably he happy she was going.
“Just promise me one thing,” Dan finished up. “That you come back from Spain with Silas, or don’t bother coming back at all.”
And then he hung up, and Lyssa was left clutching a silent cell-phone in the dark and rattling quiet of her Jersey City apartment.
She’d got the message loud and clear:
Bring Silas back from Spain, or don’t come back at all.
But, if the truth was told, either scenario worked for her.
She unzipped her bag, and got packing.
Part Four
Logroño, Spain
Chapter Ninety Five
Silas
Silas Batras narrowed his eyes as he hefted up the wine barrel.
His back ached, but it was a good pain – like well-oiled wood regaining its flexibility. Hefting up these barrels was better than a weight room in a gym, as far as he was concerned – and Silas had been at it for hours now.
He’d spent the afternoon clearing out the old barrels from a deserted building in the Bodegas Batras courtyard – barrels that had probably been filled by his father, and forgotten about for decades.
Each one was heavy, and musky – and the wine he’d poured out from inside had become vinegar by now.
But the barrels themselves were highl
y sought after – either by other vineyards, or as specialty casks for aging whiskey or brandy. Hell, even the broken ones had value – they sold well on eBay, to eager hipsters who wanted to turn them into chairs, or coffee tables, or drinks cabinets.
In any event, the old barrels weren’t useful any more, but that didn’t mean they no longer had value. Every penny Silas could raise from selling them was a step closer to saving Bodegas Batras.
Since Alberte’s lawyer had told Alberte about the chance of filing an injunction, and saving Bodegas Batras from repossession, Silas had been working like a mad thing to make that possibility become a reality.
From these old wine barrels, to the rusted antique cash register in the old office, everything that wasn’t needed was finding its way onto eBay or beyond. It wasn’t raising much – but every Euro was a step closer.
And, if the truth was told, this kind of rugged, thoughtless work was exactly what Silas needed right now. Anything to take his mind off how much he missed Lyssa, or how tempted he was to pick up the phone and call Dan Blanc, from the MMA League.
Besides, he had to keep busy – for the sake of the family. Alberte was despondent these days, just going through the motions as he kept the winemaking operation going. The family needed leadership; and he was no longer providing it.
Celestina was equally depressed – and still clearly shaken by being assaulted by Bruno Buenaventura and his thugs.
And even Chucho and César had picked up on the mood, and were acting up.
It was tough – really tough.
So Silas worked – because using his brute strength, out there in the courtyard, was an addictive and useful way to distract him from reality, even if it was unlikely to make a difference.
Beep! Beep!
The sound of a car horn echoed across the courtyard, and the former MMA fighter looked up, wondering who the hell it could be.
A car was driving through the archway, onto the cobblestones. A gleaming, brand-new Seat coupe; one he’d never seen before.
And as the car pulled to a halt, Silas stared through the windscreen and his eyes widened as he recognized the driver.
Lyssa Meadows threw open the door of the car, and clambered out with a reckless, beautiful smile.
“Ola,” the beautiful reporter grinned, waving at the astonished fighter. “Surprised to see me?”
Chapter Ninety Six
Lyssa
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Silas Batras sounded angry – but as he swept Lyssa up into a bear-hug, and crushed her in his powerful arms, it was clear he was very happy to see her.
“L-let me go,” Lyssa laughed, beating her tiny hands against his chest. “I can’t breathe.”
As Silas dropped her back onto the cobblestones, Lyssa adjusted her travel-crumpled clothes and purred: “Surprise. You have a guest.”
“I see that,” Silas’ big, brown eyes were wide, “but what are you doing here?”
Before she could answer that question, the center window shutters of the old mansion were flung open, and Celestina leaned out of the open window to see who the new arrival was.
The rental car was unfamiliar – but she instantly recognized the slim, fit American girl hugging her brother in law.
"Zambomba!" Celestina cried, eyes widening. “It’s Lyssa!”
And then the front door of the house opened, and Chucho and César came stumbling out – brushing their long hair from their eyes to see what was going on.
“Es tita Lyssa!” Chucho cried happily, stretching out his little arms. “Dame un abrazo!” And then he went toddling across the flagstones towards her.
As Lyssa happily wrapped her arms around the handsome little boy, she felt a swelling in her chest.
Coming back to this old, run-down winery shouldn’t feel like this, she knew. It shouldn’t feel like coming home.
But it did – and Lyssa had never been happier in her life.
Chapter Ninety Seven
Lyssa
“So, seriously,” Silas demanded, as Celestina pulled out a kitchen chair and Lyssa slumped into it, across the table. “What are you doing here?”
Alberte had joined them now, too – and was pouring her a glass of Gran Reserva.
Lyssa looked up from where she was sitting. She’d been travelling all day – enduring the 8am flight to Madrid, and then a connecting one to Logroño. After that, it had taken her an hour to drive to Bodegas Batras in the rental car Dan Blanc had arranged for her.
She was exhausted.
But Lyssa had the kind of news that couldn’t wait.
“Sit down, guys,” she told Alberte, Silas and Celestina. “Please. This is important.”
Looking nervous, Silas and his family took places at the kitchen table, and starred across the wide expanse of Spanish oak.
“I’m here because Dan Blanc, the CEO of the MMA League, sent me.” She looked across the table, towards the intense brown eyes of Silas. “He wants you back, Silas. To fight Rashaan Jackson.”
There was silence around the table.
After pursing his lips for a moment, Silas pushed back his chair, and stood up.
“I’ll be outside,” he growled, turning his back to his family. “I have barrels to move.”
“He’s willing to pay,” Lyssa called after him, as Silas moved towards the door. “He offered $25,000 to show.” When Silas didn’t pause, she added: “That’s more than enough to pay for the injunction to save this place.”
And that’s when Silas halted.
Turning around, the massive fighter peered across the room towards Lyssa, and snarled: “I told you before; I’m done fighting. My place is here, now.”
Surprisingly, it was Alberte who spoke next.
“Wait,” Silas’ brother looked up. “They’re willing to pay $25,000? Just for him turning up?”
“And the same again if he wins,” Lyssa nodded. “Plus a bonus.”
Alberte turned in his chair, and looked up at his brother.
“Silas, did you hear that? Dios Santo! It’s the answer to our prayers!”
Silas blinked. His face was a mask.
“Are you serious?”
There was a scrape, as Alberte pushed his chair back. Hauling himself upright, he beamed:
“Just one fight, Silas. One fight and we can keep this place.”
“Are you serious?” Silas repeated, narrowing his eyes.
Alberte blinked, confused.
“You gave me hell, brother,” Silas snarled. “You told me I’d abandoned my family, when I went to fight in America. And now you want me to go back?”
Alberte blinked.
“It’s one fight, Silas. And after all that’s happened…”
“What about all that’s happened?” Silas snarled. “You blame that on me, don’t you?” His big hands balled into fists.
“Well,” Alberte growled back. “It’s true, isn’t it? If you hadn’t abandoned us, none of this would have happened. You ran away to America and let everything here go to shit – and now you have the chance to make it right again.”
Silas span around, and slammed the door shut behind him so hard the walls rattled.
There was a moment of stunned silence in the kitchen.
“That hijo de puta,” Alberte growled. “He made this problem, and now he’s too much of a coward to fix it!”
And it was that word – ‘coward’ – that inspired Lyssa to push back her chair and go on after him.
“Don’t bother,” Alberte called back. “You won’t change the stubborn bastard’s mind.”
But Lyssa didn’t hear him. She was already running down the corridor, on the heels of Alberte’s brother.
Chapter Ninety Eight
Lyssa
Thump! Whack! Crack!
The sound of leather-impacting-leather echoed through the doors of the old warehouse.
Cautiously, Lyssa opened the creaking door, and stepped cross the dirt floor towards where she knew Silas would
be.
It was where he always ran to.
That makeshift gym.
And the sound of gloves-on-punching bag confirmed it, as Lyssa rounded the corner and found her erstwhile lover wailing on the heavy bag like it owed him money.
Silas spotted her instantly – but ignored her.
For lingering moments, he just kept throwing punch after punch into that heavy bag instead, until it swung back and forth so violently that the rafters overhead creaked.
And he looked magnificent as he did it, Lyssa admitted.
Silas was wearing one of his signature tight t-shirts, and though it Lyssa could see every sinew move. As he pulled back his huge fists, Silas’ whole body coiled like a spring, and then exploded with the full force of every punch.
His rippling muscles and poised posture – not to mention the icy focus in his eyes – demonstrated Silas’ world-class athleticism.
As Lyssa watched him, she knew he was born to fight.
She just had to convince him to do so.
“Silas!”
Her voice echoed across the room.
For a moment, Silas ignored her, and hammered his fists into that swinging punching bag a few more times.
“Silas!”
He stopped.
The bag swung back and forth, the rafters creaking. Dust wafted down from the roof above.
Wheeling around, Silas glowered at Lyssa from across the room.
His huge chest was heaving. Sweat dripped from his brow. He looked wild, and dangerous, and just a little too sexy for Lyssa to concentrate.
But she tried anyway.
“Silas!” Lyssa repeated.
“What?” The hulking Spaniard spat back.
“Why did you run off?” Lyssa asked, stepping nervously towards the panting fighter. “Didn’t you hear what I told you? Dan Blanc is going to give you enough money to save this place.”
“Ha!” Silas snorted, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
“Silas, this is exactly what you needed,” Lyssa’s eyes widened. “This is the solution we’ve all been wishing for.”
Broken: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance Page 18