“I’ve got to go,” she was already heading for the cloakroom. “Oh, fuck, Travis. How could you?”
She wheeled around, and glowered up at the towering Texan.
“You two,” she swore, shaking her head. “You always fuck things up for me. Just when I thought you’d done breaking my heart, you have to go and do it all over a-fucking-gain.”
And, leaving Travis with a bemused look on his face, Lyssa stormed off towards the exit.
Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen
Lyssa
He can’t have got back home more than half an hour before Lyssa did, but that was enough.
As Lyssa unlocked the door to her apartment – fingers trembling as she struggled to turn the key – she could almost visualize what to expect.
And she wasn’t disappointed.
Her studio apartment was a mess. The drawers of her dresser hung open, clothes were strewn across the floor, and Silas’ suitcase was missing.
He’d walked out. Just like that.
Lyssa staggered into the apartment, and looked around blankly.
Where had Silas gone? And why? What was it Travis had said to him?
But, deep down, she knew.
Travis might not have told him the details, but he’d told Silas enough.
For all his good intentions, her towering maybe-boyfriend was only human; and there wasn’t a ‘right’ way to handle the news that your girlfriend had been shared between two rival MMA fighters like a rotisserie chicken.
With a sob, Lyssa sunk onto the broken bed, and flopped her head into her hands.
Things had been going so well. Her life finally seemed to be coming together. And then, out of left field, this.
Where would Silas go? When would she talk to him again? And, more importantly, where did this leave the upcoming fight – the one thing that could save Bodegas Batras?
She flopped back onto the ruined bed, and sobbed.
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty
Lyssa
“Vegas.”
Rob Staavig sipped his coffee, and smiled sympathetically at Lyssa Meadows.
She’d turned up at BB Martial Arts Center at 9am that morning, hoping beyond hope that Silas would still be making it to his scheduled training session – but he was a no-show.
Yet Rob, at least, had some news for her.
“Yeah,” he shrugged, leaning against the reception desk. “Benji gave me a call last night. Apparently your boy Silas flew out there, last minute.”
“Vegas?” Lyssa slumped against the wall. “What the hell is he doing out there?”
“Training, apparently,” Rob replied brightly. “He asked Ben to train him, instead of me. I guess he wants to get in-situ a few weeks early. Get used to the Nevada air, or something.”
Lyssa shook her head.
Ben was the co-owner of BB Martial Arts Center – a talented young fighter currently out in Vegas filming a reality show.
It made sense that Silas would ask Ben to honor the agreement he’d made with the karate center – and give him the training out west that Rob was supposed to be giving him here in New Jersey.
But the sudden move left a lot of unanswered questions.
Why had Silas bailed? Where was he staying? And with who?
Both Lyssa and Silas were broke, and a flight to Vegas and a place to stay wouldn’t have been exactly cheap.
“I wish I had more information for you,” Rob saw the look of confusion on her face – and it wasn’t pretty.
Lyssa was a mess. She was without her usual makeup, and her normally sleek hair was all mussed up and tangled. With her eyes red from crying, she looked like she’d hardly slept.
“Can’t you just call him up, or something?”
“We never got him a cell phone when he came back to America,” Lyssa explained. “We kept meaning to, but…”
Rob shook his head sadly. “Facebook? Email?”
“He’s not replying to either.”
“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I wish there was something I could do.”
“I’m fine,” Lyssa lied, sniffing miserably. “I’ve just got to…” She blinked. “Got to…”
But she didn’t know what she had to do.
When Silas had been around, they’d had a plan. Train for the fight. Win that money. Save the family winery.
But now?
What was she supposed to do?
“Listen,” Rob shrugged awkwardly. “The Little Ninja class is about to begin, so I’ve got to go.” He looked down at Lyssa, and smiled awkwardly. “If you do need anything…”
But even Lyssa knew how hollow that offer was.
“I’m fine,” she repeated, sniffing again. “I’d better go.” And with that, she grabbed her coat, and shambled blankly towards the door.
She hardly even registered crossing the parking lot, or climbing behind the wheel of her beat-up Toyota. It wasn’t until she gunned the rattling engine that the tears came – and as she rolled the car onto the highway, she was sobbing like a child.
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty One
Lyssa
“Good for you, hun.”
The following day – after two tubs of ice cream and a restorative bottle of Chardonnay – Lyssa turned up to the offices of the Herald-Tribune and handed in her notice.
“I mean it,” Steve smiled happily, reading her carefully typed letter as she sat attentively at his desk. “You were too good for this place anyway – and I’m pleased you’ve got something better to go on to.”
And as devastated as Lyssa was by Silas walking out, that much was true.
The blogging job with the MMA League was like a dream come true – and no matter how upset she was, not even Silas could take that away from her.
“I was going to give two weeks’ notice,” Lyssa said, as Steve folded up her letter and slid it into his ‘IN’ tray. “Or I can just give you the columns I’m working on now, and call it a day.”
“Why don’t you do that,” Steve suggested. “You don’t owe this place another goddamn day.” He laughed bitterly. “I’ve got a review with the owners at the end of the month. I’ve got a feeling it’s only a matter of time before I’m out of here myself.”
Lyssa laughed bitterly – thinking how ironic it was that the stalwart Herald-Tribune, which had survived two world wars and a takeover attempt by William Randolph Hearst, was finally being put out of business by something as innocuous as online media.
“So, this new job,” Steve asked. “Are you moving out to Vegas for it?”
Lyssa blinked. She hadn’t even thought about that. Dan Blanc had said she could work from anywhere – and with her newly bumped-up salary, there were much nicer and more affordable places to live than Jersey City.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I guess there’s not much reason to hang out around here anymore.”
“Well, I’ll look you up next time I’m on the Strip,” Steve grinned. And then he clambered up from his chair, and offered Lyssa his hand across the desk.
She shook it, feeling bittersweet about the farewell from this trusted friend and mentor. She had a lot of fond memories of this place – and it was going to be rough to embark on something new.
But as she left Steve’s office – and turned her back for the last time on the old Herald-Tribune building – she realized that there was a whole new adventure to embark on; and who knew where that might take her.
She just wished Silas would be taking that journey with her.
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty Two
Lyssa
“I need you up in Connecticut, stat.”
Lyssa rubbed her eyes, peering up at the clock on her bedside table. At had just gone three in the morning.
“I’m serious,” it was Dan Blanc, barking down the phone at her. Lyssa immediately regretted taking the call – but she’d been half asleep, so had grabbed and answered her thrumming cell-phone without even thinking about it when it had rung.
“W-what’s going on?�
�� Yawning, Lyssa sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Do you know what time it is, Mr. Blanc?”
“It’s time for you to pull on a pair of sweat pants and get out the door,” Dan was barking at her. “Rashaan Jackson just got himself arrested up in Hartford, and you’re the nearest resource I have. Go up there and get the story.”
Suddenly, Lyssa wasn’t so sleepy any more.
“Yeah,” Dan noticed her change in tone, even all those miles away in Las Vegas. “It’s big news, and I want it on the MMA League blog before Fox News and TMZ. Get your ass up there, and send me whatever expenses you need to. Just don’t let me down.”
Lyssa was already clambering out of the broken remains of her bed, and reaching for a pair of jeans.
“I’m on it,” she nodded – but Dan Blanc had already hung up.
* * *
By some miracle of Japanese engineering, Lyssa’s rattling old Toyota Corolla managed to make the two and a half hour drive to Connecticut.
Fortunately, the roads were pretty much deserted that time of night – and with a slipstream of white exhaust smoke in her wake, she powered the rusty old car through the highways, and then off into the green beauty of the Nutmeg State.
At a little past five in the morning, her car rolled into the parking lot of the Hartford Police Department – and she immediately saw a camera van and crew waiting outside the front door.
Fox 61, and WFSB both seemed to have a presence there – and with their cameras and microphones, made Lyssa feel very inadequate as she scurried across the parking lot clutching her notepad and pen.
But that worked to her advantage as she neared the door. Because she was dressed casually in jeans and a sweatshirt, the police officers holding the crowd of reporters back didn’t even give her a second glance.
Invisble to them, Lyssa climbed the steps and ducked through the doorway into the lobby of the police station.
Presumably, they thought she was a regular citizen, at the station for a purpose other than harassing an arrested celebrity. In any event, she managed to find herself inside the lobby while the rest of the press were being corralled outside.
Although once she was in the stark, well-lit police station, she didn’t exactly know what advantage it offered her.
“Can I help you, miss?”
An overweight officer at the reception desk looked up at the disheveled looking new arrival, and asked Lyssa: “Do you need to speak to an officer?”
Lyssa’s eyes grew wide, and she fumbled for an excuse to be there.
“I’m… I’m…”
But, fortunately, she didn’t need to finish that sentence.
“Oh, it’s you.”
The voice cut through the empty lobby of the police station like a siren. Wheeling around, Lyssa turned and saw the door behind the counter open up – the one that led to the cells, and interrogation rooms – and a stunning blond woman saunter out.
Nicola Heberg.
The wife of Silas’ one-time sponsor.
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty Three
Lyssa
Despite it being 5am, Nicola Hedberg looked insanely glamorous – like she was ready to attend a yacht party, or film premiere.
Lyssa felt very self-conscious, standing there in her jeans and sneakers. And that feeling didn’t improve, when Nicola narrowed her eyes at Lyssa again, and repeated: “It’s you.”
She clip-clopped across the tiles on her high heels. She was wearing white jeans that might have been spray-painted onto her toned little ass, and a tiny white tank-top that showed off her lean, brown arms.
“I recognize you,” Nicola hissed, like an angry cat. “You’re that hack from the hospital. Poor Silas’ ‘girlfriend.’ What are you here for, you sassy little slut? Gossip for your rag?”
Lyssa bristled when she heard that.
She was about to respond, but two new arrivals froze the words in her mouth. From the same door Nicola had emerged from followed Jared Hedberg – and shuffling along behind was the enormous bulk of Rashaan Jackson.
Red-eyed, sheepish and with the presence of a repentant buffalo, Rashaan looked very awkward about being there.
Nicola brushed past Lyssa and clip-clopped to the reception desk. Pointing a beautifully-manicured finger in Lyssa’s direction, she barked at the officer on duty:
“Why did you let her in? She’s a member of the press, you know. You have explicit instructions to keep them outside.”
The officer opened his mouth to speak, but Nicola was already talking again. Wheeling around to Lyssa, she snapped:
“And don’t you think about snapping any photos, or scribbling any nonsense for your rag. This whole thing has been a misunderstanding. I don’t want to pick up the Herald-Tribune tomorrow and read about you maligning dear Rashaan.”
Lyssa’s eyes widened. The fact that Nicola Hedberg remembered what newspaper she wrote for meant that the glamorous blond wasn’t quite as dismissive of her as she pretended to be.
“Actually, Ms. Hedberg,” Lyssa hissed, pointedly using the term ‘miss’ in front of her husband, “I don’t write for the Tribune any more. I’m a writer for the MMA League website now.”
Lyssa narrowed her eyes, and clarified: “The official MMA Leagur website.”
Nicola Hedberg froze, and her crisp blue eyes widened a little. She was clearly surprised – and impressed.
“Oh, are you now?” She scoffed, crossing her tanned arms in front of her surgically-enhanced breasts. “Whose taint did you have to lick to get that gig?”
Lyssa physically reeled from the scorn of that comment – but, like always, Nicola didn’t stop to witness the reaction of her bile – she just kept talking.
“The MMA League, you said?” The prissy wife snapped, clip-clopping across the floor of the police station. “So you’re not just here for gossip and sensationalism?”
“Dan Blanc asked me to come and get the story,” Lyssa stood firm, as Nicola towered over her on her heels. “Before these guys do,” she added – jerking her thumb over her shoulder towards the Fox affiliate and reporters outside.
Nicola peered down scornfully at the reporter, as if Lyssa was a bug that Nicola was deciding whether or not to step on.
“So you’ll just report the facts,” Jared’s wife eventually demanded. “No sensationalism?”
“What are the facts?” Lyssa asked.
“It’s all just a misunderstanding,” Nicola growled back. “Dear Rashaan here borrowed my husband’s Cadillac for the weekend to see his family. These racist police officers,” she looked up and growled at the officer at the reception desk, “pulled him over for no good reason; and then there were some technicalities with paperwork to deal with. Outstanding warrants, or somesuch.”
Watching Lyssa absorb all this, Nicola finished by clarifying:
“It wasn’t an arrest. There are going to be no charges filed. It’s all just a misunderstanding, understood?”
The corner of Lyssa’s lips curled. The fact that Nicola was being so vehement about this suggested there was at least an element of truth to it.
“This broad might get that,” Jared Hedberg broke his silence, pointing at Lyssa, “but those assholes out there don’t.” He jerked his thumb towards the doors of the police station – where the reporters and press stood waiting. “How are we going to get past them?”
And that’s when Lyssa had a sudden flash of genius.
Looking up at Jared Hedberg, she growled: “This broad might have an idea about that.”
And then she laid out a plan that even the two snobbish Long Islanders had to pay attention to.
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty Four
Lyssa
With the engine rattling, and white smoke pouring from the exhaust, Lyssa rolled her Toyota Corolla to the back door of the police station and pulled to a halt.
The back door opened – and, with a blanket over his head, the massive bulk of Rashaan Jackson was led outside.
Nicola and Jared followed – J
ared opening the back door of the Corolla with a creak, and hustling his wife and their fighter inside.
The car rocked from side to side as Rashaan’s massive bulk was crammed into the back seat.
There was a clump as Jared shut the door behind him, and he barked at Lyssa: “Drive!”
She smiled, knocking the car into DRIVE, and pulling past the rows of journalists as they stood obliviously outside the front door of the police station, waiting for Rashaan and his sponsors to emerge.
They never even gave the dowdy girl in the rusted-out jalopy a second glance – and that meant they missed they very people they were there to snap pictures of.
Lyssa powered her struggling car away from them as fast as the rattling old engine would let it go.
A quarter of a mile down the road, Rashaan pulled the blanket from his head, and Nicola turned her head and looked through the grimy back window of the old Toyota, at the police station disappearing into the distance behind them.
“Well,” the snooty wife hissed, “isn’t that amazing. Your plan actually worked.” She turned to glare at Lyssa’s reflection in the rear-view mirror. “I suppose we should thank you.”
“You can tell me where you want me to drop you,” Lyssa countered. “And then you can thank me by telling me what happened. Dan Blanc’s expecting a blog post to be up about it by breakfast time.”
“Head downtown,” Jared barked. “We’ve booked rooms at the Hilton.” He sniffed. “I suppose we owe you breakfast and an explanation, at least.”
Nodding, Lyssa shifted lanes towards the downtown exit, and eased her foot down on the throttle.
* * *
Twenty minutes later they were ensconced in a luxurious suite overlooking downtown Hartford, and Jared was barking orders into the telephone.
“Bacon and eggs for four, plus Mimosas,” he growled. “And make it quick – we’re starving.”
Broken: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance Page 24