Meanwhile, Nicola led Lyssa to the sofa in the living room of the two-bedroomed suite, and she and Rashaan impatiently took seats opposite her.
“I suppose it’s lucky, you turning up,” Nicola murmured, as Lyssa opened up her notepad and licked the top of her pen. “Even if you turned up looking like that.”
The well-preened wife gave Lyssa’s schlubby outfit a once-over.
“You look like fell out of bed, my dear. No wonder nobody at the police station mistook you for a reporter.”
Lyssa narrowed her eyes hatefully at the beautiful blond.
“So, what do I write?” She growled. “What’s the story?”
It was Rashaan who answered.
Sitting grumpily in an armchair opposite her, the big, black fighter murmured: “It was bullshit, that’s what it was.”
He looked over at Nicola, and smiled at her.
“Nicola here… She lent me Jared’s Cadillac – so I could come up here and see my Moms, like. And as soon as I rolled into town, the racist-ass cops flash their lights at me. Guess they ain’t never seen a black man driving a Cadillac before.”
With his massive muscles and prison tattoos, Lyssa could perhaps understand why the local police might be suspicious of him – but what Rashaan was alluding to was a common enough issue for young African American men – even the clean cut ones.
“So, they pull me over, right?” Rashaan continued. “And then start comin’ at me with all this bullshit about unpaid tickets, and outstanding warrants…”
“It was all just a misunderstanding,” Nicola interrupted. “Poor Rashaan’s being targeted because of his race. He had an… an unfortunate upbringing, and there were some prior convictions…”
“They were just profiling me,” Rashann spat, “’cos I’ve been in jail, like. But I’m straight, now. Ever since Baller hooked me up with the MMA League, I ain’t broken no laws… nothin’.”
‘Baller’ was ‘Baller’ Alexander – the equally contentious fighter who’d ‘discovered’ Rashaan while sitting out his three month ban here in Connecticut.
“We were Rashaan’s one phone call,” Nicola continued the story, “and, of course, we rushed up from New York. And after a bit of explanation…”
“And ten thousand in attorney’s fees,” Jared shouted, cupping his hand over the receiver as he interrupted his breakfast order.
“…the police agreed to drop the charges.”
Lyssa scribbled this down.
As she finished the sentence, she looked up at Nicola with a wry smile.
It’s funny how much money affected everything. For most black kids with ghetto backgrounds, getting pulled over would see them in court. Thanks to Nicola and her husband flashing some green and some fancy lawyers around, Rashaan was likely to be spending the next few hours in a luxury hotel bed, instead of a bull pen cot.
Not that the big guy seemed to appreciate it.
Yawning, Rashaan growled: “I’m tired, man.”
He looked at Nicola, almost like a toddler asking his mother for a juice box.
“Can I hit the hay?”
And just like a mom, Nicola smiled, and reached over to pat one of Rashaan’s massive hands.
“Sure, hun. Get some rest. We’ll pick up the car and head back to the city this afternoon.”
The chair creaked as Rashaan clambered out of it, and lumbered off towards the bedroom.
Nicola watched him go, and Lyssa narrowed her eyes as she noticed the way the beautiful blond was staring at the massive black fighter.
There was something… unseemly about it.
But she didn’t have much time to worry about it.
“So, you got what you wanted?”
Jared Hedberg loomed over Lyssa, and peered at the notes she’d scribbled on her pad.
“It’s late,” Jared growled, stifling a yawn, “and I haven’t slept. We had to haul ass to get up here last night, and I’ve had to cancel a butt-load of meetings today.”
The businessman narrowed his eyes.
“So, if you’ve got what you came for – grab some breakfast, and get the fuck out of here.”
Lyssa nodded, getting the not unsubtle hint that her welcome – what little of it there had been – was very much up.
“If I have any follow-up questions…” she started, climbing up from the couch.
“…email them to us,” Nicola finished her sentence for her. “We’re leaving for Vegas tomorrow. Rashaan needs to prepare for the fight next month.”
And that’s when the beautiful housewife’s lips curled.
“The fight against your boy,” she hissed venomously, and Lyssa remembered the first time she’d encountered Nicola Hedberg – in the corridor of the hospital in Atlantic City, when she’d claimed to be Silas’ girlfriend to get access to his hotel room.
“Heard much from Silas lately?” Nicola prodded. “You two really were an item, I’d heard. At least for a while.”
The beautiful wife’s eyes narrowed.
“How’d you handle him relocating to Vegas?”
Lyssa almost staggered back, as the weight of that question hit her.
“How did you…?” She wanted to ask how Nicola knew that Silas had upped and left for Vegas, but at that moment there was a rap on the door, as the room service arrived.
“Grab yourself something to eat,” Nicola eased herself up out of the chair, and gestured towards the door, “and then have a safe trip back home. I’m going to be interested to read your article.”
As Lyssa trod uncertainly towards the door, Nicola called out after her: “And if I see Silas before you do, I’ll be sure to tell him you said ‘hi.’”
And then the door slammed, and Lyssa found herself alone in the corridor – wondering just what Nicola had meant when she’d said that.
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty Five
Lyssa
“Jesus, you look like shit.”
That was what every girl wanted to hear from a former lover, right?
“No offence,” Travis offered, as he held open the door to the apartment, and ushered Lyssa inside, “but you’re normally a little more… dolled up than that.”
It was nearly noon, and Lyssa was still dressed in the jeans and sweater she’d been wearing on her run up to Connecticut. With dark splotches under eyes, her hair all mussed up, and six hours of road funk rolling off her clothes, she felt just as rough as Travis was describing her.
But she didn’t want to go home to her empty apartment – not yet.
Travis led her into the living room, and Lyssa saw Nikolai splayed out on the couch in his jockey shorts, playing Call of Duty on the Xbox.
“Lyssa?” The Russian’s eyes opened wide, as he spotted their former fuckbuddy coming into the room. “Holy shit, kotyonok, what are you doing here?”
And then he spotted her dowdy appearance, and the dark circles under his eyes.
“Fuuuck,” the Russian gasped. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
Lyssa grabbed a pillow off the armchair and whacked him across the face with it.
“I’ve got an IUD, you dumb Russian,” she snapped angrily, “and no, that’s not why I’m here.”
Snatching the pillow out of her hands, Nikolai asked suspiciously: “Then… why?”
“Geeze,” Lyssa growled at him. “You used to be excited when I’d come round.” She snorted bitterly. “I guess that’s not such an exciting proposition when there isn’t a blowjob or a spitroast guaranteed when I do.”
Nikolai’s face burned red.
“Nyet, lapochka, it’s not like that…” he stammered.
“Relax,” Lyssa snapped at him. “I’m not here to make a scene.” She turned to Travis, and addressed them both. “Actually, I need your help – and given all the shit you two have put me through, I reckon you fucking owe me.”
Travis exchanged a nervous glance with Nikolai.
“W-we’re listenin’, honey.”
“You said that night at the press c
onference that you’d let me stay at your place if I’m ever out in Vegas,” Lyssa growled. Travis and Nikolai exchanged uncertain nods. “Well, I’m flying out there this evening. So it’s time to make good, boys.”
The two fighters just blinked.
“I-I guess,” Travis eventually broke the silence. “I mean, we ain’t planning to be out in Vegas for another couple of weeks.” He turned to Nikolai. “I don’t give a shit. Do you?”
Nikolai shrugged: “Just don’t make a mess.”
“So, sure, I guess,” Travis turned back to Lyssa. “I’ll grab you one of the spare keys.”
There was an awkward pause.
“So… Why are you suddenly jettin’ off to Vegas, like? There ain’t another fight ‘til your boy Silas gets up into the octagon. That’s, like, three weeks from now.”
“Well, yeah,” Lyssa growled. “Silas is why I’m going.”
She shook her head.
“Thanks to you, you dumb Texan bastard, he ran off on me – and he’s in Las Vegas right now.”
Lyssa’s eyes narrowed.
“And I think he might be out there staying with somebody.” She took a deep breath, and blinked tears from her eyes. “Somebody he shouldn’t be. And I just need to go and find out for myself.”
Travis and Nikolai exchanged nervous glances again.
“I-I’m not sure I’m followin’, honey,” the Texan admitted.
Lyssa’s lips narrowed into a thin line.
“He might be staying out there with… with another woman. And I just want to find out for myself.”
“Honey,” Travis held up his hand, “we don’t want you gettin’ in any trouble.”
“Da,” Nikolai nodded. “We won’t get our deposit back if you murder somebody in our apartment.”
“I’m not going to murder anybody,” Lyssa wiped a tear from her eye angrily. “I just want to find out the truth. I promise, I’m not going to cause any trouble.”
And seeing that they weren’t swayed by her assurance, Lyssa took a ragged breath and explained the situation to them.
* * *
The truth wasn’t very flattering, but it felt good to get it off her chest. All the time she’d been driving back from Connecticut, she’d been replaying what Nicola Hedberg had said to her in the hotel suite:
“…if I see Silas before you do, I’ll be sure to tell him you said ‘hi.”
It was almost like Nicola was teasing her; showing off that she knew something Lyssa didn’t.
And what if that ‘something’ was Silas?
After all, Silas had walked out on Lyssa with no money, no credit cards and nowhere to go, or stay.
To end up in Vegas like he did, he’d have had to get himself an airline ticket, and somewhere to live – and there was only one person Lyssa knew who’d furnish him with both of those things at a moment’s notice.
Nicola Hedberg – Silas’ ‘sponsor.’
Lyssa remembered the night she’d met Nicola at that hospital, in Atlantic City. The beautiful blond had smeared something hot and salty across Lyssa cheek, and sneered: “Silas blew that into me five minutes before the fight.”
‘Sponsorship’ apparently meant a whole more than just financial support.
And the idea that Silas had turned his back on everything he and Lyssa had experienced together – to go running back to that sneering, high-maintenance bitch – made Lyssa sick to her stomach.
* * *
Relieved, Lyssa finished telling her story.
“Geeze,” Travis ran his fingers through his hair. “And I thought what we had was complicated.”
Even Lyssa had to snort at that.
“Listen,” she told her former lovers. “I have to go to Vegas. I’ve got to find Silas. Talk to him.” Her voice rattled, as she struggled to breath in. “I… I just have to see for myself…”
Travis and Nikolai listened and nodded.
“Here,” Travis reached over and squeezed her arm. “I’ll grab the key. You want one of us to drive you back home? You look like shit, Lyssa. I don’t know if you’re safe to drive.”
But as she heard that, Lyssa took a deep breath, and shook her head.
“Make me some coffee, how about that?” She ran her fingers through her mussed up hair. “I’ve got a blog post to write and a suitcase to pack. If there’s going to be time for sleep, it’ll have to be on the plane.”
And Travis and Nikoli exchanged glances – knowing Lyssa too well to argue with her.
Part Six
Las Vegas, Nevada
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty Six
Lyssa
Lyssa touched down in Vegas the following morning, and blew through the last of her money on a cab to Nikolai and Travis’ swanky apartment, in a high rise opposite Molasky Family Park.
By the time she’d dragged her suitcase through door, Lyssa barely had enough energy to make it to the couch. She flopped face-down into the cushions, before passing out for eighteen hours straight.
The morning after that, she somehow resisted the temptation to find Silas. Instead, she caught up on blog posts she needed to write for the MMA League website, and chowed through everything in Travis and Nikolai’s refrigerator that wasn’t more than two days past it’s sell-by date.
The rest of the time she spent catching up on sleep, and frantically researching where Silas might be.
It wasn’t until the third morning that Lyssa finally awoke ready to take on the world – or, more specifically, a bitchy trophy wife from Long Island.
* * *
Without a cell phone number, tracking down Silas in a city the size of Las Vegas seemed like an impossibility – so Lyssa decided to follow her suspicion, and track down Nicola and Jared Hedberg instead.
Nicola had posted that they’d be flying out to Vegas the night after Rashaan’s arrest – and following the Hedberg’s movements from there didn’t require the detective skills of Sherlock Holmes.
Instead, Lyssa just unlocked her phone.
Just like Lyssa suspected, Nicola had an Instagram account – and just like countless other high-maintenance wives, she wasn’t shy about posting on it.
Her account was littered with picture after picture of her lavish lifestyle, clothes and cars; and it served as a perfect tracking device.
Just the day before – perhaps the moment she’d entered Las Vegas airspace – Nicola had snapped and shared a photo from the airplane window. Twenty minutes later, she’d added another selfie in the limo to her hotel.
A location tag – The Tropicana – was attached the next picture. Nicola had posted a snapshot of her laid out by the pool in a tiny white bikini, and the tag was all Lyssa needed to instantly pin down the Hedberg’s location.
Loading up her purse with the contents of Nikolai and Travis’ change jar, Lyssa headed for the door, and the promise of tracking down Silas.
Finally, she’d be able to confront him about what had happened.
She just hoped Silas would stick around long enough to listen.
* * *
Lyssa encountered her first obstacle the moment she arrived at The Tropicana hotel.
A towering hotel at the corner of Las Vegas Boulevard, the first thing Lyssa noticed about the place was how big it was – with a tower reaching 21 stories into the sky.
A pamphlet at the desk revealed the hotel had nearly 1,500 guest rooms; and that would make tracking down Nicola and Jared next to impossible.
Or, at least, it would have done without Instagram.
Like clockwork, Nicola had posted more pictures from her vacation, as and when they happened. When the obligatory shot of her two, tanned legs appeared in Lyssa’s Instagram feed (the ‘two hotdogs shot’, as she referred to it) Lyssa quickly scanned the picture for clues.
A cabana and a palm tree confirmed that it was one of the Tropicana’s pools – and with a swagger to her step, Lyssa headed off to track down her quarry.
Different hotels in Vegas had different rules about non-guests
accessing the pool – but Lyssa was a pro. She acted confident as she swaggered through the lobby, and latched onto a family as they headed outside into the blazing sunshine; following them through the gates as they accessed the pool.
And then, with the scent of chlorine in her lungs, Lyssa scoured the poolside.
Part of her hoped to find Silas lounging by the water – but her former lover was nowhere in sight. Instead, after several minutes scanning the tanned, toned bodies laid out on the sun loungers, Lyssa spotted a familiar-looking white bikini and realized that she’d tracked Nicola down.
So, now what?
Lyssa was just considering that when a voice disturbed her.
“Miss?”
Lyssa wheeled around.
A waiter in a Tropicana shirt was staring at her expectantly.
“Miss, are you a guest at the hotel?”
In her skirt and tank-top, Lyssa realized she really wasn’t dressed for the poolside – but bluffed:
“I’m here to meet some friends.” She pointed towards the tallest of the Tropicana towers. “They’ll be down in a moment.”
The waiter looked a little skeptical, so Lyssa narrowed her eyes and asked: “Can I get a drink while I wait?”
The promise of a tip seemed to do the trick. The waiter nodded, and Lyssa ordered herself a fishbowl Margarita (and hoped that she had enough of Nikolai and Travis’ loose change to pay for it.)
With the pressure off, Lyssa cunningly found herself a seat at a sun table just a few feet behind where Nicola was lying – and as she waited for her drink, she racked her brains about what to do next.
After all, she’d done what she’d come here to do – find Nicola Hedberg. But now what? Just stalk her, until Silas turned up?
The waiter arrived with Lyssa’s drink, and she gratefully accepted it – sucking down the tart cocktail through her straw.
And that mment’s respite from plotting across gave her just the answer she’d sought.
Buzzz! On the table next to Nicola’s lounger, the beautiful wife’s iPhone vibrated.
Broken: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance Page 25