Broken: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance

by Scarlet MMA, Simone

  Silas didn’t even move. It was Rob who opened the door – expecting a service delivery, or a reporter.

  Instead, framed in the doorway, were two huge, hulking silhouettes.

  Lyssa spotted them, and gasped.

  Lifting her head from Silas’ chest, she looked across the room at the two uninvited new arrivals – Travis Oates, and Nikolai Bukov.

  Chapter One Hundred and Forty Four

  Lyssa

  “Hey, there,” Travis poked his head into the changing room, and grinned nervously. “Y’all got a minute?”

  Silas recognized the voice, and he groaned as he lifted his head from the couch. Turning to stare at Travis, he didn’t need to ask: ‘What do you want?’ That question was very obvious by the suspicious look on his bruised and bloodied face.

  Rob sensed the tension, and grabbed Ben’s arm.

  “C’mon, bud. Let’s give these guys some space.” Dragging Ben towards the door, the handsome Norwegian barked at Silas: “See you after the press conference, yeah?”

  Not waiting for an answer, Rob and Ben left the dressing room – the door slamming shut behind them.

  Then it was just the four of them – Silas, Lyssa, and her two former lovers.

  Nikolai shuffled his feet nervously.

  Travis held up his hands.

  “Hey, sorry for droppin’ in like this,” the Texan nervously breathed. “I know it’s unexpected, like.”

  He glanced at a suspicious-looking Lyssa.

  “And I know we’re hardly the fellas you’re most lookin’ forward to talkin’ too. But we had to come see you, y’know?”

  From the look on Lyssa and Silas’ faces, it was clear neither of them ‘y’know’.

  Nevertheless, Travis kept on talking:

  “That was one hell of a fight you won, amigo. Nico and I just had to come down here and shake your hand about it.”

  There was a silent pause.

  Stiffly, Silas forced himself to sit up, and offered his hand. The look on his face was anything but comradely – but Travis dared to reach across and shake the Spaniard’s massive paw.

  “Da,” it was Nikolai who spoke up next. “And… and there’s something else.”

  The Russian glanced nervously at Lyssa. Lyssa glanced nervously back. The fact that these two had suddenly turned up – especially after Travis had nearly destroyed her relationship with Silas – didn’t sit easy with her.

  But Travis explained:

  “Yeah, there is something else.” He gulped nervously, as if unsure of how to word this next bit. “We all, like… Well, we heard about you and Lyssa getting back together…”

  There was an awkward pause.

  “Da,” Nikolai reluctantly broke the silence. “Da, we heard. And we’re happy about it.”

  “Lyssa, honey,” Travis turned to his former fuckbuddy, and murmured: “I’m real sorry for what happened.” He snorted bitterly. “I’ve never been too good about running my mouth off. You know that. I’m sorry for blowin’ things up between you and this big guy in New York.”

  Lyssa’s cheeks burned red. The past three weeks had largely been spent trying to pretend none of that had happened.

  But she couldn’t ignore the statement.

  “It’s okay,” she promised – the tone of her voice inferring it was very-fucking-far from ‘okay.’ But she promised: “Me and Silas? We’re good now.”

  And, as if to reinforce that point, Silas stretched over and squeezed Lyssa’s hand.

  Lyssa smiled as she felt the comforting pressure, and found the strength to continue:

  “Thanks, though. Thanks for the apology.”

  “Well, that ain’t all.” Travis then turned to Silas. “Listen, buddy.” As the Spaniard turned to him, Travis continued: “I know we ain’t exactly treated this girl right. But she’s dynamite, you dig? She deserves somebody who’ll treat her proper.”

  He shuffled his feet awkwardly.

  “And me and Nikolai? Well, I guess we just came down here to say that we’re ashamed neither of us were that somebody.”

  “Da,” Nikolai nodded.

  There was utter silence in the room. After what seemed like an eternity, Silas eased himself up from the couch with an almighty groan.

  Even blooded and bruised, he towered over the two smaller MMA fighters. They visibly flinched as his looming shadow fell across them.

  But Silas wasn’t mad.

  He’d stood up to wrap his burly arm around Lyssa’s shoulder, and squeeze her tight.

  “Si,” he growled. “She’s dynamite, alright. And you boys don’t need to worry. I’ll look after her ‘proper’.”

  Nikolai and Travis looked visibly relieved by this statement. Or, at least, they were until Silas added:

  “It’s funny. She was with both of you, at the same time – and she was still too much woman for you both to handle.”

  Silas squeezed Lyssa close, and his lips curled.

  “I guess it’s lucky she finally found a man who’s up for the job.”

  It was a confrontational comment, and lesser men might have responded to it negatively. But, to their credit, Travis and Nikolai just nodded – as if they agreed with the big Spaniard’s assessment.

  Travis offered his hand, and Silas shook it. Nikolai was next. And then, one at a time, they both stepped over and gave Lyssa an affectionate hug, and a chaste kiss on the cheek.

  These were two men who knew every inch of Lyssa’s body; and even what she sounded like when she slept.

  But, right at that moment, they were as respectful to her as if she was a princess.

  “Take care of yourself, girl,” Travis rubbed Lyssa’s arm. “And I’m sorry for what happened.”

  And without waiting for her to respond, Travis and Nikolai turned and left the dressing room – leaving Lyssa and Silas alone for the first time that evening.

  As the door clicked shut, Silas squeezed Lyssa close, and kissed the top of her head.

  “Those boys could fill a book with what they don’t know about women,” Silas growled. “But what they just said about you was right on.”

  He turned to her, and squeezed her arms tightly.

  “You are dynamite, Lyssa. And I love you.” He bent his head to kiss her. “And I’m excited for whatever happens next.”

  Lyssa embraced him, and pressed her cheek against Silas’ sweaty chest.

  As she listened to his heartbeat, and felt his chest rise and lower with each breath he took, Lyssa knew she felt exactly the same way too.

  Chapter One Hundred and Forty Five

  Lyssa

  A week later, it was time to head home.

  Back in Jersey, Lyssa had packed up the last of the shit she hadn’t shipped to Vegas yet – and either crammed it in her suitcase, or donated it to Goodwill.

  And that meant the day their flights were booked to leave, she’d be saying goodbye to the Garden State forever.

  Rob drove them to the airport in his rumbling old Trans Am – Lyssa crammed into the back with the cases, and Silas squeezed into the passenger seat.

  At check in, Rob shook Silas’ hand, and gave Lyssa a tight embrace.

  “Give me a call when you’re back stateside,” the Norwegian grinned. “It’d be an honor to keep training you.”

  “I will, amigo,” Silas patted Rob on the shoulder. “I’m not sure if I’m going to keep on fighting – but if I do, you’re my man.”

  He squeezed Rob’s shoulder, tightly enough to make the trainer wince. “Thanks for everything.”

  And then, hefting up his backpack, Silas turned and winked at Lyssa.

  “Time to go, cariño.”

  They gave Rob a final wave, and headed for the gates.

  This fight had ended. Now they had a whole new conflict awaiting them, back home in Logroño.

  Part Seven

  Logroño, Spain

  Chapter One Hundred and Forty Six

  Lyssa

  Crack!

  The sound of the ju
dge’s gavel echoed through the courtroom, as he rattled off his verdict in fluent Spanish.

  At least, Lyssa assumed it was the judge’s verdict. Sitting in the front of the courtroom, next to Silas, the last two hours had been utterly incomprehensible to her.

  Her eleventh grade Spanish had definitely not been up to the task of translating this trial.

  But as the judge spoke, Celestina turned in her seat and excitedly grabbed Lyssa’s arm.

  “He’s granted the injunction,” she translated happily. “They’ve stopped the claim to seize Bodegas Batras!”

  Lyssa grinned ecstatically as she heard the news. They’d done it.

  She and Silas had arrived in Spain just a few days earlier, and as soon as the MMA League had wired Silas his winnings, Alberte had called the family lawyer, and booked the hearing at the local courts.

  And now there were here – putting paid to the Buenaventuras’ plan to seize Bodegas Batras once and for all.

  In theory.

  Across the courtroom sat Adolphe Buenaventura, next to his son Bruno. They were surrounded by expensive-looking lawyers in black suits, and the whole lot of them were huddled in hushed conversation.

  It was clear none of them had taken the judge’s ruling well.

  After finalizing the details, the judge nodded at those assembled in the drafty Logroño courtroom, and struggled out of his seat. A clerk opened the door for him, and the judge left the Batras and the Buenaventuras alone.

  The roar from across the courtroom came almost immediately.

  “Don’t think this is the end of this, cabrón,” Bruno yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Alberte and Silas. “We’ll get your place yet, you hijos de puta!”

  Adolphe angrily grabbed his son’s arm and hauled him back down into his seat – but while he was clearly annoyed at Bruno’s outburst, it was obvious from his expression that he shared his son’s anger.

  “C’mon,” Alberte hauled himself up from his seat. “Let’s go – before there’s trouble.”

  But trouble had a habit of moving fast in Logroño.

  As Alberte led the family towards the door of the courtroom, he was cornered by Adolphe. The wizened old man pointed a gnarled finger at him, and accusingly growled:

  “My son was right. This isn’t the end of this.”

  Alberte wheeled around in the aisle, and stared the short, old man down.

  “Give it up, Adolphe,” he growled. “You’re not getting my father’s vineyard.” He pointed a finger proudly at Silas, looming behind them. “My hermano literally fought for the money to pay for this injunction – but if you think that’s all the fight us Batras have in us, you’re gonna be sorry.”

  To most people, that would have been intimidating – but Adolphe merely sneered. Leaning forward, he growled at Alberte:

  “Remember all those weeks ago? When my brother, the Inspector Jefe, came with me to your Bodegas? I promised you back then we wouldn’t cause you any more trouble. No more surprise visits from Bruno and his colegas. But that was before.”

  With a surprising speed and agility, Adolphe Buenaventura poked his finger hard into Alberte’s chest, and sneered:

  “I’ll give you one last chance, cabrón. Sell me your bodegas. I’ll give you double what I was offering last time. But take the deal now, because I won’t be so generous again.”

  And then it was Alberte’s chance to respond.

  He poked his own thick finger into Adolphe’s chest, and growled:

  “Do your worst, pendejo.” Jerking his thumb towards Silas and Lyssa, Alberte spat: “Mi familia is back, and Bodegas Batras is never going to within reach of your greedy little fingers again.”

  Adolphe snorted derisively.

  “Have it your way, amigo,” he hissed.

  And, with that, Adolphe limped towards the door – and his entourage of son and lawyers followed. As the towering Bruno strode past them, he sneered at Silas and Alberte – and winked lasciviously at Celestina.

  The Batras watched them go, and Celestina shuddered as the family finally let the courtroom door slam shut behind them.

  “I-I know we’ve won,” she stammered, uncertainly. “But I’ve got a bad feeling Adolphe was right. We haven’t heard the end of this.”

  Alberte reached over and squeezed her hand.

  “Come on,” he murmured soothingly. “We can worry about that later. For now? Let’s pick up the kids, and get back home.”

  He turned to his brother, and forced a smile. “We have some celebrating to do.”

  Chapter One Hundred and Forty Seven

  Lyssa

  And celebrate they did.

  That night, the Batras family cracked open the best bottle of Gran Reserva they had, uncorked the brandy, and César and Chucho gorged themselves on the candy bars that Lyssa had shoved into her carry on before the flight over.

  It was close to midnight before the family finally turned in for the night – and Alberte was swaying and slurring his words as he raised his forth or fifth brandy for a final toast.

  “Hermano,” he slurred, smiling at Silas. “You’ve done more than just come home to us.” He hiccupped. “You’ve s-saved the place.” He swayed a little, and Celestina prevented him from toppling over. “I c-can’t thank you enough.”

  Silas, who was markedly less drunk than his brother, raised his glass in reciprocation.

  “I’m just happy to be back, brother,” he murmured. “And I promise; I’ll never go away again.”

  But those words hung in the air, even as Celestina helped Alberte off unsteadily to bed.

  In the darkened kitchen, Silas and Lyssa listened to the clumping footsteps as Celestina and Alberte struggled upstairs.

  Neither of them were tired, thanks to jetlag – so instead of turning in, they began to clear up the plates and glasses in companionable silence.

  After a few moments of collecting plates and glasses, Lyssa demanded:

  “So… Did you mean that?”

  Silas turned to her, and cocked his head on one side.

  “Mean what?”

  “About never going away again,” she explained, dumping the last of the plates into the sink. “What about what Dan Blanc said? What about the MMA League?”

  Silas stood there silently for a second, and in the darkness it was impossible to read his handsome features.

  Eventually, he admitted:

  “I’m not sure.”

  Stepping up to Lyssa, he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her.

  “For so long, getting my break in the MMA League was all I thought about. It was all I lived for. Shit, I did things I wasn’t proud of just to get where I was.”

  Lyssa nestled her head into his broad chest, and snorted. Nicola Hedberg was presumably one of the things he ‘did’ that he wasn’t proud of.

  “But now I’m back,” Silas continued, stroking Lyssa’s hair. “And it feels right. Like this is where I belong.”

  Lyssa lifted her head from his chest, and looked up.

  “I think it is,” she admitted. “But don’t forget, you can go back. To America, I mean. You can fly in for fights. Visit for the season. You don’t need to give it all up to stay here, in Spain.”

  Silas snorted.

  “There’s only one thing that would make me give up this place,” he admitted. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I got back.”

  He looked down, deep into Lyssa’s eyes.

  “You.”

  Lyssa’s lips curled.

  “I mean it, cariño.” Silas kissed her hard on the mouth. “I should never have let you go the last time. I was an idiot. A damned fool.” And then he kissed her again, and the intensity made Lyssa fall limply into her arms.

  When their lips finally parted, Lyssa gasped:

  “Y-you had to let me go. If you hadn’t, none of this would have happened. The fight. The purse money. Saving the bodegas.”

  Silas snorted.

  “But losing you? That was almost too high a price
to pay, even for all of that.”

  Lyssa’s cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.

  “C’mon,” she squeezed Silas’ huge hand. “Come upstairs, and we can celebrate the injunction in…” She bit her lip flirtatiously. “…in a different way.”

  And from the hungry glint in Silas’ eyes, it was clear he was still ready to celebrate.

  Chapter One Hundred and Forty Eight

  Lyssa

  The following afternoon, the sun blazed down on the vineyards of Bodegas Batras.

  Despite the baking heat, Lyssa and Silas had decided to take a walk – strolling hand-in-hand between the towering old vines. Silas squeezed Lyssa’s hand tightly, and had a picnic blanket tucked under the other arm.

  For twenty minutes, they walked in silence – surveying the acres and acres of the family vineyard.

  “Hold up a second,” Silas suddenly pulled Lyssa to a halt. “Try one of these for a moment. They’re from the oldest vines still growing here.”

  As they stood beneath the towering old vines, Silas reached up and plucked a grape, which he popped into Lyssa’s eager mouth.

  “My grandfather planted these vines more than sixty years ago. He knew he’d be dead and buried before they started producing their best, but he still planted them anyway. He wanted to leave a legacy for his children – and that’s why I couldn’t let the Buenaventuras get their hands on this place.”

  Lyssa squeezed Silas close, and happily chewed the grape. It was tart, yet sweet – rich with the flavor of tempranillo, which was a grape variety even her amateur palette was beginning to recognize on taste alone.

  “This place is beautiful,” she sighed, as she laid her head on Silas’ massive arm. “Like nowhere else on Earth.”

  And it really was. The rolling fields and towering mountains of La Rioja were a world unto themselves – so different to the traditional expectation of Spain as a hot, arid country.

  Silas grinned, and squeezed Lyssa close. They continued walking.

  As the two of them reached the end of the field of grapes, they stopped once again. This time, Silas turned to Lyssa and bundled her into his arms.