She’d stood gawking at him like he was someone special and he could only stare back at her, trapped beneath her lustful regard. Until her tongue darted out and she licked her bottom lip and all hell broke loose inside his head.
How you can’t seem to get enough of her.
Yeah, he was fucked all right.
“Goodbye, McBadass, hello—”
“Hello tap out central if we don’t get moving,” he’d abruptly cut her off, then taken off running, knowing she’d follow.
A few hours later, the two of them had headed out to the Vegas Fight Club.
And now he found himself neck deep in shit’s creek.
“Um...they don’t seem too happy to see you, Bracken,” Huntley commented. She was jogging in place, warming up for her bouts, throwing out punches like a champ. He was feeling better about things, knowing Huntley was ready, until they’d arrived.
Nothing like a woman scorned, multiplied by three. Not one friendly smile. Not even a hello. Shit, they were ready to battle it out—not with Huntley, but with Bracken.
Goddamn it. They’d figured it out. Discussed and rehashed and had probably shown up as a way of getting even with him. Lying in wait for any sign of weakness that’d do him in.
He felt Huntley’s stare but ignored her. A testament to his willpower given how she’d changed into fresh clothing—the tiniest sports bra known to mankind and a thin pair of boyshorts, both more appropriate for the bedroom than the Octagon cage. Jesus. Real dumbass move, bringing them all together.
The room smelled of perfumed women, who equaled the number of male spectators in attendance. Female MMA fighters had come a long way to earning respect as athletes. But that’s not why he was relieved to see them. In that get-up, Huntley’d have caused an out-and-out riot back at the Warehouse, with him in the middle. Hell, he could barely take his eyes off her.
His forced his attention away and onto Veronica’s two friends, who were flashing an indecent amount of skin themselves. The bustier fighter caught his eye, then licked her bottom lip suggestively. Jesus. Not so mad, after all. But definitely not the kind of friendly face he needed right now.
“How do you know them again?”
Huntley’s fingers squeezed his elbow. Then she repeated the movement, but ten times harder. He kept on ignoring her, struggling to conceal how she’d captured his undivided attention the second she’d stripped off her University of Nevada sweatshirt. As it was, judging by Veronica’s glare across the room, Huntley was going to pay the price in the cage for his indiscretions.
“Oh, brother. Don’t say a word. A hook-up. You arranged for me to fight a former flame?”
“Look, focus on executing a few clean punches and not depending on your heel hook to win these bouts.”
He heard her snort, and despite himself, his expression softened at her exasperated look.
She rolled her eyes, which made him smile. “Tell that to Miss Pouty Lips over there. She seems about ready to volunteer to be your lunch.”
“Too early for lunch. Besides, why have a hamburger when a fine cut of sirloin would do the trick?”
Her eyes widened briefly, then narrowed. “Is that the best you’ve got? News flash, asshat. I’m not a slab of meat. Sirloin or otherwise.” She stalked away, missing his broadening smile. No, she sure wasn’t.
Bracken’s gaze tracked Huntley as she climbed the stairs into the cage. He didn’t want to hurt her. But that’s all he was capable of, right? Just like he’d done to Veronica and a long line of women before her. Especially now, with all the lies he’d fed Huntley for the sake of the job.
Hell, he’d even arranged for separate rooms. When all he really wanted was to be up inside her, fast. Frustrated, he found himself stalking over to Huntley’s corner of the Octagon cage, ignoring the all-too-observant trio watching him, his temples pounding in beat with his heart.
Huntley saw him, and gave him a stiff back.
Yeah. Served him right.
It was better this way, anyway.
* * *
Miss Lick My Lips turned into Miss Loose Lips the moment she took the cage.
“He’s a world-class fuck, honey, a wild man in the sack. But don’t expect him to stick around. Never does.”
The second she closed her mouth, Huntley landed a neat cross-punch, square on her jawbone. End. Of. Conversation.
“She’s out for the count,” someone screeched, hurrying past Huntley to attend to the woman.
“I didn’t think you had it in you,” the tall brunette—Veronica somebody—commented as Huntley descended the cage stairs.
Huntley paused and ignored her, as the EMT rushed by. Huntley waited until she knew the woman in the cage would safely recover before walking away. What would the EMT think if they had to assist another fighter off the stairs?
“Well, we’ll see about that.”
“Sure will.”
She stepped away from the cage but Veronica grabbed her arm. Despite her efforts to tug it free, the woman refused to give up. A clinger. Perhaps another cross punch was in order?
“Be careful,” the woman warned her.
Jeez. Somehow she’d managed to bring out the protective instincts in this cobra. Huntley cocked her head and scowled down at the fingers on her arm.
Veronica immediately relaxed her grip. “You don’t know who you’ve gotten yourself involved with.”
Huntley jerked her arm away. “Overly confident, aren’t you? How about we settle this in the cage?”
The woman laughed. “Oh, we most assuredly will. But I’m talking about Bracken.”
Sweet hell. Did the woman plan on giving Huntley a play-by-play? The very thought of him getting it on with Loose Lips caused the acid to rise within her stomach. “Let me guess, you’re about to recap how much of a badass in the sack your girlfriend told you he is. You might as well save your breath for someone who doesn’t already know.”
Veronica’s mouth tightened.
“What did he do, leave your bed, too?” Oh my god, he did. Huntley glanced around the gym until she spotted Bracken deep in discussion with the third woman.
“I couldn’t have summed it up better myself. But that’s not what I’m getting at. He lives dangerously. Always on edge. Hard to pin down.” Veronica paused, then added as if it were an afterthought, “How many nights has he spent fucking you?”
The brass balls on this woman. “I’m not going to answer that.”
“More than two? Yeah. It’s written all over your face. Interesting.”
Huntley turned her focus away from Bracken, angry with him for being such a player, and with herself for caring.
“You seem like a nice person, one who packs a punch, but nice, nevertheless. Keep your guard up around him, and the company he keeps.”
“Says the viper about the snake-pit.” Huntley frowned. “Are you talking about his fellow bikers? I haven’t met a single one of them. We’ve been...busy.”
“I bet he’s been keeping you busy. Don’t look, but he can’t keep his eyes off you. I never thought the day would come. How the mighty Bracken has fallen.”
“Oh, he’s going to fall, all right, after I hit him with a surprise haymaker. Guess we can both appreciate that.”
“Honey, I think you’ve already hit him with that haymaker.” Veronica sighed. “Just keep your eyes open. I can’t say anything else except be careful, around everyone.”
“Including Bracken?”
“Especially Bracken.” She shrugged and looked over Huntley’s shoulder before turning to march away. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The manwhore himself strolled up next to her and greeted her with a scowl. “What happened to multiple solid punches?”
Like the kind I received tonight, you player? She refrained from voic
ing her thoughts. It wasn’t like he’d promised her anything, right? It wasn’t like she’d been thinking Bracken had been celibate all these years. Yeah, no way in hell that’d been possible. Jeez, he’d actually warned her. And she’d been too caught up in him to heed it.
“Listen,” he muttered, and ran his fingers over his smooth jawline. At that moment, she missed his beard. It’d kept her wary, reminding her she was dealing with a badass biker. Without it, he was even more badass, in a handsome, heartbreaking kind of way. Why did he have to be so downright beautiful without those whiskers? “I don’t know what you heard...”
“Don’t you?”
His eyebrows rose as he studied her expression. Cold, like an arctic blast. Like the ice was working its way through her veins and into her heart. Yeah, he’d warned her, but she hadn’t counted on caring so damn much.
“Whatever Veronica said doesn’t matter. You have two more bouts to warm up for. No more surprise cross punches, or goddamn haymakers. Grab a chance at practicing before you force someone to tap out. Jesus, no surprises.”
“Says the master of surprises. Not one but two bed buddies? What, you getting your kicks from having us all in the cage together?” Damn it. She sounded jealous, was jealous.
“Three,” he replied in a low voice.
“Three what?” She glanced around the facility, her gaze falling on the woman Bracken had been chatting with. She seemed a bit pissed off. No surprise there, except... “You slept with her too?”
“I fucked them. That’s it. Period. In the past.”
“Anyone else in the room?”
He reached out, grabbed her hips and pulled her in close before she could fight him off. She felt the warmth of his breath on her ear. “You know the answer to that.”
She tried to pull away but he held her in place.
“Jesus, you want the truth?”
“From a self-admitted liar like yourself?”
She stiffened, then froze as he continued, “They didn’t mean anything to me.”
“And I do?” she whispered, regretting it immediately, the question hanging in the air like a thick black raincloud on a wet spring day.
He pushed her away, took a water bottle out of his pocket and handed it to her. Instead of taking it, she put her hands on her hips.
“Finish.”
“You’re not going anywhere, Huntley. We’re in this thing until the Brawl.”
“Not us. Finish our conversation. Answer me. And I do, Bracken?”
He inhaled deeply and shook his head. She didn’t know if that meant no or if he was reacting to whatever the hell was playing out in that cunning mind of his. Finally, he settled down, and much to her amazement, his lips twisted up into a smile.
“You’re going to fight me to the end, huh?”
“Answer me, so I can get on with my warm up.”
“There’s been no one since you, Huntley.”
It wasn’t much as far as declarations were concerned. But it was for Bracken.
She plucked the bottle from his grasp, her heart having already moved past a warm up and on to a full-blown brawl. Still, justice hadn’t quite been dished out. What had he been thinking setting up bouts with his former flames? “Funny thing is, there’s been no one since you either, Bracken,” she replied, turning on her heels and sauntering away.
But not before she witnessed the smile drop from his face.
Chapter Fifteen
“You favor your right side, both in how you balance your weight and in frequency of punches. Mix it up or a smarter opponent might figure out what’s coming next,” Bracken offered on the ride home.
“Smarter opponents? I suppose intelligence isn’t a requirement for your parade of one-night wonders,” she replied, like a jealous fool. Damn it. Here he was giving her helpful feedback, and all she could do was comment on his love life.
What had happened back in Vegas stayed in Vegas. As Bracken had demanded, she’d taken her time in the cage with her two remaining opponents, Veronica being the most challenging. But in the end, she’d used a slick submission and had gotten her to tap out. Huntley flexed her knuckles. Winning all three bouts had been beyond satisfying.
“Little did I know what I’d been missing, Witt,” he responded, calling her by her nickname—how did he know even know it? His comment caught her off-guard but it was the alien wink that followed that left her flabbergasted.
There’s been no one since you.
Bracken wasn’t the kind of guy to cuddle and whisper sweet nothings. So what exactly did it mean?
“Get some rest. You’re brother’s in good hands back there.”
“Thank you. The Fresh Start Facility was ten times nicer than what I’d expected.” She turned her head to look at him, in that second completely forgiving him for being such a manwhore. What happened in his past, stayed in his past. Hadn’t he practically come right out and said it?
If only the same held true for Savannah.
Still, Bracken had dealt with nearly all the paperwork, leaving her with only the contact information card, in case Aiden hit any bumps in his recovery.
“Climb in the back seat and chill. He’ll pull through soon enough. Without issue, I think. For you, Huntley. He’ll do it for you.”
“And what about your fee for training me? Are you going to hit me with a surprise bill at the end of it all? I don’t know how this subject keeps getting brushed off,” she’d said, doing as he’d instructed and settling down onto the back seat.
“We’ll talk when your eyelids aren’t touching your knees.”
* * *
Bracken woke her up outside her apartment. Shocker number two within twenty-four-hour period? He got out of the car and held the door open for her. A big bruiser and a gentleman all rolled up in one.
But as she climbed out, she realized he’d pulled up next to the curb rather than into a parking spot. He’s not coming inside, she thought wearily. It was like riding an emotional rollercoaster, with him at the switchboard pressing the ride to go faster. Take the curves sharper. Slowly guiding her up the steep ascent before plunging full-throttle down a heart-wrenching drop. Living her breathless, giddy and wary.
He tried walking her to her door, but she waved him away. If he was in such a rush...besides, why start pulling this overprotective bullcrap now? Especially after she’d just proven back in Vegas she was ready for anything thrown her way.
Still, he waited for her to cross the third story landing, with her itching to flip him the bird like she’d done so many eons ago, before he slowly backed the car away.
She inhaled deeply, then shuddered at the stale smell of cologne that hung heavy in the night air, like a bottle had been left over from the 1980s. Memories of Savannah weren’t going to ruin the quietness that’d settled over her.
She’d done it—she’d improved her punch. Winning the New Year’s Belles Brawl was within her grasp. Her winnings would help secure Wittaker Fine Smokes. Aiden was being cared for and she’d found hope that he’d finally be rid of his demons. The rest of her family was going to get a Huntley what-for, and together they’d get group therapy or some kind of professional assistance. Their mourning had gone on far too long. I’ll be able to afford a detective to review the case, see if anything had been overlooked. Quietly. They don’t need to know.
She stared up at the moon, the gentle light smiling down on her. Her time to shine had come. No more fear. No more worrying about the past, about what she couldn’t fix. She’d finally be able to manage what could be repaired. Her future as a MMA fighter and as an independent, liberated woman, finally standing on her own two feet. Her problems tied up neatly in a knot, secure, easy to look at, and for all external purposes, set neatly on the back burner.
Vegas had proven she could deal with the blows life dealt h
er, and overcome them.
There hasn’t been anyone but you.
His words held so much promise. Did they mean what she hoped they meant? Thumbing her key, she smiled softly, knowing that tomorrow they’d fall back into their usual routine, yet knowing nothing would be the same between them. Maybe, just maybe, it’d be better than she’d ever imagined.
She slid her key into the top lock. But her door opened without her turning the key. Without her unlocking the second deadbolt.
A fist shot out, nailing her in the jaw. The unexpected punch knocked her off balance. A tall figure wearing a ski mask and dressed from head to toe in black, like a crook in a movie, appeared from inside her apartment, in her doorway.
Winding her arm back, she threw the haymaker of all haymakers, hitting him in the jaw and sending him staggering back against the aluminum siding. Without hesitating, she kicked high, smack in his delicate kidney.
Adrenaline surged but she forced her mind to remain calm. Focused. In kick-ass mode. “You bastard. You picked the wrong woman to fuck with,” she informed him.
With controlled movements, she jogged backward, ready to go on the offensive with a series of punches and kicks. But as she lifted her foot, her ankle caught in the arm of her duffel bag. A miscalculation—the darn bag was bigger due to the shoeboxes Aiden had stuffed inside it. Precious seconds wasted.
Her assailant sprinted off at a dead run toward the stairwell. Common sense told her to run inside, close and lock the door and call the police.
She ignored it.
Charging after him, she took the stairs two at a time, with him a few heartbeats ahead of her. Free of the stairs, he raced through the dimly lit parking lot with her closing the distance between them. But as he sprinted beneath the last light at the edge of the lot, just before the thickly wooded area, she stopped pursuing him.
Her breath hitched, and not from overexertion. She remembered where she’d smelled cologne like that in Savannah. No. It couldn’t be.
Out for the Count Page 21