Complicated Creatures: Part One

by Alexi Lawless

Jack had a feeling he’d need it.

  *

  October—Two hours later

  West Loop, Chicago

  J A C K

  There was something so utterly satisfying and cleansing about throwing a well-placed, well-executed punch. The perfect, controlled extension of the arm, the power being pulled up from the core through the shoulders, that alignment of wrist and fist, the connection and impact to skin, muscle, and bone.

  Jack was exhilarated, on fire, brimming with energy. The adrenaline rush reminded him of his youth, his father training him on one of his rare off-days, the endorphin high of winning a match, all coming together in a smattering of memories that made him feel damn near giddy.

  He squared off with one of the boxing instructors, Manny, who was about his height and weight.

  “You’re rusty but good,” Manny complimented, nodding. “The footwork’s unmistakable. Let’s see what you’ve got on combos. Focus on speed and hits to the torso.”

  Jack faked left and struck out with a strong right uppercut, switching to a series of swift jabs and crosses before stepping sideways, just catching the graze of Manny’s responding right hook. He bounced on the balls of his feet, keyed up, going back in for another series of combo hits.

  They worked in the ring for a good stint until Jack’s arms felt like jelly and he was breathing like he’d finished a marathon. He showered and changed into jeans and a dark sweater, feeling pleasantly enervated and sore but replete.

  “You did good today,” Manny commented, high-fiving him as he came out of the locker room. “You coming back next week?”

  “Definitely,” Jack answered. “That was the best workout I’ve had in years. Thanks, man.” He caught sight of Samantha coaching Talon on the mats while he grappled with Simon, the burly Brit from the night before. Carey was working with Rush nearby, moving through an intricate set of sweeps and throws.

  “You work with those guys?” Manny asked, following his line of sight.

  “Nah,” Jack answered. “They’re friends.”

  “Those guys are serious,” Manny commented. “I’m a professional fighter, and I wouldn’t want to meet any of them in a dark alley,” he said. “Never seen that guy before though.”

  Jack followed Manny’s line of sight to see Simon bowing across from Talon, shaking his hand as they finished their set. He had on a blue gi and a black belt and was smiling cockily at Samantha, his chest puffed up as he followed her out onto the mat.

  Jack thought about turning around and getting his gloves back on.

  “Yeah, he’s new. Only a pinche pendejo would challenge Sam to a match,” Manny commented, shaking his head.

  “Why?” Jack asked, watching as they came to a stop in the center of a circle, bowing to each other.

  Manny barked out a laugh. “That mami will fuck you up, bro. When she fights, she fights like she’s got nothing to lose. That makes her a real fucking problem, you know?”

  Jack absorbed that, fitting in another piece to her puzzle. Her casual dismissal of her injury made more sense. It was nothing to her. She was getting a job done.

  “Screw fierce, man, that one’s ferocious,” Jack muttered.

  Manny nodded. “Yeah. And protective. She puts all her guys through the paces with training, but mirar, she takes care of them,” he told him, his admiration clear. “Watches over them all—training regiment, health, nutrition. They’re lucky. I never had a boss like that before.” Manny’s attention was diverted as someone called over to him. Manny waved in acknowledgement. “I’ve got another training session. I’ll catch up with you Monday, yeah?”

  Jack nodded. “Thanks for today.” he said, shaking Manny’s hand before making his way over toward Carey and Rush, both of whom were watching Samantha and Simon as they rounded on each other within the circle on the mat.

  Mitch wandered over, freshly showered. “What’s going on here?”

  “Sammy’s gonna exorcise Simon of some demons,” Carey answered in a low tone.

  “What do you mean?” Jack asked, his brow knit.

  “He feels bad about Somalia,” Carey explained. “Blames himself because she got hurt. She’s going to work him over.” He smiled. “Show him she can take care of herself.”

  “He’s twice her size. You’re not at least a little worried?” Mitch asked, concern all over his face.

  “Just watch,” Rush responded, looking giddy.

  “It was his fault,” Jack grumbled, though no one paid attention because they were all watching Simon advance quickly, striking out in a rapid series of punches and kicks. Samantha backed up with each advance as Simon moved with remarkable speed. He nearly caught her with a right-handed strike to her upper body. Simon came so close to her, Jack sucked in a tight breath. Samantha smoothly blocked Simon’s hit across her body, her fingers catching the sleeve of his gi. She used his momentum to jerk him forward. He lost his balance and tipped, recovering quickly.

  “Bloody hell, you’re fit,” Simon admired.

  Samantha didn’t respond as she watched him circle her. He lunged again. He came close to picking her up, but she struck him hard in the neck and upper chest, drawing a grunt. In the half second he stood stunned by the blows, she grabbed the collar of his gi and jerked him forward again, sweeping her foot out to catch his leg, sending Simon flying head first. Jack nearly cheered, but Simon tucked in a commando roll, popping to his feet quickly. His demeanor was more serious now that he had a glimpse of what he was up against. He moved with more caution, strategizing.

  “Don’t take this personally, but I won’t go easy on you, love,” he told her in a low voice.

  “Didn’t ask you to,” she replied before he lit into her with two startling frontal strikes, looking like he was holding nothing back. His arms came back as fast as they’d advanced, careful not to get caught by her hands again as she swiftly pivoted and blocked in spare, efficient movements. But still, she allowed him to get close. Too close. Jack felt like he was going insane as he watched from the sidelines. He knew she didn’t need the help—and the last thing she wanted was for him to get involved—but he wanted to do damage to Simon for threatening her. God, how he wanted to do damage.

  Simon took a step forward and came down with a vicious hammer strike. Jack and Mitch flinched, certain she was about to be crushed. Samantha dropped to her knee, narrowly avoiding brunt of the blow while hooking her elbow around Simon’s leg and twisting him to the ground with vicious efficiency. He grunted again as she applied alarming pressure to his knee.

  “He’s a dead man,” Rush commented.

  “Why?” Jack asked, not taking his eyes off the mat.

  “She gets you to the ground, and you’re done,” Rush answered cryptically.

  Simon attempted to shake her off with no luck. She was behind him in a fraction of a second, pinching something in his neck, forcing him to collapse. She pinned him to the ground with a swift knee behind his shoulder blades. Simon gasped in pain as she continued to exert pressure on his neck and shoulders.

  “Waza ari!” Carey called out.

  Samantha leaned forward to whisper something into Simon’s ear before releasing him and stepping back. Simon grunted, rolling back up, determined.

  “What did Carey say?” Jack asked Rush.

  “Half-point,” Rush answered. “A full point and she wins the match,” he explained.

  Samantha and Simon squared off again. Their size differences were almost comical. Simon looked equal parts mean and turned on now. He moved forward again, feinting a punch while he delivered a stunning side kick that grazed her hip even as she dodged.

  Anxiety and protectiveness clawed its way up Jack’s esophagus. “Jesus,” he muttered.

  “Simon’ll be praying shortly,” Rush commented.

  Simon executed a powerful roundhouse, and Samantha bent into the momentum of the kick. Jack was certain it was a death blow, winning Simon the match, but Samantha used the momentum to curl and dive into a fast somersault. Jack’s
eyes widened. She used Simon’s incredible height advantage to dive underneath and behind him, her hand wrapped tightly around the bottom of his gi pants. She jerked his leg behind him, hurling him forward. He put his hands out to break his fall, landing with a grunt. Simon quickly tried to roll away from her, but she was already wrapped around his back, cinching her legs tightly around his lower waist, her hands around the collar of his gi.

  As Simon struggled, clawing at her hands and legs around his waist, Samantha twisted her hand around the neck of his gi, making the collar a tourniquet. Simon jabbed her hard with his elbow. She expelled a harsh breath, but she responded by viciously jerking his collar tighter, cutting off his windpipe as she executed the choke hold. Simon swiped at her head. She ducked most of his hits, catching a couple in the jaw and cheek, digging her heels into his diaphragm in retaliation. He gasped, sputtering as she used her feet and hands to squeeze out all his air. One of her hands slipped to his belt. She jerked at the loosened knot.

  “What the hell is she doing?” Mitch worried.

  “Oh shit,” Rush breathed. “That’s fucking cold.”

  “The fucking coldest,” Carey grinned. “Submit, Michaelson!” he taunted.

  Simon just grunted and sputtered, trying vainly to roll away. Like a Boa Constrictor, the harder he struggled, the tighter she twisted. Samantha stretched back, forcing Simon to arch backward with her. With a quick movement, she had his black belt wrapped around his neck, her other hand still squeezing his collar, cutting off his air supply. Everyone stood transfixed as what little breath Simon had left came out in a pant. With one last massive effort, Simon grabbed at her arms, delivering a vicious elbow to her ribs. Samantha made no sound, though her face blanched. Jack very nearly jumped on the mat, adrenaline and anger surging. Rush stuck out an arm to stop him.

  “Just wait,” Rush told him, watching Samantha.

  “Fuck, he probably cracked her rib,” Jack muttered, wiping a distressed hand down his face.

  “Simon needs this,” Carey responded. “He needs to understand what she’s capable of.”

  “And the poor bastard’s about to pass out anyway,” Rush smirked.

  Simon’s eyes rolled in the back of his head. His struggling grew sluggish as Samantha continued to choke him. She was whispering something into his ear. Jack wondered alternately what she was saying and if she was going to kill her own employee with everyone watching.

  “Tap out!” Rush shouted. “Tap out, ya stubborn bastard!”

  “Holy shit, is she going to murder him right here?” Mitch breathed.

  As Simon’s body eventually slackened, Carey called, “Ippon!”4

  Simon didn’t move as Samantha released him, sliding from under his massive body. Jack stared, stunned to realize she’d choked him into unconsciousness. And with his own goddamn black belt.

  Rush clapped enthusiastically. “See, what did I tell you?” he said to Jack and Mitch.

  Carey stepped onto the mat and leaned over Simon, slapping his face a couple times as he came to.

  “What day is today?” Carey asked.

  “Saturday,” Simon groaned.

  “What’s five times forty?”

  “One hundred thirty.”

  “Who am I?”

  “You’re an arsehole,” Simon answered, sitting up and rubbing his neck, looking aggrieved.

  “You’re fine,” Carey replied, helping him up. He swayed dizzily for a moment.

  “I take it back,” Mitch said, turning to Jack, his eyes wide. “You turn and run. This woman’s more than your match. She’ll be the death of you.”

  Jack shook his head, bemused. If it was possible, he was even more certain this woman was perfect for him. Carey was right. Samantha was mean, and she had absolutely no mercy. And he liked it. Oh, yes, he liked it.

  Samantha and Simon bowed to each other. She handed him his neatly coiled black belt.

  “I always wanted to see what the hype around you was, Poppy,” Simon told her, his hand coming up to rub his reddened neck gingerly. “Never had a woman strangle me with my own belt before.”

  “Oh?” she said, brow raised. “That’s astonishing.”

  Simon eyed her. “Would it be weird to say you scare the absolute shit out of me and I think I’m half in love with you?”

  “You’ll have to get to the back of the line then,” Jack muttered, coming to stand next to her. He touched her rib where Simon had struck her. “Are you okay, tesoro?”5

  Simon looked from Jack to Samantha.

  “Nothing a hot bath and shot of bourbon won’t cure,” she answered, smiling up to him before turning to Simon. “Carey will draw up an adjusted training regimen for you. I’d like you to pick up some proficiency in other defensive techniques. You’re too reliant on your brute strength.”

  “I thought I was pretty good,” Simon told her, sheepish. “Until I met you.”

  Welcome to the club, Jack thought. We all thought we were pretty good until she came and knocked us on our asses.

  Samantha conferred with Simon and Carey for a moment longer before turning to Jack, a smile softening her face.

  “How’d it go?” she asked.

  “Watching you fight a guy nearly twice your size? Yeah, I think I’d rather watch a car accident,” Jack replied drily. “Less nerve wracking.”

  Her lips twitched. “How do you imagine I’ve made my way, Jack? By asking nicely?”

  “You are a negotiator,” he pointed out.

  “Sometimes people need to be made aware of the risks before they can be persuaded,” she replied.

  “I’m realizing I wasn’t really aware of the risks.”

  “You still aren’t,” she told him, crossing her arms. “You want to call off that drive now?”

  “Not a chance,” Jack answered, adamant. “I’m certain you’re worth the jeopardy,” he replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  Samantha looked pleased and a little relieved, as if she’d suspected he’d just hightail it and run. “All right then. Let’s do this,” she said with a smile.

  Chapter 13

  October—An hour later

  Somewhere on I-94, headed north

  S A M A N T H A

  “How do you like to be touched, beautiful?” Jack asked, his voice a low thrum. “Like this?” He shifted down, shooting onto the freeway, gunning the Corvette’s engine. “Or like this?” Jack shifted back up, maneuvering around slower cars like a seasoned rally racer. The ’vette responded with an aggressive throttle, the throaty rumble characteristic to the 1962 model while she held low and tight to the ground with the acceleration.

  Sam watched Jack through dark Wayfarers, bemused. Jack looked like a kid at Christmas, caressing the leather steering wheel, a brash smile on his face as he pushed the car to over ninety miles per hour. The wind ruffled his hair. He looked happy and relaxed in sunglasses and a dark cashmere sweater, sleeves pushed up on tan forearms, the fall sun burnishing the streaks in his hair. She fought the urge to run her fingers through it, leaning forward to fiddle with the stereo instead.

  “Three forty horsepower?” he asked.

  “Three sixty,” she corrected. “V8, fuel injection, three fifty two torque.”

  “She’s amazing,” he sighed happily. “I love her. Can I have her?” he asked hopefully.

  Sam chuckled, shaking her head. “Uh, no. But you can borrow her on occasion. Impress all the girls,” she teased.

  Jack leveled a look at her over his sunglasses. “I only want to impress one girl. Any idea how I do that?” he asked, taking his hand off the gear shift to run his fingers along her jaw.

  “Good men are hard to find,” she answered airily. “Be a good man. She may come around.”

  “But she’s surrounded by good men,” Jack pointed out.

  “So she has impeccable taste,” she replied, pushing her hair back as the wind whipped around them. “You’ll have to do something to stand out. You’re creative. You’ll come up with somethi
ng.”

  Sam closed her eyes, leaning her head back to soak up the sun, hiding the unexpected churn she felt over the thought of what a man as wildly sexy and as damnably intelligent as Jack might do to stand out. He was just the kind of guy to give chase. Looking at him now, switching lanes like a speed demon, wind ruffling his hair, light eyes hidden behind sunglasses… she bet he gave very good chase.

  Jack caught her looking, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing her knuckles before resting their hands against his thigh. “Do you know how I pick my building projects?” he asked her.

  Sam tilted her head, considering him. “I’d put money on you looking for a challenge.”

  “That’s one aspect, yes,” he agreed. “I like projects that are complicated but have immense potential. Buildings with history and intricacy that others don’t have the patience, skill, or financial wherewithal to take on.”

  “Your more modern and commercial projects are selected to fund your passion for renovation, aren’t they? They’re a means to an end,” she surmised. “You use them to accumulate power.”

  “That’s empire building.” Jack smiled. “Helps the city, creates political capital, makes money—everyone’s happy. But what I’m about, what I really love, is the rare jewel. The Whitneys.” He squeezed her hand. “And they’re not always apparent. You have to look at all their angles to understand what’s really there.”

  “Are you comparing me to a dilapidated building, Jack?” Sam asked, sardonic.

  “Not at all, I’m still figuring out what I’m looking at,” he grinned. “And I definitely don’t know all the angles, but…” Jack glanced over at her. “I know enough to know I want you, Samantha. Now I’ll just have to figure out what I can get.”

  *

  October—That afternoon

  Milwaukee, Wisconsin

  S A M A N T H A

  Jack drove them into downtown Milwaukee, a smaller city about an hour-and-a-half’s drive north of Chicago. They toured the Lakefront Brewery, housed in what had once been Milwaukee’s Electric Railway and Light Company’s coal-fired power plant, where they tasted ales and seasonal brews. They argued amicably over the best flavors, whether Belgian white ales were as good as American wheat, what paired best with what. They ended up taking their debate to the Milwaukee Brewing Company, where they tried beers with names like “Louie’s Demise,” “Booyah,” and “Love Rock,” debating beer names and coming up with a few creative variations of their own, aided, of course, by continued consumption.