Trust Me: Matty and Kayla, Book 1 of 3 (The McDaniels Brothers)

by Bell, Christine

  Mickey loved collecting favors. Seemed to be his favorite pastime. But she owed herself something too. A chance to blaze her own path and find the strength that life in the cage could give you. It was indescribable how empowering it was, especially for people who’d had bad times.

  "Think about it. I’m going to go hard first thing Monday. If you want in, come over after work and we’ll get to it."

  She pulled into the gym parking lot and popped the car into park. I turned to face her, sad to see that she looked more apprehensive than excited now. "I guess I’ll-"

  "See me Monday,” I finished for her. “You deserve this, Red. Don’t let me down.”

  As I jogged across the parking lot, I was more optimistic than I’d been in years and that calmed me right the fuck down because it was the one thing I couldn't afford to be. Shit could —and did, so often— turn on a dime. Today hadn’t changed the fact that my feelings for this girl were as confused as fuck and I was still stuck under the thumb of the devil himself with no way out for the foreseeable future.

  But I had to admit, if I was going to be stuck somewhere, it might as well be next to Kayla James.

  Chapter Six

  Kayla

  Don’t let me down.

  The words flitted through my mind again, as they had so many times over the past week.

  Slumping forward, I laid my head on the desk in front of me and groaned. If ever there was a good time to tell Matty the truth it had been right after he’d selflessly offered to try to help me achieve my dream. It had been on the tip of my tongue, but I chickened out. For someone who’d signed on to be in business with Mickey, he sure seemed to hate him, and I was ashamed that I didn’t. How could I explain that to Matty without having to explain all the rest?

  The sordid, shameful, sickening rest. Knowing that, once I told him, it might not matter anyway. He might still hate me, just by association.

  So I’d blown him off and now, more than a week later, I still hadn’t worked up the balls to face him.

  He’d already left four messages on my voicemail that I refused to check, but I could only bury my head for so long. I still had a job to do and I couldn’t keep letting my cowardice stand in the way of me doing it.

  I spared a glance at the clock and stood. End of my work day. For now, at least, I had an excuse to procrastinate for a little longer. I made my way down the maze of hallways to the open part of the warehouse where the makeshift ring stood. In the center of it was Mickey at a table set for two, each place with a silver dome-covered plate and a wine glass filled with ruby liquid in front of it. Next to him on a white-clothed platform sat a three-tiered birthday cake shaped like gift boxes set askew on top of one another, each in a different buttery pastel shade. It was a work of art and I knew it had cost a fortune.

  "Happy birthday, sweetie." Mick smiled, happy to see me as usual and I couldn't help but smile back in spite of the weight on my chest. “I got the Duke of Cakes to make it for you."

  Aside from MMA, Mickey knew I loved watching the Food Network and that was one of my favorite shows. Tears stung my eyes as I climbed into the ring with him to get a better look. "It's so gorgeous, thanks Mick." I’d been so distracted lately, I’d completely forgotten about it, but Mick was big on birthdays.

  “Glad you like it.” He motioned for me to sit and then handed me a long, slim box. I took it, wondering what other outrageous thing he’d gone and done. I didn't give a crap about jewelry, but that never stopped him before. The cake though? He'd been dead on there, and I wondered idly if he'd solicited help from his secretary Rita in choosing it.

  I opened the box, delighting in the crunchy feel of the papyrus style paper. A note sat inside, folded into a tiny rectangle. Not jewelry. Excellent.

  I unfolded it, breathless with nerves. We were in a ring. Maybe, along with the Food Network, Mickey had finally caught on to the fact that I wanted to fight and this was some sort of declaration that he wanted me to go for it. Imagine that? Then I wouldn’t have to choose between disappointing him and giving up my dream.

  With shaking hands, I held the note to the flickering candles so I could read it.

  "A voucher for tuition at a cooking school?" I said, as I took in the contents of the note.

  "Yeah, aren't you happy?"

  I liked watching cooking shows, but no way did I want to cook for a living.

  "I figure this could help you get past that whole MMA thing. Between cooking classes and managing fighters, you'll be so busy, you won't have time to think about fighting yourself."

  I folded the piece of paper and slipped it back into the box, forcing a smile. No matter how misguided he was, he'd tried. For real this year, more than ever before. I wasn't about to reward that effort by shitting on some truly thoughtful gifts just because we didn't see eye to eye on something. And Mickey’s gift had done something I hadn’t been able to do up until just that moment. It settled the war going on inside of me. As I stared at that note, having no idea what it could be, there was only one thing I’d wished for.

  I was going to fight MMA.

  Now I just had to hope that, by the time he found out about it, he was willing to accept it and get on board. I couldn't lose him. I had no one else.

  An image of Matty's face floated through my mind but I pushed it away. I didn't have Matty. If anything, he had me. I couldn't stop thinking about him. The fun we’d had sparring. The keen way his mind worked when we were prepping for our meeting with Carmine. The way his hands felt on my body when he touched me…

  But what did any of that really mean in the scheme of things? Nada. We might have more in common than I'd ever had with a guy, but one of those things was that we both had seriously fucked up lives and neither one of us was in the emotional place for a healthy relationship.

  “And on that note, I wanted to talk to you about something else. I need a favor,” Mickey said, settling back in his seat.

  The pseudo-innocent tone sent my guard up. I’d heard it before, and it put me on edge. He was about to ask me to do something that he knew I wasn’t going to like. Possibly even something illegal, and it made my stomach clench.

  Was that why he'd given me such great gifts? Because he wanted something from me he knew would hurt to give? I hated to think it. It sickened me, but in the moment, I couldn't think of anything else.

  “Okay…”

  He lifted the silver cover from the plate in front of him and gestured for me to do the same. A plump lobster tail glistening with butter perched on a smear of mashed potatoes stared up at me, but all it did was add to the queasiness.

  "Did you notice I said managing fighters, plural, a few seconds ago?” he asked, forking up a mound of potatoes.

  “I did notice that, yes.”

  I’d figured he was talking long term, building the business once Matty was established, but now a sinking feeling came over me and I set my fork down.

  “Have you heard of Diego Ricon?" Mick paused to dig into his lobster tail before meeting my gaze again, eyes alight with banked excitement.

  I ran through my mental files and then nodded. “Yeah. Middle weight out of New York.”

  "He's a beast, am I right?"

  I wasn't sure about all that, but he was a solid fighter. Clean, crisp shots, good technique and he moved well. "I like him. He's in great condition and got some real potential. I think he's a good choice if you're looking for another guy to build alongside Matty somewhere down the line."

  Mickey's grin went from smug to Cheshire Cat and that sent a sizzle of unrest through me.

  “I'm not looking for another guy. He's going to be THE guy."

  I shook my head and frowned at him, hearing his words but not understanding them. "Matty's THE guy, remember?”

  "That's what I thought too, but after some thought I’m realizing those McDaniels boys are a little too mouthy for my liking. The second our deal has concluded, Matty's going to take all my hard work and flush it down the drain and walk away. I need some
body who is going to stick in. So there's been a change of plans. We keep Matty happy with a couple little fights, but Diego gets the big ones."

  I swallowed the urge to ask exactly what hard work he’d put in as he shifted in his seat to face me full on.

  Mick let out a long breath. "I want you to be happy. You know that's very important to me. That's why I went all the way to Wisconsin to get you that day, remember?"

  If I didn't, his pointed monthly reminder would have kept it fresh in my mind.

  "But I need you to be a team player here and think about the business. Matty's a wild card. I don't like him. I don't trust him. For all I know, he's going to sandbag just to discredit me."

  “He would never do that. And what you’re asking me to do is wrong. To pick up another guy in the same weight class and then cast Matty aside like used toilet paper. He’ll never agree to take the backseat. That’s not what he signed up for.”

  "Isn’t it?" Mickey's eyes grew shrewd and sharp, and my gut roiled the way it did whenever I saw that ugly side of him I tried to ignore. "The McDaniels boys owe me, and I expect to square up. He agreed to be my guy to pay off a debt. That means I say fight, and he asks who, how, where and when.” He held up a finger and pointed it at me. “Not why. There's nothing in the contract I gave him that says I’m going to make him a star.”

  A wave of nausea battered at my lunch, urging it to make a reappearance, but I swallowed it back, struggling to process it all. Had that been the deal they’d made? Mickey must have had Matty in a terrible spot to get him to agree to that. It was flat out extortion. And suddenly Matty’s apparent dislike of Mick made a lot more sense.

  How the hell was I going to tell him this? That our plans had turned to ash and he was going to be stuck in a year-long contract that would get him nowhere. He was going be furious.

  Almost as furious as when he found out about Mickey and me…

  ***

  Matty

  "You two are acting like a couple of teenage girls in the lunch room. What gives?" Bash sucked down half a bottle of Gatorade in one swallow before pinning me with a cold stare. "And don't try to fluff me off this time. One of you motherfuckers is going to come clean, or I'm going to start cracking skulls."

  Reid looked at me and shrugged. “I don’t know what he’s talking about. You, bro?”

  I took that to mean that he wouldn't rat me out and was willing to take the ass-whooping if there was going to be one. Good to know. But it had gone far enough and it was only a matter of time before I had to come clean. He’d gotten as long of a reprieve as I could give him. And now that the wheels were in motion, there was nothing he could do to stop any of it anyway.

  So I gave it to him straight. “I'm working with Mickey Flynn. He’s Kayla’s boss."

  Bash's eyes went glacier blue, and I knew I was about to get an earful. I tried to head him off at the pass before he worked up a full head of steam.

  "It's a short contract. One year and I'm free to find new representation. He wants-"

  "What he wants is your fucking soul, you stupid asshole. God, how could you be so thick?” He raked his uninjured hand over his face and scowled at me. “This is what he's wanted from the start. To get us wrapped up with him so he could play puppet master. We just got free and there you go again, half-cocked and loaded for bear."

  "We weren't free," I said quietly, turning away to toe at a mat with my foot. I hated this part. Bash pissed, I could handle. Bash feeling sad and guilty sucked balls.

  "What do you mean? We were. I told you, I got a call yesterday. We’ve got this fight lined up now. It’s got a huge purse and he said we could pay him once..." He trailed off and his jaw went slack as comprehension dawned. "You did that. You went to Mickey and had him get me a fight to replace the Spada match. And in return, he got you as his bitch."

  That was it. After a sleepless week and feeling like total shit for backing Kayla into a corner, I’d run out of patience. I reeled on him, sick to death of it all and happy to let fury take the wheel. "What the fuck do you want from me, Bash? I did what I tho-”

  "You guys have to stop fighting," Olivia said softly from her perch on the stairs leading from the apartment to the gym. I hadn't heard her come in and apparently I wasn't the only one.

  Bash turned to face her. "Babe, this is between me and my brother."

  "I live here too now, and I love all three of you so it's not just about you." She stood and made her way down the stairs to stand in front of us, a thunderous frown on her face. "Boo frigging hoo. You McDaniels boys are always crying and whining at each other over one thing or another. Oh, Bash gave up everything for me so I wouldn't lose the gym. Or oh, Matty is such a jerk, he risked his life to borrow money from a mobster to bail me out of jail. I've been around long enough that you can't fool me. Every fight you have boils down to the same thing. You guys all love each other too damn much. It must be terrible. Seriously. You should stop talking to each other now and go in separate rooms to cry about it."

  I stared at her like she'd sprouted a third eye. What had happened to sweet, easy-going Olivia? Maybe she'd been hanging around with Kayla behind my back or something. The kicker of it was, she was right.

  Bash wasn't quite so ready to forgive and forget, though. "So you're telling me this fight I have is going to cost you a year of your life?"

  “That's a bit of an exaggeration," I said, and shoved my hands in my pockets. "It's not like I work for him 24/7 but yeah, his people are managing me and I have to log three fights minimum, at his discretion before the year's end. In return, I did get him to lock up another bout for you, but he also forgave the rest of the cash I owed him. So it wasn't just about you."

  "Since you borrowed the money to get me out of jail, I'd beg to differ."

  "Look," Olivia hissed, jamming her hands on her hips and glaring at us all. "You're picking nits. At the end of the day, you've all done stupid things to make sure your brothers were taken care of. Can't you accept that as a deeply respectable, if irritating, part of your family dynamic and move on? What's done is done. Stop with the secrets from this point forward and let's make a pact to talk everything over as a family."

  "Sure thing, Wendy Darling," Reid muttered under his breath.

  "What did you call me?" Olivia snarled, wheeling around to shoot him the evil eye.

  I kept my mouth shut and my head down. We'd obviously stumbled on a hot button issue for her and she was on a roll.

  "Wendy Darling. From Peter Pan. She was always bitching at- erm, lecturing the Lost Boys," Reid said, both hands held up in front of him. “Just a joke.”

  "Oh." She cocked her head to the side and seemed to think that over before nodding. "I like that." She beamed at Reid approvingly before treating Bash and me to one last scathing glare. "The two of you sit down and hash this out until it's squashed. And don't come upstairs for dinner until you do."

  I never thought I'd like having a woman in the house, but Olivia had been with us for all of one day so far, and already I was getting used to it. That she'd taken my side tonight didn't hurt, although Bash looked pretty irritated about it.

  She stalked up the stairs and closed the apartment door behind her with a decisive click, leaving me and my brothers staring at each other.

  "So, what now?" Reid asked, dropping onto one of the stools behind the counter.

  "Now we either talk it out or we pretend we're not mad at each other until we aren't anymore," Bash grumbled, shaking his head at me. "The sooner we pick one, the sooner we get to have chicken pot pie."

  Reid nodded, looking as pious as a priest as he stepped in and yanked us both toward him with an arm around our shoulders. "I forgive you both. Come on now, let’s hug it out."

  He squeezed us both and, naturally, we tried to fight him off, but by the end of it, even Bash was smiling grudgingly.

  “Now if you two fuckwads are done,” Reid patted his flat stomach and pointed up the stairs. “I'm starving."

  He jogged up the s
teps, leaving me and Bash behind. I was about to follow but I stopped and locked eyes with my younger brother. "We good?"

  He rolled his eyes at me but eventually, he inclined his head once in a curt nod. "We're good. But I want to know everything that's happening from this point forward. If he's screwing this up, we put our foot down and fight it out with him. As a family. Deal?"

  "Deal."

  It wouldn't come to that. I was going to go see Kayla, apologize for pushing her on the whole ladies MMA thing and get us back on track. As much as I'd protested at first, with her on my side, I felt I could really make my mark this year. Who knew? Maybe I'd look back at this as the best decision I'd ever made.

  Stranger things had happened.

  I took a quick glance at my watch. It was five-thirty on a Monday. There was a good chance she’d still be at the warehouse working, and if not, maybe I could get Mickey or his secretary to give me her home address, because she sure as hell wasn’t taking my calls.

  “You go eat with your girl. I’ve got to go talk to Kayla. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

  When I pulled up to the warehouse fifteen minutes later and saw her car in the lot, I had it all planned out. I was going to go in, tell her how much I wanted to keep working with her, and that, until or unless she was ready, we could drop the whole thing about her getting into the ring.

  I still had high hopes she’d be willing to try it in the future, but we had a year to work up to it before she was out of my life. Suddenly, a year didn’t seem like very long.

  When I reached the warehouse front door, I was relieved to find it still unlocked. Now, if I could get past the secretary, I’d be in good shape. If I got this far only to have her call back to Kayla and find out she wouldn’t see me, it would’ve been a tough blow to take. Luck was on my side, though, and when I passed the little reception office, the lights were off.