Flame

by Skylar Cross

  Way over the line.

  Jasper van der Voort is going down.

  Chapter 6

  Sofia

  Alone in my car, I open the Dunkin’ Donuts bag. Inside is a burner phone and a plastic clip of some sort.

  I’m parked several blocks away from Tony’s Gym. It’s 2:43. Why did LaTashia tell me to park so far away? I’m going to have to start walking soon.

  I’m about to get out of the car when the burner phone rings.

  “Hello,” I say.

  “Don’t say my name,” says LaTashia.

  “Okay.”

  “Did you get the clip?”

  “Yes.” I pick up the piece of plastic.

  “It’s a firefly for the Bentley.”

  “Ohhh, I understand.”

  A firefly is police slang for a transponder. She wants me to plant it in Colton Stark’s Bentley so we can follow it. I’m guessing she wants me parked far away so maybe he’ll offer me a ride to my car and I can clip this on something in his car.

  “Got it,” I say.

  “The firefly is set to a non-official frequency. Don’t want any eyes on this besides you and me. I’ll text you the login address. Use your clean laptop.”

  “Okay.”

  “He goes to an Asian spa for a massage every morning. Stays in there for about an hour-and-a-half. Sometimes two hours.”

  Asian spa? Every day? Happy ending massage? Colton Stark? Something doesn’t add up there.

  “Not his style,” I say.

  “Part of our problem,” she says. “Work on that. Save this number. This is the only way we’ll talk about this. Not one word in the office.”

  “Okay.”

  She clicks off without saying goodbye.

  Shit, this is serious. If she went to this much trouble, she really believes we have an informant in OCS.

  Who?

  I get out of my car, grab my gym bag, and start walking to Tony’s Gym.

  The wind whips through the alleys. First cool day we’ve had in a while. It’s refreshing.

  As I walk, I ponder who it could be. Not Mike, no way. Not Frank. How about Farrell? No, can’t picture it. Sly? Wanda? Marshall? No, no, and no. Then there’s Maldonado. Shit, I bet it’s Maldonado. Don’t know why. Something untrustworthy about him sets off alarm bells with me.

  My cell phone rings. It’s Jorge.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “He’s at it again. I can’t deal. It’s your turn tonight.”

  “Shit. Okay, fine.”

  “Last night I made him dinner and got the place cleaned up, then he started with the usual. I had to go. I couldn’t take it. How many times can you have the same conversation?”

  “I know the feeling. Fine. I’ll do tonight. Wish Mom would fucking come home.”

  “She ain’t coming home, girl, and you know it. This is Puerto Rican-style divorce.”

  I’m outside Tony’s Gym.

  “Yeah, I know. Okay, gotta go.”

  I click off.

  Tony’s Gym is too fancy to be called Tony’s Gym. Bright and shiny. Lots of white.

  I usually work out at a small place downtown. This is a touch too upscale for me. Big boxing ring in the front. Large rack of various-sized punching bags in the center. Weights, machines, and a big wrestling mat area in the back. As far as I can tell there are only three people here—a coach giving a private lesson to a guy in his sixties who looks like he might pass out soon, and a young girl working at the desk.

  The girl looks up from her iPhone as I approach her. Blonde. Probably eighteen. She’s wearing a bright pink tank top over large breasts with striped Spandex shorts.

  “Hiii,” she says in a sing-songy voice.

  “Hello, I’m not a member but I’m meeting one here.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Colton Stark.”

  Her pupils dilate and she blushes.

  “Oh yes, Mr. Stark just called. He’s going to be a few minutes late. Go right in. The ladies’ locker room is in the back to the right.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Feel free to use any of the equipment until he gets here. I can show you how to use anything if you don’t know how. My name is Britney.”

  I shoot her a look that seems to make her shrink. She takes a step back.

  Oops, too harsh, Sofia.

  I put on a fake smile and say, “Thanks, Britney. I’m Sofia. I appreciate the offer but I think I’ll be okay.”

  She sinks into her chair and returns to her game of Candy Crush.

  The ladies’ locker room has a whirlpool, a steam room, and a sauna. The lockers have electronic keypads instead of old combination locks. Everything is spotless, almost like it’s hardly ever used.

  I change into my workout clothes.

  While I wait for Colton, I do three rounds on the heavy bag and then three on the speed bag. Then I jog in a big loop around the club while mentally reviewing my goals.

  First is to get Colton talking. Listen for clues. Second is to somehow get that firefly attached to his car. Most car seats have something underneath the passenger seat that would be easy to clip onto. I assume a Bentley does too, not that I’ve ever been in a Bentley.

  I forget all my plans as I see him walk in.

  God, did he get taller?

  He’s wearing a white shirt and light gray pants that flow off his spectacular frame. A gust of wind enters through the open front door with him.

  Sunglasses and stubble again. Messy dark hair.

  Shit, I’m doing it again.

  Oof!

  I plow into the hapless sixty-year old guy right in the middle of his private lesson, almost knocking him over. I stop and help him regain his balance.

  “Oh my God!” I say. “I’m so sorry.”

  The old guy looks at me in shock. “It’s okay,” he says with a smile as he looks me up and down.

  “I’m really so sorry. I’ll look where I’m going next time.”

  The instructor, a big guy with a salt-and-pepper crew cut, just glares at me. I resume jogging.

  Colton looks back at me as he walks into the men’s locker room, taking off his sunglasses while smiling.

  Zing!

  Damn. No! No! No! I’m going to stay in control of my bodily sensations today, damn it!

  I stop running and do a couple more rounds on the heavy bag again.

  “You found the place,” Colton Stark says as he emerges from the men’s locker room. “Thought about sending you coordinates in case you got lost.”

  He’s in a blue tank top with black shorts and cross trainers, holding his black gloves and head gear. His shoulder muscles have deep ridges.

  “Funny, asshole,” I say. “Are you ready to get creamed?”

  Shit, bad choice of words.

  “You have no idea,” he says.

  “Aren’t you going to warm up?”

  “No need. This won’t take long.”

  I laugh and put my hands on my hips, looking up into his face. His blue eyes bore into me.

  Zing!

  I swear I can’t control it. I can control it with every other human being on earth. Why does this man seem to have complete command of my pussy?

  We put on our gear and climb into the ring.

  We tap gloves and begin moving in circles around the ring. I try not to look at his perfectly carved shoulder muscles. Nor that tattoo.

  I throw a couple of test jabs at him to see how he reacts. He slips both easily.

  “Arrest anybody today?” he says as he sends a left jab toward my face. I slip to my left, avoiding it.

  “Not yet,” I say. “Need more evidence.”

  I fake with my right, then my left. He steps back from both, unfazed.

  Hmm, he’s good.

  “What kind of evidence?” he says as he ducks under my left hook and rises with a right uppercut that I block with my right glove.

  I step back and move to his outside right. He follows me.

  “Not
sure yet,” I say.

  “You need the hard kind.”

  Did he just say that?

  “Hard?”

  “Yeah, hard, solid evidence. Something that’s going to blow a load of good intel your way.”

  He throws a jab-jab-cross combination at me. I duck while sending my right fist into his gut.

  “Very nice,” he says. “Maybe you can box after all.”

  We dance in circles some more. His tattoo is more visible now. It’s a bald eagle with a rolled piece of parchment in its over-sized talons. There’s writing on the document. I can make out two words... “never” and “people.”

  “Milton Friedman,” he says.

  “Huh?”

  “My tattoo. You were trying to read it.”

  I fake with my right and launch a left jab at his face. He blocks it expertly and jabs my gut with his left.

  Something is off. I’m not paying attention to his center like I should be. My eyes keep drifting to his silky hair, his hypnotic blue eyes, his expanding and contracting shoulders, and his crotch.

  He’s more muscular than he appears in his pictures. It’s because he’s tall. Tall guys carry muscle differently. He definitely has a lot of it. Must workout every day.

  He fakes with his left and throws a right cross at my head. I duck just in time as his glove grazes my cheek.

  Little too close there. Damn, have to step up my game. He’s better than I thought.

  “So tell me more about this hard evidence,” I say.

  “You need something on a flash drive,” he says. “A self-executing program. All cocked and ready. Just needs to be inserted into a tight USB port. Once it does, boom!”

  “Cocked, huh?”

  “Yeah. Just put it in. Then the magic happens. All the info automatically thrusts itself to the world in long powerful strokes, over and over again, causing eruptions everywhere.”

  “What kind of eruptions?”

  “Multiple eruptions.”

  I see his left fist coming at me so I duck. His right uppercut lands on my chin and I fall backwards a little.

  Fuck, that hurt!

  Now I’m getting pissed.

  There’s no way this pasty-ass, rich, white boy is going to beat me at boxing!

  He smiles at me as we move around again.

  God, that’s the hottest look I’ve ever seen on a man. His face is contorted into a glare that is both frightening and sexy at the same time. He’s toying with me and he knows it.

  I shouldn’t be enjoying this, but I am. I don’t know if I want to hit him or pull him down on top of me.

  “Flash drive, huh?” I say.

  “Makes you excited thinking about it, doesn’t it? Getting your hands on it, feeling it in your fingers. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted. Maybe even more.”

  This guy thinks he’s funny. Fine, I’ll play along.

  “How big is this flash drive?”

  “Long, thick, and fully engorged with data.”

  Zing!

  Damn it.

  “Cuz a lot of guys say they have big flash drives but once they plug into the USB port they turn out not to be much of anything at all.”

  “Not this one. This one is unwavering, unbending... a full-on savage assault of streaming evidence that will brutally jam itself into your USB ports... hard!... not just the main one but the one in the back, too.”

  I launch a combination at him, throwing a series of lefts and rights that usually confuse my opponent. He easily avoids them, not even trying to hit me. Ha, thinks he can just let me wear myself out as I stay on the outside.

  As we dance around again, I keep getting a flash of getting in a clinch with him. Breathing in his sweat. Licking his neck.

  Focus, Sofia! Focus! You’re here to get info!

  I need to change topics, get him off this sexual innuendo kick.

  “So, what did you do this morning?” I say. ”Anything fun?”

  “Nothing that two guys in a light blue Buick didn’t see.”

  I make a left jab that hits air, throwing me off balance. He counters with his own left but I duck sending my left into his gut. As I come up I fake with my right. He’s expecting a left from me but I smash a right cross directly into his mouth. He stumbles back into the ropes.

  He wipes his mouth with his left forearm and looks down at the blood. Then he looks up at me and smiles.

  That felt good. Fucker isn’t going to get the best of me. He gets off the ropes, his shoulders and chest puffed out. A sheen of sweat has formed in the crevices. I get a flash of all that muscle on top of me. Inside me. Thrusting a stream of data into my USB ports.

  Stop that now, Sofia!

  He gets back into stance.

  “Now I’m impressed,” he says.

  “Ready to quit?” I say.

  “No way.”

  We begin again. We’re both covered in sweat now.

  He’s got something behind his look now. An intensity.

  Fuck, it’s messing with me. I’m off my track now, a little disoriented. Tingles all up and down my sides. God, I wish he would just throw me down on the mat and fuck the living shit out of me.

  Who said that?

  Focus, Sofia! Focus!

  He gets more aggressive, throwing some good combinations at me. One left jab taps me in the side of my head but I slip and block it with my right.

  “So what’s this about a blue Buick?” I say.

  “Oh, Sofia, you disappoint me. You know about the blue Buick that follows me every morning.”

  He bum rushes toward me with speed. I feint to my left and then to my right, staying out of his reach.

  That punch I landed helped me to better figure him out. He’s got long arms and good power behind his strikes. But the uppercut I landed on his chin taught me that my best strategy against him is to get on his inside. Then land a few jabs into his gut and another uppercut to his chin.

  Then bite his chest.

  I launch a jab-jab-cross-uppercut at him. He slips it, sending his right fist into my left eye.

  The world tilts on its side as I hit the mat. I hear a loud sound like a waterfall in my ears. Multi-colored lights dance around in my vision.

  Colton Stark is down on his knees with an outstretched hand. I slap it away and turn on my side, getting my elbow up under me.

  “Are you all right?” he says.

  “I’m fucking fine!”

  I get up far enough to grab the lowest rope and pull myself up, smashing Colton’s hand away again. I’m back on my feet, even though the world is still not right.

  “Ohmigod, are you okay?” says Britney, appearing below the ring. “Should I call the doctor, Mr. Stark?”

  “I’m fucking fine!” I say. “Nothing wrong with me.”

  The room wobbles a little as I push off the ropes, but I’m okay. I go back into stance.

  “C’mon,” I say, “let’s go.”

  But something is wrong. My vision is off. Left eye all blurred.

  Fuck, what’s going on?

  Colton moves toward me with his gloves up. Then he grabs my head and looks me in the eye.

  “You’re fine,” he says. “Britney, could you get a cold pack please?”

  “Oh yeah,” says Britney, “Be right back.”

  “What?” I say.

  He spins me toward the wall, which is all mirrors. The soft tissue around my left eye is swelling up.

  Damn, this fucker gave me a shiner!

  Britney arrives with the cold pack.

  “I’m fine!” I say, raising my fists again. “Let’s go.”

  “No,” says Colton.

  “I’m fine.”

  He rips the velcro on his right glove off with his teeth, removes it, and then takes the left off. He moves toward me and undoes my head gear.

  As he steps into my space, I feel bright zaps coming from the space between us. Like a magnetic field charged with particles.

  Or maybe I’m passing out. Somehow my hands find hi
s sides and rest themselves there.

  He gets my head gear off, then takes the cold pack, shakes it to break the pack inside, and places it gently on my eye.

  My right hand, all on its own, rests itself on his forearm. Our eyes meet.

  Well, eye.

  Everything changes. All my anger and frustration melts into a flowing waterfall of warmth that wraps itself around me.

  God.

  We stay like that for about a thousand years, just looking into each other, his right hand holding the cold pack while mine touches his forearm.

  “So, are you sure you’re okay?” says Britney.

  Is she still here?

  “Yes,” I say, snapping myself out of it. “I’m fine. I’ve had worse than this.”

  I put my left hand up to the cold pack and step out of the magnetic field.

  I’ve got to get the fuck out of here. Something is happening to me. I’m losing control again.

  Time to face it. I’m useless around this man. Fucking pisses me off. But whatever. I’ve got to get away from him. Regroup. Rethink.

  I climb out of the ring and over to the wall, where I remove the cold pack and look at myself up close. Yep, big, puffy, red knob under my half-closed eye.

  Britney goes back to the desk while Colton appears next to me.

  He grabs me and turns me to him.

  And, there it is again. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It goes beyond attraction, like a pulsing steady beat of intensity.

  He kisses me. I want to struggle. I want to push him way. But I can’t seem to do it. It’s like he controls me completely.

  We’re both bloody and covered in sweat. I inhale the pungent aroma of human bodies swirling around us.

  But I don’t care.

  The kiss is glorious.

  They got a thing for criminals. They like bad boys. All of them.

  My dad’s words are exactly the message I needed. I push him away.

  I try to speak words, but nothing comes out. I just back up and walk away, shaking my head. I’m afraid to look into his eyes. Too dangerous. His eyes will win me. I can’t let them.

  I just keep backing up, head down, and stumble into the ladies’ locker room.

  God, I’m pathetic! How did I lose control?

  I stare at myself in the mirror.

  I don’t recognize me.

  I examine my eye a little closer. Damn, he got me good.