by Paula Cox
“I hear you, brother. It’s the one thing they can’t teach you, I guess. How to switch it off.”
“Yeah. Like a part of you is always plugged into what it was like over there. I mean, I can’t even think about half that shit without reliving it. The docs say it helps to talk through it, you know, describe it in detail, so I can accept that shit just happens, that none of it was my fault. But I think I saw too much. I mean, how can you ever accept that a guy you spent all that time with, a guy whose family you heard so much about, could have just exploded like that?” Monte’s hand began to shake; he had to set his bottle down. “One second he was there, then there was nothing left. Everything that made him Willy was gone. I-I just can’t get my head around that. And I see it all the fucking time: switching on that old knackered radio, and…everything that happened next.”
Neither of them spoke for a while. The occasional loud clash of pool balls made Dax flinch, because his back was to the rec room. Monte, though, didn’t appear present at all as he sat there, sipping at his beer. For Dax, the memories cut sharply and deeply, but they were short-lived; his friend seemed to dwell in them, somehow captive to his experiences as they unfolded in real time.
“That’s the big one for me, too—what happened to Willy,” Dax explained. “It was just so unexpected, and it happened right in front of us; I guess it’s as much of a battle scar as all our other cuts and scrapes. Only we can’t see it. We can’t wrap it with a field dressing. It’s still a war wound, brother. And we’ve both got it. We’ve both got plenty. It’s important that you know that. You’re not the only one who’s hurting from that shit. And there’ll be others in the unit. It might not hit them till they get stateside, but it will. Sooner or later, we’ll all switch on that old knackered radio, whether we want to or not.”
Monte seemed to look right through him for a few moments, then said, “Man, this got really freaking heavy, didn’t it?”
“Tell me about it.”
“Fuck it. Let’s keep it going.” With a manly burp, the man known in the Corps as “Slats” seemed to want to be that man again, if only until the drinks ran out. He slammed his empty beer down, then gestured for Dax to fulfill his obligation: more rounds, pronto. Unfortunately, Dax had to drive home after, so Diet Coke was as dangerous as he could get. This time. Next time, he’d get a cab.
He returned and set three beers down for Monte, plus a pack of potato chips apiece. “So how are you doing with your studies?”
“Getting there. It’s a chore, like all studying. A means to an end. I’ll get there. How’s the training?”
“Ditto. Plus, I’ve had a few…distractions.”
“So I hear.” Monte’s sly grin said he wanted to pry. “But first, tell me what Carlo had to say. What’s the news from over there? Then you can answer that question you’ve been dying for me to ask.”
“What question’s that?”
“Who’s this mysterious hottie that’s got you chasing your tail?”
“Oh. Yeah. It’s kind of a long story.”
“It always is, brother. It always is.”
Chapter Twelve
Tiana had never felt so exposed in her life. Naked even. As the only ringside VIP guest of Dax Easterling, she was the object of too much unwanted attention in the packed Staples Center. The wives and girlfriends—WAGs—kept eyeing her, but no differently than they had when she’d been Thad’s girl. They weren’t judging her necessarily; hell no—they swapped partners more frequently than rednecks at a square dance. They were just curious. She was a rogue element in their midst, someone they couldn’t figure out. She had never fit in with their fashion or their inside jokes or the way they turned a blind eye to all the sleeping around, and she’d only ever attended a handful of their regular get-togethers.
The fact that she was now with Dax, someone else they couldn’t get a handle on, would only make their tongues wag all the more.
She was trying her best to concentrate on the fight. Dax was still sizing up his opponent, a huge black bear of a man named Dumbo Woodbury, a South African. Dax was quicker and clearly the more cultured fighter, but he was wary of getting in too close. The way Woodbury was stalking him around ring left little to the imagination; he wanted to get hold of his opponent any way he could and break poor Dax in half.
Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea, coming here to watch. He might get hurt. Sure, she’d been through it a hundred times with Thad, but her life was at a fragile point right now, and she couldn’t take any more heartache.
The arena’s spotlights had converged on the octagonal ring. Tiana’s front row was on the border of light and shadow; she was fully lit, and the cameras would easily pick her out. Her toned-down but still sexy ensemble—blouse, waistcoat, and suit pants—had been a last-minute idea. She’d hoped no one would recognize her in it, and it would therefore help her to blend in. But she now realized, too late, that it was making a statement. It said: “Don’t mess with me, I’ve got the power.” In the eyes of the bling brigade, she was re-defining herself and taking charge of her life, and part of that was to set her sights on the most mysterious hunk in MMA.
Rosina Petrov waved to her. She waved back, then cringed when she realized Rosina’s husband, Gaston, was good friends with Thad. She scanned the surrounding seats. Phew. Thank God her crazy ex wasn’t here. However, he’d definitely find out about her being here. Even if the cameras and the media gossip didn’t give her away, the Petrovs would spill the beans to Thad sooner or later.
Let’s burn that bridge when we come to it, she thought. Tonight’s about Dax. I owe him this much.
Woodbury lifted his enormous leg to try and kick Dax against the ropes, but Dax saw it coming a mile away. He sidestepped just enough to catch the big man’s calf, then swept his trailing leg from under him. Tiana leapt to her feet, the first in her row, probably in the whole arena. That was not like her at all. She was normally the reserved one, the reluctant one, who only got to her feet when everyone around her stood up.
Tonight was different. Tonight, a strong pull inside her insisted she make this effort. For Dax. For herself. And the more she cheered like a maniac, the more she understood the love-hate relationship she’d always had with this blood sport. It had been true right from the start, when she’d first watched Thad perform in the ring, but it had never crystallized in her mind until now.
She hated fighting, but loved fighters.
What they did to each other was barbaric. On some level it left her queasy—not in a good way. But damn it, they were so hot. Watching Dax Easterling strut his stuff in the ring, muscles rippling, practically naked, and demonstrating how to take a big bully down without resorting to mindless brawling—now that shit made her queasy in all the right ways.
He was what a man should be. Cut, confident, and always in control. The way he set about dismantling his opponent was so…efficient. Every blow, every block, every hold so precise. And he had charisma to spare, lots of little quirks and signature flourishes to his technique that just screamed to his opponent: I own this sport; you’re in my ring now. She’d never seen such a skillful display of hand-to-hand combat. Dumbo Woodbury was like a huge bull in the ring with a world-class matador (another blood sport she hated). The big man was getting frustrated.
Tiana leapt to her feet again and whistled her approval when Dax snagged Woodbury in an athletic head-scissors. He pulled it off so quickly, the rest of the crowd barely had time to react before Woodbury was on the canvas, struggling to hold on. The ref got in real close, watching carefully for a tap-out.
In that moment, something made her turn to catch Rosina’s eye. Maybe to brag. Maybe to announce the start of this new chapter in her life, free from Thad’s control. But Rosina didn’t look her way. She was busy shouting in her husband’s ear, then nodding gravely at his replies. Were they worried about Dax Easterling? About just how good he really was? Tiana liked to think so. That every fighter in the world was now intimidated by Dax—not because
he was some psychotic, steroid-fueled brawler in the ring (fuck you, Thad!), but because he was just that good.
The idea set her heart racing. It was a feeling of relief more than anything else—that a guy so powerful could be so in control as well. Sure, he was bound to have his rough edges, as any fighter would. But Dax Easterling could give her what Thad had lost a long time ago. Put simply, he could make her feel safe.
That was worth a victory right there.
***
Woodbury, having escaped the head-scissors, finally tapped-out inside a headlock near the end of the second round. No one was surprised. However, Tiana had never heard so much chatter after a fight. After the cheering died down, the whole arena seemed to be gripped in intense debate. Woodbury was ranked pretty high. For someone to have taken him apart so clinically like that, it had to signal to the IMMAF that its next bona fide title contender was in town.
Tiana was about to leave the building and catch a cab straight to Cassie’s when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She recognized the youngish Hispanic man from Dax’s small corner team.
“Excuse me, miss. Dax sent me to fetch you. He said there’s something he wants to ask you, if haven’t got other plans…”
“Um, no. I can see him…if I’m allowed back there.”
The guy shot her a confused look. Hey, it wasn’t her fault that Thad had never explained the backstage protocol for these things. He’d never invited her into the locker room. That was his time, he’d always said, for himself and his team.
“Okay, show me the way,” she said.
It did feel bizarre, after all these years, to finally gain access to the fighters’ secret sanctum. The smells were all familiar—like those of any gym or locker room. However, there was a strong male vibe here, almost overpowering, that made her feel both uneasy and curious at the same time.
“Tiana! Glad you could come.” With a towel wrapped around him, and with his physio massaging his feet in a tub of cold water, Dax looked totally pampered. He also looked flat-out sexy: all sweaty and wide-eyed, with his six-pack heaving like it had after the multiple times he’d screwed her brains out that glorious night.
She swallowed. Her tummy did its fluttery-tingly thing. “I wouldn’t have missed it,” she said.
“I did good, huh?”
“You were amazing!” That was not hyperbole. And she could tell by the way that he looked at her that he knew she meant it.
“Thanks.” He accepted a bottle of orange energy drink from the Hispanic lad who’d fetched her. “Listen, I know this is short notice, but my agent is hosting a party at his house in Hollywood Hills. Well, technically it’s my house as well, but he spends more time there than me. We lease it for parties, charity functions, things like that. He’s kind of a big shot. I just stay there now and then, use it as kind of a luxury retreat when there’s nothing else going on. Anyway, we’re holding this after-fight party tonight, and I wanted to know if you were up for it.”
Tiana mentally scrambled to figure out what he really meant. How much time did he intend to spend with her? Would she end up as the wallflower while he drank beer with his Marine buddies? Who else would be there? The bling brigade? A few WAGs she could handle, but in truth, the only party she wanted right now was a party of two. The private kind. The naked, athletic, private kind.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “It depends.”
“On what?”
“On you.”
The Hispanic boy glanced at her, smiling to himself. The physio briefly stopped rubbing, then resumed with enthusiasm.
“Okay, put it this way,” Dax said. “If you don’t go, I don’t go.”
“But it’s your party. Your after-fight celebration. You’d be letting everyone down.”
He shrugged. “See what you’d be making me do?”
“Oh, so it’s blackmail now, is it?”
“You bet your sweet—”
“I’m in,” she interrupted.
Dax sprouted a pleased-as-punch grin that dropped—almost—when the physio looked up at him. He cleared his throat. “Good. So I’ll see you there. Alvaro will take you to my car. Just tell my driver you’re going on ahead; I’ll make my own way there.”
“I can wait,” she said.
“Nah, I’d rather you didn’t. I’ve got too much bullshit to take care of here before I can leave. I promise I’ll be there as soon as I can. Meantime, make yourself at home. What’s mine is yours. Okay?”
Tiana flicked him an insolent salute.
“Feisty,” he said. “Hold that thought. Alvaro, you know the way.”
The young lad followed her example, snapping off a salute. This time, Dax didn’t appear so amused. He just glared at Alvaro, who scurried out.
“This way,” he called back.
“Wait up,” she replied.
Dax winked at her, and she winked back.
This might just be a party to remember, she thought.
***
It was a large, impressive estate that stood out among its neighbors in Hollywood Hills by dint of a massive white iron front gate that resembled the entrance to a theme park. It towered over the road. Inside, the rest of the estate was fairly similar to the others in this posh, high-up enclave of the city: tropical and subtropical trees, a floodlit tennis court, more expensive cars than she could count, and a hacienda-type home that might satisfy an up-and-coming South American drug baron until he really hit the big time.
It was the kind of home that would suit a modest Hollywood star or a high-flying agent. But it absolutely did not suit Dax Easterling. She just couldn’t imagine him living here in all this luxury. Maybe if he pitched a tent in the garden and occasionally stormed the house as some sort of military training exercise. Maybe shoot a few silicon WAGs while he as at it. Pow! Pow!
Probably the best thing about the property was its absolutely stunning view of Los Angeles. From the upper balcony, she could see for miles across the sprawling city. The faint rust-colored glow of the night sky hanging low over L.A. suddenly made her proud to call it her home. So it could be unpleasant a lot of the time, even dangerous, but none of that mattered on nights like tonight, with its cloak of mystery and romance spread over the whole mess.
Tiana said hello to a handful of people she knew, and a few others who seemed intent on making her acquaintance. One Blanche-Dubois-type stalked her half way around the house, biding her time, before finally introducing herself as a gossip columnist for an online magazine. Yes, Tiana had dated two top fighters in a row. No, she wasn’t giving interviews. And hell no, she’d rather die than divulge any bedroom secrets the readers were dying to know. Did she look like that much of a trollop?
She spent the next half hour or so exploring the house and its grounds. There was a state of the art gym complete with punch bags and all manner of fitness machines—clearly Dax’s. Outside in the back, in a secluded alcove, was a large, bubbling Jacuzzi. The agent’s? Or Dax’s? How many bimbos had the two of them shared in there?
Tiana realized she hated that idea. Not of him having had other women—that would be like refusing a rare gemstone because others had touched it before her—but the idea that Dax had such easy access to the hottest women in L.A., and that his agent was supplying them. It just made her skin crawl, given what she’d just been through with Thad.
She wanted to be more confident in herself, but ideas like those nagged at her day and night. The only solution, she decided, was to not hold back. If she saw something she wanted, she would just have to go all out to get it. Damn the consequences. And if that meant making a complete ass of herself, so be it. A well bucket had to hit bottom before it knew where it stood. And she sure as shit couldn’t sink any lower than she’d been that morning, locked in the bathroom, with her bags packed but no way to reach them—not until Thad had finished wrecking the bedroom they’d shared for so long and had finally left.
Jesus, had all that really happened? She had to get over it somehow, to make sure not
hing like that ever happened again.
“Ah, he’s here!” she heard a leggy PR exec tell her friend. “Best woman wins.” They adjusted their excessively flattering push-up bras. Both wore eyelash extensions and enough eye shadow to make the Sphinx look slutty.
“Excuse me.” Tiana stepped out in front of them, blocking their way.
One of them muttered, “Bitch.”
After hustling her way through the crowd in the living room, Tiana squeezed into the foyer, where Dax was busy fielding compliments and shaking hands and posing for selfies. These were clients, friends, and colleagues, but they were behaving more like groupies. She couldn’t even get close.
Tiana imagined herself throwing a bucket of chum over the lot of them and watching them eat each other alive.
Perturbed, she made her way up the main marble staircase and sat about halfway to the top. It was cold and hard, but at least she had a bit of air up here. Dax had his hands full. He’d just have to come to her…whenever. And she was halfway to where she really wanted to be…up there.