I'm supposed to leave soon to go check out some of my competition with Red. Watching the other guys in the ring is part of how I train. I like to know my enemy, so to speak. I could watch the videos or pay-per-view, but it's not the same as being in the crowd. It’s not the same as seeing the infinitesimal adjustments in posture and footing that can give me so much of an advantage in future bouts.
Hudson hasn't come back since he stormed out earlier and I don't want to leave Missi alone. The only option is to take her with me. I head up the stairs and knock on her door.
“Come in,” she calls. I open the door and find her sitting on the end of her bed. She's napped and showered since we got back and has changed into a pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt. Well-worn converse sneakers cover her feet. She clicks off the television and tosses the remote aside. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Hey, I was going to check out a fight tonight. You want to come with? See what I do?” I grin at her.
“I still can’t believe you fight other people for a living,” she looks around the spacious guest room, “and I can’t believe you get paid so well to do it.”
“What can I say? It’s a natural born talent.”
“I don't know though,” she frowns. “I’ve never been interested in fights before. It's not really my thing, watching people get beat on. I saw enough of that when I was younger.”
I try not to dwell on her almost offhanded remark. I don’t want to think about the implications she’s just made. I smile at her, trying to lighten up the atmosphere.
“C'mon. You'll be with me…and Red. I'm not leaving you alone, so if you don't come with me I'll just have to stay home too. And this is different, you’ll see.”
“Okay, okay,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “Doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice.”
“It'll be fun. I'll even feed you after. You still like Happy Meals?”
She laughs at that, her face lighting up like I remember it used to. She grabs her bag, swinging it at me on the way downstairs.
Red is waiting out front, car running, and I let Missi into the front seat and climb in the back. Red turns the car around and heads for the arena. I don’t really know what to expect from Missi. She goes from frosty to warm in a matter of seconds in the few interactions I have with her since she came back into our lives. In the car she seems to be enjoying herself, though. She looks relaxed and is having a friendly argument over radio stations with Red. He finally gives in and she turns the station to a pop channel and sings along with a song, bouncing and bopping her head back and forth, short blonde hair ruffling with her movements.
When we reach the arena, Red pulls out our VIP parking pass and the security guard waves us through. We pull around to the rear of the arena and slide in an open spot near the entrance.
“Swank,” Missi cracks.
“Yeah, well, it’s a definite job perk. Wait till you see our seats,” I tell her.
Our passes get us in the door and we head past the cheap seats for chairs arranged along the side of the ring. Red gives me a quick clap on the shoulder and leaves us to find his buddies who work ringside taking care of the other fighters like he does for me.
Missi is looking around, watching people file in and find seats. It will be a packed house tonight, one of the highest-ranking fighters on the circuit is scheduled for the main event tonight. Music pumps from the speakers overhead and cocktail waitresses circle the VIP seats with trays full of bubbling champagne.
“So, what's gonna happen?” Missi asks, trying to look everywhere at once.
“Well, there will be a few smaller fights to start. Guys who aren't ranked high or are just starting out. Sometimes I think those are the best. Those guys have the most to prove so they have the tendency to fight the hardest. Then, the main event. Tonight is Harold Diaz versus Tommy "Kong" Martilla. Tommy is the second highest ranked fighter on the circuit.”
“Who's the highest?” she asks.
I grin down at her. “You’re looking at him.”
“No way,” she gasps and starts to laugh. She’s adorable in her happiness. I wish I could make her smile like this all the time. Then the lights dim and loud entrance music starts to spill from loudspeakers as the first fighters make their way to the ring.
When the bell rings and the fight starts, I urge Missi to stand on her chair so she can see over the edge of the ring. She giggles and flings her arm around my neck.
I point out one of the fighter’s techniques to her. “See the way he swings wide, it's too easy to get up under him like that.” The other fighter barrels into his ribs, sending him crashing to the mats with a reverberating thud. “See? I’ll keep that in mind if I’m ever in the ring with him.”
Missi gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. I see concern shining in her eyes. She’s still such a sweetheart. When the downed fighter jumps back to his feet and starts peacocking for the crowd, strutting to show that he wasn’t hurt, Missi starts to bounce up and down, screaming her glee along with the people around us. She laughs and holds onto my arm to keep from falling off her chair.
I smile at her. “You having fun?”
“Yeah! It’s so exciting!"
“Next time, I’ll let you bet. That’ll make it even more fun.”
Her smile dims for a second before she says brightly, “That’s okay, I don’t bet. I always lose anyhow.”
“Yeah, but now you’ve got me. I can always pick ‘em.”
She laughs, “You’re so full of it, Flint.”
I point to the guy in the blue shorts. “He’s our winner. He’s too open but he’s fast and he’s got a long reach.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’ll bet you a Happy Meal.”
“Okay, you’re on. My first bet.”
She makes a pouty bow with her mouth when, a few minutes later, my pick wins by pin. I can tell she’s impressed when I pick the winner of the next few fights.
“You’re really good at this. Some kind of expert! So, when we were kids, all those fights you got into? Was that just training for you?” She’s got a playful twinkle in her eye.
I grin at her memories, happy that she remembers our childhood, even if it is stuff that I shouldn’t be proud of. “Hey, I wasn’t that bad.”
She laughs again and hugs my arm, pressing her soft curves against me. I clear my throat. Missi definitely isn’t a child anymore. She’s still pressed up against me, still clutching my arm. She’s soft and beautiful. So tiny but curvy. Her smell drifts over me, sweet and almost fruity, and I gaze into her eyes. I feel like her body would mold against mine perfectly, that all her curves would melt into my hard edges.
I turn back to the ring because thinking this way feels strange, but I can’t get my mind to concentrate on the fight anymore. Is this what Hudson is feeling? I’m not sure. Maybe I’m a worse person than he is, but I don’t feel nearly as guilty as he seems too. Yeah, sure, we grew up like brother and sister. I was one of her protectors, just like Hudson. Being shuttled from foster home to foster home created a tight bond between us, more than brothers and sister really, but I still feel the pull of physical attraction. We’re not actually related, but when you’ve grown up with someone it feels weird to reconcile the child with the adult. Does the fact that there’s no shared DNA make it okay? Who the fuck knows. I just know I feel confused.
The main event starts without me even noticing. Missi is still screaming with excitement. “Get him, get him, Kong!” She’s pumping her fist in the air, still holding my shoulder to keep steady.
She’s yelling right into my ear, louder than most of the men around us. I shift, sliding an arm around her waist to help hold her in her chair. I can tell she feels safer because she lets go of my shoulder, throwing both her fists up, urging on her favored fighter.
My fingers brush the soft skin just above her hip when her shirt rides up, and the touch is electric, traveling straight to my groin. I bite back a groan and keep my hold on her. Her wiggling an
d bouncing is torture, almost more than I can bear, but I love the feel of her in my arms, the sway of her body against mine. I could stay here all night, the crowd surging around us, knowing that she’s safe again with me to protect her.
Just as that thought passes through my head, Missi jumps down with no warning. She’s not shouting or laughing anymore. In fact, her face is a mask of panic. She turns her head into my chest like she’s trying to hide from someone.
“What is it?” I ask her, looking around, trying to spot who or what might have scared my girl. I can’t see anyone. All my protective instincts shift into overdrive. I’ve been taking care of her since I pushed Dylan Hunt for pulling her pigtails when we were kids. I put my lips near her ear and ask again, “What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head, keeping close. “Can we go? Can we just go home, please? I don’t want to be here anymore.” I can feel her hand shaking against my chest and her eyes are dark with terror.
“Now?” she pleads, her voice laced with so much fear it breaks my heart.
I don’t wait a second longer before scooping her up into my arms. The crowd is thick and focused on the fighters who are still pounding each other in the ring. It’s tough to push my way through but I manage it, spotting Red on the far side of the ring and jerking my head at him. Red must see the seriousness in my face because he jumps up and rounds the arena, meeting us near the exit. “Something going on?” he asks in a low voice.
“I’m not sure. Will you get the car?”
I scan the area, looking for anything out of place. I can’t spot anything, but Missi is shivering in my arms. I can feel her heart thudding against my chest, her face is still buried against my shoulder. Something or someone in here has her terrified. Red has the SUV unlocked in a flash, and I slide Missi into the backseat and follow her in. I don’t want her to be alone while she's shaking like this. She keeps looking around and lets out a relieved sigh when the car doors slam shut and the dark-tinted windows hide us from the outside world.
When we’re safely buckled in and Red has us headed toward home, I turn to Missi. “Okay now?” I ask.
She blinks as though she’s trying to think of what to say. I’m already anticipating that she’s going to pretend that nothing happened. There’s something bad going on with her but she’s determined to keep it to herself. “Yeah. Yeah. Listen… I’m sorry,” she says.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Missi. You looked fucking terrified in there. You need to tell me what all that was about, honey. What spooked you?”
She shifts her eyes to the buildings flashing by outside. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”
I can feel Red looking at us in the rearview mirror. “That didn’t look like tiredness to me. That looked like something had you scared, Missi.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she snaps at us both.
“Some honesty would be nice,” I reply.
“Sometimes honesty isn’t the best policy,” she says.
“You think it’s better to lie to me. Pretend like nothing is happening and leave me with no way to understand what I need to do to keep you safe?”
“There’s nothing to tell,” she says.
“You’re lying.”
“Goddammit, don’t do this to me right now!”
“Do what? Show you some concern? Want to make sure you’re not in any danger? I’m not trying to do anything bad here.”
“Jesus!” she huffs and turns back to the window, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. She’s completely shut down and I can tell I’m not going to get anything out of her.
I wish she’d just let me help her like I did when we were kids, but it’s been so long since I was around to look out for her, and now it seems like Missi has gotten accustomed to looking out for herself.
28
HUDSON
RAVEN ENTERS THE CHAT ROOM
River: Hey, little bird. How are you?
Raven: Not good. I’m scared River.
River: What’s going on?
I wish I could help her. There was a time when I was invincible and I wouldn’t let anything stand in my way. I want to help her but I don’t think I can.
Raven: Ghosts of horrible lives past, I guess you’d say.
River: Ghosts. Ghosts can’t hurt you baby.
Raven: Sometimes they can, River.
River: Are you in danger? Physical danger? Is that why you’ve been moving so much, because of things that have happened before?
Raven: Yes. There are some scary people in my past, River. I could be in danger. I don’t want to think it, but I have a bad feeling.
River: I wish I could help, Raven. I really do. Do you have someone you can go to? The police? A women's shelter or something?
It sounds like such a cop out, but I don’t know what else to suggest. Maybe I could tell Flint. I know if I tell him what’s going on, he’ll step in for me.
Raven: I don’t want you to worry about me.
River: I can’t help that now. Tell me what’s going on, little bird.
Raven: There’s a man who’s been looking for me for a long time. I saw him tonight.
River: Did he see you?
My heart is thudding with fear. I used to take on some of biggest guys in the league, but some girl I’ve never even met has me feeling helpless and weak.
Raven: I don’t think so. I think he’d have come after me if he did.
River: Let me help you.
Raven: No. I’m not going to get other people involved. He’ll never stop looking for me. I’ll be running for the rest of my life. It’s better this way.
River: Raven, I can help. I can send someone for you if you’ll tell me where you are.
Raven: Right now, I’m think I’m safe where I am. I’m staying with friends.
River: A boyfriend?
Jealousy stabs through me.
Raven: Not exactly. Just friends from a long time ago. I won’t be able to stay long; I don’t want to drag them into my mess.
River: At least check in with me, please? Promise that if you need help, you’ll ask. I have someone that can help you, no questions asked, no strings attached.
I love her. Keeping her safe is the least I can do.
Raven: Okay. I’ll check in with you tomorrow. And River, thank you.
River: For what?
Raven: Being there.
RAVEN LEAVES THE CHATROOM
29
MISSI
I tap my phone off and place it on the nightstand. If only River knew he was actually helping me already, that I was here and safe in his fancy mansion. I push off the bed and wander to the French doors. They’re propped open and letting in the balmy outdoor air, the breeze fluttering the pale, gossamer curtains.
I’ve never been in a place this nice before. My feet sink into the deep carpeting as I trail around the room, leaving small imprints behind. It’s so soft. And so is the bed; big enough for six people, draped in the most luxurious aquamarine sheets and comforters I’ve ever felt, with fluffy pillows stacked three deep. I run my hand over the carved bed posts. The wood feels almost alive under my fingers, smooth and warm, and the flowers carved into the surface look almost real. There’s a beautiful painting hanging above the bed. I think it’s something famous. A reproduction, but it looks amazing.
All these years I’ve lived in such horrible places. Rundown and dirty. Places I could pay for in untraceable cash. All my struggling, and Hudson and Flint have been living here in the lap of luxury. I run my fingers over the cabinet housing a state-of-the-art TV and speakers. No dust, of course. The entire house is kept immaculate by the housekeeper.
I can’t believe how well Hudson and Flint have done for themselves. Not that they don’t deserve it; I know where they came from. The same grubby place as me. I know how hard they must have worked to get here, but when I think about the fact that we all started in the same place, I feel my cheeks redden with shame. They have all this and I have a couple of trash ba
gs of stuff. No family. No friends that I dared to keep in touch with since I have Donnie on my tail the whole time. I’ve been alone for so long and I’m so tired of it. Being here scares me. I could get used to living well, with people who are the closest thing I have to family, but I know I can’t stay for long. I can’t get used to the good feelings when I know I’ve gotta hit the road soon.
Even though I know how Hudson feels about me being here, I was beginning to feel safe. At least until I spotted Donnie at the fight. I knew that he’d find me eventually; he always does. I just have to do what I always do.
Run.
Move on.
Find somewhere new to live a half-life laced with fear.
My growling stomach startles me out of thoughts. I can’t remember the last time I ate. I don’t see or hear anyone when I poke my head out of my door so I start off down the hallway, socked feet silent on the stairs as I make my way down. I wasn’t really given the big tour when I got here so I hazard a guess that the kitchen is toward the back of the house and start off in that direction, taking in all the rooms I pass.
There are several closed doors leading down the corridor and I open a couple to find a coat closet and a powder room. I pass a set of open double doors that turn out to be a huge den with a sectional sofa that could hold twenty people, and a TV that’s almost as big as a movie screen. There’s an astonishing number of electronics arrayed in a media center underneath. I shake my head, still amazed at the wealth surrounding me.
The doors on the opposite side of the den open into a large formal dining room, and on the other side through a set of swinging doors I find the kitchen. Like the rest of the house, everything here is oversized and high quality. A Viking range and refrigerator are nestled among tall white cabinets topped with sparkling granite counters. Copper pans glint from a rack hanging over the island counter, which is surrounded by low-backed dark wood chairs. Everything is spotless. For a second I wonder who cooks in this house. I can imagine Flint being a stir-fry kind of guy; healthy veggies and lean meat. Hudson, on the other hand, looks like a man who enjoys a grill.
FOSTER BROTHERS - A MFM Menage Romance Page 9