I agree with her. “Nothing more to do about it, doll. Time to move on with my life.”
Her face darkens. “He should have to pay for what he did. It’s not right he gets away with it.”
“As Gram always says, he’ll get what’s comin’ to him eventually.”
She huffs. “Just wish it could be me that gives it to him.”
After placing my palm flat on the side of her thigh, I run my hand back up her body. Her skin breaks out into goose bumps, and my mouth twitches. I lift my hand from her shoulder and grab her breast, giving it a light squeeze.
“Definitely real.” I wink at her, and she giggles. “And all fucking mine. That motherfucker wishes he could have what I’ve got.”
A line appears between her eyebrows, and she whispers, “Maybe I could…” before her voice drops off.
“What’s that, baby?” I ask.
She quickly shakes her head. “Nothing. Hey, tell me about Tripp’s offer today.”
I recap our conversation for her.
She nods. “Mm-hmm. That sounds good,” she mumbles, staring over my shoulder.
“Rebecca?” I wave my hand in front of her face.
She blinks at me twice.
“Whatcha thinking about?”
“Revenge,” she mumbles, her eyes twinkling.
I laugh. “Remind me to never get on your shit list, then.”
“Don’t screw over anyone I love and you won’t have anything to worry about,” She assures me. “So, Tripp tell you how much it’ll cost to buy in to the gym?” she asks, changing the subject.
I’m not sure which I’d rather talk about. Both her getting revenge and the cost of my future seem to be equally frightening.
On the way to the meeting with the board, I tried broaching the subject with Tripp, but he skirted the issue, instead saying we would discuss it later. His avoidance didn’t bode well for me, but I pushed it out of my mind, deciding that it didn’t matter what the cost. I’d find a way to make it happen.
“Nah, not yet. Said we’d talk about it next week.”
She pushes my shoulder, rolling me onto my back. Then she throws her leg across my body and straddles me. With her hands flat against my chest, she leans forward and, in one swift motion, rocks back onto my cock, taking me all the way inside.
A deep rumble escapes my chest, and my back arches.
A sly smile on her face, she murmurs, “Yeah, let’s talk later.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rebecca
Stepping off the elevator, I take a deep breath and straighten the white button-down shirt I’m wearing. I’m nervous, but when I picture Ryker’s face the day he came home from the meeting and told me that his career was over, I straighten my spine.
“May I help you?” the receptionist asks warmly, snapping me out of my trance.
I clear my throat. “Yes. I’m here to see Mr. Brown. Rebecca Toler. I believe he’s expecting me.”
She nods and then looks at the computer screen. “Ah, there you are,” she murmurs before picking the phone up and pressing a button. After a pause, she speaks into the receiver, “Mr. Brown, Miss Toler is here.” After replacing the phone in the cradle, she looks up. “He’s running a few minutes behind. Have a seat.”
I settle into one of the chairs she pointed to and pull my compact from my purse. I check my makeup in the tiny mirror and reapply my lipstick. I’m applying one more layer of gloss when I hear my name.
The slimy voice that calls me causes the hairs on my neck to stand up, but I swallow quickly and stand, smoothing the short skirt I’m wearing out. Strutting over to the open door in four-inch heels, I force a smile to my face.
“Mr. Brown, how are you today?” I ask loudly.
“Better now that you’re here,” he answers, gesturing for me to enter his office.
My mind screams at me to turn back, but I ignore it and continue inside, taking a seat in one of the plush chairs across from his large desk.
Brown pauses beside me and runs a hand across my shoulder, gently sifting his fingers through my hair. My skin crawls at the contact.
Once he’s settled behind his desk, he leans forward and asks, “So, I was mighty surprised when I got your e-mail requesting a meeting. You interested in coming back to work for me?”
I cross and uncross my ankles, trying to get comfortable. “Oh, I’m too old to be one of your girls now, Brown. I do miss it sometimes though. Saw Dezzi and Trin not too long ago. Made me a little nostalgic.” I smile wistfully.
I never regretted leaving when Breccan did, but there were times I missed the girls I’d formed close friendships with.
“You’re welcome back any time, Rebecca. I know everyone in the organization misses you. I know I do.” He smiles, and it reminds me of the Grinch.
His heart’s two sizes too small too.
Shaking my head, I tell him, “You’re too kind. Always have been. But that’s not why I’m here.”
He stands and comes to the front of his desk, propping a hip on the corner. “So tell me what you needed to see me so badly for.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and bite the inside of my cheek hard enough that tears form. Slowly, I lift my lids and look up at him through wet lashes. “Ryker Hawke,” I tell him.
His face hardens. “What about him?” he sneers.
A sob escapes my lips. “Did you know that he chased me for weeks?”
Brown wrinkles his brow and shakes his head.
I sniff. “Yep. I resisted as best I could, but he’s charming.”
Dryly, he replies, “Yes, I can see how he would have a certain, appeal.”
“He swore to me that he never did the d-drugs,” I stutter before placing a hand on his knee.
He looks down, but quickly, his gaze bounces back to mine.
“You know me. I don’t tolerate that kind of shit. So he swore it, and I believed it. What a fool I was though.”
His eyes narrow, and he asks, “What changed your mind?”
“Well, you did, of course,” I reply instantly.
“Me?” he asks incredulously.
I nod vigorously, causing my breasts to bounce. His eyes follow the motion.
Suppressing a smile, I elaborate. “John, I know you. I worked for you for years. You were always fair. When Ryker’s suspension ended and you told him he wasn’t welcome back, well, I knew then that he’d been lying to me this whole damn time.” I bite my other cheek, and fresh wave of tears starts.
I sniffle again, and Brown hands me a tissue. Despite my aversion, I take the tissue and let my fingers linger on his a moment too long.
He pushes to his feet and comes to stand beside me. He rubs my shoulder and shushes me for a moment.
Bitterly, I laugh. “We were going to get married! What an idiot I was.”
“No, no. Rebecca, you’re no fool. Love will make you do crazy things sometimes.”
I scoff. “Yeah, like make you believe that your man’s telling the truth about taking drugs. He made up some elaborate story, telling me that you were out to get him.” I look up at him and once again catching him looking at my breasts. From his vantage point, I’m sure he’s getting quite a show. “Can you believe that shit?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I’ve heard crazier things. But, honey, don’t beat yourself up over it. Tell me: Are you still seeing him?”
“No!” I shout. “Absolutely not. I told him to get lost. Had Tripp fire him. If he’s smart, he’ll crawl back under the rock he crawled out of.”
He squeezes my shoulder and then lets his hand drift down my arm. I fight to keep from shuddering and stand. I throw my arms around his shoulders and bury my face in his neck. He smells like minty chewing tobacco, and my stomach rolls. Swallowing hard, I press my breasts into his chest, feeling his arms wrap around my waist.
I continue to sob on his shoulder, and after a few moments, his hands drift down to my ass. I let him cop a feel longer than I can stand and then pull back.
Facing
him, I lace my fingers with his and ask, “If I ask you something, will you be honest with me?”
“Of course, dear,” he promises.
“It’s over between Ryker and me. There were some things that were said that there’s no coming back from. But I need to know.” I pause and dab my eyes with the tissue. “I need to know I’m not a complete dumbass. Did he really take those drugs?”
Brown hesitates, and panic overwhelms me. Desperate, I lean forward and kiss his cheek, my breasts pressing against his arm.
“You’ve always been honest with me,” I whisper in his ear. “Don’t ruin my trust in all men now.”
I pull away, and even though there’s a hint of hesitation in his eyes, I can see the lust there also. I glance down, and much to my disgust, his pants are tented.
“Oh, he took them all right,” he tells me.
My face falls.
“Oh, don’t look so sad,” he says, misinterpreting my reaction. “He took them, yes. But he had no fucking clue that he did.” He chuckles to himself. “Dax Prescott was gonna make me a fucking fortune. He had the looks, the charm, the fame, the draw. But what he didn’t have was a chance in hell of beating Ryker Hawke.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
I have to count to five to keep from slapping his filthy hand away from me.
“I had to get rid of Hawke. And it was easy. Just had one of the guys at his gym lace his post-workout shakes with the steroids. Bada bing, bada boom—positive drug test.”
Gotcha.
I press a hand to my mouth, horrified at what I’ve just heard. “My God.” I take a half step back, but he follows, grabbing my arm and pulling me against him.
“Think you owe me a little thank-you.” He slides a hand up the outside of my thigh.
I’ve had enough. I shove my knee into his groin and push against him at the same time, catching him off guard.
“You fucking son of a bitch!” I shout.
I turn and grab my bag from the ground. Then I sprint for the door. Turning back, I see him doubled over in pain. I unbutton the top two buttons of my shirt and grab the wire that’s taped underneath one of my breasts.
Dangling the wire, I tell him, “For the record, you nasty fucking pig, they’re real.”
* * *
“Rebecca?” he calls out.
“In here!” I reply.
Ryker ambles down the hall, a towel wrapped around his waist while he uses another to dry his hair.
I’m sitting on the couch, my feet propped on the coffee table. I take a sip of my drink as he rounds the corner.
“Orange juice in a champagne glass?” he asks.
“Mimosa,” I tell him. “Want one?”
He glances at the clock on the wall. “It’s nine a.m. and you’re already having a drink?”
I shrug. “I’m celebrating.”
His brow wrinkles. “Celebrating? God, don’t tell me it’s our seven-month anniversary and I forgot.”
Laughing, I throw a pillow in his direction. “That’s next week, and I expect a gift. What’s the traditional gift for seven months?”
He shakes his head and then flops beside me onto the couch. His towel falls open in the front, and I take a moment to appreciate the view. After a second, he waves a hand in my face.
“So, what’s the occasion?”
“Your return to fighting. Cheers!” I lift my glass in the air and then take a swallow.
His head falls back onto the couch, and he grimaces. “Not this again. Rebecca, please, just let it go.”
I drop my feet from the table and sit up. “Don’t you want the world to know that you didn’t take those drugs? Don’t you want Brown to pay for what he did?”
He shoves a hand in his hair. “Of course I do. But that shit’s never going to happen. I’ve accepted it. Why can’t you?”
I don’t answer, just grab the remote and turn the TV on. The screen lights up and the words Breaking News flash across the bottom. I turn the volume up just in time to hear:
“Breaking news out of Atlanta this morning. Fighting League President John Brown’s been removed from his position, effective immediately, amid allegations that he had former light heavyweight Champion, Ryker “The Stryker” Hawke drugged in an attempt to remove him from the organization.”
“What the hell?” Ryker shouts, jumping to his feet. “Give me that,” he demands before snatching the remote from my hands and turning the volume all the way up.
“Private audio has been turned over to the league and commissioner as evidence. Allegedly, the tape has Brown confessing to the crime and admitting that he had drinks laced with performance-enhancing drugs so that Hawke would fail the mandatory drug test before his fight with Dax Prescott.”
Ryker’s eyes are wide as he looks between me and the TV. “Did you…” He doesn’t finish his question, as the news anchor continues speaking.
“You may remember, Hawke was the first fighter to ever beat Breccan “KO” Carlisle and the reigning champion for nearly a year before a knee injury sidelined him. His comeback fight was hyped to be the biggest in all of history, and then it was canceled just days before the event due to a positive drug test. Brown was criticized for his harsh punishment at the time, some saying that two years was far too long for any failed drug test. But Brown stood by his decision, and appeals were never able to overturn the suspension. Follow us for updates on this breaking case.”
The anchor cuts to commercial.
Ryker mutes the TV. “You did this, didn’t you?” he accuses.
I press my lips together and nod. “Yep.”
“How? Why? When?”
“I wore a wire,” I tell him.
“A wire? Who are you? Magnum, P.I.? Who the fuck wears a wire?”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I retort, “I do, asshole. Although it was a gigantic pain in the ass to find. And then getting it taped under my boobs. I think I still have adhesive under there,” I tell him, scratching the still-sticky spot under one of my breasts.
His eyes bug out of his head. “You wore a wire under your tits? Jesus, Rebecca. You’re fuckin’ nuts.”
I set my empty champagne glass on the table and stand in front of him. “Nuts about you, baby.”
He wraps his arms around my waist, and I lean in toward him, tilting my head back.
“I know you’ve said this whole time that you’re okay with not fighting anymore. And I know you think you believe that, But, Ryker, you’re not done yet. You should decide when you want to retire, not be fired for something you didn’t even do.”
He kisses my forehead.
“And, more than that, you’re not a fucking cheater. And the world needs to know that. They need to know that Ryker fucking Hawke didn’t take any damn steroids. They need to know that John Brown is a nasty, slimy piece of shit. He got what was coming to him. Just like Gram said he would.”
“Jesus, I don’t know whether to kiss you or choke you right now,” Ryker says.
“Fucking kiss me, Barney.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ryker
Two Months Later
The lights go out, which plunges the arena into darkness a fraction of a second before the music starts up. The crows goes wild, shouting and cheering so loud that the lyrics are barely distinguishable amongst the roar. I strain to hear the words, the song having become my personal mantra these last couple of months.
Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I roll my neck and then my shoulders, trying to loosen up. Hands land on my shoulders and squeeze, an attempt to calm me. But nothing could do that right now. The hands quickly disappear, and I resume jumping.
Once the strobe lights come on, the announcer calls my name and I feel a nudge from behind. I suck a breath in through my nose and hold it in my lungs a few seconds before slowly exhaling. As soon as the last bit of oxygen passes through my lips, I begin my jog through the arena.
There are several security personnel in front of me, trying to ward off the excite
d hands of fans. I put my arms out, slapping fives with the people as I pass.
Airborne’s lyrics to “Back in the Game” continue to pump through the speakers, and I sing along with the crowd, feeling every word.
When I reach the cage, I come to a stop in front of one of the referees. I lift my shirt over my head and smile to myself when I see the gold letters that spell my name across the back. Once I’ve finished removing all of my excess clothing, I hug Breccan and then Tripp. Finally, Rebecca steps up to where I’m standing and cups my cheeks with both hands.
She pulls my head down until we are nose-to-nose. Her eyes are shimmering with unshed tears, and she swallows hard.
The crowd is chanting my name and the music is still playing, so she shouts, “Win or lose, Ryker, you are the fucking champion, and don’t you forget it!”
I nod, and she brushes her lips across mine for not nearly long enough. Then she releases my face and steps back. I turn away from her and back to the referee, and she slaps my ass.
“Go get ’em, baby!” she encourages.
After the prefight inspections are complete, I walk up the stairs to the entrance of the cage, and I stop before I step foot inside. Squinting through the bright lights, I gaze at the crowd on its feet and still cheering for me. My chest puffs with pride, and emotion clogs my throat.
If anyone had told me in the last year that I’d ever be back here, I would have laughed in their face. But here I stand, one foot step away from officially being back in the cage.
I close my eyes and say a silent thank-you. Then I make my way inside and to my corner. I’ve never been comfortable showboating during a fight, so I opt not to take a lap around the cage. Settling on my stool, I look down at the front row, a huge grin breaking across my face when I spot Gram seated next to Rebecca and Sidney.
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