Sneak Attack: Tapped Out Book 2

by Quinn, Cari

  “Sorry.” Tray grabbed the broom and dustpan in the corner and started sweeping up the mess. I sneezed two more times.

  “What the hell?” Giovanni crossed the room, seemingly oblivious to Tray’s glower. For a guy who would’ve been a natural in a Nordic ski calendar with his surfer blond hair and ocean blue eyes, Tray definitely knew how to glare someone into submission.

  If only Giovanni was paying attention.

  “Who did this?” Giovanni demanded, turning to me.

  Evidently, we’d bonded during our sparring session and I’d missed it. Who knew that a guy heaving you over their back would give them the warm fuzzies in your direction?

  Then again, that wasn’t far from how Tray and I had hooked up, so maybe I ought to keep my better moves to myself when fighting with men who weren’t my boyfriend. Just in case high kick action activated a mystery switch in their peen or something.

  “I must not have made myself clear.” Tray cracked his knuckles, loudly. “Get the fuck out of my office before I ram your balls so far up your throat your tonsils get jealous.”

  “Tray, cool it. Unless you want me to take you by the arm and lead you out like you did with me and Little Miss Crumpet.” While I rebraided my hair, I met Giovanni’s gaze. “He didn’t hurt me. And if he had, I would’ve wanted it.” My neck went hot at the admission, but if Tray could be blasé about sex, so could I.

  “What about the bag? Did someone break in?”

  “Did you leave the door open?” Tray asked me before I could answer Costas’s question, glaring at Giovanni as if his hard stare alone could vaporize him.

  “Guess I must’ve.” Shrugging, I moved closer to Tray and rubbed his arm while we studied the bag together.

  My heart was still racing a mile a minute. I just wanted this all to go away. Most likely, this had nothing to do with my phone stalker, but how could I be sure?

  I didn’t want to deal with the fallout if Tray discovered what I’d been hiding. Even if I came clean now, he’d flip.

  This whole business was screwing with my head. I’d worked my ass off to become the kind of person who faced things straight on—God, I was even in freaking therapy, and that was basically the anti-Mia way of life—and now I was regressing. Fast.

  “It could be anyone. With all the new people who come in and out of here on a daily basis…” Giovanni pinned me with his stare. “You’re going to report this and go through the channels.” It wasn’t a question.

  While I didn’t appreciate his tone, I didn’t react like Tray. He pushed in front of me, ready to take any and all invisible bullets. “This isn’t your concern. Got it? You tried to play Good Samaritan and it failed, so I’d advise you to get the fuck out of here before you need one to help you.”

  “This may not be my concern but it’s not only yours either. Lots of people attend this gym. If someone’s causing shit—”

  “Oh, I get it. You’re afraid your little girlfriend Vanity might get roughed up. Or are you more concerned about the other Anderson sister?”

  Giovanni said nothing, his mouth flattening.

  “If you think I believe for a minute that you’ve backed off there, you’re dumber than I gave you credit for, Costas. And that’s saying plenty.”

  “Tray.” I gripped his wrist, forcing him to face me. What was his deal? He’d never liked Giovanni for obvious reasons—the fight they’d had last winter, the last of Tray’s career, being a big part of it—but he was positively rabid toward him today.

  “We’ll report it,” I said to Giovanni, though I didn’t take my eyes off my boyfriend. “Can you leave us alone now?”

  “Fine.” Giovanni crossed the room and stopped in the doorway. “You might want to give her more credit, Fox. She knows her own mind. You’d do well to remember that.”

  The instant the door shut behind Giovanni, Tray slammed his fist into the desk. “Did he mean you? Was he trying to tell me he knew your mind better than I do?”

  “I don’t think so.” Smothering a sigh, I rubbed Tray’s back and gave in to the urge to lay my cheek on his shoulder. “I think he meant Carly.” Possibly.

  I’d never been sure of anything when it came to Costas, except I didn’t like the guy. There was more to him than his ground-and-pound fighting style and the slick charm he used on the women who flocked to him. I just didn’t know if that more was better or worse.

  Tray shifted toward me and brushed my jaw with knuckles that had already gone red. “He thought I was like my father. That I’d gotten pissed and decided to show you some ‘discipline’.”

  For a moment, no words came. He’d hinted at trouble in his family before, but he’d never come this close to acknowledging that the trouble was physical. That his father had harmed his mother…and maybe him too. “Costas made a mistake.” I covered Tray’s hand on my face with my own. “He doesn’t know you. If he did, he’d understand that you could never do that to a woman. Hell, I begged you to fight me, fair and square, and you refused. Well, you eventually agreed under duress, but it sure as hell wasn’t your preference.”

  Tray glanced toward the window, a muscle ticking in his temple. “But what if I could?” He brought his gaze back to mine, and the pain in his beautiful eyes made my breath catch. “What if I did?”

  “That’s not you. You know that. I know that. Don’t be fucking stupid.”

  “I’ve hit you. Last night with your tattoo…” He broke off and pulled up my shirt, his fingers tender as they stroked over my ribs. “I made you cry.”

  “Goddammit, no. Don’t change what happened into that.” My voice shook, but not because I was afraid. I couldn’t believe he’d allowed such thoughts to take root for even a second. “I’m the one who wants to hurt. You give me that because you care, because you want me to feel good.”

  “And you can’t feel good without it.” His eyes searched mine while his fingers caressed my heated skin. I heard the question—and the plea—buried in his words and damn if it didn't make my throat swell.

  If I wanted pain, falling in love had been an excellent choice. It hurt all the time.

  Not because of him. Because of me. I wanted so much to be what he needed. I couldn’t stand being part of the reason for the confusion and self-loathing in his expression.

  “I…I’m not sure.” I wet my lips and tightened my grip on his hand. “I suppose I could try.”

  The corner of his mouth ticked up. “I’m not saying I want wine and roses.”

  “No, you’re saying you want to see what else we are besides slapping asses and rough fucks over a desk.”

  He dragged his thumb over my side, rubbing his calloused skin against mine. Even while we spoke of changing things up, he was offering me subtle bits of pain. Smoothing the way. “Sometimes I wonder if that’s part of why he hit her. If he was an adrenaline junkie like me and never channeled it right. Maybe instead of getting it out through fighting like I did, he pummeled his wife.”

  Only training kept me from rearing back at his statement. Pummeling his wife? Christ. We were more alike than I’d even realized. How much had Tray been hiding as well?

  “No. It’s not about that,” I said quietly. “Violence isn’t about excess energy. It’s about wanting to prove you can control someone else. That’s not you.”

  Questions whirled in my head, but I didn’t ask them, not now. He’d never opened up like this to me before, and I didn’t want to do anything to close the valve.

  Of course I’d never asked either. I’d seen the signs that something was off between him and his parents, and instead of pressing to find out why, I’d gone with the easy answers he’d given me. His dad wanted him to be a lawyer. To be the respectable son he’d always envisioned. To live his life under his command.

  Tray’s family might be wealthy, insanely so, but a gilded cage was still a cage. After my experience with Darren, I had more reason than the average person to understand that.

  “Maybe it’ll be different now that I’m not fighting. I
could get to the point where I just erupt. Look how I was with Costas.”

  “Costas gave you a severe eye injury and handed you your ass when you weren’t used to losing. If it hadn’t been for that fight, you might still be in the game.”

  “Handed me my ass?” His mouth twitched. “Honey, don’t sweet talk me so.”

  I didn’t laugh. “You know what I mean. You have reasons to dislike him. Then all the crap with Carly, him lurking around her… You were trying to protect her, and you still don’t trust him. All that shows is how incredible you are.”

  “You forgot one vital element of why I was so pissed at Costas.”

  “He practically interrupted us during sex?”

  “There is that.” He stroked my lower lip. “He also got to fight you this morning. Probably had his hands all over you. You sweated with him.”

  “Sweating. Oh, yeah. So intimate.”

  “For us, it is.” He pressed his lips to my forehead. “I was never jealous before you. I didn’t understand what it meant to want someone so badly that other men became a threat.”

  “Do you think I don’t get that? Hello, I yanked on a chick’s hair. I don’t even know her.”

  “You did.” His smile eased the jagged spots inside me. “It may not be politically correct to admit it, but I loved seeing you jealous.”

  I smiled too, glad to see him returning to his usual self. That darker, conflicted version had taken me off-guard. I’d thought I was doing him a favor by not prying, but maybe he needed me to ask, to show that I was concerned and would be there for him if he needed to talk. Just because I didn’t like to share didn’t mean he didn’t. This was probably basic relationship 101 stuff I’d missed during all my years of not having them.

  God, had his father ever hit him? Was I making him relive something horrific every time I wordlessly asked him to give me the pain I craved?

  “Hey. You’re thinking so loud I’m getting a headache.” He touched the wrinkle between my eyebrows.

  “Sorry. I just didn’t realize you weren’t happy,” I said haltingly.

  “Never said that. I am happy with you. When I’m not miserable.” His grin softened his words. “There’s more to us than just this, you know?”

  I didn’t, not exactly. But I figured I should nod. Any more cluelessness and I’d probably get kicked out of class.

  “I’d like to see who we are after life quiets down. When everything’s just routine.”

  His other thoughts went unsaid but I heard them just the same.

  Will I turn into my father if I don’t have that outlet for my aggression? Will there be anything left to us once the crazy intense passion subsides into—gasp—the reality of real life?

  I shrugged. “I never really consider anything but today.” Hard to have a future when you still haven’t managed to come to terms with the past.

  “All I do is think about tomorrow and a year from now. Where I’ll be. Where we’ll be.”

  Together. I wanted to say the word, to show him that no matter what, we’d get through it. Every relationship went through changes and lulls. My therapist had drummed that into my head. I loved him, so I had to prove that we could weather those variations together.

  We weren’t just the fighter chick and her brawler boyfriend. We could have sex without chipping plaster and nearly cracking desk legs. We could become a happy couple who more often than not made sweet, regular love.

  I tried not to shudder. Honestly, we could.

  I hoped.

  “I gotta get back to Evie.” He kissed the top of my head. “Thank you for listening.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  He gave me one of those steady, patient looks that always centered me. “Yes, you did.”

  “Okay.” I shrugged, feeling idiotic. “Then, uh, good. I’m glad.”

  “If you want, I’ll notify security and Timmins about the bag. The staff should keep a lookout for some punk ass kids causing trouble.” Worry had already filtered back into his voice.

  “I’ll handle it. Thank you for offering.” I leaned up and cupped his chin, holding his gaze as our mouths met. “Go sweat with Evie. And think of me sucking your cock. And you know, maybe actually getting to finish.”

  He laughed and gave me a light push. “Later.”

  Even after he’d gone, the room echoed with his laughter. I wrapped myself in that sound, in the scent of his sweat and his aftershave clinging to my skin.

  Then I dug out my phone and tapped out a reply to the message I’d received yesterday. I wasn’t sure the step I was about to take was the right one, but I was sick and tired of stasis.

  Tray was right. It was time to see what would happen next.

  I see you too.

  Six

  A quick shower later, I found Evie on the weight bench, doing repetitions with methodical precision. She didn’t sit up when I sprawled on the floor at her side. Didn’t so much as look my way until she’d finished ten more steady reps.

  “Nice,” I said when she finally let the bar clatter down.

  “Not good enough.” She huffed out a breath and readjusted her ponytail, throwing her leg over the bench to face me. “I used to do three times that without stopping.”

  I narrowed my eyes at the faded wound curving along the side of her face. Curiosity was riding me hard. I had some experience with scars myself. “That must’ve been some injury.”

  Instead of trying to hide it, she lifted her chin. “It could’ve been worse.”

  Instant empathy flowed through me, as well as an abiding respect. Jaw fractures or breaks were pretty fucking bad. “I have one too.” I tapped the faint surgical lines next to my right eye. “Eye socket fracture. Hurt like a mother. Still better than what you had.”

  “Seeing’s important, don’t you think?”

  “So’s eating. And talking.” I thought of Mia and couldn’t help the smile. Damn that woman. “And kissing.”

  And other things I wouldn’t mention but craved from merely the thought.

  “Speaking of kissing, you’re a wee bit more cheerful than you were when you walked out. I can’t imagine how that occurred, since you walked out with a snarling—”

  “Hey, watch it. She’s my snarler.”

  “My condolences.” Evie dangled her arms between her knees. “So should you thank me for getting lucky?”

  “Nah. You’d be surprised, we managed to have sex before you ever showed up. Speaking of showing up,” I said, making her laugh at my usage of her conversational segue, “tell me more about that scar and why you’re in my gym. In America, even.”

  “Blimey, you ask a lot of questions.”

  I looped my arms around one of my knees. “We’re a comprehensive gym.”

  “Guess so.”

  “I can’t help you without your history.”

  “Help me? I don’t need help. I need a good trainer, someone who can take me back to the level I was at when I got hurt and then past it. I want to get back on top.”

  On top of what? Underground fighting? Professional? She didn’t seem too forthcoming, but my Google Fu would kick the ass of her reluctance. Assuming there was any information on her to be found. “Okay. We can do that. First, I need some background, then we’ll—”

  “Pardon me for saying so, but from what I read here while you were emptying your stones,” she waved her phone, “I’m not sure a guy who lost his last fight to some wet behind the ears fighter then quit at twenty-three is exactly what I’m looking for, skill-wise.”

  Laughter rumbled through my chest. “Oh, yeah, you and Mia are either going to be best friends or kill each other.”

  “Best friends? Hardly.” She sniffed. “I already have a best friend, and she’d chew up and spit out your girl.”

  Amused by her, I itched my side. Even through my shirt, I felt the claw marks from Mia’s ride last night. “You can have more than one.”

  “Nah. In general, girls are bitches.”

  “So are men.”


  “True enough. But men know where to draw the line. Bros before hoes.” She shrugged. “Besides, I don’t need more people interfering in my life with their well-meaning advice. Bad enough my brother—” She fell short, shook her head. “Never mind.”

  A fairly recent injury, extensive rehab, serious attitude problem, women issues, brother battles. This one was a full bag of what the fuck. A smart guy would put her in for a new trainer and sign up for someone without an iceberg on her shoulder.

  Me, I enjoyed challenges. Especially ones who’d taken a punch or a kick to the face like that and came back for more.

  “I got hurt last year.” I dug the tape out of my pants pocket and started wrapping my knuckles. She’d want to spar when we were done talking. I could almost feel the energy and aggression pouring off her lithe frame.

  “Yes, I know. That’s why you left.” She hid her disgust under a thin layer of civility. Very thin.

  “No, that’s not why I left. Didn’t have a damn thing to do with it, actually.” I wiggled my fingers and tightened the tape. “I left because I don’t have a killer instinct.” Ignoring her sound of derision, I continued. “Oh, I can put it on in the ring. I think my fight record proves that. But the grind took a toll. Not because my body couldn’t hack it, but because my mind wasn’t in it to win it anymore. Eventually, the cage bars were all I could see and I wanted out.”

  “So you expect me to believe that orbital fracture by that punk kid didn’t have anything to do with it?”

  “That punk kid has almost an unbeaten record. He’s almost the same age as I am. And that fracture was the best fucking thing that ever happened to me. It woke me up.” Second best, I amended silently, lifting my head. “I wasn’t too scared to fight. I was tired of fighting because I was scared.”

  “Okay, seriously, what kind of trainer are you? You look like you have stones under those track pants but there are absolutely no men I know in mixed martial arts who say—”

  “Talk about my stones once more, and I’m gonna start thinking you’re sweet on them.”