by Quinn, Cari
Victim. Fuck that shit.
After releasing the door, I waited by mine and had it open the instant I heard footsteps in the hall. Though he was dressed in unrelieved black from his suit to his shirt to his wing tips, he wore a jaunty red tie that was about as incongruous as a clown’s red nose.
“Mia.” He tipped his head at me and walked into my apartment.
I followed him inside and shut the door behind us, but I kept my hand on the knob. “What are you doing here?”
“Always so full of manners.” He walked around the apartment, his gaze drifting from wall to table to floor. Examining my things in a way that felt horribly intrusive despite the fact that he only looked and never physically laid a hand on anything. “You know, normally it’s customary to offer a guest a beverage. Perhaps a scone.”
I crossed my arms. I wasn’t nearly as unaffected as I seemed when it came to this man and his brethren, but I’d be damned if I acted cowed. No one would put me in a defensive position again, least of all a man in wingtips. “I don’t serve fucking scones.”
He stopped and pivoted to face me. His upper lip curled, and I noticed the small cut bisecting it.
Courtesy of my fist, thank you very much.
“You have a filthy mouth. Such a shame too, because under the grit and street grime I think you’d be quite attractive.”
“Yeah, well, the feeling isn’t mutual, and there’s not a speck of grit on you. So let’s get to the point, shall we? Why are you here?”
He placed his hands on the back of the sofa where Carly usually slept, and the hairs on the back of my neck trembled. It felt as if he was touching her.
Touching me.
His smile widened as if he sensed my discomfort. “I’m pleased to hear you agreed to fight Friday night.”
“I didn’t realize I had much choice.”
“You don’t, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t expect you to make things difficult.” His long, blunt-tipped fingers pressed into the cushions. “That’s your usual stock and trade, isn’t it, Ms. Anderson?”
“Aww, that wounds me. From Mia to Ms. Anderson. Makes me feel like we’re not friends.”
His gaze cooled considerably, which was a minor feat since he’d been in serious competition with an ice block from the get. “We aren’t friends. You’re a tool I intend to use to make money, like many such tools I’ve used before and will use again. But because I’m a very generous man, I’m prepared to offer you a sizable sum as well, if you continue to be so agreeable.”
“Oh, are you now?” I pretended to study my nails. “Too bad it turns out that I’ve come into some money recently.”
“Is that so?”
“It’s so. So whatever you intend to toss my way, don’t bother. I don’t need your cash.”
“I imagine not, what with profiting from a young girl’s sorrow.”
My stomach clenched at the gleam in his eyes. I didn’t know what he was getting at, but judging from the curveballs he’d already tossed my way, I knew I should duck.
But I didn’t—couldn’t—because I was me. And standing strong in the face of whatever baseball bat was heading for my face was the only safety I had.
“Meaning what, exactly?”
He picked up one of Carly’s bright pink throw pillows and caressed it in a way that made my already uneasy stomach roil even harder. He fingered the tassels as he looked at me from under his heavy dark brow. “Does the name Olivia Latimer mean anything to you?”
It took approximately one second for the name Olivia to pierce my consciousness again before I fumbled for a seat on the arm of the nearest chair. I bumped my hip into an end table on the way but barely felt it. “Olivia who?”
“Olivia Latimer. She’s a beautiful girl. Blond, blue-eyed. Truly lovely. We made contact because we have similar aims, though our motives are quite different. I’ll admit, she needed more guidance than I expected, and unfortunately, she’s not nearly as bloodthirsty as her father. She’s also a stubborn sort.” His mouth ticked upward. “You’d understand that, Mia, wouldn’t you?”
My mind was reeling, his words jumbling together into a knot I couldn’t untangle. At least not with him standing there, smiling.
“You see, your gain is her loss, and she’s had to live a much different life since you and her father met. More accurately, since her father took an inappropriate interest in you. Though who’s to say what is inappropriate?” He shifted toward me, his smile growing so slowly it was like watching a snake slither closer on the grass. It crept toward you millimeter by millimeter, until it struck. “Or who lured who?”
“Olivia was Darren’s daughter,” I whispered, shutting my eyes on the image that popped into my head with the force of an anvil.
A picture in an antique frame on a dresser, a girl in a white frilly dress. Her first Communion.
That’s my beautiful girl. She’s just a bit younger than you. I bet the two of you could be friends.
I’d blocked it out, as I’d blocked out so much else I couldn’t stand to remember. And now what I’d forgotten would make me bleed.
“Was. Is. Darren’s dead by your hand, but Olivia is very much alive.”
“She’s been calling me. It’s her. Or you. Or both of you.” My eyes blinked open. “The heavy bag in my office. She did that.”
“Now, now, accusations will help nothing. But what would help is to reach a détente of sorts, and all it will take is acquiescence on your part to do as I ask. If you don’t need the money, perhaps your pretty little sister might. She’s in school, isn’t she?” He set down the throw pillow and picked up the framed photo of Carly that sat on the end table, her arms full of cooking utensils as she grinned for the camera. It had been taken a few days after we’d moved into this apartment, and she’d gotten to stock her own kitchen for the first time. “The International Culinary Institute. Is that right?”
The lump in my throat hardened until I couldn’t breathe past it, never mind speak. Carly. He would never get near my sister. I’d die first.
“Cat got your tongue? That’s too bad. But don’t worry, I’m comfortable doing all the speaking.” He traced his fingertip over the photo and the two pictures blurred behind my eyes.
Carly’s picture in the present, Olivia’s picture in the past.
Two beautiful blond girls, so innocent and sweet.
“I have to admit, I had high hopes for you. Now that women’s MMA is making more of a splash, I believed you’d be a fine jewel in my crown. I followed your career for a while. I guess like your Darren, I had a bit of an obsession with you myself.”
“My Darren.” I shot to my feet. “My fucking Darren. What the hell is wrong with you? I was fourteen. Fourteen, you sick bastard.” Fists clenched, I stalked around the couch. His spine straightened, but he didn’t turn to face me. “I hadn’t even gotten my period yet. I’d barely been kissed. And you think you can pervert—”
“What I think doesn’t matter. What the rest of the world does is a different story.” He shifted slightly, his midnight gaze slamming against mine. “A tool, Mia. That’s what you are to me. I want you to fight, and I don’t care what it takes to make you.” He set down Carly’s picture. “Once, I’d had high hopes. I thought you’d be different. But one night is enough to accomplish what I want.”
“Which is? Spit it out. We’re losing fucking daylight, and I have more important things to do than to listen to you spout off.”
His mouth tightened as he reached up to smooth down his perfectly unwrinkled tie. “You’re not very grateful, considering the generous concession I made after Friday night’s unfortunate encounter. You don’t realize how quickly you could be taken care of.”
I spread my arms wide. “Here I am. Take me out.”
His chuckle took me by surprise. That it was accompanied by the flashing of his lethal eyes didn’t. “You fascinate me, Amelia Anderson. And fascination is a weakness. Darren learned that. As will Trayherne.”
The second curdle of
real fear curled in my stomach. First, for Carly, then Tray. I wasn’t worried for myself. If I died, I’d go down swinging.
I’d never be passive again.
“Deal with me.” I dropped my hands to my sides when all I wanted to do was wrap them around his throat. “You want something? I’m right here.”
“Finally, we reach an understanding.” He smiled again, all teeth. “All it took was mentioning Trayherne. And that sweet little sister of yours.”
I said nothing. Just glared.
“It’s very simple. Friday night, you’ll be fighting Evelyn Pierce. She’s quite an impressive fighter, and she’s looking to make her mark in the States after a devastating injury. She’s committed to a long career, and we feel she can go far. We want her to win.”
For the third time that day, laughter bubbled out of me at the worst time. But this time, I didn’t bother trying to check it. In fact, I laughed right in his face while he clicked his jaw and stared me down as if his eyes alone could kill.
“Wow, that was good.” I wiped away my tears of mirth. “I almost thought you were suggesting I throw the fight.” In a heartbeat, I sobered. “Because that’s not going to happen. If I’m breathing, I’m fighting to win.”
He didn’t so much as blink. “You’re breathing…now.”
“See, that threat doesn’t work on me. Not sure if you’re aware, but I met Tray because I wanted to fight him. Lots of people thought I had a death wish. Our weight difference alone should be enough to ensure I couldn’t win. But I didn’t care. Losing wasn’t an option. And if I didn’t come out the other side, well, crazy motherfucker.” I raised my arms again. “What can I say?”
“You aren’t afraid for yourself, that much is clear.” He took out his handkerchief and buffed the sunglasses he’d hooked to his jacket. “You do have weaknesses. Don’t kid yourself, because you’re not fooling me.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t have weaknesses. I said you can threaten my—what are you doing?” I demanded as he walked around the couch to pick up my laptop.
He read the screen silently for a moment, and I cursed at myself for not shutting the browser window before I got up to answer the door. “Missing girls. Isn’t that interesting?” He pivoted to smile at me, blandly. “I imagine for someone like you, that’s your biggest fear. Someone you love turning up missing.”
“Get out.” I was shaking now, I was so enraged. And afraid, way down deep where I couldn’t even breathe around the terror. “Get the fuck out of my apartment before I show you the door myself.”
“Lovely seeing you again, Mia.” He strolled to the door and waved over his shoulder. “Or is it Amelia?”
One of Carly’s discarded flip flops slapped against the door just as it closed.
Sinking to the floor, I pressed my face to my knees. When the trembles finally subsided what felt like hours later, I rose and got ready for work.
Sixteen
Three days of straight training. Three days of intense workouts, courtesy of myself and Slater, putting Mia through her paces. By late Wednesday evening, she’d sworn at Slater so much that he approached her hands-up every time—but he didn’t go easy on her. Ever.
Me, she just whaled on at every opportunity. And ho boy, my dick enjoyed it.
In theory anyway, since sex was a non-issue with my mother bunking down at the apartment. She was still there. Every time I walked in, I expected her to be gone. Or, worse, for my father to be there, making his case like the good attorney he was.
Bruises heal. I won’t do it again. If only you didn’t make me so mad.
But my father didn’t come around, and my mother claimed to be looking for a job and her own apartment. Neither Mia or I was putting a rush on that, for obvious reasons. Carly was being incredible about the whole situation, encouraging my mom to watch TV with her at night and doing crazy things like whipping up face masks and girl stuff for them to do. My mom had always wanted a daughter, and I guess Carly needed mom time.
Even for a jaded jerk like me, it was nice to see.
It helped to know that my mom was occupied some of the time when Mia and I were at the gym, our home away from home for the week. My girl had never been a slouch when it came to her regime, but she’d been on warp speed the past few days. I’d never seen her so focused. Intense seemed about three levels below her current level of insanity.
At first, I’d been worried that maybe she couldn’t get ready this fast, even if Evie wasn’t up to her usual speed, which remained to be seen. I wasn’t worried anymore. Judging from the way Mia was attacking the heavy bag in the corner, kicking it like a demon until my calves burned in sympathy, I was pretty sure she could beat the devil herself.
“Think she ever gets tired?” Slater asked out of the corner of his mouth, passing me a bottle of his liquid herbal green shit. Probably more spinach. I drank it anyway because I was thirsty and it was free.
“No. She’s relentless.”
Mia did a flying back kick at the bag, and Slater whistled under his breath. “Man, what I could’ve done with her if I’d been in her corner all those years instead of yours.”
I set down Slater’s smoothie crap and mopped my brow with the towel notched at my hip. I’d been working Mia for the better part of three hours, and we’d grappled for at least forty minutes of that. We’d only stopped when she noticed me having to hit the ibuprofen for my headache, despite Slater claiming I’d sprained my dick.
Since then, she’d been solo freestyling with the bag. Hard. Without stopping. I’d offered her a water, and she’d practically bitten me.
And not in the sexy way.
“She really wants to kill that Evie chick, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah, but there’s more to it.” Watching Mia execute another flying punch and kick combination, I wondered exactly what. Not that wanting to win wasn’t enough for her, especially after months away from the scene when she knew people would be counting her out.
“More like what?” Slater picked up the bottle I wasn’t drinking from and took a healthy swig. “Those bastards she’s fighting for?”
Must be serious if my buddy was whipping out the swears. “She’s not fighting for anyone but herself.”
“Yeah, but the whole price on her head crap. That’s pretty serious motivation, dontcha think?”
“You know Mia. Do you really think she’s scared?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. “If something scares her, it’s not someone threatening to take her out. That’s like the opening bell to round one.” I leaned back on my elbows, studying her form the way I would any competitor. Judging strengths, evaluating weaknesses. In her case, I couldn’t find any.
Not that she was perfect. Hell no. She still led with her calves, and she relied a bit too much on the same jabs and combinations. But she was lightning quick and had the kind of endurance that most fighters would’ve begged, borrowed, and stolen to get. Her ground game could’ve been better and would improve the more she practiced. She’d compensated by working on her arm bar and her throws until I had no doubt that she’d do some serious harm to anyone who faced her in the ring.
I almost felt a little sorry for Evie, even if she had told me to go fuck myself—in her own inimitable British way—when I’d explained I was handing her training off to Timmins.
Slater pulled out a baggie of trail mix and popped a handful in his mouth. “So what does scare her?”
“Something happening to Carly,” I said without hesitation.
As soon as the words were out, I sat up, my eyes narrowing. A smart man learned to trust his spidey sense when dealing with Mia Anderson. I had a feeling something more was going on here than Mia wanting to prove to everyone that she was in the same fighting shape she’d been in last winter.
That would be too easy. Too usual.
She’d been suspiciously quiet all week, and I’d chalked it up to her laser-like focus and oh, finding out she was a millionaire. But there was more. I didn’t know what more, but I would find ou
t.
As soon as I got Slater out of this training room and locked up so we could be alone. Just in case of bloodshed—and/or the usage of non-traditional interrogation tactics.
Either or both was a distinct possibility.
Feigning a yawn, I glanced at my watch. “Wow, look at the time.”
Slater chuckled. “You forget to take your Geritol or something, buddy?”
“No.” I gave him a hard stare. “I’m horny.”
He popped to his feet. “Enough said. I’m outta here.”
“Thanks for all your help the past few days. I appreciate it. We appreciate it,” I amended, clapping him on the back.
“You’re welcome. I’m happy to help. It’s been a while. She looks damn good, Fox.”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t keep the pride out of my voice as my gaze returned to Mia one more time. She was like my true north, always pulling me back over and over again. “She’s amazing.”
“I’d say I was jealous, but she’s a bit too much for me.” He grinned. “I need a sweet, quiet, domestic chick.”
“Like Li?” I didn’t even know anything about this girl he was seeing, other than hearts shot out of his ears every time he mentioned her name. I’d suggested we all get together—after the fight, because there could be no regular life until Mia had kicked Evie’s ass—but he’d vetoed it, saying Li was too shy and wasn’t ready to meet “the crew” yet.
I was still trying to figure out what crew he was talking about, especially since she’d been supposedly ready to meet us for dinner last week until she’d fallen ill. Whatever. I had bigger fish to fry at the moment.
He smiled and slung his bag over his shoulder, then reached for his health food shit. God forbid he left any of it behind. “Yeah. She’s incredible. Did I tell you she’s making me a sweater? Out of Irish wool.”
“You don’t wear sweaters. They don’t really work with your boogie board.”
“Winter, dude. Can’t ride the waves all year.”
“True enough.” I had no desire for my girl to make me sweaters, but Slater had always been searching for his one twue wuv in the midst of all the blond surf babes he collected like trophy wives. In his mind, that included handicrafts and keeping the homefires warm.
