by Paula Cox
It was an important day, she knew, not only because it marked a year since Griffin had ascended to the presidency, but also because it was technically her college graduation. After deferring for a semester, she had decided to go back and finish everything off. Some had wondered why, but Natasha herself didn’t see anything strange in it, and after a while, people knew not to question Natasha. She got the job done, still wore the vest she had taken from the man who had tried to kill her (after getting rid of the old blood of course), and unfortunately, still rode his motorcycle… which was getting a little worn.
Now, she was spending time with a few people at the barbeque, drinking beers with Desiree, and joking around with Zachariah. Griffin and Julian had yet to attend, but she knew that they were having some sort of meeting for the heads of the charters, and they would be along shortly.
“So how’s Marfa?” Natasha asked, taking a swig of cold beer.
“It’s fine; it’s pretty much the same around any of these points,” Desiree said with a grin. “Plus, it’s not too far from here that we still can’t go to the Bootheel.”
When Natasha was introduced to the Bootheel, she had been furious at Griffin for keeping her from the lovely dive bar. Desiree looked up and pointed.
“Here they are,” she said. Natasha followed the look. It was Griffin and Julian alright, but something was slightly different. It took Natasha a moment until she realized that it was the motorcycle that Griffin was riding. It was a little older model, a classic, and Natasha could remember seeing dozens of pictures of her father perched on that thing when she was growing up. Smiling like an idiot, Griffin pulled up to Zachariah’ trailer.
“Ta da! Happy graduation, baby!”
Natasha looked at the bike, completely shocked.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think I was going to let you ride that wannabe killer’s bike forever? Hell no. This is your dad’s old bike, but it needed a lot of work. Once I found it, I knew that I was going to give it to you.”
Natasha could feel tears springing to her eyes, but she didn’t want to let them fall. Instead, she threw her arms around Griffin, kissing him as deeply as she could. He kissed her back.
“How about taking her for a test drive?” Griffin asked, moving to get off.
“No, why don’t you drive me?” He looked surprised but acquiesced to her request. Moving forward, he allowed her to climb on the back. She wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against the leather of his jacket. It felt cool even in the desert heat.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
Off the bike went, running like a dream, and Natasha closed her eyes, felt the wind in her hair, and smiled at the thought of the future.
THE END
Read on for your FREE bonus book – DAX
DAX: A Bad Boy Romance
By Paula Cox
I break everyone who challenges me. This girl will be no different.
Whether on the battlefield or in the cage, it makes no difference:
I always come out on top.
Tiana thinks she will be the one to strip away my defenses.
But the only one stripping is her.
I’ve got a body count that’s hundreds deep.
It’s what soldiers do:
We take down what’s in front of us.
I simply refuse to lose.
But Tiana is different than anyone I’ve ever faced.
She’s tough, but fragile.
Smart, but scared.
She’s seen hell, too.
A different kind of hell than the bloodbaths I’m used to.
I want to fight for her.
To protect her from the bastards in her past…
And the devils in her head.
For that to happen, she has to let me in.
She wants to refuse, to keep me at arms’ length.
But one way or another, I’m going to break her down.
I won’t rest until I make her mine.
Chapter One
The more the audience roared its approval, the more nervously Tiana Crowe watched her boyfriend in the ring. Something just wasn’t right. So what if he was one of the top UFC Heavyweight contenders in the world; so what if he had a legion of diehard fans who thought he could do no wrong; and so what if the bookies had him as the clear favorite to win this bout within the first two rounds. The simple fact remained that there was something…off about Thad.
Case in point: he was showboating at every opportunity. Not that he had never showboated before, but the timing of those taunts and crowd-courting gestures was not random tonight. They were not fueled by confidence, by bravado. No. The audience might be lapping them up, but Tiana was seeing a pattern here, one that fit neither Thad Hollis’s character nor his usual game plan in the ring. And it scared the hell out of her.
Again the missed attack from Thad, again the vicious counter by his opponent, Lupe Freitas, a journeyman brawler who’d scored a few notable victories in his day but was now past his prime. He was a kick boxer by trade, a fighter with enough speed to keep Thad on his toes, but he was technically limited at close quarters; Thad’s takedown skills were legendary, and everyone seemed to sense it was only a matter of time before he got inside Freitas’s jabs and kicks and whipped the guy off his feet.
Everyone except Tiana.
She squirmed in her front row VIP seat as her boyfriend feigned a lunge and lost his balance, taking a hard kick to the temple. He jogged around his opponent and shook off the knock. The showboating resumed again, to the crowd’s delight. He was suggesting that nothing could hurt him today, that as long as he kept his sense of humor, he was in control of this fight.
Thad’s out-of-nowhere spinning roundhouse kick almost landed. It shaved the top off Freitas’s spiky hair, the surprise sending the older fighter off balance and onto the ropes. A tide of oohs lifted the audience to its feet in anticipation. But Thad hung back, dancing instead of following up his advantage. That was just not like him at all. He’d been a ruthless son of a bitch throughout his career in MMA, and not just in the ring; he knew how to hurt and when to hurt, and he could be so punishing, so relentless when his blood was up. Tiana could vouch for that. Hell, it still stung deep inside whenever she thought about it, all those times when they’d be alone and he’d—
The bell rang for the end of round two. She shivered with relief, shook her head to banish the bad memories. Hopefully, he would recompose himself in time. He’d given such a bizarre, lackluster performance in the second round, after that theatrical opening. Maybe his trainer, Artem Lecroy, could help straighten his head.
But the patterns began to pile up in Tiana’s mind: from Thad’s behavior, which had become more and more erratic of late, to his impatience with his fans who wanted to take selfies with him, to the blatant ways he flirted with girls who were mostly hotter and younger than Tiana, while she was right there. He’d always been spontaneous and sure of himself; those were both things she’d found attractive about him when they’d first met. But that spontaneity had lately turned callous, moody, and that confidence had taken on darker dimensions. Abusive ones. There were times when he didn’t seem to be fully in control of himself anymore, as though a part of him was unraveling.
That second round had seemed to confirm it. Thad had been wild, undisciplined. His showboating was an act to cover up something missing in his fights and in himself. She was worried for him. And she was worried for herself. What would he be like after this?
The ring girl, white and stick-thin and an absolutely gorgeous Eastern European, strutted around the octagonal ring as if she belonged there, the center of all the men’s gazes. Tiana narrowed her eyes as she watched. No amount of dieting or yoga or gym work could ever make her look like that, and though Thad hadn’t commented on it much recently, she knew he made that comparison whenever he saw a girl who looked as good as this girl did. The rumor that he’d slept with two ring girls at on
ce in Vegas a few months back was just that to Tiana—a rumor—but his recent wild behavior did make her think twice.
So this was what he really wanted? A Russian doll with legs that never ended and a stomach flat as a washboard and perky tits and a face as sweet and defined as Christmas candy? Yeah, and she’d probably been had by half the Neanderthals on the MMA circuit, the little tramp. But even so, Tiana couldn’t help feeling that she—full-figured but slightly dumpy Tiana Crowe—wasn’t really what guys like Thad wanted in this sport. Why else would they consistently parade Victoria’s Secret wannabes in the ring between rounds? And how come she didn’t get half the attention the other fighters’ wives and girlfriends seemed to get?
Face it; he’s going to dump my ass sooner or later, whatever happens.
She glanced at either side of her to the other women seated in the VIP section. The bling brigade was out in force, diamond jewelry and designer couture—plus accessories—adorning figures slimmer and more plastic than Tiana’s. One or two of them met her gaze and nodded, letting her know she was at least “in the club”—that was until Thad traded her up for one of his ring hoes.
Tiana twined her purse chain around her knuckles until it began to bite. The Russian stick insect left the ring and flicked Thad a wink as she walked by. He didn’t smile at her or acknowledge her personally in any way, but his gaze definitely followed her, the way an obedient dog eyes a treat before he’s given permission to snatch it. And in that moment she felt lower, more unwanted than she’d ever felt at one of his fights. For Christ’s sakes, nothing distracted Thad Hollis in the middle of a fight. Certainly not Tiana, with whom he’d never once made eye contact. Not once in all the years she’d been dating him.
So, his girlfriend didn’t exist, but Little Miss Stick Insect was the distraction he wanted. Had the rumors been right all along? Who else knew? Those wives and girlfriends who’d nodded at her just now? Maybe all the other fighters were in on it and she was the heavyweight butt of a joke at her expense. Was this what MMA was really about, and she’d been too dumb to see it all this time?
At the other side of the ring she spotted Ward “Buzzsaw” Devine, the former UFC Middleweight champ, sitting at the commentary table. Did he know about Thad and his leggy harem? Did he have one, unbeknownst to Estelle, his fiancée?
Then she spotted one of Thad’s rival contenders for the Heavyweight crown, that scary-looking ex-Marine or something who people couldn’t stop talking about on the circuit. Shoulders like Thor. Tattoos up the wazoo. Dax was his name; though she’d met him briefly at a charity event a few months back, she couldn’t for the life of her remember his surname. But he seemed to be looking in her direction. It was hard to tell because he wore shades. Did he have a phonebook full of ring girls’ numbers? Probably. Maybe a tattoo for every one he’d mission-accomplished along the way.
Doubtful if he was looking at her then. There were much skinnier wives and girlfriends than her among the bling brigade tonight.
Round three. Thad went in swinging wildly. He caught his opponent with two or three massive punches that rocked Freitas onto the ropes. A heave of excitement lifted the audience to its feet. Tiana got up, her hands clasped under her chin, almost in prayer. Please let him finish it here, she thought. Thad wasn’t himself tonight, and she didn’t want this bout lasting another round. He crowded Freitas, hunting for an opening so he could apply one of his famous submission holds and—
Freitas exploded up from his defensive cocoon and landed a vicious knee to Thad’s chin. It sent Thad reeling back in a daze. Tiana winced and found she could barely watch. A thunderous roar all around her insisted a decisive blow had just been struck. She felt it too, in her bones. Thad’s legs began to buckle, and he had to use the ropes to steady himself. The showboating was gone. Freitas hit him again and again, stalking him around the perimeter of the octagon like a big cat playing rough with its wounded prey.
“Referee, stop it!” she yelled. “Can’t you see he’s done? He can’t even stand! What are you doing, you stupid prick?”
The bearded Hispanic Freitas showed no mercy. His roundhouse kick knocked Thad hard into a corner; Tiana’s man collapsed to his knees, clinging to the ropes to keep himself upright. Why didn’t he just go down? Tap out? Why isn’t that idiot referee stopping this?
Freitas raised his arms in victory. The crowd began to chant his name: “Bo-ye-ga! Bo-ye-ga!” But the fight wasn’t over yet. For some reason, the referee had not intervened. And it felt like the whole world wanted to see Thad suffer. He was done. Everyone could see he was done. But they wanted to see him hurt some more, humiliated some more.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She began to shake with anger. The chain of her Prada purse slid from her grip and fell to the floor. She picked it up and slammed it onto the seat behind her. The man next to her frowned at her, then hollered something at the ring she couldn’t make out amid the noise.
Freitas dragged Thad off the ropes, stood over him where he knelt. With his hands aloft, he seemed to orchestrate the unanimous chant around the arena: “Bo-ye-ga! Bo-ye-ga!” Then, after raising a single fist and waiting for the accompanying cheer, he went in for the kill. His submission hold of choice: the rear naked choke. He would squeeze Thad’s airway shut and wait until he either tapped out or fainted from lack of oxygen.
It went on…and on. Tiana closed her eyes, but no part of her could escape this nightmare. Whatever damage Thad had sustained to make him behave so erratically in the previous round, it would only be getting worse. His brain starved of oxygen, but refusing to submit: this could be serious.
And nobody—nobody—seemed to give a shit.
She looked up, tears clouding her vision, and saw someone leap into the ring. Tiana wiped her eyes. The referee tried to stop the interloper, but the interloper just threw him aside. She recognized who it was, but it didn’t make sense. Why would Dax What’s-his-face, the ex-Marine or whatever the hell he was, do something so stupid? So reckless. Unless…he’d seen what she’d seen in Thad?
He slapped a headlock on Freitas and quickly pried him off Thad. Then Dax flung the bearded Hispanic across the ring and warned him not to try anything else. The crowd booed him, several ring officials and Freitas’s entire team surrounded him, but he didn’t care. The big Marine stood his ground, issuing threats to any and all comers, ensuring no one except the ring doctors laid a finger on Thad. He insisted he was saving an injured man’s life.
It was the craziest thing Tiana had ever seen. Maybe one of the bravest. But it didn’t end well for anyone. Thad, stubborn as a mule even in defeat, somehow managed to get to his feet unassisted, and though wobbly and disorientated, brushed the ring doctor off and made his way along the ropes. Dax went to help him, but he just shoved the big Marine aside and spat in his face for good measure.
Then he sulked his way out of the arena, a vacant, almost shocked expression turning his bloodied face into one Tiana barely recognized. He hadn’t been himself since that second round, and he was not okay now, she knew.
He’d lost a lot more than a fight today.
He wasn’t the only one.
Chapter Two
“Again,” Carlo Segura growled, as he spun away from Dax, as usual revealing his impatience through body language more than words. He was coiled tight this morning. Nothing Dax did seemed good enough. They’d gone through this same arm-bar escape maneuver umpteen times now, and Carlo just wasn’t happy with Dax’s speed or technique.
The next attempt was even worse. Dax didn’t even complete the move; he broke off and said “Fuck” under his breath. It didn’t help that the gym’s thermostat was on the blink again. Sure, it was chilly outside, but that didn’t mean Scallion’s had to be hotter than a goddamn foundry. The other guys didn’t seem to mind as they worked the bags, skipped, sparred, and generally dug deep to perfect whatever they were doing. Dax, on the other hand, could not get it together today. He was in tremendous shape, probably the most ripped and certainl
y the fittest, in terms of stamina, he’d ever been in his life, including his time in the United States Marine Corps. But his head was not on straight. Carlo knew it, too.
“Again. Concentrate.” Dax’s longtime sparring partner, whom he’d known since his early days in the Marines, Carlo, was an expert in Brazilian Jujitsu, one of the best anywhere. He’d shown Dax all his tricks, and in turn, Dax had shown Carlo everything he knew about Aikido and Tae Kwon Do. Combining those three disciplines, plus the rudiments of others like professional wrestling, karate, and Muay Thai, had seen them attain second-degree black belts, side by side, and they’d even spent time as instructors in the Marine Corps martial arts program.
They knew each other’s fighting styles inside out, but this was the first time they’d trained together in over a year. Whereas Dax had left the Corps after eight years, Carlo wanted to be a lifer; he’d serve for the full twenty years. So sessions like this were few and far between, and those old, subtle calibrating influences they’d had on each other’s psychologies during training now seemed rusty, even awkward. They’d never been best friends exactly, but they’d always understood and respected each other as fighters and as soldiers, their competitive instincts kindred. Together in the ring, or in the field, they’d always relied on their techniques and their instincts to see them through to victory, or at least to make it back in one piece. But life had gotten between them. And in civilian circles, those techniques and instincts did not always apply. In fact, more often than not they got in the way because ordinary people didn’t think in those terms. They didn’t need them.
