by P. A. Jones
First, he beat Chase easily and then he was talking with my dad like he was no one. The men I’d always seen talking with my Dad were either speaking with utter respect or bowing down in front of him; at least no one ever dared to refuse an offer from him. His words completely shocked me. I could see even Chase was surprised with his attitude, and he was still holding his gun.
As Tristan walked out of the door, I grabbed Carrie’s hand and started walking outside.
“Where are you dragging me?” she whispered.
“Just shut up and come with me.” I didn’t want to lose him. I wanted to know where he was heading; I wanted to know everything about him. That man piqued my interest to the max and I wasn’t going to let him go so easily.
We walked outside of the club. Tristan was getting into a nice Honda Civic
“Carrie, get my car.” I tossed her my car keys.
“Are you kiddin’ me?” She looked at me, her eyes wide.“Are we really doing this?”
“Yes, now just shut your little trap and get my car. I’ll watch him until then.” I didn’t move my eyes from Tristan or his car. He was slowly taking out his car from the parking lot and he was surely in pain, because he wasn’t using his right hand to steer. He is hurt.
With a screeching sound of brake, Carrie stopped the car in front of me.“Hop in,” Carrie shouted.
I jumped in my car. Carrie was an excellent driver and I trusted her skills. But this time, Tristan was driving quite slowly and we didn’t have any problem keeping up with him, maybe because of his injury.
He parked his car in front of some book store. What is he doing here?
‘Scott’s Book Club’ I read aloud.
“I know this. It’s a chain of libraries, and isn’t his name is Tristan Scott?” Carrie asked.
“Yes.”
“May be he owns the chain. It’s a famous chain for book lovers. I’m a member of the shop near my place.”
“That’s great, then. You can get all the information on him easily.” My mind was filled with many ideas. One of them was to use his help to get to Stephen.
“What? Why do you want that info anyways?” Carrie said in a suspicious voice.
“I have something on my mind. Please get the info for me.” I made my puppy eyes and looked over at her.
“Damn, it’s college all over again,” she complained.“Okay, I’ll get it for you.”
I giggled at how easily she’d crumbled. When I was in college I always asked Carrie to get info on different boys and it seemed like things hadn’t changed.
***
Two days later, Carrie was sitting in my room with all the information I wanted on paper.
Tristan Scott, single, moved two years ago from Los Angeles to New York. Former MMA fighter. Won two medals in National Championship. Currently owns a chain of bookstores.
“Thanks, Carrie.” I hugged her tightly.
“You don’t know how much trouble I had to go through to get this info. I had to promise one guy working at his store for a date. Jerry is going to kill me if he finds out about this.”
“Don’t worry, if you want I’ll go out with you two. We can have some fun, you know,” I giggled. Back in college, the two of us pulled a prank on a single guy who’d been a jerk to a lot of the girls we knew. We’d gone out with him together—and let him think he’d just won the lottery with both of us together. We were shameless in those days.
“It’s like it only happened yesterday. I still remember the face of that moron. He thought he was going to have a three-some...with us. I can’t believe it’s just two-and-a-half years since then.”
“Yes, and Jerry was all burned up on you for doing that.” I raised my hand for a high five.
“Those were fun days.” She giggled, but then she became serious. “You shouldn’t have left college like that.”
“With Stephen, I couldn’t just continue there,” I sighed, as sad memories filled my heart.” It’s been six months since I’ve seen him.”
“You will see him soon. Don’t lose hope.” Carrie tried to console me.
***
“Are you sure you want to do this, Nikki?” Carrie asked, looking through the driver’s window.
I was standing outside my car, looking at Tristan’s house.“It’s a nice house, Carrie.” I turned around to face Carrie.“As I said, just message me if you see anything suspicious.” I was actually going to break into Tristan’s house. I couldn’t help myself; if I was going to get him to work for me, I had to know more about him. And his house was the first place to look.
“But—”
“No buts. I’m going in. Just keep an eye on things out here, and let me know if anybody’s coming.” I breathed deep. After Carrie had gotten information on him, I’d visited the house last night when Tristan was in his book store and I’d found it was pretty easy to get in.
“Take care,” she replied.
I looked around; it was a perfect late afternoon. No one was on the streets and even the neighbors’ houses were up for sale. So nobody was watching me. A perfect time to break in.
I looked at his house. He really had great taste in architecture—or at least whoever had built it did. . The house was small, but aesthetically built. It was a two-story house with a small pool in the backyard and a beautiful green garden in the front yard. The yard was protected by stone walls; even the outer walls of the house were built with stones, giving it an old, classy look. I was sure that the house would look great on the inside as well. Someone must have spent months thinking about the design.
I quickly crossed the road and jumped inside the garden. For this adventure, I had dressed in my tight track pants and a sweatshirt with a hood to hide myself from anyone who might be around. I showed a thumbs up to Carrie looking at me and walked around to the back yard. While looking at his house yesterday, I had found a window open on the back and I could easily get inside through it.
After a minute of effort to open the window, I was quickly inside the house. I landed in an exercise room. Various exercise equipment were lined against the walls. A treadmill, a punching bag, a pull up bar fitted in the opposite wall and lots of weights filled the room. I touched the treadmill. I felt a thin layer of dust on it; he must not have used it in a while. Only the punching bag had no dust, like it was used regularly.
I walked out of the room and found myself in a hallway. I moved further on, into a beautiful living room. The room had one big window showing the outside garden, and one wall hosted a big, flat screen TV surrounded by two bonsai trees, and the wall was textured in a nice, light red color from behind. A beautiful six seated sofa was placed in front of the TV and it looked comfy. Then, the most beautiful thing caught my eye: a wall made up of a big fish tank.
Lots of colorful fish swam around the huge water tank. I couldn’t control myself and watched them playing around for few minutes.
I was snapped out of my meditation by a sound, the sound of a key in the latch. Somebody was opening the door. Fuck, why didn’t Carrie tell me? I was stuck like a fool. I ran back to the exercise room and opened the window, but it was jammed. Holy shit. My heartbeat went into overdrive. You are screwed big time, Nikki. I had no logical reason to be in his home. What if he calls the cops? Dammit, what should I do now?
I peeked in the hall. Nobody was there; he must have gone to his bedroom. Slowly, without making any sound, I started sneaking to the front door. If I could get to the door, I could run to the car and get the hell out of here with Carrie. He wouldn’t even recognize me. But destiny had decided to cause trouble that day. I was halfway in the hall, and a door opened from behind the fish wall.
Tristan was standing behind the wall, wearing only his shorts. His bare body was right in front of me. I was frozen. I couldn’t move. I am dead and he will just call the cops. Why the hell did I come to his house? Carrie was right; I am an idiot.
I cursed myself a thousand times in those few seconds; still, I couldn’t get a grip. My heart was racing wi
th the speed of a bullet train. It felt as if it might jump out of my rib cage. He started walking towards the common door; I ran back to the exercise room.
I stood near the door of a closet in the exercise room. I was all ears, listening for his sound. His footsteps stopped somewhere in the hall and then they became clearer; he was heading to the exercise room. Oh my God, oh my God, what should I do? Sweat was gathering around my neck. My mind was running around all the possibilities, but it couldn’t find an answer. I looked around to hide somewhere—the closet. The closet was the only option; I opened the door and hopped in. Fortunately, it was big for me and I could hide behind the clothes.
His footsteps grew louder as he entered the room. My heartbeat was on the rising side again and I was afraid that Tristan would be able to hear them so I pushed my hands on my heart.
His footsteps stopped somewhere in the room. I concentrated more on his sounds. He was quiet for few moments and then the footsteps came towards the closet.
Calm down, maybe he is walking towards the treadmill. I tried to remain calm, but it was impossible. My forehead and my palms were already sweaty. The closet door opened. My heart stopped. I closed my eyes. I waited for him to grab me or just pull me out, but nothing happened. Maybe he is staring at me, thinking of what to do with me. I wasn’t on his good side, so there was no way he could just allow me to walk out that easily. I was just dead gone.
I gathered all my courage I could get and opened my eyes. I expected to see him standing there, staring at me. But he wasn’t there. The door was half open and he wasn’t standing there. I heard some sound from outside, the sound of punching and kicking a bag.
I had been saved for the moment. He must be practicing in the room. I was saved from big trouble. I sighed and then closed my mouth with my hands. I could have given myself away already. I tried my best not to make any sounds.
Slowly, I shifted to the left so I could peek out and see what was going on, see what he was doing. My suspicions were right. He was pounding the boxing bag with red boxing gloves on. My breath choked inside my throat as I saw his half-naked body in action. His left side was facing toward me and that was enough to set me on fire. His muscular shoulders were meeting his elongated neck and that was ending into an excellent, V-shaped torso. I couldn’t see his body from the front, but his shoulders, biceps, chiseled chest and his trimmed waist were killing me from the inside. I’d seen many perfect male bodies in my life, but seeing a fighter like this was a first for me. Jerome had had a muscular body, but he never had the ripped muscle mass this man had.
Oh, my God, My breath exploded in my lungs every time he hit the punching bag with his gloves. The complete action was registering in my mind like a slow motion movie. I could even see every drop of sweat he was dripping on the floor.
What it would be if I could just touch him once? Feel his muscles once. Dammit, what was I thinking? This man really had a bad effect on me, a bad and dark effect.
He was wearing short boxer shorts, but I could see his chiseled thigh muscles with all of his actions and when he hit the bag with a side kick, I saw how ripped his thigh muscle was. This man could really pose for Playgirl magazine and wipe out the competition with just one look.
I can’t think like this. What’s going on with me? I should have been thinking about my escape strategy, but all I was doing was looking at the eye candy in front of me.
One odd thing I noticed was that he didn’t use his right hand much; most of the focus was on his left hand and kicks. I wondered how injured his right hand was ,and I felt a sudden urge to check his right hand and see if I could help him. I didn’t know at that time my wish was about to be granted.
Chapter 5
Tristan
“I’m leaving for the day, Trisha. Please close the shop whenever you’re done with your work.” I walked out of the store. Trisha was a nice girl, and over the year she’d been working for me, she’d become one of the most trusted members of my team so I could let her manage the book store and do my other work. I completely trusted her.
“Sure, Tristan. See you on Monday.” She waved good-bye as I walked out of the store.
I smiled and started my car. A nice workout and laying down in the pool—that was my concept of relaxation and after work I deserved that. While driving back home, my mind again drifted to the incident that had happened four days ago. The club owner’s daughter, Nikki, and the bully, Chase, were coming to my mind again and again, specifically Nikki and her lush lips. The thing that bugged me was the girl. Why did she put me in the fight, only for refusing her request for help a couple of days earlier? And why was I so focused on that girl still, when I should hate her? Maybe I was completely desperate for girls. I should meet a girl; at least have sex with someone, or my mind will try to hook up with every girl I see.
“What the heck? Why am I thinking about her? It’s not like I’ll ever see her again.”The chances of meeting a girl again among a million New Yorkers we're almost zero and when I thought about it, after the trouble she got me into, I didn’t even want to meet her again.
A sound attracted my attention while opening the door, like someone was walking inside the house. How could that be possible? My house was locked on all sides, and even if someone broke in, he wouldn’t find anything valuable other than my fish. Heck, who cares? I just walked straight to my bedroom. I didn’t care if anyone was inside. Maybe it was just my mind playing games with me, anyway.
I removed my clothes and put on boxing shorts. I was going to train for the first time in a long time, since after the incident in the club. For the last four days, my hand had been throbbing and I hadn’t felt like training. But there I was, feeling fresh and energetic. After my doctor ruled out any possibility of my playing in professional league a year-and-a-half ago, I’d reduced my training days to two a week. After that, training was meant for fitness only, but still, I enjoyed it. It kept my heart connected to the sport I loved most.
Damn, I need to lose the fat around my thighs. I felt centimeter pinch of fat was building around my thighs. I took a mental note of doing some more yoga for thighs and a few plyometric moves later in the training.
When I walked out of my bedroom, I thought I saw someone—a girl was standing by the fish tank. For a flash, I thought it looked like Nikki. But that wasn’t possible; how could someone just walk in my house and stand in front of my fish tank? I quickly crossed over to the fish tank, but nobody was there. Am I hallucinating?
With a jerk, I shook my head to get the crazy ideas out of my mind. Really, there was no one and my mind was too much focused on the lush lips of that girl. Clearly, I was attracted to her; no, actually, I hated her for getting me into trouble. I pushed my hair back; Oh, come on Tristan, get over this girl. I rushed to my exercise room and grabbed my boxing gloves from the closet. Only training could get her out of my thoughts.
I started punching the bag and, as it always did, the moment of failure occupied my mind, the win that changed my life altogether a year-and-a-half ago.
Eighteen months ago: The final fight of the championship
“Come on, Tristan. Just a few more hits. Pound him to the ground and the championship is yours,” my coach shouted from the corner, while the crowd went crazy.
I was pushing my fist on the ground in a lunge position. My opponent was lying on the ground. His face was full of blood spilling from wounds I had given him.
My right shoulder was in pain. A few moments ago when I managed to hit him with an axe kick on his chest, he somehow managed to pull me on the ground and I hit the canvas on my right shoulder very hard. I recovered quickly, but an intense pain was there.
I was panting heavily; my right shoulder was radiating pain like someone had pierced a sword through it. Something had gone bad in my arm and I wasn’t sure if I could continue like this, but everything was at stake—one million dollars and my glory. It was my first championship final ever and I just couldn’t lose it to the injury. At least, not at the momen
t when my opponent was almost done.
Only a few minutes were remaining for the end of the match and I was leading the point tally by a huge margin. I had to take a leap and hit him with whatever I got.
My opponent somehow gathered the strength to get up on his legs. I pushed my left hand on the mat and jumped to my feet. A slight jerk to my right shoulder shot pain through my entire body. Hitting him with my right hand is not an option for me today. He charged at me; I moved left and dodged him. I had to make sure that I got in the right position before I hit him. He charged at me again; this time I took him on my left.
He was breathing heavily. He didn't have a lot of stamina either, and as he struggled to save himself, his right side was wide open for my right arm. If I could have hit him with my right hand, I’d have won the match that moment. But I couldn’t move my right hand. I could only push him to the ropes using my left hand. My right was tucked to my torso like it was stuck to it with glue.
His eyes lit up as he looked at my right hand. He understood my condition and he charged at me again, but this time throwing jabs on my right side. I had no other option but to take him on my right. He swung his jab fast on my right shoulder, and a pain seemed to emerge from the earth, shaking me to my core. But I took that moment of pain and converted it into the strike with my conviction and will power. I hit him hard with my left hand on his skull and he fell to the ground. Still on the verge of passing out from the pain, I jumped on him, hitting him with my right elbow and getting a K.O.
It was a marvelous win for my career, but it also finished it on the same day. I got my million-dollar reward, but I was declared incapable of playing in any further championship matches. My shoulder and back ligaments were torn in that fight and I only aggravated the condition by continuing to the finish. The doctor ordered me to complete a full year of recovery from the injury and no more MMA for a lifetime.
Present Day
“Fuck you,” I muttered, while hitting the punching bag with my right hand. A sharp pain shot from my right shoulder. The pain was a signal for me to stop practicing, so I pushed the bag away in disappointment. Whenever I tried to use my right hand pasta certain threshold, it started throbbing.
