by Quinn, Cari
“You eavesdropped on a private conversation?” Abby’s shock made me laugh, hard.
“You’re an only child, baby, so that’s why you don’t know what happens when you have siblings. It’s basically a cardinal rule that you must hear everything the other says in case it could be about you or useful for blackmail purposes later.”
“But you’re both grown men.”
Slater shook his head, his affable grin sliding across his face. God, I’d missed that bastard’s grin. “Grown and men should never go together in the same sentence, Abalicious.”
She held a hand to her head. “God, I need some sleep. This has been too much of a day for me.”
“Go ahead and get some. I imagine this lug needs some too, since he’s been consorting with the enemy. Also known as my best friend.” Slater turned his cocky grin my way. “Guess he’s not so bad anymore now that he’s hooking you up with a job at The Cage, huh?”
“Possible job. I’m not sure. I have to see if my combat training is something they can make work for their program.” I flashed him a grin in return. “And if they intend to pay me enough to make it worth my while.”
“So you’re sticking in town then.” My brother didn’t come close to pulling off a nonchalant expression.
“Thought you were listening at the door.”
“Just say it, you fucker.”
“I’m sticking around.” I held out the arm I hadn’t cuffed to the bedpost and waited until Slater grabbed it, pulling me into a hug so vigorous I thought he might pull out the frame entirely. I also nearly poked out Abby’s eye accidentally with my elbow.
“Actually, I think I’m moving to Yonkers,” I added once he’d pulled back.
Abby gave me a quizzical look. “Oh, really? What could possibly be there?”
“The woman I love more than my life.”
Her face softened like ice cream melting in the sun. Some of that might’ve been wishful thinking on my part.
“Is that all?” she questioned softly.
“That’s all. Any objections to that plan, Ms. Sinclair?”
She shook her head and flung herself into my arms. “Just one.”
“What’s that?”
Her dazzling grin left me dazed. “That your pesky brother always calls before coming over.”
Slater’s rich laughter eased away some of the knots of tension in my gut. The ones in my chest… Well, nothing would improve them but time and effort.
I was good at putting in the work.
“Speaking of pesky brothers, I’m going to leave you two lovebirds alone now that I know things are on the right track. I may not be violent by nature, but trust me, if you hadn’t gotten your shit straight, I would’ve thrown down.”
“Oh, really?” I chuckled and glanced at Slater over Abby’s head. I was pretty sure nothing had ever felt so perfect as having my woman in my arms again.
“Really. There’s just one more thing.” His Adam’s apple jerking up and down was the only warning I got of what he intended to say next. “You wanted to know why I picked Jen and me up and moved clear across the country without leaving a forwarding address?”
Just like that, some of the pleasure and relief inside me dimmed. “No. I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. I did that so they couldn’t find us if and when you didn’t come back whole. To a dumb frigging kid who’d just lost both his parents and idolized his big brother, that made perfect sense. If the military couldn’t find us, they couldn’t tell us you were gone.”
Warmth wound its way through my chest, loosening the knots I’d been sure were soldered in place. “Slater—”
“I love you, man, and I’ve been proud of you since the day you told us you wanted to become a SEAL. I couldn’t have been more proud. I was just selfish enough to want my best friend back home safe where he belonged.”
Emotion clawed up my throat, snatching away any planned speech I could’ve come up with. So I went with the truth, plain and simple. “I love you too. You and Jen and Abs are my world. I mean that.”
“I get that now.” He was already opening the door. “We’re good, brother. And we’re going to be better. I just wanted you to know where we stand before I grab my soundproof headphones and go back to blasting Yanni. Night, kids.” Smiling, he pulled the door shut behind him.
“Yanni?” Abby asked.
“He’s kidding. I hope.”
She laughed and snuggled against me. “You really want to move to Yonkers with me?”
“I really do. If you have room.”
“I’ll make room. Hey, we made this tiny-ass twin bed work.”
“True that. And I want to make it work again soon.” I waggled my eyebrows then blew out a breath. “I want to get the baby’s dates put on my arm with my parents.”
“Oh, Liam.”
“Birth and death for him or her. We’ll estimate conception date if we aren’t sure.”
Abby bit her lip, her eyes welling up. “Seriously, that’s enough already. I’ve used up my tear allotment for one day.”
Then her gaze landed on my partial sleeve, and from the way the tears spilled over, I figured she’d seen my new chord tattoo.
“You got this for me?” she whispered, tracing the reddened skin around the fresh ink.
“Yes. I damn sure don’t know anything about music. You’ll have to teach me.” I glanced at the empty nightstand and frowned. “Uh, there’s one more thing you’ll need to teach me, as well.”
“What’s that?”
“How not to lose the keys to the handcuffs. Fucking A.”
Her laughter was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. “I don’t know. This might work out to my advantage.” She leaned forward and slid her arms around my neck, lining up our mouths until her breath fluttered over my lips. “I love you, Liam Walsh. I never stopped. Not for a minute.”
“That’s good.” I forced myself to exhale. “That’s real good.”
“We made a lot of mistakes.”
“We did. This time, we won’t.” I tucked her fingers into a fist and kissed her knuckles. “I promise you with everything I am that you can count on me. I’m not going anywhere.” I cast a dubious glance at my cuffed wrist. “Literally.”
Giggling, she canted her head, her reddish-gold hair falling over her shoulders in seductively tousled waves. No one was as beautiful as my Abs.
Mine. Thank God.
But there was one more thing I needed to make clear. I stroked my thumb over the back of her hand and cleared my throat until I could speak. “I would’ve wanted our baby, Abs. With all my heart.”
“I know that now.” She gave me a misty smile, and I had to fight not to wrap her in my arms and never let go. “Wanting to put the baby’s dates on your body proved it to me, if I’d had any doubt after I saw the look in your eyes when I told you. I didn’t.” She squeezed my fingers. “I just regret I didn’t tell you years ago.”
“I regret so much too.” I tipped my head against hers and absorbed the feeling of her breath against my cheek. “We’re lucky enough to get a fresh start, and I’m damn well going to take advantage of it.”
“Speaking of taking advantage, do you think his headphones are really soundproof?”
I laughed and reached for the button of my jeans. “Let’s find out.”
Turn the page to find out what’s been going on between Mia and Tray. They have more story to tell…
Thanks for reading TAKEDOWN. Falling in love with Fox has been the hardest battle I’ve ever fought. But someone is determined to bring my past back into our present—and this time, the fight may be to the death.
One-click SNEAK ATTACK now!
My girl thought she’d fought for the last time. She was wrong.
Not long ago, I was known as "Fox" Knox, king of the fighters in New York City’s underground MMA scene. MMA was my life, until Mia came into it with her bravado and her fists raised, ready to fight me.
Then our clothes came off, and the real fig
ht begun. To build a life out of the ashes of our pasts, together.
We both walked away from MMA, but I know it still calls to her. And now something—or someone—else is as well, and she won’t talk to me about what’s going on. I’m ready to slay any demon she has, except the one she refuses to share.
And that might be the one who takes us down. For good.
Author’s note: Sneak Attack is a full-length MMA romantic suspense novel with a happily ever after ending and no cliffhanger, though it contains violent material that may be triggering. It was previously published by Cari Quinn in 2015 and has been lightly re-edited.
One-click SNEAK ATTACK now!
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Sneak Attack
CHAPTER ONE
Mia
“How do you like living with your boyfriend?”
I stared at my therapist, wondering if a reasonable answer to her question would appear if I tried to read between the lines on her forehead. “Well, I appreciate the easy access to sex.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Dr. Phelps didn’t so much as blink. She was either used to me and my blunt honesty, or else she’d heard just about everything.
I suspected a little from column A, plenty from column B.
“How are things otherwise?” she asked.
“He’s only lived with me for ten days. It’s a little soon to tell.”
Tray was only staying with me while he searched for a new place. His latest fight with his father had led to him moving out of the apartment building his dad owned, something he claimed was long overdue. I suspected more had happened than just a simple argument, since the tension between him and his parents tended to be stifling at best and downright choking at worst. But I didn’t push for the truth because I didn’t want him to push me.
Not the best reasoning, probably.
Considering the lack of affordable apartments available on little notice in New York City, he’d be with me for a while. This didn’t worry me at all. I was totally chill about the whole thing. It was just a coincidence that I’d almost gnawed my thumbnail to a bloody stump upon hearing the news that he’d be living with me—even temporarily.
“Still, you must have some early impressions.”
“Yes. My apartment is way too small for three people, especially when one of them takes up almost all of my bed. Then there’s the dog.”
“You don’t like dogs?”
“I love dogs, Veyron especially. But he’s huge and his tail is always knocking shit off my coffee table. Plus, he has to pee a lot. A lot,” I repeated. Just that morning, Vey had made me take him out before dawn. Technically, he’d tried to wake up Tray, but Tray hadn’t budged.
My boyfriend was many things. An early riser by choice wasn’t one of them.
“Mmm-hmm. You’re not used to having to make new arrangements to cohabitate.”
“My sister lives with me too, so that’s not exactly true. We’ve cohabitated for eight months now, and no one’s lost any blood yet.” Yep, there was my snark, right on time.
“That’s a bit different than a love relationship.”
“True. Carly’s never tried to put me in a headlock if I took the last piece of cheese.”
Sighing, Dr. Phelps set down her pen and propped her chin on her perfectly manicured hand. Her nails were long, rounded, and mauve. Mauve, for God’s sake.
I’d entered the sixteenth realm of hell.
“Mia, is there a reason that you continually put up walls between us during our sessions? I want to help you, but you need to help me do that.”
I kicked out my jean-clad legs and studied the diagonal tear on my right knee. Mine weren’t ripped in deference to current fashion. I’d gotten that tear fencing. In my bedroom. With my boyfriend.
We had non-traditional interests. So sue us.
“I guess I don’t get why I need to discuss Tray’s living arrangements as part of my therapy. Obviously, I don’t mind spending time with him, or I wouldn’t have bruises on my hips.”
“I’m assuming you’re referring to your preference for rough sexual contact.”
“Actually, no, I was referring to the fact that I let him pin me three times yesterday and didn’t break any of his limbs or pull out any of his pretty blond hair.” I glanced at my watch and tried not to cringe at her casual reference to my sexual kinks. The day I’d brought up my proclivities—in passing, I might add—I must’ve had heat stroke. “I think the hour’s up.”
“Not quite. Ten minutes remain on the clock.”
“Oh, goody.” I shifted my attention to the row of shiny framed degrees on the beige wall. “What if I was referring to rough sexual contact? What’s the BFD? I like it, he likes it, we’re not breaking enough furniture to end up on the news. I don’t see the problem.”
“If you didn’t suspect it might be one, you never would’ve mentioned it.”
“That’s incorrect. You saw the bruises on my wrists and asked if I’d started fighting again.”
“You’ve expressed interest.”
“I have.” I looked at my own lackluster non-manicure. My cuticles were ragged, and the coat of dark purple polish I’d let Carly talk me into had nearly worn off. “But it doesn’t matter, since it’s not going to happen. Tray doesn’t want me to do it.”
Hearing myself, I nearly growled. Since when I had become the kind of chick to let her boyfriend’s wishes influence her behavior?
Oh, yeah, since I’d fallen stupidly in love with a guy who knew exactly how to get his way with me every time. That was when.
“Tray doesn’t want you to get hurt.”
“No. Although I never got seriously hurt when I was fighting, unlike him. But he knows I wouldn’t be satisfied just fighting the lightweight female fighters.”
“You still harbor a need to fight a male?”
“I’m not harboring a need.” I slouched deeper into the couch’s plush cushions. If my own couch was that plumped up, I’d probably leave the bed to Tray entirely and duke it out with my sister for the sofa.
My apartment was just too freaking small for three people with big personalities. And in Tray’s case, massive shoulders.
“A yen then, we’ll say. You walked away from mixed martial arts because Tray did.”
“No, not entirely.” God, I couldn’t lose that defensive edge to my voice. Why did I keep paying money I did not have to talk with the doc every week? She wasn’t helping me. The rhododendron my sister had bought for the apartment helped me as much, mainly because the plant didn’t use dopey words like yen to describe underground cage fighting.
I didn’t have a yen. Hell no. The desire to match my wits and my body against an opponent in the ring didn’t fall under some cute New Age-y term. Fighting made me feel alive. I conquered my fears every time I kicked out or punched. The blood and bruises were just bonuses.
“Then why did you walk away?”
“Because that was always the plan.” I jerked a shoulder. “I only started fighting to make money for me and Carly to start over somewhere new.” That was what I’d told myself, anyway. “It was never supposed to turn into—”
“An obsession?” Dr. Phelps asked gently.
“No,” I snapped. “An…avocation. I don’t need to fight. Obviously, I can live without it, since I haven’t done it in a professional capacity since February.”
“And now it’s September.”
I didn’t toss back a sarcastic response, though it was a close thing. “Last time I checked.”
“How often do you and Tray spar in private
?”
“I don’t see how that has any bearing on anything.”
“Humor me.” Dr. Phelps offered me a thin smile that nudged my annoyance even higher. Smug, self-righteous, know-it-all doctors weren’t going to heal my messed-up head.
If I hadn’t already known I had masochistic tendencies, my insistence on remaining in therapy proved it.
“Do you count when we spar as a prelude to fucking or just as part of an actual workout session?” I asked, blinking innocently.
She didn’t flinch. “Both.”
Christ. This woman. “I don’t know. We fight a lot, okay? But it’s not destructive. We don’t actually hurt each other.” Much.
“Those bruises said otherwise.”
“Bruises feel good to me. I know you think that’s more evidence of my psychosis, but whatever. He’s a hell of a lot more balanced than I am and he feels the same, so what does that say to you?”
He didn’t completely feel the same. Even knowing that, I continued to push him outside his comfort zone. That weighed on me, along with everything else.
“It says to me that you and Trayherne are very well-matched.”
The sound I made in my throat bordered on a snarl. I’d come a long way in the eight months since I’d met Tray, but I was no one’s prize. Least of all my own.
Dr. Phelps continued to smile. Her lips were mauve too. That only made me dislike her more. I’d never had mauve anything. If I wore makeup, it was nail polish a shade away from black and enough eyeliner to sink a boy band. Pastels were not my friend.
God, I needed to go.
“Yet you appear even more edgy since he’s moved in,” she continued, oblivious to my reaction. No surprise there.
“It’s an adjustment, but it’s only temporary. He’ll be gone soon.”
Deep down, I wasn’t so sure. Not if he really would be leaving, or if I wanted him to. Then again, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to stay.
