Taking His Victory: (The Men of River City book 4)

by Nola Marie

  That. That is all I need to hear to make the trip worth it. Not just the words but the fact she’s admitting it. We’ve definitely come a long way the last few months.

  “Go do what you gotta do, Baby. I’ll find something to keep myself busy.”

  “My day is pretty full, but I can probably find some time for a late lunch around two. Sound good?”

  “Perfect. Now go get ready. I’ll make you breakfast.”

  She raises that blond brow that’s actually several shades darker than her nearly white hair. “You can cook?”

  “Don’t look so surprised,” I scoff.

  “It’s just that we always eat out.”

  She right. We do eat out a lot when I’m here, but that’s because I want to take her out. Show her off. Not to mention she has very little food in this apartment which is what I tell her.

  “I guess you’re right about that. I do eat a lot of take-out but I’m not usually here a lot.”

  “Go,” I tell her turning her back toward the bedroom with a slap on the ass.

  She throws me a glare over her shoulder, but I know she likes it.

  I rummage through her fridge. She still doesn’t really have anything but at least she has some cheese, ham and eggs. Omelets are simple enough.

  Fifteen minutes later, she’s out of the shower looking like fucking heaven. Of course, she always does.

  I plate up the food. “Not the prettiest,” I admit. “But I guarantee they taste good.”

  “They look great,” she says with a smile.

  It doesn’t miss my attention how slowly she’s moving. How she winces getting on the stool. I want to ask her what the fuck is going on, but I want her to volunteer more. I want her to tell me without me having to ask.

  We eat in silence. She picks at hers more than she eats. Finally, I can’t take anymore. My need to know outweighs my need for her to open up.

  “What’s going on, Tori?”

  She looks up at me with tired, exhausted eyes. Which is her excuse. She’s just tired. She really is going to make me just ask.

  “Tori, the bruises. What are they from?”

  “I took a fight last night,” she tells me with a shrug.

  “Why? I mean I don’t care that if that’s what you want to do but why now? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It was last minute,” she explains but something feels off. No. Not off. She’s lying. “The payout was too good to pass up.”

  “You need money?” I ask casually while taking a drink of my coffee. I already know the answer. She doesn’t need the money. She’s not going to be rich any time soon, but Tori manages just fine.

  “It doesn’t hurt to have extra here and there.” She stands with her plate, taking it to the sink. She scrapes the rest of her food down the drain and rinses the plate. Tension is practically radiating off of her. Nervous tension that is settled in her shoulders.

  She leaves the kitchen without looking back at me. Not even a minute later she’s coming back out with her gym bag and keys in tow. With a kiss on the cheek, she’s out the door.

  Not a word uttered. No more discussion. Nothing.

  A sinking feeling in my gut tells me whatever is going on isn’t good. It also tells me that she has no plans whatsoever of telling me about any of it. It leaves me wondering where that leaves us.

  Tori

  I walk into the tattoo shop feeling like I’ve been run over by a Mack truck. I wasn’t lying to Zane about the fight. It was last minute but since I haven’t been in a match in years, I thought it was necessary considering I have no idea what James and Romano have in store for me.

  I am glad I’ve kept in shape over the years, but the fight last night showed me that I have a lot of training to do. Two more weeks before this fight they have scheduled that I’m not sure I can be ready for. How could I be? Most fights take months of training and prep. Not to mention studying your opponent and their fighting style. Deciphering their weaknesses.

  I sit down at my station with a groan. Everything fucking hurts. The bedroom events with Zane didn’t help, but there is no way I was missing out on that. It was totally worth the extra pain.

  Except, Zane is asking questions I can’t answer. I can’t explain to him why I am fighting again all of a sudden. He won’t understand, and he damn fucking sure won’t like it. I also have a feeling he’d try to do something about it. He’s never volunteered, and I’ve never asked, but I get the very distinct feeling that Zane is involved in things with Rory and Jax that are very – I don’t even know. The word that keeps popping into my mind is totally ridiculous.

  I don’t know what I’m going to do about him. He’s not going to leave this alone, and I can’t have him digging. The thought of breaking things off so he won’t meddle makes me sick. The thought of doing anything that would push him away makes me sick but it's already happening isn't it?

  “You look like shit,” Stitch tells me from his station.

  “Yeah, well, you don’t look like rainbows and sunshine yourself, asshole,” I snark.

  He gives me a sideways grin rubbing the back of his tattooed neck. “Yeah, I had a long night. Still nursing a hangover.”

  “Well, I’m not hungover,” I tell him as I lean my head back against my chair.

  “You don’t look hungover, Tori. You look like you’ve had the shit beat out of you. Thought you said that fight would be a piece of cake.”

  “It was a piece of cake. I won. So, don’t you dare think of calling Dane or Maddox and telling them otherwise.”

  He holds his hands up in surrender. “Never planned on saying a word, Tori, but they’re bound to find out.”

  “There is nothing to find out, Stitch. They know I did this before.”

  “But you’ve never looked like this before. I can only imagine what all of those clothes are hiding. It’s a million degrees out there and you’re wearing fucking jeans and a sweatshirt.”

  “Drop it Stitch,” I practically growl.

  “I would if this didn’t seem off.” His black brows draw down into a deep V as he rakes his hands through his bleached hair. I watch as he twists the ring in his lower lip in frustration.

  I know the suddenness of this is suspicious. I really can’t help that. I have no idea what I am going to be facing in two weeks. I have to prepare the best I can.

  “Drop it,” I tell him again.

  With a huff, he walks off.

  I work on several clients until it’s nearly two. Mostly small things and a couple of scripts. Nothing to straining or taxing but the way I feel, it doesn't take much to be taxing.

  I'm working on my last canvas for a couple of hours until Zane walks into the shop looking as hot as ever making me groan with lust. “Everything okay?” the girl I'm working on asks nervously. She follows my gaze to where Zane is standing talking to Stitch. “Oh my God, he’s even hotter in person.”

  “Yeah, he is,” I mumble.

  He must feel us staring at him because he looks over at us. He zeroes in on me with that damn sideways smirk.

  “Do you know him?” the girl asks with a pant. She is practically drooling on the bench I have her laying on.

  Shaking my head a little, I remember I need to get this girl done so I can go to lunch with the six-two sexy blond man. “Need you to be still,” I tell her as I move back to the day lilies she has me putting on her ribs.

  With a giggle she turns back so I can work. Fifteen minutes later, I have her wrapped and ready to go. She walks to the front to pay while taking the opportunity to flirt with Zane.

  He, of course, flirts back and I can’t help but grin at all of his southern charm and ‘darlins’. The girl tosses her long hair around trying to be cute.

  I have never understood girls that think it makes them look sexy to continuously swing their hair around like that. They look spastic and stupid more often than not. But guys seem to fall for it so maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about.

  I walk up, my movements still stiff
and slow as all of my muscles groan in pain. When I reach them, his eyes move from the girl to me. She turns to see what suddenly has taken his attention away, looking slightly frustrated. He pulls me gently to his side with a kiss to my temple. “Ready to go, Baby?”

  The girl looks at me with wide shocked eyes. “You said you didn’t know him,” she accuses.

  I feel Zane’s eyes fall on me, questioning. “Actually, I said for you to be still so we could finish.”

  “Not admitting you know him is the same as denying it completely,” she huffs with a hand on her hip.

  I sigh. I am too tired and sore to stand here and argue with this little diva. But it’s just not in my nature to let former homecoming queens talk to me like this. “Not that I have to explain myself to you, but I didn’t admit to anything because I wanted you to turn over so I could get finished with your tattoo and go get lunch. I am not now, nor later, going to discuss my boyfriend with you or anyone else.” I realize what I called him after the fact. Not that it isn’t true, but I’ve tried to avoid labels. Now, I’ve said it, I kind of like it.

  Except now is not the time to be labeling anything. Not when I have shit hanging over my head and secrets from Zane. “Boyfriend!” the girl squeaks. “But you were just hitting on me?” she accuses Zane.

  “Hey, I was just being nice.” His hands come up defensively.

  I roll my eyes. I really am over this whole conversation. “Let’s just go,” I tell him. “My next appointment is at 3:30. We’re wasting time.”

  He looks at me knowingly. He sees more than I wish he did. He always does. It’s unnerving and worrisome. Staying away from Zane isn’t going to be easy. Lately, just a few days has been too much. But he can see through my lies. He can see right through to the core of me no matter how hard I’ve fucking tried to hide it all from him. I don’t understand how he does it.

  I can’t have him figuring this out. I don’t want anything to happen to Cara and I don’t want anything happening to him. I have no doubt in my mind that he would try to do something.

  I lean into his side as we walk down the sidewalk. I love being like this with him. I love the way his arm fits over my shoulder. I love the way he smells.

  I am in so damn deep that I’m drowning, and I still don’t know how or when it happened.

  “What’s going on in that head of yours, Darlin'?” he asks as we walk into the small bistro down the street from the shop.

  Too much is what I want to say. I have a strange sense of unease rolling through me. At keeping secrets from him.

  I also want to tell him that somehow, he has managed to crawl deep under my skin. Deeper than I thought possible. Definitely deeper than I ever wanted.

  I can’t tell him any of that though. All I can do is smile and pretend everything is fine. “Nothing. Just been working super hard this week.”

  He gives a slight hum but doesn’t push. That actually makes me more anxious. I’ve never considered myself transparent, but Zane always seems to know what I’m thinking or feeling. If he doesn’t know, he always asks. Relentless until he gets answers.

  Now he’s doing nothing more than giving a slight hum. He doesn’t look concerned or quizzical. He doesn’t pry.

  He leaves me to find a booth while he orders food. It’s not exactly an easy or small feat for him. Multiple people approach him for autographs and selfies which he always graciously does.

  “So, boyfriend, huh?” he asks with a smirk when we start on our food.

  “I didn’t mean to fucking say that,” I growl without meaning to. I don't like being called out on it no matter how I may feel. “It was a slip.”

  I see a flash of anger flash through his eyes then it slips away. He goes back to eating his sandwich. An awkward silence filters through the space between us. I don’t like it because I know it’s my doing.

  “Zane, I don’t mean anything by it. I just really don’t like labels. You know I like you.”

  Except that I don’t just like him. What I feel for him went so much deeper than like. But I can’t tell him that. Not when I am keeping things from him.

  “You like me,” he deadpans. “That’s great that you like me.”

  He has said very plainly that he loves me but all I can spit out is like.

  He looks dejected and hurt. I’m not used to seeing him this way. He normally banters and challenges me.

  “I’m sorry, Zane,” I say dropping my head. I fight back the threat of tears because I don't want him hurt. I don't want him angry. I want to tell him how I really feel.

  The truth is, even without the looming threat hanging over me, I probably still wouldn't say it. But the tension of the situation I find myself in is making everything else a little more raw and sensitive.

  He drops his napkin then pushes back from the table. “It’s fine, Tori,” he stands, extending his hand to me. “Come on, let’s get you back to the shop.”

  “Zane, come on,” I try to argue. “Don’t be like that.”

  His face, normally so laidback and smiling, is hard as stone. Unreadable. No expression whatsoever. “I said it’s fine, Baby. Now, come on.”

  I accept his hand and let him lead me back. He stops at the door of the shop without going inside. I look at him questioningly. Worriedly. “Zee?”

  “I have a plane to catch, Darlin’,” he tells me. His face is still set in stone. Walls I have never seen in him are building faster than should be possible.

  My stomach clenches tightly. It feels like all the air in my lungs has left me. I’m worried what this means. Worried I may have finally succeeded in screwing up yet another relationship. Except this time, I don’t want it to be true. I don’t want to fuck this up. I just don’t know how to stop it.

  “I thought you were staying until tomorrow?” I ask him, trying my best not to let the tears that are burning the back of my eyes come forth.

  “Things change.”

  I can’t stop the quiver that erupts from my voice. “Zane don’t go. Please.”

  He cups my cheek then moves his mouth to mine. He places a soft kiss to my lips. “I’ll be back, Baby. Maybe by then, you'll be ready to talk about whatever is going on with you.”

  I want to deny that there’s anything wrong. Deny that I’ve been withholding. But I can’t. All I can do is drop my head and let the start of tears flow.

  I walk into the hotel room I’ve booked in Chicago for the night. It’s nothing fancy. Just a simple Holiday Inn but I quickly make my way to the shower. I need to clean up and sleep a little before tonight.

  Tonight, is the fight. The first fight I’ve felt the stirring of nerves for since my actual first match. I wish I could be more confident but without knowing who my opponent is going to be, that’s next to impossible. I don’t like it. I wish I could say my head was clear and focused only on the coming match. That’s not going to happen though.

  All I’ve been able to think about for two weeks is Zane. I miss him so fucking much. He hasn’t come back to New York in the last two weeks. He asked me to come see him this weekend, said he had an out-of-town function before his game on Sunday and wanted me to come. I made an excuse of having clients all weekend.

  We’ve talked a few times, but the conversations are stilted and uncomfortable. I have secrets I can’t share, and he knows something is off. That there is something I’m not telling him. Because of that, everything feels out of balance and off-center.

  I need to find a way to draw my focus to the match I’m facing but all I can think about is how fucked up this situation is. How, for the first time in my life, I have found someone I really like and want to be with, but the universe throws such bullshit I may not get to keep it.

  It's not surprising actually. It's exactly why I said I don't do relationships. There are too many factors and unknown variables that can send the house of cards tumbling down.

  I stand under the spray of the shower longer than I probably should contemplating it all. I really wish I knew who I was fighting
. I don’t like the idea of going into something without being fully prepared. I don’t have a choice though. I can’t risk anything happening to Cara. I can’t take any chances with her as long as it’s within my power to keep her safe. I just wonder how long they expect me to do this.

  I am barely out of the shower when I hear knocking on the hotel room door. I check the peep hole first. I lean my head onto the door with a sigh. I’m not in the mood for this asshole, but I suppose I don’t have much of a choice. I open the door to see James standing on the other side with his hands in the pockets of his dress pants.

  “Good idea staying in a hotel,” he commends like he thinks I’m searching for his validation.

  “I don’t want Cara knowing anything about his,” I tell him firmly.

  “Glad to know we’re on the same page, darlin’,” he tells me. I flinch just like before at the term of endearment. “Need you ready by seven. We have an event to attend before the fight tonight.”

  I narrow my eyes at him with suspicion. “I never agreed to any events. I don’t even have a dress. I’m here to fight and go home.”

  He grips my chin a little roughly getting inches from my face. It takes more willpower and control than I ever believed I could possibly have to stop myself from putting my knee right into his balls. “You will go to this party – dressed to kill no less. We will introduce you to a few high rollers that will make big bets against you since you're out of the game so long. You're the fucking longshot so you will make us a fuck load if you win, and you will fucking win this match.”

  He releases me with a small shove. My blood pressure boils even more. I take a deep breath to calm myself before speaking. “I am really fucking good at what I do when I am prepared. When. I. Am. Prepared. I am not fucking prepared for this match. Three weeks to train isn’t enough time, and I can’t prepare correctly without knowing who my fucking opponent is.”

  “You better win this match or fucking die trying,” he hisses. “But I highly suggest you don’t die. I’d sure hate to have to use little sister to make up the income from losing you.”