Saving Emily: A Fighter's Curvy Prize

by Nora Haley

  For a split second something like jealousy flares up inside me. But then Jon turns around and smiles at me and the ugly feeling vanishes.

  I can trust him. He would never betray me. I feel it in my gut. I know it. I only have to fully internalize that knowledge.

  While I put the kettle on, Jon settles on a stool on the other side of the kitchen island. He watches me spoon ground coffee into the French press as if it’s the most exciting thing he’s ever seen.

  “So where did you two meet?” Amber asks from her spot on the sofa. Apparently, the first moment of shock has passed and curiosity prevails.

  “We met at the club,” I say, pouring hot water into the French press. Promptly, the scent of fresh coffee begins wafting through the room. “You want a cup of coffee, too?”

  “Yes, please.” She gets up and sidles over, slides on the stool next to Jon, but he doesn’t pay her any attention. His gaze is still fixed on me.

  “So, Jon, what do you do for a living,” she asks, straight to the point.

  Reluctant he tears his eyes away from me not to be impolite.

  “I fight,” he says, simple as that.

  Amber raises an eyebrow. “MMA?” she asks.

  “Something like that.”

  “You’re not much of a talker, Jon, are you?”

  It’s the first time he smiles at her. Not the kind of smile he has for me, not soft and warm, crinkly around the eyes and mischief in the corners of his mouth, but it’s not unkind either. “Guess you could say that.”

  Amy’s eyes flick to me again. She seems amused. Happy. Again, my lack of experience in these things causes a slight time lag until I realize she’s happy for me. I feel the urge to circle around the kitchen island to hug her.

  “So you got yourself someone to practice on when you start nursing school, Em?”

  “That’s the only reason I brought him here, yeah.”

  Jon gives a low chuckle that surprises us both. “I hope that’s not an empty promise. I count on your healing hands, sweetheart.”

  After that, we ease into a normal conversation. It’s almost as if we do this every other day, just friends hanging out together. I’m somewhat impressed by how smoothly Jon adapts to the situation. He’s friendly with Amber without ever giving me a reason to be jealous. He makes an effort to be nice to her, asks her questions, listens to what she has to say, but he always reacts more strongly to me. He hangs on my every word. He reaches out for my hand every once in a while or presses a kiss to my cheek, the top of my head, my lips. He pulls me into his arms every chance he gets.

  After two hours or so we order pizza. Jon raves about the book he's been reading and Amber tells us funny stories about her latest casting call. Much too soon the clock tells me it’s time to go to work again.

  “You sure you wanna go back already?” Jon asks. “You could call in sick.”

  For a second I’m tempted. Mostly because I’d love to get back to bed. But then I nod. “I’m sure. The sooner I get back into the saddle, the better.”

  Jon sighs. “Okay, but I have one condition.”

  “So you’re already setting conditions?” I grin at him.

  He grins back, but it’s the most serious grin I have ever seen. “I am.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’ll come pick you up and take you home.”

  I beam at him. “I hoped you’d say that.”

  He takes me to work, too. Opens the passenger door of his 1969 Mustang for me and offers me his hand to help me out.

  “You have no idea how hot you look in this dress,” he says. “If I had any say in this you’d be wearing bags to work.”

  I’m not quite sure how serious he is about the matter. “Good thing then that you don’t get a say. But if it’s any comfort – I hope it won’t be too long till I’m wearing a nurse’s uniform instead.”

  “God, as if that will be any better,” Jon groans in fake-despair. “You’ll be the hottest nurse ever.”

  I kiss him playfully on the mouth. It wasn’t meant to be more than a quick peck, but his hands fly to my hips in an instant and he holds me tight against him.

  “You are a bit of a tease, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he whispers against my lips and pulls me closer. He’s hard for me. I gasp in surprise and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth, hot and wet. He kisses me deep and thorough and long enough to cause that inconvenient tingling sensation between my legs.

  “Jon,” I moan into his mouth.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” he rumbles.

  “Don’t do this to me. It’s not fair.”

  “I could say the same to you.”

  “But I don’t do anything!”

  He chuckles and kisses me again, then he lets go of me.

  “I’ll come inside with if you don’t mind – I need to talk to Shawn.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jon

  I just about got my damn erection under control when I walk up to Shawn’s table.

  The club isn’t even officially open yet, but Shawn’s already drinking heavily. One hand curled around a glass of bourbon, he scribbles down numbers in the ledger in front of him.

  “Jonny-boy,” he calls out when he sees me, spreading his arms as if he’s welcoming a long-lost son.

  I can’t say I’m not suspicious about this. Last time we talked he didn’t seem exactly thrilled about the situation I got myself into. Not that it was my fault, but Shawn didn’t appreciate my meddling. “Why the fuck did you play the hero, Jon?” he asked when he promised he’d send his own lawyer to bust us out. And I knew he only did it because of the potential repercussions for himself. I would have to pay for that favor, one way or another.

  “You owe me one, Jonny,” he said, and I know he meant it.

  That’s why this welcome is not what I expected.

  “You’re in a good mood,” I say as Shawn gestures towards the couch, inviting me to sit down while he pours me a drink.

  “Gilbert sends his regards. He was very impressed with your work.”

  So that’s what this is about? Saturday night’s little performance?

  “Viktor was a pretty good sparring partner,” I say.

  “Yeah, that too, but I wasn’t referring to the fight. I mean Chandler.”

  I frown, turning the bourbon glass between my fingers. “What has Gilbert got to do with Chandler?”

  Shawn leans back with a smug grin on his face. “Apparently Gilbert and Chandler’s father were competing for some deal and the whole affair with Chandler Jr. will help Gilbert win the bid – or so he says. I don’t know how exactly. Blackmail Chandler Sr. would be my guess. But who cares, the bottom line is Gilbert’s happy so we’re happy.”

  I don’t follow. “But that all only happened yesterday. How did he even get wind of it...”

  Shawn shrugs. “The business world moves fast and some news travel like wildfire. Anyway. Gilbert offered to pay for your legal representation. He also promised to call some people to make sure the responsible district attorney knows who the bad guy is in this case.”

  I nod. Slowly, very slowly the pieces are coming together. I rub my temples, thinking.

  “So you can rest easy knowing it’s all been taken care of,” Shawn finishes, taking a sip of his bourbon.

  I’m still trying to wrap my head around what Shawn just said. The longer I think about it the less it sounds like a coincidence. Gilbert was at the club when I had my little stand-off with Chandler Jr. about his treatment of Emily. The kid was clearly already unhinged. Preston had him kicked out, introduced Gilbert to Shawn and Shawn introduced Gilbert to me. I got dragged off for a completely pointless show-fight with Viktor while Chandler used the chance to abduct Emily to get back at me. And now Gilbert is the one to benefit?

  “Here’s what I can’t figure out,” I say. “With Chandler Jr. being such a nut-job, why didn’t Gilbert find a way to neutralize the competition himself? Didn’t seem to take much to make that asshole s
nap.”

  I'm convinced now he did just that - find a way to neutralize the competition by pitting us against each other. But I wonder what Shawn know about it.

  I search his face for signs of a guilty conscience, but he’s either clueless or a really good liar. Maybe he’s simply too stupid to play me like this.

  “By the way, there’s also some bad news,” Shawn says changing the topic. “Given the circumstances, Gilbert doesn’t think it wise to hire you for the upcoming event at his property upstate. You know, the fight we were talking about.”

  “That’s disappointing.” I do my best to keep a poker face, even though this info adds to the suspicion that I unknowingly served as a pawn in Gilbert’s game.

  “Gilbert promised you some compensation for the loss of earnings,” Shawn adds. “Under the condition that you lay low for a while. No fighting until this has blown over.”

  So does that mean Shawn is firing me? I grab the bourbon bottle on the table and refill my glass.

  “I’m sorry, man,” Shawn says, and I actually believe that he means it. I would have made him a lot of money. On the other hand, being in Gilbert’s good graces is probably worth more than all the cash he could have ever earned with me. After all, I’m just a guy. I’m replaceable.

  “At least you got the girl,” Shawn offers as consolation.

  I drain my glass in one gulp. “Yeah true.”

  My confusion slowly begins to turn into anger. I’m only just beginning to realize they used Emily even more than me. She was bait. The prize I was supposed to fight for. They didn’t only risk my life, they risked hers too, and that’s something I won’t be able to forgive, no matter how much they’re going to pay me.

  I grind my teeth and force myself to keep a neutral expression. Thinking of Emily’s face helps to stay calm.

  “Gilbert’s lawyer said he’d drop by later and hand over the money,” Shawn informs me. “If you wanna stick around for so long.”

  I shrug. “Sure.” Only an idiot wouldn’t be around for a cash handover.

  “One last thing,” Shawn says. “Gilbert suggested Preston hire you as a bouncer for a bit. As a cover story. To explain why you were here. I don’t know if you’re interested, it’s just…”

  He doesn’t say it out loud but what he means to say is: It would be kind of convenient. For everyone involved.

  I have a hard time keeping my mouth from twitching into a sardonic grin. Do they really think I’m that stupid?

  “So what do you say?” Shawn looks nervous.

  I could probably get some extra sweet deal if I negotiated some more, but I’m not in the mood. It’s hard enough to keep it together as it is.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it.”

  * * *

  After my talk with Shawn, I go to see Preston. He’s in his office, counting money or something.

  “Jon,” he says looking up from his desk as if he’s surprised to see me. “How are you?”

  “Fine,” I grumble, careful to stick with my fake disappointment about the premature end of my fighting career.

  Judging by Preston’s reaction, he also made some sort of profit. He’s so eager to massage my ego even gets up to shake my hand. “I gotta say – what you did for Emily was amazing.”

  As if he cared about her! Last time we met he didn’t even know her name. I can see he’s about to give me the I see my employees as family-speech and I don’t think I can stand that so I cut straight to the point: “I heard you’ve got a job for me?”

  Preston’s eyes narrow a little. “Yes, yes. After what you did I thought it would be great to have you on the team. How do you feel about becoming Epic’s chief of security? After what happened, we really need to step up our game.”

  I almost laugh out loud. As if it was the security’s fault Emily was attacked by a nutcase.

  Preston picks up on the fact I’m not exactly jumping at his offer. “It’s only to bridge the time until this whole business has blown over,” he reassures me. “I’m sorry the incident with Chandler Jr. ruined your fighting opportunities for the time being. But I’m sure it’s only a short-term issue.”

  He gives me what he must think is a winning smile.

  I nod, a muscle in my jaw twitching. Up to this point, I didn’t waste much thought on Preston Wright – I know he is involved in quite a bit of shady business that’s got nothing to do with running a nightclub. And some of his practices veer too close to prostitution not to find him skeevy. Now I’m thinking it’s an odd series of coincidences that brings me here, and he was right at the center of it from the start.

  On second thought, it was already suspicious that he had a rich kid kicked out for a minor misdemeanor. Similar things happen every night without consequences for the culprit. There was no good reason for Preston to decide as he did. Surely, Chandler had a hundred times more clout than Emily and me combined.

  But that’s not all Preston did. He played an active part in introducing me to Emily, and also – I would bet on it – in facilitating the show-fight between Viktor and me. Procuring entertainment for rich clients is his business model after all. It’s why low-lives like Shawn are allowed to hang out at his club all the time.

  Now that fight took place the very same evening, so I was conveniently out of the picture when rich kid gave into his nutjob-tendencies and grabbed my girl.

  Naturally, I have no proof he’s had a hand in all this. Preston wouldn’t be so stupid as to practically hand me the evidence on a silver platter. But the result of all these alleged coincidences is too fortunate for Gilbert to pass the whole affair off as a stroke of bad luck for Emily and me. And I guess he knows I know, or he at least suspects I smelled the rat.

  “You see I feel a little responsible for how things went down,” Preston says. “If I hadn’t had the guy kicked out nothing of this would have happened.”

  It's getting increasingly difficult to stay calm. Luckily I don’t have to listen to his lies any longer. There’s a knock at the door and one of the security guys announces “the lawyer is here.”

  Gilbert’s attorney is a mousy-looking man of indeterminable age, skinny with bright, clever eyes.

  “Mr. Barnes?” He stretches out his hand for me to shake. His smile is unobtrusive, his manners polite. I can see why he’s good at his job.

  “Why don’t we sit down and go over the paperwork?” He gestures at the sitting area in the corner of Preston’s office and I wonder how often he comes here on similar business.

  He puts his briefcase on the coffee-table and snaps it open. It’s not like in the movies crammed to the brim with hundred-dollar bills, but it’s quite a bit of money. He stacks it in front of me. Fifty bundles of 10k each, so half a mil total. A lot of cash. I have to remind myself what it is for - Emily's life and mine. We could both have been killed. That puts things into perspective. 250k for a life. It's not exactly a fortune if you look at it like that...

  “This is what my employer offers in exchange for your discretion,” the lawyer says. “All you have to do is sign the paperwork, and it’s yours.”

  He takes a folder from the briefcase, opens it and pushes it towards me. A nondisclosure agreement. If I needed any proof the whole thing was a setup, this is it.

  “What about the girl?” I ask casually as I grab the pen he’s offering me.

  “What about her?”

  “Are you going to offer her money, too?”

  The lawyer darts a glance at Preston, which is strange. Shouldn’t he know the conditions of his own deal?

  “Just sign it, Jon,” Preston says.

  I look at him for a moment, but he doesn’t blink. I’ve seen enough of these silent stares to know exactly what he means to tell me. This is the best deal you’re going to get. It’s the only deal. They already agreed on the terms behind my back, and now all I can do is tag along or shoot myself in the foot by going up against people that are way higher up the food chain.

  So I do what I’m told. I set pen to paper,
sign my name and receive a bag full of cash in return.

  “A pleasure doing business with you,” the lawyer says instead of goodbye and I’m not sure if he means me or Preston or both of us.

  I’m about to follow him outside when Preston grabs my arm.

  “I’m not sure if you got this, Jon, so I will spell it out for you – you won’t talk about this, do you understand? Not with Shawn, not with your girl, with no one. Not even with me. This never happened.”

  I nod my head. I understand the unspoken threat. Someone like me can always suffer an unfortunate accident. Get mugged on my way home. Get beaten up by a humiliated opponent. Get shot during an outbreak of gun violence or a robbery gone wrong. No one would be outraged by that. Hell, no one would be even surprised.

  I’m aware Preston Wright is a man who can make such things happen with a flick of his fingers. I can’t say I like it, but it’s how it is. I’m gonna keep my head down and play along. For now.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Emily

  Jon’s fingers bite into my upper arm as he drags me along, fast, down the stairs, past the bathrooms, past the storage area.

  “Jon, what is it?” I ask as I try to keep up with his long strides. It’s not easy in my high heels.

  “Not here,” he says. He seems upset, his face grim, and that worries me.

  He doesn’t talk to me until we reach a sort of over-sized broom closet. The room’s empty but for a large table full of cleaning supplies and a couple of carts shoved in a corner. Romantic. He pulls me inside before he lets go. After kicking the door shut, he begins to walk up and down the room like a caged tiger.

  “It was a setup,” he growls. “The thing with Chandler, they planned it all. They used you for bait and they used me to neutralize him.”

  I can hear the anger in his voice. It’s deeper than normal. I’ve only heard him talk like that when he’s either furious or aroused.

  “Jon, please,” I say. “Calm down. What happened?”

  He stops prowling. “They gave me money.” He sounds even angrier about that. “They risked your life for some damn business deal and now they paid me off so I’ll keep my mouth shut.”