I’m pissed at myself.
No time for regrets. Right now, I have to get her up and both of us need to go downstairs ASAP. The AFL press conference is a big deal. It’s mandatory for all of the fighters to take part.
“Britt.” I hover over the bed, unsure of the best way to wake her up. When she doesn’t move, I speak louder. “Britt.”
“Mmmmmhhmhphh.” She tugs the sheet up higher and rolls away. She’s gorgeous. Rumpled and relaxed, like a beautiful angel.
Jesus Christ, I am so stupid. I’ll never get enough of her.
“Britt!” I shake her arm at the same time I shout her name.
“What?” She bolts upright, recoiling. Her eyes are wide with fear.
I hold up my hands to show I’m not going to hurt her. “The press conference. It’s starting in fifteen minutes.” Without waiting for a reply, I scoop up her clothes and toss them on the bed. “Hurry!”
Realization sinks in and Britt springs to action, babbling for me to give Gabriel her apologies as she tugs on her pants. I rush into the bathroom and turn on the shower. While I’m busy taking the fastest shower known to man, I hear the door to my room close.
She left.
I don’t know if that makes me relieved or angry. Fuck it. No time to worry. Who am I kidding? I never worry. In order to worry, you have to care, and I definitely don’t care.
I quickly throw on a T-shirt with Souza MMA emblazoned on the chest and pull on a clean pair of jeans. Out of the bathroom, the evidence of what we did is everywhere. Rumpled bed, clothes on the floor, used condom in the wastebasket, the scent of sex permeating the room—just thinking about Britt on her knees, swallowing my cock while looking up at me with those big blue eyes is getting me hard again.
“Goddammit!” The urge to punch something is near overwhelming. I inhale and struggle to calm down. Control over my mind and body is second nature, but today it’s not so easy. It takes me a few minutes before I’m able to relax.
I snort and hurry down the hall to the elevator. Control over my mind and body? I’m good at it. No, I’m fucking perfect. I have absolute control over my mind and body.
Except, it seems, when it comes to Britt.
The tiny blonde physiotherapist with the exterior of an innocent angel that conceals a seductive temptress who didn’t know she craves pain and rough sex. If I let her, she’ll unravel everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve built to block out the unnecessary things—things like feelings and emotions—things that make living impossible for me to endure. Yet, as I argue with myself as to why it’s a bad idea to be with Britt, I already know I’m going to go down the rabbit hole again if offered the opportunity. Being inside her once isn’t enough for me.
I can easily see Britt becoming an obsession. One with the potential to either save me or destroy me.
The question is, do I want either?
* * *
“Mr. Bishop, do you feel you’re adequately prepared for Saturday’s fight?”
“Mr. Bishop, is it true you trained at Dragon Muay Thai in Bangkok with former world champion, Sirichai Wattana?”
“Killer. Where did you get that name?”
The questions go on and on to the point I want to shove the microphone off the table and knock some of these journalists into next week. Most of them are pushy to the point of rude and cross the line of decency more than once.
“We are done.” Gabriel stands from his seat next to me and I do the same. “We must get ready for the dinner tonight. Thank you for your time.”
Gabriel moves back, letting me go first off the makeshift stage. I hear his heavy footsteps behind me and I brace for the inquisition.
“Killer, in here.” Gabriel stops at an open door in the long hall of empty conference rooms and offices and larger ballrooms.
Without a word, I follow. Gabriel is right to be furious. Whatever he thinks I did with Britt, the reality is sure to be much, much worse.
Gabriel spins around to face me, but his expression is concerned, not angry. “Killer. Are you sure you can handle what you are doing?”
I tense. Not only is his worry surprising, but I’m not certain what it is exactly Gabriel is implying I can’t handle.
Defensive, I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Meu filho, come on. Don’t play stupid. I see the heat between you and Britt.” Thank god I have ten years of practice controlling my reactions, because Gabriel just blew me away. “You didn’t think anyone noticed? Think again.” He laughs. “The two of you practically go up in flames whenever you’re near each other.”
“What? I’m not—”
He waves me off with the flick of a wrist. “Save it. I don’t need excuses. I’m Brazilian. We are passionate people.” Gabriel turns serious, holding my gaze. “Britt is a sweet girl, but troubled, lonely. A lost soul, like you, no?”
Britt is lost and troubled? Okay, yeah, I can admit I noticed something like that. She admitted as much earlier.
“And you,” he continues without waiting for my confirmation. “You act so strong and proud and as if you have no sentimentos inside.” His arm extends and he thumps on my chest with a closed fist. “You think you are empty?” I open my mouth to reply. “Pffft,” he brushes me off again. “I know people. I trained many men over many years. You’re a fighter. You know I am trained as you are, to study the opponent, to learn to pick out the weaknesses and strengths in a man. I know you.”
Fuck.
Heat floods my neck and face. I’m not sure if it’s anger or embarrassment, but either way I don’t like it. I don’t react to other people. They don’t affect me.
But now they do. First Britt, now Gabriel.
“Be careful,” Gabriel says. “I give you both my blessing. I think you could be good for each other. But if you are incapable of being what Britt needs, stop now. I will not see her hurt.”
And there it is. The warning I was waiting for.
I swallow and drop my gaze, my bravado quickly disappearing with Gabriel’s ability to see right through me.
“Dinner. I will meet you in the lobby bar at seven. Don’t be late this time.”
Gabriel pats my shoulder and leaves. My mind is a jumbled mess of thoughts, which is exactly why I don’t allow myself to have emotions. They’re too messy, too complicated, bring too many painful memories. Only, with Britt, it doesn’t feel messy or complicated, or painful. It feels…right.
The fact I feel anything should let me know I’m headed in the wrong direction, headed down a path of darkness, destruction, and failure. A path that will dig out memories so painful I’ve created an entire persona to avoid dealing with them. Yet I know—I’m going down that path headfirst, no questions asked, no matter the outcome.
I might be a monster, but I’m a selfish one.
Britt
It’s Thursday night. My hands tremble as I lay down the hair straightener and smooth the last few flyaways. I step back from the sink in the cramped hotel bathroom. The bright red Herve Leger bandage dress is short, tight, and leaves a sinful amount of skin bare.
I exhale, placing my hands on my churning stomach. You can do this, Britt. My little pep talk does nothing for my nerves. Neither does the risqué dress I spontaneously purchased in the hotel’s upscale boutique to show K I’m far from the innocent girl he sees when he looks at me. I’ll be paying it off for the next year, but it will be worth it if it keeps K coming back for more.
After fleeing K’s room earlier, I sat on my bed and reflected on his words.
“I’m not a good person, Britt. Things I’ve done.”
I don’t get it. I fail to see anything bad about him. Yeah, he’s intimidating as hell and very unapproachable. But bad?
“I can’t…I won’t ruin you.”
How could he ruin me?
I just can’t reconcile the horrible person K believes himself to be with the man who held me on the floor of Gabriel’s office until I stopped shaking. My only reg
ret is K seeing me vulnerable that day. If he thinks I’m broken or weak, he won’t touch me or offer a repeat of the fantastic, life-changing sex we had. Sex that lights up my body and silences my mind.
No. I don’t believe he’s bad.
He’s a good person. Despite what he says, I feel it. I know it. And tonight I’m going to make him see I can take whatever he wants to give. I’ve thought about the sex I had with K a lot. More than I should. I’ve been flailing for so long, and after being with K just the one time, it’s all become so clear so fast. I need a strong man to give me pain and depravity to feel alive and displays of strength to feel safe. Weak, innocent Britt is saying goodbye and sick, twisted Britt is going after what she wants.
I slip on my four-inch designer heels and pose in front of the floor-length mirror on the back of the closet doors. Vampy red lipstick slicks my lips and a layer of concealer hides the bruise on my jaw. When I pull one corner of my mouth into a slutty smirk, I feel ridiculous. Whatever.. I huff and snatch up my clutch, stuff my keycard inside and decide to let the proverbial chips fall where they may.
This dress is either going to blow K’s mind, or send him running. Somehow, I don’t foresee this night ending any way except with me wrapped around his sinful body, my skin humming with the satisfied sting from his hands.
Time to find out.
* * *
I show my badge to the slack-jawed man in a tuxedo at the door to the ballroom. Grinning, I give him a wink. “Thanks.”
His reaction tells me the dress isn’t a complete waste of money and will hopefully serve its purpose. Right inside the door, a lovely woman in a forest green gown greets me. “Name?”
“Britt Reeves.”
She scans her clipboard, her eyes lighting up when she finds my name on the list. “Here you go, dear.” The woman hands me a tiny card. “Table five. They’re numbered but it’s in the center.” She points me in the correct direction.
“Thank you.”
The ballroom is three-quarters full already. I wasted a good twenty minutes freaking out before leaving my room, so I know I’m a tiny bit late. At least my phone isn’t blowing up. I’m surprised Gabriel didn’t send a text wondering where I am.
“Britt?”
I startle and spin around to come face to face with Jackson Wolfe. “Jack?” I can’t keep the shock out of my voice. I’m used to seeing him in fight gear, shorts, sweats, stuff like that. Tonight, he’s wearing a dark, custom-fitted suit with a bright blue and black tie to match his fight colors.
“Holy fuck, Britt!” My cheeks flame up as Jack gapes, blatantly scanning up and down my body. “Christ, I knew you were hot, but hell.” He continues his visual assault, not once looking up at my face.
“Jesus, Jack. Do you think you could at least pretend I have a head attached and look up here while you speak to me?” Irritated and embarrassed, I cross my arms over my chest and scowl.
Now it’s Jack’s turn to blush, something I never thought possible. “Sorry, Britt.” He actually looks honest to god ashamed at his behavior.
“It’s okay, Jack. I understand this dress will attract a certain amount of…” I pause to snag a glass of champagne off of a passing tray and take a big sip. “Attention.”
He grins, laughing. “Yeah. You could say that. Hell, Britt. You know you’re at an FLA dinner, right? Filled with hormonal men. Every fighter in the room is going to follow you around drooling.”
No, I didn’t think of that. I was too fixated on K seeing me as someone other than good-girl Britt, I forgot about the forty or so other testosterone-fueled fighters here tonight.
Jack chuckles again. “From your expression, I’m guessing you didn’t think of that.”
I shake my head and down the rest of my drink, the bubbles tickling my nose. “No.”
“Don’t worry. I can always pretend to be your date and keep the men off of you.” Jack smiles earnestly. Without question he would do it. But having Jack hanging off of me all night isn’t the best way to garner K’s attention. Well, it is, but not the attention I want, or the attention K needs. A fight with Jack at an AFL dinner would have him disqualified in a heartbeat.
“Are you ready for the fight Saturday?” I change the subject, scanning the room for another waiter with champagne, and a certain silver-eyed man.
“As ready as I can be.” My eyes flick back to Jackson to catch him shrugging. “I have no doubt I’ll win.”
Cocky as ever.
From the corner of my eye, I spot K and Gabriel near the bar set up in a corner of the huge room. Before I can decide if I should go straight over to them or get another drink first, everyone is asked to take their seats.
Here goes nothing.
An arm slips through mine. Jack. “Let me take you to our table.”
I can’t say no without coming off like a bitch, so I smile and nod. God, I need another drink. Jack deftly weaves us through the crowd, puffed up and smug as other men stop to blatantly stare at me and my teensy red dress. I swallow down my embarrassment, instead focusing on the sight of K, dressed in a beautiful silver suit with a red tie, converging on the same table as Jack and me.
Maybe this dress was a bad idea.
K’s shock when he notices us couldn’t be more obvious if he tried. His usual expression of stony indifference is gone, replaced by bulging eyes, clenched hands, and a jaw hanging open so wide it may as well be dragging on the ground. Then those shrewd silver eyes, accentuated by the fine gray fabric of his suit, zero in on Jack and his face goes from gaping to enraged in the span of a heartbeat.
K begins to walk around the table toward me and my palms become slick with sweat. Lust and anger war in his expression, and as screwed up as I am, I love it. Before K reaches us, Gabriel steps in front of him and whispers something in his ear. K nods and Gabriel steps aside to let him continue on his way. K reaches my side and I tense, waiting for the explosive confrontation with Jack.
Instead of shouting or striking, K gives me a wide smile, that dimple making a rare appearance, and holds out a crooked arm. “May I escort you to your seat?”
“What the fuck, Killer?” Jack tries to maneuver between K and me, which makes me stumble in the impossibly high heels I’m unaccustomed to wearing.
“Don’t touch what’s mine, Wolfe,” K hisses, darting around him to steady me with a strong hand on my waist. K’s words, combined with the heat of his touch, singe my skin through the fabric of my dress. Desire builds low inside and I burst into flames, the heat unfurling quickly, flaring up, licking over every nerve ending. I gasp at the intensity and our eyes meet.
I’m trapped. Ensnared by his mesmerizing silver gaze. The familiarity of it warms me further, but that funny sensation of déjà vu is still there to send an icy ripple down my spine and back up to the base of my skull. The scar beneath my hair throbs and I have to tear my eyes away. My heart is pounding in my chest, a cold sweat beading up between my shoulder blades.
What is it about his eyes that is so familiar?
“Britt?” K’s breath tickles my ear and I shiver. “I want to throw a sheet over you and hide that unbelievable body from all the men in the room. You’re going to pay for letting them see what’s mine.” I gasp at his words. Then, as if he didn’t just get me hot and bothered, he changes the subject. “Let’s get you in a chair.”
Breathless, I allow him to maneuver me into a seat. He takes the one to my right, threads his fingers through mine, and pulls my hand into his lap. K’s thumb gently strokes across the back of my hand, soothing little caresses no one would believe could come from a man so intimidating and fierce.
Yet without me saying a word he somehow knows what I need.
The gesture is tender and sweet and so unlike the brooding, angry man he projects, yet it’s so him. It’s another glimpse into the real K, whoever he is.
“You all right?” His question is without ulterior motive or jealousy. He honestly wants to know if I’m okay.
I shake my head, tilti
ng it to meet his inquiring stare. “I-I don’t know. Maybe too much champagne.” Maybe being near you blows my mind. I give a forced smile and K squeezes my hand under the table.
From the way he presses his mouth into a tight line, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t believe me. Or maybe he’s pissed over the dress. Thankfully, K doesn’t press for more. I couldn’t explain how I feel even if I wanted to, which I don’t. How do I tell him his eyes make me uneasy, but at the same time his presence sends a warm, protective feeling straight to my heart?
K glances over, dropping his gaze to the low-cut red dress and my voluptuous breasts. He gives me a dark, hungry look that leaves no doubt what he’s thinking.
Oh hell. I’ll never make it through dinner.
Killer
“Meu filho, where is your head?”
I flinch at Gabriel’s question. “I’m here, just… getting in my zone.”
He laughs loudly as he weaves the red wraps around my fingers and palm. “You? You’re always in the zone. You are the zone!”
I ignore the teasing. He’s right. I’m off today. My wandering mind won’t make a bit of difference on the outcome. Once I’m in the cage, I’m one hundred percent focused on my opponent, on the only thing I’m good for… fighting. Even if I’m not all there, I’ll still slaughter the other guy. I’m that confident in my skill.
Britt made herself scarce after fleeing dinner Thursday night. It didn’t make any sense. To let me fuck her into the mattress, show up in that dress, flaunt her delectable body, making me burn with jealousy, give boners to every single fighter and AFL executive in the room, and then take off without so much as a goodbye tossed my way.
We crossed paths briefly at weigh-in yesterday. Gabriel asked if I needed to consult Britt for any last-minute problems or issues. I could have used the opportunity to confront Britt, to ask what the fuck happened, but I decided it’s better to let her go. I’m not the guy who sits down and hashes out feelings. I don’t have feelings.
Killer Page 10
