Force

by Becca Jameson

  “Fine. You keep them. They’re almost dried up, anyway.”

  “That’s what I thought. So nice chatting with you.” Abram hung up without waiting for another word.

  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. One problem solved. He had about ten others piled up on his desk, but at least Lauren and Dmitry would be long gone before Yenin got word of their disappearance.

  As for Leo and Mikhail, Abram was pleased to have them in his territory. Leo had agreed to step in to help Mikhail pay off the exorbitant amount of money he owed Abram for getting his sister into the country. One thing was for sure, those Russian fighters were loyal to each other to a fault. If the three still in Vegas were anything like the three Abram had met, he would be happy to have all of them in his court.

  Who knew? In time, it was possible Sergei, Nikolav, and Ivan would join their friends in Chicago.

  Epilogue

  Lauren leaned across the bar, brushing long locks of hair from her face as it blew in the breeze. She spoke to Dmitry’s back. “I need two Bahama Mamas and a Dos Equis.”

  Dmitry nodded without turning toward her.

  She glanced around. It was early. Not many customers yet. No one needed her immediate attention. So she waited.

  When Dmitry turned to face her, stuffing umbrellas into the drinks, he shook his head in dismay. “Don’t you have any clothes that actually cover some of your skin, woman?”

  Lauren glanced down at her purple tank top and gave the hem a tug so that the top edge of her black lace bra showed. She grinned at Dmitry when she lifted her face. “What’s wrong with my outfit?” she teased. They had this same discussion every day. Dmitry hated the way the customers ogled her, and she informed him business was booming in part due to her attire.

  “You’re going to drive me to drink.” He smirked and then leaned across the bar, wrapped a hand around her neck, and hauled her in for a kiss.

  She licked her lips when he stepped back. “Well, we do own a bar. So if you need a drink, fix one.” She grabbed her order and walked away, letting her hips sway more than necessary to goad him.

  They’d purchased the bar four months ago, just weeks after arriving on the island. Malaysia was the perfect destination. Excellent weather year round with a constant flow of tourists to keep the bar in business.

  What she didn’t wear on the job was shoes. At least he couldn’t complain about her heels. She dug her toes into the warm sand as she delivered the tray of drinks to the three laughing young people in their early twenties. “Yell if you need anything else.”

  She headed back to the bar and hauled herself up onto a stool.

  “I can practically see your ass under those shorts,” Dmitry complained.

  “Is it sexy?”

  He chuckled. “The sexiest I’ve ever seen. But I don’t really like sharing it.”

  “And you aren’t sharing it. It’s all yours. Get over yourself. Let them look. It sells more drinks.”

  He rounded to her side of the bar and swiveled her chair so he could step between her legs and wrap his arms around her. “Have I told you how much I love you today?”

  “Yep. But I don’t mind hearing it again.” She grinned and kissed him briefly. “I love you too.”

  He stroked his hand down the back of her hair and grabbed a handful of the locks. “Your hair’s getting really long. I like it.”

  “Then I won’t cut it.”

  “You happy?”

  “Very.” She pointed at his torso. “How’s your kidney feeling today?” She lifted an eyebrow, knowing he most likely lied to her about it every time she asked.

  He rolled his eyes. “Baby, it’s fine. I’m telling you, I haven’t noticed it for months. It’s healed. It hardly hurt after the first few weeks.”

  “And I told you that’s irrational. Dr. Katie told me it would hurt like hell and take months to heal, so I know you’re lying.” She grinned huge. “I just can’t figure out why you bother. Why keep pain from me?”

  He yanked her hair back and met her gaze more directly. “I’m not in pain. In fact, I have no pains anywhere. Except you. You’re a pain in my ass. Other than that, I’m the healthiest person I know. Stop harping.”

  She blew out a breath. “Fine.” Why continue to argue with the man? If he said he was in perfect shape, she needed to let it go.

  “You sleep okay last night?” Dmitry changed the subject. He was the king of that maneuver.

  “Yep.” For the first few months, she’d woken up in the night sweating and filled with anxiety, afraid they would be found. Her nightmares had subsided lately. “Have you spoken to Leo or Mikhail?”

  “Talked to Leo yesterday. He’s still chasing the doctor around.” Dmitry rolled his eyes. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

  “And Yenin? Any news?”

  “He’s still in Vegas. His father, Grigory, went back to New York. It has been a long time since he’s mentioned your name, according to the guys.”

  “But yours?” She shuddered. Would the man ever stop searching for them?

  Dmitry shrugged. “Let’s not dwell on it. He’ll never find us here. Too secluded. No one but Leo and Abram have any idea where we are, and even they don’t know precisely. Plus, we know neither of them will tell a soul. Not even under duress.”

  Lauren chewed on her bottom lip. Her heart rate increased every time they discussed this issue. But she knew she needed to take a deep breath, enjoy her man, and live life to its fullest. She had the company of the best man in the world, perfect weather year round, and a business she loved. What more could she possibly want?

  Peace of mind.

  And that was coming slowly. Their island off the coast of Malaysia was small and secluded. Even if someone did find them, they wouldn’t have much ability to approach unnoticed.

  Lauren blew out a breath and set her forehead against Dmitry’s. “How did I get so lucky?”

  He grinned. “You didn’t. I did, baby. Luckiest man alive.”

  Book Two Clinch

  Chapter One

  Katie Schwan cringed as the final fight began. She’d never in her life been to an unsanctioned fight in the seedy section of Chicago. She’d never been to a hundred-year-old speakeasy. She’d never entered through any of the city’s small doors located under the L’s subway tracks or an overpass.

  Katie knew nothing about the underground fighting system, and she could have gone her entire life without knowing what she’d learned in the last hour.

  How had her life gotten so far off track that she found herself considering the idea of marrying Marshall Pierce?

  Marshall shrugged her arm off his for the fourth time in as many minutes and cupped his hands in front of his mouth to scream some sort of cheer for whichever contender he was rooting for.

  She cringed. She didn’t really relish the idea of touching him any more than he did her, but she was somewhat concerned about the prospect of getting separated from him in the crowded room. He, obviously, was not the least bit concerned with her wellbeing.

  When he’d picked her up that evening, she’d envisioned dinner and a movie, not this fight scene. The entire room was filled with the scent of smoke—mostly from cigars she surmised—sweat, and alcohol. The patrons were packed in so tightly there was no room to move.

  The speakeasy had received the bare minimum of updates in the last hundred years. The floor was nothing more than rough bricks—the same ones that made up the walls. Time had worn down the mortar between each brick, leaving deep cavities in the ground. Thank God she hadn’t worn heels. The sandals she’d chosen proved a much better selection for the uneven floor she hadn’t expected as part of their evening.

  She was dressed completely wrong for this event—a pink and orange striped dress that hugged her body in all the right places and made her feel sexy. She’d intentionally worn the dress in hopes she could inspire Marshall to show more interest in her than usual and thus increase her own attraction toward him.

  As it tu
rned out, he hadn’t said a single word about how she looked, nor had he paid much attention to her at all since the moment he’d picked her up and rushed her to the car muttering about a fight and how much money he had at stake.

  Marshall set his hands on his head as he watched the fight unfold in the strange, incongruent, makeshift cage in the center of the room. He cringed and closed his eyes for a moment before gritting his teeth.

  She assumed he must have placed a bet on the man currently losing the fight, although he said nothing about it to her.

  She stared at his profile, hating him. What an asshole. Who brought a date to an underground fight? She doubted anything about this gathering was legal. She was a doctor, for heaven’s sake. She didn’t usually go around town getting into situations that might cause her to get arrested.

  Marshall Pierce was officially an asshole. She suddenly didn’t care what her parents thought of the arrangement. They’d been harping on her about what a fantastic catch he was for months, nearly begging her to open her mind and stop whining about how she didn’t feel any magnetism toward him.

  Her mother had chuckled. “Honey, magnetism is for romance novels. You don’t live in a romance novel. You live in the real world. And Marshal Pierce is an excellent match. His family’s an outstanding addition to ours. Stop being so particular and get a ring on your finger. You aren’t getting any younger.”

  Katie had no idea why she’d ever paid a bit of attention to her mother’s choice in a spouse. The woman hadn’t chosen well herself nearly thirty years ago. From what Katie could tell, her parents barely crossed paths with each other, let alone communicated. She didn’t want that sort of life for herself. She wanted passion. Romance. Love.

  She had no intention of settling for less. And this evening solidified in her mind that Marshall was the last man on earth she intended to walk down the aisle toward.

  The crowd screamed louder, and she turned her gaze to the center of the room—more out of boredom than anything else. She relaxed her shoulders with the realization she’d just made a monumental decision. This was the last time she would ever accept an invitation from Marshall.

  The two men fighting in the ring were evenly matched. She’d heard people around her discussing this fight, and knew it was the last one of the evening, and the most important.

  She’d listened to the size of bets being placed around her before the fight began with increasing incredulity.

  The man on the left was called Joe “Hothead” Mantoba. The man on the right was Dmitry “The Cossack” Volikov. She ignored the Latin man in favor of staring at the Russian—at least she thought he was Russian. Judging by the accents of the people surrounding her, several of the patrons were also Russian.

  The guy was buff and sexy. With his bald head and the ring of geometric tattoos on his arms, he could melt panties all around the room. And he wasn’t alone. There were several other men standing near the cage who appeared to be as built as him and just as sexy.

  The asshole standing next to her stressing over the possible outcome of the fight had nothing on the men she found herself ogling. Marshall was weak, tall, lanky, and nerdy.

  She giggled inwardly as she imagined bringing a man like the Russian fighter home to meet Mom and Dad. Her mother would faint. She pondered the idea of doing it for the shock value alone.

  “Fuck,” Marshall muttered. He hung his head and closed his eyes.

  Katie turned her attention back to the ring. Jesus, what was his problem? He was a bigger dick than she’d thought if he put much money on this charade.

  Suddenly, she noticed something she hadn’t paid attention to before. The Russian fighter, Dmitry, had his left hand down by his side instead of up high to protect his face. He also stood at a slight angle.

  The man was protecting his torso. While she watched, the other guy kicked him perfectly in that side, taking advantage of the obvious weakness anyone in the room—including Joe—could easily spot.

  Dmitry buckled. He dropped to one knee, his face contorted in pain.

  Kidney. She knew that look. And the kick to his side was perfectly lined up with his lower back. She also realized he hadn’t suffered a kidney injury from that single kick. The crazy man had come to the fight already injured.

  What sort of fool would fight with a recent, life-threatening kidney injury? Apparently, Dmitry “The Cossack” Volikov.

  She lifted higher on her tiptoes to pay closer attention to a fight she’d had no interest in moments ago. She still had no interest in the fight itself, but she was naturally inclined toward people with health issues. It was ingrained in her. Saving lives was her passion. Even the life of a stupid, idiotic underground fighter with a death wish.

  Seconds after going down, Volikov rebounded to his feet and jumped out of Mantoba’s reach. He bled from a cut on his forehead also.

  The audience screamed when Volikov bounced back into position. He was undoubtedly the favored man. In fact, he was obviously the preferred fighter by Marshall’s standards too, judging by the squeal of elation next to her.

  She winced as Dmitry used his arm to protect his side again.

  His opponent hopped on his feet, waiting for an opportunity to take advantage of Volikov’s weakness again.

  Shocking everyone, including her, Dmitry lifted his good arm at the perfect moment and landed two punches to Mantoba’s face.

  The crowd screamed louder.

  Joe staggered backward.

  Suddenly, Dmitry had the upper hand. He lifted his arm from his side into a proper defensive position—leaving his kidney in a vulnerable state—and spun around in a circle. As he returned to face Mantoba, he lifted his leg and kicked the guy in the side of the head.

  Joe fell to the ground.

  Katie cringed as she watched Joe’s head hit the floor with enough force to cause a concussion.

  Before Mantoba could gather his wits, Dmitry straddled his body and pinned him to the ground with a forearm to the neck. Joe flailed, reminding her of a scared chicken, his arms swinging around in the air, unable to make purchase with any substantial force against Dmitry’s body.

  She knew nothing about the rules observed in this unsanctioned sport, so she held her breath as Joe slowly lost consciousness. Would Dmitry actually kill the guy? God, she hoped not. Surely there were at least some rules in this disgusting basement.

  Just when she thought she was kidding herself, Mantoba tapped the ground next to Dmitry’s body with one flat palm.

  Volikov immediately released his hold and staggered to his feet.

  The crowd roared.

  Even Marshall screamed at the top of his lungs.

  She had no idea the man next to her held this level of passion for anything, let alone MMA. And then she realized that wasn’t the case at all. The only thing Marshall had a passion for was money. And he’d just won.

  He spun around so fast, she was stunned, wondering what he was looking for. Without paying an ounce of attention to her, as if he’d forgotten she was with him, he wove through the force of people pressing in on them, heading away from the ring.

  Katie was stunned. “Marshall,” she called out too late for him to hear her. In seconds he was swallowed by the crowd and she was left standing in the center of the room, suffocating among the screaming patrons. “Fuck.”

  Her aggravation was short-lived however, as her attention returned to the man in the cage. The referee held one hand in the air. Volikov used the other to grip his side gently. His face was a mask of pain.

  The announcer opened the gate to the cage and pressed through the crowd to lead Volikov toward a door on the opposite side of the room.

  Someone bumped into Katie’s side, and she turned to find a man barreling past her, making his way forcibly through the mass of people toward Dmitry. The guy physically could have been Volikov’s twin in the workout room. He clearly knew Dmitry well. His brow was furrowed in concern as he shoved through the throng of patrons, heading in the direction Dmitry was
moving.

  Katie’s instinct for saving lives kicked in, leaving her sanity at the door, and she quickly worked her way between two men to follow in the stranger’s wake. If she stayed at his back, he would lead her toward the injured fighter.

  It was an easier task than she’d expected. The man in front of her was a beast of a man. His back had more ripples and muscles than anyone she’d ever seen. If his chest was half as buff, he would be a god without his shirt on. Unfortunately, he did wear a shirt, although it was stretched tight enough across his body to leave little to the imagination.

  His hair… His arms…

  Images of trailing her hands down this man’s back and across his tight ass made her lick her lips. He was the sexiest creature she’d ever laid eyes on.

  Never in her life had she entertained the idea of what it would be like to have sex with an athlete in his prime. The men she’d dated had all been Harvard types, educated, boring, stuffy upper crust.

  Her mouth watered again as she inched even closer, telling herself her reasoning was to quickly get to the injured fighter, who clearly was in dire straits with a possibly fatal kidney injury.

  Keep telling yourself that, Katie…

  She hardly noticed the speed of their advance, and was shocked when the man in front of her pushed through a door on the far wall. She stayed on his heels, brought up suddenly by a hand that reached out to stop her, blocking her across the chest. “Who are you?”

  She took her gaze from the sexy ass in front of her to glance at the bouncer-type guy with the scowl. “I’m a doctor. That man who won needs attention.”

  The guy she’d followed spun around. “You’re a doctor?”

  “Yes.” She stood taller, as far as her five-foot-four frame would reach.

  The man reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her past the guard. “Come with me.”

  Hell, yes. She’d be willing to go almost anywhere with him.

  Name the place.