Zack looked around the room. He could have hidden a camera anywhere, or even a weapon. But it didn’t matter. He was totally and utterly in control. He wouldn’t be goaded into doing something he didn’t want to do, and this wasn’t a fight he needed to win. He had no interest in hitting this pathetic excuse for a man if it meant losing Shayla all over again. She didn’t need to be saved. But he knew someone who did. There was more than one way to hurt a man. In Zack’s experience, losing a partner was worse than physical pain.
“Grand battement.” Zack turned and reached for the door.
“What did you say?”
“Grand battement.” Zack looked back over his shoulder. “It’s your last move.”
“Aren’t you going to hit me?”
Zack looked around the studio and shook his head. “No. It’s time to move on.”
28
Shayla
“Shayla Tanner to see Zack Grayson in room 869.” I smile at the desk clerk at the Devonian Palace Hotel. “He’s expecting me.”
If she recognizes me from the other night, she gives no sign when she dials his number. But then, I don’t blame her. I’ve just come from the ballet studio after a fun three hours teaching little girls the basics of ballet. My hair is up in a tidy bun, and I’m wearing a pink sweater over my dance leotard and a light gray skirt with a pair of pink flats. No grunge in sight. I also have a huge smile plastered on my face because Zack is back.
“Please go on up,” she says, putting down the phone.
My heart pounds with excitement as I ride the elevator to the top floor, my happiness diminishing only slightly when I have to knock on Zack’s door. If he was coming to see me after being away, I’d be in the hallway to meet him.
I know something is wrong as soon as he opens the door. Instead of softness and smiles, his face is taut and hard. Still, I wrap my arms around him and give him a hug. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
My excitement deflates like a burst balloon when he stiffens in my arms. I let him go and make my way into his suite, decorated in rich cream and brown, with shiny brass accents and a sitting area beside a wall of windows, with a separate bedroom off to the side.
“What’s wrong?”
Zack closes the door and walks over to the window, stares out at the city in the fading light.
“Zack?”
“Was there something you forgot to tell me?” he says mildly, but I can hear the undercurrent of tension in his voice.
Bang, bang, bang goes my heart as I mentally run through any secrets that I might have kept. “About what?”
“About Damian.”
Puzzled, I frown. “What about Damian?”
“He says you made the story up about him pushing you down the stairs. He said you had a concussion that caused memory loss, and you suffered a reality break because of the trauma of him deciding to leave you.”
I don’t know whether I should laugh at the absurdity of that statement or scowl because Zack has clearly done what I asked him not to do and hunted down my ex. I choose the scowl.
“You went after him.”
Zack shrugs. “Of course I did. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t?”
“A man with a girlfriend, which is not going to be you, because that was my fight.”
“Your fight?” He turns, scrubs his hand through his hair. “I thought you didn’t want me to go after him because you were scared he would find you.”
“Do I look scared?” My hands find my hips, and I narrow my eyes and glare.
Zack’s lips twitch at the corners. “You look angry and not very interested in taking off your clothes and welcoming me home.”
“Damn right,” I mutter. “I can’t believe you went after him. And I can’t believe he’s still peddling those lies. Do you think the police didn’t consider that possibility before they charged him with attempted murder and assault? He’s delusional.”
“I agree. He’s also beating his new wife, who doesn’t look older than twenty-five. Did he hurt you before the night he pushed you down the stairs?” His body tenses like he’s waiting for a blow.
“No.” I close the distance between us, drawn by his obvious agitation. This is what’s bothering him. He thinks Damian beat me even before that awful night. “Can you imagine what the company would have done if I showed up at the studio covered in bruises, especially when we were on tour? You know pretty much everything is on display.”
“What did he do?” Still, he doesn’t touch me.
“Nothing at first. And then when he started to get worried about his career and I started making friends my age and spending time away from him, he started drinking. He shouted a lot when he was drunk and said a lot of unkind things, especially when I told him I was interested in modern dance. When he started pushing me around, I decided to leave. His behavior was escalating, and I could see where that would lead. I just never expected it to happen so fast.”
He lets out a long, low, ragged breath and strokes my cheek. “He says I broke you.”
“You did. But it just made me a stronger, more resilient version of myself. I never opened myself up to him the way I did with you, because I wasn’t going to let anyone hurt me again. Emotionally or physically.”
He draws me close, presses a tender kiss to my head. “What about now?”
“Now, I think I could let my guard down, but only for you.”
He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight. “You should thank me for leaving you in Glenwood. If I hadn’t made you strong—”
“Don’t push it,” I mumble against his chest. “You’re already in the doghouse for going after him in the first place. Is he still alive?”
Zack laughs. “I didn’t touch him, but I may have caught up with his wife on her way home and told her what happened to you. She didn’t know the full story. I don’t think she’s going to stick around for long.”
“You didn’t hit him?” I almost don’t believe him. The Zack I know has a jealous streak a mile wide. Only a few weeks ago, he was bouncing Doctor Death around the ring and going all possessive alpha with Reg. What’s changed?
“There wasn’t much I could do to him that he hadn’t already done to himself. He’s fallen so far, he’ll never get up. He feels no shame about what he did and accepts no responsibility. He recognized me, and I think he wanted to set me up, but I didn’t take the bait. I was in control, Shay. There was nothing I have ever wanted more than to see that bastard suffer, but I couldn’t take the risk of losing you again.”
I get a warm, tingly feeling all over, and I look up and smile. “I suddenly feel like taking off my clothes.”
Zack gives a contented rumble and slides his warm hands under my shirt. “I want you naked every time I come home.”
My heart sinks the tiniest bit. “You have to go away again?”
“One more trip. Three countries. Three weeks. Then I’m done.” He unhooks my bra and pushes my shirt and bra over my breasts. “I have a lot of training to do if I want to defend my title next year.” He leans down and draws my nipple into his warm mouth.
“Wait.” I tug his head away. “What did you say?”
Zack gives my nipple a long, languid lick. “I’m going to fight again. I told Kip this morning.”
Slayer back in the cage. The MMA world will go crazy.
My heart pounds a frantic beat, and I hold his face between my hands. “Where are you going to train?”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Redemption.”
29
Shayla
My new coach turns up a few days later. His name is Dick. He is a good-looking, ex-military general with a crew cut and a rock-hard physique. He wears fatigues to the gym and likes to shout out my name in two loud syllables—SHILL-LAAAA—whenever I do anything wrong, which is pretty much every five minutes. He becomes best fri
ends with the Predator his first day in the gym, and the two of them do a full workout and a five-mile run every morning together before the sun comes up while discussing how military training can translate into making my life a living hell.
Dick treats Redemption like his own personal boot camp and refers to his coaching as “advanced individual training.” If someone gets in our way or dares to be on equipment he has booked for us to use, he grabs them and body-slams them to the ground. When someone complains that he has broken the rules about fighting outside the ring, he tells Torment it is discipline, not fighting, and if he actually fought them, they would be dead. Torment loves Dick. He agrees to let Dick start a new course called Discipline with Dick.
Of course, the team can’t let the name go. They snicker behind Dick’s back and constantly crack immature jokes, culminating in Sadist showing up one morning with a black leather flogger. Unsurprisingly, with Zack out of the picture, Sandy is the first to sign up for the new class.
Three weeks into my new training program, I receive a surprise visit from Reg.
Dick is rolling with me on the mat and is not at all inclined to cut our submission session short so I can “waste time” talking to a Radical Power recruiter. Between submissions, I shoot apologetic glances at Reg, but he just smiles.
When Dick finally lets me go, I take Reg to the Redemption snack bar for a chat. Curiously, most of the senior Redemption fighters happen to be getting protein shakes at the exact same time.
“Is this meant to be a private conversation?” I ask Reg after we get our protein shakes. I gesture to the cluster of Redemption fighters pretending to be having a casual chat while leaning indiscreetly in our direction.
“It will be public soon.” He looks over at the fighters and laughs. “You have lots of friends.”
“Nosy friends.”
“Sometimes, they are the best kind.” He gestures to a table near a potted palm, and we take a seat.
“I came to see you because the CSAC reviewed the tapes of your last fight with Carla Gordon after Torment filed an appeal. They’ve ruled that the foul was intentional, and Gordon should not have been awarded the fight. They also couldn’t find any record of you being injured in a sanctioned fight, so you shouldn’t have been disqualified and given that CAMO ill designation.”
It takes me a minute before I work out what’s he’s trying to tell me. “I won?”
“They’ve called for a rematch for this weekend,” Reg says. “Because the situation was so unusual, they’ve decided to let you and Gordon fight again. You get another chance. And I’m still here if you win.”
* * *
“She’s Gordon,” Dick shouts the next day as I spar with Sandy in the practice ring. “Pretend she’s Gordon. What are you going to do when Gordon gets in your face?”
“I know what I want to do if he gets in my face,” I mutter, throwing a punch that Sandy easily evades. “He’s worse than Torment and Fuzzy combined. Worse than Zack. He doesn’t seem to understand that muscles need time to recover. It’s go, go, go all the time.”
“Have you heard from Zack?” Sandy tips her head to the side, and her ponytail swishes across her back. I remember how she was always after Zack, so I send a left uppercut her way and clip her in the chin.
“That’s good if you’re a damned six-year-old,” Dick shouts. “Put some power behind it.”
“Every day.” By now, everyone at Redemption knows Zack and I are together. My attempt to keep the secret lasted one whole week, and then Sadist caught me blowing kisses to Zack during an online chat.
“We need him for a photo shoot for the summer camp sponsorship.” Sandy hesitates. “If that’s okay with you.”
“Of course.” I can afford to be magnanimous. Everyone knows he’s mine.
“We want to do a few shots of him in just his fight shorts…”
Suddenly, I’m not feeling the magnanimity anymore. Bam. I smash my fist into her perfect nose, and she staggers back. “Sorry. I slipped.”
“This isn’t a fucking street fight. Get it together,” Dick calls out.
There are things I want to call out to Dick, too, most of which make fun of his name, but I am much too classy for that.
“Are you fighting over me?” The low, rough rumble of Zack’s voice steals my breath away, freezes me in place. Swallowing hard, I look back over my shoulder…
Bam. Sandy hits me with a right uppercut. I stagger back, hit the ropes, but this time, Zack catches me when I fall.
“You’re back early,” I say, looking up into the face I have imagined night after night since he left.
“I’m back, sweetheart. And I’m here to stay.”
“SHILL-LAAAA! What the hell? You’ve got a fight in four days. Get back in the ring.”
“He’s the new coach I texted you about.” I turn and wind my arms around Zack’s neck. “He makes you look like a pussycat.”
“I like him.” He cups my face in his hands and kisses me so deeply that I can feel our souls join in the breath we share. The world goes out from under me, and when he pulls away, I feel our connection like it was never gone.
“But if he touches you…”
“I thought you’d changed.”
He kisses me again. His lips are hot and soft against mine, gentle. He owns me with that kiss, takes me home, and makes me whole again. “Not that much.”
* * *
My last meal before final fasting for weigh-ins for the big event consists of four boiled eggs. Blade Saw, Homicide Hank, and I sit in a booth at the Protein Palace and contemplate the feast in front of us. They are fighting in the men’s amateur division in the upcoming event, and the last few days have been hell as we try to shed as much weight as we can. Sadist has joined us to give us support, although we all resent him for the protein shake he is noisily slurping beside us.
“I fucking hate fasting.” Homicide Hank peels open his egg, rips out the yolk, and then stuffs the white into his mouth all at once. “If I was living on my own, it would be easier, but when you’ve got kids, life is about food. Every second of the day, one of them needs food. You give them breakfast, and they want a snack. Then they’re thirsty. Then they need another snack. Then it’s nine a.m., and the sprogs are gnawing on my legs, although the damn food is everywhere. Every damned corner of the house. Every surface. Dry, fresh, hardened, and growing shit. Food, food, fucking food.”
“Slayer once dropped so much weight for a fight,” Sadist says, “he could barely stand on the scale, and when they took pictures at the weigh-in, he looked like a skeleton.”
Homicide Hank pops another egg in his mouth. “I heard MEFC offered to pay him three million to fight a title fight to defend his belt, but he turned it down. He said he wants to start from the beginning and work his way up. You gotta respect a man like that.”
“I never heard about that.” Sadist slams his cup on the table. “How the hell did you know about that and I didn’t?”
“Dick knows the owner of the gym in Seattle where Slayer used to train. Slayer was in Seattle visiting his sisters and went to see the dude to share the news, and the dude told Dick. Dick told the Predator. The Predator told his wife, Sia. She was covering a tattoo for Doctor Death, ’cause he needed to get rid of the last girlfriend’s name he’d had inked onto his back. Sia told him. Death told Makayla when he saw her at the hospital getting a baby scan—that secret got out fast. Makayla told Amanda when they were shopping for Amanda’s wedding dress for the wedding in June. Amanda told Renegade. He told Blade Saw in jiu-jitsu class. Blade Saw told his girl, Cora. She told your girl, Penny. Penny told Fuzzy when she was taking one of his classes. He told his girl, Jess. She told Sandy during a Redemption girls’ night out. Sandy told me.”
“So everyone knows except me?” Sadist stares at Homicide Hank, incredulous. Not once has he ever missed out on a juicy piece of gossip—or
ten.
“You could have just asked me,” I say. “I can tell you anything about Slayer you want to know.”
Sadist shakes his head. “I’m losing my touch.”
After devouring our eggs at the Protein Palace, we head together to a casino, hefting our water jugs with our day’s allocation of water. Although we make a few token attempts to win at the tables, we spend most of our time sitting outside the restaurant section, smelling the food and talking about our post fight feast the next day. My head throbs, and I use a few precious sips of water to take some painkillers, but really, all I want to do is go home, lie in front of the couch, and watch the Food Network.
“You’re not looking so good,” Sadist says when I rest my head on the table. “Maybe we should call up Doctor Death and get him to check you over.”
“I’m fine. But I will skip the sauna tonight and take a nap before my run.”
Apparently, my idea to skip the sauna triggers alarm bells in the minds of my overprotective friends. Sadist bundles me into his car, and an hour later, I’m at home, and Doctor Death is knocking at the door.
“You’re extremely dehydrated,” he says after he checks me out.
“That’s the point.” I fall back on the couch. “I have a bag of Pedialyte ready for after the weigh-in.”
“Normally, I would agree,” he says. “But what about the recent trauma to your head? I heard you were knocked out for a second time at that underground fight—”
“I wasn’t. Zack was being overly cautious.”
“—and then again in your fight against Gordon,” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “The brain is cushioned by water, and if you did have a subdural—”
“I don’t, and I feel much better since I came home to lie down. I still have a few pounds to go. How about if I promise to skip the run?”
Strong Hold Page 28
