Broken: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance

by Scarlet MMA, Simone

  Lyssa laughed.

  “Seriously, though,” she warned Silas, “we need to get you to a proper training facility. We need to go back to America.”

  Silas threw the dripping towel down.

  “This is Spain, not – as you say – Soviet Russia. We have gyms here.” He snorted. “I didn’t need one of your fancy American gyms to win my first fights in Madrid.”

  Padding over to where Lyssa was sitting, he reached over and grabbed her hands.

  “Besides, Alberte and the family still need me here. For as long as possible.”

  Lyssa leaned forward and kissed Silas on the mouth.

  “They need you to be fighting shape,” she countered. “Making sure you’re fit and strong enough to come back to them… That’s more important than whatever you can accomplish here.”

  Silas blinked, considering her words.

  “But where?” He eventually asked. “Jared and Nicola used to pay my bills. Now I have nowhere to stay. Nowhere to train. And I sure as hell don’t have the money to pay for either.”

  “You can stay with me,” Lyssa squeezed his hand. “It’s not much, but I’ve got a bed and bathroom and free WiFi, as long as my next-door neighbor doesn’t change his password.”

  Silas snorted, his lips curling.

  “And as for a gym,” Lyssa continued, “I know all of them in the area. I used to, y’know,” she blushed self-consciously, “date a couple of MMA fighters.”

  She didn’t clarify: “at the same time.”

  Silas cocked his head on one side, and it was clear at least a little bit of jealousy was at play.

  “I can’t pay them,” he murmured slyly. “They’ll know that, right?”

  “I can pull some strings,” Lyssa promised. “You’re a big name. This’ll be a big fight.” She smiled wryly. “Any school would be proud to have you training there.”

  Silas narrowed his eyes. He clearly wasn’t so sure.

  “Don’t worry,” Lyssa promised. “I’ll make it happen.”

  Chapter One Hundred and Three

  Lyssa

  Later that evening, Lyssa sat with her laptop in abuelo Batras’ old study, trying to make good on what she’d promised.

  And it wasn’t going as smoothly as she’d hoped.

  While Alberte, Celestina and the kids prepared dinner, Lyssa Skyped the various gym owners she was friendly with – and generally got the same response.

  “No can do, hun,” the owner of Rollins Gym, in Brooklyn, told her. “We’re booked for months.”

  “Hey, I’d love to help,” the owner of Steel Trap, in midtown Manhattan, lamented. “But our insurance wouldn’t cover it.”

  But it was the response she got from Uncle Tony, her friend and the owner of Bright Iron, that really upset her.

  “Lyssa, honey,” Tony sighed, “I wish I could. I really do, babe. But things are…” He took a deep breath. “They’re complicated, yo? You got Travis and Nikolai around and I dunno what the deal was those two, but they specifically asked you not to be around.”

  That was like a slap in the face to Lyssa. Her two former lovers, acting like cowards by asking the owner to keep her away. Typical.

  “And then there’s the big guy,” Tony added.

  “The ‘big guy’?”

  “Rashaan Jackson – the kid your boy’s ‘sposed to be fighting. Jared Hedstrom just threw down a load of cash so he can train here when he’s in town, and I don’t think it’d be too smart to have two opponents trainin’ in the same gym, capiche?”

  Fuck, Lyssa thought to herself.

  Trust Nicola and Jared to fuck things up for her. But as irritated as she was about Silas’ former sponsors gnarling up her plan, she could see the logic behind Uncle Tony’s request.

  “It’s okay, Tony,” Lyssa sighed. “I still love you.”

  “I’m sorry, hun. Come round for a slice of pizza when you’re back and we’ll talk about it, okay?”

  But Lyssa was already hanging up.

  She sat in the darkened study for a moment, racking her brains. When she’d started to call around that afternoon, she’d been totally confident about finding Silas a training facility. Hell, she was a respected MMA columnist – and Silas was one of the most notorious names in the industry.

  But apparently, neither of those things carried as much weight as she’d imagined.

  And that left her with nothing.

  No gym. No training space. Just a shitty studio apartment for Silas to slum it in, in the weeks leading up to his fight.

  With a sigh, Lyssa idly began rooting through the draws of the old desk she was sitting at – the one that had once belonged to Silas and Alberte’s father.

  It was beautiful; carved from old oak and weathered with the passing decades.

  Yet despite its age, the desk still functioned perfectly. Even the drawers slid open without a squeak.

  Except for that last one.

  Narrowing her eyes, Lyssa tried the draw at the end of the desk and it didn’t open. She couldn’t imagine why – there was nothing in any of the others except for old paperclips and newspaper cuttings from the 1970s.

  There was a key sitting on a saucer on top of the desk, and out of boredom Lyssa took it, and tried it in the lock.

  Success! The draw slid open.

  And she gasped.

  Lying inside, gleaming in the dull light, was the .380 caliber Llama III-A semi-automatic handgun that she’d confiscated from Silas, all those weeks ago during her first trip to Spain.

  The one the wheelchair-bound fighter had been contemplating blowing his brains out with.

  Lyssa slammed shut the door with a start, and re-locked it.

  She felt her heart race, and tried to dismiss her anxiety.

  Of course the gun was still going to be around. She hadn’t expected Silas to throw it out, when she’d finally returned it to him.

  She just hadn’t expected to see it again.

  If anything, though, it was reassuring that the old semi-automatic was locked up – out of reach of the two young boys, and the tempestuous MMA fighter who’d once considered ending his life with it.

  But it was kind of shocking to find something so dangerous in such an unexpected place.

  And that’s when it hit her.

  Unexpected places. Maybe that was the answer to her gym problem.

  Lyssa sat bolt upright in her seat, and wondered if the idea she’d just come up with was madness or genius.

  But she didn’t wait to figure it out.

  She reached for her laptop, and plugged in the number for the BB Martial Arts Center.

  Chapter One Hundred and Four

  Lyssa

  At dinner time, Lyssa came into the dining room with a smile on her face, and her laptop tucked triumphantly under one arm.

  “It’s settled,” she grinned, smiling at Silas she took a seat opposite him at the huge, wooden table. “I’ve got you training space and a sparring partner at BB Martial Arts Center, back home in Jersey.”

  Silas was staring lustfully at the crusty bread Celestina was laying out on the table. Since he’d accepted the fight, he’d returned to a low carb, high protein diet – and the sight of all those delicious sugary calories was killing him.

  “BB Martial Arts?” Alberte was spooning cocido montañés into his bowl, “is that one of those fancy American gyms?”

  Lyssa laughed inappropriately.

  “Not quite,” she admitted, “but it’ll do.”

  In truth, BB Martial Arts Center was a formerly run-down karate school run by up-and-coming MMA contender Benjamin ‘Bruiser’ Broderick. The place had picked up in recent months, under partnership with former MMA fighter Rob ‘Thor’ Staavig, but was still small and unknown enough to welcome the opportunity to train a potential champion.

  The only downside? In her role writing for the Herald-Tribune, Lyssa had wound up in unflattering public spats with both ‘Bruiser’ Broderick and his manager - Italian wise-ass Vinnie Del Priore.r />
  She’d had to eat a substantial amount of crow for the butt-hurt young businessmen to accept her proposal; and Ben and Vinnie would probably be serving up seconds when she and Silas finally made it back stateside.

  But at least they had somewhere to go, now – and for better or for worse, BB Martial Arts Center was where Silas would call home for the next few weeks.

  “Well,” Alberte raised his glass of Tempranillo. “Here’s to your return to America.” He turned and looked proudly at his brother. “This time, you go with my blessing.”

  “And you must promise to return to us in a better state than you did last time,” Celestina added, as she took her place next to her husband. “Stay safe.”

  Silas accepted a small glass of wine, and lifted it to join in the toast.

  “But let’s not toast to me,” he suggested. “Let’s drink to Bodegas Batras. Because after I’ve fought and won this next fight, I’m going to make sure we never risk losing this place again.”

  Lyssa joined them in the toast, and their glasses chinked.

  As she sipped the red wine, Lyssa turned to watch Alberte speak.

  “You know what, hermano? For the first time in years, I feel good about this. Like there’s nothing that can stop us now.”

  And at the same moment he said that, the sharp toot of a car horn echoed through the windows.

  Alberte, Celestina and Silas looked up.

  “What the hell?”

  There was a scrape as Alberte pushed his chair back, and headed to the window. He peered through the gap between the shutters, and his tanned face turned pale.

  The car horn sounded again, and this time it was joined by the roar of angry voices.

  “Dios Santo!” Alberte breathed. “It’s Bruno Buenaventura again – and this time, he’s brought more of his friends!”

  Chapter One Hundred and Five

  Lyssa

  Lyssa and Silas ran to the window too, and peered outside.

  In the darkness of the courtyard, a familiar-looking black Mercedes had purred to a halt – with another beaten-up Toyota pickup truck behind it.

  The headlights seared through the darkness. Raised voices echoed across the courtyard. There was the sound of boots clumping on the cobblestones, as half a dozen burly men clambered out of the bed of the pickup, or hauled themselves out of the back of the car.

  “Buena noches!” Roared Bruno Buenaventura, swinging a heavy stick in his hand. He turned to address the shuttered-up mansion. “Come out, come out, wherever you are! You have visitors!”

  “Sapristi!” Alberte’s face was pale, as he watched the gang assemble outside. “What does that tontopollas want?”

  And, as if answering that question, Bruno continued to yell:

  “You can’t keep anything from the Buenaventuras, Alberte! We heard she’s back – that American puta.” He grinned – revealing a black gap, where the tooth Silas had knocked out had once been. “I have unfinished business with that calientapollas.”

  Alberte and Silas turned to Lyssa.

  “H-he’s talking about you,” Alberte murmured.

  “I’d gathered,” Lyssa hissed back.

  “Send her out,” roared Bruno, from outside. “Send the little bitch out, or we’ll come in and get her.”

  He swung the heavy stick through the air.

  “And, trust me – you don’t want that.”

  Silas stepped away from the window.

  “That cabron,” he growled. “I’ll go out there and finish the job I started last time.” And, as his massive hands balled into fists, the massive fighter headed for the door.

  “Wait!” Alberte called after him. “There are too many of them, hermano. Even for you.”

  And as Lyssa peered through the crack in the door again, she realized Alberte was right.

  There must have been seven or eight of Bruno Buenaventura’s thugs – with baseball bats, or cricket bats.

  They meant business. And no matter how tough Silas was, he couldn’t take them on. Not all of them.

  “Send her out!” Bruno was roaring again. “I’ll give you one minute, Alberte. Sixty seconds to send that American whore out, so my boys and I can each take turns with her.”

  And then he stepped over to Alberte’s rusty old van, and smashed the windscreen with the stick he was swinging.

  “Forty five seconds, now,” Bruno growled. “And then I’m coming in there, and all bets are off.” He laughed like a hyena. “Maybe I’ll take another crack at Celestina. See if that pussy’s still as tight after twenty years.”

  “That hijo de puta,” Alberte growled, and Celestina had to wrestle him to stop him following his brother towards the door.

  “Send her out!” Bruno roared again – and this time he swung his stick into the passenger window of the old van, shattering it.

  Lyssa staggered back from the window.

  For a moment she paused, eyes wide. And then she turned, and ran from the room like a frightened deer.

  “Lyssa!” Silas called out for her – but before he could follow her, there was another crash from outside – as Bruno shattered the wing mirror of the van.

  Silas’ brown eyes narrowed.

  “I’m going out there,” he growled.

  “No, hermano,” Alberte begged. “They’ll kill you.”

  Or, if they didn’t kill him, they’d at least make sure he was in no state to fight Rashaan Jackson in six weeks’ time.

  But Silas was heading to the door, huge and looming – like a fighting bull.

  “I have no choice, brother,” he growled, as he reached for the handle. “You stay inside. Protect our family.”

  And then Silas marched fearlessly into the courtyard.

  Chapter One Hundred and Five

  Silas

  The front door of the old mansion crashed open, and Silas Batras stood framed in the doorway.

  He was alone, and outnumbered – but at the sight of his looming frame and mask-like face, all seven of Bruno Buenaventura’s thugs stopped and took a nervous step back.

  All except Bruno.

  “Silas!” The sneering Spaniard grinned, looking up at Alberte’s towering brother. “The great fighter! On his feet again!”

  Bruno opened his mouth, and pointed to the gap in his teeth.

  “Believe me, cabron. Before I leave here tonight, I’m taking one of yours in return for this.”

  Silas narrowed his eyes, and cracked the knuckles of his massive fists.

  “I’d like to see you try,” he sneered.

  For a second, fear flashed across Bruno’s face – but then the sneering Spaniard shrugged it off.

  “Boys,” he snapped, at the seven armed men behind him. “’El Torro’ up there fancies himself a fighter. I’ll give five hundred euros to the man who brings him down.”

  And, with that, the seven men started approaching Silas – like wary wolves approaching an intimidating bear.

  They swung their cricket bats and their lengths of wood, but the nervousness was obvious from all of them.

  Silas raised his massive fists, and readied himself in a fighting stance.

  “Put him back in his wheelchair, boys!” Bruno laughed.

  But before any of Buenaventura’s thugs could approach, the front door crashed open again – and this time it was Lyssa who came staggering out.

  “Wait!” She held up her hands, standing in front of Silas protectively. “Don’t hurt him. It’s me you want! And I’m here!”

  The men paused, and turned to Bruno.

  Even Buenaventura looked a little shocked to see Lyssa standing there – but he grinned wolfishly.

  “Come down here, puta,” he sneered. “It’ll please me to make your boyfriend watch this.”

  “No!” Silas made to grab Lyssa, and haul her behind him. “Lyssa, don’t. Please.”

  But she ducked out of his reach, and jumped down the steps into the courtyard.

  Three of the thugs scuttled into position between her and Silas
, and swung their crickets bats and sticks at him – forcing even the MMA fighter to back off.

  Lyssa was alone now – defenseless. She padded across the cobblestones, making sure there was nobody behind her.

  “Come here, little chicken,” Bruno grinned, as she stepped further and further away from the safety of the house. “Play nice, and I promise I won’t make it hurt when I stick it in your ass.”

  He licked his lips hungrily.

  But the smile faded, when Lyssa stopped moving.

  She stood in the center of the courtyard, facing Bruno and his seven men. And her eyes narrowed.

  “You think you can come down here and intimidate us? With bats and sticks?”

  Bruno’s smile narrowed into a thin line, as he sensed something dangerous.

  “That might work in La Rioja, you buck-toothed bastard,” Lyssa sneered, “but you’re forgetting I’m from Jersey – and over in America, we handle assholes like you differently.”

  Bruno turned to his men, and opened his mouth to shout: “Grab her!”

  But he never got past the ‘g’: Because Lyssa reached behind her, and pulled something out of the back of her pants.

  The reason she’d rounded the courtyard, keeping her back to Bruno Buenaventura and his thugs, was because in the back of her tight jeans, she’d stuffed the barrel of Silas’ father’s old .380 Llama semi-automatic.

  Hefting the heavy gun out with both hands, Lyssa flicked off the safety catch, narrowed her eyes, and squeezed the trigger.

  “Welcome to America, asshole!”

  Chapter One Hundred and Six

  Lyssa

  Blam!

  A frosted hole appeared in the front of Bruno’s Mercedes.

  Blam!

  The front tire of the pickup truck exploded.

  Blam!

  The wing mirror shattered into a thousand pieces.

  There was instant panic among Buenaventura’s thugs. One of them screamed like a girl. The others ducked for cover behind the cars. One of them ran a little too close to Silas as he made his escape – and the looming MMA fighter grabbed him by the back of his jacket, and threw him across the cobblestones.