by Cari Quinn
Fighter girl. God. His using the name Tray had given me poured more kerosene in the wound.
“Thank you.” I made it to the street before the tears started again.
They lasted for the few blocks I walked before trying to hail another cab. By then a plan had begun to form. I couldn’t be a normal friend or…girlfriend to anyone. I couldn’t sit calmly in waiting rooms with my neat, non-bloody face and hands and wait patiently for news. I definitely couldn’t act like a regular woman regarding clothes or relationships or sex.
But I could fight.
I dragged out my phone and pressed the button for Carly’s number.
“Did you hear about Fox?” Her voice pitched. “Did you find his parents?”
For the millionth time, I counted my lucky stars that I’d been given such a strong, perfect sister. She knew how to react in every circumstance. Maybe if I watched her more closely, someday I’d figure out how to mimic regular human reactions too.
“I found his parents. No word on him yet though. I’m on the way to his place to take care of his puppy.”
“A dog? Oooh, what kind?” Her excitement vibrated over the line. “Where does Fox live? I’ll meet you there.”
“Carly Ann, it’s past midnight.”
“I need to see you with my own eyes to make sure you’re all right. Now give me the damn address.”
I smiled and told her where to go, but stopped her right before she disconnected. “Wait. I need another number.”
“Jesus. Now who’re you calling? The fucking prez?”
Though I didn’t appreciate her tone, I left that battle for another day. Lifting my hand toward the row of cabs at the curb, I gritted my teeth. “His name is Giovanni Costas.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Tray
Voices crawled through my brain. Some cross, some soft and soothing. All of them disrupting my sleep.
Sleep was so very good. I’d just keep sleeping forever. No decisions to make. Nothing to worry about. No one to miss.
“He’s coming to.”
No, I wasn’t. I wouldn’t come to if that voice was waiting on the other side. My mother’s sharp nasally tones were not what I wanted to hear. Ever.
I wanted—
“Fuck,” I rasped, suddenly violently thirsty. I started to choke and someone pushed a cup to my mouth. I drank and drank some more. Then I passed out again.
That pattern repeated itself a couple times until I finally woke up and actually opened my eyes. Once I managed to get them to focus, almost, I promptly closed them again.
“I saw that, Tray.” My father rustled the paper as he folded it in his lap. “You’re awake, so stop pretending you’re not.”
Words jumbled in my head. I knew what I wanted to say, sort of, but when I opened my mouth, what came out was a version of assjkd!?@)#. At least that was my best guess. From my father’s expression—yes, I’d opened my eyes again, masochist that I am—he wasn’t too impressed with my verbal skills.
“Try that again.”
His patient tone earned a snarl. At least I could still make noises.
“Are you in pain?”
I took stock. Other than the throb in my skull, which pulsed like a strobe light, most of the rest of me felt okay. And oh yeah, that eye focusing thing was a problem. I belatedly realized that I was only seeing with one of them. The other was a mess. When I squinted at my dad, he turned into two Elliott Knoxes.
My own personal vision of hell.
“Your eye socket is fractured,” he said, his voice as even as if he were reporting the news. “You’re most likely experiencing some pain, light sensitivity, and double vision. That will be corrected with surgery in a few weeks once the swelling goes down and you’ve recovered from the cold you’ve contracted. I’ve contacted a personal friend who is coming in to consult on your case.”
A cold too? What the fuck? I hadn’t had one of those in ten years. Somehow that seemed like more of an affront than the busted eyeball.
I closed my now watering eye and lifted my arm with its lovely new accessory of an IV drip to clutch my head. “Where the fuck are the…” Maybe I’d just stick with the word fuck since it was the only one I seemed to remember without difficulty. “Pills?”
“I’ll call the nurse in a moment.”
Oh sure. Take your time. No worries here, I just have an eyeball sinking into my head.
Christ, I could actually feel where it had sunk into the socket. Disgusting.
My father crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. “You also have a concussion. Moderate, I’m told. Once you manage to remain conscious for a few hours, you’ll be sent home.”
I grunted. Since I was a lame ass who couldn’t even stay awake, surely he couldn’t expect more.
“Considering the dangerous, life-threatening sport you’ve chosen to engage in, one might think you would’ve taken provisions to let your fighter friends or even your girlfriends—”
Girlfriends being synonymous with whores in his mind, though he wouldn’t speak such vulgarity.
“—know your family’s contact numbers so they could alert us if you got yourself killed. Instead your little ragamuffin had to find us on her own.”
I’d tuned him out somewhere around the word family—ha, what a joke—but he got my attention again with ragamuffin.
“Mia?” I croaked. That name flew from my brain to my lips with no disconnect. Even serious brain trauma couldn’t shake her loose.
He gave me a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. “She’s not your usual type, now is she?”
She was no one’s usual type. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of trying and failing to speak again.
“She came in here yesterday and marched right up to your mother and demanded your status. I assumed she must be one of those floozies you consort with until Slater dragged her away. They were talking about some fight, and it wasn’t yours.”
Too much information. I sagged into the pillow. What was Slater doing with Mia? Where were they? Why had they left me alone with this asshole? But I didn’t say any of it.
“It took some doing, but I figured out this Mia person is a fighter too. And she intends to fight the man who took you down.” My father examined his manicure. “The company you keep concerns me, Trayherne. I do have to thank her for going to the trouble of contacting us—God knows you wouldn’t have bothered—but I think a clean break from these sorts of individuals is best. Now is the perfect time.”
None of this was making sense. I willed my brain to work. Mia. Slater.
She intends to fight the man who took you down.
“No.” I shot up in bed so fast that I jostled the IV line and nearly toppled it. My father caught the pole with an aggrieved huff of breath. “You have to stop her.”
“No, I do not. She’s not your concern. You need to get well.”
I’d stop her myself. I started to swing my legs out of bed, swiftly realized that was a very bad idea, and slumped to my side. “Just fucking get Slater.”
“I’m here, man.” Slater crossed the room toward me. I hadn’t noticed him before, which probably wasn’t shocking considering I was half blind. “Relax. Everything’s okay.” He coughed. “Mr. K’s just worried about you. Right, Mr. K?”
My father grumbled something that could’ve been an agreement or possibly a threat in Bulgarian.
“Maybe you should join Mrs. K in the coffee shop. Let her know Tray’s awake. And yanno, ease up on the suggestions Tray kick me out of his life when I love him like a goddamn brother.” Slater delivered the last with a bright smile that could’ve provided power to a small country.
“Until you break your ties with that illegal sport, you’re an unsavory influence on my impressionable son. If you decide to walk away, then it may be a different story.”
“Your impressionable son is the one who fostered my ties with MMA in the first place. Which you well know. I’m just a guy who surfs with his dog.” Slater held his hands p
alm-up in a gesture of perfect innocence. “Go get a coffee and something to eat. I’ll sit with Tray.”
“I’ll be back.” My father strode out.
Slater dropped into the chair beside my bed. “He makes a piss poor Arnold.”
“He makes a piss poor…father too.” I shifted more fully onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. Thoughts were blowing around my brain like someone had turned on a fan, but I couldn’t catch most of them. I was still so exhausted.
Concussion, eye socket fracture, plus God knew what else. Costas must have been crowing his ass off, thinking he laid me up good.
I rolled my head to the side and squinted at Slater. Thanks to my fucked-up vision, there were a couple of him to choose from, and none of them were smiling. “Mia. Costas.”
Slater leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “She’s a wild thing, huh?”
I wanted to smile. Almost did. Then something caught between jealousy and possessiveness mixed with a whole lot of drugs and pain turned it into a glare. I think. It’s hard to tell what message you’re sending when the recipient multiplies before your eyes.
“Yeah, I get it. Back off. You really think I’m poaching on your land while you’re in a hospital bed? I do have some standards.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “You scared us. Her especially.”
I’d think about that later. “Costas. Don’t…let her near him.”
“It was my mistake. She asked me for his number and of course I wouldn’t give it to her. But I let it slip that he trains at The Cage with Bufort and next thing I know, I hear from Emerson that she’s been questioning half the guys at the gym. She’s tenacious. She also lies as easy as she breathes.” Slater shook his head. “She pretended she just wanted to talk to him. Total BS. Emerson said she put the word out that she wanted to switch her fight with you to a fight with him, still set three weeks from now. Most of the guys think she’s loco so they’re laughing it off.”
Laughing off Mia was a dangerous mistake. I’d done the same, and I’d set in motion the series of events that had left me on my back in a damn hospital bed.
Anger spurted hot and thick through my gut. Holy fuck, I was pissed. At Costas. At Mia. At myself, most of all. I’d come into the ring in prime position to lose. I hadn’t been ready to fight in any way, least of all mentally. I deserved every bit of the ass whupping I’d taken.
But I’d fucking get my own back. I didn’t need my woman—whether or not she acknowledged being that didn’t change the reality—running interference for me. And I sure as shit didn’t need her taking blows that had my name on them.
I’d lost to Costas, fair and square. And I was walking away. Not because my daddy said so, not because I was scared that I couldn’t hang anymore, but because I wanted out. For good.
“You have to…keep her away from…him.” Somehow I managed a coherent sentence. “I’ll be better in a day or two. I’ll set her straight…then.”
Slater smirked despite the heavy lines around his eyes. Lines I’d probably put there. “Good luck with that.”
“Where is she?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure. She got into it pretty good with your dad yesterday and I haven’t seen her since. As obnoxious as he was with her, she held her own.” Admiration filled Slater’s voice. “She’s a tough chick, man.”
Yeah, she was. Impressively so. If I’d been looking for someone to take to the next level skill-wise, she would’ve been the perfect choice.
I wasn’t. I wanted a girlfriend. I wanted her.
I rubbed my aching forehead. Everything ached, including my hands. I’d walloped Costas good, even though he’d won. Cold comfort.
It was probably good she wasn’t at the hospital. I couldn’t see her right now. I appreciated her wanting to exact revenge or whatever she was trying to do—or hell, perhaps she’d decided she wouldn’t get any money from fighting me, so why not take on the new champ—but that wasn’t what I needed from Mia. I wanted her at my side. Not in front of me, not behind me. Elbow to fucking elbow.
But that didn’t mean I held out a lot of hope. Getting cracked in the skull had finally driven home that us being a couple might not be in the cards, now or ever. No matter how much I wished otherwise.
I’d let her completely tie me up over the last couple of weeks. That had to stop. I couldn’t take care of someone who wouldn’t let me. I also couldn’t take care of her when my own ass was hanging in the wind. Literally, since I could feel the breeze on my frigging butt every time I moved.
That didn’t mean I intended to turn my back on her. I needed to take a few days to get myself straight. Then I’d deal with Mia.
“While I’m in here…I need a favor, man.” I didn’t say any more and I didn’t look at him.
“Yeah.” Slater sighed. “Already on it.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Get better fast, because I seriously doubt I can contain her for long.”
I managed to smile, but it hurt like hell. “Already on it.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mia
“Are you sure about this?”
There were a lot of things I wasn’t sure about. Staying away from the hospital since Tray’s dad had chased me off was one of them. I hadn’t wanted to make things more difficult on his family, and besides, I didn’t belong in a place like that. I didn’t deserve a place of honor at Tray’s bedside.
I was just the girl who was going to put her own head on the line for him. And would enjoy—in my own sick, twisted way—doing it. The money I hoped to win would be a bonus. A big one, since I still needed it to get me and Carly out of town.
But first, I intended to kick Costas’ ass.
“I’m sure.” I turned sideways and looked at myself in the gym mirror. I wore one of Carly’s V-neck tops. It was bright pink and had some kind of frilly crap on the sleeves. My bulky shoulders made it more snug on me, but I still wouldn’t draw too much attention with my non-impressive cleavage. “Is my shirt tight enough?”
Carly pursed her lips. “I still think you should’ve gone for the socks.”
“Thanks, Sis.” She wasn’t wrong, but it was too late now. I was rocking the tits I’d been born with, and they’d either get the job done or they wouldn’t.
She moved behind me and started fussing with the snaps of my bra under the shirt. “No wonder. You had it on the loosest snaps.”
“So?”
“Plump the girls, watch the boys’ eyes whirl.” She re-clasped my bra and stepped to the side. “There you go. Much better. Now twist your nipples.”
I tilted my head and tried to ignore the slight warmth in my cheeks. I wasn’t happy I actually looked like I had boobs for once. Absolutely not.
“Hello? Earth to Ame. Nipple twist.”
I was not doing this. I so wasn’t.
Except I was.
“Good job.” She nodded and dug through her makeup bag of tricks. “You need more mascara.” She approached me with the wand of purple gunk, issuing commands for me to “look up” and “look down” and bat my lashes to get the clumpy stuff off. I felt like a cross between a showgirl and a streetwalker, but as long as I got what I wanted, it would all be worthwhile.
Even enlisting my sister to help me, as skeevy as I felt about it. I wanted her far away from this world yet I might as well have offered her an engraved invitation. I hadn’t exactly asked her to come to the gym with me, but I knew my sister. She’d insist on being at my side no matter what. And for once, I was happy not to be alone.
The faster she made me up, the faster this all would be over. For both of us.
Next came glittery eyeshadow and enough lipstick to make me feel like Miley Cyrus’ forgotten twin. Carly fussed with my hair, finally pulling it up in a high ponytail that bounced down my back. It wasn’t all that felt too bouncy. So did my ass in those tiny boy shorts under my super short black mini, also courtesy of my sister.
She took a moment to tie off her hair i
nto two long pigtails and whisk brushes and tubes over her face. Then she turned to me and blinked her enormous blue eyes in silent contemplation.
“Well?” I demanded.
“Almost there. Now you practice the walk. Observe.” She strutted toward the full-length mirror on the opposite wall, pivoted, and walked back. Her hips shimmied to their own beat. “See? Easy. You try.”
I tried to imitate what I’d seen. Carly’s laughter told me I hadn’t succeeded.
“C’mere. Watch me.” She slapped her hands flat on the wall, stuck out her butt and swiveled her hips. “If your hips don’t sway right, it all falls apart. Work ’em in a slow circle. Simulate sex.”
“I don’t simulate sex while walking,” I muttered.
She laughed again and guided me over to the wall before fastening her palms to my hips. “Work with me, okay? Follow my hands.”
I followed them, and after a few minutes, I started to get the hang of it. After what seemed like my fifteenth trip down the locker room catwalk, she declared me “not hopeless.”
“You have great fucking legs. Seriously. Master the walk and you’ll have any guy eating out of—” She paused and grinned. “Let’s just say you’ll do fine.”
“God, you scare me sometimes.” I tugged her toward the door. “Let’s get this done.”
We headed down the hall. Strutting, sashaying, wiggling our butts. We probably looked like overly made-up cats in heat.
While strutting, I cast the side-eye at anyone who took too much interest in my sister. I’d recruited her help against my better judgment, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t kick some serious ass if need be.
I was kind of hoping I’d get the chance.
“Where are all the chicks?” Carly asked.
It was a reasonable question. We’d been the only ones in the ladies’ room for the entire twenty minutes we’d been puffing and buffing or whatever the hell women called that stuff.
“They’re allowed to join, but they usually don’t last long,” I explained. “This is strictly old boys’ network territory.”
