BOUND TO A KILLER: A Second Chance MMA Romance

by Evelyn Glass

  Tammy’s eyes follow the direction of his stare, zeroing in on the girl that he’s blatantly focused on, and she feels herself needing that drink. “Asshole.” She says the word under her breath, clearly hoping to get a rise out of him, but Grayson couldn’t be any less interested in what she has to say. He’s vaguely aware that she makes a frustrated sound in the back of her throat and storms off towards the bar, heels clattering noisily along the floor.

  For a moment, he thinks about going after her, apologizing for behaving like such a heel, but what would be the point? He doesn’t want to give her any false hope; he’s not what you would call boyfriend material. He wonders when he’d become so cold, but he already knows the answer. It was after that night. He’d taken a life, and there was no going back from that. Besides, he can’t seem to pull his eyes away from the girl on the dancefloor. He’s grateful that from his vantage point he can see what’s going on beneath him, but he can’t be seen. He feels like a peeping tom. Speaking of which…

  “You alright, man?” Tommy collapses on the couch beside him. “Never seen a guy look so down after a few minutes in a dark corner with a chick like that.” He looks ruefully at his friend.

  “Not my type,” Grayson says and shrugs, forcibly pulling his focus away from the dancing girl.

  “You always say that. What exactly is your type then? It’s not like you don’t have your pick of them.” Tommy nods towards their section of the VIP area, which is filled with women, catering to all tastes. They dart looks over to Grayson, their eyes filled with longing. He knows that he wouldn’t need to make an effort to get any one of them into bed, but there was something vaguely depressing about that. He shrugs noncommittally, and Tommy shakes his head in confusion. “Yeah, it must totally suck to be Grayson Fletcher,” he jokes.

  There’s only a few years between them, but sometimes it feels like a lifetime. Tommy is his closest friend; his natural, youthful exuberance and sense of fun is a good antidote to Grayson’s serious, even dark, nature. There’s no doubt in Grayson’s mind that if Tommy knew what he’d done, what had happened in the ring all those years ago, and how he’d spent years after that as the pawn of a bookie—winning matches and losing them as he directed—that his friend would think less of him. It wouldn’t matter that Grayson had used the winnings to support his mom and his sister, throwing fights was still wrong. Plus, it went against everything they both loved about the sport. It was about two men meeting on equal terms and fighting as hard as they could to win. Throwing a match shouldn’t have been in his vocabulary. If Tommy knew about his past, he would cease to look up to him like he does, and the realization of that makes Grayson’s gut twist into a knot. He’s lost so much, he can’t lose his best friend, too.

  “Things aren’t always what they seem, Tommo,” Grayson gives his friend a conciliatory tap on the shoulder as he gets up. “I think I’ve had enough for one night, besides I’ve got a hot date with West and my running shoes in about,” he squints at his watch, “5 hours.”

  “You can’t leave now, G. The party’s just getting started!” Tommy nudges him hard, trying to distract him and goad him into a play fight.

  “G’dnight Tommy. Enjoy Tammy.” Grayson nods towards the girl who is fast approaching them with two drinks in her hand. He has no intention of sticking around for her to shoot him daggers as she tries to make him jealous with his best friend. He just wants Tommy to have a good time, you don’t turn twenty-five every day.

  He pushes his way through the inebriated crowd; the effect of the couple of beers he’s had already worn off. He’s being pushed in different directions by the dancing bodies, and he can feel his patience is wearing dangerously thin. Girls try to grind up against him as he passes, but he just brushes past them, heading towards the exit as fast as he can, suddenly desperate to get out of there. He hates the feeling of being trapped at the best of times, but that in combination with his anger at himself over the way he’d behaved with Tammy is proving to be a dangerous cocktail.

  He’s guiding a particularly drunk girl away from his crotch, as she’s trying to go all R Kelly on him, when he’s bumped from behind. He feels the telltale dampness through his t-shirt, telling him that someone has just spilled a drink on him. Grayson can feel his temper ratcheting up, his fists clench, as he tries to control his rage. He spins around, primed for action, ready to tell the asshole he should watch where he’s going or face the consequences. Then, every thought rushes out of his head, as he comes face to face with her, with the dark-haired girl who had caught his attention on the dance floor.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ADRIANA

  Her mouth works but, for a few seconds, no sound comes out. She’s literally dumbstruck. It takes a few moments to pull herself together before she can speak the one word that she’d promised not to say out loud again. “Grayson?”

  Adriana can’t believe that the man in front of her is real. She’s spent so long thinking about him and then trying not to think about him that he’d become a dream rather than a real person. He’s still so tall she has to crane her neck up to look at him—despite wearing skyscraper heels. He has the same chestnut curly hair that she’d imagined running her fingers through a thousand times. His dark eyes still have a way of making you feel like you’re the only one in the room when he looks at you. There’s no doubt it’s him; the butterflies in her stomach wouldn’t deceive her even if her eyes might.

  He is the same Grayson, but oh so different. He’s broader, his whole body oozes muscular masculinity, and the tight t-shirt shows off some pretty impressive guns. His arms are snaked with tattoos; they run up from his wrist and disappear up his sleeve. Adriana has to resist the urge to think about what he looks like without his shirt on. His forehead seems to be locked into a frown that casts a shadow over his whole face, making him look far more serious than the rebellious boy she’d talked and laughed with all those years ago. He is older, they both are, but it isn’t just in years. There is something about him she can’t quite put her finger on.

  Grayson stares at her silently; the angry expression on his face has disappeared, but in its place is blankness. Of course, she thinks, he’s forgotten who I am. It makes perfect sense; they’d known each other a long time ago after all. But it doesn’t make it any easier to accept that the man she has not been able to stop thinking about for close to a decade has no idea who she is.

  Adriana takes a deep breath and sticks her hand out for him to shake, as if they were in a business meeting, not in the middle of a trendy nightclub. “Adriana, from back in Philly. You used to walk me home sometimes.” She helpfully supplies an explanation of who she is, feeling more embarrassed by the second.

  Grayson’s expression is carefully unreadable, as he shakes her hand. She feels a jolt of recognition as soon as she touches him, the heat of him, reminding her of how he had made her feel a decade ago. She notices that all the women around her—and some of the men—have their attention trained on him. It’s not hard to see why. He’s like sex on a stick, and no one can take their eyes off of him. She feels like an idiot and breaks the shake, nervously tucking her long black hair behind her ear.

  “Of course, Adriana Garza.” The way he says her name makes it sound like a song. “It’s good to see you.” He smiles at her politely, and she wonders if this distant politeness is actually worse than him not remembering her at all. “You look…”—he seems to be searching for the right word as his eyes travel over her—“…great!”

  She wishes that her dress wasn’t quite so short or quite so figure hugging. Willow had picked it out for her shortly before making the point that in thirty years she would wish she could wear a dress like that. Now, she suddenly feels like the ugly duckling amongst the beautiful girls around them, drab and awkward next to their shining confidence.

  “Thanks, so do you.” She wishes that her voice didn’t sound quite so husky, like she was having trouble breathing. It had only taken one look at him, and she was back to square one, which ma
de her irrationally angry.

  They stand awkwardly in silence for a little while until Adriana raises her now-empty drink and waves it in front of her. “Guess I should get another drink since I managed to spill the first one. Sorry about that.” She nods sheepishly towards the bottom of his t-shirt stained with her cocktail.

  Grayson waves away her apology as if he’d barely noticed the fact that she’d probably just ruined what looked to be a seriously expensive shirt. “Let me get that for you.” He waves towards the barman who instantly makes his way over to them despite there being a whole heap of other people ahead of them. “A drink for the lady, cranberry and,”—Grayson playfully lifts up his t-shirt to sniff the damp patch—“vodka I’m guessing?” He throws her a smile.

  Adriana blushes in spite of herself and nods her thanks to the barman. “Thanks, but you don’t have to. I should be buying as I’m the one who spilled my drink on you!”

  Grayson shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve gotta head out soon anyway.” Adriana nods in understanding, hoping that she’s not the reason for his sudden swift exit. He looks around, anywhere but at her, and she wonders if her presence is making him uncomfortable. He probably has things to do; he probably has a girl who he was going to hooking up with and now Adriana has appeared out of nowhere to interrupt his night.

  “So what brings you to Miami?” Grayson peels off a twenty from a wad of cash in his pocket, pushing it over to the barman, as he slides Adriana’s fresh drink over to her. “You on holiday?” He keeps looking around as if he’s checking out if there might be someone more interesting behind her.

  “No, umm, I live here. I have pretty much since high school. I’m a nurse over at Mercy.” She takes a sip of her pink drink, hoping that it’ll help to calm her nerves. It isn’t just the surprise of seeing Grayson again or the effect that his physical presence has on her, it is the fact that all the feelings that she has worked so hard to bury have come bubbling up to the surface, leaving her feeling like that lost sixteen year old girl again. You’re a strong, independent woman, she reminds herself. You are not that sad little girl anymore. She stands up a little straighter at the thought of that and looks directly at Grayson, hoping to project something like confidence.

  “A nurse, wow, that’s great.” Grayson nods in appreciation and looks her straight in the eyes before letting his gaze roam around the club again. “You like it?”

  “Yeah, I mean it’s not exactly the most glamorous job in the world, but I love it. I’m in the Pedes ward—Pediatrics—and corny as it sounds it’s really rewarding to work with kids. It can be heartbreaking sometimes, when you lose one, but it just makes you want to try even harder to save as many as you can.” She closes her mouth abruptly; it’s more than she had meant to say. She’s usually uncomfortable talking about herself, but for some reason the words are just spilling out. Great, she thinks to herself, he asked you a three word question and you give him your life story.

  “So, what have you been up to?” She takes another sip of her drink, as she tries to bat the focus back onto him. Fade into the background; it was the defense that her father had taught her.

  Grayson looks a little uncomfortable suddenly, fidgeting with a cocktail napkin like he doesn’t really want to be there. “I’m, uh, I’m a fighter—MMA.” He doesn’t offer any further information, and he says the words a little apologetically, as if he thinks she might disapprove.

  “So, it was you then.” The words are out of Adriana’s mouth before she realizes that she’s said them out loud rather than just in her mind.

  Grayson throws her a questioning glance. “What was me?”

  “I met one of your fans today. I patched up a kid in the hospital who had hurt himself trying out one of your moves. He showed me your flyer. You’re ‘The Punisher’ aren’t you?” Adriana asks the question although she already knows the answer.

  “Guilty as charged,” Grayson ducks his head down in mock-acceptance. The lop-sided grin on his face is charming but hollow, nothing like his real smile. His moods seemed to change from charming to indifferent and back again in the space of a second. “So, I’m guessing you don’t watch any MMA?” He seems to find the idea amusing.

  “That would be an accurate guess. I spend my time patching people up, watching them hurt each other would be kind of a contradiction.” She shrugs, as if there isn’t anything more to it than that and then wonders too late if she’s managed to offend him.

  But Grayson just nods thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”

  “There you are! How long does it take you to get a drink, hot stuff? I thought in that dress, the bar-guy would’ve served you first!” Willow barrels in to Adriana, not even taking in Grayson standing next to her.

  Adriana blushes, hoping that it’s too dark in the club for Grayson to see her embarrassment. “I was just catch up with an old—” Adriana stops short, not knowing how to describe Grayson, ‘friend’ seemed too presumptuous, ‘acquaintance’ too cold, ‘flame’ too mortifying.

  But Willow saves the day, not letting Adriana flounder for long. “I’m Willow. Pleased to meet you…”

  “Grayson, Adriana and I know each other from Philly.” He smiles charmingly at Willow, and Adriana has to stop herself from rolling her eyes as her friend almost melts into a puddle right there and then.

  “You’ll stay for a drink, right? I want to hear all about how you and my beautiful best friend know each other. She hardly ever talks about people from back home.” Willow signals to the bartender for another drink, catching his attention effortlessly. Not for the first time, Adriana wishes that she had her friend’s easy confidence. Willow had told her it came from being born into money, ‘no’ wasn’t a word she had ever had to learn.

  Adriana elbows her friend in the ribs, a little harder than strictly necessary. “That’s sweet of you Will, but I think Grayson was just leaving. I already held him up by spilling my drink on him. We don’t want to interrupt his night anymore.” The looks she throws Willow tells her that she’s not messing around, and her friend looks confused, surprised at Adriana’s sternness, but she keeps her mouth closed.

  For a moment, Grayson almost looks disappointed. Adriana wonders how much of that has to do with the way Willow looks with her flaming red hair, statuesque build, and radiating self-belief. She and Willow were the polar opposite of each other, but she had never felt jealous of her friend until exactly this moment.

  “Yeah, I should get going. Nice to meet you, Willow. Good to see you, Adriana.” Grayson looks like he’s about to say something else, but he just nods a goodbye at them both before turning abruptly on his heels and walking away. It only takes a few steps before the crowd swallows him up and Adriana loses sight of him.

  She leans on the bar, feeling her legs shaking. How is it possible for him to have this effect on me, even after all these years?

  “So are you going to tell me what the hell that was all about?” Willow turns her attention back onto her friend. “Honey, you’re shaking. What’s the matter?” Willow’s eyes are wide with concern, as she puts her arm around her.

  “You always said that if you ever got your hands on the guy that broke my heart you would rip his eyes out and feed them to him.” Adriana pushes herself up from the bar, forcing her legs to stop trembling. “Well, you just tried to buy him a drink.”

  “Holy shit, Adrie. The guy you were in love with was Grayson Fletcher, the fighter?” Willow’s lipstick-painted mouth turns into a perfect ‘o.’

  Adriana shoots her a suspicious look. “I thought you didn’t know who he was?”

  “It took me a few seconds, but once he told me his name the pieces fell into place.” Willow shrugs like it’s no big deal, as she takes a sip of her martini.

  “You watch mixed martial arts?” Adriana frowns at her willowy friend in disbelief.

  “I faint at the sight of blood. Do you think I could watch that stuff without giving myself a concussion?” Willow shakes her head dismissively. “But
he’s making his way up the ranks, he’s the next big thing, and it’s my business to know all the powerful players in Miami. I have to know who to invite to openings, who should be seen at the best clubs.”

  “Oh, right.” Adriana nods her head dully; it all makes sense. The thrill that she’d felt at seeing Grayson has given way to embarrassment and then the flood of hurt that she had been hanging on to for years overpowers everything else. “Will, I think I’m going to go home.”

  She expects Willow to fight her on this, like she does every time they go out and Adriana wants to leave before Willow is ready to. But Willow surprises her. “Sure, honey. Let’s get out of here. This place is dead anyway.”