Conflict (Black Hearts MMA, #2)

by Kylie Hillman

  I hold on tight and allow him to use my body to drive us both closer to the peak we’re chasing. When my walls start to spasm, he reaches between us and rubs my clit. I let go of his neck and dig my nails into his scalp.

  Nate moans.

  I whimper.

  We fall over the summit of our climax.

  Me first, with Nate hot on my heels.

  As ecstasy overwhelms me, I backflip on my earlier decision.

  Maybe I’m going to enjoy Nate’s kind of danger more than I first thought?

  Friends with benefits can still work... as long as I remember to tell him my rules this time.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Nate

  Five weeks later

  “Good. Good.” Steve yells at me from the side of the ring. “Now full mount. Pin him. Get your hooks in properly. I want him tapping within sixty seconds.”

  Amy claps her hands from her position behind Steve. My girl is a squeamish one. It’s taken me weeks to get her to agree to leave her little office and watch me train when her desk isn’t too busy. Thankfully, Steve seems to be getting further on board with us as more time passes and our relationship proves to be an asset to his business and not the hindrance he first predicted.

  He no longer takes pot shots about our level of distraction whenever we’re in the same room since he’s realised that I’m more focused when she’s around. I also refrain from telling him that part of the reason why Amy seems to concentrate better after I’ve been in her office to assist her so she can come watch me train is because I regularly fuck his gorgeous assistant on his desk...

  And up against his office wall.

  And bent over her desk.

  And on the couch in the waiting room.

  And the stairwell that leads to the parking garage.

  Things with Amy are going great. I wish the same could be said for me and Hooligan or me and Jep or me and anyone connected to Black Hearts MMA. Somewhere along the way, we’ve lost our way. Our comradery has been lost. The Four Freaks are no more and my relationship with my uncle has never bounced back from the Jep and Gabbi incident.

  We had one afternoon where I thought that we’d reconnected—me, Jep, and Hooligan had saved Gabbi from one of her mother’s boyfriends—but it had died the next day. A gaping chasm, a divide I can’t work out how to cross, sits between me and my old life.

  I don’t know how to get it back.

  Truthfully, I don’t know if I want it back.

  Amy is enough for me; stupid rules aside. She consumes my every waking moment and blesses my dreams with her presence.

  “Mount. I said full fucking mount,” Steve screams. “Get off your back.”

  Too late I discover that I’ve lost focus during the mock-fight I’m in the middle of with one of Steve’s older fighters and I’m currently sprawled on my back with the heavy fucker sweating all over me from his top position.

  Kicking out my legs, I attempt to right my position.

  It’s too late. I’m pinned, and in the next ten seconds, I find myself trapped in a perfectly-executed guillotine. With no choice but to tap out, I submit. Laying on my back, I try to catch my breath, all the while Steve chucks at fit at the side of the ring.

  “Head in the fucking game, Nate.” He slaps the mat. “I don’t know how many times I’ve watched you get into the top position only to head off into gaga land and end up pinned. What the fuck gives?”

  Amy offers me a small smile, then the intercom bell goes, and she hurries out of the room to attend to whoever is summoning her now. I roll onto my side and reluctantly face Steve.

  His face is red. Annoyance and misunderstanding hangs around him like a dense cloud. He’s not happy with me and I can see him wavering on his decision to train me.

  “If this keeps happening, we might need to reassess our agreement.” Steve finally says the words I’ve been expecting. “I need someone who’s hungry. You’re too hit and miss right now to make it in the pro’s.”

  “I’ll do better.”

  “I really hope so because I can’t afford to pour money into a dead end.”

  The noise in my head that crowds out my rational thoughts kicks up a notch. Desperately, I stare at the door Amy left through in the hope that she’ll returned to save my sanity.

  No such luck.

  It remains closed and I remain adrift.

  A victim of my own bad wiring.

  “My kid brother was like that,” the fighter who just submitted me says to Steve. “My parents got him on some pills, and he’s been fine ever since. Takes a while to find the right combo, but it worked.”

  My boss cocks his head to the side. He peers at me with narrow-eyed assessment. “What was wrong with him?”

  Holy shit. This guy is about to blow my secret out of the water if I don’t stop him.

  Getting back to my feet, I climb out of the ring and try to distract Steve by holding out my hands so he can unwrap my straps. When silence grows, and the other fighter doesn’t answer Steve’s question, I begin to believe that my prayer has been answered.

  Of course, my luck doesn’t hold.

  It never does.

  “Ah, it’s Attention Hyperactivity...” he starts then trails off. Drawing his eyebrows together, I watch him try to remember the label I’ve worn since I was fifteen. I wish I had a gun so I could shoot him straight in his frown mark and stop him from ruining everything I’ve been working for over the past month. “ADHD is the acronym they use. I remember my dad joking about how they can fill my little brother full of legal speed and get away with it.”

  He offers me a look of reassurance. “It’s just something to look into, man. I’m sure it’s no biggie. And if it helps, what do you have to lose? It’s obvious you have some kind of problem. I mean, I was sure you had me, then I felt your grip go slack and your mind seemed to wander off. Even when I punched you in the ribs, you didn’t flinch.”

  Baring my teeth at him in a crude rendition of a smile, I touch the ribs he just mentioned and hiss. They’re sore as fuck. He must have hit me, yet I don’t remember the pain of the impact.

  I was too busy daydreaming about all the places I’d fucked Amy in The Fitness Hub.

  Steve hasn’t stopped looking at me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to put together and it’s freaking me out. Once my wraps are undone, I start packing my belongings into my back pack as quickly as I can.

  The need to get out of here is spiraling through me. It crashes around in my skull. Banging and clanging its way through my synapses with the grace of a bull in a china shop.

  “Is it cool if I take an early mark?”

  My boss nods, but he still doesn’t speak. The walls are closing in. I can feel it. The seed has been planted in his head and it’s not going to be long before he decides to look further into it, or worse, he asks Hooligan.

  Time has come for me to bite the bullet... one way or another.

  It’s up to me to choose which outcome I prefer the best—unwilling exposure or reluctant confession.

  I don’t bother closing the door to the training room behind me when I leave without acknowledging either of the men. Rather than take the long way through the gym so I can say goodbye to Amy, I duck out the back and use the tradesman’s entrance.

  Securing my back pack, I jam on my helmet and speed away from work like the bats from Hell are on my arse.

  Because they might not be physically chasing me.

  But they are hot on my tail.

  Ready or not, the day of reckoning fast approaches.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Amy

  Pulling in a deep breath, I exhale slowly then metaphorically pull up my big girl panties and exit my car. I’ve been sitting in the parking lot of the Black Hearts MMA gym for fifteen minutes, having left home early before work so I’d have enough time for this side-errand.

  Now, instead of taking action, I’m going back and forth with myself over my decision to come here and face Nate.

  He’s been av
oiding everyone for a week.

  Calling in sick to work and sending my calls to his message bank.

  Gabbi’s been going through her own crap so I’ve been reluctant to question her too much about his absence and Steve reacts like I’m personally attacking him whenever I mention his missing Night Manager.

  All in all, it’s a mess, and my spidey senses are telling me that something big is about to go down.

  I’m not vain enough to believe that Nate’s abrupt disappearance has anything to do with me. After all, I’ve been firm and stuck to my rules about being home before Max wakes and not spending more than three nights a week with Nate. Thankfully, that number doesn’t include our romps at work because ‘d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy them.

  Even watching Nate train has been fun. Professional fighting mightn’t be a sport I understand; however Nate’s enthusiasm is contagious. The obvious joy he takes out of mastering the techniques and creating strategies to get his opponents where he wants them has been eye-opening. There’s so much more to him than the hard-partying MMA fighter I had him pegged as when we first met.

  Which leads us to here... with me turning up to his uncle’s gym unannounced to find out the real reason he’s avoiding everyone.

  Black Hearts MMA is nothing like The Fitness Hub. Steve and Hooligan might be mates but they have very different ideas of what constitutes a gym. While Steve’s facility is located in one of the better suburbs of Sydney and his apparatus is expensive and state of the art, Black Hearts MMA looks like it’s been stuck in the middle of a ghetto and filled with utilitarian equipment designed with comfort as an afterthought.

  “Can I help you?” A tall, dark-haired man approaches me when I pull the heavy door shut behind me. He’s probably mid-forties, incredibly fit-looking, and speaks with a slight Italian accent. “Not to seem rude, but you’re not our usual type of cold caller.”

  Whether he’s trying to be rude or not, he certainly comes off that way. Smoothing down my skirt, I stand as tall as I can in my platform wedges and hold my head high as I reply, “I’m looking for Nate. Is he here?”

  A tiny bit of warmth appears in the man’s eyes. “You’re Amy, aren’t you?”

  “Ah, yes, I am.” Since I haven’t mentioned Nate to anyone outside of work and Gabbi, I’d expected that he’d been much the same. I’m surprised that this man has the first clue who I am. “Can I speak to Nate please?”

  “He’s not here,” the man replies. He lifts his chin in the direction of the door I entered through. “He hasn’t graced us with his presence for a week.”

  “I haven’t seen him either and I’m worried about him so thought if I came here, I’d be able to talk to him to make sure he’s all right.”

  Lifting an eyebrow, the man searches my face before he speaks again. “Do you have his address?”

  “Yes.” That’s not exactly true. I couldn’t tell you Nate’s address, but I’ve been there enough times in the middle of the night to be able to find my way there easily. “I thought I’d try here first, it seemed like less of an intrusion in his personal space.”

  “Ah.” The man manages to raise his eyebrow higher. “I must have been mistaken... I was under the impression you’d already been in his personal space.”

  As innuendos go, his is masterfully lobbed. My face heats and I recognise that coming here was a mistake. I should have gone to his house first. I was going to, but fear held me back.

  I wasn’t sure how I’d react if I found another woman there.

  We hadn’t set any rules around exclusivity. It hadn’t crossed my mind since I’ve never thought to sleep with more than one person at once. Nate mightn’t have the same qualms, though. And I didn’t want to accidentally find out whether I was his only FWB or not.

  “Maybe try there.” the tall man suggests with a smile. I nod, then turn to leave without saying another word to him. There’s just something about him that makes me uncomfortable. “I’m Angelo, by the way. An uncle of sorts to Nate.”

  My step falters. I let my curiousity get the better of me, so I turn around to look at him again. “How does an uncle of sorts not know where his nephew is?”

  Angelo laughs. It’s a rich sound, full of mirth and a little bit of sarcasm. “Who said I don’t know where he is? I simply said he hadn’t been here for a week.”

  The enigmatic man dismisses me with another bout of rumbling laughter before he disappears through an archway and leaves me standing in the entry to Black Hearts MMA by myself.

  “Whatever,” I mutter under my breath as I head back to my car. “I don’t have time for riddles from crazy men.”

  The drive to Nate’s is short once I find my way back to a main arterial road that I recognise. I pull up in front of his house because his driveway is already full with the two motorbikes and a large truck already parked there. I’m surprised by how well kept his home is compared to some of the others on the same street.

  This is the first time I’ve seen his home in broad daylight.

  Apart from that first morning, it’s usually pitch-black or on the cusp of sunrise when I leave.

  For a pair of boys in their early-twenties, Nate and Jep keep their front yard neatly maintained and the pathway to the front door swept. If I had to guess, I’d say this is Nate’s handiwork more so than Jep’s since Nate’s room is neat and tidy and he grumbles under his breath whenever we’re in the living room and he finds mess left behind by his housemate.

  Approaching the front door, I lift my hand to knock, then let it drop to my side when the door is pulled open. A tall man who looks like an older, meaner, wider, buzz cut version of Nate exits the house with Nate and Jep following close behind.

  “Amy,” Nate exclaims when he sees me. The man I now realise is Hooligan stops and stares at me with appraising eyes that are almost identical to his nephews. Jep gives me a grin, before he steps to the side so I can see Nate properly. “What are you doing here?”

  “Angelo sent me,” I reply. It’s partially truthful and seems like a better explanation than the actual truth—that I was worried about a man I’ve been sleeping with for barely six weeks because he’d stopped taking my calls. “I wanted to make sure you were feeling better.”

  Looking him over, I can see that he’s not lying about being sick. His skin has a sickly white pallor to it and he’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and nothing else. His seems fragile, skinnier than usual. With his hair unwashed and a beaten down air to him, I begin to feel like an idiot for traipsing around Sydney after him when it’s clear that he’s not the one with the issue here.

  I’m a paranoid, borderline stalker with an obsession problem.

  One week without him and I’m stalking him at his home and work.

  How would I react if we ended up dating?

  Banishing that thought quickly, I force myself to act like a normal human being and pay attention to the conversation that’s broken out between the men while I was distracted.

  “Amy could help,” Nate tells Hooligan, who looks at me with renewed interest on his face. “Gabbi would trust her more than me or Jep.”

  A strange expression flickers over Jep’s face when Nate mentions trust. It’s a look that Hooligan compounds with a glare in his direction.

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask.

  “Lure Gabbi to Nitro’s next weekend,” Nate replies at the same time as Hooligan says, “Nothing.”

  I pat Hooligan’s humungous upper arm and offer him a smile of reassurance. “If this is in aid of what I think it is, consider it done. I know how stubborn she can be. I’m happy to help prod her in the right direction.”

  “You don’t know me from Adam,” the big man challenges me. “Why would you help me?”

  “That’s easy,” I reply. “Gabbi likes you. She’s a tough judge of character so I’m pretty happy to follow her lead when it comes to people.”

  My answer seems to mollify him. He cracks a small smile, then inclines his head. When he leaves wit
hout saying another word, I decide that his nod was all the agreement I’m going to receive from him.

  Apparently, I’m now bringing Gabbi to Nitro’s next weekend.

  After the sound of Hooligan’s truck dies off, Jep makes himself scarce. He disappears into the house, then I hear a door quietly close. An awkward silence grows between me and Nate. I’m tossing up whether to question him or simply leave when he finally speaks.

  “Would you like to come in?”

  “Are you contagious?”

  His eyes widen before he shakes his head after a definitive pause. There’s something out of place with him—like his energy is off. Which sounds stupid since I haven’t known him long enough to be able to recognise his aura.

  I guess sometimes time isn’t the only arbiter for two people’s connection.

  “I have to get to work soon,” I reply.

  “I know,” he says with a sigh.

  Nate seems tentative. His entire demeanour is timid. The air around him is fragile, almost icy, and nothing like the usual warmth I feel when I’m with him.

  Leading me inside, he takes a seat on the couch and pats the cushion next to him. This change from the norm gives me pause until I decide to go with it. We don’t have to have sex just because we’re in the same post code.

  I’m not here as part of our arrangement. I’m simply a friend who’s dropped by to make sure he’s okay.

  “I was about to start this movie when Hooligan turned up,” Nate says. He holds his arm up in a silent invitation for me to snuggle into his side. I go willingly, sliding my hand across his stomach and resting my head on his shoulder. “You’ll just about have time to watch it before you need to head to work, if we start it now?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  We watch the movie—some type of shoot ‘em up action thing that I’d never pick myself. It’s not too bad considering I can barely keep up with who’s the bad guy and who’s not due to the convoluted plot and seriously bad acting.