“Thanks. Reckon McCready will give me a bonus next time we fight?” he asked. “When I win again, I mean.”
Spider’s jaw flexed, and looked ready to throw a punch. Diego wiped away the blood trickling down the side of his face and prepared himself in case Spider was stupid enough to start a fight. Spider glanced over at McCready and saw the fight financier watching them. After a moment’s hesitation, he stepped away, thwarted violence written across his face like a promise.
Diego wasn’t worried. Spider wouldn’t fight Diego outside of the ring without McCready’s permission—mostly because McCready couldn’t monetise a fight that happened away from the crowds.
And McCready owned Spider’s ass.
“See you around,” said with a wink, then strode away from the seething man. He walked out to the back of the warehouse—otherwise empty apart from the fight and the audience—and slipped into an office right before the back entrance. It was empty except for two chairs and an older, silver-haired man wearing thin-rimmed spectacles.
“Doc,” Diego greeted him. He didn’t know the guy’s real name, and preferred not to. Sometimes it was inevitable to find out, but it helped Diego keep his distance if he didn’t know the people in this world too much. Everyone else seemed to have the same idea. They didn’t go for drinks after the matches, barely even talked to each other. It made it much easier to force his fist into someone’s face if he didn’t know or care about them.
“DJ,” Doc replied. Diego would never get used to the fake-ish name he used here. He’d always been Diego, everywhere and anywhere he went. His last name was Johnston, so when he’d needed to give a name to these guys, it had seemed like a decent choice.
But it wasn’t the real him.
In a way that made it easier to do the things he did. He could think of it as DJ doing them, not himself.
Not that Diego was much better.
“Did you win?” Doc asked.
“Yeah.”
“Good for you.”
Diego lowered himself into one of the chairs with a wince. He’d be sore tomorrow. For such a scrawny guy, Chen packed quite a punch. He didn’t have to take off his shirt, since he didn’t fight in one—just boxing shorts and strapped hands.
Doc examined him, starting with shining a small flashlight into his eyes. Doc was kept around to examine each fighter once they came out of the cage. Not because McCready had a soft spot for them—he just didn’t want them to die outside of the ring where the crowd couldn’t bet on it.
Doc was technically no longer a doctor, as far as Diego could tell. He’d lost his licence some time back. Diego didn’t know why—didn’t ask—but he suspected it had something to do with the way the man’s hand shook as he held the flashlight.
Doc cleaned the cut on his forehead and stuck a plaster over it.
“What did I say about Vaseline?” he asked Diego.
Diego rolled his eyes. “I use it sometimes, but the crowd like the blood.”
Doc eyed him curiously. “You’ve never cared before what they want.”
Diego shrugged, but a slight heated entered his cheeks. He felt almost like a small boy caught doing something he shouldn’t. “McCready sometimes gives bonuses if he’s really happy with the fight—if the crowd bets a lot. I can’t pass that up.”
Doc stilled. “I see.” He hesitated a moment. “What will you do?” he asked softly. “When you get whatever you’re fighting for?” There was not just curiosity in the man’s eyes, but a kind of yearning. Doc wanted to escape, too.
“Away,” was all Diego said. Neither said anything more as Doc resumed his examination. A polite clapping came from outside, and Diego assumed the next competitors had entered the cage. He thought it might be Alexei after him—the huge Russian man with questionable English skills and a mean right hook.
A few minutes later, Doc pronounced him ready to go home with a clean enough bill of health. He wouldn’t be running a marathon tomorrow, but he’d survive.
“Thanks, man,” Diego told him.
Doc just gave a nod and a slight smile.
Diego left then, out the back door and toward the truck he’d parked in the back corner of the lot. It was dark—not quite midnight—and the one streetlight a few feet away was the only source of light in the vicinity. He kept his guard up, not nervous, just knowing Spider’s temper and not willing to take any chances the guy might accost him out of McCready’s sight.
He’d just reached the driver’s side door when he heard the footsteps. He didn’t turn, they were too light to be any of the fighters he knew, but he waited. A voice sounded behind him.
“Hey there.” Smoky, sultry. Like a hot summer’s night with a bite to it. A bolt of heat shot through him at the sound, making him think of all kinds of sinful thoughts. Two guesses who that voice belonged to and the first didn’t count.
He turned, taking in her flaming hair, challenging eyes, and confident stance. Her gaze flickered over him, once, taking in his bare chest. His heart kicked as lust speared through him, and he was forcibly reminded how long it had been since he’d been with a woman.
And this woman—she was something else. Curvy, feisty, but with a hint of vulnerability that kicked him in the gut. There wasn’t any room for vulnerable in his life, and there hadn’t been for a very long time. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been so close to someone so soft and untried in the ways of the world.
Because there was no way a woman like this knew of life’s hardships. She’d never be stupid enough to be alone with an asshole like him otherwise.
But maybe she wasn’t so naïve. There was something—maybe a tightness in her shoulders that only a fighter would recognise—that told him she was bracing herself. For what—rejection, or a straight out attack?—he didn’t know.
“If you’re here to get a piece of the winner, I’m not in the mood. I’m sure Chen wouldn’t mind the comfort, though.”
Surprise widened her eyes, then they narrowed. “I’m not, but thanks for the assumption.” The ‘asshole’ at the end of the statement was implied. Diego suppressed an amused smile. He was perversely glad to know she wasn’t a fighter’s equivalent of a puck bunny. Not that he was going to get involved with her, even for a night. He knew better than to get tangled up in a girl like her.
“So why are you here, Red?”
“My name’s Rosalyn.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She crossed her arms over her chest in annoyance, which had the distinct advantage of pushing her cleavage up like an offering. Diego glanced once, then back to her face. Don’t be tempted.
She glared at him, obviously not impressed by his disinterest in her. She didn’t say anything immediately, so Diego opened his truck door and went to hop in.
“Wait!” she stopped him. Diego paused but didn’t take his leg out of the truck. “I’m new to this whole thing. I just want to ask you some questions.”
Diego sized her up from over his shoulder. Her hands were balled into fists, betraying both her nerves and her determination.
Diego sighed and stepped away from his truck. “Look, Red. You don’t belong here. That much is obvious. My advice? Turn around and go back to where you came from. Pretend this place doesn’t exist.”
She straightened her shoulders. “Who says I don’t belong?”
Diego rolled his eyes. “You’re too curious. People come to these fights because they’re so beyond jaded by life. They have no other thrills, except to come here and watch men beat each other with the chance that one might die. They bet on our lives—did you know that? They put money down on who might die in the cage. This isn’t normal MMA—not even an unsanctioned fight, since those are legal. These fights aren’t. They are underground, and brutal, and messy. It’s very clear that you’re none of those things.”
She tilted her chin up. “So why do you fight?”
He shook his head and backed away from her. “I have my reasons, and they’re none of your con
cern.” He slid into the driver’s seat.
“So if I want my questions answered, who’s the best person to talk to?”
Diego’s hand froze on the door. He turned to her, trying to express with his gaze how utterly serious his next words would be. “You don’t. Ask too many questions around here and you might get disappeared or killed. It’s not worth the risk. Go back to your own life and leave whatever you’ve got going on behind you. Trust me on that.”
With that—his first virtuous move in a good long while—Diego slammed the truck door shut and turned on the engine. Red—Rosalyn—stared after him, but didn’t try to stop him as he backed out of the parking lot.
As he drove away, he couldn’t help hoping that she’d take his advice to get far away from this place, and its misery. It had a way of sucking people into its orbit so they could never leave. Not alive, anyway. Diego had a plan to escape, but in the meantime, he couldn’t let someone like that near those fights. Not unless he wanted to see all that fire extinguished.
Permanently.
Read the rest here!
For more adventures of the Soldiering On crew, click below:
Soldiering On Series
Soldiering On (Soldiering On #0.5) – See where it all began
Station Alpha (Soldiering On #1) – Paul and Christine’s story
Guarding Sierra (Soldiering On #2) – Blake and Sierra’s story
Dangerous Victor (Soldiering On #3) – Zack and Radha’s story
Christmas Tango: (Soldiering On #3.5) – A Duncan and Mandy Novella
Hotel Hideaway: (Soldiering On #4) – Sam and Cameron’s story
Author Bio
Aislinn is a life-long reader and writer. English was always her favourite subject, and she went to University to focus on that passion. She completed a Bachelor of Arts in English and History, which she loved, and then went on to do a Masters in an unrelated field. She now largely pretends that last degree never happened.
She is the author of the ‘Soldiering On’ books, a Romantic Suspense series. She enjoys reading, writing, travelling, watching action movies (particularly if they have a romance!) and fantasising about her future cottage in a forest. Now that she’s published, her next life dream is to own a dog.
Visit her at https://aislinnkearns.com/
Follow on Facebook at: www.facebook.com/aislinn.kearns.writer
Twitter: www.twitter.com/ardentaislinn
And Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15428911.Aislinn_Kearns
Whiskey-Eyed Woman (Soldiering On Book 5) Page 18
