Don’t You Dare: A Bad Boy MMA Fighter Romance

by Claire St. Rose

  Ali stared at him like she'd never seen him before in her life, her face pale and the pulse in her throat hammering visibly. "If you're lying..." She turned away from him and shook her head. "No. No. I don't believe you. You wouldn't do that."

  "I did it." His voice was grim. "I didn’t pull the trigger, but I ordered the hit. I watched them die. I got rid of the bodies.” He gave it a moment to sink in. “Ali, if you stay with me, you'll be sleeping next to a murderer."

  "No."

  He grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him, but she squeezed her eyes shut. "No, no, no!" she moaned, struggling against him. "No, Alejandro, no..." He let her go and she dropped to the floor, curling into a tight ball, her arms wrapped around her thin knees. She looked as fragile as a child there on the tiles, and though he felt like he was being slowly burned alive he knew her protection was his greatest duty now.

  "Ali.”

  She was silent.

  “Ali." Her eyes stared straight ahead, blinking slowly, but the rest of her body was motionless. "They know about you. That's why the black Camaro kept showing up. I can't risk that, Ali, and I know Bobby can keep you safe. I don't want to do this." His voice broke, and it was the sound of his ragged grief that finally made her turn her head and look him in the eyes. "I'd rather do anything in the world than let you go. But I just don't know how else to protect you."

  She curled against his leg, slowly, as if it hurt every muscle in her body to move. Her face pressed to his thigh and she let forth an anguished moan, echoing the roaring in his brain. Alejandro sank to the floor and pulled her into his arms for what he knew would be their last embrace.

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  Ali stood in front of the full-length mirror, silent as Cristina smoothed her veil and bustled her dress. She was grateful to her friend for having the balls to face down the other women, including Cecile Dawson, and tell them to leave. Her body was in the throes of fighting back a panic attack, and she wanted desperately to just get through the next few hours and disappear to St. Maarten where she could forget the mess she’d made of everything.

  She took a few deep, steadying breaths and looked at her best friend in the reflection, just over her shoulder.

  "I know what you're thinking," Christina said softly. "Stop it. This is not a mistake. This is what you've been planning for a whole year. You are going to go out there and walk down that aisle on your Daddy's arm, and you are going to be radiant."

  Ali blinked back tears as she gazed at her reflection. She didn't feel radiant. Though not a hair was out of place and not a single wrinkle marred her gown, everything was far from perfect. She felt like her heart was being squeezed by a giant, cruel fist, and there weren’t enough pearls and lace and lipstick in the world to make that better.

  She thought of Bobby beaming in his tux at the end of the aisle, waiting patiently for her to walk to him. She imagined the moment Reverend Allen would pronounce them man and wife, and the whole church would clap. She imagined Bobby giving her that first kiss to join their souls in matrimony.

  Then she tried to envision their wedding night, but all she could see was Alejandro. It was his handsome face she saw bending to hers, his dark eyes gazing at her full of love and desire and promise. Instead of Bobby quietly murmuring, I love you, Sugar, she heard Alejandro's husky voice whispering in her ear, Mi amor, mi corazón, mi preciosa esposa as he turned her inside out with pleasure.

  Ali doubled over with a cry, clutching her chest. Every fiber of her being longed for him. The ache was too much to bear. There was a roaring in her ears and she couldn't catch her breath.

  "I think you need a Xanax," Cristina said gently. Ali shook her head but the roaring wouldn't stop. She leaned against the wall. I can't do this.

  "Ali, I'm serious," she heard Cristina say through the haze. "I'm going to give you something to take the edge off. You're on the verge of a panic attack. We can't have you collapsing out there."

  "I can't do this," Ali gasped. "It's not supposed to happen this way."

  "This is exactly what I was afraid of. Shit," Cristina murmured under her breath, rummaging in her handbag for the bottle of pills. "Here." She pressed a small while pill in Ali's hand and held out a water bottle. "Take this and try to relax. In ten minutes you'll be fine, I promise."

  Obediently Ali placed the pill on her tongue and washed it down with a mouthful of water. In a few minutes the shaking stopped, just as Cristina had said it would.

  "Cristina, I don't know what I'm doing."

  "You're marrying Bobby," her friend said.

  "Am I making a mistake?"

  "Of course not."

  "Cristina." Looking deep into her best friend's eyes, she took Cristina's hands in hers and clung to them, tugging her close. "Please."

  "I love you like a sister, mami," Cristina vowed, her eyes misting as she squeezed Ali's fingers. "Like my very own flesh and blood. And if you were my sister, I would tell you the same thing. I know you love him, Ali, I do. I know it's hurting right now. I remember what you went through before, how bad it was. So I'm telling you, as a friend, as a sister, this is the best thing for you to do. A life with Alejandro is a death sentence. You care about Bobby and he loves you enough to forgive you and spend the rest of his life taking care of you. What else could you possibly ask for?"

  Ali shook her head and forced a smile. “No, you’re right. It’s the smart choice. I’m lucky, just like you said. I just need a second alone.”

  Cristina smoothed her coral-colored gown. “Just a minute,” she warned before walking through the door. Ali could hear Cristina speaking rapidly to the others, her stern tone ensuring the bride one peaceful moment before showtime.

  Ali closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Thoughts of Alejandro pushed into her brain and she chased them out. It was like phantom pain, the way she felt his stubble scratching against her throat, the way she heard his deep voice murmuring in her ear. She even swore she could feel the vibration of the Harley’s rumble through the floorboards, and just the thought of never being on the back of his bike again sent her into a fresh wave of panic.

  But there was no time for that. Cristina was back through the door, her bouquet in hand. She reached her other hand for Ali’s. “Come on, then, mi mejor amiga linda,” she said softly. “Let’s go give these people what they’ve been waiting for.”

  The organs sounded and four hundred people stood from their seats, waiting for the future First Lady of Texas to make her way down the aisle.

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  Another explosion of color fills the sky, and Ali gasps in my arms. The sizzle of the fireworks dying out almost drowns out her voice as she says, “This night is perfect.” She snuggles back against me and I squeeze her tighter, unable to believe my luck. Me. Her. Here together. She turns to kiss me and I take it slow, the feeling of her lips on mine still new enough to make me worry I’ll lose this at any moment. But it’s never just a kiss with us. In three seconds we’re both shaking and pulling apart to cool ourselves down. That’s how it is with us, every single time.

  Some people don’t believe in love at first sight, but I fell in love at age fourteen. I haven’t been able to get Ali out of my head since the day I went to pick up my cousin Cristina from cheerleading practice and saw her there in the sunlight, her blonde hair like a halo, a smile on her face as bright as the sun. A whole field of pretty girls, and all I could see was Ali, untying her hair and shaking it so her curls fell everywhere. She was all tan legs and wild hair and that amazing, radiant smile, and my mind kept saying yes, yes, yes, let me just look at this girl all day.

  The animal inside me marked her as mine the second I laid eyes on her four years ago, and he’s not quiet about what he wants to do to her. Ali shifts against me and it’s torture. We only just started dating and I’m taking it slow with her, but right now all I can think about is how the reflection of the colors in the sky would look on her bare skin. I want to be inside her when the blackness is broken
with that beautiful light, and I want to hear her say my name as we move together under that canopy of colors.

  I want to stretch this summer out forever. I couldn’t believe she let me kiss her at that graduation party last month, and I can’t believe I’ve been taking her out ever since. If I thought I had a chance with her I never would have agreed to go to San Antonio with the club so soon. Maybe I would’ve gone to college after all, given my mother that piece of paper she so desperately wants for me. Visited Ali at her school on weekends, asked her to marry me when I was close to graduating.

  And then what? Bring her home to this forgotten town so we could be reminded every day that we don’t belong together? Try to make a new life together somewhere else, clinging to each other until our love and need choke us? No. Better that we have these two perfect months together and leave it at that.

  The cracks and pops are getting closer together now, signaling the end, and Ali turns to me, her gray eyes serious. “Let’s go to The Ridge,” she says, and my mouth goes dry. I’ve been there countless times with girls whose smiles I barely remember, but I know that whatever happens tonight, I’ll remember it forever.

  My brain runs wild with thoughts of what might happen tonight. Ali’s a virgin, and we haven’t done much more than kiss, but that’s not a kissing look I see in her eyes. She’s hungry. For me. “Let’s go,” I say, pulling her to her feet, and the way she wraps around me promises everything I’ve ever dreamed. Paradise.

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  Alejandro wove through traffic, oblivious to the angry horns blaring around him. The wedding venue was an hour from Arroyo Flats and he’d pushed the Fatboy to its limit almost the entire ride, rehearsing what he would say to Ali and still finding words inadequate. If her family hated me ten years ago when I was just a skinny teenage boy in love with a girl out of my league, he thought, Imagine how they’ll feel about me now—a tattooed outlaw biker crashing her six-figure wedding of four hundred people. It was almost comical.

  But now he was in some sort of Little League gridlock, sandwiched in a sea of minivans and SUVs while a young female cop directed traffic into the massive athletic complex. With the brim of her hat down so far over her eyes and traffic at her back, she didn’t see him creeping down the shoulder, desperate for her to turn her head so he could make it across the intersection. Even if she radioed ahead, he’d be there before anyone caught up to him.

  He hoped.

  Look away, look away, he willed her, but she was alert and efficient, her left hand to the through traffic, her right hand waving the vehicles into the park. He knew he had just a few minutes to spare and he had to be first off the line to get there before the rest of the traffic bogged him down again.

  Fuck it. He inched past the last SUV in line and gunned it. In his wake he heard the indignant shrill of her whistle, but he was too far gone to care. Let them come. If the Devil himself was on his tail he wouldn’t have slowed down.

  He had a confession to make.

  He had a woman to rescue.

  And he had exactly six minutes.

  ***

  Ali clung to her daddy’s arm and tried to focus. Her eyes were burning, and her heart was still pounding in her chest like a scared jackrabbit. Cristina was just in front of her, and Ali reached out, grabbing her friend’s arm. Cristina’s gaze showed panic as Ali hissed at her, “Give me the pills.”

  Cristina shook her head and tried to pull away, but Ali clung to her. “Ali, no.”

  “Give them to me now. You said they’d help and they’re not helping, so give me another.”

  Her daddy leaned forward. “Girls, is there a problem?”

  Two bridesmaids down the aisle; one more, then Cristina would go, and her one chance at surviving this ceremony and moving on to her boring, business-proposal life would be over. “Cristina, I swear to God, you don’t give me those pills this instant, I will tell every single person in this church about the time you ate crayons when you were high and crapped rainbow for a week. You know I’m not fooling, so hand them over.”

  Cristina’s brow furrowed for a moment. “Ali, honey, are you sure—”

  “I know what I’m doing, Cristina. Please. I can’t walk down the aisle like this, scared out of my mind. I just can’t. I’ll make a fool of myself.”

  Cristina sighed, but she reached into the pocket of her gown and handed Ali the little bottle. “You can’t drink anything at the reception. One sip of champagne to toast him. Nothing else. Promise me.”

  “I swear,” Ali said. Daddy clucked as Ali shook two pills out of the bottle, threw them back dry, and then stuffed the little bottle into her bouquet. It was Cristina’s turn to walk down the aisle, and she was a vision—the perfect matron of honor, all grace but more subtle than the beauty of the bride who was to follow. In just a moment, the music would change, and Wagner would swell out from the organ, and she could begin counting down the minutes until she became Mrs. Robert Dawson.

  The pills hit about halfway down the aisle. She stumbled slightly, suddenly dizzy. Daddy tightened his grip on her arm and steadied her. “What did she give you?” he hissed through his professional smile.

  Ali responded with the same perfect Texas Rose smile that Mama had taught her when she was just a baby, the one that said everything was just fine now, nothing to fret over. “Just something to calm my nerves a bit, Daddy, I’m fine. I’ve got you and Bobby to hold me up.”

  “Girl, don’t you dare make a fool of me today. I have supported you through an awful lot of nonsense, and I’d hate to see your mama upset on your wedding day.” His fingers tightened on her arm until she thought they might leave a bruise. She refused to let the smile budge, which was easy, since her head was now floating a good twelve inches off her shoulders.

  “I’ll make you proud, Daddy,” she said, and his smile finally brightened again.

  The handoff to Bobby went perfectly. She didn’t trip on the stairs; Daddy turned her veil back and kissed her cheek, then brought her hand to Bobby’s. “Take care of her, son,” Daddy said, and Bobby gave him a solid Robert Dawson nod that made Ali’s stomach twitch.

  The preacher was off and running. She hadn’t been to church in ages, in part because of the way Reverend Davis tended to run on. And on. He was chattering now about marriage, and friendship, and godly love, and Ali found herself transfixed by a fly that had braved the hot Texas afternoon to buzz around the preacher’s head. He was valiantly ignoring it as it buzzed around his ear; it wouldn’t do to ruin Mr. Robert Dawson’s wedding by swatting at a fly.

  Time did a funny little skip. She and Bobby were facing each other, holding their hands together, and he was gazing blandly into her eyes as he recited, after Reverend Davis: “I, Robert James Dawson, take you, Alaine Helene Owens, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward—for better or worse, for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish, from this day forward until death do us part.”

  He was firm, in that classic Bobby way, and for a long moment, Ali clung to him with her whole heart. This was how it was supposed to be. She and Bobby, tight together, quietly married while Kip kept the spotlight on him. But as the preacher turned to her, her knees went a little week.

  “Repeat after me,” he prompted, “I, Alaine Helene Owens…”

  She opened her mouth, ready to say the words, ready to seal her fate, but instead of her name, what came out was “Bobby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Her hand clapped up over her mouth, trying to stuff the words back in.

  His eyes widened for a moment, a long moment, and then he smiled his Robert Dawson grin and shook her hands gently back and forth, like she was a little girl. “Sugar, there’s nothing to be sorry for. Just repeat after the man, and I’ll kiss you, and everything’ll be just fine.”

  She shook her head then. “I don’t think I can, Bobby. I said I could, but—” Her stomach twisted, and for a moment she thought she might be sick up there, in front of God and everybody. “I was r
ight when I called it off the first time, Bobby. I can’t. We’re not the people we were when you proposed to me. I always told you. This isn’t the life I wanted. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Cristina’s hands were so tight on her bouquet that she looked like her fingers might pop. She has shaking her head back and forth, her eyes so pained that it made Ali’s soul ache. Cristina had told her over and over that Alejandro was wrong for her, and that Bobby was the way forward. That had been her way forward, after all—marrying a doctor and raising herself up. And decorating the governor’s mansion. That had been her dream. Just like being governor had been Kip’s dream.

  Here she and Bobby were, living other people’s dreams, other people’s lives. And Bobby’s parents didn’t understand, her own parents didn’t understand, Cristina didn’t even understand. They all wanted what they thought was best, but no one had asked. Or if they had asked, they didn’t listen.