Until the Bell Rings: An MMA Fighter Romance

by Roxy Wilson

  “No, but she eats guys like you for breakfast and dinner,” Tully said. “She might know more, for sure. But she might make you pay for it.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “Thanks, Tully. I mean it.”

  “Don’t die,” he said. “You’ve got a fight tomorrow.” He hung up.

  Double D looked like he was about to run.

  “How close are we?” I asked.

  “A few blocks.”

  “If you’re taking me to some buddies,” I told him, “you should know I’ll be very angry, and you probably don’t have enough of them.”

  “I’m not,” Double D insisted. “Believe me. You want to meet La Rosita, you can do that. It’s your skin.”

  So, it wasn’t just Tully, then. I dialed Logan.

  “Anything?” I asked when he answered.

  “Nobody will talk to me,” he said. “Just like I said. But…well, I might have something. If people find out I told you—”

  “Just spit it out, Logan,” I growled.

  “Mikey Chu told Big Bennie—the British guy, the one with the lazy eye; he comes to the cage fights—”

  “Get to the point, Logan.” I spoke slowly. If I wasn’t furious before, I was getting there fast.

  “Yeah, okay, so, anyway,” Logan stuttered, “he sold a set of keys to a guy, made a wad of cash. Some car lot on the north end; mostly used, but high end.”

  “You said no one would talk to you,” I reminded him. This sounded an awful lot like someone talking.

  “I know,” Logan said quickly. “I heard it at the cages last time. I didn’t think about it until we were off the phone.”

  Right. Well, those were pieces. Maybe this La Rosita woman had the rest of them.

  “Fine. Thanks, Logan.”

  “Hey, be careful, okay?”

  I laughed. “What, tonight, or tomorrow when I—” I was very aware of Double D listening to me. “Anyway, just keep your phone on in case I need you.”

  “Yeah, will do,” Logan said. Sounded like he might have said something else, too, but I ended the call and watched Double D wander up to an apartment building and point at the door.

  “This it?” I asked.

  “Six B,” he said. “Buzz and tell her you’ve got a flower delivery for her.”

  “But I don’t,” I said. Last thing I wanted was to piss someone up there off.

  Double D rolled his eyes. “Dude it’s a code. Means you’re on the down low and know what’s up. And also that you’ve got something she might want to buy.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Information. That’s what she does.”

  I looked up at the building, and wondered what I might have that she’d want. Well, if she wanted to bet on a fight, I could probably clue her in on who was going to win. So, there was that.

  Double D backed off slowly when I walked up the concrete slab steps, cracked and filled with weeds. When I hit the buzzer, he turned and ran.

  A moment later, a voice answered, thickly accented and from a mature woman. “Yes?”

  “I uh…” I muttered, and cleared my throat. Just say it. “I uh, have a flower delivery. For…you?”

  There was an anguished pause. If this turned out not to be who Double D said she was, and I lost this much time on a wild goose chase, I was going to find him and break both of his arms.

  “Come up,” the woman said.

  The door buzzed, and I pushed through it, and into the building.

  As I went toward the stairs at the back of the hallway, I sent Zahra a quick text. “On it. Got a lead. Call you as soon as I can.”

  Upstairs, I knocked on Six B, just like Double D said.

  When an elderly Latin woman opened the door, I almost lost it.

  That is, until she looked me over, smiled and said, “Well, well. Aren’t you a mouthful. Please, come in.”

  Her smile wasn’t that of someone’s gentle abuela who would have something cooking in the oven just for such an unexpected occasion.

  Oh no. La Rosita was older than I expected, but she was very obviously a predator.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Riley

  La Rosita led me into her apartment, her hips swaying under the sheer, flowing red gown she wore. At least she was wearing clothes underneath it; though she had to be over sixty and I had to admit she was still in shape.

  She gestured at her couch when we came to the smallish living room, all floral prints—mostly roses—and dotted with pictures and figures of saints and crosses.

  “I know you,” she said when I sat. She sank gracefully into a low-backed chair that matched the gold and maroon couch. The whole place felt like a mix between a church and a brothel. “You are Riley Dern, the fighter.”

  “That’s me,” I said. “So, I’m looking for—”

  “No, no,” La Rosita said, raising a finger and waggling it. “First, we talk. How did you find me?”

  “Someone brought me to you,” I said. “Said you knew things; maybe what I need to know.”

  She pursed her lips and clucked her tongue. “Tell me who led you here, and I will tell you what you want to know.”

  The way she said it, I guessed that Double D had broken a rule and would probably pay for it. I almost told her, because fuck that kid, but… “I can’t,” I said. “The…person didn’t have a choice. I can be real persuasive.”

  The lady smiled, and uncrossed her legs, and crossed them again. “We have that in common, then.”

  “Right…so, I don’t have a whole lot of time, ah…La Rosita,” I said. “I need to find somebody, and I need to find them fast.”

  “Well, if you will not tell me who endangered my business,” she said, “then you must give me something else. I trade in secrets, connections, and gold. Which one of these things do you have?”

  “First, you tell me if you have the information I need,” I said, “and if you do, I’ll tell you what I got for it.”

  She considered this, and looked like she was sizing me up, undressing me with her eyes. I tried to hide my discomfort.

  “What do you want?” she asked finally.

  “There’s a guy, Tyko,” I said. “If I have it right, he’s planning to boost a bunch of cars all at once. He just bought a bunch of copied keys. I need to know if he’s somewhere around here, and how to find him.”

  La Rosita nodded slowly, as if she understood all of this but wasn’t particularly surprised or interested in it. I might as well have been telling her the weather forecast. She took a long, slow breath that swelled her chest. She had to be wearing some kind of push-up bra, didn’t she? She didn’t look like the sort of woman who’d go the plastic route.

  “I have heard of this,” she said. “But, I cannot be known for letting strangers to our community disrupt the local market and trade. I am sorry.”

  “I don’t mean to stop it,” I told her. “I don’t care about the cars. There’s a kid involved. I’m trying to get him out of it before something bad happens to him.”

  She raised an eyebrow, and looked like the very picture of impressed. “A relative?” she asked. “No…you have a brother, but not children. Neither does he. Certainly Mr. Tully has no children.”

  “You know Tully?” I asked. He didn’t mention he actually knew her.

  “I know Tully.” She smiled. “Very well.”

  I didn’t want to know. Her smile said enough. Or maybe that was just the only smile she had. Hopefully it was that. “Right. Well, no, he’s not a relative. It’s for someone else.”

  She peered at me, pursed her lips again, and then reached for a glass of red wine that I hadn’t even noticed before—it blended right in with the rest of the room. When she set it down she spoke with surety. “You are doing this for a woman; I see.”

  “Does that matter?” I asked.

  La Rosita shrugged a shoulder under her shift, and lit a cigarette, like this was some sort of show she was putting on. She puffed slowly, letting the smoke curl around her l
ips as it left her mouth. “Perhaps it does. Who is not moved by love?”

  “So, you’ll help me?”

  “I am not that moved by love, handsome.” She said, and tilted her head just a hair to one side. “What can you offer me in exchange? What is worth your love?”

  Telling her about the match and my plan to throw it was tricky, and dangerous. If she could make more money off it by letting someone know that was the plan, I didn’t doubt she’d use it that way. On the other hand, what else did I have?

  Either way, that wouldn’t matter until tomorrow; if I could get Malcolm out of this tonight, it would be a secret well spent, wouldn’t it?

  On the other hand…it would mean screwing Logan.

  It was a choice between Zahra, and my brother.

  Could I find Tyson some other way?

  “I am old,” La Rosita said, “though I am sure I don’t look it. My time is short, so I have little patience.”

  “There’s a match tomorrow,” I said finally. “In the cage at the docks.”

  She gave me a reproachful frown. “That is no secret.”

  “No, but…I’m planning to throw the fight.”

  Now she did take notice. “That is a dangerous game to play,” she said slowly. But she didn’t throw it out. “Also for love?”

  “A different kind of love,” I said. “But yeah.”

  “I see…” She puffed her cigarette again, watching me. She smoked for what seemed like several minutes before she finally put the cigarette out. “I will tell you where to find Tyko.” She said the name like it was a running gag of some kind.

  “Where?”

  “You must give me one more thing,” she said.

  I held my hands up. “I got nothing else.”

  “You do,” she said as she stood. It was like a snake rearing up, and she glided over the carpet toward me. “All I want is a kiss.”

  “A kiss?” I asked, suspicious. There was every chance she was poisonous.

  She chuckled, a low, husky sound as she sank onto the couch next to me. “Yes, Hermoso; a kiss.” She leaned in. I could smell the tobacco on her breath, and the thick, flowery perfume she wore.

  Not that she would have been impossible to kiss, but when I gave it a brief thought, all I could feel was that it would somehow hurt Zahra. “I can’t do that,” I said. “These aren’t my lips. They belong to someone else.”

  La Rosita hovered near me and it seemed for a second like she would take it anyway; like she was sure I couldn’t stop her. But, she pulled away, and patted my knee. “Well. You are a romantic, Corazón. I will grant you that.” She chuckled again, ruefully this time, like she pitied my plight. “Such is love. Tyko and his hermanos will take the cars to the warehouse on pier fourteen. The building closest to the water. The parts are to be moved over the river, you see.”

  I stood up, ready to go. “Thank you, La Rosita,” I said.

  She grunted, an entirely unladylike sound and when she spoke it was with deadly seriousness. “If it gets back to me that their job was interrupted, I will find you, Hermoso, and cut off your handsome face.” She winked. “Lo entiendes? You understand me?”

  Stiffly, I nodded, and then left without a word. Once I was outside, I shook the encounter off. That woman was more than she seemed. I wondered what her and Tully’s past was like. When I was a block away from all of that, I called Zahra. She needed to know it was going to be okay.

  And it was. I intended to make damn sure of that.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Zahra

  I hadn’t heard from Riley in almost two hours. It was getting late. All I could do, instead, was call Malcolm again and again, hoping to get him on the phone. I tried all of Tyson’s numbers, but he almost never had the same one for very long and three of them were disconnected; the other two belonged to strangers now.

  There was a possibility Jackie might have his current one, but that would entail explaining why I wanted it.

  So instead I paced the office, until finally I couldn’t stand being inside the place. I left, locked up, and walked the street with one hand in my purse around a small can of pepper spray; the other gripping my phone. I checked it constantly, as though I might have missed a call or a text.

  I did, eventually get one. Just one. It somehow made the stress that much worse. It was from Riley. “On it. Got a lead. Call you as soon as I can.” That was all. Enough to make me suddenly elated, but not enough to keep me hopeful. Minutes crawled by and I started to worry. What kind of lead did he have? Was it dangerous? Tyson ran with a bad crowd most of the time; not always killers, but there were a few that carried guns. What if Riley had found something, gone himself and gotten shot? I would never know about it; not until it was on the news, or until Malcolm told me it had happened, if Riley even got that far.

  My stomach ached from the worry, and I was sweating even though it was chilly outside this late. It was almost midnight. Where was he?

  I walked most of the way to Riley’s apartment building before I even realized which direction I was going. I started to recognize the neighborhood though, and then stopped. Maybe he was home, still. I went to his building, bit my lip, and buzzed his apartment.

  There was no answer. I buzzed again. Still nothing.

  Alright, so he left. That threw me right back into the worrying.

  When my phone did finally buzz, I almost dropped it even though I’d been expecting the call, or hoping for it at least. It was Riley. My stomach unclenched. Then, it tightened back up in anticipation of what he had to say. “Riley,” I breathed. “It’s been hours! Where have you been? Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay,” he said gently. “It’s all going to be okay. I know where they are, or at least where they’re probably going to be. I’m headed there now. I’ll get Malcolm and meet you at my place.”

  “No,” I said, “absolutely not. Where are you? I’ll meet you.”

  “I should handle this, Zahra,” he said. “It could be dangerous, and—”

  “That’s exactly why I should go,” I told him. “Malcolm may look up to you, but he doesn’t know you. He knows me. This cannot escalate, Riley.”

  “What makes you think it’ll escalate if I go alone,” he asked, hurt that I’d even suggest it. He had a short memory, apparently.

  I took a calming breath. “I know Malcolm, and I know Tyson. I know how to talk to them. You need to wait for me. If you make one wrong move, make some small mistake because you were too goddamn macho to solve this with words and not violence and it impacts Malcolm in any negative way at all, I’ll never forgive you. Do you understand me? I’ll do whatever I can to take you down if you cost that boy his future by being stupid.”

  There was a long, heavy silence in which I assumed Riley was taking in the full measure of what I meant, so that I didn’t have to repeat myself.

  “Okay,” he said when it had sunk in for him. “Okay. I’m a ways off, near the old river district. Hundred eighty third and…Riverpark. All the way east.”

  “I’ll get a cab, and be there soon,” I said. “Stay. There.”

  “Okay. I’ll wait.”

  “Good.” I sounded harsher than I intended. “And…thank you for this. It means a lot.”

  “I’ll see you when you get here,” he said.

  *****

  Riley was where he said he would be. On the drive there, I had prepared myself to keep my distance, and show him that this did not really fix everything. That I still wanted an explanation and that there were no guarantees I would accept it when I heard it. I needed to stay strong, draw that line in the sand and let him know it was not going to be crossed until I was ready.

  When I stepped out of the cab, and paid the driver, and he pulled away, however, there must have been a strong wind. I should have carved a line in the concrete instead, because the moment I saw Riley I nearly broke down with relief. Something about him being here with me, about his strong, steady presence, made me feel like it was all going to be alright aft
er all.

  I all but fell into his arms, my own thrown around his chest while he crushed me to him. When I looked up at him, he kissed me and for ten sweet seconds everything was right with the world.

  I pulled away, and tried to pull myself together. “We still need to have words,” I said.

  Riley nodded once. “I know.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s not far. Come on.”

  It was hard not to watch the shadows. This neighborhood was bad. I wanted to ask Riley about what had happened, how he’d found all this out, but it seemed like a bad idea to be talking. The night was quiet, for the most part, other than an occasional car or an opened window with music or some other noise echoing out of it and into the street. Most of the street lights here were out; some had been forgotten about, others had been vandalized.

  Riley stuck close to me, though, and I wasn’t as scared as I probably should have been. We walked the few blocks to the old pier, dotted with fifty year-old warehouses that were full of scraps and dust and homeless camps. One of them, though, apparently had some activity around it. There were four men milling around outside.

  “That’s the place,” Riley whispered. “You sure you want to go in?”

  “Yes.” I couldn’t manage more than that. I was scared. But I was angry, too. And that made it easier.

  We walked up, and were noticed.

  “Private party,” one of the men said. “Go somewhere else to screw.”

  “I’m looking for Tyson Kroft,” I announced, shoulders square. Riley was right beside me, towering like my own personal bodyguard.

  “Ain’t nobody here by that name,” the same man said. But the others were starting to form up.

  “I’m here for Malcolm,” I said. “That’s all. I don’t care what else you all are up to; that’s none of my business.”

  “You’re right,” the man said, “it’s none of your business, lady. Take your goon and get out of here before there’s trouble.”

  We’d just see about that. “Malcolm Kroft,” I shouted at the warehouse. “Get your skinny butt out here.”