Fighting Dirty (Ultimate #4)

by Lori Foster

  “Or maybe she’s into that scene,” Boyd offered.

  Steve huffed. “No, believe me, she’s not. Hell, she borders on being a damned prude.” He’d wanted to try different things, and she’d always refused. But Jacobson—that bastard had a rep that’d put a gigolo to shame. “Somehow he must’ve convinced her otherwise.” The note he’d left with Jacobson’s opponent might still sink the prick if the other guy took advantage of the info Steve had shared, but it probably wouldn’t do anything to deter Merissa. “I need to know she’s heard the truth. I have to drive it home to her.”

  Somewhere off in the darkness, a bush rustled. They all three turned to look but the inky night swallowed up everything. Six feet beyond them, even their shadows faded into the blackness. When they heard nothing else, they each dismissed it.

  “You were saying?” Keno prompted.

  Steve looked at both men. “You up for another job?”

  Arms folded over his chest, his eyes flinty, Keno stared him down.

  They were alone in a dark, abandoned park and Steve didn’t like the open intimidation. He hardened his jaw and stared back. “What?”

  “There’s something I want to know.” Lip lifted a little, Keno asked, “Why the lady? That particular lady? I get the bank robbery. There was cash to be made. But now? Hassling her for shits and giggles? What’s up with that?”

  “She’s due a lesson—that’s all you need to know.”

  “But you don’t want her hurt.”

  Steve shoved away from the bench. “Because I’ll be the one to hurt her.”

  At that, Boyd looked up. “You plan to beat her?”

  “What?” God, they were awful men. Through his teeth, Steve said, “I don’t beat women.”

  Keno looked at Boyd and together they laughed.

  Affronted, Steve growled, “I’m going to hurt her in other ways.”

  Tipping his head, Boyd asked, “Planning a little rape of your own?”

  For the love of… Two calming breaths helped to moderate his tone. “We were together until she broke things off. I’d planned to marry that bitch eventually.”

  Laughing again, the sound sharp, Keno sneered, “So she broke your heart?”

  Steve wanted to say, Don’t be an idiot. But any insult that bold would in fact make him the moron, so instead he took the time to explain. “I never loved her. Not even close. But that doesn’t mean she gets to dump me.”

  Boyd looked at Keno. “Ah, she dented his pride.”

  They enjoyed insulting him. Steve knew that. Maybe they didn’t realize it was true.

  Yes, his ego had taken a hit when Merissa Colter walked away. But now was his chance to even the score. Once she let him back into her life, he’d make it hell—and then he’d be the one walking away. “Are you in or not?”

  “Sure.” Keno scratched at the whiskers on his chin. “We’ve got nothing better to be doing.”

  “Great.” Steve felt his plans falling into place. “As I explained, we need to up the ante.”

  Keno shrugged. “You pay, we play.”

  “It’s a two-step plan, and for the first step, she might recognize one of you. A woman would be a better setup.”

  “I know a woman,” Boyd said. “She’s good. Just tell us what you’re thinking.”

  “Once we agree on the pay,” Keno added, his gaze frosty, “we’ll get it done. Once and for all.”

  *

  FRUSTRATION BECAME HIS new best friend. All week, Armie had fought it—and lost.

  And no wonder. He’d wanted to set his dad straight, to make sure he understood that when it came to Merissa, he wouldn’t play. She was off-limits, period. But Mac had gone missing and Armie couldn’t find him. He’d looked in all the usual places, including every nasty dive, and so far, nothing.

  Worse than that, though, Bray was still gone. How the hell did a kid just disappear? It killed him, wondering if Bray had gotten hurt, taken… How did caring parents keep sane when their kids were out and about in the world?

  With that thought, Armie glanced at Cannon. Soon he’d be a dad, a far better dad than Mac, and his son or daughter would be loved unconditionally in ways Bray had never been.

  In ways Armie had never known, either.

  “Concentrate,” Simon said, always more than ready to keep Armie on task despite anything else going on. “We’re working on timing more than speed.”

  Justice groaned and lifted a pad as Armie threw a perfectly timed series followed by a kick. Not hard. They weren’t working on hard and if he got too intense, Justice would bail on him.

  Even though Justice was far bigger, Armie liked working out with him. The ape amused him. And he had good instincts. Leese was good, too. But talk about intense. Sometimes it seemed Leese took himself far too seriously.

  And truth? It rankled that Leese had that special relationship with Rissy. When things fell apart as they always did, would Rissy go to him?

  “Get your head out of your ass,” Simon barked.

  Armie narrowed his focus and threw combo after combo.

  Justice jokingly complained, but he handled it all.

  They heard Cannon call out that he was leaving. Denver was right behind him.

  More reasons he preferred Justice—he wasn’t as busy as Cannon, Denver and Stack, and didn’t know him as well as Miles and Brand.

  “Better,” Simon said.

  Better his ass. He was dead-on and Simon knew it.

  “Take a break. Rehydrate.” Simon walked off to talk to Cannon before he left.

  “Crisp,” Justice said as he, too, grabbed a water jug.

  “What’s that?”

  “The way you snap off those punches. Crisp.”

  Armie stretched. “A sloppy punch doesn’t get you anywhere.”

  “You throw those bitches like bullets.” Justice mimicked him, fast and straight. “Pow. Chaos is out.”

  “He might surprise you.” But Armie hoped not. The upcoming fight—well, it was starting to matter. And that sucked. All along, he’d assumed he would win. He knew he’d do his best.

  But now it actually mattered. Now he wanted to win, and that was different. Havoc and Simon had worn him down with their freaking confidence and enthusiasm and it made him nuts.

  Simon returned and they worked for another twenty minutes or so when a hush fell over the gym. Armie looked up to see a blonde waving at Simon. She wasn’t a frail woman, but Lord have mercy, she was put together nice. Dressed in worn jeans, scuffed boots and a pullover sweater, her features all bold, her manner more so—

  Simon thwacked him in the back of the head.

  Wincing, Armie asked, “Your wife?”

  “Yeah, so put your eyeballs away.”

  Armie tried, but it wasn’t easy. He’d heard Simon’s lady was something to see and now he knew it was true. She wasn’t feminine like Vanity, or overly stacked like Cherry. But she had so much energy about her, everyone in the room noticed.

  Simon called out to her, saying, “Dakota, come here and let me introduce you.”

  She strode in but when she reached the mats, it wasn’t Simon she spoke to, but Armie.

  “You’re Armie Jacobson.”

  “Guilty.”

  “Yeah, I just bet you are.” She grinned and held out a hand.

  Since he wore fingerless gloves, he enfolded her hand in both of his. “And you’re Dakota Evans.”

  “Love the Evans part.” Tipping her head, she gestured at the mats and asked, “Do you mind?”

  Confused, Armie looked to Simon.

  Simon sighed, ran a hand over his shaved head, then indicated she should go ahead. At the same time he said to Armie, “She does as she pleases. Just go with it and you might learn something.”

  Dakota laughed as she peeled off the lace-up boots, then jumped to the mat in front of Armie. “My hunky husband has been fine-tuning you, I know. But here’s the thing. Chaos isn’t a fine-tuned type of fighter.”

  “Thus,” Armie said, “the na
me Chaos.”

  “Right. But I’ve been watching you. You’re chaotic, too, only in a more organized way. You’re…” She turned to Simon. “What’s a good word for it?”

  “Slick.”

  “Yes! You’re very slick in how you transition from one thing to the next. And that’s what Chaos is counting on—you transitioning. Ready?”

  Armie started to say, “For what?” but Dakota kicked out and, automatically, he blocked it. Then had to block another and another.

  Simon groaned. “Just do it already.”

  Crazy. But whatever. Armie dived in and took her down. Carefully.

  She moved, and he countered. She moved, and he countered again.

  Armie half laughed. Talk about slick!

  ’Course, he wasn’t giving it his all. For one thing, she was in street clothes, and for another, she was a woman.

  Most of all, she was Simon’s wife.

  Wrapping her up in a rear naked choke—without applying much pressure at all—Armie looked to Simon.

  “Your point, Dakota?” Simon asked.

  She went limp, laughed and peeled herself away from Armie’s loosened arms. “We can transition all day. All day, Armie. So instead, when you get him in a position you like, linger. Just a little. It’ll totally throw off his game.”

  Armie was thinking about that as he got to his feet, and damn if she didn’t attack again. Crazy lady.

  He liked her.

  This time, taking her advice, he shot in, pinned her down and held her there. “From here,” he said, “I’d start throwing some elbows to soften you up, then go for a submission.”

  “Perfect,” she crowed, as if he’d just passed a test of sorts.

  Armie disengaged, stood and offered her a hand. “It’s a good strategy, Dakota. Thanks.”

  It was then that they realized Justice just stood there, shocked. Dakota saw him, grinned and headed his way. Justice backed up, but Armie already knew it wouldn’t do him any good.

  “Every day,” Simon lamented. “I deal with that every day.”

  “Lucky you,” Armie told him with a slap to his back.

  Simon shook his head, then grinned. “Yeah.” He turned to help Armie remove his gloves. “She could compete, but she’s not interested. She’s more into her music and her work with abused women.”

  Armie knew Dakota performed in a band. Someday he wouldn’t mind watching.

  “Take tomorrow off,” Simon told him. “I mean it. A full day of rest.”

  “Got it.” Armie knew he’d still jog. Had to or he wouldn’t be able to sleep that night. But now that he had Rissy around in more interesting ways, a day off sounded like a great idea.

  He was more than happy to make the most of every available second with her.

  When he got to the locker room, he showered, dressed and checked his phone. On the screen was a message. Rissy was here.

  Smiling, he called her back. It took four rings before she answered.

  “Armie, hi!”

  “You sound busy, babe. Everything okay?” After the robbery, he’d stopped thinking of her work environment as safe.

  “Crazy busy, but yes, I’m fine. Just running late and I wanted you to know.”

  Checking in with him like they were a regular couple. Armie liked that a little too much. “Thanks. I was just on my way out. Want me to pick up something for dinner?” Rissy had a thing about cooking. It often seemed she cooked like he ran, to work out her frustrations, or just because she enjoyed it.

  She hesitated, said something to someone at the bank, then replied to him. “Okay, sure.” Distracted, she added, “Whatever you feel like having is fine by me.”

  He felt like having her. “Hungry?”

  “I missed lunch, so yes, I’m starved.”

  Armie frowned. She hadn’t had breakfast, either, and it concerned him. “You need a more regular meal routine.”

  She ignored that, saying, “It’s crazy, but I’ve been hungry at the oddest times.”

  Stress? Armie wondered. Merissa wasn’t one of those ladies on a perpetual diet, but neither was she a big eater. She ate what she wanted, cooked often and enjoyed dessert whenever the craving hit. “I’ll pick out something good,” he promised.

  “Thanks. I should go.” She made a kissing sound into the phone. “See you soon.”

  Even after the call ended, he stood there grinning.

  “Sap,” Leese said as he stepped out of a shower stall.

  Armie tucked away the phone. “With good reason.” He turned to Leese, then did a double take at the addition of muscle mass. “You’re getting ripped.”

  “A sap and a perv.”

  Armie paid no mind to the insult. “Not that you didn’t have a good base to start with. But all the extra time you’ve put in shows.”

  Leese gave him a look, then relented. “Maybe. But I’m still not as fast as I’d like to be. And my ground game is lacking.”

  True enough. Leese showed promise, but none of it came to him naturally. “Give it time.”

  Towel slung over his shoulders, Leese headed for the locker and drew out his boxers. “Or,” he said, “I could rethink all of it.”

  With his shoulder propped against the block wall, Armie crossed his arms and tipped his chin at Leese. “That what you’re doing?”

  Leese pulled a shirt on over his head, then sat to pull on socks. “Here’s how I see it. I’m good enough to have a significant edge against most yahoos on the street. But in the cage? Against guys like you or Cannon?” He met Armie’s gaze. “Not a chance.”

  There was a dose of honesty for you. Armie silently agreed, but said nothing.

  “The idea of competing and always coming up short doesn’t excite me much. I love training, so I can’t see ever leaving that. But I was thinking…”

  When he trailed off, Armie asked, “What?”

  “Just between us?”

  Curiosity piqued, Armie nodded. “Sure.”

  “I actually wouldn’t mind some input.” Leese pulled on jeans, then sat again to tie up running shoes. When he finished, he stood to face Armie, tugged at his ear, then explained, “There’s a security firm up north from here. They’re looking to add some bodyguards who’d get hired out—personal protection type stuff.”

  Hadn’t seen that coming! “A bodyguard? No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  First Armie had heard of it, but damn, he liked it. “Sounds fucking awesome, dude.” Grinning, he held out a fist.

  Wearing his own grin, Leese bumped his fist to Armie’s. “I’d have to carry a gun, along with some other equipment. And you don’t get to pick your assignments so if you’re thinking it’ll always be some sexy lady, with me playing Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard, I’m pretty sure it’s usually out-of-shape businessmen and visiting dignitaries that need the muscle.”

  “It’s still totally badass.”

  Leese laughed. “I plan to stay in shape, and I can’t see ever giving up my workouts—”

  “It’s in your blood.”

  “Yeah.” Stuffing his workout clothes into his gym bag, Leese said, “It wouldn’t happen for six months or so. I need to qualify, pass a background check, get in some time at the shooting range, stuff like that.”

  “But you’ll be moving out of Rissy’s house?”

  “Eventually, yeah. But hey, I figure by the time I need to go, you’ll have things worked out. Right?”

  Six months. Who knew if he’d even be in Rissy’s life at that point? So much could happen between now and then.

  So much was happening now.

  Dodging the question, Armie asked, “How do you like the house so far?”

  “It’s good. Lots of room.” He hefted his heavy bag. “Been quiet, too, in case you’re wondering.”

  Shrugging, Armie said, “I figured you’d mention something otherwise.” Still chatting amicably, they left the rec center together.

  The night was dark earlier than usual and fat gray clouds rolled one over
the other, blocking out any light from the moon.

  Leese looked up at the sky. “Storm’s coming in.”

  “Looks like.” They separated, Leese heading to his truck, Armie strolling toward his across the street and in a vacant lot. He was almost to it when a shadow shifted away from a squat, squalid building. He paused, eyes searching…

  “Hey.”

  Bray. A tidal wave of relief rushed through Armie. Caught between grabbing the kid up in a happy hug and giving him a stern lecture for scaring him, Armie stopped, his feet planted, his heart thumping heavily. He had him now, and this time he’d make sure Bray got the message.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  BRAY HUNG BACK, standing with his shoulders pulled forward against the crisp wind. He wore only a T-shirt and jeans and a million emotions clamored for Armie’s attention.

  He dropped his bag onto the gravel lot and reached the boy in two long strides. Clasping his shoulders, Armie went with the most pressing concern first. “You’re okay?”

  Looking surprised by that question, Bray muttered, “Yeah, sure.”

  A slight shake, and Armie demanded, “Where the hell have you been?”

  If anything, that made Bray’s expression more confused, as if he’d honestly thought no one would care that he was out on his own.

  “I was hanging in the park.”

  Jesus, Joseph and Mary. The park, which was pitch-black at night and used more often than not for shady deals too corrupt for daylight. With more emphasis, Armie asked, “Why?”

  “Doesn’t matter right now. I have something to tell you.”

  “The hell it doesn’t matter. It matters to me, Bray. I told you that. Damn it, I’ve been worried sick.”

  Bray tried to shrug off his hands, but Armie didn’t let him go.

  “Worried sick?” The kid curled his lip. “You sound like my mom when she isn’t messed up.”

  That stole Armie’s ire, because he was pretty sure Bray’s mom stayed messed up. Riding the waves of conflicting emotions, he drew Bray in for a bear hug so tight it made the kid cough. “Shit.” Armie held him back the length of his arms and dipped down to look him in the eyes. “I’m not your mama, boy, you got that? If I was, you could bet your ass I wouldn’t let you out of my sight. Especially after this disappearing act of yours.”