Shadowboxer: Tapped Out Book 1

by Quinn, Cari

  “K, I have numbers. Want me to text them or—”

  “I’ll write it down.” Dizzily, I looked around and saw a woman writing a check. I didn’t hesitate. I snatched the pen out of her hand, mumbled “sorry, emergency,” and flipped over my arm. And I absolutely did not think of Tray writing his number in the very same spot. “Go ahead.”

  “So far, I have four—no, five contenders. Start with these, and I’ll keep looking. If none of them are right, I’ll give you more names.”

  “I’m ready.”

  She rattled them off and I wrote as fast as I could. Then I handed the pen back to the frowning check-writer.

  “Got them all?” Carly asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll be in touch. Thanks, sis.” I hung up and started dialing.

  Three misses later, I blew out a breath and returned to my list. My spine locked as I read the fourth pair of names, Elliott and Cynthia Knox.

  I called and waited through five rings before an answering machine picked up. The voice sounded eerily like Tray, and my heart squeezed like a fist. Halfway through the message, the voice clicked off and the real live Tray-imitator appeared on the line. “Yes?”

  My voice deserted me. Flat-out left the building.

  “Hello?” he boomed again. And boomed was truly the only appropriate word. The phone wires were probably quivering.

  I knew I was and that pissed me off.

  “Hello. My name is Ame—” No. Dammit. That wasn’t my name anymore. “Mia. I’m with your son. At least I think he may be your son? Tray—”

  “If Tray knocked you up, that’s not our problem.”

  The cool, emotionless reply had me sinking to the floor right where I stood. My knees simply folded under me. Whose parents said something like that when they got a late night phone call? Tray’s, evidently.

  No wonder he hated them.

  A couple people rushed forward to help me, but I waved them off. Delayed shock had dulled my reflexes until I couldn’t do more than wiggle my fingers to show I was okay. I had bigger problems at the moment then nonfunctional body parts and rusty senses.

  “No. I’m not…knocked up.” Breathe in. Breathe out. Just say it. “Your son was hurt in a fight tonight.”

  A long, empty pause. I didn’t even hear his father breathing. Then, “How bad is it?”

  Finally, something resembling a human response. “I don’t know yet. We’re at the hospital. He was unconscious and there was a lot of blood…” I couldn’t say any more.

  “Which hospital?” He bit off the words.

  “Brooklyn Presbyterian. If you want, I could—”

  The dial tone sounded in my ear.

  I lowered the phone to my lap and tried to force out air through the constriction in my lungs. What had I just done? Had I made a huge fucking mistake?

  “Mia?”

  I dredged up the energy to look upward. Slater stared down at me, much like someone studying an exotic—and possibly poisonous—plant.

  All of a sudden, I couldn’t sit there in Tray’s blood one second longer.

  I slapped a hand on the wall and jerked to my feet, staying still until the dizziness receded. I didn’t do well in hospitals. Didn’t do well anywhere, obviously.

  “Any news?” He steadied me with a casual hand on my elbow.

  “No. Nothing.” As subtly as possible, I shook him off. I’d always stood on my own two feet. Tonight wouldn’t be any different. “Maybe they’ll tell you something.”

  Slater nodded and turned away to head toward the admissions desk, but I reached forward and grabbed his arm.

  He stopped and slanted me a wary look. “Yeah?”

  “Do you have a key to Tray’s place?”

  “Huh?” Shaking his head, he started walking again. I didn’t blame him. He probably figured I wanted to send him on another errand.

  In this case, he was wrong. I wanted to go. Had to, in fact. I wasn’t doing Tray any favors by hanging out in this waiting room, getting dizzier and sicker and less able to deal with the reality of our lives in the cage. Professional fights were one thing, the unsanctioned ones quite another. I’d been lucky so far and had never been seriously hurt.

  I couldn’t stick around to see if Tray’s luck had run out.

  “Slater.”

  “Jesus, Mia, let me find out if he’s okay, would you?”

  “His parents are coming. I called them.” I clutched my phone to my chest, not even loosening my grip when the case buckled in my grip. “Someone needs to feed his dog. If you can get me a key—”

  Without another word, he dug in his pocket and produced a key ring with enough keys to classify it as a deadly weapon. He pried off one and pushed it into my palm without meeting my gaze. “Go take care of Vey. I’ll deal with the parents of doom.”

  Running away would be cowardly. I wasn’t a coward. At least on the outside.

  So why did I find myself nodding while I stumbled backward? That horrible hospital smell of antiseptic and pervasive sickness would give me nightmares for weeks.

  “You’ll call me when you hear?”

  “Yeah.” He tossed me his phone.

  I caught it easily and programmed my number before throwing it back. He grabbed it above his head, his eyes finally connecting with mine. The shadows in them made me want to weep.

  He was truly frightened for his best friend. And that scared me even more.

  “I’ll call, Mia.”

  Nodding, I turned. And ran, just like two weeks before when I’d met Tray. Except this time I didn’t have his coat to keep me warm.

  I also still didn’t have any money to hail a cab.

  Biting my lip, I jogged back into the hospital waiting room. The same faces peered at me with puzzlement and suspicion. I had always been popular at parties.

  Slater rose halfway out of his seat as I approached. “Now what?” His weariness might’ve made me laugh if I hadn’t been worn so thin.

  “I need money for a cab.” I could’ve called for an Uber, but I didn’t like to use my emergency credit card unless I had to. “I’ll pay you back, with interest. For the jacket too.”

  He’d already pried out his wallet and bent his head. The streaks of blond in his brown hair caught the light and reminded me of caramel ice cream.

  That fro yo stand I’d passed with Carly last weekend at the mall seemed like a memory from a million years ago.

  “Here’s thirty-five. All I got on me.” He gave me a smile full of perfect white teeth that bumped up his looks from attractive to lethal. “I’ll hit up Pops Knox. He’s always down for spotting some green.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” He gave me a gentle shove. “Now get lost, fighter girl.”

  Fighter girl. God. His using the name Tray had given me poured more kerosene in the wound.

  “Thank you.”

  I made it to the street before the tears started again. They lasted for the few blocks I walked before trying to hail another cab.

  By then, a plan had begun to form.

  I couldn’t be a normal friend or…girlfriend to anyone. I couldn’t sit calmly in waiting rooms with my neat, non-bloody face and hands and wait patiently for news. I definitely couldn’t act like a regular woman regarding clothes or relationships or sex.

  But I could fight.

  I dragged out my phone and pressed the button for Carly’s number.

  “Did you hear about Fox?” Her voice pitched. “Did you find his parents?”

  For the millionth time, I counted my lucky stars that I’d been given such a strong, perfect sister. She knew how to react in every circumstance. Maybe if I watched her more closely, someday I’d figure out how to mimic regular human reactions too.

  “I found his parents. No word on him yet, though. I’m on the way to his place to take care of his puppy.”

  “A dog? Oooh, what kind?” Her excitement vibrated over the line. “Where does Fox live? I’ll meet you there.”

  “Carly Ann, it’s pas
t midnight.”

  “I need to see you with my own eyes to make sure you’re all right. Now give me the damn address.”

  I smiled and told her where to go, but stopped her right before she disconnected. “Wait. I need another number.”

  “Jesus. Now who’re you calling? The fucking prez?”

  Though I didn’t appreciate her tone, I left that battle for another day. Lifting my hand toward the row of cabs at the curb, I gritted my teeth. “His name is Giovanni Costas.”

  Twenty-Five

  Voices crawled through my brain. Some cross, some soft and soothing. All of them disrupting my sleep.

  Sleep was so very good. I’d just keep sleeping forever. No decisions to make. Nothing to worry about. No one to miss.

  “He’s coming to.”

  No, I wasn’t. I wouldn’t come to if that voice was waiting on the other side. My mother’s sharp nasally tones were not what I wanted to hear. Ever.

  I wanted—

  “Fuck,” I rasped, suddenly violently thirsty. I started to choke, and someone pushed a cup to my mouth. I drank and drank some more. Then I passed out again.

  That pattern repeated itself a couple times until I finally woke up and actually opened my eyes. Once I managed to get them to focus, almost, I promptly closed them again.

  “I saw that, Tray.” My father rustled the paper as he folded it in his lap. “You’re awake, so stop pretending you’re not.”

  Words jumbled in my head. I knew what I wanted to say, sort of, but when I opened my mouth, what came out was a version of assjkd!?@)#. At least that was my best guess. From my father’s expression—yes, I’d opened my eyes again, masochist that I am—he wasn’t too impressed with my verbal skills.

  “Try that again.”

  His patient tone earned a snarl. At least I could still make noises.

  “Are you in pain?”

  I took stock. Other than the throb in my skull, which pulsed like a strobe light, most of the rest of me felt okay. And oh, yeah, that eye focusing thing was a problem. I belatedly realized that I was only seeing with one of them. The other was a mess. When I squinted at my dad, he turned into two Elliott Knoxes.

  My own personal vision of hell.

  “Your eye socket is fractured,” he said, his voice as even as if he were reporting the news. “You’re most likely experiencing some pain, light sensitivity, and double vision. That will be corrected with surgery in a few weeks once the swelling goes down, and you’ve recovered from the cold you’ve contracted. I’ve contacted a personal friend who is coming in to consult on your case.”

  A cold too? What the fuck? I hadn’t had one of those in ten years. Somehow that seemed like more of an affront than the busted eyeball.

  I closed my now watering eye and lifted my arm with its lovely new accessory of an IV drip to clutch my head. “Where the fuck are the…” Maybe I’d just stick with the word fuck since it was the only one I seemed to remember without difficulty. “Pills?”

  “I’ll call the nurse in a moment.”

  Oh, sure. Take your time. No worries here, I just have an eyeball sinking into my head.

  Christ, I could actually feel where it had sunk into the socket. Disgusting.

  My father crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. “You also have a concussion. Moderate, I’m told. Once you manage to remain conscious for a few hours, you’ll be sent home.”

  I grunted. Since I was a lame ass who couldn’t even stay awake, surely he couldn’t expect more.

  “Considering the dangerous, life-threatening sport you’ve chosen to engage in, one might think you would’ve taken provisions to let your fighter friends or even your girlfriends—”

  Girlfriends being synonymous with whores in his mind, though he wouldn’t speak such vulgarity.

  “—know your family’s contact numbers so they could alert us if you got yourself killed. Instead, your little ragamuffin had to find us on her own.”

  I’d tuned him out somewhere around the word family—ha, what a joke—but he got my attention again with ragamuffin.

  “Mia?” I croaked. That name flew from my brain to my lips with no disconnect. Even serious brain trauma couldn’t shake her loose.

  He gave me a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. “She’s not your usual type, now is she?”

  She was no one’s usual type. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of trying and failing to speak again.

  “She came in here yesterday and marched right up to your mother and demanded your status. I assumed she must be one of those floozies you consort with until Slater dragged her away. They were talking about some fight, and it wasn’t yours.”

  Too much information. I sagged into the pillow. What was Slater doing with Mia? Where were they? Why had they left me alone with this asshole? But I didn’t say any of it.

  “It took some doing, but I figured out this Mia person is a fighter too. And she intends to fight the man who took you down.” My father examined his manicure. “The company you keep concerns me, Trayherne. I do have to thank her for going to the trouble of contacting us—God knows you wouldn’t have bothered—but I think a clean break from these sorts of individuals is best. Now is the perfect time.”

  None of this was making sense. I willed my brain to work. Mia. Slater.

  She intends to fight the man who took you down.

  “No.” I shot up in bed so fast that I jostled the IV line and nearly toppled it. My father caught the pole with an aggrieved huff of breath. “You have to stop her.”

  “No, I do not. She’s not your concern. You need to get well.”

  I’d stop her myself. I started to swing my legs out of bed, swiftly realized that was a very bad idea, and slumped to my side. “Just fucking get Slater.”

  “I’m here, man.” Slater crossed the room toward me. I hadn’t noticed him before, which probably wasn’t shocking considering I was half blind. “Relax. Everything’s okay.” He coughed. “Mr. K’s just worried about you. Right, Mr. K?”

  My father grumbled something that could’ve been an agreement or possibly a threat in Bulgarian.

  “Maybe you should join Mrs. K in the coffee shop. Let her know Tray’s awake. And yanno, ease up on the suggestions Tray kick me out of his life when I love him like a goddamn brother.” Slater delivered the last with a bright smile that could’ve provided power to a small country.

  “Until you break your ties with that deadly sport, you’re an unsavory influence on my impressionable son. If you decide to walk away, then it may be a different story.”

  “Your impressionable son is the one who fostered my ties with MMA in the first place. Which you well know. I’m just a guy who surfs with his dog.” Slater held his hands palm-up in a gesture of perfect innocence. “Go get a coffee and something to eat. I’ll sit with Tray.”

  “I’ll be back.” My father strode out.

  Slater dropped into the chair beside my bed. “He makes a piss-poor Arnold.”

  “He makes a piss-poor…father too.” I shifted more fully onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. Thoughts were blowing around my brain like someone had turned on a fan, but I couldn’t catch most of them. I was still so exhausted.

  Concussion, eye socket fracture, plus God knew what else. Costas must have been crowing his ass off, thinking he laid me up good.

  I rolled my head to the side and squinted at Slater. Thanks to my fucked-up vision, there were a couple of him to choose from, and none of them were smiling. “Mia. Costas.”

  Slater leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “She’s a wild thing, huh?”

  I wanted to smile. Almost did. Then something caught between jealousy and possessiveness mixed with a whole lot of drugs and pain turned it into a glare. I think. It was hard to tell what message you were sending when the recipient multiplied before your eyes.

  “Yeah, I get it. Back off. You really think I’m poaching on your land while you’re in a hospital bed? I do have some standards.” He pu
shed a hand through his hair. “You scared us. Her especially.”

  I’d think about that later. “Costas. Don’t…let her near him.”

  “It was my mistake. She asked me for his number, and of course I wouldn’t give it to her. But I let it slip that he trains at The Cage with Bufort, and next thing I know, I hear from Emerson that she’s been questioning half the guys at the gym. She’s tenacious. She also lies as easy as she breathes.” Slater shook his head. “She pretended she just wanted to talk to him. Total BS. Emerson said she put the word out that she wanted to switch her fight with you to a fight with him, still set three weeks from now. Most of the guys think she’s loco so they’re laughing it off.”

  Laughing off Mia was a dangerous mistake. I’d done the same, and I’d set in motion the series of events that had left me on my back in a damn hospital bed.

  Anger spurted hot and thick through my gut. Holy fuck, I was pissed. At Costas. At Mia. At myself, most of all. I’d come into the ring in prime position to lose. I hadn’t been ready to fight in any way, least of all mentally. I deserved every bit of the ass whupping I’d taken.

  But I’d fucking get my own back. I didn’t need my woman—whether or not she acknowledged being that didn’t change the reality—running interference for me. And I sure as shit didn’t need her taking blows that had my name on them.

  I’d lost to Costas, fair and square. And I was walking away. Not because my daddy said so, not because I was scared that I couldn’t hang anymore, but because I wanted out. For good.

  “You have to…keep her away from…him.” Somehow I managed a coherent sentence. “I’ll be better in a day or two. I’ll set her straight…then.”

  Slater smirked despite the heavy lines around his eyes. Lines I’d probably put there. “Good luck with that.”

  “Where is she?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure. She got into it pretty good with your dad yesterday, and I haven’t seen her since. As obnoxious as he was with her, she held her own.” Admiration filled Slater’s voice. “She’s a tough chick, man.”