by Roxie Rivera
“So?” Lucy asked.
“So what?”
“The altercation?”
She didn’t want to upset her sister, but this wasn’t a secret she could keep. “It was Ramsay.”
Lucy’s face turned pale. “He’s here? In Vegas? How? When did he get out of the pen?”
Sara shrugged. “I don’t know. We didn’t have a chance to talk.”
“What are we going to do?” Lucy asked carefully, her face a mask of concern and worry.
“I’ll talk to security and the police when we’re done with the meet-and-greet.”
“What do you think he wants?” Lucy stuffed a few necessities in a clutch and handed it over.
Sara studied her reflection in the mirror. “What he always wants—money.”
“Fuck that guy,” Lucy said angrily. “Just fuck him so hard.”
Sara smiled sadly at her sister. “We can’t let him twist us up like this. It’s exactly what he wants. He thrives on manipulating people and gets off on upsetting us. We have to just let it go.”
“He’s dangerous. You can’t just let it go.”
“I know he’s dangerous,” Sara murmured quietly. She had the healed fractures and nose reconstruction bills to prove it. “But I won’t let him rule my life anymore.”
Lucy embraced her in a side-hug. “We’ll figure it out, okay? I don’t want you to worry.”
“I’m not worried,” she lied. Perking up, she embraced her inner vixen and motioned toward the door. “We should go. I have plans for later.”
“With that fighter I saw sneaking out of here a few minutes ago?” Lucy eyed her with a mischievous smile.
Sara blushed. “Maybe.”
“He’s a nice guy. If the press about him is to be believed,” she added.
“Oh?” Lucy and her wife were diehard fans of mixed-martial arts and boxing. They spent more on pay-per-view matches than Sara did on shoes. If anyone had the inside info on Zel, it would be Lucy.
“He has this whole tragic story. He was an orphanage kid. Then he was in the military in Croatia. Eventually he came to the US—to Houston, actually—with his baby boy. That was, like, seven or eight year ago. He’s had a really successful career. Lots of really spectacular wins. He always finishes strong.”
“A son?” Sara seized on that bit of information. “He’s not married, right?”
“No.” Lucy bopped her shoulder. “But you are.”
“I’m separated,” she insisted hotly. “For nearly ten years! I’d be long divorced if Lalo would just stop the bullshit and sign the papers.”
“He can’t control you if he signs the papers.”
Lucy was right, of course. After Luscious Lingerie, the plus-size clothing company Sara owned, had started to churn major bucks, she had offered her estranged husband a sizeable payday to let her go free, but he’d refused. Actually, he had countered with a higher number and the demand that she let him have her for one more weekend. Knowing what kind of damage he could do in forty-eight hours, Sara had ended the negotiations and continued living her life as a single but not really single woman.
“Zel was a single father,” Lucy said.
“Was?” That didn’t sound good at all.
“His son died about a year ago? Maybe fourteen or fifteen months ago?”
Sara no longer had to wonder about that sadness in his pale eyes. It was the haunted look of a man who had lost something important and impossible to replace. “Oh my God! How awful!”
“He was a just a kid. Maybe six years old? I don’t remember all the details. I just remember that he stepped away from the ring for about two years, right around the time his son became really sick. He’s been fighting again, taking small matches and doing well. This is his first big match since stepping back in the ring. They’re saying it might be his last.”
Sara tried to wrap her head around all of that information. She hardly knew the man, but she ached for his loss. How terrible to lose a child! From what little Lucy had said, it sounded as if Zel’s son had been sick. To go through all of that fear and stress and grief alone? It must have been incredibly hard on him.
As she followed Lucy out of the dressing room and down to the meet-and-greet, Sara decided that she and Zel both could use a little escape tonight. Vegas had their motto for a reason. Tonight, they were the perfect couple to indulge in a little one-night-stand therapy.
Because if anyone needs a torrid escape from reality, it’s us…
Chapter Three
Amped up for his secret date with Sara, Zel paced his hotel room. He glanced at his watch for the hundredth time and decided it was time to go. He tried to ignore the quiver of guilt irritating his stomach. There were strict gym rules for all the fighters on Ivan’s roster and those included staying away from women before fights. It was an old school thing, but Ivan’s rules were his rules. They weren’t meant to be broken.
He’ll never know. Zel was certain he could sneak out and back into his room without his coach ever knowing that he had left. The thought of lying to Ivan after all their years as friends wasn’t one he liked, but Zel couldn’t ignore the pull he felt toward Sara.
After so many months of self-imposed celibacy, she had awakened something dark and powerful in him. He needed to see her again. He needed to taste her again. He wanted to know what it was like to be inside her.
“Where are you going?”
Zel had barely closed the door to his hotel room when Ivan’s gruff voice registered. Well. Fuck.
He glanced over his shoulder and spotted his hulking Russian coach holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and a silver ice bucket in the other. He’d lost his suit jacket and tie. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck low enough to reveal the tips of the onion dome cathedral tattooed on his chest. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his pants were wrinkled. For a man who was always so neatly put together, Ivan’s appearance spoke volumes.
“Where are you going?” Zel shot back.
“Room service was taking forever, and I needed champagne and ice.” Ivan fixed his discerning stare on him. “Where are you going?”
“Just headed out,” Zel said, deliberately evading the question.
“For?” Ivan narrowed his eyes. “You know they have room service or concierge if you need something.”
“What I need will probably get me arrested if I try to order it through the concierge,” Zel admitted, trying to make light of the situation.
“You’re going to see that dancer aren’t you?” Ivan never missed a beat. Many people stupider than Zel had made the mistake of underestimating him. Somehow Ivan always managed to see or hear about any indiscretions. Before Zel could decide whether to deny or admit to that charge, Ivan shook his head. “I was told that you went backstage for an autograph. I knew it was total bullshit.”
“It’s not like that, Vanya.”
“And that fight I heard about? Huh? The security guards who went running backstage?” Ivan dared him to lie. “I suppose you didn’t have anything to do with that?”
“It wasn’t a real fight. I just tossed some guy out the back door.”
“Some guy? What guy?”
Zel rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. “She was being harassed.”
“By?”
“Her stepbrother.”
Ivan swore in Russian. “You stay the fuck away from Ramsay Ramirez, Zel. He’s a violent pig who can’t be trusted.”
Ivan’s reaction to the mention of her stepbrother confirmed what she had told him. “Sara said she was from Houston and that she knew you.”
“Oh, I remember Sara Contreras,” Ivan assured him. “And what I remember is dangerous.” Shaking his head, Ivan changed his grip on the champagne bottle and jabbed a warning finger in Zel’s direction. “Stay away from her. At least until the fight is over, Zel. The last fucking thing you need is pussy drama.”
Ivan was right. He was always right when it came to things like this. But Zel couldn’t stay away fro
m her.
“It is the last thing I need,” Zel agreed, “but I’m still going to see her.”
Disappointment radiated from Ivan in unbearable waves. “If you want to fuck around and get your head all mixed up with some dancer, that’s your business. It’s your life.”
Shaking his head, Ivan pivoted away from Zel. He took a few steps before calling back, “Remember what’s on the line, Zel. Remember why you fight.”
Anger surged through him at Ivan’s patronizing tone. “Do you think I’ve forgotten? Huh? Do you have any idea what it’s like to wake up every morning knowing that I’m not going to see my son’s face? That I’m not going to hear him laugh? That I’m not going to read him a bedtime story or hug him goodnight?”
Ivan stopped and turned slowly. The guilt on etched into his coach’s face was an expression Zel had never seen from him. Apologetic, Ivan walked back until they were only a few feet apart. “I had no right to say that to you.”
Zel expelled a rough breath. “Maybe not but you’re right to question what I’m thinking,” he allowed. “You’re my coach. It’s your job to look out for me.”
Ivan tucked the champagne bottle under his other arm and clamped his massive hand on Zel’s shoulder. Giving it a squeeze, he said, “I know how hard you’ve worked to come back after losing Matthias. You’ve put in so many hours to get back into prime fighting shape. I don’t want to see all that sweat and sacrifice go to waste.”
“It won’t.”
Ivan studied his face as if seeking answers. “You’ve been through so much, Zel. You’ve lost more than I can comprehend.” He hesitated. “Maybe you need to blow off some steam.” Ivan lowered his hand from Zel’s shoulder. “That’s what Vegas is all about, right?”
Zel reacted with surprise at his coach’s suggestion that he go out tonight and have a good time. “Are you sure?”
“You're going anyway.” Ivan shrugged. “I may as well give you my approval so you aren't sneaking around and getting into trouble behind my back.”
Before Zel could answer, Erin appeared behind Ivan, poking her head around the corner of the hotel hallway. “Evie?”
Zel’s mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile at Erin’s little pet name for her husband. Ivan glanced back at his wife and frowned when she stepped around the corner in a flimsy black robe that barely skimmed the middle of her thighs. Judging by the way she was holding the robe together in the front, she wasn’t wearing much underneath it. Even from his distance, Zel could see the prominent love bite on her neck and the bright red imprints of Ivan’s fingertips on her thighs. He didn’t have to think very hard to fill in those blanks.
“You were gone a long time,” she said, lingering there. “I was worried.”
Ivan’s expression softened. “I ran into Zel. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“Well quit harassing him and get back in our suite!” Erin crooked her finger in a come-hither motion. “Or else I’ll have to find someone else to come play with me.”
There was no mistaking the lusty gleam in Ivan’s eyes that her teasing inspired. He glanced back at Zel and lowered his voice, “You’re a good fighter, Zel. You’ve earned this chance to fight for big money. I know what it will mean if you win.”
Ivan didn’t have to say the words loan shark for Zel to understand. It was an open secret around the gym that Zel still owed a hefty balance to the Beciraj crime family that had financed his escape from Croatia with his young, sick son. He had fought underground in the bloody prize tournaments for the family to pay off his first debt—but then Matthias’s heart had grown weaker and a transplant was necessary.
Without insurance, he’d had no choice but to go back to Besian Beciraj, hat in hand, and ask for another even larger loan. By then, he had been fighting professionally, but the money hadn’t been very good yet. Each month, he fell farther and farther behind because of interest. And then, when Matthias’s condition had worsened, he had put his payments—and his career—on hold to focus on keeping his son alive while they waited for a transplant.
But after the failed transplant, Zel hadn’t cared at all whether the knee breakers came after him. In some ways, he would have welcomed the physical pain that would have accompanied a collector’s beat-down, but they never came. Besian had shown a surprising amount of flexibility and generosity. He hadn’t once sent Jet or Devil or Ben around to collect the late and even later payments. He had simply waited for Zel to come to him and promise to make good on his debt. It had taken more than a year for Zel to work through the depression and grief, to find a way to keep living and moving forward with his life without his son.
There was a lot of money riding on this fight. Zel wasn’t expected to win, but if he did—and he planned to do just that—he would finally escape his debt. Besian had been very clear that the family had placed a number of large bets. If he won the bout, Zel would be free.
Broke as hell, he thought with some frustration, but free.
“You said you wanted to retire on top,” Ivan reminded him. “You wanted to end your career on your terms. If you still want that, you have to keep your head straight. Go have fun with this dancer tonight—and then be in the gym tomorrow morning ready to train.”
His counsel given, Ivan ate up the distance to his smiling wife with long, determined strides. He murmured something to Erin that Zel couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, it must have been dirty because Erin blushed bright red and then spun on her heel and dashed back toward their room. Zel heard her squeal with laughter. A moment later, the telltale smack of Ivan’s hand whacking her bottom echoed in the hallway. Erin yelped. Ivan’s dark laughter faded away as a door was closed.
Not for the first time, Zel envied Ivan’s relationship with his wife. Lately, Erin had been spending a lot of time at the gym, taking over the day-to-day operations for her husband. After watching the couple interact on a daily basis, it was clear how very much Erin loved her husband, and Ivan utterly adored and worshipped her. The little touches, the smiles, the laughter—Zel craved that closeness and intimacy.
It had taken him months and months to get to the point where he no longer experienced extreme guilt when he thought of his future, of the life that he would live without Matthias. Tonight he felt almost optimistic. There was no telling whether this date he had planned with Sara would go anywhere. Maybe it would end as a simple one-night stand or maybe it would lead to something new and interesting. Either way, Ivan was right. He did need to blow off some steam.
But what did Ivan know about Sara’s history that had his coach so twisted? There had to be a story there, probably a story that included some serious underworld drama.
His mind went wild with possibilities as he walked to the nearest elevator and waited for the next car. He went straight down to the lobby and crossed to the private bank of elevators for accessing the exclusive areas of the hotel. Showing the hotel keycard wasn’t enough for the security guard, but a quick call to the penthouse and the guard confirmed he was expected upstairs.
Zel wondered if this extra level of security was in place because of Sara’s run-in with her stepbrother. He had a bad feeling about that guy. His years living on the edge of the criminal underworld had taught him how to spot an asshole like that at fifty paces. That guy wasn’t going to leave her alone unless someone made him. He was the type of monster who got off on playing power games. Maybe it was time someone played head games with him…
Pushing all thoughts of the stepbrother from his mind, Zel replayed their wild kiss in the dressing room. His limbs trembled as he stepped off the elevator and into a private hallway. There was only one door straight ahead. As he strode toward it, his dick leapt in his pants. He was so hard it hurt. Just the thought of burying his face in Sara’s sweet pussy threatened to make him come in his pants. He couldn’t ever remember being so turned-on in his life.
His mind reeled from the surreal turn his visit to her dressing room had taken. At best, Zel had been hoping to snag a dinner date. Holdin
g Sara close as he worked her into a frenzied state with his fingers had never even crossed his mind. Her delicious taste still lingered on his lips.
Clenching his shaking fingers, Zel rapped his knuckles against the door. He expected to wait but the door swung inward almost immediately. His eyes widened at the sight of Sara, naked and freshly showered, her damp hair curling around her shoulders. He raked his hungry gaze over those full breasts and the gentle curve of her belly. Desperate to get his hands on her plump flesh, Zel lifted his hand and let a strip of condoms unfold for her approval.
In a flash, Sara snatched a handful of his shirt and dragged him inside the penthouse. He kicked the door shut behind him and trailed her like a puppy through the various rooms of the upscale suite. His eyes trained on the hypnotic swing of her wide hips and the jiggle of her voluptuous ass. Naughty visions filtered through his mind.
When they reached the bedroom, Sara pounced on him. Her fingers made quick work of divesting his clothing. Dropping the condoms, Zel helped speed up the process, kicking off his shoes and tearing off his shirt. He’d barely peeled off his boxer briefs before Sara shoved him onto the bed. He fell back against the fluffy comforter, his feet still flat on the floor. In an instant, her hot, wet mouth was wrapped around the head of his cock. The sensation of her velvety tongue flicking at the underside of his dick knocked the breath from his lungs. Her slick lips enveloped his shaft and slid down the length.
Eyes closed, Zel enjoyed the unbelievable feeling of her tongue and lips lavishing attention on his cock. Her hands joined the party, one stroking his shaft, the other playing with his balls. His hips pumped subtly in reaction to the delicious stimulation. When Zel lifted his head and watched his cock disappear down her throat, he nearly shot off.
Not ready to lose it just yet, he gently pulled away from her mouth. She cast a confused look his way. “Did I do something wrong?”
