Fierce (19 page)

Over the three days of the tournament, Marlon Washington fought five bouts. He won four times, two by TKO and two by submission, and only lost in the final match by judges’ decision, a very close two votes to one. Avery was pleased, as was Luca, who rang Marlon to congratulate him personally, even if Marlon himself was a little ticked off at having lost on points, a decision he should have won, he maintained.

Typical fighter
, thought Rose.
Never admits defeat
.

Mitre’s other representative at the tournament did well, too. Young Joey won through to the semi-finals but had to tap out late in the fight when her opponent trapped her in a painful leg scissor lock. Unfortunately, only one of the Culver sisters was there to see it, as Lena’s groin strain had kept her in bed. So the Dolphin victors didn’t get to meet up for drinks in Reno after all. Rose vowed to get them all together in Mitre sometime soon, though, so she could thank them properly for saving her neck.

But one promised outing did materialize—the most important one as far as Rose was concerned. With Marlon resting and no longer in need of a chaperon—now that the tournament was over, blackmailing wasn’t a problem—Avery was free to take her to dinner alone.

As usual, he kept his word.

The restaurant was called
Baci,
and they were lucky to get in; a couple had cancelled their reservation shortly before Avery rang to book a table. It was otherwise completely full. Jackets and ties were prerequisites, while most of the women were dressed to kill. Many of their outfits were worth more than all Rose’s possessions combined. The price of an expensive meal here would feed her for a week back in Mitre, but she pretended not to notice. This was her idea, after all.

“So, I think we did okay, considering,” she said.

“With?”

“With this trip, with Marlon; I think, between us, we made a good showing for the gym.”

He flashed her a charming, all-his-cards-on-the-table smile that melted her inside. “You did great. Everything ran like clockwork, apart from you-know-what. And even that’s worked out for us.”

“It has?”

“Uh-huh. Luca’s already told everyone about our little dust-up in the Dolphin. Apparently, word’s got round, and we’re all anyone’s talking about: you, Ash and Lena, Marlon, and I guess me being part of it hasn’t hurt. He says you’re a celebrity at the gym. And the whole thing has been good for business, both ours
and
Springbok’s. Loads of new members and people enquiring about joining.”

Rose didn’t know what to say. Sure, she felt more confident right now than she’d ever felt in her life, but to be famous, and in Mitre, the town she’d been pretty much invisible in her whole life—it didn’t make sense. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. I got to speak to a few of the witnesses that night at The Dolphin, those who’d seen the whole thing before we got there. They said you gave as good as you got, and you even threw one to the ground. The wrist throw you were telling me about.”

“Yeah, I snapped him down good.” And she described the whole fight again, her part, blow-by-blow, then the Culver twins’ kick-ass entrance, like something from a Michelle Yeoh movie. “So it was us three chicks against five bad guys, and we didn’t back down an inch.”

“I noticed.”

“Kinda glad you showed up, though, you and Marlon.” She paused. “Hey, someone rang me while I was cornered, and that asshole wouldn’t let me answer. Was that you?”

He nodded. “I couldn’t see you anywhere. Someone mentioned you’d been involved in a bust-up at the hotel bar.”

“Those old geezers? It wasn’t a bust-up,” she said. “
They
were going at it. I just asked who the dude was they were arguing about.”

“And that’s all?” He eyed her suspiciously over the top of his menu. “You didn’t take sides or anything?”

“No. I was just curious. One of them said he was sick of all the corruption. I just put two and two together, that’s all. Didn’t think any more about it until those goombas jumped me in the casino.”

“But they said you’d been asking questions about this Delgado,” he reminded her.

“I
know.
Someone at the party must have got the wrong idea. I’d never even heard those names before that night, I swear,” she lied. Mike’s black book was her secret investigative tool, and it had done its job; she’d probably found two of the head honchos behind the whole fight-fixing enterprise. However, she didn’t want tell Avery about it. Not yet. He’d risked enough for her, and to make him privy to all those criminal names—she reckoned Mike’s entire corrupt organization was listed in there—would put him in too deep.

No. She would tell him what he needed to know if and when the time came. Until then, this was her burden to carry. This was her investigation. More than that, it was her chance to give something back to the people who’d given her this opportunity to turn her life around. If she could get some sort of solid proof of who was behind the blackmailing, tie definite names to specific crimes, maybe Luca and Avery, with Tyler Culver, could go to the FBI or something.

In the meantime, she’d be glad to leave Reno. Though Max tried to be invisible, he was always there, like a second shadow, reminding her that she’d been reckless the other night at the bar, mouthy and reckless, and that it could have gotten them all killed.

She’d never forgive herself if anything else happened to Avery because of her. That was why she couldn’t tell him about the black book.

“What’s good here?” she asked, trying to change the subject. This was supposed to be a
date
, after all.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he said.

“I thought you were, like, a guru with this stuff.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Lady, I eat at Pizza Hut. I thought you might be able to clue
me
in.”

Rose laughed. “For real?”

“For real.”

“You mean you’ve never eaten posh before?”

“Eaten yes. Ordered no,” he replied.

“How come?”

“I don’t know how to pronounce half this stuff.” He wasn’t being ironic, which made her laugh again.

“So you just let your partner order for you?” she asked, tongue in cheek.

He winked. “I just have whatever she’s having.”

“Ooh. In that case I’m picking something I totally don’t know. A full-on Italian roulette. How about it, Champ?”

“Sounds…like something you’d do.”

“You bet your ass,
monsieur.
”

Avery smirked. “I think that’s French.”

“You wanna bet?”

“Nah. I think I’ll quit while I’m behind.”

Rose slid her painted fingernail down the laminated page, stopped at a main course that was both unpronounceable and one of the most expensive on the menu. Rather than try to say it, she pointed it out to the waiter, who nodded and gave her a wry smile.

“Would the lady like some wine?” he asked.

“Yes.” She flicked to the Wines and Beverages at the back. “I’ll have a glass of the Duval-Leroy Pinot Noir, the Brut Rose. And one for the gentleman.”

“Very good, miss. Will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you.”

When he’d left, she plonked her elbows on the table, rested her chin on her knuckles, and started whistling softly.

“Proud of yourself much?” he said. “Pinot Noir?”

“Now
that’s
French,” she pointed out with a slightly superior air.

Avery rolled his eyes. “Let’s just hope you didn’t order snails as well.”

***

Sometime between the main course and dessert, it hit him, and he knew right then that his life would not be the same again until he faced it full-on. Rose was a lot more than just a pupil or a colleague or even a fuck buddy. In her own disarming, cheer-worthy way, she’d trampled those categories so that they no longer existed. Not for her. She was Maggie all over again, only Rose was not frail, not prone to those hideous wracking coughs that sometimes brought up blood. She was tough-minded and gritty like Maggie, but she was not wise like Maggie had been. No, Rose lived on impulse, following her heart instead of her head; it was what got her into trouble so often.

Avery realised he was in love with her.

It had been building in him for a while now, subtly, like pressure in a boiler, but he’d been certain it would dissipate on its own if he could keep things more-or-less platonic between them, focus on her training and keep her at arm’s length. But the truth was they’d spent far too much time together for that, not just at the gym but at his home as well. And the more time they spent together, the more she reminded him of the way he used to be with Maggie.

If the pneumonia hadn’t taken her, he’d have turned out a lot differently, he reckoned. Happier. Less obsessed. More curious about the world. Kind of like how he felt right now, whenever he was with Rose. He felt better about himself, about what he was doing, and he wanted to know what she thought about, well, everything. She was fascinating, infuriating, and she’d well and truly gotten under his skin.

The sex last night had been a release of sorts—a pretty amazing one—and he no longer felt that pressure to keep her at arm’s length. Resisting her hadn’t worked. So here they were, a bona fide couple dining out. And he was about to tell her how he felt, something he’d only admitted once before in his life, to Maggie, a few hours before God had taken her.

Once he said the words, there would be no going back.

He took a deep breath, saw her beautiful, insolent eyes watching him, and couldn’t get the words out. They sounded dumb as he ran them through his mind. And he didn’t do dumb, not without at least a few more glasses of Pinot.

“What’s wrong?” Rose didn’t wait for him to reply, instead got her napkin ready for the arrival of their desserts. “Oh my God, that is sick,” she said under her breath, licking her lips as the plates arrived.

She’d ordered them both the same thing again, but unlike the main course, which had turned out to be a delicious bacon and cheese pasta dish, the dessert made him want to gag. The pancakes with honey was fine. The three flavors of ice cream were fine. The marshmallows looked good. The chocolate mint-filled wafers were fine. Any one of those would have made a decent dessert. But all of them combined? In the same dish? Did they
want
him to puke?

“Mm, that is dreamy. You need to tuck in,” she told him.

He picked at the pancake and tried to ignore the rest. Meanwhile, Rose was scoffing hers down indiscriminately, like a pig at a trough.

“Rose, there’s something I want to tell you.”

“Hmm?”

Christ,
why was it so hard to just say the words? He’d fought and defeated some of the hardest hombres on the planet, but he couldn’t tell a slip of a girl how he felt about her? Maybe it
was
time to throw in the towel on his career!

“I was thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“When we get back,” he said, “me and you…”

She looked up, wearing a chocolate ice cream moustache and chewing away, oblivious. He spluttered into a laugh. It made her smile, which exaggerated her moustache.

“What’s up?” she said.

“Nothing. Carry on. I want to remember you exactly as you are right now.” He pulled out his phone and took a photo of her.