Healing Love (Love to the Extreme) (2 page)

But she wasn’t stupid either. There were three of them. One of her. She had to think of her own safety, too. Surprising them would be her best plan of action.

A car was parked about five feet away. The men were all standing near the front end of the car. She assessed each man’s position. One stepped back, breathing heavily, and wiped his arm across his forehead. The other was still occupied with the blond and was taking extreme pleasure in kicking him in the stomach. The guy with the broken nose was on his feet, but still preoccupied trying to stop the blood flow.

She focused on the one who was panting.

Swallowing back her fear, she crouch-ran to the bumper of the parked car then crept between the vehicle and the wall of the building until she reached the front. Keeping low, she waited for the breathless man to step closer. The moment he did, she sprang onto his back and slid her arm underneath his chin, then locked the submission hold into place with her other arm. The man froze and then started spinning around, trying to dislodge her from his back. Prepared for the reaction, she wrapped her legs around his waist and brought the choke hold in tighter. The man collapsed to his knees.

She glared at the guy who’d frozen mid-punch to stare at her with stunned eyes.

“Back off,” she said with a deadly calm that surprised even her.

She wasn’t sure if it was shock at someone interfering, or the fact that it was a woman who’d brought down their friend, but one guy stepped back from the blond, while the other with the bloodied nose lowered his hand from his face.

“Get the hell out of here.” Perhaps telling them to leave wasn’t the best idea, but she didn’t like the odds. She needed to keep the upper hand before their shock wore off.

The two men hesitated, so she tightened her grip on their buddy’s throat. A strangling gargle wheezed out. He slapped her forearm.

“Tell them to leave,” she ordered.

Purple-faced, the guy squeaked out a “go,” and his cronies followed his order.

As soon as they ran off, she pressed her lips to the man’s ear. “That wasn’t a fair fight, was it? People like you make me sick.”

She lowered her feet to the ground, and squeezed hard once more before releasing the man with a shove to the ground. His palms slapped the asphalt. He lifted his head and glared at her.

Straightening to her whole five-foot four-inches, she glared back, wishing more than anything this had been the way that night had ended so long ago, with her towering over him, daring him with just an intense look to make another move.

The man pushed up, muttering, “Fucking bitch.”

Meh. She’d been called worse. “Go join your friends.”

As he straightened, his tall frame overwhelmed her small one. Towered over her. Fear immediately closed her throat, made her palms sweat.

Never show weakness. Never allow intimidation. Always exude confidence.
She silently chanted the mantra for the second time that day, gathering the strength she needed to stand her ground.

Swallowing, she kept her gaze locked on him, watching for any sign he’d charge her, uncertain what the outcome would be if he did. That was the scariest part of it all—the not knowing. The worry that even with all the years of training, if she was attacked by a man again, she’d freeze, and the past would repeat itself.

The guy continued to stare at her, then a slow grin spread across his face. “I like you. Just a little feisty kitty-cat, aren’t you?”

The condescending comment eased her fear, allowing anger to seep in. Another thing she hated about assholes like this. She’d just taken this man to his knees and he smiled like she was some kitten doing a cute trick.
Dick.

He glanced at the blond, who was now standing straight, fury and strength radiating off him. Even in black jogging pants and a white logo T-shirt, the man screamed badass. The inked sleeve of black and gray ink, with slashes of color running down his left arm only increased that quality.

Ella’s breath caught at the magnificent display of authority. Her reaction startled her. This guy was huge, dominant, and all kinds of pissed off—things that usually sent her anxiety through the roof. Not on him. With him, it was a breathtaking view.

The dick backed away and pointed a finger at the blond Hercules. “This isn’t over, Black.”

Wait
. They knew each other? Dread curdled her gut. Hell no. This couldn’t be happening. She started backing away.

“Fuck you,” the stranger said.

“You’re the one who’s going to be fucked if you don’t watch yourself.”

Sirens sounded in the distance, and she froze.

And
she’d called the cops to top it off. She closed her eyes. Great. Two days in Kansas, and she’d stepped into some kind of messed up Soprano shit. The dick let out a surprised chuckle and shook his head. “Seriously? The cops?” He pinned the blond with his eyes. “Fix it.”

Then he ran off.

“You called the cops?” The guy shoved his fingers through his hair and groaned. “Fuck.”

Well, that was a fine how-do-you-do to someone who’d put herself at risk to help. It wasn’t her fault he had himself mixed up with the wrong people. “You’re welcome…
ass
. All I saw was a dude getting ganged up on by three men. Fuck me for wanting to help.”

“I had it covered. How about minding your own business next time? That was between them and me.”

Mind your own business.
Maybe it was advice she should adhere to; she had before. Would have been one of those people on hidden camera who, with that exact mindset, walked past people fighting, to later have John Quinones from
What Would You Do?
shove a microphone in her face asking her why she hadn’t helped.

Now that she’d been on the receiving end of those fists, had prayed for intervention, she couldn’t live with herself if she simply minded her own business.

The cops screeched to a halt then hurried out of the car, hands ready on their guns.

The blond immediately put up his hands in surrender—as if he’d done it before. Great, again. “There’s been a misunderstanding, officers. Some guys and I were horsing around back here. She thought I was being attacked.”

One of the officers studied her. “Is this true, ma’am?”

Ella might have wanted to help, but if this guy was involved with something bad, she was going to get the target off her back as quickly as possible.

“It was my bad. I completely misinterpreted the situation. I yelled for them to stop and they immediately did. I forgot I’d called you guys until I heard the sirens. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

Their gazes went between her and the blond before nodding. “All right. You guys have a nice day.”

As soon as they left, she started to make her way back to the sidewalk.

“Hey!” the blond man called from behind her. “What’s your name?”

Yeah. Like she had the word “idiot” stamped on her forehead. He was
so
not getting her name. To make that point clear, she spun around but continued walking backward, flipping him two middle fingers and an eat-shit scowl.

The grin that spread his lips caused her heart to stutter for a second. Angry, the man had been amazing, but smiling? He was potent.

Stunned at her reaction, she did an about face and quickened her steps until she was back out on the sidewalk.

Her confusing response to that man made her only more certain she didn’t want to know his name, didn’t want to know a damn thing about him or him to know anything about her. Whatever this guy’s deal was, it definitely wasn’t innocent. Last thing she needed was to get caught up in more trouble. She had enough of that already.

…

What a fucking day.

Lance pulled the wrecker into the driveway of his home. The beams from his headlights swept across the sage-sided farmhouse. As he cut the engine, he leaned his forehead against the wheel, trying to gather the energy to open the door and go inside. Man, he was dog-assed tired.

He’d been going since five this morning, and it was creeping up on three a.m. now. A twenty-two hour day. Thankfully, most of his days weren’t this long. He pushed open the door and stepped onto the gravel. Stretching, he groaned at the wonderful feeling of his muscles releasing. He’d been on three calls tonight: two broken down vehicles needing to be towed to a nearby mechanic, and one car that needed to be jimmied. Each had been an hour drive from the other.

Wearily, he trudged up the stairs to the wraparound porch, opened the screen, and unlocked the front door. As he entered the house, he tossed his keys in a bowl on the wood table beside the door, then stomped up the stairs, yanking his shirt over his head along the way.

What he wanted was a nice, long shower and then eight hours of good, solid sleep. Though he knew that was asking too much. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept longer than a four-hour stretch. Between taking the job at Coolier, and his wrecker service which he worked twenty-four seven, three hundred sixty-five days a year, he didn’t have time for sleep. Or much else. Including his daughter.

As he stepped onto the landing of the second floor, he stopped at the first bedroom. At the sight of the darkened room, his chest tightened. Flicking on the light, he stared at the empty twin bed with its dark pink bedspread covered in light pink pigs.

Goddamn it. He missed her. Missed her laughter. Missed hearing her bounce around the house. Hell, he even missed yelling at her when she wasn’t listening.

How quickly things changed. Wasn’t that the story of his life?

Just a few months ago, his schedule hadn’t mattered as much. Gayle, his quirky neighbor, had worked mostly from home unless she was on a storm chase. She loved Skylar and would keep her anytime Lance needed her to, even if he received a late night call for service. Skylar had been with him overnight a lot more back then.

Unfortunately, chase season was over, and Gayle had started working at the local news station as the chief meteorologist. She was hardly home now, and if she was, she was spending some much needed time with Mac, her fiancé.

That meant Skylar rarely stayed over any more, and he had to settle for daddy/daughter dates. He fucking hated it.

He flipped the switch and backed into the hallway. The creak of the wood floors beneath him echoed loudly throughout the empty house. The silence, the emptiness of the place was starting to get to him. When he’d bought this house in foreclosure a few years ago, it’d been run into the ground. It’d needed so much work and he’d painstakingly done all the renovations himself, one project at a time. He’d wanted to give Skylar a home with him, too. Not just the one she had with her mom and stepdad.

Unfortunately, it was just him most of the time now in the huge house. It fucking sucked.

He went into the bathroom then turned on the shower. Bracing his hands on either side of the sink, he looked in the mirror and grimaced at the light bruise under one eye. Other than some soreness in his side, the three assholes hadn’t inflicted too much damage. Once they’d gotten him to the ground and ganged up on him, he’d been in some serious shit. He had that mystery woman to thank for showing up when she had.

Too bad she’d refused to give him her name.

He pressed on the area. Not too sore. Probably be discolored for a couple of days. He’d definitely had a lot worse from a simple sparring session at the gym. No one would notice it.

He wasn’t sure what had sparked today’s encounter with the McNealys’ thugs. The gamblers only sent the bushwhackers out when their dirty work needed to be done. Yeah, he still owed them about sixty-five thousand dollars, but he was completely current on his payments.

As long as he paid on time, they weren’t supposed to have any issues.

Apparently, they were now having issues. It was only a matter of time before he found out what.

…

As Lance slammed the door of his Jeep, he looked around the alley for any sign of the bushwhackers. The last thing he needed was to get jumped again. Thankfully, there wasn’t any sign of them, so he hurried down the sidewalk.

He was late…again. Two days in a row was something he tried not to do, but he had no control over when a call came in for his wrecker business. He got a call. He went. Period.

He grabbed the door handle, rushed inside the gym.

“I set your appointment up with Billy until you got here.” Mac greeted him with a slight, irritated edge to his voice.

That would be the extent his best friend and pseudo boss would show to let him know he was annoyed by his late arrival. Lance was thankful Mac knew better than to outright say anything. He’d known the deal. If he said something about him being late, Lance was liable to flip the fuck out.

When Mac moved to Kansas permanently, deciding to retire from fighting because of a head injury, he’d taken Ragin up on his offer to help manage and coach the facility. The moment his friend had accepted the position, he’d started bugging the piss out of Lance to come in and help with training. At first he’d declined, but Mac could be a persuasive motherfucker, and Lance had finally caved, with the understanding that his wrecker business came first. Mac could take it or leave it. He’d taken it.

“Who is it?” Lance asked.

“Her name is Kelsey. She signed up yesterday.”

He glanced around the gym for Billy, finding the featherweight fighter in the ring with a blonde who seemed vaguely familiar. With her back toward him he couldn’t be certain, but the rigid set of the woman’s shoulders reminded him of someone. Billy crouched and shuffled around her. Body tensing, she mimicked his stance and followed his movements, slowly turning until her familiar face punched him in the gut
.
He bit back a groan, muttering, “Fuck me.”

Mac shot him a look. “Do you know her?”

“We had an encounter yesterday. She probably won’t want to train with me.”

Which was fine by him. Other than the little bit he’d shared with Mac a few months ago, she was the only person who knew about his connection to the McNealy cousins. Though she had intrigued the hell out of him yesterday, the smarter thing for him to do would be to stay the fuck away from her.