On The Ropes (7 page)

“No need. I’m good in that regard.”

I gritted my teeth. “We’ll make some noise. Get some attention. Bring down the fucking house.”

Thoughtfully, he rubbed his smooth jaw. “Yeah, I have missed that. A little.”

Finally, an opening. It wasn’t much, but I’d take it. “Imagine how many people would show up for the rematch? It’d be like Tyson against—”

“Which one of us is Tyson?”

“Neither of us, jackwit. It was a metaphor.”

“Gee, good thing I got some college learnin’ under my belt.” His
aww shucks
tone made me laugh in spite of myself.

“So are you in or not? Stop pulling on my balls and say yes or no.”

He made me sweat it out. That was also a key component to Fox’s nature. He’d affable you to death, then turn the screws the moment you’d written him off.

“What’s in it for me?”

I stared at him balefully. “How about the personal satisfaction of a job well done?”

“Nah.” He waved that off. “Try again.”

“I’ll stop sparring with Mia.”

He appeared to think it over, then shook his head. “Nope. Big dick here, remember? Not concerned. Try harder.”

I literally didn’t have one single thing.

After a moment, he sighed. “Okay, here’s the deal. If I fight again, even once, Mia will think I’m harboring a need to get back in the octagon, like she was for all those months after she retired. I so am not. So you have to make the relationship drama worth my—”

I snapped my fingers. All of a sudden, I knew what would be an effective lure for his supposedly gigantic hook. “I have a spare bedroom that locks that you can use as long as you want. Anytime, day or night. And I’m hardly ever home.”

“Sold.” His eyes gleamed as he pointed at me. “Son, you just learned to negotiate.”

Struggling against a smile, I lay back on the bench and reached for the weight bar.

Then almost dropped it when he spoke again.

“Come over to dinner on Thursday night and you can help me tell Mia.”

I started to say no. Thursday was days away from now. I didn’t know what I’d be dealing with tonight, never mind later next week. And Carly would probably be there, since oh, she lived in his place and all.

Unless she was off working or socializing. But since Fox and Mia could burn water, I figured any invites for dinner would result from Carly’s efforts. Chef-in-training and all.

The image of her in a white chef’s coat—and
only
a white chef’s coat—popped into my head. And I popped a serious hard-on, while Fox continued yammering away beside me.

Jesus. The inappropriate was off the charts.

“I think I’m busy—”

“Think you’re busy?” Fox snorted. “Don’t you have a fight on Friday? Another one?”

I had a fight every week that I could manage it, which was why I worked out so much. My part-time job at the Boys and Girls club, teaching martial arts to the kids, didn’t take up much time because it couldn’t. With my training schedule, I had to practically live in the gym. And if I was going to move up in the Andrettis ranks as fast as I wanted to, I had to keep fighting.

Until my body fucking gave out, if necessary.

“Yeah,” I said reluctantly. Something was going on Thursday, but hell if I could remember what.

Then it came to me. Carly. Always right back to frigging Carly.

She’d swapped shifts at the club, she’d said, and would now be dancing Thursday night. I hoped she changed her mind about quitting, but since she was as stubborn as two mules—like her older sister and her older sister’s boyfriend—I highly doubted it.

If I came to dinner, I was going to make sure she didn’t go anywhere near the club that night. I might not be able to control her behavior long-term, but I’d damn well exert my influence where I could.

Her women’s libber rights weren’t worth her risking her life, whether or not she realized it was on the line yet.

“Fine,” I said shortly, wrapping my fingers tighter around the bar. I had a feeling I’d be working out even harder and longer today, just to try to kill my sexual frustration. And frustration period. “I’ll come to fucking dinner.”

“Christ, don’t sound so thrilled,” Fox panted between reps.

I wasn’t thrilled. I also wasn’t going to back out.

Carly needed my protection, and she was going to get it. One way or another.

A
ll week
, I stewed. The subject of my stewing changed from hour to hour, but usually circled between the club and Gio, Gio and the club. Then there was that ridiculous check he’d offered me, and the fact that we’d had sex three incredible times after the back room incident and he hadn’t called.

All right, that was a lie. He
did
call, in the middle of the night Sunday night when I was dead asleep. Knowing how crafty he could be, I had to figure that had been his intention.

The voicemail he’d left had been full of contrition and concern.

I hope you’re okay. If you need anything, I know some people you could talk to, if you’re not doing well with what happened. If you’d like their contact info, give me a call. Take care of yourself, Carly.

Carly
, not
tesoro
. Because he wouldn’t even throw me that bone after he’d boned me.

I didn’t care. We’d had a night together, and I wasn’t chasing after him. Especially since that club flashback I’d had while going down on Gio had turned out to be the first of many.

I wasn’t doing well. Not at all. I jumped at shadows, and spun around every time I heard a creak. I’d gone from being a carefree teenager who tended to do stupid things to a girl who trembled when cars backfired and couldn’t watch a horror movie without every light blazing in the apartment.

It had only been days. Not even a week yet. I knew it would take time, so I was taking it. No one knew what had happened besides Gio, and he would keep it between us.

I could never, ever tell Fox or my sister. They’d want to kill me for being in the club in the first place, then Gio for his part. They’d probably go after Marco and the rest of the guys and likely get themselves killed. No way would I have their actions on my conscience.

The secret was locked inside me, where it would stay.

At least I had distractions. I had my culinary classes, and my regular shifts at the salad shop. And I had lunches with Jenna, and a workout or two at the gym—not The Cage, lest I be accused of trying to spy on Gio—plus studying. There was so much to learn. I’d thought I would be in good shape coming into the Institute, since I’d been preparing meals almost since I could talk. But nope. It was the second month of classes and I hadn’t scratched the surface at absorbing all there was to learn.

I was managing. Maybe not awesomely, and maybe a couple times I’d almost weakened enough to call Gio for the contact info for his supposedly “helpful people” just for the reassurance of hearing his deep voice. But I didn’t. I had some pride left, even if it had been dented and banged up lately.

Then my sister dropped the bomb that they were having people over for dinner Thursday night. And oh, would I mind whipping something up quick? Nothing fancy.

Never mind I hadn’t even decided if I was going back to work at the club that night. I’d promised Nancy to take her shift, and I didn’t want to renege. I also didn’t want Marco and his buddies to think they’d sent me running with my tail tucked up where the good Lord had split me. I wasn’t a coward. They could bend me over a table and try to debase me, but they’d never break me.

In that way, I was very much my sister’s sibling. I’d fight to the death, then keep right on into the afterlife.

Even if I decided to work Nancy’s shift as promised, I’d have to come up with a good cover story for my sister. I could always use the old standby of spending the night with Jenna. She’d cover for me if for some reason Mia checked in with her, though there should be no reason for her to go that far. My sister wasn’t
that
overprotective. She knew I was eighteen. She didn’t like it, but she knew it.

By the time I was putting together a cheeseburger casserole and tossed salad for Thursday’s dinner—it wasn’t the French cuisine I was learning about in school, but my dinner guests weren’t exactly the French cuisine types—I still hadn’t reached a decision. I’d wait to see how the evening went. I’d have to leave by nine if I was going to get there in time for Nancy’s ten o’clock shift, and even that would be cutting it close.

And that was even if I still had a job after my no-show on Friday night. Being dragged into the back room had kind of killed my interest in dancing afterward.

“Slater’s not coming, but Jenna is.”

I nodded and kept chopping veggies. Good. I could just leave with her if necessary.

“Liam and Abby have plans, but they said next time they’d be here.”

I glanced up at the dejected sound of Mia’s voice. She was still dressed in her Vinnie’s T-shirt and jeans. Why she still worked at the bar when she had all those zeroes in her bank account, I didn’t know. She didn’t yet have all the money our Aunt Patty had gained in a secret settlement deal put together when Mia was a teenager. Mia’s dead kidnapper’s family had paid up, and handsomely. Supposedly the suit had been brought for Mia’s benefit, though Aunt Patty had kept the money a secret all these years. And now she was taking forever to turn over the bulk of it to my sister, claiming there was red tape and she had to “liquidate holdings”.

Even so, Mia was fucking rich. She didn’t need to sling beers anymore. Fox still worked there too and he wasn’t hurting for cash, so maybe they were both masochists.

Considering their penchant for beating up on each other—in and out of bed—I figured that was a decent assessment.

“What’s wrong?” I asked my sister, pushing a tomato toward her on the cutting board. Though my sister’s broken arm was still in a cast, she was just about to get it off. Mia being Mia, she’d been pushing the limits of what she could do with that arm for weeks. Besides, there were no idle hands in my kitchen.

Thinking better of it, I pulled back the tomato and gave her a carrot. She didn’t quite have the dexterity to slice it thin, and I didn’t trust her with my tomatoes. I also didn’t trust just any low grade slicer. When I had the funds for commercial grade stuff, that’d be a different story.

“What? I can’t do a tomato?” she asked, indignant. She’d been my veggie prep cook since I’d first started preparing meals. At least during the years we’d lived under the same roof.

“You can do a carrot.”

“
Pfft
.” One-handed, she started washing the carrot in the small sink in the island with all of the tenderness of a bear slapping a salmon to death on a rock. “I can
do
tomatoes,” she muttered. “I have this one-armed shiz down. Mostly. And besides, I’m practically healed.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I am,” she insisted. “It’s almost time to get the cast off. Thank God, because it freaking itches.”

All at once, I realized why she was so testy. It wasn’t because she was tired of her cast either. Well, not entirely. “Slater still won’t talk to you?”

“Talk?
Ha
.” She scrubbed with my veggie brush and nearly peeled off the outer layer of skin. “We’re dead to him. He won’t even get on the damn phone. Every message gets passed through Jenna or Liam.”

“He just needs time—”

“Time to what? He’s dating the daughter of the man who raped me. She stalked me and who knows what else while she was working with Gio’s crew—”

“They aren’t Gio’s crew,” I said too quickly, dumping thin slices of cucumber into the salad. Every one of them was the same size, as good as any slicer. Catching Mia staring out of the corner of my eye, I shrugged and set the tomato in the center of my cutting board. “Just saying.”

“Oh yeah? What do you know about it?”

“I know he’s become a friend to you and Fox, or else you wouldn’t be hanging out with him all the time. Or else your judgement is seriously whacked, because those guys aren’t the kind you should take lightly.”

“No kidding. And he still associates with them. Fox keeps telling me it’s Gio’s business, that he trusts him, but something’s off there.”

“Off enough you didn’t invite him to dinner?” There was no hiding the note of hope in my voice. I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to see him or not.

So that wasn’t exactly true. I knew I did. I just didn’t want to pretend around him, and it seemed to be the only way we could operate around each other. The chances he’d come in and wrap his arms around me and kiss me on the mouth were exactly none.

“Fuck,” I cursed as the knife slipped and bounced off the pinkie I’d cut open in class a few weeks ago while preparing julienned potatoes. It had bled enough that I’d gone to the emergency room. I’d just finished the antibiotics last week, dammit.

The buzzer rang and Mia glanced me a worried look. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Go ahead.” I wrapped a dishtowel around my hand and waved her on with the other.

While she was busy answering the door, I peeled back the dishtowel and gasped. It was a bloody mess. I was fine with knives until they made
me
bleed.

“What did you do?”

I looked up as Gio rounded the island, making a beeline for me. I swallowed hard and flashed a look at my sister.
Thanks for telling me he’d be here, sis
.

“Fox invited him,” she said apologetically, taking my other side as I moved to the sink.

“I’m fine. It’s fine.” I turned on the faucet with a shaking hand, letting out a sound of protest when Gio gripped my wrist and held my hand directly under the water.

“What did I tell you about that,” he said close to my ear while he directed the spray of warm water on the bleeding wound.

Since I didn’t know what he was referring to, I stayed silent. And shut my eyes so I wouldn’t nearly pass out from the sight of blood as I had the last time I’d cut my finger.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” Mia offered.

Eyes still closed, I scowled. One thing I didn’t share with my sister was her ability to tolerate blood, her own or someone else’s. Forget tolerating. Actually, I think she enjoyed making people bleed.

Me, I got nauseous and dizzy and every other wussy female thing I hated the minute I saw the first drop.

“There now, does that feel better?”

I tried to nod in response to Gio’s question, but my knees were threatening to give out.

“Ah, Christ. We’re losing her.” Mia’s voice drifted away then returned, then I felt hands on my shoulders, guiding me down. “There, sit. That’s a girl.”

“Put your head between your knees if you need to.” Gio crouched beside me, still cupping my hand. The wet dishtowel had bunched around my wrist, but I couldn’t find the strength to push it off my arm.

I was still bleeding. The sticky warmth pooled between my fingers and made my head swirl harder.

“Head between your knees,” Gio commanded. “Do it.”

Since I was headed in that general direction anyway, I tried to do as he asked. My limbs felt loose and uncoordinated, and when I dipped forward…

“Jesus, Carly.” Gio. So close. “Look at me.”

“It’s the blood,” Mia said. “I forgot she saw our mother when she…”

“Where can I take her?” Gio asked, then we were moving.

I wasn’t conscious of anything after that.

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on Mrs. Knox’s bed. I blinked and leaned up on one shoulder as Gio headed into the room with a wet washcloth.

“You’re awake.”

“Of course I’m awake. I have to make dinner.” I started to swing my legs over the side of the bed, grimacing at the flash of pain in my pinkie. Such a tiny thing. How could it hurt so much?

“Oh no, you aren’t. Dinner is cooking. Mia took over on the salad.”

“My tomato!” I started to lurch to my feet, but he caught me neatly around the waist and set me right back down.

“Your tomato is fine. Let’s see the finger.”

I held it out because I wanted to get back to my meal prep. I also wanted to get this awkwardness over with as fast as possible.

Turned out I didn’t want to see him after all. It was too soon. Or too long. Too something, and I wasn’t ready in any sort of way.

“That’s better.” He patted the cut with the washcloth. “It’s barely bleeding now. I found some bandages and an ointment you had in the cupboard. Looks like it’s antibiotic.”

Before I could comment on that, he produced a bottle of peroxide and liberally poured it into the cut.

I yelped and drew back. “Holy shitballs. You trying to kill me?”

“You need to disinfect the wound.” The mildness of his tone made me want to punch him. I didn’t really get where the violence was coming from, as all and all I was a rather even-tempered woman. But right now I wanted to slug him in his fat, gorgeous head.

“Your hair’s messed up. Did you forget to comb it tonight or something?” The snark was all new too. Towards him anyway. He wasn’t my usual target.

He ignored me and kept dabbing the washcloth over my cut.

“Or did some girl run her hands through it when you kissed her?”
Because you damn sure never kissed me.

A first, that. Having sex with a guy three times without getting one single kiss—on the mouth, or anywhere else.

Not that I was bitter or anything. Nope. It was just a fact that needed mentioning.

“How does your finger feel?” he asked as if I’d never spoken. “Can you bend it?”

“It’s not broken.”

“Flex it a little, see if it starts bleeding again.”

It did, but just a little. He dabbed it with the washcloth again, put on the ointment, then dressed it with a bandage like an old pro. “There. All fixed now. Be careful with the knife next time.” He rose, started to walk out.

“That’s it?” I popped to my feet and only swayed a little. Progress. “You’re just leaving?”

He stopped, but he didn’t glance back. “I’m not leaving. I’m here for dinner.”

“I meant the room. You’re just going to walk out there like we didn’t…” I trailed off as my voice wobbled and his shoulders went stiff.

“Are you okay?”

When I didn’t reply, he shifted toward me, his face cast in the moonlight coming through the slats of the blinds. “When you didn’t return my call, I thought that meant you wished for no contact.”

“No contact?” Hearing how shrill my voice had become—and remembering the closed bedroom door didn’t offer much privacy from the rest of the apartment—I dialed it back. “I didn’t contact you, because you told me to call if I needed help. I don’t need help, Gio. But maybe I needed
you
.”