Sneak Attack (6 page)

“For us it is.” He pressed his lips to my forehead. “I was never jealous before you. I didn’t understand what it meant to want someone so badly that other men became a threat.”

“Do you think I don’t get that? Hello, I yanked on a chick’s hair. I don’t even know her.”

“You did.” His smile eased the jagged spots inside me. “It may not be politically correct to admit it, but I loved seeing you jealous.”

I smiled too, glad to see him returning to his usual self. That darker, conflicted version had taken me off-guard. I’d thought I was doing him a favor by not prying but maybe he needed me to ask, to show that I was concerned and would be there for him if he needed to talk. Just because I didn’t like to share didn’t mean
he
didn’t. This was probably basic relationship 101 stuff I’d missed during all my years of not having them.

God, had his father ever hit him? Was I making him relive something horrific every time I wordlessly asked him to give me the pain I craved?

“Hey. You’re thinking so loud I’m getting a headache.” He touched the wrinkle between my eyebrows.

“Sorry. I just didn’t realize you weren’t happy,” I said haltingly.

“Never said that. I am happy with you. When I’m not miserable.” His grin softened his words. “There’s more to us than just this, you know?”

I didn’t, not exactly. But I figured I should nod. Any more cluelessness and I’d probably get kicked out of class.

“I’d like to see who we are after life quiets down. When everything’s just routine.”

His other thoughts went unsaid but I heard them just the same.

Will I turn into my father if I don’t have that outlet for my aggression? Will there be anything left to us once the crazy intense passion subsides into—gasp—the reality of real life?

I shrugged. “I never really consider anything but today.” Hard to have a future when you still haven’t managed to come to terms with the past.

“All I do is think about tomorrow and a year from now. Where I’ll be. Where we’ll be.”

Together
. I wanted to say the word, to show him that no matter what, we’d get through it. Every relationship went through changes and lulls. My therapist had drummed that into my head. I loved him, so I had to prove that we could weather those variations together.

We weren’t just the fighter chick and her brawler boyfriend. We could have sex without chipping plaster and nearly cracking desk legs. We could become a happy couple who more often than not made sweet, regular love.

I tried not to shudder. Honestly, we could.

I hoped.

“I gotta get back to Evie.” He kissed the top of my head. “Thank you for listening.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

He gave me one of those steady, patient looks that always centered me. “Yes, you did.”

“Okay.” I shrugged, feeling idiotic. “Then, uh, good. I’m glad.”

“If you want, I’ll notify security and Timmins about the bag. The staff should keep a lookout for some punk ass kids causing trouble.” Worry had already filtered back into his voice.

“I’ll handle it. Thank you for offering.” I leaned up and cupped his chin, holding his gaze as our mouths met. “Go sweat with Evie. And think of me sucking your cock. And you know, maybe actually getting to finish.”

He laughed and gave me a light push. “Later.”

Even after he’d gone, the room echoed with his laughter. I wrapped myself in that sound, in the scent of his sweat and his aftershave clinging to my skin.

Then I dug out my phone and tapped out a reply to the message I’d received yesterday. I wasn’t sure the step I was about to take was the right one, but I was sick and tired of stasis.

Tray was right. It was time to see what would happen next.

I see you too.

A
quick shower later
, I found Evie on the weight bench, doing repetitions with methodical precision. She didn’t sit up when I sprawled on the floor at her side. Didn’t so much as look my way until she’d finished ten more steady reps.

“Nice,” I said when she finally let the bar clatter down.

“Not good enough.” She huffed out a breath and readjusted her ponytail, throwing her leg over the bench to face me. “I used to do three times that without stopping.”

I narrowed my eyes at the faded wound curving along the side of her face. Curiosity was riding me hard. I had some experience with scars myself. “That must’ve been some injury.”

Instead of trying to hide it, she lifted her chin. “It could’ve been worse.”

Instant empathy flowed through me, as well as an abiding respect. Jaw fractures or breaks were pretty fucking bad. “I have one too.” I tapped the faint surgical lines next to my right eye. “Eye socket fracture. Hurt like a mother. Still better than what you had.”

“Seeing’s important, don’t you think?”

“So’s eating. And talking.” I thought of Mia and couldn’t help the smile. Damn that woman. “And kissing.”

And other things I wouldn’t mention but craved from merely the thought.

“Speaking of kissing, you’re a wee bit more cheerful than you were when you walked out. I can’t imagine how that occurred, since you walked out with a snarling—”

“Hey, watch it. She’s my snarler.”

“My condolences.” Evie dangled her arms between her knees. “So should you thank me for getting lucky?”

“Nah. You’d be surprised, we managed to have sex before you ever showed up. Speaking of showing up,” I said, making her laugh at my usage of her conversational segue, “tell me more about that scar and why you’re in my gym. In America, even.”

“Blimey, you ask a lot of questions.”

I looped my arms around one of my knees. “We’re a comprehensive gym.”

“Guess so.”

“I can’t help you without your history.”

“Help me? I don’t need help. I need a good trainer, someone who can take me back to the level I was at when I got hurt and then past it. I want to get back on top.”

On top of what? Underground fighting? Professional? She didn’t seem too forthcoming but my Google Fu would kick the ass of her reluctance. Assuming there was any information on her to be found. “Okay. We can do that. First I need some background, then we’ll—”

“Pardon me for saying so, but from what I read here while you were emptying your stones,” she waved her phone, “I’m not sure a guy who lost his last fight to some wet behind the ears fighter then quit at twenty-three is exactly what I’m looking for, skill-wise.”

Laughter rumbled through my chest. “Oh yeah, you and Mia are either going to be best friends or kill each other.”

“Best friends? Hardly.” She sniffed. “I already have a best friend and she’d chew up and spit out your girl.”

Amused by her, I itched my side. Even through my shirt, I felt the claw marks from Mia’s ride last night. “You can have more than one.”

“Nah. In general, girls are bitches.”

“So are men.”

“True enough. But men know where to draw the line. Bros before hoes.” She shrugged. “Besides, I don’t need more people interfering in my life with their well-meaning advice. Bad enough my brother—” She fell short, shook her head. “Never mind.”

A fairly recent injury, extensive rehab, serious attitude problem, women issues, brother battles. This one was a full bag of
what the fuck
. A smart guy would put her in for a new trainer and sign up for someone without an iceberg on her shoulder.

Me, I enjoyed challenges. Especially ones who’d taken a punch or a kick to the face like that and come back for more.

“I got hurt last year.” I dug the tape out of my pants pocket and started wrapping my knuckles. She’d want to spar when we were done talking. I could almost feel the energy and aggression pouring off her lithe frame.

“Yes, I know. That’s why you left.” She hid her disgust under a thin layer of civility. Very thin.

“No, that’s not why I left. Didn’t have a damn thing to do with it, actually.” I wiggled my fingers and tightened the tape. “I left because I don’t have a killer instinct.” Ignoring her sound of derision, I continued. “Oh, I can put it on in the ring. I think my fight record proves that. But the grind took a toll. Not because my body couldn’t hack it, but because my mind wasn’t in it to win it anymore. Eventually the cage bars were all I could see and I wanted out.”

“So you expect me to believe that orbital fracture by that punk kid didn’t have anything to do with it?”

“That punk kid has almost an unbeaten record. He’s almost the same age as I am. And that fracture was the best fucking thing that ever happened to me. It woke me up.”
Second best
, I amended silently, lifting my head. “I wasn’t too scared to fight. I was tired of fighting because I was scared.”

“Okay, seriously, what kind of trainer are you? You look like you have stones under those track pants but there are absolutely no men I know in mixed martial arts who say—”

“Talk about my stones once more and I’m gonna start thinking you’re sweet on them.”

She frowned. “I might’ve been, if they didn’t bear the mark of Jaws.”

I couldn’t help laughing. I liked this girl. Bravado and all. “As I said, I think my win record speaks for itself. I continue to take martial arts classes and I’m also learning the other side of it. My major is sports medicine. So yeah, maybe I’m a little unconventional. But I’ll work you hard, probably harder than you’ve ever been worked in your life. And I won’t let you walk into that cage without the skills to back up the talk. You can count on it.”

Her chin came up, inadvertently revealing more of her scar. Or maybe intentionally. She probably wore it as a badge of pride. “You don’t know what my skills are yet.”

Finished wrapping my other hand, I dropped the tape to the mat and leaped to my feet. “So why don’t you stop talking and show me?”

An hour later, she was dripping sweat and more tired than she wanted to let on. I sent her off to the showers with a promise to work up a plan for her that would get her where she wanted to go, as well as got her to agree to a day off between sessions, at least at first. She said she was months out from her injury and no longer suffering many ill effects, but I could tell from the way she was rubbing her head that she had a bitch of a headache coming on. Whether or not it had anything to do with pushing herself too hard, I wasn’t a sports medicine major for nothing. I wasn’t going to have her getting injured again on my watch.

After taking a quick shower and changing, I stopped by the office and gathered my books to head to the bar for a quickie cram session before my shift started. Vinnie’s wasn’t exactly a high-end establishment but a few hours a day there usually helped pad my wallet, especially when it came to tips. Whatever money I made went straight into my account for expenses for Mia and me. I was planning to put her name on it someday soon, make it all official-like. We still had some bumps to navigate, but I was feeling pretty good about how we’d worked things out after the situation with Crum—
Evie
.

A grin crossed my face as I jogged down the street in the direction of the bar. Sex might not cure all problems but it sure as hell helped make some of the shit more tolerable.

Not that it had fully worked to distract me, unfortunately. I still kept picturing that slashed heavy bag every time I closed my eyes. Sweeping up the mess hadn’t made the image fade. I hoped Mia had followed through with security and Timmins. She tended to try to handle things on her own. Something like this wasn’t a solo mission. She needed to go through the channels, because if it wasn’t a troublemaking kid, if someone had it in for her—

Or you
.

I shook that off. My worry was always for Mia.

I had to trust her to handle this situation the right way. She’d said she would, and I believed her. I wasn’t going to pull a Costas trip and act like some overlord. She was a grown woman and she could take care of herself.

And when she couldn’t, I would fucking kill anyone who looked at her wrong.

I managed to fit in about half an hour of studying in the back room of the bar before it was time for my shift. It passed as it always did, with cursing on all sides from the other bartenders and patrons alike. Baseball was on the TV, Yankees versus the Sox, and the accompanying cheers and shouts were enough to make my ears bleed.

Secretly, I liked the Sox more than the Yankees. I didn’t say it in mixed company because, well, tips.

In the middle of the chaos, I almost didn’t notice the blonde. She sat near the back, in a far corner at a table of jeering men. I didn’t think she was with them. Her chair was angled away from the table, but she wasn’t looking at the TV, which was odd enough in this crowd. Not everyone was a sports fan, though you sure couldn’t tell it right now.

She had an open book in her lap and a half full beer in front of her, one she’d yet to touch while I watched. Long hair streamed down her back in a ponytail and she wore khaki shorts and a snug tank top that revealed a runner’s body.

That wasn’t why she caught my attention. She was pretty enough, if you were on the market and looking. I was not. In the melee, she stood out because she was so still and watchful. Alone and unsmiling.

I nudged Constance, the bartender at my side, and jerked my chin in the blonde’s direction. “Did you serve her? I didn’t.”

“Who?”

“Blonde at nine o’clock, reading a book.”

“Nine o’clock?” Constance snorted. “You been watching NCIS again or did we fall into a spy novel?”

Barely, I resisted a sigh. “Just answer the question.”

“No. I didn’t serve her. Must’ve been Pete or Dani.”

“Dani’s been off shift for over an hour.”

“So?”

“So I doubt she served her.”

“Maybe your girlfriend sneaked in early and started pushing drinks when we weren’t watching.” Constance continued making a Sex on the Beach for one of the more adventurous patrons. Most of our customers stuck to brew, men and women alike. We weren’t some fancy ass martini joint like the ones on every corner in Manhattan. “Speaking of girlfriends, you looking for a new one or somethin’? Because Mia will break your dick if you’re thinking of stepping out.”

I didn’t comment. Our coworkers seemed to get unholy thrills from evaluating my relationship with Mia, probably because most of the people we knew had figured we’d call it quits inside of a month. Eight months later, we were still going strong, but some people just couldn’t stop scanning for cracks. Including me.

I just wished it wasn’t so damn easy to find them.

For once, this wasn’t about us. I had a weird feeling about that spooky girl in the corner with skin pale enough to see through. And in my former profession, weird feelings were to be heeded at all costs. Anytime that little twinge behind my eye—courtesy of Costas—kicked in, I paid attention.

Right now, that twinge was in freaking overdrive.

“Have you seen her in here before?” I asked, taking advantage of the momentary lull to polish the scarred top of the bar—and to keep an eye on the blonde. For what, I wasn’t sure. She was just a girl, reading a book and not drinking her beer.

Just a girl who looked up way too often to study the crowd.

She never once glanced at the TV, but she glanced toward the bar several times. Did she want to change her drink? Or maybe she was waiting for someone to arrive. Someone who worked here.

Someone like my girlfriend.

“Nah. She doesn’t seem familiar. But I don’t keep tabs on everyone who strolls in and out of this joint, ya know? I have work to do.” Constance served the frou frou drink to a balding man with a combover and gave the rag I was circling halfheartedly a pointed glance. “As do you.”

An hour later, spooky girl hadn’t moved and Mia was late. Mia was never late. I checked my phone about six times, looking for a text, and was so busy flicking through my messages in case I’d missed one that I almost didn’t see her come flying through the door and behind the bar.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fucking late. So sue me,” she called to our boss Carmine, and I grinned so hard that my eye throbbed.

Sometimes regular life was just fucking perfect.

My grin lasted until I glanced toward spooky girl’s table and discovered she was gone. That fast. In the throb of an eye.

I frowned and gripped my phone, torn between ripping off my stupid apron and heading out to see if I could track down where she went or saying hello to my girl.

Mia came out and took the choice out of my hands. “Your mother is hanging out in my apartment,” she muttered, passing me as she grabbed a pitcher for a customer who’d flagged her down the instant she entered the bar.

When I only stared at her, not understanding, she amended, “Our apartment.”

While I appreciated her attempt at showing joint ownership, my mother’s location was a much more immediate concern. I snagged my fingers in the belt loops of Mia’s jeans and pulled her into my chest, absorbing the crush of her breasts into my chest with a kind of distant pleasure. Okay, not that distant. I was distracted, not dead. “My mother?”

She nodded. “She’s camped out in the apartment, waiting for you.”

“Why is she there?”

“Ask her.”

When Mia tried to spin away, I dragged her right back, only partially to feel her nipples dig into my chest one more time. “I’m asking you. What did she say?”

“Not much. She had a box of your stuff with her, but she didn’t let me see what it was. She seemed upset, so I left her in Carly and Kizzy’s care.” Her throat moved and an unreadable emotion flashed in her eyes. “Tray, she had a bruise on her cheek.”

Inside, I went cold and still. Thoughts of the blonde who’d consumed me moments before vanished, replaced by the heaviness in Mia’s expression and the knowledge of what had caused it.

That bastard had hit my mother again.

I pulled off my apron, fisting it while my gaze wheeled around the bar without landing anywhere. What was I going to do? Storm out of there and play the hero for someone who didn’t want it?