Dodging Trains (21 page)

I bob in acknowledgment. Then I straighten to accept the protective gear Robbie hands me. “Mouth guard?” Dawson looks to my hand, and I unlock my fist, showing him. “Groin protector?”

“For the love of God,” I mutter. “Of course.”

“Just checking. Your head hasn’t been in the game for weeks. You have five weeks left to prepare,” he repeats as if I could forget.

I rush Zeke immediately. I’m fast as fuck when I ram a left hook into the side of his head, the force making his melon shake like I’m playing him in slow motion. Before he can recuperate, I do it again, a jab with my right, then left—right again. I ram a straight-footed push-kick into his body protector, so hard he stumbles backwards. Then I pivot and twist my body into a thigh kick before double-striking his head.

Dawson mumbles, “Beautiful,” behind me. Zeke’s arms go up in a halfhearted block, but he doesn’t have a chance in hell and slams to the ground.

“Enough, Keyon.”

I pound him like we’re fighting to the death.

“Keyon, stop!”

I stand up straight, breathing hard and with my arms taut along my thighs. Once my need for blood, lots of blood, subsides, I go down on my knees and grab the side of my buddy’s head. “You all right?”

“Sure. Taking a breather’s all.” He grins, woozy despite the protective gear. “Damn, dude. Just pull that on fucking Sanchez and you’ll be golden.”

Dawson is mildly annoyed with the way I ended the fight. “Arias, that’s the last show we’re putting on before the real deal.”

“Dude went ape,” Zeke tattles from the floor. Amateur. He hunches his shoulders in a shrug though he’s still leaned back on his elbows.

“Zeke.” Dawson has his teacher tone cranked. “You egged him on. You can egg him on all you want after February fifth, but until then, we’re playing it safe. Got it?”

“Got it,” Zeke says, nodding carefully.

When I turn to look for Paislee, I find her leaning against the fencing, fingers protruding through the holes. My eyes flicker from her heated ones, past her fingers, and to her breasts.

Shit, I’m happy she didn’t bring more than her carry on bag to my place the first night. She’s wearing what she called her last clean top, a small black one with a V-neck that accentuates her delights. Paislee has the rack of an angel, a big reason, I’m sure, as to why Zeke launched into his cock-strut before the fight.

Someone starts a belated applause behind her. “Bravo! Keyon, you’re fantastic.”

“Markeston?”

“Oh please call me Rick. I’ve told you. How many times do we have to get drunk together to have you stop treating me like a stranger?”

“Rick.” I grin. The guy’s all right, albeit a tad eccentric with his menagerie of peacocks and miniature horses and fountains and whatnot.

“I like what you’ve got going here,” he says, nodding and stepping forward. “I’ve been considering getting more involved in MMA for a while now. Who’s the owner of Alliance Cage Warriors? This place has ‘big league’ written all over it.”

“It totally does,” Zeke says, an exhausted grin broadening on his face, and I’m thinking he thinks what I’m thinking, that ACW might end up with some rich benefactor that can make the difference between the Mower and the Mauler, as in for real.

PAISLEE

A
weekend in Tampa
is nothing like a weekend in Rigita. This place is magical, days with sun streaming in through thin curtains, hot dogs bought on boardwalks, and kids running into cool waters despite their mothers’ warnings. The nights are dark and starry, and tonight I am smiles and the only girl in a group of fighter boys on the loose downtown.

“Over here!” Jaden yells, waving us to a roped-off area in what Zeke calls
their
nightclub.

“Does Dawson own Stripes?” I whisper to Keyon, who hooks an arm around me and dives in for a kiss. He tries to hide his amusement at my question. Once he’s done nuzzling my neck, he straightens and tells me that no, it’s not Dawson’s club, but ACW fighters enter for free because it’s a win-win for the club and them.

“They asked for a few fighter portraits in return for free entry and a booze allowance when we’re here.” He jerks his head toward a long counter with bright neon lights flashing across a row of mirrors. “They’re hung in the main bar.” He pulls me in the opposite direction.

“Wait, can I see?”

He hesitates, eyes wandering toward Jaden, who waves again for us to follow. It’s five enormous bodyguards and me.

“Rain check on the pictures?” he says.

“Are you in any of them?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

When we arrive to the VIP section, I realize there are eight girls there and no guys. Except my bodyguards. Jaden has propped his ass on a small bar table, facing three of the girls. They’re smiling behind their fingers, amused, flattered, and outraged at once, it seems. I’m not sure I want to know what he’s saying.

“Is this the gym’s VIP area?” I ask Keyon.

“Oh no, we don’t have one. This section’s for rent, and Jaden’s bum-rushed the girls’ night.”

“Wow, you guys do this often?”

Keyon’s shrug is noncommittal. “Look.” He juts his chin at Jaden. “He’s telling them where his picture hangs. Soon he’ll start in on how great a fighter he is.”

“Another barefaced young man,” I observe, which makes Keyon laugh.

“Some chicks dig that.”

Keyon helps me over the rope. There’s still half a bench that’s not occupied.

“So what do you do?” Zeke yells to a long-legged blonde. He grabs her thigh with a hand, squeezing affectionately—too affectionately—and she giggles and shakes her head. “No, I want to get to
know
you!” he adds, winking. I swing to Keyon.

Really?
I mouth and instantly melt when he lifts his shoulders in an extended
Sorry
over his friend’s behavior
.
Keyon is here with me, not scouring for a hookup. He’s showing me what they do for fun, letting me hang out with his friends, and my heart is full from it.

Keyon is only mine these days in Tampa. No one is ever only mine.

Robbie’s here too. He’s got crossed arms and doesn’t traverse the ropes.

“Are you coming?” I ask. I want to be friendly and inclusive, not bossy and insistent. Robbie lifts his chin, proud but friendly back. There’s something majestic about him.
Lion
, I think. Robbie shakes his head, saying he’s okay where he is.

“What’s his deal? Not on the prowl tonight?” I joke to Keyon.

“Oh Robbie’s in a relationship. His fiancée’s expecting their first baby in a few months.”

“Aw, that’s awesome. Does she go out at all?”

“Yeah, she comes along every now and then. She’s working tonight though, at the tourist center. They’re open late on weekends.”

“Crazy,” I say, because in Rigita everything closes early and no one cares about tourists.

“You want to sit on my lap?” Zeke says, wiggling his hips seductively to the beat. The girls are in stitches and loving his brash attention. “Drinks coming up—on me!”

“On Stripes?” I verify with Keyon, who gives me the thumbs-up.

It’s an interesting night. By the time it’s over, I’ve seen most stages of Cage Warrior seduction. More fighters hop the rope like ninjas, causing titters from the girls, and a few of them take off with a female prize as soon as they surrender to their charms. In the end, everyone except Robbie and Keyon end up with girls from what turned out to be a bachelorette party.

Clearly, the Cage Warriors are stars at this place. One of them I don’t recall saying a single word throughout the entire night, but when the lights brighten around us, he grabs a half-full bottle of Veuve Cliquot and reaches for a girl he hasn’t even spoken to on the other side of the dance floor. Next, he strides through the crowd with her trailing behind him.

“Wow,” I say, looking at Keyon. “That easy, huh?” Keyon and I are swaying slowly to the last dance of the night.

His hands rest on my butt, pulling me loosely in against his body. “Oh yeah, that’s Victor and Helena. They always end up going home together.”

“He knows her?”

“Yep, she’s a round-card girl. Works at a Hooters down the street. She loves MMA and works as many fights as she can.”

“Round-card girl?” I bite my lip, considering the expression.

“The bikini girls that do the circle showing the score cards and the belts? It’s what we call them.”

“Oh!” I smile, because the name says it all.

“I love it when you’re happy. I don’t think I’ve seen you smile this much in the two years I knew you in high school.” He kisses me, lips as warm as the rest of him.

“You might be right,” I say on an outward breath, thinking that I laughed even less after he left. Then I close my eyes and let him keep on leading me.

KEYON

With Sanchez,
I’m fucking hating this process. I wish I didn’t have to watch him on video, but since I can’t go to his fights, it’s the only way to internalize his moves.

I can’t wait to break every tooth in his mouth. Dawson would remind me you can’t break teeth through mouth guards, but hell, I can dream. Either way, once I’m there, he’s going to bleed for me. I’ll be fucking railroading him into a coma.

There’s a slope right at the guy’s neck. It’s meaty, thick—nothing new there for a fighter—but he rigs his head in a way that’s lizard-like: abrupt, alert, almost diabolical. None of that should have bothered me. It’s like the universe purposely messes with my head.

Paislee is checking out of her hotel. For her last thirty-six hours in Florida, we’re making no excuses, and she’ll be living with Simon and me. But first, she’s going to measure light and color in Markeston’s ballroom again, once in the morning, and once when the afternoon light sets in.

Her timing is perfect, because thanks to Sanchez I’m in the foulest mood.

Shithead. Lizard freak. Child molester.

I shake my head, ripping my thoughts out of their crazy cycle, because what the hell was that? There is absolutely nothing indicating that Sanchez is a subpar person. He’s an awesome fighter. That’s all I know about him.

Most of my buddies are in the weight area. Robbie’s deserting me too now for the massage bench, leaving me alone to watch the compilation of Sanchez’s greatest hits.

“Fuck.”

“What?” Robbie mumbles, already relaxed on the bench though the physiotherapist hasn’t started yet.

“I’m so ready to beat the shit out of Sanchez. I can’t stand watching these videos and not getting my hands on him. You know I wanted a standing submission, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Not anymore. I need some serious grappling. He’s got to go down, man, for me to be satisfied with this fight. I want to strangle him ’til he goes to sleep.”

“Well, do it then. You gotta be fast—”

“I
am
fast.”

“I know, and you can do whatever you want to him.” Robbie rolls over on the bench and grabs his neck so he can slant up for a better look. “What’s your beef with him anyway? I’ve never seen you this obsessed.”

“Bah, he’s just getting to me. God knows.”

“Ah.” Robbie makes a sucking noise through his teeth and lies down again.

Out of nowhere, I’m thinking about that damn train trip again. How my ass hurt for days afterward. I didn’t discuss it with anyone, but I’ve heard PTSD can bring on phantom pains; I was so scared I couldn’t distinguish reality from cruel possibilities.

They say it’s awesome to talk about stuff, but it doesn’t work for me. When I think about what I spewed out to Paislee at the beach the other night, I just feel gross.

See, there are details about that trip I didn’t remember until I started telling her about it. Touching the train creep’s junk was one of them. When Paislee and I returned to my apartment, I needed to lose myself, and I needed to dominate. I took her so hard she had tears in her eyes.

I didn’t hurt her—I wouldn’t do that—but I had her trapped tight beneath me before I remembered and eased up.

Afterward, she insisted on sleeping in the den with Simon instead of in my arms. Even angry, Paislee is hot. I can’t fucking seem to get enough of her.

She didn’t come with me back to bed until I’d apologized a million times and offered up my own bed to Simon and her, saying I’d sleep on the couch myself.

Even though she slept in my bed, it took most of Saturday to get into her good graces again. In the end I was so desperate I rushed to some store called The Chocolatier and bought her three identical boxes of wrapped chocolates shaped like hearts. The first smile I saw on Paislee’s face was when I offered her the stack of them, complete with puppy-dog eyes and pouty-lip.

There she is now, hips swaying through the gym, all feminine and drawing stares, a small smile of recognition on her lips as she greets my friends.

I switch the TV off and stretch my legs out in front of me. Just seeing her makes me let out a relieved sigh. I’m a lunatic for this girl. Sanchez isn’t going to ruin our last days together.

“Hey,” she murmurs, voice light and intimate as she approaches. She wiggles her fingers at Robbie, who waves back.

I’ve got both hands in the pockets of my hoodie. She trails over my wide grey sweatpants with her eyes and lets them scale back up to my head.

“Hey, beautiful,” I respond, keeping my voice so low she’ll know the words are for her. “You all set? Moving in with Simon and me?”

Her smile brightens. It transforms from that small, sexy one where her lips are pursed in the middle, to a full-on happy-grin, all teeth and sparkling eyes.

Damn that is gorgeous
.

“Yeah, I might regret this, huh?” she hums. “Are you cold?” she continues, touching my half-zipped jacket and pulling at the hood. I peer out from underneath it, making a show of studying every physical aspect of her. It works. She titters shyly, like someone who hasn’t spent her whole adult life sleeping with every male in her path.

“Naw. Intense training today though, so I was sweaty. I’d either have to shower when I took a break or bundle up to stay warm. C’mere.”

With knees wide and spine relaxed against the backrest, I slap my thighs so she understands where I want her. Hell yeah, I want her right here.

Paislee obeys. Slowly, she slinks in over me and straddles me on the couch.

“How are you?” I say pulling her face close so I can press my mouth to hers. She lets me, smiling between each smack I land on her.

“I’m good,” my girl replies. She blinks slowly; she likes our kisses too.

“Rub it in, will ya?” Zeke grumbles but winks at her.

“Keyon doesn’t need a room, see?” Jaden says, passing by. “He’s fine right here, among friends. Hey, I’ve got no complaints. Can’t wait for the show.”

“I have time for lunch,” I say to Paislee, ignoring the guys. “Since I’ve been flaking a lot lately, thanks to… us, I need to put in the hours today.”

She nods, understanding and not complaining like girls do. I stare at her. Really stare. Pull my hood off so I can trap her at least with my eyes. Paislee stills on my lap. Her only movement is a finger sliding over my cheekbone.

“I’m not even sure why I’m saying this, but I’ll go with it,” I husk. “Paislee, I’ve missed you.”

Her eyebrows arch in surprise. “
Today
you’ve missed me?”

“Yeah.” I grin. “Ridiculous, right? I’ve been busy as hell here, but as soon as you walked in the door, I knew that I’d missed you.”