Killer

  I follow, knowing what’s coming. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. My temper, my strength, my inability to control myself in the cage—more bullshit lecturing, I’m sure. Gabriel grabs the chair behind his desk, bringing it around the front to face the only other chair in his office.

  “Sit.” His tone is firm but kind. Not one you argue with, so I comply, staring at the hem of the sweatshirt with my hood pulled up over my eyes.

  Gabriel takes his own seat and I wait for the verbal thrashing. Nothing happens. He makes soft noises—breathing, the slight rustle of clothing, but no words.

  The silence overtakes the room, crawling up my legs and making my skin feel too tight. My heart is pounding in my chest. What the hell? I love silence. I live for silence. How is he using it to make me so uncomfortable?

  Against everything I am, I tilt my head to go eye to eye with Gabriel, bracing myself for the anger. The fear. When our gazes meet, Gabriel gives me a huge grin.

  Is this guy crazy?

  “There you are,” he chuckles. “I was wondering if you were ever going to look at me when we talk.”

  My mouth falls open, but nothing comes out.

  He laughs again. “I can do all the talking, Killer. Don’t worry.”

  His humor is disconcerting, but encouraging. “You’re not mad?”

  Gabriel is nonplussed. “Why am I supposed to be mad? Because Raoul can’t take a hit? Or because he didn’t think to block it?” He waves an uninterested hand my way. “Não. Of course not. You spar, you get hit. That’s the game.”

  “But…” I blink rapidly. “But you said no hard hits.”

  The kind man puts his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. “I know what a liver kick will do. Did you hit him hard?”

  I shake my head and huff. “No.”

  Gabriel smiles, leaning back. He spreads his hands wide. “Bom. So no problem.”

  My mind flicks through all the reasons Gabriel should be furious right now. Just as quick, I calculate all the reasons he wouldn’t be.

  “You know I didn’t hit him hard or where I wanted to. You know I held back.”

  He laughs, a rich, throaty laugh. “Of course I know. I watched your film. I talked to Rafael. Hell, meu filho, just looking at you I know your striking potential is much, much higher than what you showed me with Raoul. I’m certain he would have been knocked out by that kick if you used your potential.” Clapping his hands together, Gabriel traps me with his dark gaze. “Now, you’re the one who has to deal with Raoul complaining. I think that is punishment enough.” Gabriel winks.

  I’m floored. This man, he gets me. Like really gets me. And oddly enough, he’s not intimidated by me in the least. He sees something in me most people don’t. Potential.

  Britt

  Today is K day. That’s what I’ve called it in my head all week. It’s a full day of watching K train, offering advice, and helping out when needed. He’s only been here a week and a half but it seems like much longer. Probably because I spend every free second thinking about him or stealing glances in the gym.

  When did I turn into such a basket case?

  I laugh. Who am I kidding? I’m always a basket case, just not usually at work, and definitely not over a fighter.

  I grab a drink to soothe my dry mouth and smother the flames of desire building at the thought of watching K fight. Clutching the bottle, my hand trembles so much a tiny bit of water splashes out, splattering on my desk and keyboard.

  Of course.

  “Crap.” I grab a roll of paper towels and mop up the mess. Thankfully, only a few drops hit the actual keyboard and the rest landed on my desk.

  I’ve been a wreck, obsessing over K, wanting what I shouldn’t want. Craving more of that feeling I had when wrapped in his powerful arms when I should be avoiding him. But if K can bring me the kind of peace I’ve struggled to find…

  With an irritated huff, I let it go and finish wiping down the desk.

  By the time I’m done cleaning up, I’m a sweating, nervous wreck. I toss the wet towels in the garbage and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. Still unsettled, I straighten out my clothes, checking that my amethyst is in place. I wore my usual khakis and short-sleeved sweater set, needing to appear as a professional amongst the fighters. The clothes are a little frumpy, but they make the fighters respect me in a way they wouldn’t if I hung around in sloppy sweats all day.

  “Britt?”

  I let out a startled yelp, spinning around to face the door.

  “Sorry,” an embarrassed Max says. “I really need to learn not to sneak up on you.”

  I feel bad about deceiving Max, but damn, the guy always catches me unaware. He doesn’t know I can’t hear well, so it’s technically not his fault he always manages to sneak up. Plus, because of K, I’m on edge today, which adds to my usual clumsiness. Still, I would think Max would figure out another way to approach after surprising me the same way so often.

  “I’m okay, Max,” I lie. My blood is pulsing hard through my veins. First from my anxiety over working with K all day, then from Max startling me—I wouldn’t be surprised if I keeled over from a heart attack right about now.

  “I just wanted to let you know they’re about to start.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder.

  “Oh. Okay, thanks.” I run a hand over my straight blonde hair, making sure it’s smooth. Max scowls before turning and storming out of my office.

  Huh? What is that about?

  Whatever. I have no idea what Max’s problem is and honestly, I’m not in the mood to find out. Right now, my job is to watch—no, study—Mr. Sexy and Mysterious for the next six to eight hours. I grin. My job is awesome sometimes.

  When I step into the main gym, I catch sight of K on one of the large mats, stretching his lithe body in ways that should be illegal. Desire flares, racing up my spine, igniting every nerve ending until my entire body is on fire. My breath catches when K’s hooded head slowly turns my way as if he can somehow sense me behind him.

  Surrounded by shadows from the fabric pulled around his face, silver irises peek out, meeting my own, ensnaring me. Even from halfway across the room I see his pupils dilate a fraction. I lick my lips as a peaceful sensation calms my anxious mind, soothing my ragged nerves. I begin to wonder if K is the man who can give me what I need. That unknown entity my college boyfriend couldn’t manage to find. That even I can’t seem to figure out. After an eternity, K’s body unfolds, rising from the mat, his eyes never leaving mine.

  Oh god. Can you die of lust?

  “Britt! We’re at cage three today.”

  Gabriel’s shout breaks me from the hypnotic spell. My ears and face burn as I hurry over to the cages, somehow managing to not trip over anything. What the heck was I thinking, staring at K and openly lusting after him like some kind of creeper? Ugh, he’d have to be an idiot not to see that I want him.

  For the first time since I met the withdrawn man, I’m thankful he doesn’t speak much. Otherwise, I’d worry he would embarrass me for drooling over his sinfully flexible body. Jack, on the other hand, would think nothing of loudly calling me out in front of the entire gym if I looked at him in such a hungry, desperate way.

  “Olá, Britt.” Gabriel nods in my direction. Turning, he greets K, who somehow slid in next to me without my knowledge. His arm is right next to mine, causing the skin below my short sleeves to tingle, the tiny hairs on my arm standing on end as if he’s sending out electrical pulses. “Killer.” Gabriel gives us his warm, fatherly smile. “Are we ready for a long day of hard work?”

  I manage to turn the corners of my lips in a half-grin, half-nervous frown in an attempt to hide my reaction to K. I’m sure it makes me appear demented. Holding up my laptop, I announce, “I’m all set.”

  Max sets up the camera, aiming the lens at the cage to record K’s work. Later tonight or tomorrow, Gabriel and I will both study the video, meeting afterwards to share our thoughts.

/>   K replies with his usual grunt.

  “Great. Killer, Max will help wrap your hands, then I’ll meet you in the cage.” Gabriel slaps K’s back with a huge hand and walks away to talk to one of the other trainers at a neighboring cage.

  While K has his hands wrapped, I take a seat on a bench and open my laptop, getting ready to take notes, focusing on breathing to calm down my out of control libido. It’s important I pay attention and not spend all my time staring at K’s ass. I’ll need to reference the notes later while watching the tape to remember what my thoughts were as K made each move.

  Max finishes wrapping K’s hands and fastens his thin gloves. The fighter’s fingers are now interwoven with wide bands of black leading up his wrists. His glorious, half-naked body bounces up the steps to the cage. Before he starts fighting, I greedily take in every single mark on K’s tan skin, examine every tattoo, trying to put a story behind each dark stroke of ink as I imagine tracing the lines with my tongue.

  “Do you need a towel for all of your drool?” Max snaps as he drops to the bench next to me.

  Shocked at his vitriol, and a little embarrassed to be caught gawking, I turn and gape at Max. “What is your problem today?”

  “Nothing.” Max shifts away and focuses straight ahead. His jaw clenches as he pretends to watch Gabriel speak to K in the cage.

  For god’s sake.

  I am so not in the mood to deal with Max’s little hissy fit right now. Besides, I need to pay attention to every little movement K makes without distractions—lust, longing, Max—I can’t let any of them keep me from watching K fight. My job is to make sure his form is absolutely perfect so he doesn’t injure himself when he stands in the AFC octagon for a regulation fight.

  K gets into his stance, Gabriel in front of him with pads on his hands and head. K’s muscles tighten and coil, his beautiful inked skin rippling over the sheer power it contains. Gabriel nods and they begin.

  Oh god.

  I pray I’ll be able to do my job when all I can think of is how well that body could move against mine.

  * * *

  Pausing the video in my office, I check the caller ID before answering my cell phone.

  Mom.

  I glance back at the laptop, K’s exquisite form frozen mid-downward roundhouse kick. My preference is to continue watching the delicious eye candy rather than talk to my mother. Heck, I’d rather undergo Chinese water torture than speak to her.

  We don’t talk much anymore because I continually refuse my mother’s demands to speak at events or help her with SASS, the anti-school violence organization she now works for. She doesn’t, or won’t, understand my desire to live, not rehash the past over and over again. A past I can’t even remember.

  In a moment of weakness, my finger slides over the screen to answer the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Britton?”

  Holding back a sigh, I already regret picking up. “Yes, Mom. It’s me.”

  She huffs. “Don’t be smart with me, Britton.”

  “Sorry.” I’m totally not sorry.

  “Anyway,” my mom begins, the tone of her voice indicating I’m not going to like whatever she called to discuss. “Your father and I were hoping you’d come to dinner tomorrow night. It’s been forever.”

  I wonder why that is, Mom?

  “Dinner?”

  My mom must notice my lack of enthusiasm because she jumps right on the guilt train, steering it full speed ahead to mow me down.

  “Britton Shelton Reeves—” Wonderful, she’s gone and pulled out the full name. “We are your parents and want to see you. Don’t you miss us?”

  I miss my parents, but not the arguing about my “poor life choices” and “unwillingness to help others” through difficult times.

  “Tomorrow?” I groan.

  “Yes.”

  “Friday would be better.” I hedge my bets, hoping I can come up with a suitable excuse to bail out by then. “There’s a new client and it requires me staying late at work. I’m still at work now.”

  My mom tsks, clucking her tongue in disapproval. “Alright, Friday. Seven o’clock. Do you need me to send Raymond to pick you up?”

  Driving is something I avoid whenever possible, but I don’t want to be indebted to my parents. Maybe I’ll cab it. “No. I’m good.”

  I sense my mom’s disdain through the phone, but for once, she lets it go. “Fine. See you then.” Before I can reply, she hangs up.

  Tossing the phone down on the desk, I focus back on the screen and K. Even the thought of studying his gorgeous body can’t get rid of my dark mood. Irritated, I shut down the laptop and head out, my mind going over a hundred different excuses I can use to avoid what is sure to be a disastrous dinner on Friday.

  I need to remember—I’m in charge of my life, not my mom, my dad, or anyone else. Me.

  Killer

  “Killer! You’re here early,” Roxie chirps from behind the front desk. She’s too happy all the time. It’s annoying. Especially since I know for a fact I make her uncomfortable even without the fake cheer in her voice when she speaks to me. She’s gotten a glimpse of the monster. Yet those huge eyes of hers combined with her joyful tone always succeed where others fail.

  She gets me to speak.

  “I have a meeting with Britt.”

  “Well, she’s already here, so go on back.”

  I keep my head ducked as I slink by so Roxie can’t see my eyes. No sense letting her meet the monster again when she’s the only one who manages to get an actual verbal response out of my sorry ass.

  After a couple of weeks here, most of the fighters and staff don’t bother talking to me anymore. I keep my hood up and eyes on the floor whenever I’m not sparring or training, and I never do pleasantries. Being ignored helps people understand they shouldn’t speak to the new guy. I heard some whispering and know I already have a rep for being a complete fucking douche, and that’s the way I want it.

  Britt’s office is in the back of the gym. As I approach, I spot one of the employees standing in her doorway. Being as quiet as I can, which is pretty damn quiet, I walk up behind the man. He’s not talking and neither is Britt. When I peer over the guy’s shoulder, which is easy because I’m a good four or five inches taller, I realize she’s absorbed in reading a file on her desk and doesn’t even know he’s there.

  Is he fucking spying on her?

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and a tight coil of anger sizzles in my chest. My vision shimmers with a red-tinged haze as this douchebag molests innocent and sweet Britt, my Britt, with his pervy eyes. I’m surprised by the possessiveness of my thoughts, but I’ll worry about that later.

  “Excuse me,” I bark, shoving past him and shouldering my way into the room. He stumbles forward, ready to snap out with a biting comment, but when he recognizes me, his face blanches and his mouth snaps shut.

  Britt turns around at my loud entrance, her wide gaze flicking back and forth between me and the motherfucking pervert gaping next to me.

  “Max? K? Is…is everything all right?” Her brow wrinkles in confusion. She’s astute, catching on to the fact something strange just transpired.

  I stare at Max, fixing my hard gaze on his shocked face. His skin is flushed a bright crimson, and I watch in satisfaction as the red drains out when Max makes eye contact. He understands what he’s looking at. He sees the truth. The monster. The killer behind my cold eyes.

  “I-I…” Max staggers back toward the door, stammering like the pussy he is. “I’m s-sorry, Britt. I’ll catch you later.” Wide eyed, he darts out the door.

  Fucking coward. Not so ballsy when faced with someone he can’t fool with his bullshit nice-guy act.

  Britt tilts her head questioningly towards the empty space previously occupied by Max. I give her a noncommittal shrug. She smiles, facing me. Once again, those blue eyes don’t waver as they meet mine. Chills trickle down my spine at Britt’s ability to hold her own when coming face-to-face with th
e monster. I wait for her to scream, to run away, to see me for what I am and turn away.

  Instead, her pupils dilate, and the icy cold is replaced by a smoldering heat that ignites deep inside me. Quickly—too quickly—flames begin to flicker across every inch of my skin, fire spreading like molten lava. She’s everything a man could want, beautiful, kind, with a sort of innocence about her. She’s the type of woman men fight for. I would fight for her.

  Ultimate control over my body is one of the only things I pride myself in, so when my cock begins to stir in my shorts, I flinch in disgust at my lack of restraint.

  “Hi,” Britt says in her soft, pleasant voice. She glances back down at her desk, shuffling the stack of papers she had been flipping through when I caught that bastard Max spying on her. “You can sit if you like.” Britt glances up as I drop into the same chair as my first day here.

  She picks up the chair behind her desk, once again bringing it out to sit next to me. Reaching over, Britt flips her laptop around, the screen now facing us.

  “Will this be okay? Or is the screen too small?” Once more, Britt makes bold, direct eye contact, but as usual her voice is low and timid, almost hesitant. My heart stutters at her close proximity, at the warmth of her body and the alluring scent of her skin.

  “It’s fine,” I grunt rudely. I need to remember I’m not here to be nice or make friends or even get laid, though I can’t count the number of times I’ve imagined undressing Britt and worshipping her body. I’m here to fight, to train, to motherfucking make use of my pathetic life.

  We spend two plus hours going over different highlights from the last few days. One thing I notice being this close, is that Britt is young, really young. She’s glaringly out of place in this gym, a tiny blonde innocent amid the blood and violence and testosterone. Yet at the same time, despite the diminutive appearance and tiny voice, Britt is far from out of place. She’s brave, unintimidated by the massive fighters, and as the day goes on, I realize she’s a fucking genius at what she does. One more reason to credit Gabriel for his ability in spotting talent and using it to strengthen his team.