Fighting to Forgive (Fighting Series) (32 page)

“How was the appointment at…” My skin prickles with the weight of my training team’s stares. They’re standing around with their eyes plastered to our hands, eyes huge, smiles too fucking knowing. “You guys mind?”

“Nah, we’re good.” Rex rolls his gloved hand. “Continue.”

I swing my gaze back to find a red-faced Layla. She tucks her chin and giggles.

“They’re worse than women,” I say, earning me a glare from Jonah. “I’ll take a break. I want to hear about your morning.”

Pushing back from the fence, I move to exit the octagon. “I’ll be back in fifteen.” My eyes rake over her body. She’s wearing skin-tight leggings and a draped shirt that hangs off one tan shoulder. “Make that forty-five.”

The guys grumble something that I’m sure is filled with all kinds of pussy-whipped implications. And I don’t give a fuck.

I grab her hand and lead her to an empty conference room. Shutting the door behind her, I drag her to me. “Missed you.”

My arms burn to wrap around her, but after three hours of training, I’m a sweaty mess. Instead, I lean down and drop a soft kiss against her lips, waiting for her permission.

“Yes.” Her gentle consent is followed by the pressure of her mouth against mine. She glides her tongue along the seam of my lips and slips her hands up my shirt.

“Mmm, I want that, Mouse. But I’m all sweaty.”

She smiles against me. “I like you sweaty.”

Her wet mouth muffles my answering groan as I sink into the kiss. Vanilla and sugar, sweet and tempting, fills my senses. The large conference table that sits a few feet away calls to me. But that’s not why we’re here.
Dammit.

“Tell me about the meeting.” I’m still holding her hand. I pull out a chair for her to sit in, and drop my ass on the table.

Without giving details, she tells me that it was difficult going into the horrors of the past, bringing up the old hurts and discovering new ones, but that they’re moving forward together and will be stronger because of it. My chest warms with pride. To think of the impossible obstacles this woman has faced, and yet she holds on, walks through her fears, and makes it to the other side unscathed.

“In the car on the way home, I told Axelle about us.” Her expression is solid, unreadable.

“Yeah? How’d that go?” My stomach rolls, and I lock down my leg to keep my knee from bouncing.

I need Axelle’s approval if I’m going to be hanging out with Layla on a regular basis. And needing someone’s approval is not something I’m used to.

She picks at a piece of nothing on her shirt and peeks up from beneath her eyelashes. “She’s cool.”

A waterfall of relief washes over my shoulders. “No shit?”

Her eyes sparkle, and a big smile pushes her lips wide. “No shit.” She jumps up and throws herself into my arms.

I put back a hand to keep from going horizontal on the table. “Careful, Mouse. Sweat, remember?”

“I don’t care.” She wraps her arms around my waist and nuzzles in.

The sound of her deep breathing against my neck has me reaching for her ass. “All good news, sweetheart. I’m happy for you girls.” I grab a handful of her bottom and squeeze. “How’re we gonna play this? I don’t want to freak her out, but I’m not stoked on the idea of sleeping without you in my bed.”

She pulls back and meets my gaze, her eyes tempered with lust. “How about you in
my
bed?”

“Bed’s a bed, Mouse. As long as you’re in it, I’m there.” It’s not the first time that I’ve been hit with a big fat fucking reality check. I’m dating a woman. She has a kid and a ton of baggage.

And none of that means anything.

“Blake? I want—”

“Layla, thank God you’re here.” Gibbs pushes through the door. “We need to go over the schematics for UFL 94.” He flips through papers, pulling out a few and shoving the rest aside. He doesn’t seem to notice or care that we’re wrapped up together in a room alone. “Oh, and we need to go over…”—he flips a few more pages— “the promo party at Flesh. Went well, and looks like you managed to stir up some gossip.” He finally looks up and notices what’s going on. He studies us for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yes, this is good.” He motions between Layla and me. “This is very, very good.”

Gibbs thinking the two of us together is good is most likely bad. All my protective instincts flare, shining bright with warning. I hop off the table and pull Layla behind me.

He chuckles and steps farther into the room, tossing a folder to the table. “I wanted to talk to you two. Guess this is as good a time as any.” Pulling a paper clipped stack of papers from the folder, he flips through them with a smirk on his face.

“You mind making this quick? I’ve got your paycheck to train for.”

He tosses a stack of online printouts on the table in front of us. “This is the story circulating.”

“What the hell?” Layla flips through page after page, handing them to me.

The photos are from Flesh. All at different times, but each one is of me with the busty brunette in various stages of our brief encounter. The headlines all speculate that we’re a couple. Annoying, but nothing new. Making something out of nothing to sell a story is what they do.

“Oh my God.” Layla’s face pales, and the paper in her hand trembles.

I look over her shoulder and read the headline: “Desperate Woman Tempts ‘The Snake’ With More Than a Flute”
.

Snagging the page from her hand, I stare at the accompanying photo. It shows Layla and I in our standoff, right before she—
oh shit.
How they managed to snap a picture in the split second that Layla removed her top is a fucking miracle. They pixelated her bare breasts, but still.

“This is bullshit,” I growl and ball the offending paper in my hand.

“Mr. Gibbs—Taylor, I’m so sorry.” Her voice trembles with emotion. “I didn’t mean—”

“Sorry? Are you kidding? This is publicity gold.” He laughs hard and slams a pointer finger to an identical picture on the table. “You can’t pay for this kind of attention. I’ve made sure these photos stay viral—”

“You did
what
?” My snarled question makes Layla jump.

“It’s good business. And it’ll get a hell of a showing for your fight.” He claps slowly, still grinning, and my palms itch to wrap around his neck.

“Is this legal? I mean, how can they print a picture of me without my permission?” The panic in her voice escalates with each word, along with my anger.

Gibbs drops back into a chair and props his feet up. “Public place. The moment you walked in, you gave us the right to photo ops.”

I swallow the roar that’s clogging my throat. “Get the lawyers on it. Take the pictures of Layla down. She’s got a teenage daughter. The pictures of me should be enough.” My teeth grind down hard.

“No way. Her blurred chest is the money shot.”

I clench my fists and glare at Gibbs. The pounding of my pulse hammers in my ears. “Taylor—”

A warm hand rests against my forearm. “Blake, it’s okay. I’ll talk to Axelle. She’ll understand.” Her caress glides down my arm, forcing me to loosen my hand. She interweaves her fingers with mine. “Relax. She’ll never see these. I mean, maybe high school kids don’t read gossip magazines.”

Gibbs muffles a chuckle. He’s thinking the same thing I am. That every high school boy out there would absolutely be interested in this kind of gossip.
Fuck.

“This one’s my favorite.” Gibbs tosses a sheet of paper across his desk.

It’s from the national gossip website
In the Loop
. The picture is of me leaning away from the topless brunette, pulling my hand from hers. The headline reads, “‘The Snake’ Slithers Away From Pregnant Girlfriend”. And Gibbs says this is his favorite.

“No fucking way.” My nostrils flare, and I suck in deep breaths. “I’ve never seen that girl before.”

“Doesn’t matter. This shot makes you two look familiar.”

“This is so wrong. So, so wrong,” Layla mumbles from my side. “She gave these people an interview saying that she’s pregnant with your baby.” Her gaze swings up to me. “What kind of person would make up a story like that?”

“Desperate.” I spit the word through my locked jaw.
Fucking bitch.

“This is great stuff. I don’t see what you’re both so worked up about. As soon as the fight’s over, these rumors will disappear. Until then, we’re about to sell out UFL 94.” He claps me on the shoulder, and I jerk away from his touch.

He doesn’t pick up on my hostility and strolls out of the room like a man who just found out he owns China.

Layla spins to me, her eyes wide.

I bring her in for a hug, not only to hold her close, but because I don’t want her to see the violence raging behind my eyes. “It’ll be cool. I’ll take care of this.” I’m a lying bastard, and I know it. I have no idea how to fix this. What I want to do is pound Taylor’s ass, but that doesn’t guarantee anything except that we both lose our jobs.

I pinch my eyes closed and push back the fury, trying to think.
Think, dammit.
Foggy visions of a bloody beating and the satisfaction of squeezing the breath from Gibbs’s piece-of-shit body flood my thoughts. I try to shake it off. My bones feel hot, searing my veins and fueling my irritation.

“Blake, you’re… I can’t breathe.”

“Shit.” I release my death grip. “Sorry.”

Fuck.
I’ve got to get a handle on this. Exercise the acid from my thoughts so I can think clearly and figure this out.

“I’ll see you later. I’ve got to get back to training.” I pity the poor bastard that’ll be on the receiving end. “Tonight. We’ll figure this out tonight. I’ll, uh…” My head is a tumble of nonsense. “Your place.”

I kiss her forehead and leave the room before I start tossing chairs and ripping doors from their frames. Heading back to the octagon, I shove past a group of guys, not taking the time to identify them. I see my team in a huddle around the heavy bags.

My feet move me closer. They stop talking and face me.

Jonah steps between the boys and me. “What the fuck? You okay?”

“Need to spar.”

“Shit, Blake. You look like you’re gonna fuck someone up.”

I nod. He’s right.

His narrowed eyes move from my face to my fists. “Shit.”

“Step aside.”

“
Shit.
” He puts his hands on his hips. “Fine. Gear up and I’ll meet you in the octagon.”

“Not you. Rex. He doesn’t have a baby on the way.” I know what’s about to happen. I don’t want to hurt Jonah. Rex likes the pain.

“Fuck no. I owe you.” Our eyes meet in a non-verbal tell. He’s referring to the cabin.

I shake my head.

“Don’t make me say it.” He thinks that because I let Raven go back into that cabin, I saved his life. No matter how many times I tell him it was Raven who’s the hero, not me, he won’t let up.

For the first time since my little pow-wow with Gibbs, my heart rate slows. He wants to return the favor. He doesn’t owe me a thing. But if I was standing in his shoes, I know he’d do it for me.

“Fine. Let’s do this.” I turn and head for the octagon, reminding myself that Layla and Axelle are my priority.

Jonah’s wounds will heal, but the scars my woman carries never will. And the scandalous crap out there is a jagged scalpel that cuts deep.

They can’t take any more. And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure they don’t have to.

~*~

Five minutes later, Jonah and I stand face-to-face in the octagon. Headgear, mouth-guard, and gloves in place, we bump fists. It’s on.

This isn’t about training. This is about burning shit off. Rex hangs nearby, probably to jump in if this gets ugly. And the way I’m feeling right now, shit’s definitely going to get ugly.

My eyes fix on Jonah’s, and my fists burn to make contact. Right now, he’s not my friend. He’s the answer to finding some fucking peace.

We circle around each other, and he waits for me to make the first move. Muscles clenched tight, my mind goes back to the conference room. The headlines. Layla’s body exposed. The UFL’s plan to capitalize on her embarrassment.

I throw my left fist. He dodges. I balance my weight. Flashes of Layla, her big brown eyes shining with tears, fill my mind’s eye. He moves. His arms wrap around my waist. My back hits the mat. I push with my leg, rage fueling my body.

He positions to lock my shoulders. “Fucking shit, man.” His grunted words sound strangled against the force of my hold.

Visions of a faceless man taking Layla against her will flood my range of view.

I flip on him. He’s down. I take full mount and rain punches to his headgear. A tiny voice whispers that this is dangerous. That Jonah can’t hold back once he gets pushed too far. And that’s exactly what I want.

I picture Layla alone at sixteen. Scared. Pregnant. Abandoned.

Anger, frustration, and helplessness swirl behind my chest. I swing my arms, kick my legs, and lock down on limbs. Our movements are a blur. Nothing is coherent, only the sound of our pained grunts filling the silence.

Someone calls to me. I ignore the interruption and push my body harder. More hits. Tighter holds. Another yell. My fists fly. Power infuses every cell. I’m lost in a fog that feels so fucking good.

Left-right-left-right

I’m on fire. Flying high and nowhere close to being finished. The violence rips through my body, doling out punishment. No one will fuck with her again.

I lose my breath. My throat constricts. The voice yells, but it’s distant. My arms are immobile. I’m pinned down. I thrash, fighting to get free.

And then it happens.

I’m fifteen again. Knocked from my bed and kidnapped. Blindfolded and thrown into a car. And all with the permission of the one person who’s supposed to protect me.

The fear is so real. A guttural roar rips from my throat. I throw my body forward, breaking free and swinging hard.

Another voice.
Shut the fuck up.
I throw a punch. Then another. I hit the floor, face down. Legs, arms, neck, stomach. I can’t move.

“Get off.” I buck against my captors.

The voice repeats until the words break through the haze. “Breathe, brother. Breathe.”