Unbroken (Fighting for Gisele #3) (8 page)

“My guess was the Kovalenkos. I guess Lazar would like me to move aside so they can get at you easier.”

“But brute force?” Gisele bit her lower lip. “This isn’t good at all. They could
kill you
, Micah.”

“No, that wasn’t their intention. If it was, they wouldn’t have gone through the fighting antics, which were all bluster anyway.” Micah didn’t like seeing Gisele so distressed.

“Listen, if they wanted to kill me, I’d be dead. Mobsters with guns are lethal,” Micah said. “If they wanted me snuffed out, they would have come up behind me and put a bullet in my head.”

“They still might.”

“They just wanted to scare me, but that’s not easily done.” Micah raked a hand through his wet hair. “I’m not cowed by their bullying.”

Gisele came over and sat on the arm of the chair. Micah put his arm around her. “It was just an intimidation tactic,” he said. “But it tells me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“It shows how desperate they are getting.” Micah hugged her close with his head against her ribs.

Gisele leaned down and kissed him.

“Give me a minute to get cleaned up, and we’ll go eat.” Micah rose from the chair, massaging his hand. When he’d delivered the punches, he’d had no glove on, nor had his hand been wrapped. It was quite possible that he’d fractured it, but it was best not to mention that to Gisele.

In the bathroom, Micah checked for any other damage, but he didn’t have a scratch. With a boxer’s guile, he’d avoided getting hit. It was fortunate the mobsters had been more muscle than brains. He washed off and changed clothes, then went back out.

“Is downstairs okay?” Micah said. “This hotel has a good a steakhouse as any.”

“Sure, that’s fine.”

At the restaurant, they were shown to seats on the terrace. It was beside an indoor lake surrounded by trees, and the restaurant was appropriately called Lakeside. The linen-covered tables were elegant, but all Micah cared about was how thick the steaks were. He scanned the menu, glad to see there were a lot of choices.

The place was also known for fresh seafood, which made Gisele happy. She ordered fish that had been caught in Hawaiian waters, and Micah chose a chili-rubbed rib-eye steak. With his fight soon approaching, he drank mineral water, passing on beer.

“I need a drink,” Gisele said, and sipped her cocktail. “It rattles me that those Russian creeps think they can push us around.”

Micah had to smile at her use of the word
creeps
. “I think they’ll reconsider before coming after me again.” With the end of his straw, he stabbed at the lemon slice in his water.

Gisele took a couple of sips of her drink, then sighed. “I sure hope so.”

“Besides, I’ll be busy,” Micah said. “The fight is coming up. I’ll either be working out, or I’ll be in the ring. And I don’t plan to frequent any quiet alleys for a bit.”

For a while, Gisele drank and looked out at the pristine water. Micah watched her, looking forward to a night in his hotel room, once he got some food in his belly. He admired Gisele’s beauty, feeling the urge to finger her silky hair and kiss her soft lips.

She looked over at Micah and smiled. He was relieved to see that the drink had calmed her down. He hated seeing her upset, and would have avoided telling her about the thugs jumping him if he could have. But considering the circumstances, he couldn’t withhold such information.

The food arrived, and Micah focused on his meal. Halfway through his steak, he felt better. Life came back into his body, his strength restored. He better eat well, because Harlan would have no mercy the next day.

The match was drawing close, and he was running out of days to get in fighting shape. It was enough of a challenge to batter and abuse his body in order to gain a competitive edge. He was used to that, and didn’t object. His coach worked him harder each day, gradually building him up.

It took all of Micah’s focus to get through those workouts. He didn’t need the additional distraction of some Russians throwing their weight around. He wished they’d back off, at least until the fight was over. As he chewed a bite of steak, he put his fork down and squeezed his hand.

Damn, he might have really injured it. He hoped to hell that it wasn’t fractured, but he thought it might be. Well, he couldn’t let it stop him, whatever the condition. And he certainly wasn’t going to tell Gisele, as she’d only worry.

“I don’t want you to fight,” Gisele said, setting her fork on her plate. “It’s not worth it.”

“What do you mean? Fighting is what I do.”

“I
mean
…I don’t want you to fight Fromer.”

“It’s too late; it’s already set.”

“Micah, please…I know about this guy. He has a reputation, a bad one,” Gisele said.

“All the better…for when I whip his ass.” Micah shoved his plate back.

“I don’t like the underground…the fights aren’t fair.” Gisele stared at him. “You know that.”

“It doesn’t make a difference. I’m fighting.”

Gisele leaned toward him and put her hand over his. “Those fights are brutal.” She hesitated. “They won’t let you win.”

Micah leaned back in the chair. “I don’t ask for permission.”

Seeing that she couldn’t win that argument, Gisele let out a sigh. “And I’m worried about you anyway.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“But I am.” Gisele wrinkled her brow. “You think the Kovalenkos are just playing around…but they aren’t.” She squeezed his wrist. “You fended them off today, but they will follow through on their threats if you don’t heed their warning. If they can’t get you one way, they’ll try another. I know men like that.”

The fact that Gisele did know men like that,
very well
, irked Micah. He wanted her out of that environment for good. It wasn’t enough that she’d moved out of her brother’s complex—Micah wanted her away from the danger that was closing in. But he had to win the fight first. Then they could retrieve that diamond stashed away in a bank vault, and put an end to all of this.

Chapter 8

It had been a few days since the attack on Micah. The mob killed, and Gisele had every reason to be worried. Yet Micah just brushed it off, even though it was no light matter. He was far more concerned about winning the fight, now only a day away.

Gisele had talked unceasingly about bowing out of the fight. She’d used every tactic she could think of to persuade Micah to give it up. She should have known better. A fighter didn’t quit, and impossible odds just make it more of a challenge.

It was useless to discuss it further, since Micah wouldn’t listen. When he’d left for the gym that morning, they’d been at a standoff. Gisele went quiet, hoping that if her nagging didn’t work, maybe the silent treatment would.

She’d run out of ways to convince Micah to bow out. Threatening to leave him if he fought in the match would be an exercise in futility. It would be an idle threat anyway, as she wouldn’t follow through, and Micah would know that. There was just no way to force him to give it up.

Meanwhile, Micah was immersed in his training. Winning didn’t happen by default, so he had to pour himself into the task of preparing for the confrontation. He stayed at the gym late, and got up early each morning to resume his conditioning.

Micah even swore off all alcohol, honed his diet, and got plenty of sleep. All of that must have been the worst torture for him. But he didn’t complain, just did what he had to. And Gisele had no intention of being a distraction. She wanted him to have his best chance in that ring.

Gisele stayed at the hotel with him, and slept long after Micah had left each morning. She had the key to her apartment, but it was empty. The task of choosing furniture would have to wait, as she couldn’t think about it with Micah soon to fight a killer.

The day before the fight, after Micah went to train, Gisele took a cab to Pilates. She needed the stress relief more than usual. The instructor ran a strenuous, invigorating class, so for that hour Gisele’s attention was diverted.

But when she changed back to street clothes, the prospect of Micah getting in the ring stirred new turmoil in her gut. Maybe it wasn’t her business, but Gisele cared so much about him. She couldn’t let him face a guy who would rip him to shreds.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have faith in Micah—she did. But the reality was that he planned to fight a guy who was known for his brutality in the ring. Sure, it made for an exciting match and lots of heavy betting. But it would be at Micah’s expense; she was sure of it.

Being macho, Micah wasn’t about to back out. He was a fighter, and refusing to face off would be the coward’s way. She knew that without him saying it outright. Ego was one thing, but Micah might be putting his life on the line. He just didn’t see it that way.

Or if he did, he wouldn’t admit to it. In order for Micah to go into combat, he couldn’t have any doubts. He’d explained that to her before.
Men
…they could be so exasperating. But Gisele was a fighter too, and she couldn’t just close her eyes to the impending doom.

As Gisele got her bag from the locker, an idea came to her. There was one more thing she could try, and she had to do it. Micah was convinced he could win the fight, and she prayed that was true. But if anyone could see the unfair odds in this match, it would be his coach.

The fight was the next day, so the coach planned to let Micah off early to rest up. Gisele expected to see him at the hotel room by lunchtime. If she was lucky, he would have already left the gym, so she could talk to the coach alone.

Gisele took a cab, and the driver let her out in front. If Micah was still there, he’d be glad to see her. She could say that she came by to have lunch with him. But better yet, if he was gone, she would have a private audience with his coach.

The gym was noisy, and Gisele squinted under the bright lights. She looked around, then spotted Harlan talking to another client. She stood so that he’d see her, and it worked. The coach interrupted his conversation, then motioned toward the guy to start punching the bag.

Harlan Draper wasn’t an easy man to approach. He’d been nice enough to her, but he was intense. His tattoos showed at the edge of his sleeves, and his bulky muscles gave him a slightly hostile appearance.

But what she had to talk to him about was important, so Gisele didn’t intend to let his menacing demeanor put her off. She walked up to him and glanced at the St. Christopher’s medal around his neck. His short, dark hair was spiked, and his strong jaw was covered with a rough-looking beard.

Gisele didn’t care if the coach was tough as nails—he was going to listen to her. “Can we talk?”

“Micah left,” the coach said. “You just missed him.”

“This is just between you and me.”

The coach lagged, his green eyes piercing into her. “All right…let’s go in the office.”

Gisele followed him to a tiny office space, overflowing with papers, boxing gloves, towels, and other assorted junk. A few posters were tacked to the wall, and a framed picture of a fight leaned against the wall, on top of a bookshelf.

Harlan waved toward the folding chair across from his desk, and Gisele took a seat. “What can I do for you?”

Gisele waited for the coach to sit down and give her his full attention. “I have something to discuss. It’s about Micah.”

The coach raised his brows.

“He won’t listen to me. You have to stop him,” Gisele said, and immediately thought that wasn’t the right way to begin. She’d planned to stay calm and sound rational. If she came across as an emotional female, he would disregard her.

“Stop him from what?”

“Micah is tough; he’s good fighter…great, even.” Gisele took a breath. “But you are about to put him in the ring with a guy that looks like he just escaped from maximum security.”

Harlan widened his eyes.

“Oh, I’ve seen pictures of him,” Gisele said. “Don’t tell me that he doesn’t outweigh Micah. I don’t need a scale to know that.”

“It’s the underground circuit.”

“And that’s my point.” Gisele’s necessity to make the coach understand rose significantly. “The underground is dangerous.”

“All boxing is dangerous.”

“But not equally so. The referee is blind half the time. I was appalled at the stuff he allowed,” Gisele said, the pitch of her voice rising.

“I don’t condone that.”

“No, and combine that with the fact that Micah’s opponent is a man without a conscience, and you’ll see why you have to stop him.”

Harlan didn’t say anything.

“I have my own resources within the mob,” Gisele said sharply. “I’ve looked into Mr. Max Fromer, and guess what I learned?”

“What’s that?”

“Fromer has an unsavory history, and I don’t mean his prison record.” Gisele leaned forward. If only she could impress upon Harlan the severity of the situation.

“Max Fromer pummeled a guy in the ring, but the referee didn’t even know how much damage was being done until the contest ended.” Gisele glared at Harlan. “A referee touched one of Fromer’s gloves, and discovered that he’d removed the padding to make his punches more severe.”

“I heard about that,” Harlan said. “His opponent said it was like having a rock slammed in his face every round.”

“That opponent never fought again.” Gisele was silent, letting that sink in.

“I’m aware of the tricks, and take measures to avoid trauma. Max’s gloves will be checked, and we’ll take every other precaution.”

“And you don’t think Max will think of another ploy to win?” Gisele recited several other incidents, more examples of the ruthless methods the German fighter had used in previous fights.

“In one fight, this brute handed out a beating so brutal that the opponent’s mother and sister fainted watching it,” Gisele said. “It should have been stopped.”

“I wasn’t there to see that, but it sounds like it should have been called off.”

“And that’s why I’m coming to you. There is absolutely no way that Micah should be in the ring with Max Fromer, and you know it.” Gisele glared at him, at the end of her patience.

“If you know Micah, then you know that he does what he wants to,” Harlan said. “The best I can do for him is to prepare him, and that’s exactly what I
have
been doing.”

The utter failure of it all sank in. If Harlan couldn’t stop Micah, then no one could. It was hopeless. Gisele rose numbly and left. There was no more to say. The outcome would be what it was. It was out of her hands.

When Gisele walked out to the street, she got a text from Abby:
Let’s meet for coffee before I go to the theater. I don’t have long. Just something quick.

Gisele agreed, and was glad for the reprieve. She needed to talk to her friend before facing Micah again. It would be hard to look in his eyes, knowing what might happen tomorrow.

Abby was waiting at their favorite coffee place when she arrived. Her friend was perky, looking so happy and carefree. It made Gisele realize how morose she must appear. She couldn’t tell Abby about the mob’s recent attempt to beat up on Micah, since her friend wasn’t in the loop on the inheritance issue. But she could share her concerns about the upcoming fight.

Abby sipped espresso from a tiny cup. “Something on your mind?” her friend said. “You look worried.”

Still rattled from her conversation with the coach, Gisele started telling Abby all about it. She went on and on, realizing that she was overexcited and talking fast.

“I’m sorry,” Gisele said. “I’m just…freaked out.”

“Yes, I totally get that,” Abby held her cup between two fingers, and pondered. “I don’t know what to tell you. Micah is stubborn.”

“He just thinks that he’s indestructible.”

“No one is.”

“I know that,” Gisele said. “But…I don’t know how to talk him out of this fight.”

Abby looked across the table, her lighthearted mood gone. Her expression was serious, and concern showed in her eyes. “I don’t think you can.”

Those words of wisdom didn’t make Gisele feel any better, but she couldn’t deny their truth. Micah was going to fight, and all she could do now was watch. When Micah saw her in the audience it boosted his morale, so she would be in the front row. She’d made her objections clear, but now it was time to support him, in any way she could.

*****

The night of the fight, Micah and Luke went early. In plenty of time for the event, Zeke picked up Gisele in his nondescript car, and accompanied her, serving as her bodyguard. She was quiet on the way there, and since Zeke wasn’t much of a conversationalist, he didn’t press.

The venue was outside city limits in an abandoned warehouse. The lot was filled with cars, and there seemed to be more guards around the place than usual. But that might have been Gisele’s imagination. When they arrived, she waited for Zeke to come around and open her door.

Gisele was in no hurry to go inside. There was still time before the event started, and sitting by the ring, anticipating, wouldn’t be fun. She wished that Abby hadn’t had a performance that night, as it would have been better to have her friend beside her.

Zeke found their seats in the front, and Gisele sagged into hers. The noise and crowd around her seemed remote. All of her thoughts were on Micah.

When the first bouts started, Gisele watched without really paying attention. She didn’t know the participants, but even so, the bloody matches were unsettling. As a defense against the visual onslaught, she looked away some of the time, needing to save her strength for the one fight that mattered to her.

Fans whirred from above, failing to cool down the stifling space, and bright lights shone from the ceiling. The audience yelled and sometimes stood up, as if they might leap into the ring to shout at the competitors. Women vying to attract the fighters bounced up and down, flailing their arms.

The fighters were oblivious to their antics. Women might be desirable, but not while they were sweating their guts out in the ring. Gisele made an effort to breathe evenly and steady her nerves. She certainly didn’t want to pass out, so vowed to be tough.

Even though the air conditioning worked, Gisele’s palms sweated and her pulse was too fast. It was almost as if she was the one about to fight. One thing was certain: her heart would be in the ring with Micah. And then it started.

The previous competitors exited, and the music boomed out into the room. The roar of the crowd nearly drowned out the announcer, but not totally. The man shouted, “And our next competitor…” He motioned toward the walkway, and Gisele saw him.

Max Fromer looked like a German tank. Photographs of him hadn’t done the man justice. He was named the Brute, and Gisele could think of no better word to describe him. She guessed him to be at least two inches taller than Micah, and he clearly outweighed him. Harlan had told her that the sponsors didn’t care. What were a few pounds either way? Close enough, they’d say.

The hulk had shaved his head, and his body was covered in tattoos. Fromer looked like he was made of granite. He was solid muscle, and the veins in his neck and forearms were visible, evidencing how pumped he was. His gut looked like steel, and his legs were powerhouses.

Gisele didn’t think her view of the man was distorted, and when the crowd let out a gasp of awe in unison, she was sure that they observed what she did. Any man brave enough to get into the ring with this beast would be pummeled.