Uncaged Love #4: MMA New Adult Contemporary Romance (7 page)

“That’s the idea.”

He pulls up to a streetlight. “Two can play at this game, you know.” His arm crosses mine to cup a breast.

A thrill zings through me. “You have the worst car imaginable for this,” I say. The deep seats mean we have a lot less access to each other.

“You should have longer arms,” he teases. The light turns green, and the Stingray jets along Cesar Chavez again.

I glance out the windows. It’s dark out, just the streetlamps. We’re not in a great part of town right now, so I bide my time, lightly running my hands along the bulge in Colt’s boxers that pushes out from the open zipper.

Eventually we arrive at the big park where I fled from his father. The irony of this makes me want to giggle. I slip my hand inside Colt’s waistband. My fingers close around him. He’s hot, and the veins pulse gently beneath his skin.

He puts both hands back on the wheel as he navigates the car. His jaw is tight as he concentrates. I squeeze him at the base and work my way to the tip, then down again. Despite the chill outside, I see a bead of sweat form on his forehead.

With a sudden squeal of the tires, Colt turns hard to the right and rolls through the entrance to a parking garage. We pitch downward into the belly of the cavernous empty garage.

Before he’s even jammed the gearshift into park, he’s unbuckled his seat belt and is reaching for mine. I’m released in an instant, and Colt is hauling me over the center console. He slides the driver’s seat as far back as it will go. Even so, I bump into the steering wheel and set off the horn in a short blast that echoes in the garage.

Colt laughs. “Now we’ll have spectators.” With another adjustment, he leans the seat back as far as it will go. It’s enough for him to work my jeans loose and push them down.

My face feels flushed as I kick the jeans into the footwell. I sit up on him, my knees on either side of his thighs.

“You should have taken these off too,” he says, his fingers in the band of my panties.

With a quick snap, they’re off.

Chapter Twelve
 

“You owe me two pairs of underwear now,” I tell him. The feel of his jeans rough against my bare skin sends a shiver through me.

“Maybe I’ll ban them,” he says, pulling me down so he can press his lips against my neck. “I run a no-panty household.”

He grabs my hips and shifts me into place over him. I can feel him hard against me. The zipper presses into my skin. I reach between us to push his clothing farther down.

“That’s it,” he says. His hands move beneath my shirt and under my bra. “This is what happens to naughty girls who tease me while I’m driving.” He shifts a little, and he’s there, pushing me open, cleaving me in a bold thrust.

I brace myself on his shoulders, trying to keep the tilting world in its proper position. The wine, I think, and everything starts to blend together. His body under mine, the way he fills me up, his hands on my skin.

I’m glad for the strength in my thighs as I lift up over him and slide down again. I don’t let him get used to any speed or rhythm, catching him off guard, refusing to let him settle in. He groans into my hair, reaching around to pull me tighter to him.

The tension is building in me now, so I let go of taunting him and slow the pace. The heat is spreading. The fuzziness of my brain doesn’t quite register fast enough what is happening because suddenly I’m crying out against Colt’s shoulder, my body convulsing against him. Sparks are shooting in every direction, and I’m laughing and gulping tears at the same time.

Colt grabs my hips and controls the rhythm now, pushing with powerful thrusts. The rush of warmth floods inside me when he comes. His hands are a vise, clutching my body as he shudders beneath me.

Headlights pierce the foggy windows. A car is driving through the garage. “Oh my God,” I say, ready to scramble off Colt.

He tightens his grip on me. “Hold tight,” he says. “Just be still.”

“But what if it’s a security guy?”

“Just be still.”

My heart is hammering. I hate being afraid. When the car passes right on by and goes to the exit, I can see from a non-foggy corner of one window that it’s just an ordinary car. Someone working late.

Everything in me feels mixed up and full of emotion. Panic. Love. Excitement. Fear. I’m breathing too fast, and Colt runs his hands along my back. “I know you’ve been afraid a long time. I’m going to take care of everything,” he says. “We’ll look into your past. See what’s happened. Now that I’m out of my father’s books, I can hire a lawyer.”

His voice soothes me. I relax against his chest. We stay like this a little while longer, then Colt helps me back across the console to dress. Pantyless.

We drive to a four-story condo building in West LA. Colt parks the Stingray in the bottom-floor garage next to his Harley.
 

A gray fountain gurgles in the middle of the entrance. Its presence makes me laugh. Who puts a fountain in a garage?

“I laughed the first time I saw it too,” Colt says. He reaches in his pocket and withdraws a quarter. “You should make a wish.”

I take the coin, warm from his body. Water flows from the top level of the fountain into the next. What do I wish for? I think about fairy tales again, my frog-prince necklace that Colt rescued after I had to hock it. Then the big ballroom at the first drag show, just like in any princess movie. And that sense of leaving a carriage when we got out of his Mercedes to the flash of photographers.

“Am I supposed to keep the wish a secret?” I ask him.

“I think that’s how it works,” he says.

I press the quarter to my lips and close my eyes. My wish is pretty simple.

To live happily ever after.

I open my eyes again and toss the coin into the fountain.

Of course, everything is the same as it was the moment before. I’m pretty sure I’m already living my wish. Colt takes my hand and tosses my duffel bag over his shoulder. We ride an elevator to the top floor.

This place feels typical of LA. It’s modern and full of glass and shiny countertops with sleek black furniture. I like it too, even if it doesn’t have the romantic quality of his place in Santa Barbara.

Then it sort of hits me. I’m moving in with a man who has two homes.

That Cinderella feeling washes over me again.

We walk around his place together. Giant floor-to-ceiling windows look out over the city. I lean against the glass and watch the lights twinkle. We’re on some sort of hill, so we can see down over the buildings and streets.

“As long as you stay with me, we shouldn’t have to worry about Annie,” Colt says. He comes up behind me and rests his chin on my shoulder. His arms come around me. I feel cocooned in his embrace. “I think if she comes after you again, though, you should think about pressing charges.”

“No police,” I say, stiffening.

“Of course,” he says. “Right. Not until we know your situation.” He stands up and leads me over to one of the sofas. “I’ll need to know everything when I talk to the lawyer. Your name is Joanna Mahoney?”

I pull my feet up and sit cross-legged on the oversized cushion. My belly quivers a little. I don’t like talking about my past. “Yes. Joanna Renee Mahoney.”

“And when did all this happen?”

“Three years ago.”

Colt settles next to me. “So, you were in high school?”

“About to finish junior year.”

“Did you go back to school here in California?”

My cheeks burn. “No. I never went back.”

“But you got a fake ID.”

“It’s not so hard.”

“Do you mind if I see it?”

I stand up. “It’s in my duffel bag. I don’t keep it on me.” I walk to the bedroom where Colt dropped my bag.

“Are you afraid someone will know it’s fake?”

The bag is by the door. I kneel down and sort through it. “I doubt it’s very good. But it worked for getting me jobs. If a cop looked it up, it would probably come up as fake.”

“Do you file taxes under this name? How are you getting away with this? Do you have a social security number?”

I find the ID and tug it out. “I made one up. The jobs usually take tax money out, but I haven’t filed or anything. No telling where it goes.”

“This might take some work,” Colt says. He stands up and pulls his wallet from his pocket.

I hand him the ID.

He holds both of our IDs up to the light, angling them. “This isn’t half bad. It’s even got the lamination seal.”

“Yeah, I checked that.”

Colt stares at the image of me from three years ago. “You look so haunted.” He passes the ID back.

I look at it. My eyes are hollow, my lips in a bitter frown. “Wasn’t a good time of my life.”

“Do you have any ID from your old life?”

I head back to my bag to put it away. “I had a driver’s license, but I cut it up. Anything else, I guess my stepmother had.”

“Is her name Mahoney?”

“Yes. She wouldn’t change hers when she married my dad, due to her son. Then she made me change mine if I was going to live with her after my dad died. Said she didn’t want to look like she had a bastard kid.”

“No other family?” Colt’s eyes are full of concern.

“My grandma died before my father. She got cancer. That’s when Dad married my stepmother. He worked offshore, so he needed someone to watch me. If there was anyone else then, I guess I would have gone with them after he died.”

I walk by him to sit down, but he reaches out and pulls me into his lap. His voice is husky, full of emotion, when he says, “I don’t like the idea that meeting me put you in danger.”

My forehead fits against his neck. I feel comfort in him holding me so close. The effects of the wine are long gone. “But meeting you means I know how to fight.”

“You were a fighter long before that.”

It’s true. But now I have power. I know what to do. And how to control it. I picture my stepbrother on the floor of the bathroom, bleeding on the fallen curtain. Probably not a day goes by that the image does not flash into my head. If I’d been in control, I could have stopped him sooner. Before he took it so far as to grab me naked in the shower. Before I overreacted and beat him.

“What do you think Annie wants from all this?” I ask.

“I have no idea.”

“She said all the other fighters shunned her.”

“I didn’t hear a word about it.” He sighs. “Maybe Brittany would know more.”

I’m not sure how to say the next thing, but I have to. “Don’t you think the timing is sort of strange? You kick Brittany off the team and lock her out, then Annie shows up?”

Colt gets very still. “I can’t believe Brittany would do that.”

“Okay,” I say quickly. “You know her better than I do.”

“We just need to find out the connection between her and that Lani girl. Maybe your trainer, Nate, will have found something out.”

There is still one more question I have, but it’s hard to ask it. “Colt?”

He tightens his grip on me a little, like he knows I have something hard to say. “Yeah?”

“Annie and your father both seem to think your relationship with her was about to end. But it sounds like it sort of…crushed you. Your whole fighting style changed. You said that yourself.”

I look up at him. His eyes are far away, fixed somewhere else in the room. His jaw is scruffy. I reach up to run my hand along the rough plane of his cheek.

“I don’t think I was very good with her,” he says finally. “I don’t think I did a good job of telling her how I felt.” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple sliding up, then down. “Probably I let all this happen.”

I turn his face so that he looks at me. “I think she’s a seriously screwed-up girl,” I say. “I wouldn’t blame yourself for what she’s doing.”

“I don’t think she’s done,” Colt says. “I know her. I know how she fights. She could have done a lot more to you, after you got knocked out. But she walked away.”

I haven’t told him what Annie said when she left, that this wasn’t over.

But it’s pretty clear to all of us that it isn’t.

Chapter Thirteen
 

Buster and a bunch of the girls I train are waiting for us when we arrive on Colt’s Harley the next morning. The banner is back up, the one I hung the first week I worked there. Once again it proclaims in bold letters “The Gunner trains here.”

Colt shakes his head when he sees it. “I guess I’ll just have to get used to stuff like that.”

The girls surround me with hugs. I’m glad to see them.

Buster claps Colt’s shoulder. “Killjoy’s already here. He said he’d get a few things sent over tomorrow, but we have enough equipment to hold you for now.”

“It’ll be fine,” Colt says.

We head through the door with the blacked-out windows. My next fight is in two days, and I’m feeling worried that I won’t be ready. I need to be doing speed drills to manage Diva Delaney.

Killjoy actually approaches me first when Colt and I pass through the accordion door to the addition. “I’ve been watching Diva’s fights,” he says. “Let’s get you started on some sprints and work on getting your movements more explosive.”

I feel sort of shocked. Colt’s trainer has always acted like I was a nuisance. I strip out of my shoes and socks and sweats, down into fighter gear. As he explains that I need to get as comfortable as I can in this short time with rapid pivots, Colt heads back out the door. I know he’s planning on contacting that lawyer, but I force myself to focus on Killjoy’s instructions.

The day passes quickly. When Killjoy spars with Colt, I work the girls who are still there. I know I’m neglecting them. I’ll have to find some sort of balance between my training and their workouts as we settle into a routine. I’ve never had so many people around me, needing me, or me needing them. I’m not sure how other people manage it. I’ve been solitary for a very long time.

“So, what happened to you?” one of the girls asks. She points at the enormous bruise on my leg.

“Just a bad hit while training.” I try to smile reassuringly and hand her a kettlebell.

“Is that the fighter Colt McClure?” A redhead keeps flicking her eyes toward the cage, where Colt is working on his kicks. As usual, he’s only wearing his blue shorts. It’s hard for me not to stare, and I see him all the time.