The Fight (A Standalone Novel) (MMA Bad Boy Romance) Read online

  The man in the suit flagrantly counted a large wad of cash. He flapped it into his friend's hand. The man who had bought me a drink folded the cash up neatly. He then strode up to the ring, nodded to the boxer in the red shorts and slipped the cash into his robe. I was the only one that noticed.

  Or I'm the only one stupid enough to watch, I thought.

  The two men were coming back out and there was nowhere for me to hide. I shuffled along the row I was in, but knew they would spot me soon.

  "Here, you look cold," a nondescript man said. He tossed a tan sport coat over my shoulders.

  I sat down, glad the plain sport coat concealed my dress and made me blend into the seats. "I recognize you. You've been following Fenton Morris," I said.

  "Sure beats Iowa, eh, honey?" he asked.

  I nodded lower into the tan sport coat as the two men strode past our row. Neither of them looked our way.

  "Alright, Ms. Allen, they're gone."

  "How do you know my name? Who are you?"

  "You can call me Matt Smith," he said. "You're wrong. I'm not following Fenton Morris, I work for him."

  "You're a private investigator," I said. That would explain the average looking man's ability to disappear so easily. It would also explain why I felt certain his name was a fake. Matt Smith was almost too carefully common to be true.

  "Very astute. Now, what you'd think of the fight?" he asked.

  "Oh, I don't know. I wasn't really here to watch the fight," I said. "Did you notice those two men?"

  "The ones you were following?"

  "Yes. Wait. You changed the subject. Why does Fenton Morris need a private investigator?" I asked.

  Matt Smith smirked. "Again, very astute. Mr. Morris no longer needs my services, but I have to admit, I saw him with the two gentlemen you mentioned and I was curious, too."

  He swung the conversation so easily away from his private business with Fenton that I knew I could not pry. Instead, I concentrated on why I had come there in the first place. "I think they were threatening him somehow."

  "And, did you notice anything strange about the boxing match?" Matt Smith asked.

  I frowned. He seemed so average, so regular, that it was surprising how utterly he controlled the conversation.

  "Yes, actually. I could have sworn the boxer in the red shorts noticed those two men, and then almost right after he spotted them, he lost the match," I said.

  "And?"

  "And then, I saw lots of money changing hands," I continued.

  Matt Smith nodded and polished a pair of wire rim glasses I had not noticed before. He said nothing and waited.

  "I think they might have fixed the fight and told that poor boxer to lose. That way they can place bets and win big," I said.

  He slipped his glasses on and pushed them up his nose. "And now, they're trying the same thing with Mr. Morris?"

  "Oh my God," I said. "That's awful. We have to call the police."

  "What would the police do?" Matt asked. "There is no proof. The men will deny threatening Mr. Morris. It would be his word against theirs. And, I doubt things will get better for him after they learn he has talked to the police."

  I stood up and handed back the plain, tan sport coat. "There has to be something we can do. I'll talk to Fenton right away. Maybe you can get photographs of them doing what they just did?"

  "People carry cash in Las Vegas, that's no crime," Matt pointed out.

  I thought about the large wad the tall man had pulled from to buy my drink. "Oh my God, no wonder Fenton did not want me talking to that man. Of all the men in that bar, I managed to flirt with the one trying to strong-arm him into a throwing a fight. No wonder he hates me!"

  "I think it’s possible that it’s the opposite of hate." He slipped back on the tan sport coat.

  "I've got to go," I told him. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Smith."

  I turned around at the arena door and was not surprised when the nondescript man was already gone. He never answered what kind of work he did for Fenton. For such an average looking man, he was incredibly good at his job.

  I rushed back over to the Tropicana and into the dark bar. In the time it took for my eyes to adjust, I groped my way to the empty booth. Fenton was gone. There was nothing there but a large shoebox and a pair of custom-made shoes with his name on them.

  "Back to throw yourself at him again?" Alice Meadows asked as she came up behind me.

  "Couldn't get him to keep the shoes on?" I asked. "That can't be a good sign."

  She snatched the shoes out of my hands. "He had them on and he liked them. We'll have Fenton Morris signed by the morning."

  "You and Bethany always work in tandem. At least, that's what people like to say you do. I mean, I guess I can't judge the way you get your results because you definitely get results, I just don't know how you can do it," I said.

  "Don't be such a prude, Kya," she said. "Just because we're women doesn't mean we're not allowed to enjoy sex and have it just for fun."

  There was a lump in my throat and I swallowed hard. "Is that where Bethany is? Having fun?"

  "Why? Would that bother you? Is the Country Club Princess falling for a blue collar fighter?" Alice asked.

  "Ooo, did she admit it?" Bethany asked as she joined Alice in the booth and handed her a large drink with two umbrellas sticking out of the top. "I bet Alice you'd fall for Fenton Morris. They say opposite attract, right?"

  I shook my head. "I don't have time for junior high gossip. Where is Fenton?"

  Alice sipped her drink and shrugged. "Beats me. One minute he was slamming tequila, and the next, he was gone. I thought he'd gone off to find you. Way he was looking at you all night. What a waste."

  "When did he leave?" I asked.

  "About twenty minutes ago," Bethany said.

  I ran for the door and straight out to the cabstand. I had to find Fenton before something bad happened.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Kya

  "Have you heard of the Ling Pho Lounge?" I asked the driver, as I jumped in to the waiting yellow taxi.

  "I've heard enough to tell you I'm not taking you there, young lady," the driver said.

  "Hey, I recognize you," I said. "You took me to the strip club the other night."

  "And I'd rather take you back there than to the Ling Pho Lounge," he said. He pulled the cab out into traffic and drifted along, not committing to going in the direction I requested.

  "A girl can't have a late night craving for Chinese food?" I clutched my purse with both hands and tried to sit still in the back of the cab.

  "If that's the case, then I'll take you to my favorite place. Well-lit, crowded, full of locals, but the nice kind," he said. "It's just up the street, be there in five minutes."

  "Thanks for the recommendation, but I would like you to take me to the Ling Pho Lounge."

  "I gotta say it, I know it's not my place but I gotta say it." The cab driver gripped the steering wheel harder. "I don't like the company you're keeping. I saw you with that fighter the other day, the mixed martial one. He's got a bad reputation. You should hear the things I hear about him in this cab. What's a lady like you doing chasing around after him?"

  I slumped back in the seat. "It's for work. I'm an endorsement agent and clients of ours want him for their next campaign."

  "Plenty of other sports guys around town. There's a golf tournament going on next weekend. Lots of nice gentlemen, no tattoos."

  I slumped even further. What was it about me that needed to be surrounded by nice men? I was not tough enough, independent enough, to stand up to the challenges Fenton threw at me. Everyone thought I was just a pretty face better off ensconced in a safe corner of the world.

  Neon lights, crowds, and thousands of chances rushed by the window. This was Las Vegas. Every kind of person from ultra rich playboy to the openmouthed tourist to the calculating card shark was here – and so was I. I had had enough of well-to-do families from decent backgrounds and athletes that had talen
t, but no real fire.

  Fenton was different. He had the talent, but it was fueled by an explosive need to succeed on his own. His background was rough, lonely, and hounding him at every turn. It was no wonder he had built up the reputation he did. It was one-half truth and one-half protection. No one looked too much farther than his wins and his wild behavior.

  "Miss, I'm serious. This isn't the place you want to be. Just grab some Kung Pao to go. I'll wait," the cab driver said.

  I got out and paid him through the window. "Thanks, but I might be a while."

  Inside, the Ling Pho Lounge looked just as I had worried it would. The lighting was dim, not by design, but by neglect. Red walls and black, lacquered screens divided the round empty tables. The sounds of horseracing blared from a television in the kitchen and I could hear two people yelling at it in Mandarin. A half empty, neglected buffet glowed under heat lamps in the corner.

  I pretended to peruse the menu on the wall and check my watch as if I was meeting someone. No one came to seat me. A pair of men came in and went down the back staircase without even looking around. I glanced back at the door. No, Fenton was being threatened and he did not need to face it alone. His whole career was at stake.

  A wide man and a rail thin woman in a white fur coat came in next. They also headed down the back staircase, so I followed them. The man muttered something to the two big bouncers and they let the couple push through the heavy red vinyl doors. I stopped on the stairs, but it was too late, the bouncers had already seen me.

  "Password?" the one on the left asked.

  "You're kidding, my, ah, friend was supposed to meet me upstairs and he didn't say anything about a password," I said. I walked down the rest of the stairs and gave the imposing bouncers my best smile.

  They both returned to staring halfway up the stairs, over my head. Muffled cheers broke out behind the heavy doors. What was Fenton into now? If the bouncers were ignoring me, then I would just wait for the next person to come by and listen for the password. I had to get to Fenton and tell him how to deal with the fight fixers. We could not go to the police, but I had a plan.

  The next footsteps on the stairs turned out to be an ugly pockmarked man in an expensive suit surrounded by a harem of women. I watched his eyes slither down my legs and back up to the neckline of my dress.

  I threw myself against his chest, smiled brightly, and ran a hand around the back of his collar. "There you are. I've been waiting for you."

  The pockmarks deepened as the man laughed. "Sure, honey, whatever you say. She's with us. Stratosphere."

  The bouncers shrugged, accepted the password, and let us all inside. The harem of women quickly spun me to the side and the ugly man continued without me. The basement room was cleared out except for a raised boxing ring, a long metallic bar, and a few rows of folding chairs. Most people were standing, hands up in fists, as they watched the fight.

  I was glad I did not see the two men who had threatened him. I moved around the room, but did not see Fenton. Had he come down here to meet someone?

  "Get him, knock another tooth out!" a fan yelled.

  I pushed my way into the crowd to get a better view of the boxing ring. Fenton was inside, barefoot and bare-knuckled, with a smear of red down the side of his naked chest where he had wiped off the other man's blood. His opponent stood at Fenton's eye level, bald as a cue ball, but wider and barrel-chested. He was slow, but his punches had a heavy sound that made my heart clutch.

  In order to get near him, Fenton had to take a few hits. The two lunged together and dull thuds buffeted my shocked senses. They broke away bloody, sweat standing out on their skin. Fenton smiled as they circled. He taunted the man, opening his fists to beckon the bald man closer. He laughed when his opponent charged like a bull and they stumbled back, locked in another brutal exchange of punches.

  Where Fenton normally would have raised a knee to the man's side, he stopped himself. This was a boxing match and though it looked like a free-for-all, there were rules. I could hardly watch as they slumped against the ropes, the larger man pummeling Fenton a few inches from the screaming crowd.

  The basement room was foggy with sweat and cigar smoke. The crowd churned and exchanged money. In the center, Fenton grimaced then smiled. He finished the bald man with a quick one-two to the head. Another tooth slipped out as the man fell to the mat. The crowd erupted.

  "Fight again! Fight again! Fight again!" the crowd chanted.

  A large man with his blue shirtsleeves rolled up jumped into the ring to talk with Fenton. He pointed to another challenger, already stripping to just his shorts. Fenton raised both hands and strutted around the ring, a busted lip swelling underneath his still cocky smile. I felt sick, but stepped forward with the crowd, hoping he would see me.

  Fenton turned the corner of the ring, coming towards me. Underneath his raised arms I saw a man with pure white hair. Darius Johnson was hard to miss, even in the wild crowd. The fight promoter was almost as notorious as Fenton, except he kept a strict handle on the fights he set up. If he recognized Fenton, the next fight and his next step towards the title would be canceled.

  I shoved my way around the ring and looked up as I passed Fenton. His laser blue eyes widened as he saw me, and he stopped his victory lap. I blew him a kiss, but inclined my head in the direction of Darius Johnson. Fenton glanced over and turned away. I kept going until I bounced in front of the white haired man.

  "You are just the man I need," I told him.

  Darius Johnson gave me a slow smile and twisted one of his oversized rings around his pinky finger. "And, I could always use a pretty thing like you around."

  "I work for James Cort. I think you know him. He sent me out here to sign some young boxer, but how about I sign you, instead?"

  "Cort? You work for Cort? That can't be right. You look too fine to be working with that swine," Darius said.

  I slipped my arm through the older man's and led him towards the bar. Behind us, I saw Fenton hesitate, his eyes on me. The crowd was still chanting for him to fight the next challenger. He was tucking a large stack of money into the waistband of his shorts and sizing up the next guy.

  "Boxing is not really my sport," I told Darius, "but maybe you could teach me to like it."

  "Sounds like a date. Here's my card. You call me. Now, excuse me, I need to see what kind of raw talent is cracking heads around here." The fight promoter handed me his card and turned back to the ring.

  I held my breath, but Fenton was gone. He was no longer in the ring, I could not see him in the corner where the fighters got ready, and his black hair was nowhere in the crowd. I moved through the people as they placed bets on the next fight and slammed strong drinks from the bar. It was a rough room, and I was starting to think my cab driver was right – I needed to get out.

  A hard hand grabbed my elbow and I could not wrench myself free. I was trapped at an underground, bare-knuckled fight, and absolutely no one would know where to look for me. This was exactly how people disappeared.

  "Kya, calm down. It's just me," the man in black hat said. Fenton's blue eyes blazed from under the rim. "You shouldn't be here. Are you crazy?"

  "Am I crazy? I'm not the one that almost compromised his whole career to make a few bucks. You could have broken your hand! If Darius Johnson had seen you the fight would have been off. You know the rules," I said.

  "Rules? Give me a break. No one else plays by the rules, so I'm not going to waste my time."

  "Is this about those men? The ones that are trying to fix your next fight?" I asked. We were deep in the shadows in the back of the basement. I should have been scared at the angry flash in Fenton's eyes, but I was not. My bright sparks of worry only igniting the fire between us. I lifted one hand to his bruised jaw. "It's not business, it's you. I want you to know you're not alone."

  Fenton leaned his forehead against mine. "Stay away from my problems, Kya. I can't let you get hurt."

  "I won't," I said. "In fact, I just met the man th
at will put an end to the fight-fixing. If you'll stop trying to kill yourself for a little cash, we might just make it."

  "We?" he asked. He stumbled forward into my arms.

  His head lolled. Fenton was hurt and I had to get him out of the Ling Pho Lounge before anyone else noticed.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Kya

  I got up the stairs and onto the sidewalk before Fenton passed out. I held on as he slumped onto his knees on the sidewalk. There was no way I could hold him up.

  "Bet the pit bosses are clocking you because you are one lucky gal," the cab driver said. He rushed over and helped me haul Fenton into the backseat. "I almost left, but decided to give you just a few minutes more."

  "You've been waiting here this whole time?" I asked.

  "Like I said, with your luck, you're going to win big one of these days and then you'll remember ol' Mike," he said.

  "Thank you, Mike, I will. But I don't know why you think I'm lucky. Everything I get near is turning into a mess." I climbed into the seat next to Fenton and cradled his head in my lap.

  "Honey, you climbed out of the basement of Ling Pho Lounge without a scratch on you. That's lucky." Mike jumped into the driver's seat. "I've heard they take women from the crowd and toss them into cat fights. You don't even have a hair out of place."

  "I wish I could say the same for him," I said.

  "Just banged up," the cab driver eyed Fenton through the rearview mirror. "Probably drank a lot, fought like an animal, and then crashed when the adrenaline ebbed."

  Despite his optimistic prognosis, the cab driver flew through the Vegas traffic until he reached the driveway of the Tropicana. There, he slowed and pulled over on the street. "Looks like he's got other problems," the driver said.