ALPHA FIGHTER The Complete Series
Alpha Fighter - The complete Series Copyright © 2014 Ava Ashley All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental. This book is intended for mature adults only.
Coming Soon One Last Fight
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ALPHA FIGHTER
Part One
Ava Ashley
Table of Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty Chapter Forty-One Chapter Forty-Two Chapter Forty-Three Chapter Forty-Four Chapter Forty-Five Chapter Forty-Six Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter One: Savannah I certainly hope I'm not facing any competition for the room, though it sounds like enough of a dump for that not to be too significant of a concern. It would probably take someone as desperate, and broke, as I am to respond positively to a two-line roommate ad in the Sunday paper, consisting of the very eloquent ‘Small room, 1 window, no A/C. Quiet roommate wanted, not looking for a friend. $400/month.’ Alrighty, then. Thanks for being so welcoming, random dude. But I'm not looking to make friends either, so that works for me. Anyway, my real criteria for a place starts and ends at ‘within my budget’ and that's quite laughably small. Who would have guessed that a few weeks living in a flea-bitten motel would suck up a girl's saving so quickly? Admittedly, it would be easier if I had a job. And getting a job as a minor? Pretty tricky without a parent's signature. Considering that Mom is in heaven and Dad probably wishes that I were in heaven, too, rather than single-handedly starting what's sure to be one of the bloodiest club wars in decades, that wouldn't have been so easy. My only choice was to stretch my savings as far as I could, pawn off my gold jewelry along the way, and stretch those pennies like the practical girl that I am. Practical as I am though, it's high time to move out of the Red Hen Inn and into a lower rent apartment share. Like, say, the 'small room, 1 window, no A/C' gem that I'm heading out to check out now. I fold my last shirt and roll it, military style, into a tight gap in my linen backpack. I survey the room, from the rumpled twin bed with the faded, floral sheets, to the high and narrow window with the prison bars, to the three-legged desk propped up in the fourth corner by a tall, cardboard box, to the mysterious, dark stain by the door that I've become so familiar with over the past few weeks. It's certainly a change from my room at home, which came complete with maid service, 1300-count Egyptian cotton sheets, and more throw pillows than the princess of The Princess and the Pea could want. The daughter of the Flint, leader of one of the two dominant motorcycle clubs in Chicago, and veritable biker royalty, living as a destitute runaway. It's almost funny, actually. But I'm not pining for a return to my ivory prison and my depressing future as Nate's bride. Just thinking of his name makes me grimace in disgust. I can just see how it would be if I stayed home and fulfilled my duty to marry Nate and unite his father's motorcycle club with my father's—I would be sitting at home, pregnant and alone, late at night while he banged that whore, Nikki. Or whoever else it might be by then. No, thank you, I'd much rather fend for myself. I swing my backpack over my shoulder and scan over the room one last time. I didn't forget anything, which is unsurprising considering how little I brought with me. There are some upsides to traveling light, if living out of a single backpack even qualifies as that. The door doesn't lock with a key, just an old-fashioned sliding bar from the inside, so I don't technically need to go by the front desk to check out. I do anyway, just to say goodbye and thank the heavy, half-toothless receptionist for my stay. I may not to be a Santos by name anymore—or at least not that anyone knows—but I was raised right and manners just stick.
"Ms. Brown?" I give her a small smile. "I'm checking out." Her head lolls to the side a little. She's so gone on something—who knows what—that I doubt she even heard me. Still, I give a little wave before I walk away. It's good that I can't afford to stay here. It's good that I can't afford complacency. Complacency is how you end up as a Ms. Brown—old, tired, and getting high just to make it through the day. It's better to fight. That's why Savannah Santos is no more.
Chapter Two: Savannah - 3.5 Weeks Earlier I didn't really know Nikki, but when things like these happen in the community, we have to band together. I lost my mother and little sister, too, albeit many years ago and in a war between my father's motorcycle club and Nate's father's motorcycle club, the historical rival of my father's. I try not to let my thoughts go there, but I can't help but see the scene play in my mind as I close my eyes. It was the first day of third grade and I couldn't wait to run home and tell Mom all about my day. She always acted like what I had to say was the most interesting thing in the world, even if it was just going on and on about a picture I drew in arts and crafts or a new kid in my class. But that day, I had really exciting news for her. Nate Moreno was in my class. I didn't know much about the Morenos, but I knew that the dad Moreno was in charge of the other motorcycle club, the one that Daddy's club didn't like. They fought a lot, especially in the past few weeks, so this piece of news would definitely put me at the center of attention—for the afternoon, at least. I hadn't had such a juicy piece of gossip since when Linah, my little sister, took her first step while Mom had her back turned, making dinner. I was in such a hurry to get home and so I was so bummed when a traffic blockade held me up. I remember pressing my face against the window impatiently, wanting whatever it was that was holding the school bus up to hurry up and be over. There were ten, maybe twelve, cop cars blocking the road. Their lightbars kept blinding me as the lights spun and the mechanical scream of their sirens deafened me. As my senses adjusted to the chaos, barely dampened at all by the bus walls, I could pick up on cold popping sounds and real screams—human screams. That's when I started to feel scared. Until then, I was fine. But when I heard the screams and the bad pops—the pops that always made Mom close the shutters and herd Linah and me down to the windowless basement playroom—I suddenly couldn't breathe. I hugged my backpack to my chest, burying my face in the hot pink plastic, and shook as I took gasping breaths in and out. I didn't stop shaking for a week. Not when they rerouted the school bus back to school. Not when Daddy showed up at school hours later, with sad eyes and a hard face. Not when they put Linah and Mom in the ground in matching black boxes decorated with intricate carvings and filled with crushed silk and rose petals. I remember looking into Mom's box and not being able to cry any more. Her face was as perfectly madeup as every other day of her life, lashes and all, but so terribly still. Even the magical swirls and starbursts that danced from just under her left ear all the way down to the rounded curve of her shoulder, a mesmerizing pattern that had entranced me for as long as I could remember, had somehow lost their magic. Everything was flat, dull. Dead. The next day, Daddy took me with him to the board meeting. I waited in a room with an attendant, one of the board members' wives, until Finn, Daddy's second in command, came to get me. I joined Daddy in a large conference room. The Morenos were there, too, and so was Nate. I was told that the wars were over. The motorcycle clubs were uniting in a peacekeeping truce.
And on my eighteenth birthday, I would marry Nate Moreno and seal the alliance by joining the families. At eight years old, I was given the burden of stopping a gruesome rivalry, spanning decades, by marrying Nate, a boy I didn't even know. I stopped shaking. I shake myself out of my reverie. Today isn't about me, it isn't about Linah, and it isn't about my mom. Today is about Nikki and the loss of her mother and sister in a car accident. Nikki is in the Morenos’ motorcycle club and I should probably have arranged an escort to accompany me to go visit her. Truce or no truce, I am not entirely safe on their side of town until my eighteenth birthday, and marriage to Nate, in a few weeks. But this is an exceptional circumstance and I'm not going to overwhelm the poor girl with a security guard escort. I knock on Nikki's door. There's no response and I don't hear anything when I press my ear against the door. She doesn't seem to be home. I decide to stop by Nate's place on the way back, though I'm not supposed to be within five feet of a boy unsupervised, to make sure that he's heard about Nikki's family. Nikki is, after all, his ex-girlfriend. He should know. I bristle a little at the thought—Nate may be technically off-limits, but the reality is quite different. Because he isn't the one who has to bleed on our wedding night, the rules about his social life are a lot more lax than the ones about mine. With that bitter thought, I stomp up the steps to Nate's place and knock on the door. Nate's probably still at the gym and coming back soon, but it's starting to drizzle and I'm not waiting out here until he gets back. I slide a hairclip out of my hair, jostle the lock a bit, and let myself into Nate's place. I grab a banana from the counter and toss myself down on the couch to wait. Then I hear something from Nate's bedroom. A thump. There it is again. Thump-thump. Someone else is in the apartment. I get up from the couch as quietly as possible, instantly regretting having thrown myself down on it moments earlier. But I don't think whoever it is heard me, because the thumping continues. Then there's a man's voice, but it's so low that I can't make out what he’s saying. A woman's voice replies, also too low to make out any words. Then there's a female sob and the male says something in a soothing voice. Nikki must have come over to seek solace in Nate after receiving the bad news. I decide to leave them alone. He knows her much better than I do and will surely do a better job of comforting her. But then I hear something else, just as I'm tip-toeing past the door to Nate's bedroom. A moan? What. The. Fuck. I rip open Nate's bedroom door and glare at Nate and Nikki, limbs entangled and very naked on Nate's bed. They're on top of the sheets and I can see everything. Nate's muscled back before he twists his torso and stares back at me in horror. Nikki's suspiciously round, suspiciously pert, suspiciously large breasts, looking like twin basketballs straining forth under her Oompa Loompa tanned skin. Nikki's lips, colored with her signature Barbie pink lipstick, still formed in a round 'O.' A round 'O' from the pleasure my frickin' fiancee was giving the little
skank with each thrust of his strong hips, driving his cock deeper into her surely sopping wet pussy. Whore. But it's not even her that I'm mad at, with her bottle-blonde, straw hair stuck to her forehead with sweat sex. No, it's my fucking fiancee who's fucking some cheap slut in his bed, maybe what would have been our bed in a few weeks, depending on how we worked out the logistics of our marriage. I barely even realize that I start yelling, I'm so mad. "How DARE you betray me? How DARE you fuck her, you asshole? I WAITED for you! I haven't even TALKED to a man—and you? You? YOU! UGGGHHHHHHH!" I'm so mad that I can't come up with something clever to say or do, some way to make him feel some of the anger and frustration that I feel. So I walk over to the bed instead and smush my opened banana into his black satin bedsheets and really smear it in before spinning on my heel and running out. I know. Not my finest or most mature moment. Not even the most cutting response. A banana? Really? But what's a girl to do? By the time I get back to my house, I know that we are over. My almost ten-year engagement to Nate is over, because I am going to run away. I can't marry someone who betrayed me before we were ever even together in the first place.
Chapter Three: Cooper Something's wrong. I may be hung over, but I know something is wrong. There's sun on my face and there shouldn't be this much sun on my face. Fuck. I didn't set my alarm clock. I crack an eye open. "You gotta go, Lisa," I mumble as I shake her shoulder. She opens her eyes and looks at me with a sleepy smile. "Elise," she corrects. "And don't I get my coffee to-go? What's the rush today, stud?" "No, I'll have to owe you one—next week, I'll make it a double," I say, rolling up to sitting and rubbing my throbbing head. "I'm showing the place today. I need you out half-an-hour ago." "Fine," Elise pouts. She gets up, walking deliberately slowly through my field of vision to give me a long look at her heart-shaped ass and full Ds. She bends over with a flat back to pick up her lacy bra from the floor by the dresser, where I flung it last night, and I briefly consider getting up and giving it to her hard, doggy style. But I don't have time for that and I need her out. She comes back up with an arched back, swinging her hair over her shoulder. Just as she's pulling her skin-tight dress from last night on over her head, and I'm buckling my belt, the doorbell rings. "Let's go," I say, not bothering to grab a shirt. "Fine." She pouts a little, but follows my lead. My girls are low maintenance, all chronic side chicks, but I know they want more. I also know that they know better than to think they'll ever be more than a sexual release and a warm body in my bed. I make sure they know the only reason they're staying over is because I'm not about to send a woman out into the streets on the wrong part of town in the middle of the night. Especially not the way they come here, wearing what's probably the legal minimum in clothing and the maximum in 'I'm asking for it' hair and makeup. So they can stay the night, fine. But forever? Ha. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I'm no sucker and I'm not falling for any woman again. I'm not even bitter. I'm just not big enough of an idiot to fall in love. "Can I at least make myself a cup of—" Elise starts. I cut her off. "No." She tries to go in for a goodbye kiss on the way to the front door, but I don't let it happen. "Thanks for coming by, Elise" I say, as I open the door. She gives me the kind of look that would single-handedly turn a G-rated movie PG-13, then pushes past the small group of people on the steps. It's a really unpromising selection. Only three people showed up, unsurprising given the dump I'm showing, but it's still a bit disappointing. There's a little man with thick glasses and a tic with his tongue, where he flicks it at the corners of his mouth every few seconds, like some sort of demented lizard. There's an unwashed teenager, at the most a scrawny and underfed twenty-two-year-old if I'm underestimating, who smells like a flaming joint. And then there's
probably the hottest chick I've seen this year. She’s just the right amount of petite—not too skinny, and with curves in all the right places. They’re the kind of curves that make a grown man turn into an obedient, whipped little sheepdog, kowtowing to her every whim. Her long, black hair is shiny and as dark as infinity, setting off her big, caramel-colored eyes and bee-stung red lips like an exotic dream princess. She could make a Victoria’s Secret model’s boyfriend wish for an upgrade. I open the door wider and wave them all in, though there doesn't look like a single winner in the group. The guys disgust me, the babe is—well, a babe. It's just asking for trouble if you shack up with a hot chick, especially one as sexy as this one. You can't send a roommate home when you're done fucking her and then, before you know it, she'll be telling you what to wear, planning how to spend 'our' paycheck, and sleeping with half the neighborhood the first time you turn your back. "Hi, I'm Cooper," I say. "P-p-p-p-peter," stammers the sniveler. "Teehee," giggles the pothead. "Wassup, homie? I'm...." He pauses for a moment, trying to focus, then breaks off into another high-pitched fit of giggles before he can remember his name. "I'm Savannah." The girl's beautiful face scrunches up for an instant, like she regrets saying that, but she recovers quickly. She extends her hand formally in greeting. I look at it—I'm a little amused to be honest—and then take it. I'm expecting a wimpy little flop, but she's got a good grip and gives me a firm handshake. It's unexpected from someone that size, with such a delicate little hand, but she holds her own. "This is the living room." I wave at the couch, television and coffee table off to our right. "Nice view, maaaaan." The pothead has loped over to the window and is staring down at my view of a dumpster in an alleyway in pure rapture. I raise my eyebrows. "And this is the kitchen," I say, leading them in to the small kitchen. P-p-peter leans over the sink, like he's examining the drainage or something. "What's the b-b-biggest thing you can p-put down there?" he asks, in his pedophilesounding voice, "I-i-in the garbage d-d-d-disposal?" "What's the—?" I give him a look. "Look, I'm not a neat freak but I'm not going to live in a sty, either. I'm not home that much and I'm looking for the same in a roommate. No weird stuff. Pay your rent on time. Stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours." "Sounds good," says Savannah, coming back over from checking the stove. A girl who looks like that and knows how to cook? Mmmmm.
Chapter Four: Savannah The newspaper description didn't paint an unfair description of the place. It's really a bit of a dump, nothing at all like home. Forget about a ten-range stove with electric power and a self-cleaning oven. Forget about a twelve-man couch and floor-to-ceiling platinum TV screens, augmented by in-wall surround-sound stereo speaker systems. Forget about granite counter tops and crystal chandeliers. But seriously, if you are going to have kitchen appliances from the seventies, would it really hurt to de-grit the burners now and then? This is clearly such a bachelor pad. The first thing I do when I move in is going to have to be a thorough cleaning of this place. I may not have money anymore, but give me some Lysol and a Brillo pad and I can still make the place shine like a poor man's treasure. I'm surprised to feel a little excitement at the thought. Then again, it is exciting. I'm finally on my own and sure, I have to fend for myself. But I'm a big girl and I'd rather do my own dirty work than sit in a crystal prison for the rest of my life, as I would be if I married that cheating scumbag, Nate. I also can't deny that the eye candy roommate isn't a little exciting. He's tall and muscular and it took me a second to recover when he opened the door and I was suddenly presented with his chiseled, bare chest and low-slung shorts, drawing attention to the muscular V-line framing his eight-pack. His strong arms, the kind that could do justice to even the toughest pickle jar, not to mention cause some serious damage on the streets, are covered in a flawless set of full sleeves. I skip a breath and have to catch myself in order not to let it show. Now that's a man. But there is no point in thinking about it, because there is no way that anything is happening here. There is no way that anything is happening with him, or any other guy for that matter, when the stakes are so high. Getting involved with me isn't like getting involved with another pretty eighteen-year-old. Runaway or not, I'm still the engaged daughter of Flint Santos and the blood price on the head of whoever dared to stain my purity, unwitting or not, would be astronomical. There is no way anyone, even this physically flawless Adonis, could escape the consequences. No, I'm just here for a room. Besides, Cooper is already involved with someone. Or more likely, given her revealing last night's clothing and overdone makeup that screamed ‘trying too hard’, he is a charmer who beds women for the game of it and has notches on his bedpost that number in the triple digits. Even if I wasn't forbidden to love anyone but Nate, who's a self-absorbed jerk that there's no way in hell that I can love, Cooper is not relationship material. "Here's the bathroom," says Cooper, leading us out of the kitchen. "There's only one, so we have to share." He pauses, then looks directly at me as he says, "I'm a busy guy. I don't have time to wait for someone who's going to be in there forever. Get in and get out."
I surprise myself with the strength of my own nerve when I answer with, "No problem. I'm quick in the shower." Only now I'm thinking about him and the shower. And thinking about him thinking about me in the shower. And then I'm thinking about him and me in the shower and suddenly I could use a cold shower. I focus, instead, on the bathroom. It's definitely a fixer-upper. The first thing I'll have to do is dump a bucket of bleach in that toilet. It's not that it's actually dirty. Cooper seems to have kept everything quite clean in here, but it's just old and faded and not the white that it can be. Likewise, I see the potential in the sink and the shower, despite the fading tiles and dull faucet fixtures. The mirror is a bit of a goner, with a jagged crack all the way down the middle, but I'm sure I'll figure it out. If not, it's just a mirror. There are more important things. Not that there's really much of anything that could dissuade me from taking this place, considering that the four hundred dollars per month rent is pretty much all that I can afford. Honestly, even with the ultra-cheap, four hundred dollar rent, I really better hope that a job pans out soon. I take in Cooper's reflection in the mirror, my eyes traveling up his sexy body to his equally sexy face. I also really better hope that I can keep a firm grip on myself.
Chapter Five: Cooper I try not to look at the girl, since she's really not a safe roommate choice and her caramel brown eyes and plump, rosebud-shaped lips are distracting me from my roommate hunt. But my big head isn't always the one running things. This girl is hard to stop looking at. And then there's the way she handles herself so seriously, with her head held high and shoulders back. She's not built as a fighter, but she has the spirit. "Where's the bedroom?" Savannah asks, then blushes. "I mean, the room that's up for rent?" For just a minute, she breaks out of her tough persona and looks down at her feet, crossing a hand over her body and holding her other elbow in it. For just a moment, she looks a little shy, but still goddamn breathtakingly beautiful, and I have the conflicting desires to protect her and to take her, deep and hard and all at once. No. Down, boy. I'm definitely going to need to give Wednesday's girl a call tonight, maybe a little early. I'll have her before my second training. She won't mind the sweat. "Right. It's over here," I answer, leading my unimpressive group of potential roommates to the spare room. "Niiiice, dude." Pothead flops down face-first on the bed, arms spread-eagled, and doesn't move. "Does the d-d-door lock?" Peter shuts it to look at the backside of the knob, closing us into an uncomfortably small space for four grown bodies, especially of complete strangers. "The key didn't come with the place when I got it, but I'm fine with you getting a lock." Though it won't be you getting a lock, at least not for this room. There is no way he's moving in, I already want to wring his neck and we're not even through the tour yet. Then again, pothead still hasn't moved from his spot on the bed and I'm just not getting any sense that this guy has his shit together enough to pay rent, much less on time. I'm not in for that headache and I'm also not cool with him dealing out of here, if he develops a little entrepreneurial spirit. The last thing I need is the hassle of cops knocking down my door. I've had my share of government goons—I was one once and have no need to deal with them again. "Is the furniture included?" asks Savannah, looking in the small dresser that's shoved in a corner of the room, in lieu of a closet. "Yeah, it is," I reply. If she moves in here, it's going to be the longest exercise in fucking self-control that I've ever done. All I want to do with her and that dresser is sit her perfect ass on it while I pay some of that other kind of lip service to those perfect breasts. I've been with some attractive women in my time, but this one is something else. "And internet?" She looks me square in the eyes, like she's haggling. "There's a library a few blocks over," I say, staring her down just the same. She doesn't flinch or waver, even for a moment. "Have you ever had bedbugs?" she asks. "Bedbugs?" I smirk. No, but I'd like her in my bed. "No."
"When is the move-in date?" she asks. "It's free immediately," I answer. "And the lease term?" she asks. "Month to month," I answer. "I'll take it," she says, still not breaking eye contact. She's the most cocksure chick I've ever met, at least at that moment. "I'll let you know who I decide on," I say. Savannah raises an eyebrow in response and turns her head to give Peter, who's neurotically playing with the window lock and checking the mosquito netting, a long, slow look. Then she looks back at me and nods at the pothead, now on his back on the bed, playing with his fingers. "Again, I'll take it." She crosses her arms over her chest. I like the balls on this girl. I also like the breasts on this girl, which are only better-presented when her arms crossed over her chest press them up towards the neck of her t-shirt to make space. "Alright. Out!" I say, straight at Peter. "B-b-b-but—" he says, eyes flicking back and forth from me to Savannah at a crazy speed. "The room's no longer available," I say, "You, too." I give the pothead a little help, taking his wrist and hauling him off the bed. I smooth it over with a hand, not doing much to counter the wrinkled sheets, and give it a solid thump. "All yours, babe. Get that deposit to me by tonight." "My name is Savannah," she says, coolly. "Here is the rent now." She hands me a wad of cash, clipped together with a pastel pink, swirl-shaped paperclip, and slides her backpack off of her shoulders and onto the bed. What am I getting myself into? I show the two losers out and have to admit that I'm happier to be living with her, even though I'm going to need to up my training intensity and take a lot of cold showers, than I would be living with either of them. I come back in and pour myself a glass of water. On second thought, I pour her one, too. I rap on the half-shut door to her bedroom with my knuckles. "Come in!" she calls. I push the door open with my shoulder. "Water?" I ask, holding out one of the glasses. "Thanks," she says. She takes a small sip and lets out a little sigh. "It's hot out." "Yeah, this summer's been brutal. For all the wind we get in Chicago all of the rest of the year, you would think we could manage at least a little breeze when it’s ninety-plus degrees out" I say. "Need any help with moving in your stuff?" "No, I'm all set," she says. I look around, in case I'm missing something. But no, the only new additions to the room are one hot girl and one backpack. One hot girl, who seemed to immediately regret telling me her
real first name, has less stuff than I've seen other girls take to the gym, and is coming from something so bad that living in a dump with a man who's a complete stranger is appealing. I wouldn't even have had to have any of my Navy SEAL training or military instinct to know that getting involved with this mysterious girl is asking for trouble.
Chapter Six: Cooper I'm slamming into the bag harder than usual, each punch trying to push the girl out of my mind. But every time, just like the bag, she comes swinging right back in. Still, it feels good to pound away at something and get some of that energy out. It feels good to exhaust my muscles, though that takes a solid amount of work considering that I am at pretty much peak fitness. There's something calming about the slow exhaustion spreading through my body as I dart around the bag, pummeling it from all angles. My shirt is completely drenched in sweat by the time Vlad grabs the bag and pulls it to the side. "Is there something I need to know about?" Vlad asks, in his usual calm manner. Vlad isn't one for big displays of emotion. He has an almost completely inexpressive face ninety-nine percent of the time and you can barely notice the difference in his mood from when a fighter loses a match or when one wins one. He is the physical embodiment of the discipline over emotion principle of Mixed Martial Arts fighting. It is no wonder that he is known as one of the best fighters in the MMA. There is power in his stillness, and though there aren't many guys that I would confide in, or trust, Vlad is up there. "No," I say, pulling my elbows in and turning away from him. I take a few sideways jabs at the air, bouncing on the balls of my feet. "I will repeat myself," says Vlad, slowly and calmly, "Is there something I need to know about." This time, it is not even a question. Vlad has been training me since I came back from my last Navy SEAL mission, the one that ended everything, and he brought me to fighting. He taught me the sport and probably saved my life. Hell, I was all kinds of messed up when I came back from my last tour. Just thinking about it brings back the memories. I'd been a tough kid, growing up in a tough world with poor chances of ever breaking out of my small, unpromising existence. I was the son of a teen mom with the dad long out of the picture before I was born—hell, probably before she even started showing. I grew up living in a trailer, hearing my own mom's moans when she brought back strange men with potbellies and cigarette breath in the middle of the night. I grew tall on Spam sandwiches with white bread, because wheat bread and meat that didn't come out of a can weren't part of the food stamp program. Instead of being on a fancy soccer team with cleats and pristine white uniforms, I kicked around empty beer cans outside, bare-footed, with my friends. By the time I was in high school, I wasn't too interested in books or learning or anything but girls and fighting. I took bets on myself in fights in order to earn a quick buck, so I could take out more girls. But I lived in a pretty small town and word got around fast. By the time I was sixteen, no one in their right mind, even the stoners, would bet against me in a fight. I never lost, even then. I needed something else, because I damn well knew that I liked girls and I knew that the prettier the girl, the more likely that she'd at least expect dinner. Don't get me wrong. I never had a
problem getting girls to want me through looks and charm alone, but I didn't want to commit to one girl for a regular bang. I'd rather spend the money than spend the time, or waste the opportunity to get with other chicks. So I knew I needed a job. I started working mowing lawns for rich people the summer before junior year of high school. One of those yards that I mowed belonged to a top officer in the marines. The same top officer who, when I was twelve, was at a career fair that the government put on in our neighborhood—if you can call the sad collection of trailer homes that. I stopped by partly out of precocious curiosity and more out of a hope for free food, around lunchtime. His wife and daughter came to bring him lunch. His wife was a manicured wife, one of those perfect status symbols with the head-to-toe designer mom-wear and little quilted, paisley handbag. The daughter was the single most beautiful person I had ever seen in my life. I forgot all about my pursuit of a free lunch and focused, instead, on getting closer to my new crush. Just as I was heading over to introduce myself to her, her mother said, "Sarah, let's go." And just like that, they disappeared out of my life in a cloud of dust stirred up the wheels of their shiny, blue car. Until one especially hot day that summer when, after finishing mowing the backyard of that ritzy ranch house, Sarah came out of the house with a glass of ice cold lemonade. "I thought you might be thirsty," she said, handing me the glass with a smile. She had grown up well. She was just the right kind of petite with just the right amount of curve, not one of those twigs with hipbones you hurt yourself on and thighs that don't beg to be grabbed. She was sexy, but also so beautiful that you almost didn't want to fuck her. You just wanted to hold her, instead, and then make slow love to her. By the end of the summer, we were pretty hot and heavy. Every other thought I had was about Sarah. I started checking books out of the public library, a place I'd never stepped foot in before, in academic subjects. I wanted to better myself for her, so that I could offer her the kind of future that she deserved. There was no doubt in my mind that this was the girl I was going to marry. But her dad didn't agree. To him, I was just a piece of white trash from a trailer home, good enough to recruit to the lowest ranks of his battery but not good enough for his daughter by a long shot. Getting good grades and jumping to the front of my classes didn't impress him. Learning strategic thinking and college-level mathematics wasn't enough, either. I knew what I had to do and I did it. Once I’d joined the military, I worked my way up through the ranks really quickly. I excelled at hand-to-hand combat and my physical skills paired with my ability to predict my opponent's every move made me unmatchable. I made it to Navy SEAL in the shortest time on record, since before I was even born. The day I became a SEAL, I proposed to Sarah. She said yes. It was the happiest moment in my life. Then I went on tour. We wrote all the time, with her sending me emails three or four times a day, just to tell me how much she loved me and how much she couldn't wait to marry me. I came home for a week-and-a-half, during which we made all the wedding arrangements and I paid the deposits on the location—a nice venue, with catering and everything else that she
wanted. It was more money than I'd ever spent on anything, but my salary as a SEAL was high and my girl would get everything and anything that she wanted. My next tour was just a quick one, nothing too crazy compared to what I had handled before, and we were going to get married as soon as I got back. I was out in an armed vehicle with my best bud, John, on a reconnaissance mission. It wasn't anything exciting, but I was happy to be there. John was like a brother to me. We were smiling, talking about John's new baby girl waiting for him at home with his wife, but still focused on keeping an eye out. We knew what we were doing. I was the one driving. The roadside bomb took out the whole left half of the vehicle. When I woke up in the base hospital days later, they told me that John had died immediately in the explosion. When I became a SEAL, I swore an oath to protect my men. I was driving the vehicle when John died, and I felt like I single-handedly killed my brother. I felt like the scum of the earth that I survived and John died. I didn't know what I would say to his wife. To his daughter, when she was old enough to understand. I didn't deserve to live on. I developed mild PTSD, but I had always been a fighter and I would bounce back. The psychologist on base said the prognosis was much better than expected and physically, I'd heal, too. It would just take some time. Then another guy in my team brought me my computer. I checked my email, knowing Sarah must be worried sick about me. I wanted to write her a reassuring email. But then I saw an email already in my inbox from her. Just a single email, even though I hadn't checked it for days and I knew she must have gotten some sort of notification from the Navy when I was brought back to the hospital in critical condition. But she was my Sarah. Maybe they had told her not to send any more emails, since I wouldn't be able to communicate, and maybe they thought a flood of emails would stress me out further. I opened the email. She was leaving me. In the email, she sent me her 'condolences for my loss,' wished me a 'speedy and full recovery,' and explained that she was not 'up to the task' of dealing with someone with PTSD. She 'hoped there would be no hard feelings,' but she didn't want to see me, ever again. Just like that. In a fucking email. I was in physical rehabilitation programs for a while, then I applied to go on tour again. My application was rejected. I had to choose a new career path in the military. Something with a desk job, not in the field. Since I'd had PTSD, even though it was just a mild form, I was too much of a liability for them to send me out on a mission as a SEAL again. They explained that this could actually mean a payday step-up. With my experience, any branch would be happy to have me and there were many lucrative positions available for someone like me. Hearing that made me feel like a complete dirt-bag. I’d taken an oath to protect my comrades and I couldn't do it. Now they wanted me to sit in an office and make a lot of money while other people risked their lives and I just sat there typing away on a keyboard in my A/C with my swivel chair. I couldn't do it.
Vlad, a former mentor when I’d first joined the SEALs, kept me from letting my failure to save John lead to my own self-destruction. He kept me out of the bars, off of the streets, and in the gym for those first dark months and I've been grateful to him ever since. He took a broken soldier and helped me recover myself and create the Cooper “Veni Vidi Vici” Quin that I am proud to be today. He's also the most solid friend a man could ask for. What was I thinking, that I could play it off cool in front of Vlad? "There's this chick," I say. "A girl?" Vlad raises an eyebrow as I stop jabbing at the air and turn back to face him. "Since when do you get bothered by a girl?" "I'm not bothered by her," I say maybe a little too hasty to fight off the accusation. "She's my new roommate." This makes Vlad's usually expressionless face take on almost a look of mild surprise. "You're roommates with a girl you're sleeping with?" "I'm not sleeping with her." Vlad stares me down for a minute, but I don't budge. I'm telling the truth. "You're this wound up about a girl you're not even sleeping with?" Vlad asks. "I don't know, man." I run a hand through my hair in frustration. "I don't know what it is about this girl. She's an eleven out of ten, no question, but there's something else about her that just makes it hard to look away." Vlad laughs and claps me on the shoulder. "Bad move, Cooper. She's your roommate. She's off limits now. " "I just said she's nice to look at. I'm not interested." I shrug him off and stomp off to the locker rooms. I'm not feeling much interest when I think about picking up Wednesday at the bar for our usual fuck, though she's wild in bed and always bare like a porn star, but I'm going to. I need to get this out somehow.
Chapter Seven: Savannah As a Santos, I've never worked a day in my life. It wasn't expected of me and it would never have been if I didn't run away. Other teenagers had part-time jobs after school in high school, but I didn't. Anything I wanted, I could ask Daddy for. I'm not suggesting that my life wasn't blessed and that I wasn’t incredibly fortunate to come from so much money and power, but the real value in money is freedom. It's the freedom to do what you want when you want to, the freedom to have what you want when you want it. I didn't have that freedom, even with all the money in the world. Money meant little to me. I like pretty dresses and nice shoes as much as the next girl, but none of that could buy me happiness. And all the money in the world couldn't buy me what I really want. There was no amount of dollars, pesos, Euros, pounds, or yen that could buy back my mother and sister. The idea of getting a job, with pay that's all mine to do with what I please, is thrilling to me. I have to admit that imagining having anything left after rent, food, and bills was perhaps romanticizing my situation, but still—I am finally responsible for myself. I already unpacked my few belongings into the worn drawers of my dresser, so now I just double check that the folder with my freshly printed resumes is in my backpack, along with a yellow notepad and several blue, ballpoint pens that I picked up at the printer's yesterday. The folder is there, so I head out on my job hunt. I have a pretty basic plan of attack. I'll start with the highest end tattoo parlors, which are most likely to be able to afford to hire a new artist and most likely to have the highest pay. I do need money and I need it now. The first place I walk into is in what's clearly “the right” part of town, in the proverbial right-wrong dichotomy of luxury versus poverty. There are floor-to-ceiling mirrors making up two whole walls, with various orthopedic-style tables and armchairs for clients to sit in while they get their tattoos. The waiting area could double as an upscale lounge, with luxurious carpeting, glass end tables with artfully arranged stacks of alternating light reading material and intellectual journals like Science and Psychology Today. There is a hostess gliding quietly between the waiting area and tattoo area to refill drinks and offer hors d'oeuvres and small, rolled towels on a heated tray. The doors to the back rooms for bodywork are a rich, red mahogany with ornately carved crystal doorknobs. The receptionist politely takes my resume, scans it over, hands it back, and without blinking or changing her expression, bids me on my way and suggests that I consider reapplying in a few years, after developing a strong portfolio. I ask to show her my portfolio, but she declines, already looking over my shoulder to wave the next person in line to the front. I've never been so summarily rejected before. No one would dare to, with my dad's rep known far and wide. But I remind myself that I'm not gliding by on the Santos golden carriage of life anymore and that it's all up to personal merit now. With that steeling thought, I head into the next parlor. It's a scaled-down version of the first, but the response my application elicits is much the same.
The same is true of the third parlor, the fourth parlor, and the fifth parlor, though the sixth parlor says that they might give me a call to reapply if they have the need for another artist. The fact that the woman telling me this barely looks up from her cell phone the whole time, however, is unpromising. By the time I make it to the last parlor on my list, my shirt is sticking to my back and I'm pretty confident that I could fry an egg on my forehead. Not that I'd want to. I don't let the boarded-up window on the storefront next to the parlor get to me, nor do I let the faded lettering on the sign steer me away. I need a job. "Hi, I'm Savannah." I introduce myself to the single occupant of the shop, a woman dressed in head-to-toe faded black denim. She sizes me up, takes in my folder and hopeful expression and summarily dismisses me. "We're not hiring." "I'm a great worker," I argue. I'm getting desperate. "I'll work for little and am always punctual, polite, and thorough. I brought my portfolio with me." "We're not hiring," she says again, but she's a little slower with her rejection this time. I jump on that hesitation as my opening. "Here, just take a look." I hand her my portfolio. She shakes her head, but takes it. First, she's just flipping through it dismissively, clearly trying to get me back out of the door, but then she slows down. Her eyebrows inch up her forehead in intervals as she takes in the photographs and sketches. "Where did you work?" she asks, when she finally hands my portfolio back to me. "You're way too good for a place like this." "I haven't worked before," I admitted. "Friends?" she asked. I nodded. "You did all that without training, just fucking around with friends?" She shakes her head, this time in disbelief. "If I could do that, you bet I wouldn't be working in this dump. Hun, you have talent." She looks me sternly in the eyes. "I mean real talent." "But first I need experience," I said, "No one will hire me with a blank resume." "Eh." She acknowledges my point, scratching her chin in thought. "I really wish I could offer you something, hun, but we aren't making rent as it is on this place. We really can't afford to bring someone else on. I'm Anna-Lynne, by the way." "Thanks, and I understand," I sigh. "Honestly, I'd do it for free. But I have to pay my rent, too, you know?" Anna-Lynne nods in companionable silence for a moment. Then she says, "Sorry, hun. I don't know what to tell you. But whatever you do, don't give up." I nod. "Thanks." The encouragement feels good after being on my own for all these weeks. Unfortunately, encouraging words won't keep a roof over my head, nor will they get me any closer to my dream of being a tattoo artist.
Chapter Eight: Cooper Wednesday is at the bar, waiting for me like a good girl, when I get to The Tipsy Steer. Some loser is trying to buy her a drink, but she waves him off impatiently, leaning forward on her stool to watch me walk towards her. A slow, sultry smile spreads across her face. I know what that smile means. "Let's skip the drinks," I say, sliding a hand down her back. "I need something else now." She arches her back against my palm in response, bending her head to nuzzle my neck while simultaneously giving me an A-grade view straight down her shirt to her impressive breasts. I cup one as she kisses down my neck from my ear, then pull her down off of the stool. "We're going," I declare, my voice already a little gruffer as I start to feel the excitement building in my pants. We're barely halfway across the parking lot when I undo the clasp on her bra, pulling it free from under her tight tube top. Her erect nipples strain against the shirt and she moans, reaching a hand the back of my neck and pulling me in for a kiss. I pull her into me deep, my frustration building. "In," I say, yanking the passenger side door of my truck open. She steps in, already flushed, hair mussed, and lips plump and just a little open. I change my mind. "Backseat," I command. She climbs over the divider and I yank open the back door, getting in. I pull her tube top over her head, freeing her breasts. She moans, arching her back to bring her chest closer to me as she pulls my shirt over my head. I'm lying down on the seat and she's on top me, kissing down my chest. She undoes my belt, giving me a coy smile before she unzips the fly and takes my hard member in her mouth. Her tongue swirls over the tip as she strokes the base and I close my eyes. Finally. She's eager to please and takes my throbbing member deep in her throat. I reach down to take a breast in my hand, squeezing the firm flesh. I twist her nipple and she hums with pleasure. I put my other hand in her underwear. She's wet for me, and moans with pleasure, her eyelids fluttering shut, as I slide one, then two fingers into her ready pussy. "I need your cock," she breathes. I put a rubber on. I always do it myself and with my own rubbers because it’s no secret that the MMA pays well and I would not be surprised if some of these women wouldn’t mind an ‘accidental’ condom fail to end in a shotgun wedding and a life as a trophy wife. No, thank you. Even when my little head is in control, my big head isn’t totally out of commission. I wouldn’t have gotten to where I am today if I was stupid. Then I flip her over, so she's under me on the seat, and thrust my hard cock into her welcoming pussy. The warm pressure against my throbbing member feels great. It turns off my brain, so I thrust harder and harder as Wednesday writhes under me, moaning and gasping. She digs her fingers into my back as I bring her to the edge. Her eyes are fluttering and she's twisting, her back curving impossibly as I pound into her. I suck on her breast, swirling my tongue around
her nipple, and she screams in ecstasy as her body convulses with pleasure. Her hot sex clenches my cock in gratifying spasms as she climaxes. Having attended to her needs, I'm a good guy. After all, I take care of my own. I thrust faster and harder bring myself to the edge of abandon. I needed this. In and out, faster and harder, I can feel myself approaching the edge. I grab her breasts in both hands and give over to the waves of pleasure. But when I close my eyes and come, it's not Wednesday I see. Instead, I see Savannah's pretty face, her big, caramel eyes and shiny, black hair, her perfect ass in her cutoffs, and that sassy look she gave me earlier. Fuck. I come hard, squirting my hot cum in the wrong body.
Chapter Nine: Savannah It's been a long day, but I still need to do something when I get home. I'm frustrated with how unsuccessful my day was and how hopeless things look. Tomorrow, I'm probably going to have to go around to the diners and fast food joints and see if any of them is hiring. Not at all what I was hoping to do, but I'll do what I need to do to pay my rent. Still, I've dreamt of being a tattoo artist since I was a little girl admiring my mom's magical tattoo and I'm not giving up that easily. Maybe I can't do what I want now, but eventually. Or maybe I can find a solid job waitressing and ask Anna-Lynne if I can apprentice with her when I'm not working, just to get something on my resume and maybe a small client base. I'll figure it out. In the interim, I just need to busy myself with something productive and rewarding. I'm already filthy from walking around in the heat all day, so I may as well add to that dirt and get this place into a little better shape before I go take a shower. A short investigation proves fruitful and I tinker with the small radio in the living room for a few minutes until I find a good station. Then I crank it up, already feeling some of my worries slip away as I roll my shoulders and wiggle my hips to the familiar track. I grab a broom from the pantry and twirl with it, indulging myself in a brief daydream of dancing with Cooper, before getting to work. I sweep through the entire apartment, staying out of Cooper's room, then find some rags, cleaning detergent and brillo pads under the sink. I'm not entirely certain that they didn't come with the apartment when he got it, but I'm pleased to find them. Already feeling better, I set to work on the kitchen. As I scrub and spray and polish, zoning out to the music, I let my mind wander. I think briefly about home and the chaos that I must have caused, but that's too heavy and not making me feel better. Instead, I turn my thoughts to my mysterious new roommate. Has he always lived around here? Did he move here recently? While he seems like a down-to-earth enough guy to have been born and raised in the same town where he is now, something tells me otherwise. At the very least, I'm guessing that he lived or worked elsewhere at some point. Maybe even abroad? He has an intelligent way about him... I chide myself for the assumption. I've had very minimal interaction with the man and here I am, imagining him as some well-traveled, driven hunk. The only part of it that I know to be true is that he is, undeniably, a hunk. That chiseled jaw, that sculpted chest, those perfect abs, those strong arms with those perfect sleeves of ink—and that's without even considering that he has a perfect face to match that perfect body. His black hair is just the right amount of shaggy, His steely blue eyes are piercing. They're the kind of eyes you have to be careful to not look into too long, or you'll fall right into their pools of blue.
His voice is deep and secure, his handshake grip strong, and his movements masculine, but graceful. Like an athlete. He's certainly good on his feet; he moves his body with the security of someone who knows the ins and outs of controlling its movements. And the effects they have. That last thought sends a shiver up my spine. No. I refuse to think of Cooper like that. They're just thoughts and they're harmless, but there's no way any of that can happen. I'm a tactile bomb—touch me and I'll detonate, destroying everyone and everything around me with the impact of the explosion. Suddenly, the music is more grating than relaxing. I toss the rag, totally covered in black, take a quick second to admire my work, and then turn off the music and head to the shower. I have no idea what Cooper's story is, but I know one thing. I'm far too interested in finding out for my own good.
Chapter Ten: Cooper I drop Wednesday off at her place, ignoring her pouting and whining about round two in the morning. Honestly, now that I've blown off some steam, I just want her out of my hair. On the drive home, I think about Savannah again. She's a bold one. Doesn't look like the kind of girl who would whine. She also doesn't seem like the kind of girl who would put up with any bullshit, given her no-nonsense attitude and that surprisingly firm handshake. Paired with that face and that body, she's dangerous. I pull into my parking space and turn off the car, locking it twice before I head out. I let myself in quietly, since it's pretty late and Savannah is surely asleep. It's dead silent. I check my watch as I flip on the light. One thirty in the morning Man, I'm going to feel this at morning training, considering that I have to be up before five to run to the gym. Whoa. When I look up from my watch, I almost feel like I'm in the wrong apartment. The whole place gleams like an ad for some sort of cleaning detergent. I whistle. A face, a brain, and a work ethic. Danger. From her elegant way of holding herself and educated patterns of speech, I would have pegged her as a hoity toity rich girl, slumming it for God-knows-what reason. Or maybe a shunned princess, Daddy's little girl kicked out of the mansion to fend for herself among the regular people. But this isn't the work of a sheltered girl who's had everything handed to her all her life. I whip a protein shake up to fuel tomorrow morning's workout. I take a look at my watch again. Make that today's workout. A last look around at an apartment I barely recognize before I shut off the lights settles it. I'm going to figure this girl out. I've figured out the action plans of rogue military governments abroad, to be able to chart, and preempt, their moves and locations to the precision of a ten-yard radius. My ability to predict and block the moves of my opponents gets me out of the ring without a scratch, with guys fifty pounds heavier than me left bruised and confused. I can figure out this mysterious girl with the sweet ass and survivor attitude, too.
Chapter Eleven: Savannah Why did I think this was a good idea? I mean, yeah, Nate's the world's biggest dickhead and there's no way in hell that I'm marrying him. Just the thought of him touching me, or even coming near me, makes me want to hurl. He's disgusting. Really? That's what I've been waiting for, what I've been staying 'pure' for? That's why I couldn't date like the other girls, why hot guys ran in the opposite direction like I was some kind of leper? My fiancé, who has the nerve to fucking cheat on me when I don't even want him? Thinking about him there, in bed with her, reminds me of why I did what I did and why I was totally, completely right. I push myself up off of the hard mattress and peel my sweaty tank off. It's an inferno in my room and the slow fan is more of an insult than anything. It makes so much noise I can hardly hear myself think, but it barely moves the air around at all. Still, finding this place was a godsend. And Cooper...I feel my skin getting even hotter as I think about him. Sure, I've been tempted before. I'm not exactly some naive prepubescent. But it's never been like this. I can still feel his hard bicep under my hand as I tripped in the kitchen this morning and he swooped down to catch me. If it wouldn't have meant death and dishonor if someone somehow found out, I would have given myself to him right then and there, on the kitchen counter. Oh, how I wanted to. But it does mean death and dishonor, I remind myself. And not just for me—Cooper would be a bloody smear on the floor of an abandoned backwoods shed somewhere if one of Daddy's thugs got to him. I can't risk that. I sigh and pull my long, black hair up into a ponytail. Anna-Lynne had called this morning with the great news that she’d talked to some friends, who’d talked to some friends, and that she’d landed an interview for me. It's at one of the tattoo parlors that I visited yesterday, not the super-ritzy ones but also not the crappies. It's a pretty standard, blue collar tattoo parlor in downtown and, with Anna-Lynne's recommendation, I have the chance to be considered for a position as general all-around lackey to the artists there. So basically, I'll be their bitch. But I really want it, because at least it's doing something in a parlor and it's something I can put on my resume. I'll also be the best damn lackey any of one of them has ever seen and maybe someone will give me the chance sometime, probably a ways down the road, to prove that I have what it takes to ink. The place is called The Ink Joint and my interview is in half an hour. Beyond my aspirations and just focusing on the practical side of things, I need this job. Even split with Cooper, it's not like I can pay the rent here without some kind of job. I can't file unemployment because I'm technically still an underage runaway. Besides, I'm a Santos, and Santoses don't take welfare.
I line my dark, almond-shaped eyes with kohl and rub a little lip balm onto my naturally cherry-colored lips. I pull a fresh shirt over my head, run a hand over my faded cutoffs, and give myself a quick look-over in the mirror. Not bad. I lace up my sneakers, grab my bag, and head out of the door. Not looking where I'm going, I walk straight into a tall wall of muscle. It's like I've been electrocuted—my body is on fire with longing. I subconsciously cross my legs in front of each other, a pitiful attempt to control myself. "Cooper," I breathe.
Chapter Twelve: Cooper Fuck, I can't remember what I came to say to her. Petite with firm curves in all the right places, this woman is trouble. She's definitely not what I was expecting when I put in the ad for a roommate. She's the kind of woman I'd normally take straight to bed. But she's my roommate; sex would complicate things. I don't do relationships and you can't exactly send a roommate home when you're done with her. Besides, I don't know anything about her. I don't know how old she is, where she's from, what her story is. If she hadn't made a face like she screwed up after she told me she's Savannah, I wouldn't even know if that's her real name. Everything I know is telling me to stay away. But all my instincts are saying something quite different. Fuck, there's no question why I've been doing so many extra workouts and taking so many cold showers since she moved in. And there's no question that, just like I realized last night, I want to know more. "You said you have an interview today, right?" I ask. I'd walked in when she was looking for something to make for breakfast this morning and tried to strike up some conversation. She had been half-asleep still, but had mumbled something about The Ink Joint. "Yeah, I did," Savannah says. "Thanks for letting me bum some cereal off you earlier, by the way—I realized I forgot to thank you. I'm not normally so rude, but I was exhausted this morning." "No worries." I smile. "You did an amazing job on this place. I get all that for a bowl of cereal?" I whistle. She laughs. "I just needed to get some energy out. Yesterday wasn't going too great, but hopefully I'll turn that around today." "Do you need a ride? The parlor is right by my gym," I offer. "Didn't you just come from the gym this morning?" Savannah bites her lip and I grit my teeth. I cannot pick her up and throw her on my bed. That's not a good idea. "Yeah," I say. "I have a big fight tomorrow." And I need to stop thinking about what I want to do to your body. "Ah, cool." She nods. "Yeah, thanks. A ride would be great." I grab my gym bag and then we walk to the door in silence, her looking over at me now and then, a tad uncertainly, and I swallow my smirk. Make them wait to talk and it barely takes any probing to get the words flowing when you finally do. I take my time opening the door for her, walking around the car, starting the engine, and driving a few blocks before I say something. Even then, it's not much. The trick to getting hesitant speakers to speak and, ultimately, to spill is by taking your sweet time. People will tell you everything you don't want to know, but too much interest will shut them up tighter than my left hook. "Tattoos, huh?" I finally ask.
"Yeah," she says, shrugging and giving a nervous, relieved, laugh. Hurrying to fill the silence before it envelops her again, she continues. "It's one of the most permanent, and personal, forms of art. Takes a lot of trust, you know? Every piece has to have so much care in it, or you can tell. My—" She stops and turns her head, looking out the window. "Hmm?" I prompt. "Oh, my, um, interest is in the art," she replies. I can tell it's not what she meant to say. It's not what she means. But she's holding back. "I like drawing." "Did you take a lot of classes?" I ask, not even looking at her or indicating any kind of interest at all as I glance over my shoulder to switch lanes. "Eh, you know," she answers, shrugging her shoulders. "I took a couple classes in high school, but art is a passion. It sounds so cliche, but it's the expression of something that's more than just a technique. Learning the basics helps you execute the expression well, but you can't just do the techniques and expect them to produce art on their own. Or, at least, that's my opinion." The whole statement was so passionate and strong, with her face really lighting up as she talked, that I'm not buying the casual 'just my opinion' at the end. "You always knew you were going to be an artist, then?" I ask. She laughs, then shakes her head. There's a look in her eyes that I can't quite place, but I'm reading it as something between sadness and bitterness. "No. I would have loved it, but it wasn't what was meant for me." I test my luck. "What, parents wanted you to be a hot-shot doctor or lawyer, instead?" I say it in a joking tone, but I still see her visibly tense at the word 'parents.' She's silent for a moment, then hedges a response. "Something like that, I guess." She doesn't offer anything else and I know better than to push any more right now, curious as I am. "Here you are," I say, as I pull up to the front of The Ink Joint. "Need a ride back?" "No, thanks," she says, almost leaping out of the car before it even comes to a stop. "I could use a walk and one way really isn't bad." She's already out the door before she catches herself and turns around to say a quick, "Thanks for the ride!" Then she's bouncing off into the parlor, giving me a great view of her perfect ass. Looks like it's time for another workout.
Chapter Thirteen: Savannah I have to force myself to focus as I walk into The Ink Joint. That, in and of itself, is enough of a warning sign. This is what I've wanted for as long as I can recall—a chance to show my stuff as a tattoo artist and strike out on my own merit. Well, okay. Maybe not quite as a tattoo artist, but this is the first step on the way to that. And the fact that a short ride with a handsome man who shows interest in me is enough to distract me and is highly disconcerting. I need to bring my A-game, and going all boy-crazy and crush-happy isn't a part of that. I need to keep my frickin' panties straight and focus. I take a pause just inside the door, breathe deeply, and collect myself. Show time. I walk up to the counter. "Hello!" I say. "I'm Savannah. I'm here to interview for a position as general assistant." It's the same receptionist as yesterday, but she doesn't seem to recognize me. It just goes to show how much of an impression I made, and chance I had, without Anna-Lynne's help. Thank the heaven and stars for that sweet godsend of a woman. "Hi!" she chirps. Today, she deems me worthy of looking up from her desktop screen. She even grants me a smile. "Just give me a minute and I'll show you around. Are you ready to start working now?" "Uh," I stammer, a little confused. I catch myself quickly. "Of course!" "Great!" she says, beaming at me. "I'm Tamryn, by the way. We're pretty swamped with appointments this afternoon, so it's perfect timing. Everyone could really use a hand." She pauses to type something quickly, then closes a window on her desktop and looks back at me. "We'll skip the interview. You come with a strong recommendation. You can prove yourself with your work instead. Okay?" "Works for me!" I think my face is going to split from the force of my grin, but it's entirely genuine. I'm beyond thrilled. I got the job! "We always start by washing our hands, no matter what," says Tamryn, "The last thing we need is someone getting a skin infection and shutting this place down, or shooting our reputation to shit, so we're really careful about clean needles, clean hands, and clean workspaces. The sink is in the back. Why don't you head over there right now and do that." "Of course," I nod. I walk to the back, looking at the parlor around me. It's true; the place is pretty spotless. While the parlor isn't in the ritzy part of town and there's just a water cooler instead of pitchers of spa cucumber water and bottles of bubbly circulated by an attractive server, you can't say that it's a grimy place. The wooden floor is a little worn and the paint on the walls clearly isn't new. In fact, in a few places there are some bricks showing through the paint. It adds character, however, since the mirrors are spotless, the countertops shine, and the instruments are all neatly arranged and sparkling on clean trays. The workspaces are surgically clean, a fact that I admire as I wash my hands thoroughly in the sink at the back of the large room. I would be proud to be a tattoo artist here someday. "Alright," says Tamryn, as I rejoin her at the front desk. "You'll be reporting to me today, but as you settle in, you'll start working with the guys." She gestures at the tattoo artists, all
setting up shop at their respective workspaces. They're covered in beautiful ink in all different styles, each with a unique look that works. There are a couple guys and two women working. "Is this the complete team?" I ask. "More or less," answers Tamryn, with a shrug. "There are a few others, but we always have about five artists in the shop. You'll get to know them with time, but some of our guys are a handful." I laugh. "I look forward to meeting everyone." "Why don't you start by cataloging all of our clients from the past year and seeing who hasn't been in for a while," says Tamryn, handing me a big binder filled with receipts and sign-in sheets. "When you're done with that, we'll get in touch with them and see who's due for some more work." "Thanks," I say, taking the binder and a blank notebook to start cataloging. I'm pretty busy with that for the rest of the morning, but Tamryn eventually stops me sometime in the early afternoon to grab a bite for lunch across the street at Bennie's Pizza. We're sitting in a booth over steaming slices of pepperoni pie when Tamryn gives me a sly smile. "So, interesting ride to work today?" she asks. "What do you mean?" I ask, "I know that car," says Tamryn, "Every girl in town knows that car." "Oh?" I ask. I try to keep my voice casual. "So, what's the story with you and cutie Cooper?" Tamryn winks at me. "New in town and already with the stud, huh?" "Oh, we're not together." I can tell I'm blushing redder than the pizza sauce on my slice. I take a bite and look down at my table as I chew. "We're just roommates." "With benefits?" Tamryn smirks. "Come on, you know you want to tap that. Who doesn't?" "No, we're just roommates," I repeat. "So he's a lady's man, huh?" "No more than Casanova." Tamryn shrugs. "Honestly, it's more that women throw themselves at Cooper any chance they get than that he actually tries to be suave." Great. All the more reason to stay far, far, far away from Cooper. "Have you seen that body? Have you seen that man fight?" Tamryn seems to have forgotten all about her lunch as she gazes off into the distance in a lusty daydream. “I’m not even an MMA fan chick or anything, but that man makes me want to line up by the ring and throw my bra in the air like the worst of ’em.” "I haven't seen him fight," I say, not mentioning that I have seen his ridiculously appealing abs and perfect chest. "Is he any good?" "Is he any good? He's a fucking beast." Tamryn shakes her head and picks up her pizza again. "Panties dropping, left and right." "Tamryn!" She just wiggles her eyebrows suggestively as she munches on her pizza.
I try not to think about Cooper in the ring, dripping sweat down his perfect chest, his piercing blue eyes narrowed in concentration. I try not to think about his muscles tensing and jaw set. I try not to let my mental fighting ring turn into his bedroom and I try not to let his opponent turn into me. I try not to think about what it would feel like to have him use those muscles to pick me up, push me against a wall, and take me, deeply and passionately. The damp spot in my panties tells me my efforts aren't as successful as I'd like.
Chapter Fourteen: Cooper I drop the shopping bags on the counter and shake my head in disbelief when I realize what I'm doing. I went to a bar where a sure thing was waiting for me, like she does every Thursday, in her almost publicly indecent hot pants and little tube top causing rises all along the bar. I chatted her up, ordered us each a drink. She giggled, gave me that 'I'm ready' look, and then I left. Without her. To go to the grocery store and buy food to cook dinner for a girl who is about as far from a sure thing as they get. In fact, she's so far on the other end that she's a surely not. She's off limits. So here I am, looking at two bags of nice groceries from one of those overpriced supermarkets where everything's organic-this or fair-trade-that, preparing to spend too much time and too much effort romancing a chick who's too much trouble to even consider. I tell myself that I'm not actually romancing this chick. I'm just being a good guy. She had a huge interview today and a nice dinner would be a great effort. Besides, a relaxed, happy girl is more likely to let her guard down and let me figure out what her story is than a stressed, hungry one. And last of all, she cleaned the whole fucking apartment yesterday and made it gleam like some Maple Street penthouse, for fuck's sake. I'm just returning the favor with a gesture of roommate good will. Yeah, right. Roommate good will is great and all, but I don't think there are many roommates out there, good will or not, who would sacrifice a sure lay with a smokin' chick to make dinner for their roommate pal. No guy is that nice. So what the fuck am I doing? I shake my head and stare at the grocery bags. Ah, well. Too late now. I'm not getting laid anymore and a man has to eat. I'm making pretty much the only thing I know how to make, my ma's lasagna with rolls from the store and a salad on the side, when Savannah stumbles in, mid-yawn. "Oh, hi" she says, stretching as she slides her backpack off her shoulders and holds it by the top strap. "Whatever you're making, it smells amazing." "Thanks. I'm just whipping up some dinner," I say, "It should be ready in about fifteen minutes. Care to join me? There's plenty to share." "Really? That would be awesome, I'm starving!" Savannah tucks some hair behind her ear. "I'll just take a quick shower and then I'll help set the table." "So I take it the interview went well?" I ask. "Yeah!" Her face lights up with a huge, beautiful smile. "I got the job!" "Congratulations!" I'm still fighting not to think of her in the shower and how much I'd like to be with her in there. Though then we'd need more than fifteen minutes before dinner... "Thanks," she says, then shifts on her feet a little awkwardly and really adorably. "Okay, well, I'm going to go shower now..."
"Have fun," I say. I can't keep the wicked gleam out of my eye and the cute blush that spreads across her face makes it so worth it. I enjoy the view a little too much for my own good as she leaves the room. Damn, those toned legs meet that perfectly curvy ass in the most ridiculously sexy way. If only those cutoffs weren't in the way. By the time she's out of the shower, dressed—unfortunately—and back in the kitchen to set the table, I'm pulling the lasagna out of the oven. It actually looks pretty good. She sets the table in silence, though I catch her stealing glances at me now and then. The air is charged and, by the rate at which she's blushing, I know she feels it, too. If she weren't my roommate, I would throw caution to the wind and forget about how bad an idea it would be to get involved with a girl who's as much of a mystery, and intentionally so, as this one. My big head is clearly not the one in charge of my desires at the moment, and all I want is to pick her up by her pretty little waist, throw her down on the table that she's in the middle of setting, pull down her cutoffs to reveal that perfect ass, and give her the proper fucking I've been wanting to since I first saw her. Instead, I eat dinner with her. We eat in near silence for a few minutes, interrupted only by her saying thanks and raving about how good the lasagna is. It's nice to see a girl with an appetite, for once. She's slim, but not a twig, and she likes enjoying her food. Unlike the girls I usually eat with, she doesn't poke around at her food or try to act like salad is the only thing she sees on the table. She takes a healthy serving of both the salad and lasagna and eats freely and unselfconsciously. She's a woman who knows how to enjoy herself. That's not a good train of thought to go down, though, and I know it. So though we're eating in companionable, perfectly comfortable silence, I finally break it. Mostly to drown out my own thoughts and keep them from going places they shouldn't, like under her clothes. We chat about her work. She tells me about her position as all around lackey, referring to it somewhat self-deprecatingly, but I can see her pride. It lights up her face with energy and ambition in an incredibly appealing way. She asks me about my fighting, teasing that she has heard about me from co-workers. The raised eyebrow and sassy smile she gives me turn me on. It's getting to be a somewhat uncomfortable dinner for me, since I'm not getting the release that every look and smile and move of hers makes me need more and more, but it's also so enjoyable that I make myself deal with the growing discomfort from my increasingly tight pants. Savannah gives it right back to me; I haven't been challenged like this since the early days with Sarah. Savannah's laugh is like music. I can't help but smile when I hear it and I find myself wanting to make her do it again and again. There's something about this girl. After dessert—slices of a shared chocolate cake that I picked up from the bakery aisle of the grocery store because women like chocolate—Savannah and I clear the table. She gets started washing the dishes while I wipe down the table, and I pause for a moment to admire her beautiful figure. She's humming a little to herself, under her breath, and gently swaying her head from side to side, her shiny hair swishing across her back.
I bring the sponge back up to the sink just as she's turning to put a plate in the drying rack. She gives a little 'oh' of surprise and almost stumbles. Reflexively, I reach out to steady her. And then she's mere inches from me, my hands on her arms, holding her up. She smells lightly of something sweet and floral and delicious. She looks up at me, eyes wide and beautiful, rimmed by dark lashes and set in her perfect face. Her lips are slightly parted and I look at them just a moment too long. It's hard to pull my look away and we get even closer for a moment, as our bodies take control and draw us together. Then it's like a switch flicks in her brain or she has suddenly remembered something. She breaks away from me, drops the plate in the drying rack, and runs out of the kitchen. I hear her door slam shut behind her. I can't figure this girl out. Worse, I care.
Chapter Fifteen: Savannah The door slams shut behind me, making the thin walls around it shake a bit. I lean back against the door and slide down it, like I'm barring someone from entering my room. It's an absolutely ridiculous gesture, because the only thing that is endangering me at the moment is myself and my pent-up libido. Eighteen years of chastity, eighteen years of purity, eighteen years of never giving in to impulse or desire. Eighteen years of self-restraint that I just almost threw away for a tall fighter with piercing blue eyes and hair that's just the right kind of shaggy. I'm breathing hard, like I just ran ten miles, but exercise isn't why my heart is pounding the way it is in my chest. My whole body feels alive and I'm pulsing with lust, longing, and just plain curiosity. I'm curious about what else is out there. What is sex, this forbidden fruit, like? What would it be like to feel Cooper's hard cock move inside me? I blush at the thought, but it's thrilling all the same. And then there's the longing. For those brief moments in the kitchen right after Cooper steadied me, when I was no longer unbalanced but Cooper was still holding me firmly in his hands, I felt safe. It makes no sense to feel safe with someone who is such a danger to me by mere virtue of his gender and attractiveness. It makes even less sense to feel safe with someone as renowned for his bachelor ways, and habit of hopping from woman to woman, as Cooper seems to be. But somehow I felt safe with him, against all logic and against all reason. I felt safer than I have felt in years. I felt like I could just be myself and that was enough. I didn't need to be Savannah Santos, daughter of Flint Santos and future Mrs. Nate Moreno. I could just be Savannah, a young woman finding her way in the world with a dream and a sketchpad and a heart full of desire. Still, even though my feelings make no sense, I wish I could give in to them. I wish I could ignore the fact that it would be unacceptably irresponsible to entangle Cooper, an innocent bystander to my life, in the mess that getting involved with me would be. If I feel anything for the handsome man who gave me a ride to work and cooked me dinner, even anything as minimal as basic human respect, I owe him the decency of staying far, far away from him. So instead of opening my door and going back to the kitchen to finish what I almost started, I close my eyes and indulge myself in an imaginary world where I'm Savannah Quin, Cooper isn't a total player, and we can be together. I pull my shirt over my head and unhook my bra, cupping my bare breasts in my hands as I gently massage my nipples and pretend that my hands are Cooper's. I take a hand off of one of my breasts to slide into my pants, instead, and then into my underwear. As I rub my clit, I pretend that I'm rubbing myself against the length of Cooper's stiff erection. I can't risk losing my virginity, because the motorcycle club board goons would definitely check the wedding bed of a motorcycle club princess after her wedding night, so the rest is pure imagination without manual simulation. Eyes still closed, I keep playing with my clit as I imagine Cooper thrusting his erection deep inside my soaking wet pussy and filling me like no
man ever has before. That thought sends me over the edge and soon after I come, I fall into a deep and blissful sleep.
Chapter Sixteen: Cooper I'm pretty sure Vlad can tell something is up the next day at morning training, but he doesn't say anything. It's a fight day so I need to focus, and dredging up subconscious shit isn't going to help me do that. Besides, Vlad knows I'm not some punk and know how to channel my energy towards a singular goal. From my time as a SEAL, I have an unusual ability to hyperfocus and zone in on my target. Tonight, it's this punk-ass, rich kid boxer. This kid, Nate, isn’t even in my league, but he’s between leagues at the moment. No one in his own league will fight him anymore, because they’re beat before they even step into the ring, but no higher organizations would sign him yet. He has to prove his worth; that’s the way it works in MMA fighting, no matter who your daddy is. Anyway, the kid got lucky because my original opponent for tonight’s fight, last year's second place fighter, was an absolute idiot and got himself shot in a bar brawl. The loser doped like nobody’s business. Anyway, it’s no surprise that his brain was too fried to avoid getting shot right before the big tournament. A real man doesn't need steroids and supplements. A real man works for his victories and wins them through the strength of his body and the force of his mind alone. Since my original opponent couldn’t fight, and he got himself taken out too close to the match for the league to reschedule, so someone else could fight me, they need someone from another organization to step in for the fight. Giving Nate a shot was better than just canceling the fight entirely. Too much money was already out there in sold tickets and bets and the fans are already all riled up. But I’ve seen tape on the kid. He throws a decent punch, but he has no follow-up. He goes all out in the first couple of minutes and then he's flat for the rest of the fight. His moves are also as predictable as thunder after lightning. Don’t get me wrong—the kid definitely isn't bad. After all, no one in his own league stands a chance against him. But I’m in a different league and, even in my own league, I'm the king of the ring. I'm coming back up for another win this season, to add to my record-setting streak of seven tournament wins in a row. All in all, I'm not concerned about the punk. Besides, this isn't even a tournament match. There are no gloves, no fancy equipment or playbacks, and no complex rules. The only rule is that you don't kill your opponent—or at least try not to—but beyond that, you can throw any kind of punch, make any kind of jab, and launch any kind of attack. This sort of teaser match, just man versus man, is to get the fans hyped up for the tournament fights, and preview some of the match fighter pairings, so that the crowds are going crazy before the first official fight even starts. It's the primal stuff that gets them going, whether it's the men wanting to see two dudes pummel the shit out of each other with skill or the women wanting to see the men use their brute strength in the most primitive, animalistic way. But when you get cocky is when you fail, so I never go down that road. I fight every match like I'm up against myself.
By the time I'm in the ring, the shouts of the crowd are surging for the start of the match, and Nate is standing across from me. I've successfully blocked the Savannah part of my thoughts off with a tight seal. I'm back in my element. The high-pitched screams of the crazed women, cheering ‘Veni Vidi Vici!’ and trying to fling themselves closer to the ring and closer to us, are a familiar soundtrack. The extra energy I have from missing my usual Thursday night bang yesterday is all in my fists as the clock starts and Nate and I start throwing punches. To my surprise, it's a better match than I expected. Nate has clearly been working hard since the taped fights I watched. He's blocking more, dodging more, throwing harder punches, and mixing up his moves a little. That's not to say that he's any real threat. I keep the lead all throughout the match, but the kid has come far and is rising to the occasion. It's like he has something to prove. The men are a mixed crowd, half roaring with adrenaline and half tight-lipped with anxiety. There's always a lot of money riding on the matches, even these pre-tournament underground ones that aren't officially sanctioned. Maybe even especially these, because they're fights without rules or regulations. These fights are all about the strength and skill of man alone. The women aren't divided like the men. The plain, good girl types, the foxy man-eater types, and the seasoned groupies alike are all going crazy. Somewhere in my peripheral vision a bra goes flying through the air, but it means nothing to me. This is my life, this what I do, and this is what I know. I win, though by a smaller margin than expected and after putting in significantly more work than against the lower-ranked fighters in my league. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone signs him straight out of the ring and they schedule a rematch for us later in the tournament. When we shake hands, the kid looks me straight in the eyes and nods at me like we're equals, instead of just holding his head and grimacing, like some defeated fighters do. There's something hard in his face. I don't know what it is, but the kid has developed some new chip on his shoulder in the past few months. My SEAL training makes me take note of all of this and my fighter instinct, encouraging me to learn all that I can about my opponent, makes me immediately try to figure out how these changes could affect me. It's not a big concern, however. He is still far from my toughest opponent, even if he does get signed and join this league, and I'm not threatened. I see him shortly after, sneaking into the locker rooms with a cheap Malibu Barbie type. Not my type and definitely a little more trashy than necessary, but she's also not entirely unattractive and the care Nate takes to look around and move quietly, looking like he's hiding the girl, seems a little excessive. Or maybe he has a girlfriend and Malibu Barbie isn't her? Not my business. "So, Cooper." Vlad greets me by my locker with a big bottle of an electrolyte-balanced sports drink and a fresh towel. He doesn't finish his sentence, just raises his eyebrows at me. I don't take the bait, and instead just glug from the bottle of sports drink. After a little while of that, after which Vlad gets that I'm not saying anything of my own volition, he continues.
"What was that all about?" he asks. "What was what all about?" I ask. I know what he means. "Is it still the girl?" Vlad asks, ignoring my pointless deflector question. "Who is this chick?" "I don't know, man," I say, pulling my sweat-drenched shirt over my head and starting to unwrap my knuckles. "She's something else." "She must be," says Vlad, looking bemused. "I haven't seen you like this before." I shake my head. "She's just my roommate. Don't get any of your big ideas." "So, the usual?" asks Vlad. "Get in, get off, get out?" I bristle. I don't like him talking about her like that. "Can we talk about something that matters?" I say. "Like what happened to that kid, Nate?" "Surprised you, didn't he?" Vlad is finally off the subject. There's nothing that he would rather talk about or think about than fighting strategy. "The little punk has been working hard. That's why we never get complacent. There’s already talk of a rematch for you guys later in the tournament. Two trainers are arguing over who gets him right now." "Yes, sir," I say. "So, the deal?" "You know I don't like gossip," Vlad starts. I raise an eyebrow. You wouldn't think it looking at him, since he's such a tough guy, but Vlad likes little more than to know everything about everyone. It makes sense from a strategic standpoint, but it's still an entertaining contradiction with his impersonal presentation to those who don't know him well. Vlad continues, "That Nate kid, whose face you were pounding a few minutes ago, is the golden boy of motorcycle club king Salvador Moreno." "A prince of the streets?" I smirk. It sure didn't help him win his fight. "Aye," nods Vlad, "But a troubled one. After the last big gang war between the Morenos and their rivals, the Santoses, they called a truce by promising that their children would marry. And apparently his little miss to be ran off not too long before the wedding." "Couldn't keep her satisfied?" I ask. Then I remember the girl I saw earlier. "So I'm guessing she's not Malibu Barbie, then? Huh, maybe that's why. The kid needs to learn to keep it in his pants if he wants to wife that." "This, coming from you?" Vlad laughs. "Hey!" I protest. "I don't want to wife anyone. What I do works for me." I say it a little less confidently than usual, which is ridiculous. Of course I don't. Vlad shrugs. "If he can't find his fiancee and get her back by October sixth at midnight, word has it that the biggest, deadliest gang war yet will break out between the Morenos and Santoses on October seventh." "What's then?" I ask. "That's exactly two months after the wedding was supposed to happen, on the girl's eighteenth birthday," Vlad says. "All I can say is that I'm sure as hell glad I'm not that kid right now."
"Hell, yeah." I shake my head. "It's no wonder he's been training harder. I would, too, to get my mind off of all that." Vlad gives me another look. "You already are, and all it took was some cute girl." "Don't complain," I say, "You want me to train hard, don't you?" "I'm not complaining," Vlad says, putting his hands up, "I'm just surprised, that's all." I head off for a shower without a response. Hell, I'm surprised, too.
Chapter Seventeen: Savannah Cooper and I settle into a surprisingly comfortable pattern of friendly conversation and amiable company over the next few days. It's pretty painfully obvious, at least to me, that we're ignoring the elephant in the room—our chemistry—but Cooper doesn't push me or try to start anything beyond friendship, because he can tell that I'm holding back. That just makes me want him even more. And so I do the only logical thing that I can do. I set about doing all that I can to move out of the apartment, and get far, far away from Cooper, as soon as possible. Finding a second job that would accommodate my job at the tattoo parlor, with its variable shift end times, proves impossible. I don't give up, though, since I know that this place was an absolute steal and I can't afford another place, or to move back into motels, unless I make more money. Luckily, Tamryn talks a lot and I have an ear for business. The parlor is almost empty one evening, except for a last client getting some body work in the back room, and I'm washing tools while Tamryn is going through the appointment book. By which I really mean, spinning around in her wheeled office chair and gossiping. "Karma's a bitch," she starts. "Oh?" I say. "Uh huh," she nods, vindictively. "My cuz, Julie, is such a little slut. Do you know what that skank did to me?" Of course not. "No, but I would love to hear all about it." I smile. Tamryn and I have developed a fun, joking relationship. "You're damn right, you would!" Tamryn's eyes light up, the way they do only when she has a particularly juicy piece of gossip. "Well, I was dating this guy in high school, Bobby. He was cute enough, but not my best-looking boyfriend, and he was such a slacker that I eventually dumped him. He'd just drink beer and game on his computer all day. I'd have to practically climb in his lap with my boobs out to even get his attention!" Tamryn definitely wasn't the most delicate or prudish of girls, as I had quickly learned. "Anyway, I cut the loser loose when I realized that I'd be taking myself to prom if I didn't. I needed someone who wanted to do something. Anything!" "Okay, so Julie is involved how...?" I have to prompt her, if I want to get to the meat of the story before the parlor closes. Tamryn also has a tendency of going off on tangents—and long ones. "Well, lo and behold, my cousin starts dating him a few years later. Dating my boyfriend!" "Your ex-boyfriend," I point out. "Girl code!" Tamryn wags a finger at me. "Once a boyfriend, always off limits. Anyway, after Julie starts dating him, Bobby decides to clean up, grab his life by the nuts, and go off to medical school. Who knew the guy had the brains for that? I sure didn't!" "Mmm." I nod, agreeably.
"Now Julie's the yoga-doing, soap opera-watching, stay at home wife of a doctor in a big ol' house with over three hundred channels on her cable plan, a big mutt, and the kind of fancy wine that you can't even get in a box." That last part seems to really irk her. "It sounds like it worked out well for her," I say, staying neutral in tone. "Ha!" Tamryn snorts. "I'm telling you that Bobby was always a two minute flop in the sack. Anyway, here's the best part—Julie's now almost eight months pregnant, huge as a whale, and has such high blood pressure that she's on bed rest. She says it's from the baby, but my money says it's all the Ho-Ho's and Ding-Dongs she must have been eating lately. Ha, good luck getting that little wasp waist she was so proud of back!" Suddenly, I have an idea. "You said she has a dog?" I ask. "Yeah, so?" asks Tamryn, popping her gum. I've always been good with animals, especially dogs. I always wanted one, but Dad didn't have the time and, since the only kind of dog he would consider acceptable for him to own would be a rottweiler, didn't think I was up to the task of handling the dog by myself. If Tamryn's cousin is on bed rest and her husband works all the time as a doctor, that means there's no one to walk her dog. "Can I ask you for a favor?" I ask. "What?" Tamryn looks at me suspiciously. "I really need some more money and I love dogs. Can you ask your cousin if she needs a dog walker and recommend me for the job? Please?" Tamryn brushes the question off with a wave of her hand. "The skank owes me that much. Consider it done." "Aw, thank you!" Sure enough, the very next day I get a call from Julie asking when I can start. And just like that, I have a daily morning jog with Maxie, her slightly overweight mutt, lined up. Good. The sooner I get out of the apartment and away from Cooper, and temptation, the better. I don't know how much more I can take.
Chapter Eighteen: Cooper I'm interested in getting to know this girl. She feels it, too, but she's scared of accepting it. I have decided that I want to pursue this, I want to pursue her, and see where this goes. She has decided that she wants to run. That just makes my job a little more challenging. But there's nothing I like more than a challenge. I came home late the other night and found her asleep on the sofa, curled up with a thin blanket and as cute as can be. Spread out on her stomach was the newspaper, folded open to the housing ads. So my job is to get in and get close before she has the chance to get out. That's fine. I didn't feel like taking my time anyway. "Where are you off to?" I'm finishing my protein shake in the kitchen when Savannah walks through the door in a pair of tight yoga shorts and a sporty t-shirt. Her hair is up in a ponytail, she's wearing a pair of running shoes, and she's not wearing a smidge of makeup. She's beautiful. "Oh, I'm dog-walking on the side." She rolls her eyes and corrects herself. "Well, dog jogging. The pup has a few pounds to lose, so I'm trying to get him some quality exercise." "Cool, I'll join you," I say. I'm still wearing my gym clothes from earlier, so I just drink the last dregs of my protein shake and go over to her. "Oh, um, I…" she stammers, clearly searching for a reason that I shouldn't come with her. I don't give her time to come up with something. “I was just heading out on a run myself. we may as well go together. I'll show you the good routes, since you're new in town." I give her a wink. "I, uh…" She looks up, like she expects to find a good excuse to avoid me written on the ceiling. "Are you coming?" I'm already halfway out the door, bouncing on the balls of my feet. "I…" she sighs. "Yeah, I'm coming." I smile. We make idle conversation, just pretty basic small talk, on our way over to the big house where she picks up a fat dog with droopy eyes and a jiggling belly that hangs down further than it should. Poor thing really could use a run. I don't know when he last got some movement. Looking at the size of the bump on that woman, I'd guess it's probably been a while. "Think we'll have to carry him home?" I joke, after we jog a few blocks. "He'll be fine." Her answer is as short as they've been on the whole run, even though I can tell it's not because she's at all out of breath. The girl is fit. She probably runs regularly to keep that perfect ass of hers in the top form that it's in. Short as her answer is, though, I know that she's having trouble keeping her cold act up. The sides of her mouth twitch a bit and she's struggling to keep the smile out of her eyes. "It's okay. We're running uphill for this first part anyway." I shrug. "Worse comes to worst, we'll just roll him back." Now she cracks a smile. "Shut up," she says, trying to force some seriousness.
"Too late!" I cheer. "She smiles!" "Sorry," she says, smiling again. "I'm just not looking for...friends. Not right now. I have a lot going on, you know?" "I get it," I say, "Busy girl, good for you. I like to see a girl with ambition. But ambition doesn't mean you have to isolate yourself, you know." "Yeah..." She looks at me briefly, then looks away. She's definitely hiding something, but that's okay. I'll figure it out. I give her a little nudge. "And who said I want to be your friend, pretty girl?" She gives me a wide-eyed stare for a second, then an unwilling grin—and then, looking like she has no idea what she's supposed to feel, sprints off with the dog. I charge after her. This spirited, sporty girl is worth the chase. I feel exhilarated running after her like I haven't in the longest time.
Chapter Nineteen: Savannah I'm still on cloud nine all through my shower, and as I get dressed before my evening shift. I try to tell myself that it's the endorphins from my run, which was great. But I know it's not Cooper's pace challenging me to push myself on those hills that has me in such a good mood. As much as I try to keep my guard up and be as off-putting and cold around that man as conceivable within the bounds of basic interpersonal decency, I can't keep myself from feeling at ease. There's something about Cooper that makes me want to open up. There's something about him that makes me feel safe and comfortable and just plain happy. But it's when you become content that you find yourself in trouble. Happiness is dangerous. I'm a little early for work and decide to grab a slice from Bennie's Pizza before work for dinner. In my floating-on-air state of peace, I'm less on guard and less aware of my surroundings. That's why it takes me a minute to realize that the voice in the booth behind me is a familiar one. It has been weeks—since I ran away, in fact—since I last heard a familiar voice. But when I finally realize that the woman's voice in the booth behind me belongs to someone I knew in my life as Savannah Santos, I quickly slouch down in my booth and pull the hood of my sweatshirt up way over my face. "Are you close?" The voice is hushed, like the woman doesn't want to attract attention to herself, either, but it's distinct. "Okay, please hurry. I'm waiting here for you already." It's Lily. Lily Moreno, Nate's sister. Fuck. Luckily, her booth is closer to the back of the pizza place, and further from the door, than mine. That means that I don't have to pass her to leave. Pulling my hood down as far over my face as I can, I quietly get up and walk as quickly as I can out of Bennie's Pizza without attracting attention to myself. This is bad. This is very bad. What is Lily doing all the way down here? This is way out of our usual range; we never wander this far. No one from the clubs comes to this part of town, just because it's far away and there's not really anything here to come all this way for. That is why I chose to come here. So why is Lily here? Bennie's Pizza is definitely not that good. Is she looking for me? I can't wipe that thought from my mind through my whole shift and I'm quiet and distracted. Even Tamryn notices something is wrong and keeps asking me how I'm feeling and if I'm okay. I am somewhat calmer by the end of the night, but this is just a reminder of why I can't afford to let down my guard. This is why I can't afford to start something with Cooper. I grab the newspaper off the kitchen counter when I get home, even though it's late, because I need out. I need out fast, before it's too late.
Chapter Twenty: Savannah I wake up in tears the next morning. I can't do anything but lie there, sobbing, body shaking. I can't think straight enough to think through it and convince myself that everything is going to be okay. I'm just so confused and so unhappy. Seeing Lily brought everything I'd been trying not think about up to the forefront and rubbed raw a few wounds I didn't even realize that I had. Why did I have to meet Cooper? Why did I have to pick this particular fucking apartment and meet this particular man who, in an alternate world where I'm not the prisoner of my identity, could be someone really special to me? The worst part is that he already is becoming someone really special to me, and it hurts like a dagger through my heart to realize it. I'm breathing in short gasps. Even though I'm just lying on my bed, I cannot manage to catch my breath. The pain is so deep and so intense that it's a physical pain. I curl into the fetal position, like folding in on myself will make my feelings smaller, too—but, of course, it doesn't work. With every smile, every kind word, every casual, incidental touch—none of which are casual to me, since every accidental brush sends shocks through my body and fills me to overflowing with longing—he makes me fall for him that little bit more. And he doesn't know that being with me would be a death sentence. I can't do that to him. I can't do that to anyone. But I definitely can't do that to him. It just hurts. There's a knock at my door. "I picked up some fresh OJ," Cooper says through the door. "You're welcome to it." I try to stifle my sobs and pull myself together so he doesn't get that something is wrong, but I can't. My attempt to hold my breath in and be quiet ends up in a choked gasp. It's loud in my otherwise empty room. "Savannah?" He sounds worried, knocking again. "Savannah, are you okay?" I can't trust my voice. I know that if I try to say anything, it will betray me. Instead, I use all of my self-control to pull myself together enough for a reasonably okay-sounding, “Mmhmm.” But Cooper knows better. He rips the door open and is at my bed in three big steps, his face filled with concern. "Savannah," he says. "Savannah, what's wrong?" The care in his voice makes me lose it entirely and I'm a bawling mess in moments. Before I can even comprehend what's going on, he's sitting on my bed, taking me in his strong arms and shifting my head onto his lap. One arm is over my body, an approximation of a hug, and he strokes my hair with the other. "It's okay, Savannah. I'm here. It's okay." I cry harder. This physical contact is what I so missed just a few weeks ago, when I had my lonely eighteenth birthday in that dingy old motel. I sat by myself on a moth-eaten bedspread from the 1970s, trying to pretend that there was something helpful or positive about that
birthday. I had picked up a stale cupcake from the day-old section of the nearby grocery store's bakery that morning, because it was half-off, but the frosting had hardened into a fossilized swirl of unnatural blue. The only birthday-themed cupcake left was for a little boy, so there was a plastic green dinosaur with a nine on its chest on the top of the frosting mound. I sat there on my bed, a birthday cupcake in my hand that was fit only for a pre-teen boy who had gone taste-blind, and felt like I was the only person in my world. Each dry bite of day-old cupcake tasted like sawdust sticking in my throat and no matter how hard I swallowed, I couldn't get the lump to go down. I gave up on the cupcake three bites in, but I had to drink a tall glass of water before I realized that the lump in my throat wasn't from the sub-par baked goods, but from the emotion I was trying to swallow down with my lonely birthday treat. But here I am now, suddenly not alone anymore. I'm not sure how long we stay like that, but I feel simultaneously very safe and unbearably, unendingly sad. I finally understand heartbreak. But better that I feel heartbreak without having gotten to love at all, than that I destroy the man I love by letting myself love him.
Chapter Twenty-One: Cooper I have had an easier time getting heavily-trained, grown men to crack during military interrogations, completely without violation of the Geneva Convention, than I have had getting Savannah to open up about her past and her story. I'm getting to know Savannah, and she's the most beautiful girl I've known in a long time, inside and out, but I still know no more about what's haunting her. I still don't know what her personal demons are, but I know they're big. I'm really starting to feel for this girl, though, and I know that whatever her deal is, she's already hurting enough. She doesn't need me to add to that by prying into her business and pushing her to tell me more. So when I find her in a heap on her bed, crying like her world just ended, I don't try to get her to tell me what's wrong. I want to know more than anything, because I feel this need to fix it and make everything better for her. But I know she just needs some comfort. Instead of pushing her, I just hold her in my arms. She's this beautiful, strong woman with this beautiful, strong body, but at that moment, she felt so frail, so vulnerable. She felt as delicate as a china doll and looked infinitely more beautiful, even with the tears streaming and her face flushed from crying. Even though I was sitting there, on a passable bed with a halfway decent mattress and a beautiful girl's head in my lap, her shiny black hair splayed out over my legs, I didn't want to fuck her. Any other girl, I'd either fuck or send home. But not Savannah. She's the kind of girl that's so beautiful you just want to stare at her, and so special you don't even want to fuck her— you just want to hold her, instead. And, when she's ready, make love to her slowly and gently and missionary style, just so that you can look her in the eyes the whole time. When Savannah stops crying, I let her have some time alone to calm down a bit and clean herself up. She comes out of her room fifteen minutes later, looking a little sheepish but otherwise normal. I figure the best thing to do is not to say anything about earlier and let her bring it up if she wants to. As I guessed, she doesn't. But she seems grateful that I don't, either, and even invites me along to jog the pregnant lady's fat dog again. "What?" I tease, "You actually want me to come?" "Nah," she teases me right back, grinning, "I just know you'll come along either way, so I may as well get the good roomie points by inviting you." God, how I love to see that woman smile. "Smart girl," I say, "What, do I owe you dinner now?" "Do you?" She raises an eyebrow. "I've exhausted my cooking skills already," I say, lifting my hands in surrender, "But there's this great sandwich place that I have to show you." "I don't know," she says. She looks a little conflicted again. "Come on," I say. "The tuna will knock your socks clear off." "Oh, really?" She is smiling again. "Really," I say.
"Okay." She bites her bottom lip and smiles. Every time I think she can't get any cuter, she does.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Savannah Cooper is unbelievable. He's built like Adonis with a face like a movie star, but the most amazing part about him is just who he is under all of that. I would have never imagined when I first met him that the same man who rushed a scantily clad lady of the night lookalike out of his place seconds before giving an apartment showing would make me feel safe in his arms just weeks later. I was the most vulnerable I had allowed myself to be since I was a child, and more vulnerable than I had been with anyone since the death of my mother and sister all those years ago. And yet I surprised myself by feeling safe given the things I felt, and wearing those feelings the way that I did, with Cooper. It is honestly beyond all logic. But whether or not I can understand it doesn't change the fact that that's what it was and I felt the way that I did. Lack of logic does not change the fact that I feel the way that I do. Reason doesn't change the fact that, though I know I should stay out of Cooper's way, I can't. It doesn't change the fact that I'm happy when he accompanies me on my jog with Maxie, even though I know I should be hoping that he won't. It doesn't change the fact that I'm thrilled when he invites me to grab a sandwich with him after the jog. It doesn't change the fact that I find myself nursing my Coke long after we're both done with our sandwiches, just to have an excuse to stay with him, and keep talking to him, a little longer. It doesn't change the fact that being around him fills me with happiness. "Savannah? Sa- VAN-nahhhhhhh!" It takes me a minute to realize that Tamryn has been trying to get my attention. "Sorry," I say. "My mind was in the clouds." If 'clouds' is another word for Cooper. "Uh-huh." Tamryn waggles her eyes at me. "Is there something you need to tell me?" "No!" I breathe in and try again, this time less pitchy and quieter. "I mean, no. No. Nothing happened." It's true. Nothing happened. Cooper didn't try to kiss me. He didn't try to push for anything. I'm still as pure as the driven snow. I'm still the owner of a perfectly intact hymen and an untouched, untainted sex. Unfortunately. "Fine, fine!" Tamryn pretends to be hurt. "Don't tell me, then. Just wait and see. I won' t share a word of gossip with you ever again. Not a word!" I give her a look. "Uh-huh," I say, skeptically. I'm pretty sure Tamryn would burst if she tried to keep something to herself. We've become fast friends, but the girl really can't keep anything to herself. Heck, she'd probably explode if she didn't tell me about her neighbors hanging out the laundry, much less something actually interesting. "Okay, fine." She rolls her eyes, giving in. "I'll tell you stuff. But only because I'm an awesome friend." "You are." I lean over and give her a quick mini-hug. "But Tamryn, are you forgetting something?"
"Yeah?" She looks confused for a second. "Oh, right! I have exciting news for you!" She does a little happy dance with her shoulders. "Oh?" I raise an eyebrow. "I could use some good news." "Today is your big day!" she squeals and bounces on her toes a little. "You're getting to do your first professional ink." "WHAT?" I'm usually fairly composed, thanks to my upbringing, but this excites me so much that I can't contain myself. I leap out of my chair, knocking over the pile of paperwork I had been sorting through and flipping my chair clear over. "What the—how did—when—why— am I? But, but, but!" I can't even put together a sentence. I have been waiting for this moment, dreaming of this moment, for as long as I can remember. Since long before it was even a possibility, I have held the idea of becoming a professional tattoo artist in my heart. I dreamt of being a professional inker, creating works of art that last a lifetime, just like my mother's tats. I knew that it could never happen, because I would never be allowed to do something as common as work a job, but I still wanted it. And here it is. Tamryn looks a little amused. "I would suggest that you pull yourself together a little before your first client arrives in two hours." "Wait," I say again, collecting my wits. "What happened? How did this happen?" Tamryn shrugs. "Apparently the guy called and asked for you by name. Roxie tried to explain that you're just support staff and not an artist, but he wasn't having any of it. He insisted that he wanted ink by you and only you. The look on Roxie's face was priceless!" Tamryn savors the memory for a second. Roxie is the owner of The Ink Joint and Tamryn has a love-hate thing going with her. Tamryn loves that Roxie gives her a job and a regular paycheck, without always been around to hover, but she hates that Roxie has such a strict hierarchy among her employees. She plays clear favorites and leaves little room for vertical growth in the parlor. Tamryn's been ticked off, on my account, that Roxie wouldn't even take a look at my art after hiring me. She really only hired me as a favor and kept me around because I work hard. "Who is it?" I ask. "Don't interrupt! Rude," Tamryn chides, jokingly. "Anyway, then Roxie tries to convince him to set his appointment for a month or two from now, so she can 'train' you first." Tamryn makes a face. "And?" I prompt. "And he wasn't having that, either! He says he has a special piece in mind and he needs it done today, by you, because it needs to be healed enough by Saturday night for his big fight!" "Fight?" My mind is racing. It couldn't be. He wouldn't. But in the split second that my eyes are closed when I blink, I see Cooper's sleeves, etched onto his rock-hard biceps and running all the way down over his hard forearms. They aren't the usual colorful, cheap-looking, poorly done pieces that some tough guys like to get, but really solid artwork. There are interesting patterns, interesting designs, and probably all sorts of great meaningful art etched in
just black all the way down both arms. I've wanted to examine them, and have him tell me all about them, but I can't go there. That would be too personal. Still, I haven't seen collective ink on anyone that I appreciate as much as I appreciate Cooper's since my mother. To get to add to that? The idea of that honor has me speechless. I can't say the same for Tamryn. "Wooo-eeeee, how did you land that hunk of a man?" Tamryn asks, plopping herself down on her desk. "Seriously, girl, dish. What do you do in bed? Is it the deepthroat thing? Or do you let him—you know—during sex?" I didn't know. But the thought of Cooper's naked body on top of mine, him thrusting his hard erection deep into my wet pussy, was enough to send an electric shock up my body, originating in my sex. I clench my legs together. "Tamryn, I told you," I say. "There's nothing going on between us. We're just roommates." "Uh-huh" she says, raising an eyebrow. She's not buying it. "Let me do my work!" I'm still blushing, and as hard as I try to be stern with her, I can't stop smiling. "He's just a nice guy." "You go, girl," Tamryn says. "You get yourself that man!"
Chapter Twenty-Three: Savannah I don't get much done over the next two hours. I file maybe ten files, and end up having to re-file three of those when I realize that I’d filed by first instead of last name. I'm so busy staring at the framed photos on the wall of some of the most impressive works done in the parlor that I keep tripping over things and bumping into the furniture. Finally, Tamryn gives up entirely on getting any useful work out of me and sends me to the back room with a book of designs to flip through until it's 4:30. I lose myself in the designs for a bit, but by 4:15 p.m. I'm out of the back room and bustling around the store, eyes trained on the door like I'm expecting a miracle to come walking through the door. I kind of am. At exactly 4:30 p.m. on the dot, my miracle comes walking through the door, looking as crushingly handsome as ever, with an easy smile on his face. He walks up to the front desk. "I'm here for a 4:30 p.m. appointment with Savannah." "Hi," squeaks Tamryn. "Can I have your autograph?" Her voice is at least five octaves higher than normal. She clears her throat. "It's for my, um, nephew. He wants to be a fighter." "Sure thing," says Cooper. "Tell your nephew he better hit the gym hard before he gets to the ring. Maybe I'll get to fight him someday." Tamryn pretty much slides right down off of her seat in a swoon. She giggles and hands Cooper a piece of paper to sign. It's sweet of him to do it, and I know it's making Tamryn's day, but I want them to hurry up so I can get started on his new tat. I've only been waiting for this moment for all of my life! "Thanks," Tamryn breathes, as she takes the signed paper back from Cooper and folds it carefully before placing it tenderly back in her desk drawer. "Right this way, sir." She gets up and leads him back to the backroom. I'm confused for a moment. Why would she bring him to the private bodywork room? I hear her say, "Savannah will be with you momentarily." Then she comes back out of the room and winks at me. As she passes me as I head back to the bodywork room and she returns to the front desk, she whispers in my ear, "You're welcome for the private time with Hunk McSteamy." I open my mouth to protest, but she waves me off. "I'm a great friend, I know." She rolls her eyes. "I guess you're just a lucky girl to have a friend like me." I shake my head and smile as I walk back towards the bodywork room. "Hi, there," says Cooper. "Where do you want me?" He raises an eyebrow and I can tell he phrased it that way on purpose. My stomach swoops. "Listen, thanks for this," I say. "Really. But you didn't have to...I mean, understand if you want someone who's done this before. Your tats are perfect. I don't want to pretend like I've done this professionally before." "Don't give me that." Cooper's face is serious now. "Can you do it." It's not a question. "Yes," I say, putting my chin up.
"I know." Cooper nods. "So don't think you're the grunt worker around here because you aren't more talented than everyone else here. I want a tattoo from a talented artist. That's why I'm here to see you. Now, where do you want me? "Over there is good," I say, pointing at the padded table. "What do you want to get today?" "Whatever you want to give me," Cooper says. It sends shivers up my spine. "But—" I protest. He holds up a hand and shakes his head. "Give me what I need and what you dare to give. That's all I'm asking." I wonder if he's still talking only about the tattoo, but I nod. "My sleeves are done, but I want something on my left shoulder blade," Cooper says. Right behind his heart. "Do you mind if I take a look at your other ink first?" I ask. "Help yourself," Cooper says. He pulls his shirt over his head. I breathe in at the sight of his perfect, naked chest. I resist the urge to reach out and run my fingers down his perfectly distinguished pecs, down to his chiseled eight pack, snug between a ripped V-line pointing down to happier places. The tattoos are even more mesmerizing up close than from a distance and I'm in awe. They're also inked on a flawless canvas, but the art itself is interesting. "I got the sleeves over many years," Cooper explains softly. "I got my first one, this one here, after finishing my first boot camp as a Navy officer. I finished my right sleeve when I left the SEALs and started my left sleeve when I started fighting. This one here is from my first tournament victory." He lets me examine the tats a little longer, then gently lifts my chin to look me straight in the eyes. I catch my breath, heart racing out of control as I look up at his face, mere inches from mine. "Everything I've done, everything I've experienced, is part of who I am." He says it softly but firmly. "My ink immortalizes my experiences and lets me always carry my memories, and their lessons, with me." He pauses then, and even quieter, murmurs, "Sometimes you have to take a chance, pretty girl. Life is going to happen whether or not you live it." I'm not sure how long we stay that way, our faces inches from each other, because time stops for me. After an eternity, but also much too soon, Cooper releases my chin. I take a deep breath and clear my throat before I trust my voice enough to ask a question. "Would you like me to sketch out your shoulder blade piece for approval before I ink?" It's a courtesy question, but I have no doubt that the answer will be yes. Cooper surprises me, shaking his head. "No. I trust you. Give what you want, I'll take it." He turns and shows me his back. I reach out a hand and rest it on his shoulder blade. It's stacked with muscle, but still on bone. This won't be a painless tattoo.
I pick up my instrument, suddenly no longer hesitant or uncertain at all. I don't have a clear image of the final result in my mind, but as I work and etch the black ink into Cooper's skin, I always know the next move instinctively. We don't talk the whole time that I work and neither of us looks at the clock. In the back of my peripheral consciousness, I notice that the parlor goes quiet after a while. I keep working, looking at nothing but Cooper's skin, illuminated under the bright, florescent light. When I finally put down my instrument, I'm exhausted but so thoroughly satisfied, like never before. I step back and admire my work. It's the most amazing thing I've ever done. Cooper turns and meets my eyes. Though we haven't said a word to each other in hours, it feels like we have just been through something incredibly intimate together. He takes my hands in his and pulls me closer to him. I'm standing between his legs, breathing in sync with him, and mesmerized by his gaze. Without breaking eye contact, he gently lifts my hands in his and gives them a kiss. "Thank you, pretty girl."
Chapter Twenty-Four: Cooper I'm killing it at the gym the next day, but this time it isn't because I'm frustrated or angry or need to get laid. This time, it's different. This time, my energy isn't coming from a place of anger and hurt, it's coming from a strong, positive place. I want to be a winner for Savannah. I want to be the best man I can be, and then a little better, because that's the kind of man Savannah deserves. And I'm going to get Savannah. She will be mine. That's the thought that I ride on all through training and I don't tire out, even though I'm fighting hard. Vlad pounds me on the back, getting me right on my sore, fresh tat, as I walk out of the training ring. "Well done, my man!" "Thanks," I say, "I'm feeling pretty good today." Vlad gives me a knowing smirk. "Does it have something to do with the girl I saw heading for the locker rooms a little while ago?" "How long ago?" I demand. I know Savannah felt something last night, but I wasn't expecting her to show up here. "Oh, thirty minutes or so" says Vlad, "But she hasn't come out yet. Go get your girl." I push Vlad aside and head straight for the locker room. "Savannah?" I call out the moment I push the door open. "Savannah?" Trixie, or Trudy, or whatever her name is, pouts playfully up at me. She's sitting on the bench between two rows of lockers, her cleavage up and out as she leans back on her elbows and pushes her double Ds toward me, so the light bounces off their rounded tops. One leg is crossed over the other, making her show even more skin than her little hot pants already were. She gets up slowly, arching her back so her breasts stay in focus the whole way up, and struts towards me, hips swaying. "Now I'm put out. But I have some ideas of how you can make it up to me." "Look, I—" I start, pushing her back as she tries to wrap an arm around my neck. I don't want her on me. I don't want her touching me. "It's okay, baby," she purrs. "Let me make you forget this Savannah girl ever existed." "I'm not doing that anymore," I say, pushing her away more resolutely. "I don't want to see you anymore. Don't come back here." "But…" She looks confused. "Come on, baby, you don't mean that. Don't you remember that thing you like?" She looks down at my crotch, then coyly back up at me through her lashes. "Don't you want me to suck your hard cock?" "No," I say. I make a big circle around her, so none of me touches her as I pass by. I grab my bag out of my locker and get out of there like I'm fleeing a burning building. In a way, I am. I'm leaving the old Cooper behind, because I've found something— someone—worth being different for. And God, I'm whipped. I haven't even had sex with the girl
once and I'm so whipped that I'm leaving a sure thing to go talk to a girl who is, at least for now, surely not a thing. And I have absolutely no desire to turn around. It's not like I'm suddenly not interested in sex. I'm a man—having my cock sucked by a hot girl sounds great. But I'm suddenly uninterested in having it happen if the girl is anyone but Savannah. I'd rather go on a friendly jog with this chick than have sex with another one. I am definitely whipped. Thinking of jogging with Savannah, looking casually hot in her cute little sporty shorts and t-shirt, brings a little smile to my lips. Oh, I've got it bad, all right. Nothing is going to stop me from getting her now.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Savannah "Savannah?" I almost fall out of my chair, I'm so shocked that she got my name right. Roxie always calls me Susannah, when she can be bothered to call me anything at all, so her suddenly getting my name right seems significant. "Yes, ma'am," I say. Roxie really doesn't talk to me unless she has something to tell me to do or has new rules and corrections to make to my work. But this time, there's nothing in her hands. In fact, she's holding out an empty hand. "Give me your book," she says, sounding bored as can be. "Snap, snap." I jump up and rifle through my backpack for a few moments, glad that I never took my book of work out. Finally, weeks after I tried to show her my work the first time, Roxie accepts the book and really takes a look at it. There's the familiar reaction and it's wonderful to see it. She starts out flipping fast, but slows down as she flips. Her forehead hosts a considerable amount of botox, so her eyebrows are incapable of climbing even a fraction as high as Anna-Lynne's did, but there's a slight lift. She finally snaps the book shut and hands it back to me. She gestures at a workspace by the mirrors. "You'll work there," she commands. "Ty works there when it's not your shift, so you are expected to leave it perfectly orderly and clean at the end of every single shift. Do I make myself clear?" "Crystal," I say. "Thank you. Thank you so much!" Roxie nods. "That will be all. Oh, and you will get a 20% raise, as appropriate for your new position." "Thank you, ma'am," I say. But I'm jumping up and down inside because I'm a tattoo artist now, not because of the raise. To be honest, I haven't looked at any more housing ads in the paper in almost a week. If I am really honest with myself, I would have to admit that I don't even want to move out of the apartment anymore. I know I should, but I really don't want to. I really, really, really don't want to. "Congrats, girlie!" Tamryn jumps up and gives me a huge hug. "Finally! You deserve this." "Aw, thanks, Tamryn." It's nice to have a friend. It's nice to feel so safe and happy at home. It's nice to go on runs with Cooper and Maxie every day, like a reliable, sturdy, happy little family. It's dangerous to think like that, but I cannot stop myself, no matter how hard I try. When my mother and sister were killed in that gang battle, it wasn't just my mother and sister that I lost. I lost my dad, too, who retreated into himself and became a cold, hard drill sergeant. Not a dad. I lost my big brother, Wolf, who pulled away from me to spend all his time learning how to be a Santos man. Gone was the playful brother I'd throw a football around with, or who would
give me piggyback rides around the playground. Suddenly, Wolf had no time, interest, or love for me, either. I lost my entire family that day and I lost my childhood. I am an adult now and I am not going to get my childhood back. I don't even want it back, truly, because I'm the woman I am because of my experiences. But I do want this loving, and loved, feeling that I'm finding here with Cooper. I haven't seen anyone from either motorcycle club since that freak Lily sighting at Bennie's Pizza” If there were a grand scale motorcycle club gang war, there would be news about it through the grapevine. Hell, there would be news about it on the news and in the newspapers. But aside from the usual urban shoot-ups and violence, there haven't been any reports of anything unusual. Maybe Flint and Salvador have come to their senses and decided that who I want to marry—or not—shouldn't be the deciding factor in a major scale violent gang action that would claim countless of their men's lives. What do I matter, anyway? I may be a Santos, but I'm also just a girl. I'm just a girl, Cooper is just a guy, and maybe we can just be in love. Maybe that wouldn't be so terrible.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Savannah Cooper's new bodywork heals up beautifully and I'm more than happy to take him up on it when he invites me to come see him fight on Saturday night. "Really?" His face lights up when I say I want to come. "Oh, that's so great! Don't worry, I'll get you sick seats in the front row." "Thanks," I say. "But I'd be fine with non-VIP, too." "Nah, never," Cooper says. "Besides, I want to be able to see your pretty face." He gives me that mischievous grin and wraps an arm around me to spin me into him. Nothing has happened between us, yet, but we've definitely been getting way touchier with each other. We take any excuse we can get, and even make up some pretty ridiculous ones, to put a hand on each other. And every time our skin touches, it's like a thousand little electrical shocks of pleasure radiating from the spot where he touched me. It's dangerous. But oh, it feels so good. Cooper leaves for the ring way earlier than I need to be there, but he drops me off at a delicious-smelling Italian restaurant a few blocks over. He has a quick word with the owner, a big-bellied, jolly Italian who comes out with a big smile on his face, and a little pasta sauce on his forehead, to tell me that dinner is taken care of and he'll be serving me his best tonight. I want to thank Cooper, but he's already off to the ring to warm up. True to his word, the chef serves me the most amazing meal I've eaten in a long time. Maybe even the most amazing meal I have ever eaten. I am full and happy by the time that I need to start heading over to the ring. It's beautiful weather for a stroll, though the evenings are beginning to get just a little nippy. I can hear the hyped-up crowd by the time that I am two blocks over. When I’m a block away, I'm already walking alongside the line. Boy, this is going to be a long wait. I decide to walk up to the entrance, just to see if I can peer in the door before I go stand in line. There are two big bouncers at the door, physically restraining screaming women in barely enough clothes to cover a toddler's little body, much less a grown woman's. The men are enormous, each one over six feet tall and over two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, dressed in head to toe black suits with reflective, black shades. This is one serious line. I'm turning to go stand at the back of the line when one of them slides his glasses down his nose to look at me. "Hey, miss," he booms. "What's your name?" "Savannah," I answer. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to cut in line. I'm going to the back right now. Sorry." "You're here for Cooper?" the man asks, ignoring my apology. "Yes," I say. "Can I see your ticket?" I pull my folded ticket, with the gold 'VIP' stamped in the corner, out of my pocket and hand it to the man.
He nods. "Right this way, miss." He opens the door just enough to let me through and the screaming women behind me scream louder. I feel like a celebrity or something as I'm greeted by a woman in a skirt suit and a clipboard, who greets me politely and walks me down the dark hallway. "You can wait for the fight in the VIP lounge," says the woman. "I trust you will find everything quite to your satisfaction. If not, just ask for Jennifer and I will bring you what you need for an enjoyable, pre-fight stay." "Thanks, but I'm sure it's—" I stop mid-sentence as the door to the lounge swings open. It's not like I'm new to nice things or extravagance. I'm a Santos MC princess. But there's a difference between living in your rich father's house and finding yourself in a dark lounge with low hanging crystal chandeliers large enough to sleep in and enormous, leather couches covered in silk pillows. There are big flat screens all over the walls, bottles of champagne and tallstemmed glasses on every flat surface, and a few lounge attendants walking around with silver trays of food. I mean, I'm stuffed from that great gnocchi back at the restaurant, but it doesn't hurt to admire. Since I've forgotten where I was in my sentence, I just say, "Thanks." Jennifer nods a welcome and clacks back out of the room. I flip through some fighter mags, ignoring the articles and focusing on the photos of the tatted-up fighters and busty ring girls. Some of these guys and girls have some really cool work. None of it is as amazing as Cooper's ink, though, and that thought sweeps me way back off to daydream land. I'm excited to see Cooper fight. I have yet to see him in his element and I have no idea what I'll feel. Will it be scary, seeing another man swing at his head for sixty minutes? Will it make me jealous to see the beautiful women in the crowd literally fighting for the chance to throw themselves at him? I don't know what I'm going to feel, but I'm filled with adrenaline. Soon, Jennifer comes back to get me. It's game time. The seats and standing spaces all around the ring, and extending way back into the rear corner of the huge hall, are filled. There are pumped-up men smashing cans of beer, dolled up girls squealing at each other, and the excitement in the room is palpable. I take my seat, in the very front row just by the ring, and then the announcer comes out, calling out Cooper and his opponent. I don't even catch the name of the other guy, because I only have eyes for Cooper when I see him walking up to the ring. His muscles are gleaming out from his unbuttoned robe and his face is obscured by the robe's hood. Even though I can't see him well, I go from zero to horny in less than five seconds. His masculine gait—not an affected swagger but a real man's walk of confidence—makes me instantly wet between the legs and I chide myself mentally for being so easy. But let's face it. For Cooper, I am. The women are screaming their heads off as he passes, reaching out and trying to touch him. Cooper doesn't pay them the slightest bit of attention, though, and when he walks up onto the ring and drops his hood, causing the screams of the women to go up a good twenty or thirty
decibels in volume, he scans the front row all around. When he finds me, he locks eyes with me for a second and then gives me a little wink. I pretty much swoon right out of my seat, but I feel amazing. Here is this perfect ideal of a man and, despite the fact that he has countless beautiful women with their boobs out throwing themselves at him, dying for the chance to be his next one night stand, he's ignoring them all. He's ignoring them all but he looks for me to send me a smile. He's the exact opposite of Nate. He's everything that I want. I don't feel the expected jealousy, because I know Cooper doesn't give a damn about the other women. Seeing how much they want him, and how they're throwing themselves into the aisles and towards the ring just for the chance to get closer to him, and maybe to feel a drop of his sweat as he pounds the crap out of his opponent, makes me more into him. He's everyone's dream man and he's paying attention to me. I don't feel scared for Cooper, either, because even though his opponent probably has thirty pounds on him, Cooper is all muscle and he knows how to work that muscle. He's all man up there, a perfectly trained, perfectly oiled fighting machine in a playgirl body. His opponent is good, but there's never a moment that it's unclear who's winning. Cooper fights like a hero. Sitting there, looking up at this man who could maybe, just maybe, be mine, is an amazing feeling. The screams of the crowd fade to silence around me as I just watch Cooper and daydream of the us that could be.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Cooper Just having Savannah in the crowd, watching me fight, makes me feel like I can do anything. Tonight's fight was actually against one of my more well-matched opponents and I generally take a bit of a beating from him, even though I end up winning every time, because he's still good enough to get some punches in. Tonight, he can't touch me. I'm floating on air, jabbing left, leg slam right, utterly destroying him. I can feel no pain, I can do no wrong. With Savannah there watching me, I'm invincible. I hear her cheer when my opponent, Slayer, starts going down and it makes me hit faster and fight harder. I'm fighting for my girl. It isn't until after the match is over and Slayer is lying on the floor in defeat that I realize what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking that I need to win this and be a man for Savannah. I was thinking I need to do it for my girl. I've only been in love once before and it was a dumb enough decision and a painful enough experience that I decided that I'm never doing that shit again. After Sarah, I told myself that I was done. I told myself that I was never letting a woman make a mockery of me again. I stuck to my promise to myself for years, never going beyond casual fucking. And then one day this mysterious beauty with a secret past and more tightly-locked emotional baggage than there are secrets in the whole Navy combined comes walking into my apartment with a sassy smile and a devil-may-care confidence, and I start to forget myself. Slowly but steadily, and without even trying, the girl has worn down all my defenses. And here I am now, thinking of a girl I haven't even fucked—haven't even seen naked—as 'my girl.' "What are you thinking about, lover boy?" Vlad whips a towel in my direction as I enter the locker room. "What makes you think I'm thinking about a girl, man?" I ask. "That doofy smile." Vlad laughs and smirks at me. "You did good out there. Maybe a decent woman in your life is what you need right now. I won't hold you up. I know you want to go see your girl." I don't correct him. I like the way that sounds. My girl. I take a fast shower and Savannah is already waiting for me, just outside of the locker room, when I come out. "How did you like it?" I ask. "You were amazing!" Her cheeks are even rosier than usual with excitement, not makeup, and she's so cute I can't decide if I'd rather fuck her or just admire her. Okay, I want to fuck her. But I'm also enjoying just looking at her look up at me, all wide-eyed and beautiful. "You were incredible. I couldn't even believe half of what was going on. Whoa!" She suddenly wraps her arms around me and gives me a tight hug, pressing her face against my chest. "Good job!"
"Haha, thanks," I say. I fold my arms around her to hold her there as she starts to back out of the hug and she stops. She looks up at me for a moment, with a questioning expression on her face, then lets herself lean back into my body, this time in a peaceful, warm hug. Eventually, we break out of the hug but it's probably after whole minutes of standing there like a sappy, loved-up couple and it's only because the crowds of people are starting to be let out of the ringarea and some of the fans have found their way past the guards and back here. It's just a handful, but my protective instinct kicks in immediately. "Can I have your autograph?" A redhead with a black sharpie in her hand runs up to me and lifts her shirt up. She isn't wearing a bra, so her pointy nipples are basically in my face. I instinctively turn away at lightning speed, shielding Savannah with my body. "Come on," I say, shepherding Savannah to the closest exit. "Don't worry, you're safe with me." I can tell she's a little startled by the overeager fan. She's a down-to-earth girl, without the experience of invasive in-your-face celebrity and the crazy fandom that comes with it. But she takes my reassurance, nodding her head and clutching on tighter to my chest. She looks up at me with her beautiful, wide eyes. "I trust you," she whispers. That does it. I pick her up and carry her to the parking lot. I drive home wicked fast, never letting go of her hand with one of mine and then we're home and inside and looking at each other. "Savannah, I—" I don't want to say anything that will make her uncomfortable or cause her any pain, but I also can't hide how I'm feeling anymore. She looks up at me, then gives a small smile and an unbelieving nod of her head. "I know," she says, "Me, too." She grabs hold of me by my shirt, curling her fingers around the fabric. She pulls her perfect, warm little body against mine and I feel my cock immediately harden in my pants. I look down at her, tilt her chin up with my finger, and lean down. Finally, I do what I've been wanting to do for so long. I lean my face down toward hers as she turns her face up towards mine. Our lips touch softly at first, but it's instantly electric. I know she feels it, too, by the way her body falls against mine And then instinct kicks in and we're kissing hard like we're trying to become one through our mouths. Her lips are soft and plump and welcoming, her body pressed impossibly close up against mine, and I could have that moment last forever. At the same time, getting this makes me want more. We finally break apart and look at each other. The air between is crackling with energy, with lust. God, I want to be in her now.
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Savannah Standing there, looking up into the dreamy blue eyes of the sexiest man I've ever seen, I know I'm about to do something seriously idiotic. Thank God. He's looking down at me questioningly, checking if I'm okay or if he overstepped the boundaries. He did, and I'm so, so much more than okay. But I'm also so beyond aware that this is a terrible idea. "Cooper," I start, taking a step back. "Don't do that," he says, stepping forward to close the gap. His hand is on my arm again and every cell in my body is focused on the warmth of his touch. Part of me hates him for having this effect on me. I'm a stand-on-her-own-two-feet independent woman and I don't need, and never have needed, a man. Yet somehow, I'm standing here looking up at him with a wide-eyed longing that I can't subdue, and I need him. God, how I need him. But everything I feel for him is all the more reason why I can't do this to him. I'm poison. If he gets too close to me, it—I—will destroy him. I've been living in a beautifully constructed fairytale world where I'm just a woman, he's just a man, and we can be an us without hurting anyone around us. I've been living in a dream world where being with me isn't suicidal. This is the real world. I'm the Ebola of women—exposure to me will catch up to you. Probably around the time that some of Daddy's thugs are knocking your teeth in. I shake my head. I can't let that happen to Cooper. "Cooper, no," I breathe, "You don't understand. I'm not good for you." "I'm a man. Let me decide that for myself," he says, coming even closer. The breath catches in my throat as his dizzying scent hits me and I am bowled over again by uncontrollable desire. My traitorous body responds, nipples hardening with desire against the fabric of my bra. "You don't know everything about me," I say. "Then tell me," he demands. "I can't," I reply. He's right there and I'm so full of desire that I can hardly see straight, but I have to pull myself together. I have to stay in control, like I always do. I can't lose my head or terrible things will happen. I repeat myself, more firmly this time, despite everything I'm feeling. "Cooper, I can't. Just believe me when I say that if you knew who I am, and where I'm from, you wouldn't want me." "Impossible," he growls. "It's not only possible, it's definite. You don't know anything about me," I say. He let's go of me and walks angrily over to the wall. He slams it with his hand, then turns to face me. "Damn it, Savannah," he shouts. "What, you think you're the only one with a past? You think you're the only one who's made some mistakes in their life?" "No!" I yell back, finally getting some of that anger I need, too, to push the desire away. "I'm not some sheltered princess. Life hasn't been all sunshine and butterflies for me, whatever you may think. But you don't know jack shit about where I'm from and what you're getting
yourself into if you get involved with me. I'm the biggest mistake you could possibly make and I'm not fucking worth it!" "Fuck!" Cooper slams the wall again. "I know everything I need to know." He breathes deep, controlling his temper, and walks over to me. Suddenly, he's inches from me again, his hands on my arms. "I know you're smart and kind and beautiful and an amazing woman. I don't give a damn about where the fuck you came from or what mistakes you've made. All I care about is who you are right now, and who you are right now is the woman that I want." "But," I say, my temporary anger already gone and my voice much weaker. "Cooper, please stay away from me. I don't want to hurt you." I mean it, but there's little conviction in my plea for him to stay away and he can tell. "Never," Cooper says, coming up to me and taking me in his arms again. "And don't you ever let me hear you call yourself a mistake again. No one talks about my girl like that." I'm not letting myself give into his pull, at least not yet. "Cooper, I don't want to hurt you. If you get involved with me, you will get hurt." "You're worth it," Cooper says, and then pulls me roughly to him and kisses me. My knees buckle from the impact of not only his physical force, but also the force of his words. And I cannot resist any longer. I jump up on him, wrapping my legs around him and slinging my arms around his neck. He reacts immediately, one arm on my back and the other under my ass, holding me up. I find his lips with my own and then we're kissing again, this time fervently and hard, finally releasing the weeks of sexual tension that have been building between us. Our unbridled lust is perfectly matched in the heat of our passion and I'm tearing at his shirt at the same time that he's reaching under my top and unclasping the snaps on my bra. He frees my sensitive breasts, briefly breaking lip contact just to pull my shirt over my head and let me shrug off my bra, then his mouth finds mine again and we're rushing to kiss deeper, longer, harder. He slams me against the wall, but I don't feel a thing. All of my frustrations morph into sexual energy, and the very fact that I'm telling myself that I shouldn't be doing this fuels the fire of sexual desire that roars through my body. My hands are tangled in his hair, pulling his face closer into me as our bodies start to move together in an instinctual rhythm. He pauses for a breath and leans back a little to take me in. His eyes climb slowly up my body, lingering on the gentle inward curve of my waist and the soft fullness of my breasts before he bends down to take an erect nipple in his mouth. I writhe with pleasure as the warm wetness of his mouth wraps around my sensitive nipple and my back arches involuntarily, my body doing all within its power to bring me closer to what I need. He swirls his tongue around my nipple, sucking gently before releasing it to move on to the other one. As the cold air hits the hot skin of my engorged nipple, a moan escapes my lips. The sound does something to Cooper and he growls, pulling me into him with a renewed vigor. "You drive me crazy, pretty girl" he murmurs in my ear, before trailing kisses down my neck. The way he looks at me makes me feel like a Marilyn Monroe or Mata Hari—sexy, womanly, and wanted.
I'm all nerve endings and starbursts of pleasure. I can barely form a coherent thought, much less string the words together into a comprehensible sentence. A moaned, "Oh, baby," is all I can get out before I'm breathless again. I tear at his shirt again—I need it off. I need the satisfaction of feeling my bare skin on his. Cooper obliges, pausing to pull his shirt over his head. He takes advantage of the small break to look at me again. He looks at me long and slow, like a man savoring a five-star meal. Then he looks at my face. He doesn't look at me like anyone has before. It's not the respectful, intimidated look of MC members. It's not the critical look of instructors. It's not the look of adulation I got from girlfriends, who all thought they wanted my life of money and prestige. It's not the scared, guilty look of boys who dared to check me out before realizing who I was. It's not the value-assessing look of Nate and his father, who always managed to find something lacking. Cooper looks at me like he really sees me. Cooper looks at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. The urgency of a moment before is paused as Cooper touches my face gently, like handling a treasure. I can feel his desire, as strong as mine, and see the longing in his face. "It's been a long time since I've felt like this about someone," he murmurs. "You are a very special girl." Something flickers across his face. "You have been hurt," I say, the realization dawning on me. This strong, handsome, man's man isn't invulnerable to emotion. I shake my head, pulling back from him a bit. "Cooper, I'm going to hurt you." "You won't," he says, pulling me back to him. "You're different." "I will," I say. "I don't want to, I really don't want to, but I can't do anything about it. "Savannah, I'm a grown man. Don't underestimate what I can handle." His tone changes—now it's softer. "Savannah, even if you do, you are worth it. You are beautiful." He says it softly, like he means it. He strokes my face gently and I feel so warm. For once in my life, I believe it. I feel wanted and womanly and good enough, just the way I am. Cooper tilts my chin up with his thumb and kisses me deeply and passionately. I let go of all of my reservations. If I can live in this moment forever, I would be perfectly happy. But once we're touching again, our mouths searching each other's, neither of us can keep it from escalating. I suck on his bottom lip. He squeezes my ass and pulls my crotch towards his, where I can feel his raging erection through his jeans. My heart feels like it's beating a million beats per second. "I want you," growls Cooper. I'm too worked up to say anything. I just nod and reach for his fly. He cuts me off, spinning me away from the wall and carrying me, still wrapped around him, towards his bedroom. He kicks the door, already slightly ajar, open. Still making out feverishly, I slide down to standing and start fumbling with the top button on his pants. I finally get it open, a real feat since I can't bring myself to stop kissing him long enough to do it properly. I unzip his pants, then kiss my way down his body as I slide his jeans down.
"Savannah," he breathes. His already deep voice is thick with desire and knowing that I'm the one who made it that way is an amazing feeling. I'm on my knees in front of him, kind of wishing now that I'd read more Cosmo or taken Trashy Tara up on her offer of a banana blowjob lesson back in the ninth grade. But my desire pushes the insecurities to the side and I pull down his green plaid boxers to reveal his erection, as hard as granite in my hand. It's a lot bigger than I expected a penis to be, in lusty afternoon daydreams, and I'm a little intimidated for a moment. But then I look up at Cooper, who's looking down at me like I'm the only girl in the world that he's interested in, and my natural confidence kicks in. That, and the realization that I have a very sexy man's very hard member in my hand, and that man actually really cares about me, it seems. I lick his length from base to tip, like a lollipop, not once breaking eye contact. "Savannah," he groans, his forehead scrunching with pleasure. "Mmmmm." I wrap my lips around his hard girth, flicking the underside of his penis with the tip of my tongue as I take him deeper into my mouth. I have one hand up on his abs and the other cupping his balls—mostly because I don't know what else to do, but also because he seems to like it. I feel his body tense with pleasure as I suck, swirling my tongue all around, over, and under his cock. Cooper's body tenses with pleasure. I'm kneeling in front of him on the floor, as he braces himself with a hand against the wall behind me. Then he pulls me to my feet. "I want you," he says. "My girl." The two words, repeated, are like a shock of pleasure through my already overstimulated body. It's not like how I was Nate's girl, bound to him because a peace agreement from our fathers and their most senior advisors said so. This is different. When Cooper calls me his girl, it's a profession of desire. It makes me part of a unit. It makes me belong somewhere and belong to someone because he wants me, not because he is obligated to have me. "My turn," he says. "I want to taste you, beautiful." With that, he throws me down on the bed. Oh. My. God.
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Cooper The taste of her sweet sex almost makes me lose control, and the way she moans, squirms, writhes, and gasps my name isn't helping. I just want to hold her down and fuck her hard, but I use all my military and MMA training in self-control to keep it together so I can give her the full attention and pleasure that she deserves. "I need you in me NOW," she pleads, with an urgency that I'm not about to ignore. I don't have to be told twice. I'm up and poised over her with my rock hard member at her hot, wet opening. "You sure?" I ask. I really want to have sex with this incredibly beautiful, naked woman lying on the bed below me, but I also care too much about her to risk upsetting her or making her uncomfortable for some fun. Even as lust-addled as my thinking is right now, considering all the blood that's been redirected to my cock, I'm still unquestionably whipped. She nods. "Yes, take me." But she hesitates for a moment, so I wait. "But gently?" "Is this your first time?" I ask. The thought hadn't even crossed my mind. The women I've been with before her hadn't been virgins since long before I met them. She nods. "I'm a virgin." I immediately feel protective of her, but I can tell that she does want it. "I'll be careful," I promise, giving her a kiss. As our mouths lock, I slide a finger in her wet pussy. She gives a gratifying gasp, the warm walls of her pussy clenching around my finger before relaxing again. "Ohhh," she sighs, eyes fluttering closed. She's so sensitive and her reactions to everything I do just get me going more. I'm having the best sex I've had in a while and I'm not even in her yet. After a minute or two, I slide a second finger in. Again, she squirms at first before relaxing into me, sighing with pleasure. She reaches up to pull my face down to hers for a kiss. I give it to her, long and deep, then slide a third finger into her. Now she's ready for me. I put on a condom as she watches in pleasure-addled rapture. Then I thrust into her part of the way. She's tight, but relaxed for me, and she feels so good. Instinctively, her hips rock with mine as I thrust in and out of her and her back arches with pleasure, giving me a wonderful view of her supple breasts and feminine curves. When she starts to breathe more heavily, I lean forward a bit, so that I rub along her clit as I pull out and again as I thrust back in. I'm getting her clit and her g spot and it sends her out of control. Her eyelids flutter, her mouth forms a perfect O as her head rocks back. Her legs are wrapped around me, a hand on my bicep and the other on my shoulder, pulling me to her. Her body starts to rock with spasms and I can't hold myself back anymore. The waves of pleasure crash over me with earth-shattering force as I come in her.
Chapter Thirty: Savannah The sun is warm on my face when I wake up. I keep my eyes closed, holding on to that blissful just-woke-up-on-a-day-off feeling. No work today and a nice long sleep in aren't the only reasons that I'm smiling. The memories of last night's awakening are still fresh in my mind. The way my body lit up from the inside with a spreading fire originating from my most private of parts. The way Cooper looked into my eyes, kissing me tenderly while taking me completely. The way the building pressure inside of me finally built up to a level beyond what I could take, then exploded into fireworks of sensation, sending the most intense pleasure of my life through my body. I'm lying there, still basking in the afterglow of the most amazing night of my life thus far, when I get a bad feeling. Something is wrong. I don't want to let myself think it, but it's too late and I can't take back the terrible thought. I can't un-think the thought that the mattress feels oddly light. I can't un-realize that there's no body of heat warming me from the side. I can't look, but I also can't take not knowing, so I take a deep breath and open my eyes. Just like that, any good feelings from the moment prior instantly evaporate. Instead, there's a pit with the density of a collapsed star in my stomach, nauseating me. Taunting me for being such a gullible idiot. What did I think? That I was special? Ha. This man is a well-known Casanova, almost as well-known for his rabid female fan base as for his top-ranked fighting skills. I fucking met the man when he was escorting some underdressed, sexed-up hussy out of here. Of course I was just a challenge. Of course I was just another notch on his well-etched bedpost. All the jogs with Maxie, the shared meals and laughs, the conversations, and the MMA matches where he acted like having me there cheering him on meant something—he was just playing the long game. And now he got what he wanted. And then, in my misery, another blow hits me. If I were standing, I would stagger. Chills run down my back as I roll over to look at the sheets below me. There's a stain. The room is spinning around me. I bled. That's it. After all my years of purity, I bled and I can't take it back. I can't rebuild my hymen by wanting it back badly enough. I can't take back my deflowering and be pure again. I can't go back. My stomach clenches. Until now, as much trouble as I would have been in for running away, I would have still been taken back. But now it's too late. If I went back, I would either have to admit impurity or my impurity would become obvious at the latest by my wedding night. When the goons come the next morning to check the sheets, there will be no blood and thus they will know. There is no undoing the damage now. The MC wars will wage again and I will be disgraced, disowned, and exiled. If I dare to show my face as their fallen, sullied princess, I will
only regret it. All will mock my failings and how far I have fallen. The tears start to stream down my cheeks. I just threw away all of my options for a return to my former identity and life, and I did it all for a one-night stand with a man who may or may not even remember my name in a few months' time. I am the world's biggest idiot. I am on my own again, and more than ever, after being teased with a brief glimpse of what being part of a unit could be like. But there's no point in lying here and wallowing. I'm not going to be one of those pitiful girls who cries and begs a man to love her, to no avail. Either you're loved or you're not and I am not going to add insult to my own injury due to not being loved by demeaning myself further. I wipe the tears from my face and force myself to stop sobbing. I gather the sheets around me as I sit up, as though I have anything left to protect, and scan the room for my clothes. I see a few pieces flung around the room from the night before, but my bra and my shirt came off in the living room and aren't in here. Damn. Then the bedroom door handle turns and the door swings open.
Chapter Thirty-One: Cooper I can't remember the last time I got breakfast for a girl the morning after, but this isn't just a girl. It's Savannah. Being with her was well worth the wait. She's a woman worth wooing and worth caring for. It was still quite difficult to pull myself away from her this morning to run out for bagels and coffee. She sleeps like an angel, her sweetly innocent face relaxed in her sleep as she's curled up against her. Cute as she looked lying there, however, it didn't change that she was still a very sexy woman who I very much wanted to take again. To keep from waking her up with a jab in the back from my morning wood, I finally dragged myself out of bed, threw on some clothes and headed out. When I get back with a bag of warm, mixed bagels and a tray of two coffees, I open the door quietly. I'm not sure if she's awake yet and don't want to wake her if she isn't. I break into an instinctive smile when I see her sitting up in my bed, so beautiful that it almost hurts to look at her, but then I realize that her face is streaked with tears. I drop the food on the dresser by the door and am by her in three bounds. "Babe, what's wrong?" I take her in my arms, rubbing her back and giving her comforting kisses on her forehead. It takes her a minute to respond. She looks like she wants to say something, or rather lots of things, but she settles on, "I screwed up your sheets." I can tell that's not what she really wants to say. But I'm not going to push her when she's struggling, so I go along with it. "Babe, I don't care about the sheets," I say. "I care about you. Are you okay?" "They're ruined," she sobs. "Babe, you know I don't care," I say. "You're what matters to me. It's okay. It's all going to be okay." "How do you know?" She's not crying anymore, but there are still tears welled up in her beautiful, brown eyes when she looks up at me. "I know because I'm going to make it okay," I say. I say it confidently, because I sure as hell will make everything okay for my girl. "I don't know what you're running from—" "I'm not," she protests, cutting in. "I don't know what you're running from," I repeat, "but I do know that if anyone ever tries to hurt you, I am going to make them wish they were never born." She smiles weakly, but then she shakes her head. "You don't know what you're up against. My demons are numerous, huge, trained to kill, and armed to the teeth with the best that street money can buy." No joke? She looks dead serious. What is this girl's story? Suddenly, I realize that I don't care anymore. I'm not curious, because it doesn't matter. "All I can tell you now is that you are worth well more to me than any amount of bedding. And maybe you don’t believe me yet, but in a year, or two years, or ten years, you
will." I kiss her forehead and hug her head to my chest. "I will fight anyone, and anything, to keep you safe. I mean that." "Years?" she asks, the tears finally drying up. "Savannah, I want to be with you," I say. “Not just for the night or the weekend. I don’t know where we’ll be a few years from now, but I really think that wherever we’ll be, we’ll be there together.” I do. She smiles at me, that beautiful smile that brightens her stunning face right up and makes every other beautiful thing—the Grand Canyon, Caribbean beaches, Niagara Falls—pale in comparison. "I would like that, very much." She hugs me back hard, resting her face on my chest, and I'm finally completely content.
Chapter Thirty-Two: Savannah We have sex again. I figure that there’s no undoing the damage that has been done, so I may as well indulge my cravings for this man and enjoy the amazing things that he makes my body feel. That, and the fact that I cannot resist him even when I try, as last night proved. Besides, he came back. I thought he left me and that I was just another one-night stand. I thought he was off to do his own thing, without so much as a good morning kiss, and would come back at night with a casual ‘sup’ and act like we never were anything. I thought that maybe I was the only one who felt what we felt—but I was wrong. We really connected, in a way that I never had with anyone else and it was beautiful. There are some cold, hard facts here. First, that I am irreversibly no longer a virgin. I can be as chaste as a nun for the rest of my life and that will not change the fact that I have been deflowered. My cherry has been popped, a serpent has been in the cave—whatever you want to call it, it means the same thing. I cannot go back or a fate worse than death awaits me. Second, the fact that I cannot go back means that there may be terrible repercussions for everyone in the motorcycle clubs. There’s so much money from the businesses they own, and even more under-the-table money from drugs, protection fees, and prostitution rings, that they’re armed better than the military forces of some small governments. But they are grown men and I’m a grown woman and there is no reason on God’s green Earth why what I do with my genitals, and what I do want to do with my romance life, should decide such major matters as a bloody war. For goodness sake, this is the twenty-first century and it’s not like they don’t have minds of their own and the free license to change their minds. The joining of the families is just a stupid agreement that they made over a decade ago and they’ve had an uneasy peace since then, even though we weren’t yet united. Maybe they can decide to continue that and give it a break. Maybe they can decide that the formality of me marrying Nate is unnecessary. It’s been over a month since I ran away and nothing has happened yet, so maybe they already have decided to get over themselves. After all, they’re well-enough armed and thoroughly trained to go to battle at any moment, so it’s not like they need anything close to this long to mobilize their men and start the bloodbath. They could do it overnight, if they wanted. But they haven’t, or the deaths and increased inner city violence would have been all over the news. It would be way too massive to fly under the radar. That there hasn’t been any such news, and I’ve been reading the paper daily since I ran away, at least the front page, is a decidedly good sign. Cooper left for training with Vlad after we had sex and breakfast. He offered to cancel, but I told him to go ahead and go. I know that he has a big tournament coming up and the qualifying matches are already beginning. This is huge for him and I don’t want to mess with his dreams as I reevaluate my life and consider the possibility of realizing my dreams. Besides, this time, standing in the shower with the hot water running through my hair and the steam
enveloping me in a safe blanket of warm, damp haze, is great for thinking. And I sure have a lot to think about. But standing here, in a state of perfect physical well-being and basking in the leftover endorphins from this morning’s romp in the sheets with Cooper, things are looking more positive than when I first woke up. It’s too late for me to go back and fix things by giving up my life to Nate, even if I wanted to. I’ve been on the run for over a month, and settled in here for several weeks, and no one has found me. Aside from the close call with Lily at Bennie’s Pizza, and she didn’t even seem to be looking for me, I have been flying totally under the radar here. Who says I couldn’t do it for longer? Cooper hasn’t pushed about where I’m from and what my story and my past are. In fact, he has insisted that he doesn’t care and that all that matters to him is who I am now. Maybe we can leave the past in the past and move on to build a new future together. We can stay here until we’ve saved up enough for a house, then move to another state, or even country, far out of the reach of the motorcycle clubs. I can start my own little tattoo parlor and Cooper can keep fighting, or set up a fighting school or something, and maybe we’ll get married and have beautiful little children and a shaggy-haired dog to run around in the yard of our house, all framed by a cute suburban fence all around it. I know, I know. I’m getting so far ahead of myself that I sound like a tween with a crush. But is it really that impossible? Maybe, just maybe, things can be perfect.
Chapter Thirty-Three: Savannah I sketch tattoo designs for the next few hours, pausing to have a bowl of cereal midway through. I had breakfast with Cooper earlier, but I’m absolutely ravenous and have a banana and a protein bar, too. We certainly like our physical activities and round two this morning was fairly gymnastic. I smile remembering it, but then make myself focus on my sketches. I’m determined to put together both a strong portfolio of professional work, of which Cooper’s shoulder blade piece is clearly already going to be my crown jewel, and a book full of sketches for first-time clients and people who just aren’t quite sure what they want yet. I thought I would be too distracted to be productive today, but it’s quite the opposite. I feel so free. I am filled with happiness because what was the end of the world just hours earlier, the loss of my virginity, is now the agent of my freedom. Because I cannot be Savannah Santos anymore, even if I wanted to go back to my old life, I can fully be just Savannah. I am not second-guessing my choice to run away from home. I am not constantly having to decide again and again to stay away. When I bled, I finalized my decision and, since it’s finally decided, I no longer have to wonder about it and constantly ask myself if I’m doing the right thing. I had a guidance counselor back in school who used to say that there are many different paths in life and the most important thing isn’t which of the paths you choose, but that you’re fully committed to the path that you do choose and that you make the best of it. She was talking about college choices, of course, and not making the choice to get married to a total douchebag or run away and potentially start a major gang war, the likes of which the streets haven’t seen in a long time, but the general idea carries over to my unique circumstances, as well. I’m finally able to invest myself fully in my sketching and pursuing the dream future that I’ve built in my castles in the clouds since I was a little girl. Because my dream future can be my reality now, or very soon, I have the energy and motivation and inspiration to do all within my power to realize it. I’m so wrapped up in my sketching that I don’t even hear the door open a while later. I don’t notice that Cooper is back from the gym until he has me wrapped in his arms. “Hi there, sexy,” he greets me, leaning around to kiss my neck, just under my right ear. “How’s my girl been?” “Hi, baby,” I reply, spinning around to face him. “I’ve just been sketching. It’s been great.” “Mmm, you’re so talented,” Cooper says, between kisses all over my face. He’s sweaty and getting it all over me, but I couldn’t care less. The smell is surprisingly not at all offputting—it’s even a little bit appealing. I always complained when Nate tried to hug me after playing soccer, just to get on my nerves, or when Wolf hung around downstairs for ages after working out, emptying the fridge and simultaneously stinking up the entire living area, but Cooper’s smell is attractive. His sweat smells like unadulterated man, and breathing in the smell of pure masculinity has the opposite of an off-putting effect on me.
I close my eyes and enjoy it, nuzzling his neck. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve started grinding on him and I’m starting to breathe heavier. “Let’s take this to the shower, babe.” Cooper doesn’t wait for a response, he just picks me up and carries me over to the bathroom, where he turns on the water with one hand and slides his other hand into my underwear. “You’re wet for me.” “Take me,” I breathe, pulling my top over my head. Cooper is already shirtless, his perfect body glistening with sweat, and I lean forward to pull his gym shorts down. Without the extra layer of clothing, his erect member strains against the thin fabric of his shorts. “You’re hard for me,” I say, glancing up at him. “I like it.” I pull down his boxers and take his hard member in my hand, stroking it up and down with my fingers, before taking him deep in my mouth and starting to suck. I swirl my tongue around his cock, tasting him, and resist the urge to give in to my own appetites and beg him to fuck me now. Instead, I enjoy the moment and the knowledge that he is stiff like this for me. No one else, just me. He pulls me up to my feet after a few more moments and enters the shower, pulling me in after him. He slams the door shut and immediately presses me up against the inside wall of the shower, one hand on the glass beside my face and the other on my left breast, fingers teasing my nipple as he takes my mouth in his own. I give control of my body over to him, to do with as he will. He pulls one leg up to his hip and I wrap it around his waist, his erect member now poised at my entrance. He directs me away from the stream of the water as he reaches out of the shower and grabs a condom. He puts it on expertly, then returns his attention to me. He looks me in my eyes. “I’m going to make you come for me,” he says. Then he mounts me, exciting every cell in my body with each of his thrusts. Each one takes him in deeper until Cooper is all the way in me, our bodies moving in an ancient rhythm of synchronized desire. He brings me to the brink of climax, each move increasing my mounting pleasure and longing for the ultimate release. I suck on his bottom lip and pull him to me, even though we really can’t get any closer. I want him so badly and the passion of our embrace is deliciously irresistible. He takes my face in his hands and makes me look him straight in the eyes as he continues to thrust. We go over the brink together, looking into each other’s eyes, as we climax together and his hot seed spurts into me, filling me up with a satisfying warmth from deep within. I rest my head against his chest and can hear the thump of his heart, beating nearly as quickly as my own. I give in to the satisfied warmth that spreads throughout my body, leaving me weak but completely satiated and in bliss.
Chapter Thirty-Four: Savannah We finally get clean and dried off, but by then we’re starving again. “Let’s get some pizza,” Cooper suggests, as we lie on his bed, his arm around me and my head on his chest. “Bennie’s?” I ask, cautiously. Pizza does sound really good right now and I haven’t had a decent slice since I saw Lily there. I’ve avoided the place like the plague since then. It’s certainly about as dangerous as the black plague was! “Yeah, it’s the best pizza place on this side of town,” Cooper says matter-of-factly. “I’m not really feeling pizza right now,” I lie. “Besides, then we have to get dressed. Wouldn’t you rather stay like this?” He’s wearing a sexy pair of light blue, silk boxers and I’m wearing a matching bra and panty set in black lace. “Mmmhmm,” he nods, looking me up and down appreciatively. “You make a strong argument.” “I’ll make lunch, too,” I say, and bounce up from the bed. My energy is back up after our energizing endorphins session in the shower and I would much rather make lunch for us, something I actually enjoy, than risk an unwanted encounter with my past at Bennie’s Pizza. The chance that Lily—or anyone else from either motorcycle club, for that matter—would be at Bennie’s again is incredibly slim. It was probably just some odd fluke that she was over here in the first place, but whatever it was, the risk isn’t worth taking. I chide myself for going too far with that train of thought and focus on the present moment, instead. I’m basking in the afterglow of mind-blowing sex with this sexy and wonderful man who is currently sprawled on the bed, looking at me like I’m the yummiest piece of candy in the store and he has a raging sweet tooth. I flounce out of the room with a little extra swish in my hips, knowing that he’s enjoying the view. I’m so glad that I bothered to take the time to cook. I quickly whip up some pizza-style omelets, folded over a red sauce, meats and veggies, and mixed-cheese filling, make some toast and call Cooper over to eat. “Wow,” he says, walking into the room. “That looks amazing.” “Thanks,” I say, handing him a plate. “So what’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?” I ask. He’s already tearing into his meal. This is a man who burns a lot of calories every day. I’m glad I’m used to that and knew to make a lot of food from my experience with Wolf. Having a big brother is good for something, after all, even if he ignores you. Cooper takes a big glug of orange juice, then looks up from his food for a moment. “This is incredible, babe. Thanks,” he says, “And I have the first official qualifying match of the tournament today. Will you come?” “I would love to,” I say, “So that decides if you advance in the tournament or not?” Cooper laughs a little, shaking his head. “Babe, I don’t want this to come off the wrong way. But, frankly, I’m in the tournament. I’ve won all of the last few tournaments, so there’s
really no way that I wouldn’t be in the tournament. Nah, this just decides what seed I am in. If I win this match, which I will, I get into the top seed. That means that I get better sponsorships for the tournament and that, in turn, means that I get more money. I also don’t have to fight as many of the small matches to get to fight the best people, so there’s less waste of my fucking time. I’m not interested in smashing some little punk’s skull in just because I can. There’s no sport in that. I like fighting an opponent. I want a challenge. The fighter I’m up against tonight, Carl Crusher, gave his last four opponents concussions and rarely ends a match without knocking a guy out cold at least once, or crushing a few bones. It’s how he got his name.” “That sounds terrifying!” I can tell that my mouth is hanging open, but I can’t contain my horror. I don’t want Cooper to be beaten to a pulp. “If you’re not good, yeah, you’re gonna get killed,” Cooper shrugs. “But your ass shouldn’t have been in the ring in the first place if you’re not training like your life depends on it. Every idiot knows that and if some twerp thinks he’s going to get up there and throw a few wussy punches, then he’s already dumb enough that getting his brain rattled can’t do too much damage. And maybe the broken bones and missing teeth will remind the idiot to stay away from the big boys if he can’t handle himself.” It’s a whole different side of Cooper. I mean, I could always tell that he’s a man’s man and a tough guy. But he’s in lover mode—I mean romance, not love—with me and is sweet with me. But right now, talking about tonight’s fight, I can tell that he can clearly be dangerous. And instead of scaring me away, that fact turns me on. Not only does it turn me on, but it also comforts me. Knowing just how dangerous Cooper really is, and realizing that the brutal fighting in the ring last night was all real and not at all theatrical or performed, as I thought at the time, makes me feel a little better about letting him get involved with me. Not that he needs my permission for anything or would accept it if I said he should stay away for his safety. But I come from a dangerous world, and getting involved with me puts any man in a potentially deadly situation. Knowing that Cooper is so used to, and comfortable, with mortal danger helps. And knowing that he can hold his own in these kinds of situations also really helps. “Sounds like a pretty crucial match,” I say. “It is,” Cooper nods. “But having my girl there to cheer me on, there’s no way that I won’t win.” He picks up my hand across the table, just like a true Prince Charming, and kisses the back of my it before smiling at me and returning to his lunch. “I’m sure you would have won, anyway,” I say. But it still felt pretty great to hear him say that and I can’t keep the smile off of my face. “But I’ll be there, rooting for you.” Speaking to Cooper is easy. We switch between topics of conversation, flipping from fighting to tattoos to dreams and even to totally pointless day to day stuff, with ease. I feel so incredibly comfortable with him and finally, with him, I dare to have hope.
Chapter Thirty-Five: Cooper “I’m telling you, man, she’s really a one-of-a-kind girl,” I say. I shake my head as I pull my leg back and stretch my hamstring. I am at the gym pre-fight, getting pumped up and warmed up with Vlad, and though I usually don’t talk about girls with Vlad at all, this is a girl worth telling my bud about. She is all that I can think about, but I know it won’t throw me off for tonight’s match. She isn’t a distraction—she’s a motivation to win in an even bigger way. I am going to make my girl proud tonight. “I can see that,” Vlad replies with an amused smile. “No really, Cooper. I’m happy for you. You need this, I’m glad you finally found a girl worth opening yourself up to. Men are tough, but we need our women.” “It’s the truth,” I say. I’m still smiling, just thinking about her. I know I probably look like some sap, so I try to wipe it off, but that grin keeps popping back up. “I know it, man. She’s The One.” “Congratulations, man.” Vlad claps me on the back. “I’m proud of you. Now just don’t go and fuck this up, you understand me?” He laughs. “Yeah, I’m going to be careful to keep this one,” I say. “She’s beautiful and smart and kind and man, can that woman cook.” “That’s worth keeping,” Vlad says. “And she does it voluntarily? You eat like a goddamn bear.” “Yeah, I was all for just going out for some pizza at Bennie’s, but she said she wanted to cook. Said she was sick of Bennie’s,” I said. “The food she made was way better than even Bennie’s pizza. I’m being serious here, man.” “Sick of Bennie’s? No one ever gets sick of Bennie’s,” Vlad protests, laughing. “She probably just wanted to show off her skills. Sounds like the interest is reciprocated.” “Yeah,” I smile. “I’m pretty sure she’s feeling it, too.” “Trying to win you over with food.” Vlad raises an eyebrow. “That’s a classic woman trick, isn’t it?” “I don’t know, man, but she doesn’t need to win me over,” I declare. “She has me. I’m already all locked down.” “Look, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” says Vlad. “You know how I am with my girl and God knows I want the same kind of happiness for you. But not every woman is Bettina and—all I’m saying is that it wouldn’t hurt for you to take it a little slow. Sarah really fucked you up. I don’t want to see that happen to you again.” “Savannah isn’t like that.” I shut him down. But it’s true, Sarah did a number on me and he was the one that kept me off the streets and got my mind right. I owe him the respect of at least listening. “I hear you,” I say. “But I’m telling you, Savannah is different.” “Then good for you,” says Vlad. “Now give me ten laps and the usual burpee-jumping jacks-mountain climber sequence, so you don’t embarrass you and your girl tonight.” Vlad is the
only friend that’s close enough to me to rib me like that and know he’s not about to get his face pounded in. But even if he weren’t, I’m in a giving mood tonight. I can’t remember the last time I was in this good a mood. Sure, she has her quirks—like getting sick of Bennie’s Pizza, insisting on not sitting in the seats usually reserved for girlfriends and wives, and warning me that she’ll be wearing shades because the lights are too strong up close to the ring. And sure, she has a past that she isn’t proud of and is a little scared of. But I’m happy to be her man and keep her safe from the demons of her past. I’m happy to be there for her every day and keep her as happy and content as she keeps me, just by being in my arms. It’s not going to be easy taking down all the walls and barriers I put up to protect myself after Sarah, but she is worth it. She may well be the only woman in the world who I would risk this for, but there is no question that I will. I can’t wait to get out in the ring and cream my opponent with her screaming my name. Even more than that, I can’t wait to see what the next days, weeks, months, and years have in store for us, together.
Chapter Thirty-Six: Savannah I work on my sketches for a little longer once Cooper leaves to go to the gym for his prematch warm-up with Vlad. He offered to have someone come pick me up when it’s time to go to the match and I said that I could find my own way to the ring on the bus, but he insisted that sending a car would be no problem. He didn’t want me to have to deal with the hassle of navigating the unreliable bus system. “Only the best for my girl.” Just hearing those two words again in my mind makes me smile. ‘My girl.’ It’s an identity and a wonderful one. It’s being wanted. And, best of all, it’s being wanted by the man whom I want most in my life. I don’t need anyone from my past. I can be happy with just Cooper. And it seems like he wants to be happy with me, too. I feel like I should pinch myself, I can hardly believe my turn in fortune. But I don’t, because even if this is all just a dream, I want it to continue. I don’t want to wake up from the happily-ever-after romance. After years of unhappiness, I want to enjoy this for as long as I can. Forever. My designs flow out of me like they’re drawing themselves, featuring swirls and patterns that jump up off of the page with energy and happiness. I find myself sketching possible additions to Cooper’s shoulder blade piece, in case he ever wants to expand on that, and can’t stop smiling as I sketch because I’m sketching thinking of him. Eventually, I realize that the sun is all the way down and it’s closing in on time for the start of the big fight. I take yet another shower, my third of the day, and make myself a sandwich that I eat in the kitchen, bouncing from foot to foot with excitement at the thought of seeing Cooper again very soon. I’ve just finished my last bite when a car honks outside. Grabbing my keys, I head out the front door to the sight of a uniformed chauffeur, holding open the passenger door of a shiny black Lincoln town car. The car looks incredibly out of place in the middle of our street, a shining piece of automobile bling in a grimy urban neighborhood. I feel blessed to have a man who thinks I am worth all of this. The whole ride over to the ring, I can’t stop thinking about how this is all really great, but the real blessing is that Cooper wants to give me all of this. Cooper loves me. Cooper wants me and only me. Cooper and I can have a future together. We can have exactly the kind of future that I want, where we are the only ones that matter and we chase our dreams together, supporting each other every step of the way. We can have a life filled with love and respect, we can have a safe little house that we turn into a home, we can have beautiful little babies and a happy little family. I am getting so far ahead of myself here, but it’s so tempting. Before I know it, I’m at the stadium. I thought last night’s match had a buzz, but that was nothing compared to tonight’s craziness. We’re five blocks away when the line starts—and it’s not some neat, single-spaced line, either. It’s more like a Black Friday at Macy’s mob with people standing in clumps, jostling each other in the hopes of getting just a person or two closer to the front of the line unnoticed. No one seems to be having much success, since everyone seems to be sharing the same general strategy of having the foremost members of their clump
jostle the next group, while the rearmost members of the clump form an NFL-worthy barricade of defense against the clump behind them. We drive past all that, right up to the front. There are four enormous bouncers at the door, keeping the crowd from jostling through and into the stadium. We roll to a stop right in front of the door and one of the bouncers steps forward. He goes straight for the driver’s window and the driver is clearly used to the routine. He flashes some ID and hands over an official-looking document that the bouncer takes and scrutinizes carefully. It must pass muster, because the bouncer nods and comes around to open my door. “Thanks,” I say, a little awkwardly. I feel somewhat uncomfortable walking past the pumped up crowds, pushed back by the bouncer escorting me, and straight through into the stadium. I’m relieved not to have to join them in line, being elbowed and jostled by a mob of sweaty strangers in not enough clothing and too much body spray, but the attention that the special treatment inherently pulls my way is unsettling. I curse the invention of smart phones and social media for turning every common Jane and Joe into a paparazzo. Thank God that I thought ahead to wear oversized, reflective sunglasses and a hoodie with the hood all the way up. I will probably still show up somewhere on the internet as Cooper’s ‘Mystery Woman,’ but that’s fine. As long as I am unidentifiable, I don’t care if they speculate on our relationship. Honestly, the thought of having a relationship with Cooper for people to speculate on is thrilling in and of itself, even though the rational part of me knows that publicity is my ultimate enemy. The fact that I can’t afford to pop up in some gossip rag or even on some jealous groupie’s Instagram feed will make being Cooper’s girlfriend really tricky, if I ever end up becoming that. But we can figure it out. Being together would require overcoming a lot more barriers than just some lust-filled girls’ social media obsessions. I asked not to sit in the usual wives and girlfriends section and Cooper grudgingly obliged. “I want to show off my girl,” he said, which was pretty much calling me his girlfriend. That was really exciting and I almost forgot my point, but I had enough sense to put my foot down. So I’m not sitting with Carl the Crusher’s girls in the camera zone, but I am still in the second row and really close up to the ring. Closer than I would like, but getting Cooper to even agree to second row over first was getting him to make quite a concession. Carl the Crusher comes stomping down the aisle and plants his big, meaty hands on the side of the stage, hurtling himself up over the ropes and into the ring. He lands on his feet, raising his enormous, Hulk-style arms into the air and roaring at the crowd. His teeth are filed to points, making his canine-esque face all the more frightening as he snarls at his fans like a rabid rottweiler. They’re absolutely eating it up, screaming with excitement. The match is an exercise in opposites and it’s clear who is playing which role. Carl the Crusher is here to destroy Cooper, the pretty boy with the perfect face and the perfect body. Cooper is the man all the women want and all the men want to be, and Carl is the terror to titillate the audience as he stamps out beauty—or tries to. Cooper comes down the aisle, to the announcer crowing, “Welcome the MMA’s golden boy, Cooper “Veni Vidi Vici” Quin!” and the cheers get louder. I’m among the cheering women,
I have to admit, but I know Cooper actually cares about my cheer in particular. And he’s also just incredibly sexy. If we weren’t in a crowded stadium of his fans, I would probably not be able to resist pouncing on him and ripping my clothes off, begging him to take me right then and there. Mmmmm, yes. I cross my legs and watch Cooper plant his hands on the side of the ring and easily catapult his body over the rope, like it’s only a foot up instead of several. He holds his hands straight up in the air, throwing off his robe as he does it, and the crowd goes wild. I see him looking for me, so I blow him a kiss when his gaze finally lands on me. He catches it and winks at me. I can almost hear the women around me getting whiplash from snapping their necks around so fast to look at who this mystery woman is. I shrug deeper into my hoodie, thankful again for the sunglasses. But I feel relatively safe and can’t wipe the goofy grin off of my face. A woman a few seats over mutters, “Lucky bitch.” Yes. I smile. Yes, I am.
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Cooper I know that I am an exceptional fighter and I don’t believe in false modesty. I don’t try to act like I think every puffed-up iron smasher at the gym has a chance with me in the ring. It’s just a fact, and one that I’ve always worked really hard for, that they don’t. That said, pride comes before a fall and though I know I can, and will, take home this tournament victory, just like the others, I can’t deny that Carl the Crusher is one of the few guys in league who is an actual threat. I don’t respect him at all as a fighter. He’s juiced up worse than Schwarzenegger at his peak, and his clownish muscles may be a great show, but he didn’t actually earn them. It’s like women who buy their boobs—there’s nothing of personal merit there. But bought or not, Carl’s heft alone can cause some real damage. Paired with his understanding of the sport and the fact that he’s just about at the peak of his career, this isn’t a fight where anyone could phone it in and still be okay. Carl swings for my head. I dodge his massive, ham-sized fist by just a fraction of an inch, socking him in the gut as I duck under his arm. The crowd boos as he responds to the punch, folding a little. Signs of weakness and pain aren’t welcome. They want to see the blood spill from gashes on foreheads. They want to see the arms bend in ways that they shouldn’t. They want the loser beaten into submission at the close of the match, barely able to keep it together. But they don’t want to see pain. Men fight with honor, with dignity, and, most of all, with grit. Carl recovers himself quickly, coming back up to standing as he spins around to face me. He roars, pounding a single fist on his enormous barrel chest and hurtles towards me, three hundred fifty pounds of infuriated muscle. I am up against the right side of the ring and can’t go left in time without being within reach of his dominant right arm. I can’t meet him head on without taking a serious hit from the force of impact. I make a split-second decision and feign left before dropping low and taking him out at the knee. With a massive thud, his bulk hits the floor of the mat and the crowd erupts into a deafening, collective cheer. We’re resetting positions, since I knocked him down, and our trainers come up to check on us and give the usual words of encouragement—‘kill that motherfucker,’ ‘it’s you or him, take him out if you want to keep his teeth,’ ‘fuck him up like he slept with your sister,’ etc. It’s all incredibly predictable, but it’s partly because the crowds expect it and partly just for the trainers to see you up close. They all know their fighters well enough to be able to tell if something is seriously wrong. Those little pep talks save a lot, but not all, lives. I use the quick break to look out at the crowd. I quickly scan over to her seat, expecting to see my beautiful girl cheering for me, but her seat is empty. She’s probably in the bathroom or grabbing a bite from concessions. Great, I wanted her to see me make Carl hurt. Still, I can’t blame the woman for being ravenous after all the physical activity we’ve been up to. And it’s good that she’s fueling now, because I’m going to want another victory round after this match. I’ll just have to slug the Neanderthal double as hard when she gets back.
The little break is over and we’re all set to go again. Carl is clearly pissed. This is his year to win, or he’s already going to be on the downward slope of his career without a tournament under his belt since before I came onto the scene. He jumps up into the air and comes down with a thud, shaking the ring platform. He’s in a power position, with a wide stance, bent knees, and fists up to spar. “I’m going to kill you, boy” he thunders, eyebrows scrunching together in his wide, lined forehead. “I don’t see it,” I taunt, staying on my side and making him come to me. As soon as he’s close enough, I throw a punch. He blocks it, returning with a jab. I block it, twisting around and blocking with my left arm while punching with my right, slamming into the top of his cheek with the satisfying crunch of bone under massive force. He roars like an insulted bear, blood trickling down his face, and comes for me. But I hold my ground, blocking and jabbing and throwing punches and roundhouses right and left. I catch his arm as he comes for me, twisting it behind his back and body slamming him into the ground, pinning him to the ground with an elbow-knee hold. He strains against me, but I push harder, twisting his arm up tighter against his back until he roars in pain. “All the juice in the world and you still can’t scratch me,” I say, watching as he turns red with the signature Cooper classic of rage and pain that my opponents all get the chance to enjoy. I’ve got him firmly in my grip, so I look up again to see my girl watch me fight. I frown. Savannah still isn’t back, and unless the concessions line is moving at goddamn turtle pace, it’s getting worryingly long. Where the fuck is she? Carl takes advantage of my momentary lapse of attention to slam his oversized head back into my chest, throwing me back and off of him. I need to focus. I turn my thoughts away from Savannah and focus back on Carl as I hop back up to my feet and get in fighting stance. I’m not going to get myself killed up here because my girl takes forever powdering her nose, or whatever it is women do for hours in the ladies’ room.
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Savannah I have my legs tucked up to my chest as I perch on the toilet seat, like I’m hiding. I know it’s unnecessary, and ridiculous, since no one else is even in the bathroom, much less anyone dangerous. Everyone is out in the stadium, eyes fixed on the ring. I have second row seats with a perfect view of every move that Cooper and Carl make, but I’m hidden away in the bathroom, sitting on an uncomfortable, cold toilet sheet and shaking like a crack addict in a withdrawal crisis. My dreams are disintegrating at lightning speed before my eyes. Just when I thought I was in the clear. Just when I thought I was finally having some good luck. Just when I was finally letting myself believe that a happily-ever-after future with Cooper, my very own sexy Prince Charming, could actually happen, reality comes up like the little bitch that it is and bites me in the ass. How could I be so stupid? How could I not have put two and two together and figured that this would happen, or at least realized that it was possible, before I came upon the fucking poster in the hall? Just minutes ago, I was blissfully unaware of the danger I was putting myself in by being Cooper’s girl. When I got up to the go to the bathroom, I didn’t expect any of this. I didn’t expect anything when I glanced over at the posters advertising upcoming fights. At most, I thought I’d see a photo of Cooper, shirtless advertising his next match. Instead, I saw Nate. Not in flesh and blood, but I’m shaken almost as if I had seen Nate for real. Seeing his face on a poster, advertising a match here next week—not against Cooper, but still against a fighter in his league—sent me crashing back down from my cloud nine of warm fuzzies faster than I would have thought possible. Nate fights in Cooper’s league. That’s it. Just like that, I lost the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. I lost Cooper. I can’t be with Cooper now. There’s absolutely no way in the world that that’s a possibility. All of my imaginings of a future together depended on us flying under the radar for a long enough to get our stuff together, save up, and move somewhere far, far away—like California, or maybe even Hawaii—to start over. But with Cooper and Nate fighting in the same circles, it’s only a matter of time until they bump into each other. Hell, they might already know each other, for all I know! If Cooper and I stay involved with each other, it’s only a matter of time until Cooper finds out about me from Nate—or, even worse, Nate finds out about me from Cooper. My blood runs cold at the thought and I think I’m going to be sick. If Nate finds out about me from Cooper, Cooper’s life is fucked. I can hardly bear to consider what would happen, but I have to. And besides, I know too well what would happen. Nate would get Moreno thugs to back him up and, hell, probably Santos ones, too. They would come hunt Cooper down and kill him, or worse. They would hunt me down and make me rue the day I walked away from Nate Moreno and tried to step out into the world as my own woman.
I have no choice. My castle in the sky dream of a happy future with Cooper went up in smoke the moment that I saw Nate glaring down at me from that poster, and now there’s only one option if either of us wants to have a future. I have to get out of here. I have to stay far, far away from Cooper. I can’t stay here with him, or we will both die. I can’t run away with him, because the moment that I tell him who I am, he’ll recoil from me in horror. Who would want me, Savannah Santos? Who would want the marked one, the one with whom sex is a death sentence and romantic entanglement is idiotic? No one. And not Cooper, either. I can feel the tears building behind my eyes as I think about that. No, no, I can’t be rejected by Cooper. I can’t, not by him! He’s the one guy who has made me feel wanted and loved and womanly, and to see him step back from me in horror and disgust would break me. I blink back my tears. I am on my own again and this time for good. The only way I will survive is by being strong—and so I will be strong. I will do what it takes. I will leave Cooper and never come back. I let go of my death-grip hug on my knees and put my feet down. I stand up, first still a little shakily, then steady. With my mouth set in a grim line, I unlock the stall door. It’s time to run.
Chapter Thirty-Nine: Savannah My lungs are burning and legs are on fire as I run in the crisp, early fall night. It’s dark out, like my mood, and the streets are empty. It is so quiet that all I hear is the rhythmic pounding of my feet on the pavement. Each footfall is a bound further away from Cooper, and the impossible life that I wanted, and a step closer to my real future—an entirely solitary existence spent looking over my shoulder and pushing everyone away. It’s depressing as fuck, but it’s better that way. It beats being dead, or worse, and having Cooper die for the mistake of romancing me. I almost run past the apartment, I’m so lost in my thoughts. As I stand at the door, feeling through my pockets for the main key, I start to second-guess my choice not to return to my seat for my coat. I just wanted to get out of there before I could change my mind, and I didn’t want to see Cooper again, for fear of being unable to make myself leave. But that was my only coat, and having only a hoodie when it gets to be winter isn’t going to be so great. Oh, well. There is no way that I am going to go back for a coat. I let myself in and go straight to my room. It’s warm inside, but I don’t bother taking off my hoodie, or even rolling up my sleeves. I’m stuffing all of my few belongings into my backpack as fast as I can. The last thing I need is Cooper getting home before I am far away. I know the odds of that are vanishingly slim, given that he’s currently in the middle of a major match, but I feel uneasy anyway. I just need to get far, far away. I pull my stash of cash out from under the bed and flip through it. I have enough for a bus ticket by now, since I’ve been saving up between the parlor pay and the dog-walking money, and this time I’m going to go far. I zip the money into an inner compartment in my backpack and head to the door. On second thought, I stop by the kitchen and grab some apples and crackers. Who knows when the next time I’ll be able to get a real meal will be? I grab some lunch leftovers out of the fridge, too, but looking at them reminds me of the lunch with Cooper earlier today and my stomach flips. I put them back in the fridge. If I knew the last twenty or so hours, the best hours of my life, were going to be that short, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time sleeping and eating. I would have savored each moment with Cooper more. I zip up my backpack and sling it over my shoulders, heading out through the door. I lock the door behind me, then stare down at the key in my hand. I sigh. I know what I have to do, painful as it is. I unlock the door, go back inside, drop the key on the counter, lock the door from the inside, and shut the door behind me. It’s final. There’s no going back now. Not back to my family and not back to Cooper anymore, either. The only way is the way forward. Knowing that helps steel my resolve as I break into a jog, away from my temporary home and away from the one man whom I really, really don’t want to leave.
Chapter Forty: Cooper Carl the Crusher is starting to stagger around the ring, taking more and more time to pick himself up every time I knock him down. I get him in a kimura hold, grabbing him by the wrist and slamming him onto the floor, his arm hyperextended away from his body. I hear his shoulder crack and he screams in pain as my fans go wild. Giving them a little something to really go wild over, I go for the omoplata. It’s one of the toughest MMA movies, but I’m one of the few fighters who has the skill and the strength to execute it properly. I lift my leg up over his shoulder and push up on his chin with my knee, sitting up and leaning forward to hyper rotate his shoulder. Carl is starting to choke like he’s going to hurl from pain, so that gives me a moment to look up and check on Savannah. She’s not there. Her seat is empty. No matter how slow the service, or how long the line, there’s no way that she wouldn’t be back in her seat by now unless something is seriously wrong. Maybe she’s sick. Maybe this is related to whatever trouble she’s running away from. I don’t know. But something is wrong. Just like that, I release Carl the Crusher and run over the side of the ring. I jump over the rope to the collective gasp of the crowd, but I don’t give a damn. I just need to be sure that Savannah is okay and, if she’s not, I need to help her. Vlad comes running up to me, furious. I just threw away what was clearly going to be a victory. “What the FUCK are you doing, man? Get your ass back up there, NOW!” He’s blocking my way to the door. “Move,” I say, pushing him aside. “Cooper, what the hell are you doing?” Vlad never gets worked up, but he’s yelling and red in the face. “Why the fuck did you throw away that win?” He grabs me, and I look at him for a moment. “Savannah is gone,” I say. “She’s a fucking girl! Do you know what you’re throwing away? The sponsorships? The money? You’re going to be in fucking last seed if you forfeit and you could be in first!” Vlad is livid. “You’re throwing away everything you’ve worked for! You’re throwing away all our hard work over some dumb bitch!” “Don’t. You. Ever. Talk about Savannah like that again,” I say, through gritted teeth. The only thing keeping me from bashing his head in right then and there is our history together and our friendship. I push him aside and run down the aisle. All the money and renown in the world is worth shit if something happened to my girl. I need to find her. It’s like I’m back in the SEALs as I’m looking for her. I move swiftly, the match already completely forgotten and my focus solely on finding Savannah as quickly as possible. I go straight for the women’s room and in my single-minded quest, I don’t give a fuck about knocking first before I barge in. There are two women in there, fixing their makeup in the mirror,
but they’re not Savannah and I ignore them, banging through all the stalls in case she’s in one of them. She’s not. I head back out and for the exit. The same bouncers are there as earlier. There hasn’t been a shift change yet. Good. “Have you seen the girl that came for me?” I demand. “About five five, dark hair, brown eyes?” “I know the one,” says one of the men. “And?” I demand. “Don’t fuck with me—did she leave?” The bouncer looks a little uneasy, taking a sideways look at one of the other bouncers. “Look, we don’t want any trouble, man.” “No trouble,” I say. “If you tell me where she went.” “She ran out of here a while back,” one of the other guys says. “She went that way.” He points down the street in the direction of our apartment. “Thanks, man,” I say and run off to the apartment. I run faster than I ever have, but when I get there the lights are all off. I didn’t bother to get my bag out of the locker room, so I don’t have a key. “Savannah!” I yell, pounding on the door. There’s no response, so I run around to the side and smash a window in with my fist. I pull myself up on to the window ledge and jump through the window into the dark apartment. “Savannah?” I flip on the lights and run for her room. Empty, including of all her stuff. My room. She’s not there. The bathroom. She’s not there. She’s not in the kitchen or the living room, either, and then I see it. There, lying on the kitchen counter, are Savannah’s keys. There’s no note, there’s no explanation, there is just the fucking key lying on the kitchen counter. It hits me like a ton of bricks. She isn’t sick, she didn’t get called away, she just up and left. I hurl the fucking key across the room with a yell of anguish. It’s not Savannah that I’m angry at. It’s myself. I fucking knew better than this. I knew better than to fall for a girl. I knew better than to get emotions involved. I knew I should just stick with my meaningless fucks and that I had no business getting involved with the mysterious girl with the secret past. Now she’s gone. And there’s a pain in my chest, unlike any other.
Chapter Forty-One: Savannah My heartbeat doesn’t slow back down to normal until a good half-hour into the bus ride. Only then am I able to finally nestle into my seat for the long ride to New York City. If I can’t get lost in the most anonymous cities in the world, then it’s impossible anywhere. But I will get lost in the crowd and I will go unnoticed. This time, I will keep my focus and leave my emotions out of it. I can’t afford to feel things. I can’t afford to indulge my desire for social comfort. I can’t afford to make friends and absolutely, in no way, can I afford to get involved with someone. After Cooper, I really don’t want to. I don’t think I could find another man like him and I sure as heck don’t want to. I couldn’t have the man of my dreams and can’t, and don’t want, to have any other man. It was completely foreseeable. I went in knowing that I shouldn’t get involved with anyone. I went in knowing that my past was too dangerous, and still played too big a role in my present, for me to dare to think that I could possibly be free enough to let someone else into my mess of a life. I knew that I should have done something, anything, to not have to take the room in Cooper’s apartment. Failing to do that, I should have done whatever it takes to not talk to him and not get close to him. I made a series of terribly ill-advised choices, even though I knew better, and now I’m paying for it. The only thing that I can do now is make sure that I never slip up like that again. That, and hope and pray that I meant a lot less to Cooper than he means to me. I don’t want him to be hurting about me leaving. It’s just not fair. But even if he is hurting, it’s a lot less than he would be hurting if he stayed with me and Daddy’s thugs, or the Moreno thugs, got to him. I’m making the right decision now, and I know it. I just wish it didn’t hurt so bad. I try to distract myself a bit by looking out the window at the unfamiliar landscape rolling by. Each hour, I’m getting further from my past, further from Cooper, and closer to safety as no one, a girl who means nothing to anyone. I’m getting closer to my future. I draft a plan as the miles roll by. I’ll buy a newspaper at a corner shop, find an apartment in the classifieds, and try to move in immediately. If a same-day move-in doesn’t work, I’ll stay at the cheapest hostel out in Harlem or the Bronx until I can move in—hopefully within the week, because I have a feeling that even a hostel out in the projects isn’t going to come cheap. I don’t know, though. I’ve only been to New York City once when I was little, and I was there with my rich parents who were fine with expensive and covered everything, anyway, since I was a little kid. But big city prices are infamous and I’m just hoping the pay matches up. I’ll look around for a job at a tattoo parlor, but apply at diners and fast food joints, too, if I can’t get one. A waitressing gig at a ritzy place in Manhattan would, of course, be the best paywise, but I’m also incredibly unlikely to get it. Having had no jobs as a high school student, and thus no experience as a waitress or cashier, is making it a lot more difficult to find part-time gigs to hold me over. And since I didn’t even get a chance to resign from The Ink Joint, given how quickly I fled town, I’m screwed if they want a reference from my last employer.
Whatever. That’s not my biggest problem, and I’ll figure it out and work my way up from the bottom again, if need be. It’s not like I have anything else to do.
Chapter Forty-Two: Cooper I can’t sleep. Eventually, shortly after four in the morning, I decide to cut my losses and go on a run. I turn left where I normally turn right and find myself running through the city’s slums, headed for the trailer park where I grew up. I haven’t been back in years, not since shortly after I started training with Vlad and decided to put my past hangups about being the ‘white trash kid’ behind me. But here I am again, running through the same streets that I spent the days of my childhood playing on. I have come so far, despite all the hurdles that I have faced. I pulled myself up by my bootstraps to make it into the Navy SEALs and picked myself up again after I couldn’t be a SEAL anymore, and the girl who I thought was the love of my life betrayed me. I trained hard and fought my way to the top off the MMA. And now, for a girl who couldn’t even bother to leave a note or say goodbye, I lost rank and sponsorships for this year’s tournament. I was stupid and I went against my best judgment. Emotions are nothing but trouble and women are nothing but trouble if you try to do anything more than just fuck them and send them on their way. She’s just a girl. I should have known better by now. Didn’t I learn my lesson? I haven’t thought about it in a while, but this brings it right back to my mind. I remember every painful detail, even though the emotions for Sarah are all long dried up and gone. It was after I found out that I couldn’t be a SEAL anymore. I decided to go home and try to win Sarah back. I would show her that I was better and that PTSD wasn't so scary. I would make her come back to me. I was walking out of a flower store with an enormous bouquet of pink and red, mottled roses, her favorite, when I saw her walk out of her gynecologist's office across the street. A man in an expensive suit and shiny shoes had his arm slung low around her waist. She had her hand on her stomach and when she turned to kiss him, I saw that it was swollen with a small, basketball-shaped bump high on her abdomen. To be pregnant now, Sarah had to have been cheating on me while I was overseas. I didn't know where to turn. I didn't know what to do. Just like that, my whole world had fallen apart. I only survived because I had fighting to turn to and focus on. The MMA became my everything. I ate, slept, breathed, and lived fighting. With every fight I won, I was that much closer to recovery from both my PTSD and my heartbreak. So to have been so stupid now, after all these years, is unacceptable. I shake my head and turn around. I was stupid. But she’s gone now and I’m not making that mistake again.
Chapter Forty-Three: Savannah I finally manage to doze off around four- or four-and-a-half hours into the ride and, shortly after I fall asleep, I am awakened by the driver announcing our arrival in New York City over the bus intercom. “We’re pulling into Penn Station here, folks,” the driver drawls, sounding even more tired than I feel. “Please check the area around you and make sure you take all your belongings, children, and trash out with you. This bus is heading back west in just thirty minutes and it’s a huge help to us here at The Blitz Bus. Thanks again for choosing The Blitz Bus for your travels today. We know you have a lot of options when you travel and we appreciate you choosing us. Have a nice stay in NYC and see you again soon!” I didn’t take any of my belongings out of my backpack, so I just pick it up off of the seat next to me, which stayed mercifully empty throughout the trip, and pull the empty cracker wrappers and wadded up napkins with apple stems from the seat pocket in front of me. Unloading the bus takes a while, largely because of what seems to be a retiree travel group coming to see the big city, but I’m not in a rush. As soon as I step off the bus, though, I feel like I ought to be in a hurry, just because everyone else seems to be. I hold onto my backpack tighter as I’m jostled from all sides on the street corner, by people big and small, smelly and all dressed up. This isn’t the glittering New York City from television, nor is this the candyland New York City that I remember from my childhood trip, though I’ve since realized that I’m probably only remembering a trip we took to F.A.O. Schwartz. Instead, this is reality. It’s loud, it’s dirty, it smells bad, and it’s crowded. But it can also be what I make it. I push past a few people and over to the subway entrance on the street corner. It’s hotter underground, but I manage to buy a subway ticket for two dollars and seventy-five cents and swipe in. I locate a subway map by the telltale group of fanny-packsporting midwesterners huddled around it and find out that the Three train will take me right up to Harlem. Once I’m up there, I’ll be able to find a cheaper place to stay than here in midtown Manhattan. I get off the train about twenty-five minutes later and climb back upstairs to the street. I step out into the mid-morning sun and look around. I see few banged-up windows, paint peeling on the front doors, and a group of four women sitting and standing on the front steps of a brick apartment building, talking loudly and rapidly in Spanish. I don’t really have any idea where I’m going yet, so I just choose a direction and walk down the street. Soon enough, I come upon a dated gas station. The bell chimes as I walk through the door. “Hello?” I call. A little Indian man pops up from a back room, accessed from behind the cashier’s counter, and smiles at me. “Yeeas?” “Can you help me, please?” I ask. “I need today’s newspaper and the locations of the cheapest motels or hostels around here.”
I buy a paper, a cup of instant ramen, and a bottle of Coke from him. I am directed to a motel where I get a flea-bitten room for fifty-nine ninety-nine a night, and so begins my New York life. I flip right past the news, entertainment, comics, lifestyle, and sports sections, going straight for the classifieds. I need a place to stay and I need a job at a tattoo parlor. At least the latter should be easier to find, now that I have a fairly decent portfolio. I pull it out to take a look at it again, hoping to make myself feel some excitement for this future, but seeing the snapshot of Cooper’s shoulder blade piece brings all the emotions crashing back down on me. For the first time since I saw Nate’s face on the poster last night—it isn’t even a full twenty-four hours ago, but it feels like a lifetime—I let the emotions wash over me. I let myself fall back on the hard, flat motel pillows and I let the tears run down my face, sobs shaking my body as I heave ragged breaths. I am never going to see Cooper again.
Chapter Forty-Four: Savannah A few days pass and I settle into a daily routine. Things aren’t great, of course, but they’re working out pretty well. In fact, things are going much better than expected, given my usual bad luck. I found a place almost immediately and was able to move out of the ratty motel after only three nights. I’m rooming with three women in a small apartment in Harlem, all the way up on West 137th Street. It’s a fifth floor walk-up with no air conditioning and a cockroach problem, but at least there aren’t any bedbugs. I hope. Not a single one of the roommates speaks English, beyond the basic ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ ‘hello,’ ‘mine,’ ‘no share,’ and ‘rent now.’ Honestly, I see that as a huge benefit. If they can’t talk to me, we can’t become friends. I don’t want friends. If there’s one thing you learn early on the streets, it’s that loving people only gives other people material to a use against you and ways to hurt you. The job situation worked out somewhat less well. While I was able to get a job at a lowrange tattoo parlor pretty quickly just by showing my portfolio, without needing a previous employer’s recommendation, I could only get twenty hours a week. There’s no way that I can cover my costs, no matter how many places I try to cut corners and even subsisting on canned beans and rice alone, so I find a second job that I can schedule around my hours at the parlor. I’m working mainly night and early morning shifts at Greasers, a diner specializing in breakfast foods. The manager claimed the name was because the diner is Grease-themed, for the musical lovers, but I am not convinced. There’s not really anything in the decor or menu that suggests any connection with or inspiration from Grease, but the food is dripping in enough of the stuff that I would be entirely unsurprised if actual grease were the namesake. But a job is a job and I have about all that I can ask for. Since neither of my jobs are high-paying, though, I need some other source of money. I don’t have any valuables to sell, except my locket necklace from my mother, so I finally decide that I have to sell it. It nearly breaks my heart in two as I walk over to the pawnshop, but I have no other choice. “How much can I get for this?” I ask the pudgy bald man at the register. He reaches out a grubby hand and everything in me screams no as I drop the necklace into his hand. He turns it over a few times, rubbing it between his sausage-like fingers, eyes gleaming. Then something shifts in his face before he looks up. His expression is calculatedly bored. “A hundred bucks, tops,” he says nonchalantly. “Bullshit,” I say, equally calmly. “Look again and stop trying to rip me off, or I’ll take it and leave.” He looks a little surprised at how sure of myself I am, but I just stand there, back straight and chin set. Finally, he looks at the necklace again. “Three hundred?” “Eight hundred,” I say. “That’s solid gold.”
“Eight hundred?” he cries. “What do you think this is, Tiffany’s?” “Fine,” I say, reaching out to take it back from him. “I’ll go somewhere else.” He pauses for a moment, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m bluffing, and I just wiggle my fingers impatiently, like I have places to be and things to do. “Fine,” he grumbles, “Seven hundred and that’s it.” “Seven hundred and fifty, or no deal,” I say. He makes a face like it’s physically paining him to agree, but he nods. “But we pay out on sale. You’ll get your money in anywhere from one to six months, depending on the market.” “But I need it now!” I take a breath to collect myself. I take another breath, then I switch tactics. “Please, sir, I need to pay my rent and I’m new to the city. I really can’t wait that long.” He gives me another look, then shakes his head and sighs. “Fine, I’ll tell you what—I’ll list it on the internet, too, and that should speed up the sale some. You’ll probably get it sooner this way, but no guarantees and I still can’t pay out until I’ve been paid.” He shrugs. “Money is tight everywhere. What can I say.” “Deal,” I say. I can tell he is offering all that he can. It still hurts when I walk out of the store, leaving the last thing tying me to anyone that I love behind. I don’t have my mom, or even the one remembrance of her that I had, and I don’t have Cooper. I don’t have my sister, my brother wouldn’t want me, and my father would disown me. And I don’t have Cooper. I’m in a city of millions, but I still feel all alone.
Chapter Forty-Five: Cooper As a Navy SEAL, it was crucial to the success of my mission to be able to hyper-focus on the task at hand, completely disregarding everything else going on around me. I use that training to make it through the week. When I’m in the gym, in the ring, or pounding the streets on training runs, my mind is completely turned off to anything else. It’s just me and the street, or me and the bag, or me and the weights I’m smashing. Exhausting my body helps me fall asleep at night, but it doesn’t change the fact that every waking moment outside of training, I can’t stop thinking about her. She blew in and out of my life like an F-5 tornado, turning my life on its head and completely wrecking the noemotions, no-attachments, no-problems system that I had going. And I had it going well, it was really working for me. I had girls to blow off steam with work, was crushing it in the gym, had more money than I needed saved away and was continuing to pull it in at rates that would have been unimaginable to the childhood trailer park kid version of me. Sure, I didn’t spend much of it. Heck, I’m in this mess because I lived so frugally that I decided to go for a roommate in my simple apartment, just so the second bedroom wouldn’t stay empty. And sure, I didn’t get anything but a quick, cheap release from the desperate groupies who fought each other to get to be the one in my bed for the night. But I was making it to the top and I was fine with my life. I was showing them. I was showing everyone who thought I was white trash because my mom got herself knocked up before she could get her GED and never managed to make it out of Hooters-type jobs. Now, post-Savannah, I’m still killing it professionally. I lost some major sponsorships and my seed in the tournament, having to fight from the bottom up, but I’m doing well in trainings, hyper-focusing like the ex-Navy SEAL that I am, and will be back up before Vlad has time to stop grumbling about ‘those fucking flaky girls.’ Still, I’m not content the way I was before. Getting random sex from girls I pick up at a bar doesn’t appeal to me after what I had with Savannah. Emotionless, meaningless sex with yet another bubble-brained girlfriend-wannabe who doesn’t understand that having a loose vagina and pants so easy to get into that they might as well fasten with Velcro isn’t going to make her mean something to me. I’m killing it on Friday, slamming into the bag like it fucked my mother, when Vlad stops me. “Look, man,” Vlad stops, sighing and shaking his head. “I don’t know what you want me to do, but something has to be done. You’re just not right.” “I’ve been training just fine,” I snarl, grabbing the bag from him. “You’ve been training just fine,” he admits, stepping aside as I start swinging at the bag again. “But man, you’re not you. For weeks, you were walking around like every day was some kind of gift and nothing could go wrong, but now you’re moping and sulking and it’s impossible to get you to smile or even just wipe that grimace off of your mug. Man, this isn’t like you.” “There’s nothing for you to do,” I say, without looking at him. I just keep swinging.
“Then what can YOU do.” Vlad says it as a statement, not a question. He stops the bag and I stop swinging. I may have adrenaline flowing through my blood by the bucketful, but I’m not about to swing at the one guy who I can always depend on, the one guy who always has my back. “Get out of here, get your mind right, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Vlad claps me on the back and gives me an easygoing smile, but there’s worry in his eyes. He’s worried I’m going to do something stupid, I can tell. And with the state that I’m in right now, maybe I will. “I’ll handle it,” I say. “I’ll see you later, man.” After a quick shower, I go to the place where I always went when I needed to reset my mind and blow off my steam. It’s been weeks since I’ve been to the bar, since I had Savannah and she was all the woman I needed or could even want, so I don’t know whether my usual Friday girl will be there. If she has any self-respect at all, she won’t be. But I’m not concerned, if she’s not Savannah, then a girl is just a girl and it doesn’t matter which one it is. I’ve never had trouble finding a willing lay and I know I can have whoever I want in the bar. As I walk through the door, though, I immediately see my Friday girl. She’s sitting by herself in the middle of the bar, all dolled up like usual. God, she looks as cheap as a dirty penny after Savannah. Her hair is a brassy, fake blond, her makeup is caked on way too thick, her clothes leave nothing to the imagination. She’s boring to look at. You can see all that you’re getting and you can get all you’re looking at without any effort. I half feel like turning around right then and just getting a pie from Bennie’s and heading home, but I need to do this. If I can just fuck a chick and get back into my schedule, maybe I’ll be that much closer to being over Savannah. “Hi,” I say, sitting down on the barstool next to her. She looks up from her bright green cosmo and looks beyond pleased when she sees me standing there. “Well, hello, there,” she purrs, leaning forward so that she’s pretty much spilling out of her dress. “I’ve missed you.” Her breasts look harder than Savannah’s—they aren’t as welcoming and don’t make you want to just dive into them and bury your face in their soft, supple warmth. Her smile is small and calculating, not uninhibited like Savannah. There’s no joyful freedom there, there’s no depth and friendliness. You can almost see the wheels turning behind her hard eyes—how she’s going to land a fighter, how she’s going to have a nice easy life where her only concerns are dressing up for the tabloids. She finger-walks her hand up the inside of my thigh, but I feel nothing but disgust. I know that objectively, she’s a babe. She has big lips, big boobs, long lashes, long legs, and a waist you can wrap your arm around. But I just don’t see it. All I see is how she fails in every way compared to Savannah. She tries so hard, where Savannah doesn’t seem to try at all, but all the effort isn’t enough. It can’t change the fact that Savannah is a one-of-a-kind girl and Friday’s girl just is no Savannah.
“Cooper? Earth to Cooper?” The chick is looking up at me expectantly from under her thickly mascaraed eyelashes. “What?” I ask. “Oh, yeah. Listen, I gotta go. I got this.” I slide some money toward the bartender for her drink and the beer I didn’t even touch, and get up. “Wait—you don’t want company?” The chick looks confused. “But, but…” She pushes her chest out more, like that’s going to change my mind. “No, I gotta go.” I don’t look back as I walk out of the door and across the parking lot to my car. I do not go backwards. I do not downgrade. When I have made it to first place, I do not settle for second in the next round. When I have had the best, anything less isn’t worth the effort. I don’t want some okay, hottie-tottie in hooker heels and hot pants. I want Savannah. I want my girl.
Chapter Forty-Six: Cooper I’m awakened sometime after one in the morning by a loud crash that sounds like it’s coming from the second bedroom. I’m immediately awake and on alert. I sit up quietly and silently slide the covers off. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and walk slowly and silently towards my door. I hear a thump. Someone is in the apartment. Then another thump. Thump, thump, thump, thump, and another thump. Seven guys and, by the sound of it, big ones. My mind is racing, completely free of the grogginess of sleep, and I’m in mission mode. Issue: the premises have been infiltrated. Cause: unkown. Judging from the direction of the noise, however, I can speculate on a probable cause. She’s petite, dark haired, sweet, and currently on the run again. I had already concluded that desperation, not flakiness, had driven Savannah away and thus that I would find her and help her. But this unexpected night time visit reinforces my decision all the more. How dare these fuckers come after Savannah? Seven full-grown thugs on one tiny little woman? They’re a pack of overgrown wusses to come in the middle of the night, in a big gang, to take a woman somewhere against her will. They make me fucking sick. “The fuck!” A man’s voice yells, and something shatters. It sounds like he threw something. “Where the fuck is the bitch?” Hearing someone refer to Savannah like that, even after she ran away from me, makes me see red. Only common sense and military self-discipline keep me from storming out there and knocking some heads around. I don’t need to restrain myself for long, though, because the thugs loot through the apartment quickly and end up kicking my door in just minutes later. I jump on one of them, kneeing him in the groin and socking him in the eye. I don’t recognize him. He’s a redhead with a jagged scar down his face and botched tattoos on his clearly juiced-up muscles. He goes down with a groan while I’m already on a second, bashing his head against the meaty head of a third. Their heads thunk against each other with a satisfying crack and the men stagger, holding their heads as they crumble. I’m hugely outnumbered but I’m fueled by rage and adrenaline. How dare these fucking worms think they have any right to so much as lay an eye on Savannah, much less break into her fucking bedroom in the middle of the night! I think of them coming in through the window and seeing Savannah lying innocently in her bed in a thin tank top, pushed up a little over her boxer shorts. I’m seeing red. I want to take every single one of these men out. I grab a brute with a buzzcut and a cheesy ‘I LOVE MOM’ tattoo and wrench his arm behind his back, flipping him over hard onto the floor. I chop another guy in the stomach, but the first are already recovering. Enraged or not, I’m way outnumbered. And even though they’re not real men—because no real man would dream of ganging up with six other men to go up against a woman, much less when they’re getting her sleeping—they are all big, muscle-bound, steroid plumped, experienced fighters. They eventually catch up to me and just as I’m body-slamming one, another four are on me. I’m kicking and punching and hurting them, I can tell, even as they’re tying me to a chair.
As I’m blinking through the beginning of a bad black eye, rubbing some blood off of my cheek with my shoulder, I start to come back to focus. Noting the injuries the thugs are sporting, significantly worse than my own despite their manpower advantages, brings a little smile to my lips. I smile through the pain, because these little bitches aren’t going to see me hurt. I do a double-take when I recognize one of them. It’s the kid I fought against a while ago. “Nate?” I ask in disbelief. “Where’s Savannah?” he spits.
Chapter Forty-Seven: Cooper “Where the fuck is Savannah?” Nate yells, vein bulging in his neck. “Where the fuck is she? You better tell us now or you’re a dead man!” “I don’t know where Savannah is,” I say, calmly. “But I wouldn’t tell you if I did.” I spit at his feet. One of his brutes snarls and lunges at me, but Nate holds up a hand and he freezes. Clearly, Nate is the one calling the shots here. “Are you sure that’s the truth?” There’s a hard glint in Nate’s eyes, the glint of a desperate man. A desperate man will do anything. “I am,” I say. “I’m also sure there’s no reason you need to be busting through my girl’s window in the fucking ass-crack of the night.” “Your girl?” Nate looks absolutely shocked for a moment, then his face twists into a bitter smile and he laughs. “You mean, my wife?” “You’re married to Savannah?” I don’t believe it. “Not yet,” Nate admits. “But we’re engaged. She has been promised to me. She has been mine, since we were children. So you should just stick to the ring, pretty boy, and stay out of matters that don’t concern you. There are enough other girls out there. Come on, boys.” “But boss,” Buzzcut says, “don’t you want us to, eh, take care of ’im?” “No,” Nate says, coolly. He kicks my shin as he walks past me to the door, but he doesn’t look at me or seem too interested. “We have better things to do than bother camouflaging the hit of a champion fighter.” There’s a fighter’s code, a man’s code, that Nate knows I won’t break. He knows I’m not going to go crying to the cops to fix my problems for me. And I won’t. But Nate also underestimates either how much I care about Savannah or how capable I am of being a threat to him outside of the ring. He thinks I’m all muscle and fighter training, but he doesn’t know about my intelligence training from my SEAL days. I’m going to find Savannah. And I’m going to do it before they do. The thugs walk out and I’m left tied to the chair. I squirm out of my bonds—my SEAL training has been becoming surprisingly useful as of late—and start puzzling things together. I think back to the locker room conversation I had with Vlad after the fight against Nate. He was talking about how Nate needed to find his runaway fiancee, and soon. It clicks into place— Savannah is the Santos girl. Savannah is the runaway motorcycle club princess and that’s why she couldn’t tell me who she was or where she came from. That’s why she was so scared to open up to me and to give in to her desires to be with me. Because she’s a walking mark for anyone who even thinks of touching her. That’s what you get for getting involved with the mysterious girl with the sackful of secrets, I think to myself. Then I smile and shake my head. Savannah is worth it. And I’m going to get my girl.
ALPHA FIGHTER
Part Two
Ava Ashley
Table of Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter One: Savannah “I’ll take pancakes with two eggs, sunny side up, and a cold mocha latte with one pump of chocolate syrup, not two. I will send it back if there are two! And don’t think I can’t tell. I can totally always tell if there are two. But don’t go giving me a wimpy short pump, either. I want one full pump. If it tastes like coffee, not mocha, it’s going back! And I’d love nine ice cubes— no, eight—and a bendy straw.” The potbellied man closes his menu and hands it to me. “That’s all.” “Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” I say. “One pump, no more and no less.” I’m turning to go as he raises his pointer finger. “Oh, and leave out the onions on the fried eggs, unless they’re green onions, got it?” He looks at me expectantly. “Yes, sir,” I say. “I hope so,” he grumbles. “Or I’ll send it back!” “Waitress!” a woman at the next table over calls out to me. “We need drink refills over here. We’re waaaaiiiiiiiiiiting!” I rush to get their refills and put in the picky man’s order, who is, unfortunately a threemeals-a-day regular, before I forget. We’re where he gets his big belly from, but he’s as picky an eater as an anorexic teenager and never orders the same thing twice. The worst part is that he does send things back, just as he threatens, and every single menu item has to be modified to his tastes, because nothing is just right the way it is. One day, he wants a mocha latte with one chocolate pump, one day it’s with three. One day he wants extra crispy bacon, one day it has to be soft. One day onions are the most appalling thing and he starts retching if there is sign of one anywhere near his food, another day he wants onions on everything, including his dessert. And he never tips. It’s always the diners who are the biggest pains to serve that either don’t tip or just round up to the dollar and act like they’re being incredibly generous. My shifts here range from eight to thirteen hours, because they’re chronically short-staffed and the little staff they have are constantly calling out ‘sick.’ I never call out and I always take the extra shifts, even when I’ve just gotten off from the parlor hours earlier and know it will mean only having three hours of sleep again. I need the money and, just as much as I need the money to stay over water financially, I need the distraction to not fall into the treacherous trap of thinking of Cooper. Every free moment that I have that isn’t spent dealing with troublesome diners and the perverted middleaged manager, working at the tattoo parlor, or catching some much-needed deep sleep—the kind that’s more like temporary death than sleep, because of the extreme exhaustion—is spent thinking about Cooper. It hurts like a thousand daggers in my heart, so I do all that I can to get those moments to as close to zero as possible. But I can’t avoid them entirely. I have to eat, and during those breaks, Cooper’s face is all that I see. I have to bathe, and while I’m standing in the shower, Cooper’s hands on my body are
all that I can feel. I physically and emotionally ache for him with a longing unlike anything I have ever experienced before. I pick up the pitcher of water in one hand and grab three bottles of soda by their necks in the other. Thinking about impossibilities won’t pay the bills, won’t get me closer to my dreams, and won’t help me move on. Oh, God, what I would give to be able to move on. But I can’t. I just can’t. I wish I had Cooper, right here by my side.
Chapter Two: Cooper After that night, I am looking worse than I have since some of my first bad fights back in middle school, before I learned how to block my opponents properly. My lip is busted, my eye is swollen under a big black bruise, I have random pound marks and scars all over, including a nasty-looking gash right above my ear. But years of getting pounded on, even if it was not nearly as much as the guys going against me got pounded on, have trained my body to be resilient and I bounce back quick. I nurse my injuries like a bad hangover the next morning, but by midday I’m feeling better and even starting to look less banged up. I should be at the ring. In the middle of tournament season isn’t exactly the time for a rest day and Vlad is appropriately pissed when I am a no-show at the gym, but I don’t answer my phone when it starts ringing off the hook with annoyed, then concerned, then flat-out livid calls from Vlad. Eventually, my inbox is full, so that quiets things for a while. It’s a good thing, too, because I need to focus. I spend all day on my computer, using all of my ex-SEAL intelligence skills to hunt down clues that will lead me to Savannah. But skills alone aren’t enough to get into the real business of finding a smart woman who doesn’t want to be found. No, I need equipment, or rather elite, military-grade software, for that—and I know exactly where to find it. Vlad looks ready to spit fire when I show up at the gym. Then he takes in how banged up I look and looks even madder. “What the fuck is wrong with you, man?” Vlad yells, “You’ve gone absolutely off your rocker—first throwing a tournament match, then not showing up to training, then daring to show your face here looking like that. What, you blew off your big fight so that you could go get yourself pounded at a bar instead? Man, I would expect that from some of the juice heads the other guys are working from, but not from you. I know you, man, and this just isn’t you! Are you on crack? Be straight with me, are you on crack?” He stares me down hard. “No, man,” I say. “And I know it looks bad, and I know I’m risking my career here, but it’s important. I don’t have time to explain, but if you’re my friend and if you trust me, then I need your help right now.” Vlad has an untraceable computer—my old untraceable computer from my Navy SEAL days, with scores of heavy-duty software downloaded on it. The SEALs don’t know I still have it. It was supposedly lost on mission, but I was bitter and was going to keep something from my days as a SEAL when they said I couldn’t go back. When I got back here, sorted myself out, and came back to myself, I didn’t want it anymore. Vlad likes to do some online gambling, which isn’t exactly above-board in our state, so I let him have the computer as thanks for all he did for me. But now I need the computer. I need the incredibly powerful gigabytes downloaded onto its hard drive. “Man, I need the computer,” I said.
“What are you doing?” Now Vlad doesn’t look angry anymore, just troubled. “Dude, I know I’m not Mr. Legal or anything, but what are you getting involved in here? Are you sure it’s worth it? I don’t want to see you locked up. You’re too good for that.” “I’m sure,” I say, resolutely. I am. “I don’t have time to explain, but I need it. Now.” Vlad and I lock eyes for a moment. Then he sighs. “Just be careful, man,” he says. “I don’t want to see you get in over your head. This has to do with Savannah, doesn’t it?” I don’t answer and he just shakes his head and sighs again. “I’ll drive home for it now and bring it by your place immediately. “Thanks, man,” I say. True to his word, Vlad has the computer to me in less than thirty minutes. As soon as I get my hands on it, I get straight to work. First, I hack into her personal records on a federal site, securing my computer first so that the FBI or CIA doesn’t come knocking down my door. She doesn’t have any active credit cards or debit cards that have been used in the last week, or even the last few months, so that’s little help. So I think. What could lead me to the girl? What leaves tracks for a woman who travels so light and inconspicuously that all she has is a backpack and the clothes on her back? Money. Or rather, the lack thereof. I remember the necklace Savannah always wore, a beautiful gold locket that she told me, in a moment of unguarded openness on one of our jogs with the dog, was a gift from her mother. She clammed up right after that and wouldn’t say anything more about the necklace or her mother after that, but I could tell that the necklace was important to her. I could also tell that the necklace was valuable, however, from the way the gold gleamed. That was real high quality gold that definitely wasn’t pyrite or some metal mix. And knowing Savannah as the practical girl that she was, even something so sentimental would eventually be sacrificed to practicality in her quest for self-sufficiency in the face of extreme adversity. It takes thirteen uninterrupted hours of searching the internet using all possible combination of search terms, and sifting through the results the software spits out at me of items that match my description of the locket and the appropriate time window for listing. I feel like my eyes are going to bleed before I hit gold. But there it is, on the online listing for a Harlem pawnshop called Uncle Johnny’s Treasures and Trinkets. It’s Savannah’s necklace, sure as can be. It’s early in the next morning and I haven’t slept a wink, and only eaten at my computer, but finding the listing makes me feel energized like I slept ten hours on a bed of feathers and fluff. I found my girl. Bingo.
Chapter Three: Savannah I’ve gotten to a place where the days are all starting to run into each other. Sure, I still miss Cooper so badly that it hurts whenever I think of him, which is still every single moment that I’m not actively doing something else, but I’m starting to come to terms with that as a fact of life. I will always pine for what I once had, all too briefly, but at least have the memories. Right? Luckily, I’m run so ragged between picking up countless extra shifts at the diner, fending off the advances of my handsy boss, and somehow managing to fit in some time at the tattoo parlor between all of that, that I easily fall into a coma-like slumber every night. I frown. Speaking of the tattoo parlor, I’m exasperated with where it’s going. While the hours at the diner are getting piled on me, my hours at the tattoo parlor keep getting cut back even further. It’s not just me, either, but all of us. There’s a ritzier parlor just a block-and-a-half over and we’re losing out sorely on business to them, because we don’t have curb appeal. Honestly, the situation seems pretty desperate. If we don’t get lucky and have things turn around, and soon, we’ll be shut down before we know what hit us. Great. So not only did I lose the man of my dreams, I lost my good path towards the career of my dreams. Chin up, Savannah! I try giving myself a little pep talk. Try, try, and try again! If this parlor gets shut down, I’ll just have to find a job at another parlor. Someone is bound to have a chair open for me, or I will convince them to open one up. There is no failure until you fail to try, as Papa always said, and if there is one thing that I am definitely not going to do, I am definitely not going to give— I’m so lost in my thoughts, trudging up the stairs to my apartment, that I walk straight into something big and hard that’s blocking the opening of the staircase to my floor. If it didn’t reach out to catch me in its—or rather, his—big, strong, muscular arms, I would have tumbled right back down all the stairs. “Cooper?” I don’t believe my eyes. This must be a city smog-induced mirage or an exhaustion-inspired hallucination. “How did you find me?” And then I take in what he looks like. I take in the busted lip, the bruises, the fresh scar peeking out under the bottom of his hair at the nape of his neck, and the black eye. My chest seizes up and I can’t breathe. On the one hand, I can’t deny that seeing Cooper fills me with the kind of joy I haven’t felt since I got on that bus to NYC. But seeing him like this, all banged up, just realizes my fears. They must have gotten to him—Nate or Daddy. These aren’t injuries from a fight. I’ve seen Cooper fight and he isn’t Cooper “Veni Vidi Vici” Quin for nothing. He dominates in the ring and he comes out looking fine, with his opponents looking like how he does now. No, this had to have been a stacked fight. This had to have been multiple guys on Cooper, maybe even taking him unaware. And this time he came out alive and only relatively superficially injured, not seriously harmed, but that’s probably because they didn’t find me with
him and didn’t know the full extent of what happened between us. Next time, he might not be so lucky. I start bawling. “Why? Why did you come after me?” “Because I want you,” Cooper says, holding up my locket. “Because I want you, only you, and you’re mine. I care about you, pretty girl, and you can run to the ends of the world, but there’s nothing you can do that can make me not find you and come to you—because I know you care about me, too. Deny it and I’ll go, but I know you can’t.” He takes me in his arms, stilling my body as it shakes with tears, until I calm down a bit. And he’s right. I can’t. Standing here, in his big, strong arms, I realize what I would not allow myself to realize. The feelings I thought I had managed to put a numbing layer of disengagement around are just as real as ever. And that is not going to change. “I…” I gaze up at this beautiful man looking adoringly and protectively down at me, “I want you, too. But Cooper, your face—they hurt you!” “If I have you, I have no pain,” Cooper says. Then he literally sweeps me off of my feet, lifting me into the air. I can’t help but give in for a moment and do what I’ve been wanting to since I left. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him deeply and passionately. When he finally puts me back down, he slips the locket from my mother over my head. With it back, I finally feel whole again. But I’m standing here in the arms of the man whom I love and I can’t be at peace with that, much less as delighted as I should be, because he got hurt and it is all my fault. And if I stay with him, it is only a matter of time until it happens again. And the next time they come for him, he may not be as lucky. The tears start streaming down my face anew. “Cooper, I care about you,” I say. “That is why I left you. I am no good for you. You don’t know everything about me and this, this—” I gesture at his bruises. “This is going to keep happening if you’re with me. I’m not worth it. You don’t know who I am.” “You are worth it and I know just who you are, Savannah Santos,” he says. “And anything I don’t know, you can tell me. But it won’t change how I feel about you. Nothing can change the fact that I care about you more than anyone else. So I don’t care if you are in some trouble. I want you and I will help you and protect you. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, that could ever change my mind. I am not going to leave you, Savannah, not now and not ever.” I look up at him, disbelievingly. He knows everything? And he’s standing here, saying all this to me, anyway? I am overwhelmed with emotion. I really don’t even know what I’m feeling at this point. Cooper knows who I am, but he wants me anyway. Cooper really, truly cares about me. And I care about him, too, but because I care about him so much, can I really allow him to take the risk of being with me? Is it even my choice to allow him to be with me or not? “Which apartment is yours?” Cooper asks, cutting right through my thoughts. “Pack up your things. You’re coming with me. There’s no more running away.” Somehow I obey. I can’t really understand it myself, but when I am feeling so confused and conflicted, it just feels natural to do as he says. Especially since what Cooper is saying to me is exactly everything I have ever wanted. I can barely believe that this is really happening, but it
is. So I do as I am told. I lead Cooper to my apartment and he sits patiently on my bed, reaching out a hand to touch me whenever I am within his reach, and pack up my sparse belongings quickly. Then I let him wrap an arm protectively around me and lead me out of the apartment a last, final time.
Chapter Four: Cooper I can tell Savannah has been struggling. That’s not to suggest that it was a huge fall, since it isn’t like she was rolling in dough when she lived with me. But even though the transition from her motorcycle club princess life to her runaway life was probably a more dramatic shift than the one from her first runaway life to her second, this is the one where she slipped under the minimum requirement of what you need to more or less comfortably survive. Her apartment was a total dump in the ghetto, much worse than the one we shared, and her cheeks look a little thin, like she hadn’t been eating right. But now she’s with me and she won’t have any more worries. I have money, both saved up from my days of earning a Navy SEAL’s elite salary and my earnings as a top-ranked fighter since then, some above board and some from bets on me winning. When I was in the SEALs, I didn’t have anything to spend it on because I was away in war zones and dangerous enemy territory. Besides, I was saving up to be able to provide Sarah with the life she was accustomed to. Then that blew up and I was too depressed and pissed off, in turns, to spend my money. Since then, I’ve just been focused on fighting and saw no need for moving to a nicer place or buying a nicer car or anything like that, when most of my time and energy was spent on and at the gym. I never had the urge to get a nicer place to impress the girls who would have readily had sex with me in a public restroom, if I had asked for it, nor did I ever have the desire to spoil them with nice gifts of fancy dinners. They didn’t mean anything to me. But Savannah does. Savannah means the world to me, just looking at this wonderful woman’s beautiful face makes me want to give her everything. I can tell there is a lot going on in her head and seeing me all banged up, obviously from an unfair encounter with the thugs that are chasing her down, didn’t help. It doesn’t matter. Whatever it takes, I am going to prove to Savannah that she is the girl for me and I don’t give a damn about what anyone else has to say about it. But first, we need to take care of the basics. I get her out of her dingy digs and catch a cab to the New Yorker Hotel in midtown. I booked an executive king suite on a high floor, so Savannah can finally see New York the way she deserves to. There are three huge flat screens in the suite, but Savannah ignores them and the nice couches to flop down on the bed. The poor thing is exhausted. Between her crazy shifts and not eating right, it’s no wonder. That brings me to the next thing. I need to get some decent food into her. Who knows when the last time she had a decent meal, not instant ramen or the crap from the diner she told me about working at, was? We briefly consider going up to the Sky Lounge for a nice meal, but one look at her tells me she’s completely wiped. I would rather just be with her, anyway, just the two of us, so we settle on room service. I have to goad her to order more and pricier food. For a girl who grew up rich, she is sure hesitant about spending money. Even though it’s a little frustrating, because I want to spend money on her, it’s also incredibly endearing. Sarah would always jump on expensive gifts and point out pricey jewelry and clothes that she wanted when
we went out. If we went out to eat, she wouldn’t blink an eye at ordering the caviar and vintage wines. She expected to be pampered all her life and she just expected to never have to work for it. Savannah isn’t like that. “So, now what?” Savannah asks. I startle a little—I was away in my thoughts. But I’m glad to be called back into the room that way, because I want to spend every moment with Savannah. She has propped herself up on her elbows on the bed and I know that it’s not just my pent-up sex drive that’s making me interpret that smile as flirty. She raises an eyebrow in a come-and-get-me way, so I do. I pounce onto the bed and she does that adorable giggle-shriek that cute girls do as I roll her over on top. She’s laughing and giggling and shrieking as I give her a thousand kisses all over her neck and shoulders, but then I kiss my way up to just beside her mouth and she stops laughing. She takes my face gently in her soft, little hands and looks me straight in the eyes. “Thank you for coming for me,” she whispers softly. “I missed you with all my heart.” “I missed you, too, Savannah,” I say. “More than anything.” Then I kiss her, long and deep, and like the only thing I need in life is her and her kiss.
Chapter Five: Savannah The food is delicious and abundant and served beautifully on silver platters that make me feel like a princess. I eat like I am ravenous, because I am, but I cannot fully enjoy the sumptuous meal. Even as the warmth of the food spreads through my stomach, filling me up, I can sense the tense, cold stone of dread that has been there since the wonderful, and terrible, moment when I first ran into Cooper in my stairway. We are going to have to talk about the murderous, gang-shaped elephant in the room sooner or later. And now that we are done eating, later has come. He could not possibly know everything about me. And now, to finally level the field and treat him as he deserves, I have to tell him every last thing about me and the nuclear disaster zone that is my life. How could he possibly feel the same way about me after that? How could he possibly not leave me when he realizes that continuing to be with me like this would be signing his own death sentence? Suddenly, the meal that was so delicious only moments before doesn’t feel like it was such a good idea after all. “You’re looking a little green, babe,” Cooper jokes. I smile weakly at him. “I’m just—” I take a deep breath and start over. “We have to talk, Cooper.” “What are we doing right now?” He is still teasing me, a flirty twinkle in his eye. “No, Cooper,” I say. “I am serious. We have to talk.” He takes one look at my face and realizes I mean it. He nods, his own face immediately completely serious. “Shoot,” he says. I take a deep breath and look down at my hands. They’re shaking in my lap, so I press them down between my thighs to still them. “Cooper,” I say. “I have to tell you everything about me. For real this time, with all the bad and all the ugly.” “I know everything,” Cooper says. “Savannah, I am an ex-Navy SEAL. I have the skills and the access to find out anything about anyone. And I wouldn’t have gone into your background and looked up things you didn’t want me to know, but when you disappeared on me like that, without a word or a call or even a goddamn fucking note, Savannah—” Cooper looks really upset about that and I can’t blame him. To him, it looked like I just walked out on him for no reason after our wonderful night together. He takes a breath. “And then Nate and his thugs showed up and I knew you were in danger and I had to find you. So I did a thorough background check. Savannah, I know everything. You are Savannah Santos, daughter of known gang leader Flint Santos of the infamous Santos Motorcycle Club. I know who Nate is and I know who he is to you. I know that you’re his fiancee, but I also know that you can’t possibly love him. Don’t do this, Savannah, don’t be with him.” I shake my head. “You know everything that’s on the books. But you don’t know the details. You know my mom died, and my little sister, in the middle of a particularly bad bout of gang warfare when I was a little girl. But what you don’t know is that my hand in marriage was
my father’s peace offering to the Morenos. The engagement between me and Nate, to be consummated into a marriage on my eighteenth birthday, was what stopped the gang wars. And then—and then I couldn’t do it. I never liked Nate and we couldn’t get along at all growing up, but when I walked in on him with an ex just a few weeks before my eighteenth birthday, and our wedding, it was the final straw. I just couldn’t do it. So I ran away, so that I wouldn’t have to marry him.” I pause there to collect myself and check how Cooper is taking it so far. His jaw tensed when I talked about how I was supposed to marry Nate, but he comes over closer to me on the couch and takes me in his arms. “Baby, none of that is your fault,” he murmurs. “Does the thought of you marrying some other guy make me want to punch his fucking lights out? Hell, yeah. But you didn’t do anything wrong and you’re mine now. It’s okay, baby.” “But you don’t understand,” I say. “When my mom and my sister were killed, my whole world fell apart. I didn’t lose just them, I lost my entire family. My warm, loving daddy suddenly turned into this cold man who wouldn’t play with me anymore, wouldn’t read me bedtime stories, and wouldn’t helicopter me through the air, like he always had. He wouldn’t even look at me anymore. My big brother, Wolf, followed his example. He became cold and hard and grew up overnight into a motorcycle club man with no feelings. He wasn’t the fun, adventurous guy that I had spent my childhood days chasing through the house and getting into trouble with. I was suddenly all by myself, stuck with a series of nannies who did exactly as expected and nothing more. I was miserable and angry at the world. Then I grew up, too, and I realized that the real world is a cold place where feelings only hurt you. If you love someone, it’s inevitable that they will disappear from your life and you’ll be hurt. Or worse, you’ll hurt them. If you stay with me, Daddy’s thugs won’t stop coming after you, ever. They won’t stop until they have me and, once they find out that you and I have been together, they won’t stop until they have killed you. And they will kill you.” This is the nail in my coffin. Coming clean about this will definitely make Cooper hate me. “They will kill you, because you will be held accountable for starting the gang wars up again, just like me.” Cooper looks a little perplexed, but not angry. I take a shaky breath and continue. “As you know, I was a virgin when I met you. In order to carry through my part of the peace clause, I had to stay pure until my wedding night. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I can’t marry Nate anymore. I’m not a virgin anymore and I won’t bleed anymore. There are no more take-backs. we have targets on our backs. I’m—I’m sorry.” There. I said it all. And now I am stuck, paralyzed in the longest moment of my life. I know he will pull away and as I sit there, wrapped in his arms, I try to immortalize every last moment before he pulls away from me. “Oh, Savannah.” Instead of letting me go, or pushing me away, Cooper holds on to me tighter, squeezing me to his chest. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I know what I’m risking. I have been shot at, I have walked into situations where we were vastly outnumbered by the
enemy forces, and I took on fighters in my early days who I knew by all logic should pummel me into a pit. But falling for you scared me more than any of those things. Caring for people can hurt you, more than any bullet or pack of thugs, but if you don’t take the risk, you’ll miss out on something wonderful. Savannah, we are something wonderful. And you can’t decide for me that I don’t want to be with you, because I do. Savannah, I would die for you.” “But you don’t get it! You only want to be with me because you haven’t felt the pain, you don’t know how badly I can, and will, hurt you if you stay with me.” He’s still hugging me and I hate it, because I love it. I know I should pull away, but I can’t make myself leave his arms. I am completely out of control, totally under the sway of my emotions and desires. I can’t stand this uneasy feeling of uncertainty. Every cell in my body is begging him to say he doesn’t care, but every bit of my rational self understands that it’s an impossibility. “Savannah, you are not the only one who has been through some tough shit.” Now Cooper sounds frustrated. “I grew up broke, watching my mom sleep with every low-life in town, sometimes for help with the rent, sometimes for a bag of groceries, and sometimes just for a can of Bud and a few minutes of forgetting that she’s a poor, single mom living in a trailer home with a dead-end job and no hope. I got into all kinds of trouble growing up, and was headed on the same kind of path as all the other losers who grow up in the trailer parks and die in them, too. I didn’t care for authority much, because I wasn’t used to my mom trying to put any rules down and I didn’t have a dad. Then everything changed when I met a girl. A rich girl who probably wouldn’t have given me a second thought if I wasn’t always around with my shirt off, mowing her lawn.” Cooper gives a bitter bark of a laugh. “But that didn’t do anything for her dad. Long story short, he wanted someone for his little princess who could provide the kind of life she was used to. I didn’t have the right pedigree to date his daughter, even though I was turning things around for myself. And for her. Long story short, I rose to the top of my graduating class, joined the military, advanced quickly through the Navy and into the Navy SEALs, and was getting ready to marry this girl.” I can hear the pain in Cooper’s voice. He’s vulnerable like never before. This time it’s my turn to be the comforting one and I hug him a little harder, giving him a kiss on the chest. “I was on my last mission before our wedding. Things went wrong, really wrong. I lost one of my men and I had taken an oath to protect every one of my brothers—no man left behind. It tore me up. And then when I wanted to go home to the woman whom I was going to marry, she said that my PTSD, my fucking mild PTSD, was ‘too much’ for her and she didn’t want to ever see me again. She wrote it in a fucking email. But then I found out that the real reason she didn’t want to see me again was because she was pregnant and by another man. She cheated on me.” “Oh,” I say, quietly. I had no clue how much hurt was hiding under Cooper’s tough front. “Savannah, I know what being hurt feels like,” Cooper says. “I’ve spent my life around hurt and had my own fair share of pain. But I also know that I spent too long cutting off my emotions and not really living. Until I met you. And then I realized I’d rather have a single day
with you, even if it meant years of pain, than have an existence full of nothing. That’s not life, that’s not worth it.” “But—” I don’t know what else to say. I’m searching for a way to convince him that I’m wrong for him, but he’s already given a more convincing argument than I can even try to counter. “But we’re going to die?” Cooper asks. “I would die for you without a second thought, Savannah, but the thought of the hurt you could experience, being left alone—I can’t do that to you. And the thought of them getting to you? I wouldn’t do that, either.” “So…” It’s what I knew was going to happen, but it still hurts so badly. “So that’s it, then.” “No,” Cooper says, turning my face up to look at him. “No, Savannah! Don’t you see? The safest place for you is with me. It’s the safest place for both of us, because if you’re with me I can focus on guarding us as one. If you leave, my efforts will always be split. Savannah, there’s no way I’m going to let you go out there on your own and have these guys hurt you.” “But how can you protect us?” I ask, “These guys know what they’re doing and they won’t give up.” “Savannah, I was at the top of my unit as a fucking Navy SEAL,” Cooper says. “I can cover us, I have the intelligence and access to the tools to create entire new identities for us. We’ll leave the US, or at least the continental US, and we’ll move somewhere else as new people with new identities. Even the government won’t know who we are, since we’ll be our own Witness Protection Program of two. We’ll be the only ones who know. I’ll hack into the government systems and create new identities, just like we always were them. We’ll fake our deaths—I’ll make it convincing and well-publicized. I still have friends in high places who would do anything for me, as thanks for saving their lives overseas—and the motorcycle clubs will have no choice but to give up. You can’t re-kill dead people. Babe, it will be just you and me, and no one will know.” “But your fighting,” I protest. “You’ll have to give it up.” “Savannah, you are what I want more than anything in the world. If that means no more fighting, then so be it. You make me happier than fighting ever could and I have enough money saved up to keep us very, very comfortable until my new career kicks off. Savannah, there are no buts. Be with me.” “I, I…” I can’t believe it. “Yes. Yes!” We can do it, it can happen. Hope and relief and, more than anything, happiness crash over me like a frighteningly wonderful wave of warmth. Cooper tilts my face up, bringing his lips to inches from my face. My eyes flutter closed, anticipating his sweet kiss. The sweet kiss of the man who will go to the literal ends of the world for me. The kiss doesn’t come. I open my eyes. Cooper stopped there, a few millimeters from my lips. “Savannah, my dear, you have to promise me that you will believe me when I say that I will stay with you and I will take whatever comes with that, no matter what. No more running away.”
I look deep into his beautiful blue eyes. “I promise.” And then I kiss him, deeply and passionately and, for the first time ever, completely and entirely lovingly. Oh, God, I want him. I want him now. I want to have sex with my man. I want him to mount me and fill me and be as close to me as any two humans can be. I fumble with his belt and he’s immediately thinking the same thing, pulling my shirt over my head. “Oh, baby,” he breathes, kissing a trail down my neck as he smoothly undoes the clasp on my bra with one hand and slides the other down into the waistband of my pants, where my throbbing sex is already soaking wet for him. I feel his member growing in his pants, pushing against my thigh. “Yes, oh, yes,” I moan, as he strokes the front of my clit. Then suddenly, there’s a harsh knock on the door. We ignore it. It comes again. “We’re busy,” Cooper shouts, before going back to playing with my stiff, sensitive nipples. The knock comes again. “I know you guys are in there, Savannah—and Cooper! We have to talk.” It’s a man’s voice. A very familiar man’s voice. Cold chills run down my back. Nate.
Chapter Six: Cooper My actions are all reflexive when I see Nate standing there in the hallway in front of our hotel room. I pull Savannah behind me, blocking her, and put one arm out defensively and one arm up, offensively. My knees are bent, my muscles flexed and ready to explode and rain pain on this little punk. Who would have ever guessed that the new guy in the league would be the cause of so much trouble for my girl and me? Nate throws his arms up almost as quickly, in the universal symbol of truce. “I’m not here to start anything,” he says, coolly. “I’m not even armed. See?” He slowly lowers an arm to turn one pocket, then the other, inside out. “Savannah, go to the other room,” I command. I’m not taking any chances of him trying to pull some kind of funny business when I go to check whether he’s really unarmed. He should have never been able to track me here in the first place, I’m a fucking ex-Navy SEAL. I got sloppy in my rush to get to Savannah before she could switch locations again and become entirely untraceable. I knew the necklace was the last way to track her and I knew she’d change her name and wouldn’t do something as dumb as trying to get a credit card. She is a smart girl and that’s part of why she’s so fucking irresistible to me. But knowing that my window of opportunity to find her was severely limited kept me from taking all the necessary precautions. I still changed license plates to an untraceable, bogus number and drove erratically, to throw off anyone trying to tail me, but I didn’t thoroughly check my car aside from a quick frisk. He must have planted something inside one of the tires or in an engine part that I didn’t get to in my rush. “GPS, by the way,” Nate says with a smirk, holding up a little black disk the size of a hole-punch paper clipping and barely any thicker than that. “It’s not even on the market yet, but I got it through some...friends in high places.” “Think I’m impressed?” I snarl, taking an intentionally heavy step towards him. “Hands up. I’m not letting you in here until I’ve confirmed you’re clean.” “Fine,” Nate says, putting up his. “I’m unarmed and I’m here alone. Look all you want.” “Don’t worry,” I say. “I will.” I pat him down, making sure he’s not carrying any weapons or anymore bugs, then I crush his high-tech GPS under my heel. “You happy now?” Nate asks. “No,” I say. “Why the fuck are you here? I don’t want you anywhere near my girl.” “Your girl,” Nate laughs drily. “It never gets old hearing you call Savannah that and act like you’re serious. Straight-up comedy show.” I growl and lunge at him, but stop when I feel Savannah’s hand on my back. She had been watching from the door of the bedroom and came back out into the living room when she saw me clear him. “Please, baby,” she says softly. “Let’s take it inside.” She’s right. We’re too conspicuous out in the hallway. And if he’s in our room with the door locked, it’s easier for me to stop him if he tries to be sly and make a quick getaway to rat us out to his men.
“Fine,” I say. As much as I hate letting this slimy slug into our hotel suite, I move aside and gesture him in. As soon as he’s in, I lock the door, turning as I do. There is no way in hell that I am turning my back to this guy for even a moment. “So, talk,” I say. “I get it,” Nate says, refusing to be intimidated. “You guys aren’t exactly thrilled to see me.” As though to prove how comfortable and secure he feels, he throws himself down on the sofa with a thud, legs sprawled like he’s watching a Sunday afternoon football game. “I can understand that, but I’m here to call a truce.” I walk past him, knocking his legs off of the coffee table, and go sit with Savannah on the loveseat across from the sofa. I put my arm around her, admittedly being a bit more of a possessive Neanderthal than strictly necessary. But Savannah is my girl, and Nate is all kinds of fucked if he thinks he is going to march his punk ass in here and change that. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Savannah says, rolling her eyes. “But as magnanimous as you might think you are, Nate, it isn’t your choice to free me from our engagement.” “Are you on crack?” Nate yells it, his casual posture instantly gone as he sits up and leans forward. Just as fast, I’m up on my feet. “Don’t you dare talk to Savannah like that,” I growl. I’m ready to bash his skull in. “Baby.” Savannah jumps up, too, wrapping her arms around me. She is tiny compared to me and isn’t actually able to come even close to physically restraining me, but her touch calms me down. And I would never want to risk hurting her, so I am not about to fling her off of me so I can give this punk the pounding he deserves. We sit back down, Savannah keeping a hand on my knee and me keeping an arm around her. “Let’s hear him out.” “Thanks,” Nate says, finally trying to be diplomatic. “Look, Savannah, I don’t want to get married to you any more than you want to get married to me. I never have, and I never will— not that there’s anything wrong with you, or anything.” He adds this on in a rush, glancing nervously at me. “You’re a great girl and everything, and I’m sure I would be lucky to have you, but you’re just not the one, you know? But then we were engaged before I even stopped thinking that girls had cooties. And that engagement screwed up any chance of liking you. It was screwing up my life, so I hated you. I didn’t think about how it was doing the exact same thing to your life. And it’s still screwing up both of our lives. It’s going to continue doing that, but we have to stop hating each other for something that isn’t either of our fault. I was in love with Nikki—” Here, he pauses, putting a hand up to his forehead and shaking his head slowly. “I have to come clean with you. I still love Nikki. She’s my everything. But I—we—have no choice. I’m ready to be a man and leave the woman I love, and the dream of happiness with her, to do the responsible thing, the right thing, and marry you. Neither of us wants this in the least, but I am ready to make sacrifices. That’s what I came here to say. I won’t be with Nikki romantically anymore, not even on the side.” “Nate—” Savannah starts, shaking her head. Nate holds up a hand, cutting her off.
“And I know you’re worried that you’re going to be in deep shit when you come back with me—” Nate scoots further away when he sees me visibly bristle at the use of ‘when.’ “But don’t worry. I forgive you. And I’ll tell them not to give you any grief. At this point, they’ll all be relieved just to have you back and the wedding on. We’ll just chalk the little running away episode to normal pre-wedding jitters. It’s not even a thing.” “Nate—” Savannah tries to cut in again. “Here,” Nate says, tossing a little blue velvet box to her. “Put it on, and we can get going and get this whole mess sorted out.” “This whole mess?” Now I’m fucking seeing red. I grab the box from Savannah, flip it open to reveal some blinged-out engagement ring, and hurl the goddamn insult at his head. “This is not ‘this whole mess.’ The sadly mistaken idea that you have that you’re going to marry my girl, or go anywhere with her, is. Do you understand? Let me spell it out for you. Savannah. Is. Mine.” I am over by the couch at this point and have him up in the air by the collar of his shirt. “Baby,” Savannah is back over by me. “Please don’t hurt him. We need to all talk rationally about this—but I’m not marrying you, Nate. I’m not marrying him, Cooper, I don’t want any man but you.” I put him down, but not before giving him a good glare. “If you dare act like Savannah is your property again, I’m going to make you wish you were never born.” Nate nods vigorously and looks sufficiently rattled, so I am finally content for the moment. “But Savannah,” Nate looks nervously at me. “You know we have no other option. There’s the war, for starters, and I will be disowned and exiled if I don’t bring you back by next month. We are running out of time and we never had any options to start with. I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just the facts.” “First, let’s all sit and calm down,” says Savannah, her voice surprisingly level. She is a strong woman. She takes me by the hand and leads me back over to the loveseat. “Okay. Now, Nate, the fact is that things have changed since you last saw me. Cooper and I are together now and I can’t marry you.” She pauses to look up at me. I lean down and give her a kiss, her lips as soft as silk against mine. Then she turns back to Nate. “I can’t marry you because it would serve no purpose. There would be no blood on the sheets when they come to check the next morning and the terms of the peace agreement would thus have been violated. There’s no going back. Marriage isn’t an option anymore.” Nate’s face is blank with shock as he takes in the news. “Nate, I have given myself to Cooper,” says Savannah. “Entirely.”
Chapter Seven: Savannah There is a moment of silence as it sinks in. Then Nate groans, lowering his head into his hands. This is it. Now Nate is definitely turning us in. There is no amicable way for us to deal with the situation now. There will definitely be some serious repercussions, one way or another at this point, and there is no need for Nate to suffer repercussions because of something that I did. Yes, he also broke the purity rules by having sex with Nikki, and most likely many others over the years, but he is a man and the rules work differently for him. It’s why he was able to date in high school and sleep around to his heart’s content. He doesn’t have to be pure, and when the son of a motorcycle club king sleeps around, everyone turns a blind eye. When the daughter of a motorcycle club king tries to get involved with someone, it’s dishonor, disgrace, and a good reason to pummel her lover into a bloody pulp. It is simple and as old as time itself. I have—or rather, had—a virginity to protect and he did not. So even though both of us committed the same transgression against the engagement clause of the peace treaty, only I will be punished for it if he turns me in. And Cooper. But Nate and Nikki would come out unscathed. If Nate turns us in, he not only won’t be disenfranchised, dishonored, and exiled, but he also won’t have to marry me. It’s an almost ideal situation for him, minus the fact of the massive gang war that is about to erupt because of me. But that will happen either way. I count the seconds until he jumps up for the door. My throat is starting to close up. I know Cooper won’t let him leave and I know that Nate leaving would spell doom for us, but I really, really don’t want to see Cooper kill someone. Even if it’s Nate. I know he would only be doing it to protect me, but that doesn’t change that it would be hard to look at him as the same kind, if rough around the edges, man that I fell for if I saw him take someone’s life. Cooper jumps up, his biceps tensing in anticipation as he curls his hands into fists. His sleeves of ink ripple on his skin as his muscles flex for action. But instead of jumping up, Nate scoots back further on the chair, putting both hands up. “Chill, let’s not do anything rash,” he says quickly. “We have to figure this out. But I’m not going to try to make a break for it. I’m not turning you guys in. We just...we just have to think. This really complicates things, of course.” I am surprised, but relieved. Cooper seems skeptical. Instead of sitting back down, he pulls the loveseat, with me still on, over to the door, barricading us into the room. Only then does he sit down, putting his arm around me. “And don’t think about the windows,” said Cooper. “Or do, if you want. That makes this easier for me. It’s a long drop and I know I won’t shed a tear if they’re scraping you off the sidewalk.” Nate pales a bit, then clears his throat, trying to regain some of the power in the room.
“Okay. Well, let’s all just think rationally about our options, then.” He clears his throat again. “So, um, marriage isn’t an option. Or maybe we could cut you—” Cooper snarls and Nate quickly backtracks, “I mean, cut me, and they won’t be able to tell the difference.” “You aren’t marrying my fucking girl, punk!” Cooper yells. I immediately wrap my arms around him in a hug, so he can’t jump up and knock Nate’s lights out then and there. Just feeling his strong, familiar body in my arms calms me a bit and I hope my touch is doing the same for him. Nate’s continued existence counts on it. Nate throws his hands up. “My bad, man! You’re right, I’m not marrying Savannah. She’s your girl. But we have to come up with some solution.” “We can’t turn ourselves in or Cooper and I are dead. You can’t go back without me or your life is fucked,” I say. “We only have one option.” “We’ll all get new identities,” Cooper said. “You think the motorcycle clubs don’t have people on the inside in the government?” Nate scoffs. “That would last five minutes, if that, before we would be ratted out.” “I didn’t say anything about going to the government, did I?” Cooper says. “I will take care of it. We leave tomorrow.” Nate shakes his head. “Look, man, even if you can get new identities for us that the motorcycle clubs can’t crack and can’t bribe some government official to leak, I can’t go.” “And why not?” I ask. Is he really going to whine about starting over, because he won’t have his fancy toys anymore? Grow up. But what he says next is far from what I expected. “Nikki is pregnant,” Nate says, holding his head in his hands. “With my baby.”
Chapter Eight: Cooper Fuck. Up until this point, I was ready to do whatever needed getting done. I was ready to take Nate on the run with us or kill him, his choice. But this? This changes everything. I can’t take some innocent kid’s dad from him before he’s even born. I never knew my dad. Hell, my mom never even knew who my dad was. Since she was whoring pretty hard back then and didn’t take a pregnancy test until she was almost four months pregnant, there’s a pool of hundreds of nameless guys out there who could theoretically be my dad. Not having a dad really messed me up. I had to listen to my single mom fake loud porn star orgasms with strange, trashy men in the next room over, because she was out of food stamps and I was a growing kid with a big appetite. I didn’t learn real discipline or how to respect a male authority figure, or any authority figure for that matter, until falling for Sarah gave me the kick I needed to go to the Navy and get my life in order. I will not do that to some innocent, unborn baby. I am not going to make another kid grow up without a dad, even if that dad is this punk. But I am also not about to let Savannah die, either. I get up and pace around the room. I have a crazy idea. Definitely crazy, but sometimes crazy can be just what you need. “Okay, punk, listen up,” I say, stopping pacing. “We only have one chance to do this and if it’s going to work, you have to be all in. We all have to be all in. If there has ever been a time in your life where you need to man up, where there is no room for error, this is it. But if we pull this off, we, and Nikki, could all walk free. Do you understand?” Nate nods. “I am all in. What is the plan?” “When I was tracking Savannah, I went all into her background—looking up everything from birth certificates, to the 103.2 degree fever she had when she had the chicken pox at age five, to the juvenile detention record of her father, Flint Santos, for aggression against an officer of the law.” I look at Savannah. I know it’s pretty fucked up to research someone you’re with, but I didn’t do it out of curiosity. Her big eyes are open wider than normal and I can’t read her in the moment. “Sorry, babe. You know I wouldn’t have gone prying in your background if I didn’t have to. But I needed to find you, fast, and I didn’t know what would provide me with the key to track you down.” Savannah nods. “It’s okay, baby,” she says. “I understand.” She pauses and gives a little tired laugh, shaking her head. “It’s a little weird to think that you know everything about me and my family now, but I have to admit that I actually feel a little relieved. Babe, don’t worry, I don’t feel at all violated. After keeping such huge secrets from you for such a long time, I’m just relieved that now you know everything there is to know about me. And you still want me.” Despite the terribly somber situation, Savannah smiles and it’s like a million-watt sun breaking through the clouds. I lean over and give her a kiss on her perfect rosy lips. Nate clears his throat pointedly. “Guys?” he says. “I’m still here, you know.”
I know. I wish you weren’t. Then I could do what I want with this beautiful woman and you better believe it wouldn’t just be a tame kiss on the couch.” The thought gets me going a little, but I hold myself back. “Anyway,” I say, turning my attention back to Nate, “I found some big things the motorcycle clubs are trying to hide.” Nate leans forward, a little too eager. Savannah shifts on her seat, looking concerned. “Both of them,” I say, directing it at Nate. “Don’t get so excited. This isn’t something you have over the Santoses. Both of the motorcycle clubs They’re both hiding lots of tax fraud.” Nate rolls his eyes. “So what? Everyone and their grandma screws up on their taxes sometimes.” “This isn’t your grandma’s miscalculated taxes,” I snarl. The little shit thinks he’s a lot bigger and stronger than he is. There are few things I would like more right now than to make the little punk feel some real pain for all the shit he put Savannah through. I grit my teeth and count to five silently to keep myself from knocking his cocky smile in. “I’m talking about millions of dollars in unpaid taxes. Apparently, they’ve been paying off some guys on the inside to let records disappear conveniently whenever it’s time to pay up. Believe me when I say the IRS will have their heads for this, if they find out.” “And even if that’s true,” asks Nate, “how does that help us walk free?” “I recovered those files,” I say. “I’ll give them to a trusted friend in a sealed envelope, addressed to my former admiral from my Navy SEAL days. I will leave instructions to send them if we don’t get back in forty-eight hours. In the meantime, we’ll go turn ourselves in and tell them they’d better either let us and Nikki off, and never bother us again, or we’ll turn them in.” “Blackmail,” Nate whistles. “Not such a golden boy after all, are you, Cooper “Veni Vidi Vici” Quin?” “I get it done,” I say. “Sounds risky,” Nate says. “If Cooper thinks it’s what we should do, I say yes,” Savannah says. She has been pretty quiet throughout the talk, but now she sits up straight and says it confidently. There’s that strong girl again, the one who walked into my apartment and gave me a more assertive handshake than half the guys I know. “I’m on board with it. He knows what he’s doing and I trust him. With my life.” I give a small nod. “I won’t let you down, babe.” I turn to look at Nate and see Savannah shift in her peripheral vision to look at him, too. He looks at me, then her, for a moment, then sighs. “What choice do I have?” he asks. “I’m in.”
Chapter Nine: Savannah This incredible man never fails to surprise me in the most wonderful ways. Cooper is wonder after wonder. He is strong, brave, sexy, sweet to me, and so intelligent, too. He always knows just what to do, even in situations like this where it seems like there cannot possibly be a solution that will work out well for everyone. Quite frankly, it makes me want to rip his clothes off and have my way with him right now. There’s a growing damp spot that, let’s be honest, is more of a big wet spot in my panties, and I really wish Nate would just disappear for a little bit so that I can have Cooper in me, filling my ready body, right now. Alas, we aren’t done here yet. “So,” I say, shifting in my seat and crossing my legs to try to keep it together a little better, at least physically. “What do we do next?” Nate and I both turn to Cooper, as it just seems natural that he would be in charge. If there is one thing that the man has written all over him, other than flat-out sexy, it’s alpha male. I never even get catcalled when I am out with him, even when I’m just in a sports bra doing stretches in the park, because other men can smell the alpha on his from a quarter-mile away. “First,” says Cooper, getting up, “we are all going to get a good night’s sleep. Then tomorrow, we’re going back to Chicago to pay my pal a visit and make the delivery.” Cooper barricades the door to the hallway solidly with more furniture, piling the living room table and a few shelves on, and then finally pulling the television stand with the large flat screen TV still on it, in front of the pile. He moves the furniture like it’s made of fluff and I squeeze my legs tighter together. At this rate, I’m going to stain the couch. What is it about this man that awakens every carnal instinct in my body, including many that I would never have even expected to be there? Why is it that I seem to lose all control over my body and turn into a walking sex-starved hormone when I am anywhere near him? Cooper turns back to face Nate. He didn’t even break a sweat. “You can sleep out here,” Cooper says. “Make yourself comfortable on the couch. But don’t try any funny business. If you try to leave, I will hear it and I will come out here and make you hurt like you have never hurt before.” “Chill, bro,” Nate says. “I’m in this with you guys, remember?” “I am not your ‘bro,’” Cooper says, coolly, “and I am not going to chill. Our lives are at stake. Savannah’s life is at stake. I am not going to ‘chill’ about this and I am not going to hesitate to mess you up so bad you’ll never see straight again if you try to fuck with our plan.” “Understood.” Nate stops smiling and gets up, his face serious. He extends a hand. Cooper looks at it for a moment and I realize I’m holding my breath. “Have a good night, we’ll see you in the morning.” Cooper shakes Nate’s hand, man to man, and I finally breathe out in relief. Cooper walks over to where I am still sitting on the loveseat, exhaustion crashing over me now that all the tension of the absurdly eventful day is temporarily released. He holds out a
hand to me and I take hold of it, grateful when he pulls me up to my feet. I suddenly feel so tired that I can barely move. Cooper puts his arm around my waist and half-carries me to the bedroom, closing the door behind us. The he swoops me up into his arms and carries me over to the bed. He gently places me down, like a friendly bear, and climbs over me to lie down by my side. “How are you doing, babe?” he murmurs, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear and resting his hand gently on my face. It’s a warm, reassuring weight. “Mmmm,” I murmur in response, snuggling up closer to him. I rest my face on his strong, hard chest and listen to the steady beat of his heart. “It’s been a long day, Savannah, and I know you’re taking a big risk by trusting me so fully,” he says, softly. “I appreciate it.” “Of course,” I murmur, basking in his special, intoxicating man smell. It isn’t body odor and it isn’t soap; it’s just pure, sexy Cooper. “It’s not an ‘of course,’” he says. “It’s not a given and I appreciate it. And before we go any further, and before anything happens tomorrow, I need to tell you something.” I open my eyes, which had fallen shut as I snuggled up to his chest and look up at his face. It is suddenly deathly serious and I feel a pit of fear form in my stomach. Has this all been too much? Is this finally the point where he is out? Is he about to tell me that he thought he could handle all of this and still want me, but after seeing Nate, the man I was supposed to marry, he can’t feel that way about me anymore. My stomach clenches. I take a steadying breath, inhaling his intoxicating, soothing scent, and try not to let the fear creep into my voice. “Shoot,” I say. “What’s up, babe?” I keep a hand on him for comfort, even though I know that what’s making me uncomfortable is that he will likely not want me anymore. Fuck. This is it. “Savannah, you have intrigued me since day one,” Cooper says, looking me directly in the eyes. “I always wanted to know more about you and the more I knew, the more I wanted to know. And Savannah, after spending all that time with you, I started to fall for you. You’re a really special girl.” Is this the slow let down? It isn’t what I was expecting him to say, but I refuse to get my hopes up now, just to have them crushed in a moment when the inevitable ‘but’ comes. Only it doesn’t come. “Savannah,” Cooper says, instead, “I love you.” It is what I have been waiting for since I was little girl and I found out that my mother and sister were dead and that my life would never be the same. And I cannot believe that it is happening now, with this man that I love. But I know how I feel and I don’t even have to think about it for a moment. Though I haven’t let myself put it into words, not even in my head, until now, I know exactly how I feel. “I love you, too,” I say. Then Cooper takes my face in his hands and kisses me, soft and deep and slow and long. It is the most perfect kiss that I have ever had in my life and I never want the moment to end.
Even though I might die as soon as tomorrow, I am happy to be able to spend what might be my last few happy hours with Cooper. My love.
Chapter Ten: Cooper After Sarah, I never thought that I could love another woman again. She broke my heart into a thousand jagged shards and I thought I would never heal from her betrayal. I didn’t even think that I wanted to heal. I was done with love. I was done with giving someone else the power to hurt me. That all changed with Savannah. Even though I only told her now that I love her, I have been feeling it for a while. Hell, I started falling in love with her the very minute that she walked in my door. It was a gradual fall, the kind where it seems like nothing is happening at first and then before you know it, all you want is to see her beautiful face and feel her, warm and soft, in your arms. “I love you, Savannah” I murmur again. “I love you.” “I love you so much, Cooper,” she says, her face millimeters from my own. “I love you so much that it almost hurts.” I close the small gap that remains between us, finding her soft lips with my own. Normally, I am not that big on the whole kissing thing. I get in, I get off, I get out. With Savannah, I finally understand all the hype around kissing. I could kiss her all day. Her subtly sweet feminine smell, her soft lips, having her beautiful face right there on mine, and having her wrapped up in my arms is bliss. It almost beats sex. Wait. Fuck that. No, it doesn’t. Sex with her is like nothing else. Thinking about having sex with her, while she’s wrapped up in my arms, gets me hard. I know I don’t have to worry about Nate, because no matter how distracted I get, there is no way in hell I won’t hear him trying to move the furniture blockade that I put up in front of the door out. My member, which has gone from zero to rock-hard in a fraction of a second, presses against her supple thigh. She breaks the kiss and smiles at me. Then she takes my hand in hers and guides it between her legs. She’s sopping wet. “I need you, baby,” she whispers. I slide one finger, then two, into her ready sex, throbbing with heat and longing. “Ohhhh yes,” she moans, her eyelids fluttering shut with pleasure as I start to play her gently, from the inside, like a piano. “You like that?” I ask. I slide in a third finger. “Oh, baby,” she breathes. “Yes, yes, oh yes!” She is ready for me, but I am going to make her come so many times that she quivers with pleasure and exhaustion by the time that I finish. I pull her on me, so she’s sitting on my face. I start by teasing her, stroking all around her clit with my tongue. I have my hands on her waist and can feel her back arch with pleasure when I finally take her clit in my mouth, sucking on her delicious juices as her body rocks with pleasure. I am as hard as granite, about to burst with desire, but I focus on making her come once more, fingering her g-spot while tonguing her clit.
“Cooper,” she gasps. “Baby, I want your cock. Please.” How am I supposed to resist that? So I don’t. I put on a condom faster than a politician puts on a blue collar worker persona come election time. Then I pick her up by the hips and move her down to hover with the entrance of her wet pussy directly above my throbbing member. I look her deep in her beautiful, brown eyes before thrusting up, her back arching as I penetrate her. We are flesh on flesh, moving together as I thrust deep into her. She moans, her fingers digging into my back as she folds over forwards, the new angle letting me hit her g-spot with each deep thrust her stroking her clit with my full length every time I pull back out. Her body heaves as she climaxes again. She digs her fingers into my back. “Cooper!” she screams, voice breathy with ecstasy, and I can’t hold on anymore. I yield to the need for release and give in to my own need. We come as one, entwined in the most intimate of all embraces. When she finally collapses onto my chest, both of us completely spent, I feel the deepest, most permeating satisfaction of my life. She is the only woman I will ever want.
Chapter Eleven: Cooper Savannah is lying in my arms, her beautiful, naked little body snuggled up against mine. Already exhausted from her day, her multiple orgasms took the rest right out of her. She is always cute when awake, but she looks purely angelic when she is sleeping. She looks so sweet and innocent and I want to do everything within my power, and more, to keep her safe. I cannot let her down. It crushed me when I let my brother in the SEALs down, but letting Savannah down? That would destroy me. I am not going to let it happen. I lay an arm over Savannah’s sleeping body, my hand falling into that perfect dip where her lower back meets her perfect, inverted, heart-shaped ass. Everything about her personality and physicality is as perfect as if it was made for me. This is the woman I am going to spend the rest of my life with. And it’s up to me to make sure that that’s more than just a few days or weeks. I try to distract myself from thoughts about Savannah and the enormous responsibility that I have to make sure that she gets the long, happy, cared-for life that she deserves, free of all this motorcycle club stress, but it backfires. As soon as I stop thinking about Savannah, my thoughts turn to a topic I have not thought about in a long time and I do not think about often. My mother. I haven’t heard from her since just after her third arrest on prostitution charges, this time tied in with Schedule I drug possession charges. It said she had two hundred fucking grams of ecstasy, for suspected sale, but the ecstasy wasn’t even hers. She was holding it for a married john who liked rolling for his visits. Why there was so damn much of it, I have no clue. But that amount of ecstasy, paired with the whoring charges and her prior arrests, put her over the edge. She was in jail during my high school prom and the last I knew of her, from some digging when I got top level clearance and data access as an active Navy SEAL, was that she joined a cult somewhere out in the deserts of Arizona, where she lives as part of some New Age, selfproclaimed prophet’s harem and takes biannual ventures out into Las Vegas to preach straightedge principles at unsuspecting casino-goers. She was fucked up long before I was even born. Hell, for all I know she was born fucked up. But I couldn’t help feeling that somehow I had failed her by not being able to provide for her. I blamed myself for not being able to pull her out of her self-destructive pattern and, as illogical as I now know that guilt to be, I still cannot help but feel, at least a bit, that I failed her. I am not going to fail Savannah. Whatever the cost, I will keep her safe. When I finally fall asleep, it’s an uneasy, light sleep, interrupted by every little noise and even the slightest breeze.
Chapter Twelve: Savannah I wake up to the warmth of a ray of bright autumn sunlight falling across my face. I’m pressed up against Cooper’s back, the big spoon in our spooning this time, and the first thing that I see when I blink the sleep out of my eyes is Cooper’s shoulder blade piece, glorious on his muscled upper back. From a distance, it would seem identical to the beautiful, swirling pattern of my mother’s tattoo, with the same magical swirls and bursts, the same starspots that haunt my memory. Come a little closer and you’ll notice that the swirls are not made of block lines and complete marks. Come even closer and you will see that the lines are actually words. The pattern is a poem, dancing over his skin. She had looked for his coming as warriors come, With the clash of arms and the bugle's call; But he came instead with a stealthy tread, Which she did not hear at all. She had thought how his armor would blaze in the sun, As he rode like a prince to claim his bride: In the sweet dim light of the falling night She found him at her side. She had dreamed how the gaze of his strange, bold eye Would wake her heart to a sudden glow: She found in his face the familiar grace Of a friend she used to know. She had dreamed how his coming would stir her soul, As the ocean is stirred by the wild storm's strife: He brought her the balm of a heavenly calm, And a peace which crowned her life. It’s ‘Love’s Coming’ by Ella Wheeler Wilcox. I read it when I was back in the tenth grade, in English class, and for some reason it just stuck with me. It was disturbingly beautiful and I could really connect to it. I was doomed to a life without love, so the thought of finding a love so perfect, and only just nearly unattainable, was the most fascinating thing to me. I fell in love with the poem, as I thought I would never be able to fall in love with a man. And then I met Cooper. And even though I would not, could not, put how I felt about him in those words yet, it just felt right to give him that poem. It just felt right to share that with him. Now I know why. I was falling in love with him long before I would admit that to myself.
Cooper shifts, still mostly asleep. I snuggle into him, pressing my face against his back. Today could be the day that everything comes crumbling down around our ears. I trust Cooper to know what our best option is, but I also know that we are in an incredibly difficult situation. Even if something is our best option, that does not even come close to meaning that it is a good one. We could still be dead before we get the chance to sleep again. I knew my life would be hard. I knew I would not be happy as Nate’s wife. I knew that the world of the motorcycle clubs was very dangerous and that what had happened to my mother and sister could happen to anyone. But, even so, I never thought that I would be dead before my twentieth birthday. I was sheltered, even amongst all the danger, and I never thought that I would be dead before I would get the chance to be a mother myself. And now I may be. But, if I had a magical time machine that could transport me back to moments before I ran away, setting off this entire crazy chain of events, would I go back and change anything? Even if I were certain that I would die by sunset, would I go back and stay, just to save myself? I ask myself these questions because I feel that I should, but I already know the answer. It is an unwavering no. I am a young woman with big dream, and I definitely do not at all want to die. Not now, not before I have accomplished everything that I want to. But having shared the time that I have had with Cooper, limited as it was, is worth so much more than a long, but empty, life without him would be. And, finally, I know that Cooper feels the same way. Cooper moves again as he awakens, shifting onto his back and reaching out an arm to pull me onto his chest. “Good morning, my love,” he says, opening his beautiful, blue eyes. Though I have seen it daily, with the exception of the last miserable days without him here in New York, his beauty still takes my breath away. “Good morning, love,” I whisper, before giving in to his kiss. He wraps his arms around me, squeezing me tight for a moment before releasing. We lie there, together in a peaceful and intimate silence, for some more minutes. Then a sharp knock on the bedroom door interrupts our peace. “Guys?” Nate calls. “Guys? Are you up? Should we get going? It’s already after eight. We should get to it.” Cooper groans. I feel the same way. I would never again leave his arms if I didn’t have to. “We have to go, babe,” Cooper says. “We need to get on the 10:35 flight to Chicago.” “Do you think we’ll still be able to get three tickets?” I ask. “It’s New York to Chicago on a weekday morning. I bet it’s packed with business travelers.” “Don’t worry, babe,” Cooper says. “There are some perks to being a former Navy SEAL. I have it all covered. Getting on that flight is the least of our hurdles today.” I give him a kiss. He instinctively pulls me in, kissing me so hard I feel it in my fingertips. “Still,” he says, reluctantly pulling away. “We do need to get out of here.”
“So are we going?” Nate calls through the door, obviously still waiting for a response. “Yeah, give us ten,” Cooper calls back. “And stop listening at the door, perv.” Nate laughs. It’s weird to hear him having an almost friendly exchange with Cooper, or at least one that isn’t overtly hostile, but I guess the three of us are a team now. For life or death. Huh. Savannah Santos and Nate Moreno, together as a team against the mightiest motorcycle clubs in Chicago, the Santoses and the Morenos? It must be snowing in Texas.
Chapter Thirteen: Savannah Sure enough, the three of us find ourselves aboard the 10:35a.m. flight to Chicago, sitting in our oversized United Airways seats like any other business travelers. With our near complete lack of luggage, unless you count my backpack, we fly through security. We aren’t wearing the business suits and pointy-toed shoes of consultants, but an unwitting bystander could assume that we’re well-traveled, efficient, and cultural internet people on a work trip. There is nothing that betrays that we are on a mission of life or death, other than my clammy palms and racing pulse. Cooper did something on his phone on the cab ride over to LaGuardia Airport and somehow made three first-class tickets magically appear for us. We are offered hot towels and drinks before the aircraft is even done taxiing down the runway, but we all just take towels and water or juice. Today is definitely one of those days when it is most crucial that all of us have full control over our faculties. When we land in Chicago, after a flight that feels simultaneously forever long and like it passes all too quickly, Cooper gets a rental car from the Hertz next to the airport and we hit the road. “Are we going to Vlad’s house?” I ask. I assume Vlad is the friend that Cooper is talking about, because he is the only other person I have heard Cooper speak of in a way that suggests some deep personal connection and trust. And whoever Cooper is taking us to now must be someone whom he trusts with all of our lives. “We are going to go see Vlad,” Cooper confirms. “But not at his house. He knows to expect us and he is meeting us elsewhere. We definitely can’t meet at his house, because Vlad is married. There is no way that I would put his wife at risk, not that he would ever even consider it. And we can’t meet at our apartment, because they probably have someone watching it, especially with Nate gone now, too.” I nod. Cooper is always a few steps ahead of everyone else. We drive for a bit in silence before Nate breaks the quiet. “Hey, Savannah?” Nate says, clearing his throat. “Yeah?” I turn around to face him. He has a strange look on his face, like he is trying to figure out how to say something uncomfortable. “I’m…” He clears his throat. Whatever he is about to say, it isn’t something he says often. “I am sorry.” “Sorry?” I ask. “For what? I know all of this mess, our engagement and all the related disasters, isn’t your fault. You were just a kid, too. It’s not like you wanted to marry me any more than I wanted to marry you. And I get why you followed us. What choice did you have? If you didn’t do everything you could to find me, you would have lost your family. You would have been dishonored, disgraced, and exiled. Nikki’s dad is in the Moreno motorcycle club, an old prison friend of your dad, and so she can’t be with anyone who isn’t approved by the motorcycle club. You would have to go out and try to build a life, starting with nothing, knowing that your son or daughter is somewhere out there without a dad. And that Nikki is alone,
abandoned by you. I get it, you don’t have to apologize. I couldn’t do that to the person I love, either.” Cooper reaches over with the hand that isn't on the steering wheel and takes my hand in his. He leans over a little, tilting his cheek to me but never taking his eyes off of the road, and I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. “I love you,” I whisper in his ear, before I lean back. “Not that,” Nate says. “Savannah, I am sorry for your loss. I never said it back then and I didn’t say it in the many years and countless opportunities that I have had since then, but I am sorry that you lost your mom and your sister. I lost my mom in the same battle, as you know, and I understand how much that hurt. I just never thought about how you must feel. I am sorry for your loss and I am sorry for being such a dick to you when you were already hurt. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.” I look back at him. After our long history of hating each other almost recreationally, I half expect an ironic smirk. But Nate looks sincere and I can smell bullshit a mile away. He isn’t just saying this to make Cooper less hostile to him, or to make me trust him more. He is saying this because he means it. When pushed, people really can change and, sometimes, they can change for the better. His apology is genuine. Just like that, all the years of hatred fall away like nothing. Suddenly, I look at the man I detested for the great majority of life, the man I identified as the cause of everything that went wrong in my life, and just see a hurting young man who was just as lonely and scared as I was. Now we have both somehow, against all odds, found love. He has Nikki, and a little one on the way, and I have Cooper. And now we are going to have to work together to make sure that we can keep both of those relationships—and all of our lives. “Nate,” I say. “I am sorry, too.” Just like that, I make a new friend on what might be the last day of my life.
Chapter Fourteen: Cooper We pull into the trailer park where I grew up and I hop out of the car, onto the dirt of my old haunts. I jog around the front of the car to open Savannah’s door for her. Damn, she just seems to get more beautiful every time that I look at her. I love her with every cell in my body and I am going to keep her safe. That’s not an ‘if.’ I am going to make this work. Someone so beautiful, so kind, so warm, and so good cannot die so young. She gives me a small kiss before we walk over to where we’re meeting Vlad. I wrap my arm around her waist, holding her close as we walk over to the abandoned shed down by the edge of the park. When I was a kid, the shed was a hotspot in the trailer park. It was where the junkies would come to do their deals, away from the prying eyes of tattle-tale, busybody neighbors and the plainclothes police who would occasionally show up, search some trailers for narcotics, give some kids warnings for truancy or public underage drunkenness, and then swing by my mother’s well-worn bed to reward themselves for a job well done. These days, the shed stands empty and abandoned, no longer really a part of the trailer park as trees grew around it and cut it off from the rest of the land. It is the perfect place to meet Vlad. I try the door of the little, rundown shed, but it won’t give. Vlad blocked it with something, as agreed. I feel bad for pulling Vlad into this, but he is a grown man with the freedom of choice to decide whether or not he will do it and he has military training of his own. He took the most roundabout way here and we are taking all the precautions to keep the motorcycle clubs from knowing that he is the other one in on the blackmail plan, so he should be fine. Still, he is a real friend for doing this. I knock again, in the Morse code pattern we agreed on, and then it swings open from the inside. Vlad hurries us in, then closes the door and shoves an old iron gardening chest in front of it again. “Hi,” Savannah says. “I don’t believe we have ever been formally introduced, but I am Savannah.” She reaches out to shake his hand, still perfectly polite. The girl can keep a tea party level of class even when she’s about to walk to her possible death. If that’s not SEAL spirit, I don’t know what is. “It’s my pleasure,” Vlad says, drily. “And this is?” “This is Nate,” I say. “He is a friend,” Savannah adds. Right. “It is interesting to meet you, Savannah, and you again after seeing you fight.” Vlad nods at Nate. “But I am going to need a word alone with Cooper.” “Of course,” Savannah says, with a nod. I give her a quick kiss on her forehead, then follow Vlad back to the small, partially closed-off section at the back of the shed, where rakes and hoes and shovels were stored in its heyday. As soon as we are behind the wooden partition separating the storage area from the rest of the shed, Vlad drops his cool, calm facade.
“What the fuck have you gotten yourself into, man?” Vlad hisses, grabbing me by the bicep. “If you’re trying to fuck up your MMA career completely, you’re sure on the fucking right track to doing that. At this point, you would have to do everything—and I mean every fucking little thing—more right than right in order to have any chance at a comeback. Do you realize how much this is costing you, how much this is costing us? And what is this thing that you are in now? You need to give me something? To send?” “I love Savannah,” I say seriously, looking Vlad straight in the eyes. “I love fighting, but that love can’t touch the one I have for Savannah. And all the money and prestige in the world means absolutely nothing to me if I can’t be with my girl and I can’t keep her safe and happy and provided for. Vlad looks at me. He really looks at me, in that deep, all-baring way that only Vlad can do, and sees that my love for Savannah is the real thing. Finally, he shakes his head. “She is a beautiful girl, man,” he says. “And if she is to you what Bettina is to me, I one hundred percent understand how you could throw away everything you have worked for. I have seen you grow and heal in these years, man, and for you to be able to go full on and love someone with all your power, that’s growing up. That’s being a man. I am proud of you.” “Thanks, man. That means a lot coming from you,” I say. It does. “But Savannah is in real trouble and she is my girl, so I am in it with her. Life or death trouble. And that is why I’m here. I need your help. I have no right to ask for anything more, considering how much you have already done for me, and I really don’t want to have to ask you to stick out your neck again for me. But you are the only person I can trust with something this important.” Vlad rolls up his right sleeve and turns his arm over, showing me the half yin-yang symbol, a white waved half-circle with a black dot in the middle of the top. He takes my right arm, turning it over to show my matching tat, a black waved half circle with a white dot in the middle of the bottom. We got the tattoos after I helped Vlad through a really bad spot. He had been saving up for years to start his own MMA gym, but the investor he had his money with scammed him out of all of it. He moved all his clients’ savings, including Vlad’s, overseas to a Caribbean account and disappeared with it. Vlad could have gone to court to fight to get it back, but it would have taken years, at the very least, and by then he would have been out of his home. Instead, I spotted him the money to start the gym and cover his mortgage payments, so that he would be financially stable enough to marry Bettina, his then-girlfriend and now wife. Business at the gym really took off and he paid it back to me pretty quickly, but that first loan really turned his life around after the debacle with his investor and made his present financial solvency possible. “We’re brothers for life, man,” Vlad says, “And I will never forget that. You have been there for me through incredibly critical times and I will be there for you. Ha, man, it’s lucky that you live on a poverty budget when you earn an Escalade salary, or I would have been really fucked back then. But you’ve always been a smart guy, and a good guy who doesn’t ask much, so I’m here for you when you do need something. What do you need me to do?”
“Savannah, Nate and I are going to talk with some people today. If I don’t make contact with you within the next forty-eight hours, express mail this. It’s already addressed, postage paid, and everything. All I am going to need you to do is bring it to the military mail office on the west side. Keep it safe until then and make sure no one sees you.” “It’s done, man,” Vlad says, pounding me on the back. “Don’t even worry about it. But be safe. I want to see you again, soon, and I want to see you with your pretty-boy face still intact, you hear? I know you’ll be fighting again come the weekend. You’ve got this. Failure is not an option.” I nod. “Thanks, man.” Vlad never stops coaching, and it is just what I need. This I know how to work with. And results are what I know how to produce.
Chapter Fifteen: Savannah Vlad and Cooper come out from the separate section of the shed a few minutes later. Vlad walks straight over to me. “It is a pleasure to meet you, young lady,” he says, shaking my hand. “You clearly mean a lot to my good friend here and it’s nice to see the old ‘Veni Vidi Vici’ all locked down with a nice girl. You stay safe and let Cooper take care of you, you hear? He is a good man. You’ll be well cared for with him. Don’t worry about it too much. You have other things to focus on now. I hope to have you over for dinner with Bettina sometime. She makes a mean chicken pot pie.” I smile. “That sounds wonderful. I hope to do that, too.” It’s nice to be able to talk about a pleasant, normal future. Maybe it will really happen. “And I know Cooper is a good man. I am lucky to have him.” Vlad laughs. “He is a lucky man to have you.” Then he turns to Nate. “I’ll be seeing you and Cooper in the ring soon. I want to see another fight happen between you guys, so train hard and make sure neither of you breaks anything important while you’re doing whatever you’re doing later today. You got it?” “Yes, sir,” Nate nods. “Thanks for helping us out, sir.” “Cooper is a real friend,” Vlad says, with a nod. “Well, then. I expect you guys need to be getting on your way soon.” He looks around him, gesturing at the dirty, dusty shed. “I know this place is so tempting to stay in, but don’t let me hold you up.” “Let’s go, guys,” Cooper says. “Bye, Vlad.” They do one of those manly half-hugs that always amuse me so much and I enjoy a little smile, despite the seriousness of the situation. “I’ll leave in a bit,” Vlad says. “It will be more inconspicuous that way, and I will take a different route out. I could use a long run today, anyway. A little roundabout exit never hurt anyone. Good luck.” “Thanks,” I say. I am glad Cooper has a true friend like this, and had one like this to help him through all that he has been through. He is a good man and it seems like Vlad is, too. I really hope that we’ll make it through this. Maybe I can be friends with Vlad’s wife and we can have dinners together, hang out as couples and go on double dates. Maybe even have wonderful lives with love and friends. It would be everything I have always wanted. But first, we have to survive the next two days. When we get back to the car, I lean over to Cooper. “Cooper, can we make a quick stop before we go to see the motorcycle clubs? I need to see Tamryn. I never got to say goodbye and I want to say it now. You know, just in case.” Cooper’s face looks a little pained when I say the last sentence, but he nods. “Sure. But we can’t stay long. Every extra minute is more risk. They are expecting us today. I had Nate get in touch with them to set up a peace meeting. We do not want them getting antsy and deciding to change the terms of the meeting to more hostile ones before we even arrive.” “I know,” I say. “I don’t need long, I really only need a few minutes. I need to do it right this time. I can’t just leave without a goodbye now that...I mean, if this is my last chance...well, I
just won’t feel right if I don’t say bye. I owe Tamryn that much. She’s is one of the only friends I’ve ever had.” “Of course,” Cooper says, ignoring Nate’s groan of frustration. “Where do you need me to go?” “Can we swing by The Ink Joint? Tamryn should be working today,” I say. I hope her schedule has not already changed, or that she’s traded shifts with someone. I just really want to say bye. Cooper nods and drives a little faster. He isn’t flooring it, probably to avoid attracting unwanted attention more than anything else, but he is also definitely a little over the speed limit. We get to The Ink Joint in record time and I am relieved to see Tamryn’s beat-up Chevy in the parking lot. “I will be right back,” I say, leaning over to give him a kiss. Then I open the passenger door and let myself out. The bell chimes as I walk into the now-familiar tattoo parlor. Seeing my chair and workstation, now covered in someone else’s tools and knickknacks, hurts more than I expected. But I am not here to mourn a career. I am here to say bye, and thanks, to the friend who brightened my days in this parlor not too long ago. I walk straight up to the front desk, where Tamryn is busy flipping through what looks to be the new issue of Inked Magazine and clear my throat. “Hey, Tamryn,” I say. She looks up and her face goes from confusion to disbelief to anger to relief in less than five seconds. “Girl!” she cries, jumping up out of her swiveling office chair and running around the desk. “Girl, I have missed you! Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick! And Lucy made me walk Maxie everyday, because she said you were my recommendation and she’s in a tight spot now. Well, you know what else is tight? Those preggers jeans. The girl has turned into a walking, talking beach ball.” Tamryn is talking a mile a minute, like she has to catch up on all the words that she hasn’t been able to say since I left. “But first things first—girl, where have you been? I was worried sick when you just didn’t show up to work, day after day after day! You should have said something!” “I’m sorry,” I say, hugging her back. “I am really sorry. I didn’t have much of a choice. But I’m fine.” “I’m glad to hear it!” Tamryn exclaims. “Now we have had a sub working your station, but he has nothing on you. I will help you come up with a good excuse and I’m sure we can get Roxie to take you back. People have been asking for you pretty much every day since you left! You have a ton of clients already on the books—you’ll be on probation, no fuck-ups for a while, but you can totally do this. I am so happy you’re back!” I shake my head sadly. “That’s the thing,” I say. “I’m not actually back. I am...moving. It’s a, um, family emergency. I just wanted to say bye. And thanks for being my friend. You made me feel right at home here.”
“No!” Tamryn looks crushed. “Is there anything we can do to get you to stay? Is there anything I can do? Having a friend in here was great. I was actually looking forward to work for a while there. Don’t leave me!” “I’m sorry, Tamryn,” I say. “I have to. I don’t have a choice.” Tamryn nods and sighs. “Well, thanks for saying bye,” she says, dejected. “I hope you’ll consider coming back here if you ever can. We—I—would love to have you.” “I will,” I say, nodding. “If I ever can, I will be back.” We give each other one more long hug goodbye, and then I turn around and walk back out the doors of The Ink Joint. I hope it isn’t my last time here. I hope I’ll be able to come back and take my station back, but I really don’t know. It’s game time. I get into the car and pull the door shut behind me. Cooper leans over and takes my face in his hands, giving me a long kiss goodbye. When he starts the car, I turn away, looking out the window. The silent tears—tears of loss, of love, and of fear—stream down my face. We are headed for the war zone.
Chapter Sixteen: Savannah “Wait!” I yell. Cooper slams the brakes. “Fuck, Savannah, you scared the shit out of me! What’s wrong?” he asks. “I recognize that car,” I say, pointing at a blue Ferrari. “Big whoop,” Nate grumbles from the back. “What are you trying to do, make me lose my lunch because you like a fancy car? “I don’t just like it,” I say, squinting to make out the license plate. “I recognize it. I was right! It’s Wolf’s!” “What?” Nate sits up straight so fast he bangs his head against the back seat roof light. “It’s Wolf’s,” I repeat, turning to Cooper to explain. “Wolf is my big brother. Why is he down here?” “Are you sure it’s his car?” Nate asks. “That makes no sense. It could just be the car of some other guy who really likes blue Ferraris.” Even Nate looks confused. “Right,” I say, not quite able to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “In this neighborhood. Because people with money just love slumming it in the rundown part of town.” “Well…” Nate still looks skeptical. “I checked the license plate,” I say. “It’s Wolf’s car. Something is up. I’m going in.” “I’m coming with you,” Cooper says. He cuts me off before I can protest. “He may be your big brother, but he is also one of them. And who knows if he is alone. He could just as well be there with a group of thugs. I’m not letting you go in there by yourself. “Fine,” I say. Secretly, I am a little glad that he is insisting on coming in with me. I haven’t been close with Wolf since before Mom died and I don’t know if his loyalty lies more with the motorcycle club or with me. Unfortunately, I suspect it is with them. I’m just his little sister, and one he hasn’t bothered to say more than a sentence or two at a time to me in years. They are his life. “I’m coming, too,” says Nate, jumping out of the car after us. Wolf’s car is pulled up between Bennie’s Pizza and its neighbor, and since Bennie’s Pizza is next to a struggling cupcake shop, and I can’t for the life of me imagine my big brother eating a girly little cupcake in a pink store decorated with cutesy cats with oversized eyes, we head into Bennie’s pizza. I do a quick scan of the restaurant and see the top of his spiky, black-haired, overly gelled head poking out above the back of the seats in the booth closest to the rear wall. I point and we walk over quietly and quickly, even our steps making barely a sound. We slide into the booth behind theirs and listen He is talking to someone. “How’s the tadpole?” my brother’s voice asks. But there is something weird about his voice. It isn’t the tough, cold, clipped voice that I am used to. There’s something warm, loving about it. Is he here with a girl? Wolf has a girlfriend? I almost slide out of my chair when I hear the voice that answers him. “Doing well,” Lily says. Nate’s eyes bug out of his head when he recognizes his little sister’s voice.
“The morning sickness is normal?” Wolf sounds concerned. I can’t believe my ears. Morning sickness? Lily is pregnant. Before I can stop him, Nate jumps up from his chair and runs around. “What the fuck did you do to my sister?” Nate roars, grabbing Wolf by the front of his shirt. Cooper and I are up in a flash. The Wolf I know doesn’t take any disrespect sitting down and this could end badly for either of them. Wolf fought MMA for a bit before deciding to focus on his duties as the future motorcycle club head and did pretty well. Then again, Nate is an active MMA fighter with all the latest in training, so it’s a toss-up as to which of them would win in a fight. I would rather not take my chances. Wolf and Lily look shocked to see us, but Wolf quickly recovers. He puts up his hands, surprisingly choosing peace. So it is true. My big brother knocked up Nate’s little sister. “We are in love.” Those are the first words out of Wolf’s mouth. Could this day get any more bizarre? “We are in love and we have been for years. “It started slow,” Lily chimes in. “You and Wolf were hanging out a lot and becoming good friends. Wolf was always around. We would hang out when you were late coming back from the gym and Wolf was waiting to go on a run with you, or hit up the clubs, or whatever it is you guys did. And then it just happened. We fell in love.” “You knocked up my sister!” Nate roars. He is clearly still seeing red, but we are attracting way too much attention, so I elbow him in the side and take a pointed look at the neighboring booths. He gets the hint and sits down, sliding into the booth next to Lily and glaring across the table from Wolf. Cooper and I sit down, as well. Nate lowers his voice. “So you called yourself my friend while you were busy knocking up my little sister, so you can leave her an untouchable single mom? Ha, some friend you are.” “That’s our problem.” Wolf looks really upset. “I want to marry her. I love your sister and I want to be with her. She isn’t some kind of pump and dump, Nate. She is the one for me. I love her.” He gives Nate a serious look. “I love her, like you love Nikki. I want to marry her, but I can’t, because you are marrying my sister. You know the rules, man. So it’s not real incest, but there are no double marriages between motorcycle clubs within the same leading families. It just isn’t done.” Wolf almost looks like he is going to cry. I have never seen him like this, not even when he was a kid. He is serious. “We aren’t getting married,” Nate says slowly, looking at me. We are thinking the same thing. The families need to be joined to stop the war. Nate and I aren’t going to get married. Lily needs to get married, to save herself embarrassment. There needs to be some agreement made with the Morenos, so they don’t humiliate the Santoses for my premarital loss of my virginity. “This just might work,” I say.
Chapter Seventeen: Savannah We jump into the rental car and off we go, as the strangest troupe of allies in known history. At least, known to me. Lily and Wolf pile into the back of the car with Nate while Cooper drives, and I sit in the front passenger seat next to him. The trip is one of the longest in my life and I spend the whole time in a state of concealed panic. What if they don’t hold to the agreement? What if they gun us down the moment we enter? What if they won’t listen to us? What if they kill Cooper and make me watch? What if everything goes wrong? We pull up to the Harley Davidson warehouse that my father owns, where we are meeting my father and Salvador. The board will probably be present, too, but waiting in a different room in case they are needed for consultation on a decision. It looks like they will be. When we pull into the mostly empty parking lot of the warehouse, with just about thirty bikes parked near the front of the lot, there are already five burly thugs decked out in all black leather biking gear standing by the entrance. I recognize two of the guys as Santos motorcycle club members, multiple, decade-long employees of my dad’s, but the other three are either new recruits or, more likely, working for the Morenos. I see several loaded holsters, their handgun grips gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Cooper sees them, too, and reaches over to squeeze my hand. “We will be okay, babe,” he says. “I love you. And I am not going to let them hurt you.” He kisses me, telling me everything I need to know in the way that he lovingly holds me. “Don’t worry,” I say, when we pull apart. “I’m fine. And I love you. More than anything.” We walk, hand in hand, to the entrance of the warehouse. Wolf and Lily follow closely behind, his arm wrapped protectively around her small shoulders, and Nate walks along next to them. We are going into a hostile area, vastly outnumbered in both body count and fire force, but I feel surprisingly calm. I think Wolf, Lily, and Cooper feel the same way. That is the power of being side by side and arm in arm with the love of your life. The thugs just nod to us as we approach the door, their hands immediately going to their pockets. All except one, that is, who is picking at his grubby nails with a seven inch dagger with a curved blade that hooks at the end. I don’t even want to think about what that hook is for. So instead, I think about how warm my hand feels in Cooper’s and how wonderful he smells. I can’t quite block out the fact that I’m walking into an incredibly dangerous situation, not to mention that I am about to make my only living parent incredibly disappointed in me, probably so much that he disowns me. A little distraction is better than nothing, however, and I know that stressing out will not help me. The most that it can do for me is hurt me. From a lifetime of living in the middle of the motorcycle clubs, I know that showing weakness is the best way to lose their respect and get knifed in the abdomen faster than you would have if you toughened up or at least pretended to have a little cojones. We walk into a large, high-roofed room with nothing in it but a long couch and two oversized arm chairs at the far end. The couch is empty and Flint and Salvador are sitting in their
respective armchairs. Flint is leaning back in his chair, as calm as ever, with his fingers steepled and eyes laser-focused on us. He could be an ace poker player, if that wasn’t a significant pay cut from being a motorcycle club king, because his face never betrays his thoughts or emotions if he doesn’t want it to. He can look the same whether he is thinking about the parmesan on his meatballs or about ordering a hit on an enemy. Salvador is his physical antithesis, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, which are spread wide apart, feet planted firmly on the floor, like he is ready to jump up out of his chair and give us all a good beating on a moment’s notice. Wolf and Lily hang back at the entrance to the room while Cooper and I, flanked on Cooper’s side by Nate, walk up to the two motorcycle club kings. They watch us as we approach and I resist my people-pleasing nervous impulse to speed up. My time is as valuable as theirs, I remind myself. I don’t need to please them. I am here to offer them a solution to a shared problem. A solution that will benefit all of us. I stay firm, taking measured steps at an even pace, even when Salvador clears his throat in a menacing way that sounds much more like a pitbull’s growl. “Take a seat, my friends,” Salvador drawls in a strong, Chicagoan accent, leaning back in his chair and pulling something out of an inside pocket of his heavy, black leather jacket. From the engraved steel handgun he is casually twirling between his fingers, I know not to take that ironic ‘friends’ as any kind of good sign. I can hardly bear to look away from Salvador and at my father, but I finally do. He is looking at me with his usual unreadable look, but the ever so slight shake of his head betrays extreme disappointment. “Savannah,” he says. That one word almost makes me break down, fall to my knees before my daddy, and beg for the forgiveness that I so want. But also know that I will not receive. I swallow hard and squeeze Cooper’s hand for strength. Flint notices it and frowns harder with disapproval. “What is the meaning of this?” Flint barks, breaking his even tone to wave from me to Cooper and back again. “Father, I cannot marry Nate,” I say. “I don’t love him and I know that is of no consequence to you, but I will not marry him and that is my final decision.” A look of extreme anger flashes over Flint’s face and I flinch. But just as quickly as the flash of anger appeared, his face returns to its usual, calm, resting expression. “I understand,” he says. “But consequences are consequences. You know of the terms of the peace agreement with the Morenos. You realize we are going to war.” “And I am assuming this man is the reason why?” Salvador, not as calm as my dad, lifts his gun and points it straight at Cooper’s head. I cry out, but Cooper does not flinch. “I am going to kill you, friend,” Salvador spits, “for this grievous insult to the Moreno family name and the entire Moreno motorcycle club. Savannah belonged to my son and you are going to die for trying to steal from a Moreno.”
“I would not do that if I was you,” Cooper says, as calmly as if he were not currently sitting on an under-stuffed couch in an empty room, across from a man who had been in jail for a number of offenses, including suspected manslaughter, and was currently pointing a loaded firearm at his forehead. “Oh, really?” Dad asks, amused. “What position do you think you are in to tell us what we should do?” Salvador is less amused. He cocks the trigger, not moving his gun’s sights from where they are trained on Cooper’s head. “Why in the world would you not off you if you were in my position, pretty boy?” “Because if you shoot me,” Cooper says calmly, “you will be finding yourself enjoying a visit from some of my government friends not too soon from now. Only I don’t think you will find it so enjoyable, because they will be here for both of you. You know you owe enough illegal back taxes to between the two of you to put both of your entire motorcycle clubs behind bars and off of the streets for, oh, the next hundred years, at the very minimum?” Salvador replaces the safety catch on his gun, lowering it slightly. If he shot now, Cooper would be missing a cheekbone, but could survive. “Oh yeah, tough guy?” Salvador says, narrowing his eyes. “How do you know anything about my tax affairs?” “That’s for me to know,” Cooper answers, calmly. “But do you want to risk it? Just to kill me? Wouldn’t you rather let us all walk free, and Nikki Sanchez from your motorcycle club, and leave us alone? We are here to make a deal and I suggest you take it.” “Pretty boy, you know there is a war that’s about to go down because of you and the sins you have transgressed against my daughter?” Flint asks. Flint is the cold, calm counter-argument to Salvador’s hot, gun-wielding reaction, but I know the fatal motorcycle club king spirit that simmers beneath the surface. I blush at hearing my dad say what he has inferred that I have done. “We have a proposition for you,” I say, as I hear Wolf and Lily walking up behind us. “I am pregnant,” Lily blurts out, in her girly, high-pitched voice. Salvador looks angrily from Lily to Wolf and jumps up, advancing on Wolf. “Wait!” Nate yells, jumping up, too. He holds his father back. “Don’t you get it? Lily needs to marry before she shows, so we aren’t shamed, and if she marries Wolf, everything is okay and the clubs are joined together. There won’t need to be a war. It’s okay that Savannah and I won’t marry, and no one except us ever needs to know that Lily was impure. It is the ideal situation.” The air is loaded as Flint and Salvador confer. Finally, they agree and turn back to us. What will he say? Is it accepted? Or are we all dead? Salvador twirls his gun in the air and I pinch my eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable bang, followed by what I imagine must be the greatest pain in the world. A final pain.
Chapter Eighteen: Savannah The bang doesn’t come, nor does the pain. I open my eyes. “Fine,” Flint says. “My son will marry Salvador’s daughter. There will not be a war, and you and Savannah are free to marry other people.” “Oh, thank you, Daddy!” I cry out in relief, jumping up and bounding over to give him a hug. “Aye aye aye,” he groans, shaking his head, “You take years off of my life, my daughter.” But he smiles. “So it is all okay?” I ask. “There will not be a war? We can come back? No one is after us anymore?” I cannot believe my good luck. After all the stress and after all the complications along the way, to have everything fall so perfectly into place now is unbelievable. With good reason. “You can come back, my daughter,” my dad says. “And there will not be a war. You will be able to live the rest of your lives without hassle.” He looks Cooper up and down. “Now, call off your man. Make him burn it. Now.” Cooper slowly pulls his cellphone out of his pocket, but hesitates before dialing. “I can trust your word? No bullshit? There will not be a war and you’re not killing any of them? Savannah will be fine?” “You have my word,” Flint says. “A man is only as good as his word.” Cooper looks at me to see what I think. My father is not necessarily a nice man. In fact, many of his enemies would say that he is decidedly not a nice man. But if there is one thing that is really important to men in motorcycle clubs, it is their honor. I nod. Cooper dials his phone. “Hi.” There is a pause as he listens to the guy on the other hand. “Uh-huh. Burn it.” There is another pause. “Yes, right now.” Another pause. “Okay, thanks, man. See you soon.” Cooper hangs up and slides his phone back into his pocket. “Let’s go,” I tell Cooper. I can’t believe it’s all over. I can’t believe it’s all going to be okay! But when Cooper gets up, two of daddy’s thugs grab him. “Daddy!” I yell. “You gave your word!” “I did,” he answers, calm as can be. “And I will keep it. There will be no war. You, Wolf, Lily, and Nate will be safe. But I did not promise not to punish Cooper for his disrespect against the Santos motorcycle club. That is not in my power to promise. He has taken your virginity and the motorcycle club board alone can decide to accept dishonor.” He gives a bark of laughter, his eyes cold and mirthless. We both know that will not happen. “What is my punishment?” Cooper doesn’t flinch as the men visibly tighten their grips on his arms.” Flint steeples his fingers and leans back in his armchair, spreading his knees further in an obvious alpha male display of dominance. “For taking Savannah’s virginity as an outsider to all
the motorcycle clubs, Cooper will be taken to an isolated area and put to death while the entire board of both clubs watches. As Savannah grew up knowing, she must marry someone from a motorcycle club. By taking my daughter’s purity while unmarried, you have stained her. No selfrespecting man in any decent club would want her now. The Santoses do not accept that kind of dishonor, or any kind of dishonor. You must be punished to show that we are not to be disgraced. She cannot live a respectable life, so you cannot live a life.” “NO!” I cry, clinging to Cooper. “Daddy, you can’t! I love him!” “I can and I will,” Flint says, harshly. Then he puts a hand up to his head and massages his temples, like I am giving him a migraine. “Savannah, we have no choice. Those are the rules and the board will not stand for the dishonor. You are not a part of any motorcycle club, Cooper, and thus you cannot marry my daughter and, because you tainted her but cannot marry her, you must die.” My world goes dark as I lose consciousness and crumple to the ground. When I come to, I am lying across the couch, with Nate, Lily, and Wolf huddled around. Lily is crouched on the ground, fanning my face while Nate has a hand on my wrist, taking my pulse, and Wolf paces back and forth around me, looking concerned. “She’s awake!” cries Lily, jumping up. “Where is Cooper?” I sit up so fast that the world spins and I almost pass out again, but I the discomfort barely registers. “Where is Cooper?” I scream frantically, looking around as I shakily get to my feet. Flint, Salvador, and Cooper are gone. “Calm down!” Wolf pushes me back down, “Cooper is okay. For now.” “Where is he?” I yell. I don’t believe him. Flint declared that he is going to kill Cooper, and if Flint decides that he wants to kill someone, whoever his proclaimed target is is already as good as dead. I once saw my dad shoot a mouse in our kitchen with a handgun, just because he felt it would be an inconvenience to go down the street to the drugstore for a normal mousetrap. I have no doubt he would take Cooper out just as nonchalantly. I feel like I just had everything I ever wanted dangled in front of me and then snatched away from me in the most cruel way possible. I would rather die than have Cooper die because of me. If Cooper is dead, I may as well be. “Did they kill him? Did they kill Cooper?” I start sobbing uncontrollably. “Savannah, calm down!” Wolf sounds exasperated and probably a little overwhelmed in the face of so much emotion. His totally stoic personality provides him with really little material to pull from in this kind of situation. Luckily, Lily steps in. “There’s no immediate need to panic,” Lily says. “Cooper is at a board meeting with Flint and Salvador. He is alive. They will not kill him…” Lily trails off, her tact catching up with her, but the unspoken ‘at least not before you see him again’ hangs heavy in the air between us. “A board meeting?” I ask. “Cooper proposed a fight,” Nate explains, bouncing from foot to foot in that way that he tends to do when he is really excited about something. “They want to kill him because he can’t make an honest woman out of you, right? He can’t marry you and make everything alright because he isn’t a part of a motorcycle club and you’re Flint Santos’s daughter, right? Well, he
proposed that he gets a chance to fight the best fighter in the Santos motorcycle club. If he wins the fight, he gets to be an honorary member of the Santos motorcycle club and can take your hand in marriage. If he loses, he will honorably accept death. And they get a show out of it, so everyone wins. Though, you know, he won’t really have much of a choice about the honorably accepting death bit, since he’ll have his guts smeared across the ring if he loses. And Sid ‘Maneater’ Johnson didn’t get that name for nothing. Oh, yeah, it’s going to be a good fight!” Nate’s eyes gleam with excitement for the sport of the match but I do know Sid “Maneater” Johnson, named that for his habit of taking a big bite out of his opponent’s flesh after defeating them, and my temporary relief evaporates in less time than it takes to blink. I feel like I am going to be sick. Lily notices me turning green and elbows Nate. “Nate!” she scolds. “A little tact, please? This is her love that you are talking about!” Nate catches himself. “Sorry,” he mumbles sheepishly, rubbing his stomach on the side where Lily elbowed him. “It’s just going to be a good fight, that’s all. Fighting is my thing! Can you blame me?” Lily glares at him. But I can’t bother to spare a thought for Nate’s lack of tact. Every time I get any good news today, it is instantly negated by something that is at least equally as bad as the good news was good.
Chapter Nineteen: Cooper “So you slept with Flint’s daughter, you dishonored everyone in the Santos motorcycle club, and you risked causing us a deadly war, the likes of which we haven’t seen in years—all to get your rocks off?” The man, sitting on Flint’s right-hand side on the long wooden table says all of this in a flat, monotone voice, his eyes narrowed and fingertips resting against each other contemplatively. “I love Savannah Santos and I ask that you allow me to prove that I am worthy of being in your motorcycle club and marrying your daughter.” I speak directly to Flint, though I know there needs to be a majority vote from the board to allow me to fight for the chance to be an honorary member. “Why should I let you do this?” asks Flint. “After you have disrespected me and my men like this? Why shouldn’t I staple your balls to your legs, rip your dick off, and make you eat it while you bleed to death? Eh? ‘Cause I don’t know, boys, but that’s sounding pretty good to me.” I know he is trying to intimidate me. And I know that if I so much as flinch, that’s exactly what will happen. But Savannah is counting on me to make things right so that we can be together. So I stay completely straight-faced, as if the idea of being castrated doesn’t faze me, and answer him simply, directly, and as a man. “What is done is done and can’t be undone,” I say. “Sure, you can rip my balls off and watch me bleed out, but then you’re still stuck with a huge fucking embarrassment for your whole motorcycle club. That, and a shamed daughter for you.” I say this directly to Flint. “Who will be a reminder day in and day out that you failed to keep control of your household.” Flint growls and pushes his seat back, getting up. I speed it up a little, getting to my point. “Or…” I say. “Or you can let me fight your toughest guy. If I fuck him up, that’s a fucking honor to you—your daughter marries the new strongest fighter in your club and your legacy goes on and gets even stronger than before. Your son is already marrying Salvador’s daughter, uniting your motorcycle clubs, but you can have the upper hand if you have the stronger motorcycle club with me in it. And worst case scenario, you get to see me get killed on stage in front of everyone. Isn’t that better than just ripping my balls off? Enjoy the sport of it.” “A sportsman? Ha!” Flint laughs, the anger passing from his face. “What do you say men? Give ‘Veni Vidi Vici’ the chance to die in the ring?” “I wouldn’t mind seeing the ‘Maneater’ bloody that pretty-boy face.” The man sitting at Flint’s right side leans forward and rubs his palms together with a spirit of malice. A few of the other men chime in with sounds of agreements, harsh laughter, and taunts under their breath. “There you have it,” Flint says. “Tomorrow, you will fight the Maneater. If you manage to defeat him, and not die in the process, you can join the Santos motorcycle club and marry my daughter.” Flint laughs uproariously. Somehow, I am not quite as much in the mood for laughter.
The very moment that I come back out into the room where we left Savannah recovering from her swoon with Nate, Wolf, and Lily, Savannah leaps up off of the couch and runs to me, throwing herself into my arms. “I’m sorry!” she sobs. “Baby, I’m so, so sorry!” “Shhhh,” I murmur, stroking her hair. “Everything is going to be okay.” “But it’s everything I was afraid of,” she sobs. “There won’t be a war,” I say. Savannah shakes her head. “No, and that’s great and I know I am being selfish not to be thrilled because of that alone. But, Cooper, I can’t lose you! I can’t live without you. I love you.” “Shh,” I murmur. “I love you, too. And you won’t lose me. I am going to be fine. I am going to fight a guy, become an honorary member of your dad’s motorcycle club, and then you will be all mine. Forever and ever and ever.” I wipe away her tears and give her a kiss, right there in the middle of the room. Savannah doesn’t look reassured, but she also knows that we don’t have any other choice. And I am not going to let her down.
Chapter Twenty: Savannah We are allowed to spend this last night together, since I am already ruined and, as far as Daddy is concerned, Cooper will die the next day. To make sure we don’t try to run away, we have to stay in Daddy’s mansion, where all exits and entrances are tripped by wires and guarded by goons. So I am back with Cooper, in the very same room where I grew up. At this very moment, we are standing inches from the big, fluffy bed where I slept. If I wasn’t terrified for Cooper’s life, this would be really hot. But fuck it. At this point, the least I can do is give Cooper the best night of his life tonight. Hopefully, the good feelings will help him feel even more confident in the ring tomorrow, even though confidence doesn’t seem to be a problem for him, and he will have that extra edge to take down the Maneater. I take a step closer to Cooper and put a hand up on his chest. “I love you, baby,” I whisper. I rise up onto my tip-toes, put my other hand behind Cooper’s head, and pull Cooper’s face down to mine. I come closer to him, just a centimeter or two from his lips, and stop there, to make him feel the anticipation. “I am yours. My body is yours. Do what you want with it—I want you.” Cooper doesn’t need to be told twice. He lifts me up, wrapping my legs around his waist and backing me up against the wall. I wrap my arms around his head, feeling his cock stiffen in his pants and press up against me. The need grows deep in my abdomen, filling me with longing, and my sex starts to warm up in sweet anticipation. My body yearns for the pleasure that will fill me when Cooper yields to the mutual desire and gives me the satisfaction that we both want so very much. “I’m going to be there for you,” Cooper murmurs between kisses, his breath hot on my neck. “I am going to be here for you today, and tomorrow, and the day after that, and all the days beyond until we are both old and gray. And then I will still be there for you.” ‘I love you,” I reply. “And I trust you, and I am grateful that I have met you.” “No matter what happens tomorrow,” Cooper whispers, looking me straight in the eyes, “I, too, am glad that I met you and have had the chance to be with you. I will never regret that.” He kisses me again. “But I will not let you down.” “I know,” I breathe, and pull him as close as possible. “But right now, I want you to take me, deep and hard. I want you naked, and I want you to use me for your pleasure.” “You want me in you, huh?” Cooper whispers into my ear, his breath hot and close. My grasping fingers go straight for his belt, pulling it open to get to his button and fly underneath. I pull his jeans down and slide the boxers down after, freeing his erection. He expertly undresses me in just a few moves and then my bare flesh is pressed against his. “Ohhh,” I moan with pleasure as he slides his erection between my legs, rubbing along my wet pussy all the way up to my sensitive clit and back down again. Then he does it again, and again, and again, picking up speed as the pressure builds within me. He bends his head, taking a
nipple into his mouth and caressing it with his tongue. With his other hand, he teases my other nipple, stroking and caressing and playing with the tip. All the while, he continues to slide his erection up and down between my legs, exciting me so much that he brings me to the point of no return within moments. I dig my fingers into the bare skin of his back as mine arches with the satisfying release of an earth-shattering orgasm that sends stars before my eyes, leaving me completely disoriented. My world is still spinning in the best possible way when Cooper takes my face in his hands and kisses me, deeply and passionately. “I am going to take you now,” he growls in my ear, “my woman.” Then, without further warning, he pulls on a condom, throws me back on the bed, and thrusts his stiff cock deep into me. He is completely uninhibited as he gives in to our shared longing and lets the desire take us farther and harder and deeper. Together, we give in to the thrill of the passion and let it speed us toward the ultimate satisfaction. With my back arching and sex pulsing, his body heaving above me, we reach sweet release in rapid succession. I come first and he comes right after, my screams of the sweetest satisfaction mingling with his moans of pleasure. Then he collapses on top of me and my body buzzes with the after-effects of multiple orgasms and the security of his warm, safe weight on me.
Chapter Twenty-One: Cooper I get up at six to go on a warm-up run before the fight. The fight will begin at noon, but first I need to warm up as thoroughly and strategize as completely as if my life depends on it. Incidentally, it does. When I call Vlad to let him know about today’s fight, he immediately offers to come prepare me. “Dude, it’s six a.m. I don’t expect you to jump out of bed and come across town to prep me for this match,” I say. “Don’t even think about it. There is no way I’m not coaching you.” I can hear things rustling in the background. It sounds like Vlad is getting dressed or preparing something. “I am your coach. I coach all your fights. Now, who are you fighting?” “Uh…” I think back to yesterday’s talks with Flint and the board. “The guy’s name is Sid ‘Maneater’ Johnson. Know anything about him?” There is silence from the other end of the phone for a few moments. After a couple beats, I start to wonder if the call dropped. “Hello?” “I’m still here,” Vlad says. He sounds worried. “Yeah, man, I know Maneater. He used to fight in your league back in the day, but got kicked out a year or two before you got into fighting.” “Kicked out?” I raise an eyebrow, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “What do you mean kicked out?” There are very few things that can get you permanently kicked out of the league. Even juicing or killing a guy in the ring won’t do it. “He killed five guys in one season in the ring and concussed another so bad that the guy is a freakin’ vegetable now.” I can pretty much hear Vlad shaking his head over the phone. “Irreparable brain damage, man. It’s no joke. And do you know how he got his name?” “No,” I say. “How?” “There’s rumor that he’s some kind of cannibal,” Vlad says. “I don’t know if that’s the truth, or if he just does it for the shock appeal, but he has this nasty habit of taking a big bite out of his opponents after defeating them. He chews it up—literally chews up some other man’s flesh—and swallows. It’s probably just the ultimate ‘fuck you’ to his opponent, but even if it’s all just for show, it takes some kind of seriously sick man to eat a part of another human. I dunno, man…” “Then I guess we better get started,” I say. “I’ll see you at Hudson Park in fifteen,” Vlad says. “Great, see you then.” I hang up and go get dressed. Savannah is still asleep, her beautiful face as angelic as ever, when I slip out. I’m stopped before I get to the front door, of course. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” the giant oaf guarding the inside of the front door grunts. “I have a fight today. I’m going on a training run,” I say. “I’m not running away. Come with for all I care.”
The burly oaf scratches first his head and then his balls. Then, as though he had just thought of it himself, he says, “You know what? I’m gonna come with you. And don’t think I’m not going to love every minute of blowing your head off if you try to make a run for it.” He grins sadistically and pats his pistol holster. “I’m not running away,” I repeat. “I’m a man. I fight my battles.” The oaf picks his motorcycle helmet up off of the floor next to him and snaps it on before opening the door. We walk out, and he hops on a Harley by the door, nods at a few other overly juiced guards just hanging out in front of the house, and revs his engine a few times. Then I start running to the park and he follows behind. Maybe if he trained more and shot up less, he could keep up. ’Roids are for wusses who don’t want to work hard and can’t achieve real strength on their own. Real men fight for what they want and they earn it through their own personal merit. I speed up. I might as well make the thug’s bike’s engine work a little. I run five minute miles all the way to the park, so when I get there, my shirt is soaked through and I am super pumped up. I see Vlad stretching over by the benches, so I jog over while the Santos oaf parks his bike. “Cooper, my man,” Vlad greets, thumping me on the shoulder. “I could ask how you get yourself into these kinds of messes, but I’m not in the mood for a dumbass answer or some sappy love shit. We’re in pre-fight mode now and the first thing I am going to need you to do is forget all about all that other drama. Forget about Flint and Savannah and getting shot if things don’t go your way. You’re in the zone now, man.” Vlad has gone full coach mode and it is just what I need. “I need you to visualize the Maneater—” “I’ve never seen the guy,” I interrupt. “Eh, he’s a guy with a face,” Vlad groans. “Never mind, never mind—that’s what these new smartphones are for, isn’t it?” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, does a quick google search, and holds the phone up for me to see. I squint at the screen. The Maneater is one of those really big guys whose shoulder muscles pop up over the side of their tank top straps like some cartoon villain. He either fell asleep in a tanning bed or, more likely, hung out on the streets so much that his skin baked into a permanent, overdone salmon color and hardened leather texture. His face has been messed up so many times that it healed back like a two-year-old’s play dough art piece. There isn’t anything left on his face that isn’t crooked, and his nose must have broken and healed back wrong at least three or four times, judging by the many different ways that it zigs and zags. He has gray, almost white, irises, like a blind guy and his upper lip is curled into a snarl in the photo. His hair is buzzed, but he has a messy, red beard of curly, wiry hair. There is a wide, jagged scar through his left eyebrow that kept the hair from healing back, so it looks like he has three eyebrows. “Nice-looking guy,” I joke. Vlad gives me a hard look. “You’ll be looking worse than him if we don’t pull this off this afternoon. So we will.” I nod.
“Okay, visualize the Maneater,” Vlad continues. “Now visualize yourself killing him. I mean killing him. You can’t just visualize a victory, like we normally do, because that’s not going to work with his kind of fighter. It’s all or nothing. He isn’t going to wave a white flag and surrender ’cause he has a boo-boo. It’s either you or him and we are going to make sure that it’s him. Unless he’s unconscious and not recovering, he’s not going to let you leave that ring unless you’re in a fucking body bag.” I said I would do anything for Savannah. If that means I have to kill a man, I will.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Savannah The fight is happening back in the stark warehouse where we met with Flint and Salvador yesterday. When I woke up this morning, Cooper was already off to training, his side of the bed cold. He left a note, scrawled on the backside of a small, blue note paper from my high school reminders notepad, on the pillow. ‘I will see you after the fight. I am looking forward to my victory kiss.’ It’s intentional. He didn’t want a goodbye or a ‘what if.’ He wanted to leave for his prematch prep just like this was any other fight, just as if the very real danger of him not making it to the end of the fight wasn’t a real thing. I don’t know how to feel. On the one hand, I would want to say goodbye if I was going to lose him. But I can’t imagine any way that I would rather say it than last night. Would I want our last memory to be a tearful one? No. But, if I am honest with myself, there really is no way of saying goodbye that would make it okay. So, in a way, I am grateful for the way that he handled it. I could not bear to say goodbye to Cooper. Not now and not ever. I fold the note up and tuck it into the left cup of my bra, right over my heart. I do not really know why I do it, because I am not a very superstitious person, but somehow I hope it brings him good luck anyway. Or hopefully it will bring me good luck, to bring my love back to me, whole and victorious. They had transformed the warehouse from a bland, empty industrial space into a glorious coliseum overnight, ancient Roman style. Black market money is no joke and you can get anyone to do anything for you if you come knocking at their business’s door with a group of muscle-bound motorcycle club thugs to help convince them that they do actually want to be helpful, after all. Some of the best carpenters in town have been working since yesterday afternoon, through the night, to build the ring in the middle of the warehouse and put up bleachers all around it. There is even an elevated viewing box for Flint and Salvador. There were posters promoting the fight up all around the local bike stores, bars, and dives by yesterday evening and all the publicity sure paid off. The arena is packed, with even more hopeful viewers waiting outside for the chance to get in if someone leaves early or the bouncers decide to screw the logical capacity restraints and oversell. True to form, my dad has turned this into a big money-maker. He isn’t the king of the Santoses for nothing. He can even turn a nice dime on the public beating, and potential murder, of the love of my life. No! I have to not think of it like that. I can’t let myself think of this as some sort of losing battle. Sure, I see the fearsome face of the Maneater glowering down at me from the posters that are hanging on every wall, whichever way I turn, but I must not allow myself to think that Cooper may not win this fight. Cooper needs my support and confidence now. I owe Cooper my trust, and that includes my trust in his ability to win this fight. For us. One of my dad’s right-hand men steps into the ring. He’s somewhere in his fifties, with a beer paunch to offset his huge biceps, but apparently he was quite the fighter back when he was
in his prime. I’m not surprised to see him announcing the fight. Nonetheless, I hate every inch of him, from the top of his balding head to the bottom of his dusty motorcycle boots, for enjoying the spectacle so much. He is clearly not at all upset by the idea of my lover dying in the ring today. “Welcome, my friends!” he booms into the microphone. The crowd roars in response. My throat feels like it is closing up and my palms become clammy and cold where they grasp the hard metal of the bleacher seat. “Are you reeeeaaaaady?” The crowd goes wild and the announcer pumps with his hands, signaling them to bring the volume up even further. “Are you ready to see Cooper ‘Veni Vidi Vici’ Quin fight for the chance to make it to tomorrow alive?” More roars erupt from the bloodthirsty crowd and I hate every single one of them. How can they not care that Cooper is a real person, with other real people who care about him? How can they watch his persecution as sport? “Are you ready to see Cooper ‘Veni Vidi Vici’ Quin die a gory death TODAY? Are you ready to see his blood smeared across THIS VERY ring? Let me hear some noise?” The announcer pumps his hands in the air again and the crowd gets even louder. There are a few ‘boos’ from Cooper fans, but the overwhelming majority of the noise is cheer. It’s a stacked crowd, with Sid “Maneater” Johnson pulling a distinct home-court advantage, and most of the fans here aren’t rooting for Cooper to make it. All the Santos motorcycle club members, and all of their friends and significant others, are rooting for their gang brother, the Maneater. And even among those who have no reason to root for the Maneater over Cooper, they are just extra bloodthirsty or eager to see the Maneater take a bite out of a famous fighter, so they are all for Cooper losing. I will just have to cheer all the louder, like I have never cheered before. “That’s what I want to hear! Let’s see some BLOOD!” The announcer cheers, pumping his fist victoriously. He is prancing and preening and feeding the crowd the excitement of watching a live slaughter, as though Cooper had already lost. I seethe with fury. “That’s enough, folks—let’s get this show on the road! Welcome today’s clear crowd favorite, SID ‘MANEATER’ JOHNSON!” The announcer sweeps his muscle-bound arm to the right, where the Maneater approaches the ring. The Maneater’s hood is already down when he jumps into the ring, cape tied haphazardly around his freakishly oversized shoulders. This man makes Arnold Schwarzenegger look like he needs to bulk up a bit. His monstrously disfigured face matches his monstrously enormous body, but the most terrifying, off-putting thing about his appearance is his expression. His snarl doesn’t look the least bit affected, but as though he is honestly some gore-hungry psychopath who would rather do nothing more than slaughter an innocent man. My lover. The Maneater bares his teeth like a rabid Rottweiler and tears at the air, as though he were tearing apart an imaginary cut of raw steak with his canines. My blood runs cold. “Give it up for the Maneater, ladies and gents,” the announcer hollers. He is loud enough without his microphone, but the added volume from it makes his voice really boom. I can feel the vibrations through my seat. When he is satisfied that the cheering has gone on long enough,
he sweeps his arm to the left. “And now, give it up for today’s challenger, Cooper ‘Veni Vidi Vici’ Quin! The ladies love him, guys want to be him—he’s the king of his league, but we’re on a different level in here, AREN’T WE?” Cooper approaches the ring, wearing a black silk cape with his silver-edged hood pulled down low over his face. He leaps gracefully into the ring and lands with his feet just over shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, and arms up in the air. Like a winner. Standing up there, he doesn’t look worried in the slightest. He is shirtless, and when he turns around, I see the now-familiar tattoo etched boldly over his shoulder blade, a promising reminder of the bond we share and the hope that we have. We can do this, he can do this. The cheers for Cooper are largely female, as is to be expected, but my cheer is by far the loudest. Cooper turns back around to face me and looks straight at me. He blows me a kiss and I blow him one back, which he catches and pulls to his heart. The movement makes his biceps flex even more, causing his ink sleeves to dance, and the female cheers pick up in octave a bit. “Veni! Vidi! Vici!” I cheer, cupping my hands around my mouth. “I am going to get out of here,” says the announcer, walking over to the edge of the ring. “I know what you guys want just as much as I do and it isn’t to hear me talk some more. Let’s watch someone get HURT!” The screams of the crowd rise in volume as Cooper and the Maneater face each other. The two edge around the ring, fists up and knees bent in fighting stance. The crowd goes quiet as the tension picks up. Who will throw the first punch? Who will gain the upper hand? What is going to happen next? My heart feels like it is going to pound straight out of my chest. With a roar, the Maneater launches himself at Cooper. Cooper deflects, twisting a burly arm behind the Maneater’s back and spinning him around. “Go, baby!” I cheer, so loudly that my voice cracks at the end. But instead of twisting in pain, the Maneater’s face contorts into a guise of sheer fury. He seems offended, not hurt, by Cooper’s counterattack, and what should have slowed him down from pain seems to be nothing more than a bother. With the frightening roar of an enraged wild beast, the Maneater unfurls his arm with such force that he flings Cooper over his head and slams him onto the floor of the ring with a sickening thud. There’s a breathless moment when Cooper hits the ground and I wonder if he’s badly hurt, but Cooper jumps to his feet almost as soon as he is down, his fighter training keeping him from staying down and giving the Maneater more immediate opportunity to hurt him. As he comes up, he catches the Maneater under the chin with a mean upper hook that slams the Maneater’s teeth into his bottom lip. Blood dripping down his chin, the Maneater spins around to Cooper with another ground-shaking roar. I can’t watch, I am too terrified. But I also cannot look away. The Maneater throws a cross and Cooper blocks it, but the impact of the blocked cross on Cooper’s arm is still strong enough that I hear the sickening thud of the Maneater’s blow on Cooper’s flesh and wince in empathetic pain. Cooper throws a jab and the Maneater is too slow to block it. Cooper gets him right in the center of the abdomen and you can see that it is the kind of jab that really hurts. I wait with bated breath for just a moment, hoping against hope that it
would have gotten him in the gut or something. But, just as before, the Maneater seems to be fueled by the pain instead of allowing it to slow him down. He lets out the most terrifyingly gruesome roar and springs back into fighting stance like a wind-up toy. How can you possibly defeat an opponent who only seems to get stronger with every attack you manage to get in? Cooper is my everything. He is my sun, my stars, the light of my life. Without him, every moment of the rest of my life would be spent bemoaning the fact that I am here alone to suffer a miserable existence without my love. I have not been able to open up with someone the way that I could with Cooper since the death of my mother and sister. I had closed myself off from emotion for the longest time, for years and years, and I didn’t think that I could ever be open to letting someone in again. But somehow, in the most unlikely of all circumstances, Cooper managed to not only break down my defenses and emotional barriers, but become more important to me than anything else in the world. And now he is up in that ring, essentially being fed to the wolves in front of hundreds of people, all for me. If anything happens to him, it is my fault. If he dies in the ring today, all of my greatest fears will have been realized. I didn’t want to let anyone get close to me for the fear of what that could do to them. I was afraid that if someone got close to me, they would get hurt and it would be all my fault. And it would not be worth it. But with Cooper, I know that he thinks even dying for me is worth it. I know that even if he knew that he would die in the ring today, he would still do it all over again. Knowing that makes the possibility of losing him hurt all the more, because that kind of love and loyalty is rare. Most people never find that kind of love, not in their entire lives, but I have found it. And now I might lose it. The Maneater catches Cooper in a half-bind and starts just pounding on him, like he is a human punching bag. The crowd is eating it up. “MANEATER! MAN-EATER! KILL HIM!” I think I am going to be sick.
Chapter Twenty-Three: Cooper I ignore the pain searing through my shoulder and twist with all my force, freeing myself from the half-bind and knocking the Maneater in the back of the head with my balled fist on the way up. There is an ‘oof’ of pain, but I know that the punch didn’t do much. At this point of the match, it is concuss him or nothing and since he is not spinning, the blow didn’t rattle his brain enough to be worth shit. The Maneater is, hands down, the best fighter that I have ever been up against in my life. We are so closely matched that, in any other situation, I would say it is a toss-up as far as which one of us will win. Sure, I have made him bleed and he will probably not be wanting to get out of bed tomorrow morning, but I am feeling pretty beat-up, too. We have been at it for twenty minutes and, at this point, both of us are staggering. I sock him in the gut. He slugs me in the jaw. I deliver a swift roundhouse kick to the back of his knees and he wraps his arms around me as he goes down, slamming me under him on the ground. We both stagger to our feet, bloody and disoriented. I am not one for false humility, so I mean it when I say that either one of us could win in any other situation. But in this situation, where my losing would mean abandoning Savannah, there is no question. I am going to win. I have to. The thought gives me new steam and I slug him hard, pairing it with a hard knee in the stomach in quick succession. I hear the crowd picking up in volume a little, but the only voice that matters to me at all is Savannah’s. And, just as it has been for all of the fight so far, her voice rises above the cheers of the crowd at a volume I would have thought impossible before today. I am going to win this for my love. The Maneater retaliates, getting me hard in the eye socket. I can feel the blood welling up behind my eyeball and my vision goes blurry. After that point, I can’t even keep track of the moves. The fuzziness in my head and ringing in my ears suggests a concussion, but rattling my brain isn’t my concern at the moment. My concern is staying alive. My body goes on autopilot, years of Navy SEAL and mixed martial arts fighting experience combining to keep me blocking and counterattacking even when I am too hurt to focus on strategy anymore. My body fights on its own and whenever that isn’t enough, the push from Savannah’s voice echoing in the fuzzy recesses of my mind drives me forward to carry out the next move. My love is counting on me. I am not going to let her down, no matter what. But then the Maneater has his meaty paws around my neck and starts to shake. The drop in my oxygen levels shocks me back into clarity and I realize that this is it. This is the moment of all or nothing and, for Savannah, the answer has to be all. I have let a comrade down before, but I will not let my love down now. With everything left in me, and then some extra oomph from who knows where, I go full he-man on the Maneater. I elbow his arms apart, prying them off of my neck. I fish hook him, hard, in the mouth and use it to spin him around a hundred and eighty
degrees. Then I pile-drive him into the ground and he’s lying there, two hundred fifty pounds of steroids and muscle, as I am pounding him, over and over and over, in the back of the head. The crowd is going wild. It is as clear to me as it is to everyone else that the Maneater is not recovering. He is going to die there as I pound him, over and over and over, in the back of the head. The next thing I know, five big guys are in the ring with me, pulling me off of the Maneater. The room is spinning and I have a splitting headache, blood running into my eyes, but I am able to make out one thing. “We have a winner!” the announcer yells. “Cooper ‘Veni Vidi Vici’ Quin has defeated the Maneater!” And then my love is up in the ring, her little arms wrapped around me, and I finally feel peace. “I love you, baby,” she says. I don’t answer. Instead, I just kiss her, right there in the middle of the ring, in front of everyone. She is mine now, forever.
Chapter Twenty-Four: Savannah I can’t believe he did it. The fight was close the whole time, but towards the end it really looked like the Maneater was going to win. And then, out of nowhere, Cooper seemed to be seized with some superpower and just destroyed him. It was clear to everyone that Cooper was going to kill the Maneater up there, so Daddy waved his personal guards, the biggest guys in the Santos motorcycle club, aside from the Maneater, to go pull Cooper off of the Maneater before he killed him. It is a mercy that Cooper would not have been shown if roles were reversed, but as a Santos motorcycle club member and one of Dad’s favorite men, at that, he saves him from the death that would have been Cooper’s fate. All is well. I didn’t care who was watching or what Daddy would think or what people would say. I jumped out of my seat and ran up onto the ring to be with my man. I wasn’t willing to wait one more moment to be near him again. And then he kissed me, and even though he was covered in blood and sweat, both his own and the Maneater’s, it was one of the best kisses of my life. It was a possessive kiss, where he claimed me in front of everyone, their opinions be damned. From now on, we will be together forever. When the kiss ends and we pull apart—all too soon, considering that I would like it to go on forever—my father is standing up in the ring next to us. He laughs and takes the microphone from the announcer. “I was skeptical of this...friendship...between my daughter and Cooper ‘Veni Vidi Vici’ Quin when I first learned of it,” he booms. “But the pretty boy has proved his worth. Cooper Quin is now officially an honorary member of the Santos Motorcycle Club. He will take on the full rights and responsibilities of a member of the Santos Motorcycle Club, including the right to shred the streets on a badass, tricked-out Harley.” He pauses for several minutes until the screaming and cheering of the crowd dies down enough for him to be heard again. “But most of all, I have to say that I will be proud to call him my son.” At this, the crowd really loses it. Dad thumps Cooper on the back and I can only imagine how much it must hurt, after all the injuries Cooper sustained in the fight, but he just grins and turns to kiss me again. I melt into him, but make myself pull away before I completely lose control. We step around the medics kneeling around the Maneater’s massive, immobile body, now a harmless mound of bloodied flesh, and climb down out of the ring.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Savannah Even though he is injured and limping a bit as we walk down the aisle, Cooper has his arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders. He pushes his overeager new fans back and glares at the rest. The ‘don’t mess with me’ look on his face, still covered in both his own sweat and blood, and that of the Maneater, suffices for all but the boldest of the fans. Vlad is already waiting at the exit of the warehouse and, as I never saw him arrive at the fight, I am a little surprised to see him there. But it makes sense that he would be, as Cooper's best friend. "Well done, son," Vlad says, giving Cooper a quick man-to-man hug. "Thanks," Cooper says. "And thanks again for everything you have done for me—for us." "Don't even mention it," Vlad says, waving it off. "But I hope you aren't about to tell me you're planning on going home." He gives Cooper a skeptical look. "Well, actually..." Cooper begins. "We're going to the hospital," I say. "But I'm fine," Cooper protests. "Listen to your woman," Vlad says, nodding. "You just took on the fucking Maneater and I know it wasn't just my imagination that saw him rattle your head around a bit. I am not a betting man, but I would put a month's wages on the fact that you have a concussion." Cooper opens his mouth like he is about to protest again, but winces and puts a hand to his head instead. "Fine," he concedes, through gritted teeth. "Let's go. But no ambulance." "Deal," I agree, popping up on my tip-toes to give him a kiss on his cheek. "I'm pretty sure Savannah can take it from here," Vlad says with a smile at me. "So I'm going to go get Bettina and we will see you two at the hospital." "Sounds good," I agree. "Which hospital will you be going to?" Vlad asks. "Weiss Memorial Hospital, right?" I say, after briefly considering which one was probably closest. "Yeah," Cooper says. He winces when he nods his head and I hold on to his elbow a little tighter. For once, I am the one providing the physical support for him. After all he has done for me, I am more than happy to be able to return the favor, even just in this smallest of ways. Cooper leans on me, and a feeling of loving and being loved spreads through my chest like the spreading glow of a candle's flame. "See you soon," Vlad says, as we part ways just outside the exit of the warehouse. Vlad heads to the parking lot to get in his car while we head to the street corner, where I flag down a cab. "Weiss Memorial Hospital, please," I say, as we climb into the cab. "And as quickly as possible." We are at the hospital in a flash and, once the receptionist notices who Cooper is and gets the obligatory autograph on a piece of hospital stationery, Cooper is immediately given a room
and assigned a doctor. A nurse brings us to a private treatment room and runs the concussion tests, then leaves us alone while she goes to take a look at the test results. As soon as the door closes, Cooper pushes himself up onto his elbows on the bed. "I think you owe me something." I slide a hand into the neck of my shirt, pulling the folded-up note out of the left cup of my bra. "Your victory kiss," I say, with a smile. "There is nothing I would rather do." So I kiss him—sweet and slow and deep, like a love that suddenly has years and years and years to unfold. We don't have to cram our passion into an intense few moments. We can delight in it for the rest of our lives. In that moment, the sterile smells and anxious sounds of the hospital fall away and I feel what it is to be unencumbered and happy. There is a knock at the door and I assume that it is the nurse, respecting our privacy by knocking before entering, so I walk over to let her in. Instead, I see my father there, motorcycle helmet in hand. "Hello, Savannah," he says, as somberly as ever. "Father," I say. I don't know what to say to him. I am emotionally torn between being angry at him for putting Cooper and me through all of that and making Cooper risk his life, and being happy because he is my dad, one of the only family members I have left, and he is here and talking to me. Since I can't figure out what I should say, I just leave it at that and step aside, letting him into the room. He walks over to the chair by the doctors cabinets, a good two or three yards away from Cooper, and takes a seat. He puts his helmet down on the cabinet, surely breaking a hundred hospital rules at once about sterility and whatnot, then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and interlacing his fingers. "I came here to say three things," he says, in his usual even, neutral tone. "First, I wanted to congratulate you—both of you—for standing up for your love today and winning the good fight. Love like that is rare and you should treasure it forever. The last time I've seen, or shown, love like that was when my wife was still alive." It's the most personal, emotional thing I can recall him ever saying and I am floored. I have to remind myself not to let my mouth hang open like a fly trap. "Second, I want to apologize to you, Savannah." Here, I start wondering if I am the one with the concussion. Did I hear that right? Did Flint Santos just apologize for something? Impossible. And yet… "I want to apologize for sinking so deep into the motorcycle club life after your mother's and sister's deaths that I completely forgot to honor that you and your brother are still alive. And I made you give up your lives to the motorcycle club life, too, and that was wrong of me." He cracks a wan smile. "But you're a Santos and, true to form, you weren't going to let anyone tell you what to do. I'm proud of you, daughter." I feel a tear sliding down my cheek and wipe it away. I am not sad, just overjoyed and overwhelmed. "It's okay, Daddy."
My father shakes his head. "No," he says. "It isn't okay. But I am going to try to do a better job as a father going forwards. And that brings me to point three." He turns his gaze to Cooper, who pushes himself up to a fully upright sitting position. It is clear that he is the one who will be primarily addressed next. "Yes, sir," Cooper says. "I made you an honorary Santos motorcycle club member today, because you earned it," Flint started. "But because you are important in my daughter's life, I don't want you brought into this thug life any more than you want to be in it. And so I make you an honorary member in title, but excuse you from all duties associated with full membership." "Oh, Daddy!" This is it, I finally lose it. I run over to my father and wrap my arms around him in the first hug we have shared in over a decade. After a brief moment of stiff shock, he hugs me back. "Thank you, sir," Cooper says. When Vlad and Bettina, a small, round woman with a big smile and silvering hair, come into the room a few minutes later, followed closely by the nurse, the three of us look like the perfect tableau of a happy family, smiling, and laughing, and catching up on so much lost time. I do not know what the future will bring, but I know that I am excited to find out, with Cooper by my side.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Cooper I get sent home from the hospital a few hours later, with a mild concussion and the instruction to stay in bed and take it easy for a while. After all I've been through, that doesn't sound so bad. Especially with Savannah here, lying warm in my arms. “I love you,” Savannah whispers. “I love you, too,” I say. But there’s an unspoken ‘but’ hanging in the air on her side. “Shoot.” “What?” she looks confused. “I know there is something else that you need to say,” I say. “So say it. I am listening. We have all the time in the world.” I wrap my arm over her, hugging her securely to my chest. “It’s not a ‘but’ about loving you,” Savannah starts. “Because I do! I really do. But...now what?” “Now what?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow. “I was terrified, absolutely beside myself with fear for your life, during that fight,” she says, her voice catching with emotion. “Every time he hit you, I didn’t know if that was it. If that was the time that you wouldn’t get back up.” I kiss the top of her head, hugging her to my chest, “I wasn’t going to abandon you. I promised.” “I know,” she said. “But people can’t always keep their promises. And if the Maneater killed you...I, I just don’t know how I would have been able to go on.” “I love you,” I repeat. “And I am going to be here for you. You can count on me, now and always.” “Yes,” she nods, her head moving on my chest. “But it’s not even just that. Our entire relationship has been built in the context of strife and drama and discord. We couldn’t be open with each other, we were fighting everything, including ourselves, to be together, the odds were so strongly against us. Everything should have kept us from working, but we worked. We made it.” “We did,” I say, giving her a kiss. “We made it.” “Yeah, we made it.” She doesn’t exactly sound overjoyed. “And that’s wonderful! But...but what now? Now that there is no discord, now that we’re safe, now that we can be together and there is no one after us? We never learned how to be normal with each other. What if we can’t survive without the pressure of constant, impending disaster pushing us together? What do we do now that we can just live normal lives?” “Savannah, look at me.” I shift her on my chest so that she can look up at me. “We don’t need the strife. We don’t need all that shit. We only need each other.” She looks at me, wide-eyed. “How do you know? How can you be completely sure?” “I know,” I answer, giving her a tender kiss, “because I love you more than anything else in the world. I love you that much now and I will love that much tomorrow and I will love you that much a thousand tomorrows from now. You are mine now.”
Savannah smiles. “I love you, too.” And then I kiss my woman.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Savannah - Six months later My life has changed to its polar opposite since that fight. Cooper and I now share a nice apartment in a ritzy part of town, paid for with his wins from yet another major tournament victory. That isn’t to suggest that Cooper is the only one with a career. I am doing pretty well professionally myself. Business has been booming at The Ink Joint ever since Cooper’s last fight. After winning yet again, my dreamboat boyfriend turned the spotlight to me, publicly pronouncing me both his favorite tattoo artist and the love of his life. People come from all over town, and even from other states and all the way from California, to get inked by me. I am now the head tattoo artist at The Ink Joint and the huge increase in revenue has done wonders for the place’s aesthetic. Now we are just as ritzy as the hoity-toity parlors that wouldn’t take me less than eight months ago, but we still have our blue collar charm. To celebrate our six-month anniversary of being happily together, Cooper invited me on a trip back to New York City. “We are going to do it right this time,” he says, when he surprises me with the trip. And my goodness—yes, we are. We fly over in first class from Chicago and a shiny, black Lincoln town car with a stiff, uniformed driver, the very image of what you would imagine a chauffeur or butler to be, drives us to our temporary home for the duration of the stay. The Four Seasons. As the daughter of a motorcycle club king, I have experienced a lot of luxury in my life. I have had and seen a lot of nice things. But the Four Seasons in New York City? It takes even my breath away. Our enormous suite has floor-to-ceiling windows along one whole wall of the bedroom, providing a breathtaking view of Central Park, in bloom for spring. The bed is enormous enough that we can fit a full-sized truck between us, but we sleep the same way every night, curled up with each other in the middle of the bed. It is how we have slept every night for the past six months, without fail, and it is wonderful. We eat at some of the world’s finest restaurants, see beautiful Broadway musicals, and visit all the tourist hot spots. It is all amazing, but none of it compares to the time we have alone together. Cooper is as generous out of bed as he is in it. He even humors me with a surprise shopping spree down Fifth Avenue. Admittedly, he really perks up in Agent Provocateur. He manages to keep it more or less together for a while. But then I need his opinion on a black, silk teddy. It only takes one glance in the dressing room and Cooper is done with shopping. We have to rush back to the hotel after that. We barely make it into the elevator before we fall all over each other like horny teenagers. “I can’t wait to get you naked,” Cooper growls in my ear. Not quite quiet enough, however, because I see the elderly elevator attendant’s emotionless face take on a shocked expression just before the elevator’s doors slide shut. “He heard that!” I protest, but Cooper is already working at the zipper on the back of my dress.
“Let him have a little excitement for a change,” Cooper replies, as devious as ever. “I know I’m planning on having a lot of fun…” He slides a hand up between my legs, under my dress, and up against my hot, ready sex. “I—” I start, but my protests trail off into a sigh of pleasure. I was going to say something about cameras and elevator footage, but I can’t focus with Cooper’s fingers expertly stroking my clit in clockwise circles with increasing intensity. The elevator doors swing open with a ping and Cooper sweeps me up, literally off of my feet, and runs the fifteen or so feet to our suite. He pulls the room key out of his pocket with one hand and holds me easily with the other arm, nibbling on my ear all the while. The man is the king of multi-taskers when it comes to pleasure. As soon as he puts me down inside the room, my unzipped dress slides easily down to my feet, exposing all of my bare flesh. I realize I never got around to putting my underwear back on in our rush to pay for the lingerie at Agent Provocateur and get back to the room. It is okay. It only saves us some time. I unbutton Cooper’s shirt, kissing the hot skin of his neck, and when he shrugs it off, I almost lose it entirely at the sensation of his skin on mine after having to restrain myself during the cab ride back. I slide down to my knees, unbuckling his belt and pulling down his jeans. All of my five senses are awake and roaring as my entire body burns with a fiery lust. I close my lips around his shaft and take his rock-hard member deep into my throat. Having Cooper there, and in me, turns me on so much that my gag reflex doesn’t even kick in at all as I slide my head up and down, moving him in and out of my throat. “Oh, baby,” Cooper moans and I suck more intensely, teasing the base of his member with my tongue. The more I suck, and the more pleasure I give Cooper, the more aroused I become. I am wetter than a hot tub by the time he pulls me up to my feet. “I am going to take you now,” Cooper growls and slides into my oh-so-ready sex with a single gratifying thrust that sends my eyes rolling back in my head with ecstasy. With his member in me the whole time, he backs me up to the bed and gently pushes me onto it. He pulls out of me, then hovers, poised at my entrance, for a moment, teasing me. “Oh, please!” I beg. “Give me my satisfaction.” “Savannah,” he groans, thrusting into me and sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body. “You drive me crazy.” I arch my back up off of the bed to kiss him passionately, his lips hot against mine. He wraps his fingers in my hair, pulling me closer to him as he kisses me, hot and heavy. That does it. We go soaring over the edge together, completely uninhibited as we yield to the pleasure and the sweet satisfaction of the perfect orgasm. Entirely spent, we fall to our sides, my body alive with the tingles of my sweet satisfaction, and breathe out in bliss as I curl up against Cooper on the softest of all beds. Despite all the luxury, what I love most about this trip is the 24/7 unbounded and endless time together with Cooper. I was scared, when we first started out as a real couple, that we wouldn’t make it. I was scared that it would turn out that our love was situational and that it would have lost its shine
before the seasons changed. I was worried that our spark would dull. But it hasn’t. And that brings me to now, and this blissful moment. I grin to myself, thinking back on what had happened just moments before. Yeah, our spark has definitely not grown dull. Cooper shifts in the bed beside me, sliding out from where I am still lying half on top of him. “Is everything okay?” I murmur, eyes still half closed in post-coital bliss. “Everything is better than okay,” Cooper answers, bending down to give me a kiss. He reaches down and pulls on his boxers. They’re my favorite pair, a solid red cotton pair that I gave him for Christmas. “Oh, boo,” I pretend to pout. “Why clothes?” “Just these,” Cooper laughs. “I can’t do what I’m about to do naked.” “And what’s that?” I raise an eyebrow. “Are you going to strip for me? You might want to start with a little more than that, then…” “Haha, maybe later.” Cooper walks out of the room into the cavernous offshoot that the Four Seasons calls a walk-in closet. “What are you doing, babe?” I call. He doesn’t answer and I hear some rustling. Then, a few moments later, he emerges from the closet. His face has a surprisingly intense expression for casual after-sex lounging and his hand is closed around a black, velvet box. My breath catches in my throat, heartbeat quickening, as he walks towards the bed. He comes to a stop at the side of the bed, right next to me, and then lowers himself down onto one knee. It is as though time has slowed to the speed of a trickle of molasses as he lifts his hand, his fingers still closed tight around something black and cubical. “Savannah Santos, love of my life and the other half to make me whole,” he says. “Will you make me the happiest man in the world? Will you marry me?” “YES!” I leap on him, but he’s still kneeling on the floor beside the bed, so I knock him over and then we are both lying on the floor, in each other’s arms, smiling like complete imbeciles. “A million times yes,” I say, laughing with sheer joy. Cooper gives me a passionate kiss and then, still smiling so brightly that we barely need the lights, he opens the box. “Don’t you even want to see the ring?” he teases. “It could have a Pop Rock on it for all you know!” “It could be a candy ring for all I care,” I say. “I would want to marry you anyway.” It’s true—I honestly would not even need a ring to be overjoyed by the thought of being married, for ever and ever, to this amazing man. But the ring still takes my breath away. It is a dazzling princess-cut diamond that is positively luminescent as it gleams in the light. He slides it onto my finger. “Oh, Cooper,” I breathe. “It’s so beautiful.” “It is nowhere near as beautiful or precious as you are,” Cooper says. Then he folds his hands over mine.
“You are mine, Savannah,” he whispers as he leans in to give me another kiss. “You are my future Mrs. Savannah Quin.” Mrs. Savannah Quin. I really like the sound of that.
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Cooper -Six more months later… We have looked at over a hundred houses now, but I am not settling for less than perfect for my perfect wife. And our little one. I look over at Savannah, who is resting a hand on her beautiful bump—our beautiful baby bump—and glowing with health and beauty in the warm, autumn sun. So much has changed in the past year and I am happier than I could have ever imagined that I would be. I look over to my other side, where Nate is pushing his pimped-out Ferrari of a baby wagon with one arm and has his other arm wrapped around Nikki. Would I have ever guessed that Nate and Nikki, Wolf and Lily, and Savannah and I would ever become a tight-knit group of couple friends, all raising—or soon to be raising—our little ones together? But I have come to realize that with Savannah, anything is possible. She makes me want to train harder, fight smarter, and be not only even more successful, but an all-around better man. All without saying a word. It’s like somehow her beauty and her warm, giving nature have spread from my personal home life into all aspects of my life, making an already successful career catch fire in such an explosion of success that Vlad and I have had to start a second gym, as partners, where I coach my own select one or two students when I am not training, fighting, giving interviews, or spending time house-hunting for my new family with my wonderful wife. “Baby, I think this is it,” Savannah says, her face lighting up as she points at the next house on the street. God, that woman is radiant. And she is all mine. I have been with her for over a year now, and married for several months, but I only find her more entrancing with each passing day. Every moment I spend with her makes me fall more and more in love with her, even though I have long since passed the point where I thought I could not be any more in love with someone. I am deeply grateful for every moment that I spend with her and am even thankful for all of the hardships that I have faced, even being betrayed by Sarah, because they made it possible to be with this one woman who is perfect for me. “Cooper,” she laughs. “Stop looking at me for a minute and look at the house! You already know what I look like!” “I do,” I say, smiling. “And I know I like looking.” Good-natured jokes aside, I do take a look at the house. It isn’t the biggest house that we’ve seen, or the fanciest, or the most unique, but there is something that just looks right about it. It just looks homey. I cannot put my finger on what it is, but I like it. “I can see our little boy running down that driveway,” I say, squeezing Savannah to my side. “Or girl,” she corrects, rubbing her small bump. “Or girl,” I agree. Savannah smiles back up at me and I kiss the top of her head. “Helloooooo!” The real estate agent showing the house comes bustling out the front door and down the front steps to wave to us from the head of the driveway. “Come on up!” She is a petite bottle-blond with an enormous bust and hips that don’t quit, and would definitely have been my type before Savannah. But now, she can’t hold a candle to my darling. I am so far from interested, because the only woman I am attracted to anymore these days is my stunning,
wonderful Savannah. I give Savannah a kiss on the top of her beautiful head and hug her a little closer. Sometimes I still really can’t believe that a woman so perfect is not only real, but mine.
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Savannah I can hardly believe my good fortune. Here I am, touring this beautiful house with my loving husband, Cooper, and our good friends, Lily, Wolf, Nikki, and Nate. Who would have ever guessed that we would be friends, much less good ones? Or that I would be happily married to the man of my dreams, with our beautiful baby growing in my womb? I have moments like this, where everything feels unreal in the best possible way, all the time. Sometimes it is when I have a return client come into The Ink Joint, where I am now the head tattoo artist and manager five days a week, to show me the healed final outcome of my work. Sometimes it is when I am lying, curled up against Cooper, on the couch and watching a movie or chatting. Sometimes it is when we take a walk or a jog together, or when we spoon in bed, or when we have wake-up-all-the-neighbors wild sex. Lately, it has often been when we go to the gynecologist or shop for the home of our new and growing family. How did my life turn so far around and become this wonderful, beautiful, impossibly delightful thing? I can’t resist, as I often I can’t. As soon as the real estate agent disappears into the walkin closet of yet another bedroom in this house, I stand up on my tip-toes and give Cooper, my husband, a kiss. “What do you think?” he asks. “I love it,” I admit. “It’s perfect. But—but it’s way too big for us. What do we need so many rooms and bedrooms and bathrooms for? We will only be three people. We don’t need so much space.” “We will only be three for a while, that’s true,” Cooper says, a mischievous twinkle in his brilliant blue eyes. “But I am planning on starting my own league of fighters with you.” “Ha!” I laugh, “I don’t know about that!” “Oh, really?” he murmurs, swooping me up off of the floor for a passionate kiss. I melt. He still has just as much ability to make me go weak in the knees with just a kiss, or even just a word or a look. “Mmmhmmhmm.” The real estate agent clears her throat pointedly and Cooper puts me down. I smooth my dress down over my bump and blush, like a high-schooler caught making out under the bleachers. Cooper and I just can’t keep our hands off of each other, even with my pregnancy. “We’ll take it,” Cooper announces. “Really?” I squeal, my temporary embarrassment completely forgotten in my excitement. “Of course,” Cooper says, bending down for a more chaste kiss this time. “What my wife wants, my wife gets.” “Excellent!” the real estate agent trills, rocking up onto the toes of her hot pink stilettos. I’ll just go get the paperwork for you guys and we can make this a done deal right now!” As soon as she is out of the room, Cooper picks me up and carries me over to the bed the decorator set out on display for the showings, pulling my dress up over my head and discarding it
carelessly on the floor. “I say we buy this, too,” Cooper says, nodding at the bed before throwing me down on it. Here we go again. Oh, yes. Cooper gives me a long, passionate kiss that robs me of my breath and makes my head spin. The he gets up to go lock the bedroom door. “And now,” he says, coming back over to where I am still lying on the display bed, “I am going to make sweet love to you, my darling.” He leans down over me, then lowers himself down on top of me on the bed. And he does exactly as he says. Sometimes, we have lustful, wild sex and sometimes we make passionate, sweet love to each other. Whatever we do, it is always magical and wonderful and right. I have been lucky to have had an easy pregnancy so far and aside from the odd cravings, like peanut butter-covered pickles dipped in cookies and cream ice cream. The only real symptom that I have experienced is that I get wet if there is so much as a strong breeze and I am wearing a skirt. Cooper and I have definitely been taking full advantage of my endless horniness and, amazingly perfect husband that he is, he always runs out to the store afterwards to pick up some sardines and chocolate, or ice cream and pickles, or whatever odd foods I am craving at that particular moment. Cooper trails kisses down my neck, taking one of my stiff nipples gently in his mouth while massaging my sensitive, swollen pregnancy breast with his hand. “Oh, God,” I moan. “Oh, baby, yes.” Cooper slides his other hand between my bare legs, stroking my sopping wet sex, and simultaneously circles my nipple with his genius tongue. I feel the pleasurable pressure building below my waist and then, like a chain reaction of fireworks all lined up head to tail, my senses succumb to the explosive orgasm that rocks my body. “YESSSS!” As I’m coming down from my orgasm, breathing heavy and gearing up for the next one, there’s a knock on the door. “Um,” the real estate’s high-pitched voice sounds a little nervous. “Um, guys? Can I come in and get y’all to sign this?” There is no way that she didn’t just hear me come and, given that she is a grown woman with a wedding ring on her hand, there is no way that she didn’t know what that just was. And that it was a damn good orgasm, at that. “We’ll be down in fifteen minutes,” Cooper calls. “But, um,” her voice protests, uncertainly. “Add five percent to your commission in the interim,” Cooper calls. That gets rid of her uncertainty quickly. “Sure thing!” she calls back, bright and chipper as can be. “I’ll see y’all in a bit!” Cooper turns back to me. “Are you ready for me, baby?” he asks. He knows the answer. “Oh, yes,” I breathe. The he thrusts his rock-hard penis into my wet sex again and I’m rocketing off to another mind-blowing orgasm. Just as I’m on the edge, in the very deepest throes of passion and arousal, Cooper leans in close. “I love you,” Cooper whispers. “And I cannot wait to fill this house with our beautiful children.’ Then he thrusts deeper and I’m off on another orgasm.
Life could not be more wonderful.
Chapter Thirty: Savannah -Six more months later… I am sitting on my large, wooden porch, with Lily on one side and Nikki on the other. We are sharing stories about our little ones over glasses of ice cold lemonade while our men cook steaks and brats on the grill on the other side of the porch. The babies are all happily cooing and playing with their stuffed animals and teething toys on the big blanket spread out next to us. Cooper Jr. has his father’s piercing, blue eyes and my black hair, thick and lustrous and dark as the night, even though he is still only an infant. I would say pinch me to wake me from this dream, but I never, ever want to be awoken. I don’t know what will come next, whether that be a month, a year, or a decade from now, but with Cooper by my side and Cooper Jr. in my arms, I know that I have all that I need to make it through any challenges that life may throw my way. “Do you think they’re going to let me put my veggie skewers on the grill?” Nikki asks. Lily laughs. “Veggies on their manly-man, all-meat grill? I really don’t think so.” “But how am I supposed to get my pre-baby body back by eating brats?” Nikki pouts, running a hand down her still ridiculously thin side. “Besides, Quintin is still nursing and he needs his vitamins. If Nate knows what’s good for him, he’s going to let me put these on there.” True to form, Nikki pulls a little cooler bag of veggie skewers out of her massive handbag, straightens her tight MILF black leather pants, and gets up to strut over to the men. Lily gives me a look and we laugh, but I am not just laughing at Nikki’s obsession with her Barbie-esque appearance and how seriously whipped Nate still is. I am also partially laughing at the absurdity of all of this. Nate is little Cooper Jr.’s godfather and Quintin is named that in honor of Cooper. Nate was, and is, incredibly grateful to Cooper for making it possible for him to be with Nikki, even though that was only a side result on Cooper’s real goal in taking down the Maneater and earning the right to marry me. He did everything he could to be the best friend possible to us and it turns out that he is actually a pretty great friend these days. We are actually planning on going on vacation together once the kids are a bit older and things have settled back into a steady, calmer routine at Cooper’s gym and The Ink Joint. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” says Lily, breaking my reverie. “What is?” I ask. “That we all managed to put all that happened behind us,” Lily says, articulating exactly what I was thinking. “That, and we managed to start these beautiful, happy families. All of us!” “It really is,” I say, smiling. “I brought rum cake!” Bettina crows. “Bettina!” I exclaim, jumping up to give her a hug. “When did you get here?” “Just a few minutes ago. Vlad went straight over to the grill to make sure that your men aren’t messing up his meat.” Bettina chuckles, sitting down in Nikki’s temporarily abandoned chair. “Now, I won’t be having any of this cake, as I gave it a little extra punch, but I suggest you ladies enjoy it. It’s a formula night for the babies tonight, anyway, since Auntie Bettina is babysitting, and it’s been a while since you guys have had some kids-free fun!”
“Oh, I am so excited for tonight’s fight,” Lily says, nodding emphatically. “Never tell Nate this, but Cooper is my favorite fighter to watch.” I laugh. “He’s mine, too, but I don’t think you’re allowed to favor Cooper,” I tease. “You know, since Nate is your brother.” “I know,” Lily laughs. “But your man is one-of-a-kind in the ring.” “Out of it, too.” I waggle my eyebrows suggestively and all three of us, even the more conservative and refined Bettina with her fifties housewife auburn bob and pearl necklace, crack up. “What are you ladies laughing about?” Cooper walks up to the table and bends down to plant a kiss on me. Even though we live together and see each first thing every morning and last thing every night, we always kiss each other when we first see each other again. Even if it has only been a few minutes, while I made something in the kitchen or he did some repairs around the house. Being with each other is amazing and it is always just—oh, so right. “Just you,” I say. “Oh?” Cooper raises an eyebrow. “I guess I won’t ask, then. But are you guys looking forward to my fight tonight?” “I’m sorry I’ll have to miss it,” Bettina says. “But I can’t say that I am not very much looking forward to spending the evening with all your cuties.” “Little Cooper definitely gets all his good looks from his mom,” Cooper says, giving me another kiss on the top of my head. I am a lucky, lucky woman indeed.
Chapter Thirty-One: Savannah I enter through the back entrance. The guys at the arena and I are on a first-name basis now. They always wave me through without a concern at all, because I eventually tired of the crowds of screaming fans and paparazzi snapping my photo, as Cooper “Veni Vidi Vici” Quin’s wife, at the entrance. I will have enough of all of that during the match. I certainly have not tired of watching my man fight, however, and I never will. Watching his sheer athleticism paired with the masculinity of the fight serves as an incredibly powerful form of foreplay and, as amazing as our sex life is each and every day, I cannot deny that there is nothing quite like post-fight sex. I would rather give up all my material possessions than postfight sex. It’s a beautiful day outside and Lily, Nikki, and I are dressed up to the nines, finally all free of big baby bumps and flaunting our figures for our men in the fully done up makeup, hair, and wardrobe expected of MMA wives. My spike heels could put out an eye or two themselves. It’s good that it’s men in the ring, not spike-heeled women, because there is already enough blood as it is. We take our seats right by the ring, on a slightly elevated platform. I sit in the middle and pay the photographers absolutely no attention at all, while Nikki preens and poses and blows kisses at them from the seat next to me. Despite my complete lack of interest in them, they have their lenses trained on me. I am used to it and I don’t mind the attention that comes with being with Cooper by now, but I also am not going to play to them like Nikki does. Some of us are MMA wives and some of us are just wives of MMA fighters. I am the latter, she is the former, but we are both happy. I am lost in my thoughts and the excitement of being all dressed up and at a match again, after a few months of sitting them out for the last stages of pregnancy and the first weeks after giving birth to Cooper Jr. I don’t even notice the announcer beginning his spiel until the competitor has already been announced and a squat man who is about as wide as he is tall, with a bald head like a breakfast egg, is standing on one side of the ring and roaring at the crowd. “And now welcome our defending champ, Cooper ‘Veni Vidi Vici’ Quin!” Everyone, including me, absolutely loses it when the doors at the far side of the stadium crash open and we see Cooper’s dark outline. His body is backlit by bright lights from out in the hall and the overall effect is very impressive. He walks towards us, his cape flaring out behind him and the hood pulled down low over his face, and my heart flutters. That’s my man. The crowd is deafening as he walks down the aisle to the ring. He gets to the edge and jumps up into the ring, throwing his hood back with one smooth move. He looks straight at me and gives me a quick wink. My panties did not stand a chance to make it through this night dry. The bell goes off to signal the start of the fight and Cooper has three punches in before the other guy even has the chance to put up his hands. I used to get scared watching Cooper fight, but not anymore. Ever since watching him take down the Maneater, I know that he can, and will, do whatever it takes. It is his opponent who should be worried.
That’s not to say that the fights are all a predictable snoozefest. His opponent is probably two hundred thirty-five pounds of solid muscle and the type who most likely got there with the help of a little, or a lot, of juice. Though he takes the first few punches, thanks to Cooper’s almost unmatchable agility, he is back up and blocking in moments. With the growl of an insulted bear, the man launches himself at Cooper. Cooper blocks the first blow, but takes the second across his chin. I wince, but I know he will be okay. And he is. Cooper comes back up with a knee to his opponent’s side and the crowd goes wild. I leap out of my seat. “Yeah, Cooper!” I’m watching him fight, my very own virile example of perfect masculinity, and it really is the best foreplay. After some difficulty, I have found my hero.