Clinch (The Underground Book 2) (2 page)

His hair… His arms…

Images of trailing her hands down this man’s back and across his tight ass made her lick her lips. He was the sexiest creature she’d ever laid eyes on.

Never in her life had she entertained the thought of having sex with an athlete in his prime. The men she’d dated had all been Harvard types—educated, boring, stuffy upper crust.

Her mouth watered as she inched closer, telling herself her reasoning was to get to the injured fighter, who was clearly in dire straits with a possibly fatal kidney injury.

Keep telling yourself that, Katie
…

She hardly noticed the speed of their advance, and was shocked when the man in front of her pushed through a door on the far wall. She stayed on his heels, brought up suddenly by a hand as it reached out to stop her, blocking her across the chest. “Who are you?”

She took her gaze from the sexy ass in front of her to glance at the bouncer-type guy with the scowl. “I’m a doctor. That man who won needs medical attention.”

The guy she’d followed spun around. “You’re a doctor?”

“Yes.” She stood taller, as far as her five-foot-four frame would reach.

The man reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her past the guard. “Come with me.”

Hell, yes. She’d be willing to go almost anywhere with him.

Name the place
.

»»•««

“Boss?”

Anton leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. It was the middle of the night. He’d been waiting hours for this call. And he didn’t like the tone in Boris’s voice. “Tell me something I want to hear.”

“Wish I could. Sorry, Boss. There was no way Erik and I could get our hands on Dmitry or Mikhail. Dmitry was injured in the fight, and some crazy woman from the crowd, claiming to be a doctor, swooped in. We never had a chance.”

“Fuck.”

Boris breathed annoyingly in Anton’s ear. “Leo was there.”

“Not surprising. Did you get a chance to speak to him at least?”

“No.” Boris sighed. “He took off with the others after the fight. There was never a chance to corner anyone alone. Leo came out of nowhere after Dmitry got injured. Abram was with them too. He drove the men and the doctor to some sort of clinic. We followed but didn’t approach.”

Jesus
. After six months in the slammer, Anton hated returning to find this level of chaos. His own damn father, Grigory Yenin, couldn’t be bothered to keep his six fighters close and working out in Anton’s absence. The man had a one-track mind—the drug lab. Anton knew more than anyone how important the lab was, but what he couldn’t convince his father was how necessary his fighters were to the project.

If Boris and Erik didn’t pull their shit together and do something right, he was going to have to take his father’s advice and get rid of them. They were becoming a liability. “Where are you now?”

“Outside the clinic. Across the street. No one has left yet.”

“Do you think you two could possibly keep an eye on them? Figure out where they go next. Who they see. Where they live. Split up. I want those three back in Vegas. They’re my men. Abram can go fuck himself if he thinks I’m going to let him steal my fighters and take over their management. I need my men out of Chicago and back in Vegas. Yesterday.”

When Anton ended the call, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had another option—one he’d been considering for a while. It might be time to shift his main operation out of Vegas. After all, he had facilities all over the western half of the country where he could manage his project. And the lab on the outskirts of Chicago was certainly large enough to accommodate his side project.

He knew the cops were keeping a close eye on him in Vegas since his release, and they wouldn’t let up anytime soon. Too many people were snooping in his business lately. No doubt the FBI was watching him. Vegas was getting a bit hot for his tastes.

Besides, if half his fighters had decided to head to the Windy City to fight under that asshole, Abram Gromov, the other three guys were likely to follow their friends. It was only a matter of time.

Perhaps now was as good a time as any to move some of his project from Vegas to Chicago. It would be easier to keep tabs on his fighters and tidier if he needed to bring them back into the fold—with or without their consent.

Leo Gulin slouched on the comfortable, worn, black leather love seat with his head tipped to the cracked ceiling and his eyes closed. After one of the longest nights of his life, he needed a nap, and there was no way he was going to get one anytime soon. In fact, after watching the energetic doctor work on his friend all night, he hadn’t earned the right to feel as exhausted as he did.

Dr. Katie Schwan.

The tiny woman had run circles around every one of his friends from the moment she’d stepped into the back room of the speakeasy last night after Dmitry nearly killed himself fighting. She was nothing if not efficient, and amazing to watch in her element. Her tight, sexy, orange-and-pink dress wasn’t remotely suitable for attending an underground fight, but it was certainly nice to look at as far as Leo was concerned.

He’d stood behind her during the latest hours of the night watching her gorgeous blonde hair bounce across her back. When she’d grown tired of tucking it behind her ears, she lifted her arms above her head and clipped the thick curls at the base of her neck.

He moaned thinking about how the action exposed her pale skin to his view. Every time she’d glanced his way, she left him tongue-tied with those deep blue eyes of hers. Her efficiency and the way she dashed around her clinic was incongruent with her tiny stature. The woman was a foot shorter than his own six four. But her curves were amazing.

Yep. She’d had him in stitches for the last eight hours. And he owed her big time. She saved Dmitry’s life. Maybe his kidney injury wasn’t as bad as originally expected, but the commotion she created to get him out of the back of the speakeasy undoubtedly kept any of a number of assholes inside from getting their hands on him.

And there was no shortage of people who wanted a piece of Dmitry Volikov.

Anton Yenin for starters. The leader of the Russian Mafia in Vegas had brought Dmitry, Leo, and four other fighters over from Russia twelve years ago. Yenin was hot on their asses since being released from jail, and it seemed he would stop at nothing to get them back under his thumb.

When Yenin had gone to jail six months ago, two of Leo’s friends, Dmitry and Mikhail, immediately headed for Chicago to fight under Abram Gromov. Leo couldn’t blame them. He too was done with Yenin’s antics. But the timing hadn’t been right. He had responsibilities in Vegas that extended beyond his fighting, so he’d stuck it out in Sin City the entire time Yenin had been locked up. He’d arrived in Chicago two weeks ago, in time to help Dmitry get through last night’s victory and get his woman out of town before Yenin caught up with him.

A noise to Leo’s left had him bolting upright and straightening his spine as Dr. Schwan entered the room. It was her office after all. She’d kindly allowed him to stay all night with Dmitry and his girlfriend, Lauren.

In reality, she was probably freaked out from all the commotion. The last thing Leo wanted to do was appear to be as exhausted as he felt. He didn’t deserve to be as tired as this little spitfire.

“Your friend is lucky.” Katie plopped down on her leather desk chair, rolling her head back and forth and wincing with every movement.

The office was too small for the amount of secondhand furniture inside. The leather love seat was smashed up against one wall inside the door. The beat-up, wooden desk faced the door and was too small to hold the stacks of files and papers precariously placed on every corner and threatening to fall. There was an olive-green, fiberglass chair angled toward the desk, fighting for space with the sofa. A bookshelf, also old and nicked in several places, filled the wall across from the love seat. The medical titles of each thick volume made him curl his nose. Did she read all that for pleasure? Or reference?

He settled his gaze on her, breathing in the musty scent of old carpet and mold. This was a free clinic, not the Ritz. “Yeah. I know. Thanks for letting us stay here all night. It was a total imposition on you, and we appreciate it.”

She shook her head. “I’m not talking about whatever mob guys are hot on your tails. I’m talking about his kidney.”

“For the record, we’re not criminals. Yes, there’s a misunderstanding with the Russian Mafia, but—”

She held up a hand, palm out. “Please, I don’t want to know any more of the details.”

“Right. Of course. So, is he stable enough to travel this morning? The sooner he and Lauren get on a plane out of this country, the better.”

She sighed. “Shockingly. Though I can’t explain it. It makes no sense. You say he was first injured twelve days ago?”

“Yes. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it seemed at the time.” The doc who checked him over thought so, but the man was growing old. Maybe he made a mistake.

Leo only half believed that to be possible. He’d seen how much pain Dmitry was in after getting jumped in the alley two weeks ago. And he’d watched his friend’s face contort even more last night after getting punched in the side. Either the man had an incredible ability to fake improvement, or he was superhuman. Because the last time Leo checked on him an hour ago, Dmitry was very much improved.

Dr. Katie glanced down at some paperwork in front of her and frowned.

“Something wrong?”

She sighed, dropped the sheets of paper on her desk, slumped in her chair, and rubbed a hand over her face. “Nah. I’m just exhausted.”

Before Leo had a chance to comment further, a loud bellow from the front of her clinic made him jump to his feet. He took two strides to reach her office door, but she was hot on his tail, wrapping her fingers around his forearm before he could wrench it open.

He turned back toward her, grabbed her by the waist, and lifted her off the ground to set her against the wall next to the door.
Jesus
. She didn’t weigh more than one ten. After he pressed his body against hers to keep her from moving, he narrowed his gaze. “Stay here. Don’t move. Let me check it out.”

She squirmed against him and set her hands on his chest. “Get a grip, big guy. It’s not for you.”

A loud voice yelled again. “Katie?”

Leo lifted a brow, still unsure if he should trust the newcomer. He didn’t like the sound of the guy’s voice even if he was there to see Katie. Had they failed to lock the front door in the middle of the night?

Katie pressed against him again, but she was no match for his strength. “Leo. Stop it. Let me go. I need to talk to him.”

“Him who? He doesn’t sound like a nice guy.”

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t know the half of it.” The little pixie went limp, slipped down the wall and under his arm, and bolted out the door before he could stop her.

“Shit,” he muttered.

She turned around as he stepped into the hall and held up a hand. “Stay. Let me handle Marshall.”

Marshall? Who the hell was Marshall?

Leo nodded, sensing he was in for a fight if he didn’t heed her advice. He crossed his arms and planted his feet wide, leaning against the wall outside her small office. He knew good and well he was being a cocky bastard, but who the fuck barged into her clinic at this hour of the morning and started yelling?

“Katie, are you back there? Why are so many lights on?” the voice demanded, growing closer.

Katie turned around and darted down the short hall toward the front of the clinic.

Leo swallowed hard as he watched her. She still wore the delicate gold sandals she’d had on last night, and her damn dress, for all its ridiculous flamboyant orange and pink stripes, hugged her body so perfectly he had to bite his tongue for the millionth time.

Fine. He’d let her step out front, but at the first sign of trouble…

∙•∙

“Marshall? What are you doing here? It’s barely six o’clock.” Katie was shocked to find Marshall Pierce standing in her waiting room after essentially abandoning her last night.

He didn’t answer. In fact, he looked angry. With her? He faced her head on and then glanced around her empty lobby, his hands fisted at his sides. He wore a pair of khaki pants and a blue-and-white-striped, button-down shirt with a designer emblem over his chest. Except for the fact that his hair was messy from running his fingers through it, he looked like he was headed for his exclusive yacht club—at six o’clock in the morning.

“Marshall?” she nudged, trying to get his attention.

“Where the hell did you go last night?”

“Me?” She pointed at herself. “Are you serious?”

“Of course. I turned around, and you were nowhere to be found. How did you even get home?” He looked affronted. The same man who didn’t bother looking for her for a full eight hours after she supposedly went missing?

She ignored his question. “I think you’re confused. It’s you who disappeared. You were so wrapped up in that disgusting fight, I’m surprised you ever glanced over your shoulder. It seemed to me all you cared about was collecting your winnings.” She leaned against the edge of the Formica counter where her receptionist, Mandy, normally signed patients in—during regular hours.

Her hands shook with anger. How dare this asshole imply she was to blame for being left high and dry last night?

“Why didn’t you stay behind me?” He glanced up and down her frame, scrutinizing her, as if just noticing what she wore. “And why are you dressed for a day at the races at six in the morning?” He lifted his gaze to scan the rest of the room again. “In fact, why the hell are you downstairs at all instead of up in your apartment?”

Flames came out of her head. “Are you kidding?” She glanced down at her wrinkled dress and planted her feet to right herself to her full five-foot-four. She was no match for his nearly six feet, but suddenly he seemed rather short compared to the men she’d kept company with all night. His lanky body seemed incredibly weak this morning. The man had no muscles. He spent his hours with his head in a book.