Clinch (The Underground Book 2) (5 page)

“You want a beer?”

He listened to her feet padding across the rough hardwood floors.

Her bare feet.

Lord. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he forced himself to face her and leaned against the window sill. If all else failed, he could always jump out. He crossed his legs nonchalantly as if there wasn’t a problem in the world.

In reality, he was doomed.

Katie stood with her back to him, leaning into the refrigerator. She wore nothing but a pair of track shorts that hardly covered her ass and a white tank top. Not even a bra.

Fuck me
.

Her white legs looked like porcelain. All that smooth skin that begged him to run his rough hands over it. Hell, he’d probably hurt her if he touched her.

She seemed delicate to him. Not fragile. Not inside. But her skin. It was almost translucent. A guy like him could easily mark her. Far more than intended. Reason number two thousand to keep his dick in his pants where it came to Katie Schwan.

His brand of sex was rough. It involved ropes and handcuffs and paddles and nipple clamps.

He gulped. No way in hell could he subject Katie to anything like that. Not in this lifetime. What was he doing toying with her like this? He needed to get out of her apartment before he made a fool of himself.

Katie didn’t wait for him to respond to her question. She pulled two bottles of beer from the fridge, pried the tops off, and took them both in one hand to cross the room. When she reached out to hand him one, she frowned. “You okay?”

He jumped in his spot, forcing his gaze to land anywhere but on her tits.
Don’t look down. Don’t look down
. “Yeah. Sure. Of course.” He grabbed the bottle, his fingers touching hers as she passed it off, and took a long drink of the cold liquid.

Nope. He couldn’t escape. He was stuck. At least for the pizza. Maybe afterward he could claim he had to get up extra early tomorrow or something.

A bell sounded from downstairs, and Katie spun around and headed toward the door. “Huh. How’d we miss hearing the car?”

Leo lurched forward, set his beer on the coffee table, and wrapped his fingers around her bicep. He pulled her back. “I’ll get it.”

“But…”

He shot her a sharp glare. “Sit down, woman.” And he pointed at the couch. The last thing he wanted was for her race down the stairs and open the clinic door in that outfit. The pizza guy would have a heart attack. Hell, even if the delivery guy was a gal, she’d also die.

Instead, Leo took the stairs two at a time and met the pizza delivery man at the glass front in seconds. The guy handed Leo the pizza. Leo passed him the money. And then he thanked the guy, locked the door, reset the alarm, and turned around.

With a deep breath, he climbed the stairs as if headed for the guillotine. Visions of Katie’s nipples stiff beneath her tight tank top made him want to bang his head against the walls of her staircase.

When he emerged on the second floor, she was lounging on one end of the couch like he’d asked. Told. Ordered.

That made his cock even harder.

Her legs were tucked under her, and she was nursing the beer. “Is it still warm outside? It feels like a furnace in here.” She ran the bottle across her forehead, the beads of sweat dripping down onto her chest to run into her shirt.

“Jesus, Katie.” There was no way in hell he could tolerate this another second. “It’s October out there. It’s not that hot. Put on some clothes.” He tried to look putout, angry.

She shot him a quizzical look as he set the pizza on her coffee table and grabbed his beer from the surface. “I don’t care what month it is, Leo. It’s damn hot in here.” She untangled her legs and rose to step across the room on her dainty fucking feet with the pink toenails.

When she reached the thermostat, she groaned. “I’m gonna have to cook dinner for you for a month if everything in this apartment keeps breaking.”

He perched on the opposite end of the couch from where she’d gotten up and downed another long gulp of beer. It
was
hot in her apartment. He couldn’t argue that. But he had no way of determining if it was from the actual temperature or the way her delectable body lit him on fire.

“I’ll look at it Friday.”

She rounded the couch and resumed her spot, reaching for the pizza box. “You aren’t my personal slave, you know. I could hire people to come fix things.”

“Why would you do that?” He grinned. “I’m sure none of them would appreciate your cooking as much as I do.”

“I’m sure none of them would accept cooking as payment like you do.” She lifted a slice of meat lovers and held it up to her lips.

Leo was mesmerized watching her eat. He’d seen her eat dozens of times, but he always enjoyed the way her mouth opened, the way she licked her lips between bites, the way her throat bobbed when she swallowed.

Every damn thing this little sprite did was sexy.

He jerked his gaze away and grabbed his own slice, hoping to distract himself with meat and sauce and cheese. He closed his eyes as he took the first bite.

“You weren’t supposed to pay for the pizza, by the way.”

He shrugged and turned to face her. “It’s one time. Don’t get your panties in a wad.” Hell, he’d like to get her panties in a wad. The visual alone was enough to make him nearly choke swallowing.

“You’re acting very strange.”

Damn
.

“Are you sure you want to take me to the fight Friday night? Second thoughts? It’s no big deal. I can make other plans.” She didn’t meet his gaze.

“Don’t try to finagle your way out of this. We’re going. That’s final. I’ll pick you up at seven. I’ll feed you. And then I’ll teach you the finer aspects of MMA.”

She scrunched up her face. “Not going to promise to like it.”

“Not asking you to. But you see enough of my friends every week, seems only fair to show you where and how they get banged up.”

“Oh. Right.” She sat up straighter, as though suddenly realizing something. “From a purely clinical perspective. Of course.”

Did he detect a bit of hurt feelings?

Oh Lord.

“Well, you might actually have some fun in there too. I mean, I’ve heard I can be a barrel of laughs when I want to be.” He reached for another slice, winking.

When she picked up her beer to take a long swig, tipping her head back, he gritted his teeth together to keep from groaning. Her breasts were amazing. High. Tight. Just the right size. Not too big. Not too small. The perfect handful. And her nipples… Jesus. He couldn’t see the color, but they stood at attention.

If Katie was so hot, why were her nipples erect as if chilled? Hmmm…

He hid his smile and told himself to stop staring.

»»•««

The next morning Leo was hard at work in the gym when he felt someone’s gaze on him. It lasted several minutes before he bothered to turn around and see who it was. He didn’t like to be interrupted when he was in the zone, and everyone knew that. Granted, beating the hell out of a punching bag in the dim corner of the gym wasn’t most people’s idea of a “zone,” but when the other fighters he worked out with started winning as often as he did, then they could discuss his workout habits.

Abram Gromov. Leo’s manager, and a man he was glad to call friend. Without his help in the last year, Dmitry and Lauren wouldn’t have had the means to leave the country, and Alena would be sitting in a cell in God-knew-where Russia or dead.

Thank God Leo had moved to Chicago to fight for Abram. The man was as Russian as his previous manager in Vegas—Anton Yenin—but not nearly as seedy. Sure, he arranged for Leo, Mikhail, and Ivan to fight the underground MMA circuit. No, it wasn’t quite legal. But the guy had a good heart. He arranged far more events, and the cut Leo took home paid a bigger portion of the rent.

He owed Abram a certain level of respect. If Abram wanted to talk to him in the middle of his workout, Leo would drop his gloves.

The weathered man was smiling, and he handed Leo a towel as soon as Leo had one glove tugged off. “Do you ever take a break?”

Leo smirked. “Only when someone interrupts my workout.”

“Got you lined up for a fight next Friday.”

Leo nodded. “You know who my opponent will be?”

“Joe Mantoba.”

“Isn’t that who Dmitry fought his last night in the States?”

“Yep. Same one.”

Leo nodded. “I’ll be ready.”

Abram walked casually out of the gym without another word. It wasn’t as though the man didn’t fit in or belong there. At fifty years old, the guy still worked out six days a week and kept his body in topnotch shape. He didn’t fight anymore, but he’d made a name for himself thirty years ago in his prime.

Abram Gromov was not only Leo, Ivan, and Mikhail’s manager, he was also a respected member of the fighting community—both legitimately as well as underground. After his fighting days were over, he’d gone off the grid for many years, resurfacing in Chicago and Vegas several years ago in excellent shape and eager to manage the younger generation.

Everyone in the community respected him. As well they should.

Leo’s phone buzzed, indicating he had a text. He dug it out of his bag and glanced at the screen.

We need to talk
.

Leo took a deep breath and texted back.
Give me ten
.

He grabbed his bag and headed directly for the locker room. After a quick shower, he was in his car in under ten minutes.

He started the engine and then placed the call without driving away.

The deep voice that answered didn’t waste any time getting to the point. He never did. “Yenin still has eyes on you in Chicago.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Leo frowned. “Those two jokers he employs to follow us might as well drive an ice cream truck for as obvious as they are.”

“I’m not talking about Boris and Erik.” There was a pause. “In fact, I think he’s using them as a decoy so no one will suspect he has others milling around.”

Leo stiffened. “I would have noticed.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. The point is the FBI’s onto them. I suspect wherever Yenin’s operating here in Chicago, he’s picking up the pace. For some reason, that includes extra surveillance on you and the other guys.”

“That’s not hard to believe. I’m sure he’d love to sink his claws back into his fighters, especially now that four of us are gone.” Yenin’s fighters had been worth a lot of money to him. It was expected that the leader of the Russian Mafia would pitch a fit when they left to fight under Abram Gromov while he’d been in jail. He’d raised holy hell with Abram five months ago too. But Leo’s new manager had put him in his place.

That didn’t mean Yenin would give up without a fight. But it was a little shocking to hear he was picking up his surveillance after so many months.

Now that Ivan had also joined Leo and Mikhail, that only left Sergei and Nikolav in Vegas. It was only a matter of time before those two defected and came to Chicago.

“Yeah, well, no one believes for a minute he turned the other cheek and swallowed his pride when you three moved away. Not a chance in hell. That man has a hard-on for you that must be painful to zip into his pants.”

Leo smirked before sobering once more. “And we aren’t one step closer to understanding what that fucker wants with us than when I first started passing you information, I might point out.”

“Don’t bet on it. You’re an informant. You aren’t privy to every detail behind this case. Hell,
I’m
not even privy to some of the details, and I’ve been working this lead for years. Dealing with all the agencies involved is a giant game of chess most days.”

“So what’s next?” What good was Leo to the FBI anymore anyway? He’d passed them every piece of information he could for two years while he still worked for Yenin. But when Yenin went to jail and days turned into weeks and then months, Leo had needed to move to Chicago to work. Dmitry and Mikhail made more money working for Abram than any of them ever had under Yenin.

The move terminated Leo’s insider scoop into all things Yenin, but between the loss in revenue from too few fights and the lack of valuable information he had for the FBI anyway, he had been hurting for cash. While Yenin was incarcerated, his father was often mysteriously absent from the scene and rarely a source of anything substantial.

“The FBI is scrambling to find Yenin’s Chicago lab. We’ve known he had connections in the Windy City for years. He makes frequent trips here and has his nose in a lot of people’s business. It’s not a coincidence the FBI is shifting some of its focus to Chicago.

“I sense the shit is about to hit the fan—Chicago style. I want you to be diligent. When you think Boris and Erik are following you, I’m telling you someone else is right on their heels. No place is sacred. Time to put your game face back on. Open your ears and eyes. Report anything suspicious. Got it?”

“Yep.” And just what he didn’t need to hear. “Though I don’t see how I can be of much help now that I’m living in Chicago. I haven’t spoken to Yenin, his father, or any of his cronies in months. And I don’t intend to. I’m no longer a fount of information.”

“You never know, and besides, you and I have a friendship that extends way beyond our original relationship. I don’t want to see you or your friends get killed in this disaster. If I can be of any help making sure that doesn’t happen, I intend to keep you as informed as you keep me.”

Leo appreciated that. He’d gotten complacent in the last few months, hoping the gig was over once Dmitry left town with Lauren and Yenin seemed to back off of Chicago. Except for spotting Boris and Erik on his tail every once in a while, Leo didn’t think he and Mikhail were in much danger of retribution.

If Leo had had any inkling Yenin really had a bounty on him, he never would have spent so much time with Katie. He’d been to her clinic more times than he could count in the last months and spent more time in her upstairs apartment than strictly necessary too.

It was too fucking late now. Apparently he had a new task—protecting Katie. If Yenin had men on his tail as often as his contact suggested, Katie’s life was in as much jeopardy as Leo’s. Yenin wasn’t a guy known to play nice. If he wanted something, he wouldn’t hesitate to use any means possible to get it. And that included snatching pretty young blondes and using them as leverage.