Consumed: A MMA Sports Romance (66 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Kya

I
wanted to follow him, but his shout still echoed in my ears and kept me frozen.
Fenton was angry and he had every right to be. Not only had I manipulated him
by flirting with another man, but I had done so only to further my business
aspirations. He thought I was interested in nothing else but the dotted line of
the endorsement contract.

There was no way I could
explain that beyond the thin connection my work had offered us, I felt tied to
him in a way I had never felt with anyone. I was all tangled up in Fenton
Morris and had been since the moment we met.

I could not tell him any
of that. What if he felt the same? He needed to keep his mind clear, focused on
his next fight. What if I distracted him and he lost again? The image of his
laser blue eyes dimming as he toppled to the mat still made me feel sick. So,
the only excuse I had to be near him was the endorsement deal.

Except now. Fenton was
upset and it was obvious it was more than just my tacky business tactics. Why
had he been so upset about that tall man in particular?

I came out of the back
hallway in time to see Fenton disappear out the exit the two men had used. He
was going after them. By the time I reached the same exit, I saw him catch up
to the men in the middle of the roulette tables. James Cort's gambling advice
to always bet on black rang hollowly in my head. There was something menacing
about the man in the black pants and tight black t-shirt. His brown eyes might
have had a hint of something else, but he was clearly built to enforce whatever
business he was in.

He loomed over Fenton.
The muscles across Fenton's shoulders rippled as he flexed and faced off with
the taller man. The man in the suit stood back, a sharp smile on his face. He
was the only one talking, but I could not hear what he was saying.

I sidled along a row of
video poker machines and hoped I could get closer before a fight broke out.

"The deal is simple,
Mr. Morris. Just do as we say and your luck will stay intact," the man in
the suit said.

I did not understand the
threat, but nothing more was said. With one last sharp smile, the man called
off his hard-muscled companion. He gave Fenton one last tense-jawed look, then
turned and left. I ducked as Fenton turned back towards the party and was glad
he did not see me interfering again.

I followed Fenton back
towards the bar, but stopped when I saw him rejoin Bethany and Alice. It was
useless for me to reappear. Anything I did now would only drive him further
away.

Unless
…
I thought and spun around. Unless I figured out why the men were threatening
him and then got him out of a bind. It was one way I could prove I had his best
interests in mind.

I rushed out of the
casino and caught sight of the two men on the Strip. They were heading across
the street to the MGM Grand, and I dodged through traffic to follow. Two horns
honked and the tall man glanced around. I dove into a gaggle of young men and
could not extract myself until we reached the arena doors. They begged me to
join them for Blackjack, but I pretended I had prepaid tickets for whatever was
happening inside.

It turned out the event
was free, a featherweight preview boxing match. I went into the nearly empty
arena and stuck to the back rows, hoping the two men would not see I followed
them. It was strange to be in the cavernous space where only days ago cheering
crowds had watched Fenton step into the ring.

The two boxers dodged
around each other, on their toes, with heavy punches coming in sporadic bursts.
I was transfixed for a moment by the differences between classic boxing and the
exciting flurry of mixed martial arts. There was an art to both, but what
Fenton did with his whole body was truly amazing. I could appreciate the skill
and power as the boxers clashed, but without the kicks, spins, and lethal
combinations, it just did not get my heart pounding. Not like Fenton did.

I slumped down in the
nearest seat when I spotted the men I was following. They marched right up
close and did not bother to sit down. The boxer in the red shorts noticed them
and took a kidney punch. Within a minute, he lost his focus completely and was
taken out by a whirlwind of jabs straight to his chest and chin. The fight was
over and though it was discreet, I saw lots of money change hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Alright, Ms. Allen,
they're gone."

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

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

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

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

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

"The ones you were
following?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"When did he
leave?" I asked.

"About twenty
minutes ago," Bethany said.

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

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Kya

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Password?" the
one on the left asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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