Dirty Fighter: A Bad Boy MMA Romance (13 page)

T
he drive to Sayulita
, Mexico, was a long one.

We didn’t really know where we were going, we just knew that Mexico was the plan and that the revolving door would spit us out where it wanted, like it always had.

We made detours here or there though, which made the drives easier. We spent a week in New Orleans, trying food and a culture that relaxed us after what we’d been through. It was beautiful and high energy and we almost convinced ourselves into staying, but we knew better. Staying in the country wouldn’t be a safe option for us, not for a long time.

After that we drove until San Antonio, Texas, spent a couple days there, and then broke through the border into Mexico. We were nervous as hell crossing the border, but they didn’t give us much trouble. They didn’t even seem to recognize who Brooklyn was, even though she was still a big name at that point.

It felt like we were changing, going through a metamorphosis, as we slipped through the border. Immediately we could relax, we could breathe. We weren’t even sure if my uncle had turned anyone on to our scent, we didn’t even know if we needed to run, but we were free. We didn’t have to worry.

We spent a couple days driving all over, trying to figure out where to stop.

We spent nights in Monterrey, Durango, and Guadalajara, the locals were all friendly, especially once they saw how much we spent. Brooklyn surprised me, and most of the locals, when she was able to speak in Spanish. I didn’t know she knew any, but she said she’d learned a lot of it on a location filming she’d done a couple years ago.

It started to settle in how crazy it was that I moved to a country where I couldn’t speak any of the language, even after living in southern California for so long. I had Brooklyn teach me some, but it wasn’t until we actually made it to Sayulita that I was able to have someone, who spoke Spanish as their first language, teach me.

Spanish is a beautiful language. I had one hell of a hard time grasping it in the beginning though.

When we finally found Sayulita it was like arriving home. The city was beautiful, its people, its beach, its culture. The buildings were mostly terracotta colored, people mixing in blue or turquoise to personalize and add life to them. Every building was art. There was tourist traffic, but it was mostly surfers so we weren’t worried about being recognized. I thought about becoming a surfer for a while, until my leg started acting up again.

The first night we spent there we went to a bar on the beach, completely open air except for grates that rolled down when it closed for the night. Brooklyn and I spent most of the night drinking and dancing together, the beach air salting our skin.

When the bar closed I knew it was meant for us. We could spend every day enjoying the beach, hire some employees to take care of it when we wanted to just spend time together. We offered the owner way more than it was worth, I’m pretty sure he thought we were crazy, and that’s how we came to own a bar sooner than we owned a house.

I loved Brooklyn, I loved seeing her enjoy the nightlife and enjoy the beach. She seemed more relaxed at that bar than I had seen her anywhere else in the last few years.

We found a house not more than a mile away from the bar, it wasn’t huge but we didn’t need something giant. Two bedrooms, a small hot tub in the back, and a porch large enough for fifteen people to party on if we wanted to.

We made a proper home for ourselves, painted the walls, got mostly second hand furniture to fill it with.

A month after we got there, we came across an article online about how they were looking for Brooklyn, calling it a man hunt. They were acting concerned about her, speculating she had gone on a drinking bender and needed help, but it was pretty obvious from the article that they were just feeding drama.

We still were forced to look over our shoulders for a while.

It was home, but we had to be careful. We were still never sure what my uncle told anyone, or if he told anyone. We didn’t even have any signs that I was being looked for. We couldn’t find anything in the articles about Brooklyn that incriminated her for anything, or said she was mixed up in murder, but we wanted to be safe.

It just felt too good to be true.

Like a world that we fell into and didn’t deserve.

At one point a tourist caught a picture of Brooklyn and reporters flooded our city, our bar, and we ended up hiding out in the house for a couple weeks. We paid our employees extra to make sure they wouldn’t spill the secret about us. Brooklyn called it our “staycation”, and used it as an excuse to adopt a small stray dog we named Rainey.

Rainey was absolutely Brooklyn’s dog and loved the hell out of her, but I still was the one who got stuck taking her for walks.

Eventually the articles about Brooklyn started dying down and less people came around looking for her. The photo got called a hoax by several papers. We found it hilarious and joked many times that if Brooklyn entered a “Brooklyn White Lookalike” contest that she’d probably get third place.

The news sites and the paparazzi, seemed to latch onto a new starlet eventually, a new up and coming name. Brooklyn was a little jealous at first, not that she wanted to be back in the limelight, just that she liked to be wanted by the media. They finished the last of Brooklyn’s movie with a body double and reused a lot of her face shots, when we saw it in theaters we almost got thrown out from laughing at the bad editing.

My uncle eventually passed away.

I wasn’t sure what happened with him. I always assumed that he’d tell, so he probably did. Knowing his ass he probably went to the police and laid out any information he could grasp at, probably even made guesses about where Brooklyn and I had vanished off to. He could be convincing when he was passionate about something, so I couldn’t figure out why they never came after me.

It would have made the local police force look good for finding a murderer after so many years. It would have given the town some drama. In the end I guess they just figured the world didn’t lose much from my dad dying. He was an asshole, an abusive asshole, and Brooklyn had told me time and time again that the whole town knew.

Maybe they thought I was justified.

Either way, a couple of years into our stay in Mexico, we stopped looking over our shoulders. We stopped worrying about being found, hell we posed for a couple fan pictures (there were way less MMA fans than Brooklyn fans, mind you).

I never found myself having the urge to beat or hit or abuse, and the most exercise my body got anymore was running down the beach. I couldn’t feel myself becoming my dad, and Brooklyn said she didn’t see it happening either. I stopped seeing my father’s face when I got angry.

We were finally happy. We had each other, a comfortable life, a new language and country to explore, and our freedom. Regardless of how much we could do and be when we lived our lives in California, we weren’t really free until we had each other.

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A
lso By
Natasha Tanner
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A
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E
xcerpts
:

Excerpt from
Shotgun Wedding: A Bad Boy Romance
:

O
h my God
, Grayson is kissing me.

Is he still the man of my dreams? Or is he a
killer
?

Do I care?

I should care.

I'll start caring in a second.

His lips are so full and surprisingly soft. He's firm but not demanding. He gently presses his lips to mine, holding me in place with the lightest of caresses. He slowly pulls back, just a hair's width, then barely bites my bottom lip. Then he kisses me again, running the tip of his tongue lightly across the place he'd just bitten.

Then he pulls away, still holding my face firmly but somehow delicately—cradling me in his palms like I'm precious, like I could break, like I matter.

All I can see are his gray eyes, that strong jaw, the scar, his full lips that tasted like mint—

"Kat," he murmurs. It hits me that he used to sometimes called me "Kat" when we were little, but mostly Kate or Katie. All day he's called me Kat, Katya…or
babes
.

I shouldn't like that nickname so much. My body shouldn't betray me and shiver with excitement just because he calls me a generic, stupid, ridiculous nickname that implies some sort of intimacy—

"Babes," he says.

Dammit. My body, the traitor, does it again.

I shiver in his arms. He feels it, and if I thought his eyes were intense before, well holy hot damn. When I quiver in his arms, in his hands, it's suddenly like staring into molten steel.

"Babes, get outta your head."

"What?" I say and then he kisses me again.

This time it starts soft but—how can I describe it? How can something be soft but rough at the same time? Slow but demanding. Insistent. Gentle but with a wave of violent longing just underneath the surface?

It hits me that maybe I'm not just describing Gray.

Is this how I feel? Is this what's going on inside of me?

His lips press onto mine, and I can't help but open to him. I part my lips, just slightly—but it's enough. He slides his tongue inside me, just a bit, just a taste.

I moan. I want more.

When I make that sound, he growls back. God, we've barely touched and I feel like an animal already. We skipped right over words into growls, sighs, heavy breathing. Maybe this is what he meant by getting out of my head. Because I'm definitely not thinking right now. I'm just feeling, existing. He's warm and big and cradling me. My body is suddenly
alive
. I kiss him back, fiercely; we're at turns sweet and slow, then violent and hard. Like I can't press enough into him; like he can't touch enough of me.

I could kiss him forever.

He's so tall, so broad. I have to lean back like I'm looking up at the sky, just to meet his lips. He moves and one large hand cradles the back of my head, supporting me…and drawing me closer. His other arm wraps around my middle, and I realize he's angling me closer, pulling me into him, pushing deeper into me.

And he's hard. Oh my God, he's hard
everywhere
. I can feel his hard-on pushing into my stomach, but instead of recoiling, I like it. I move closer. It's huge and terrifying and also awe-inspiring. Did I cause this? Does he get this way for everyone, or just for me?

What would he say if he knew I'd never really dated? That I'm more familiar with my vibrator than any man?

It doesn't matter. I'll never tell him. One month, two tops, and I'm out of here.
I'll
be the ghost now, just like Gray was for the past seven years…
Then he lifts me up in his arms and I wrap my legs around his waist and my words, my thoughts, are gone like smoke. I grasp his shoulders, his arms. The silk of his suit slides under my fingers, but I make a fist and hang on. He must like that, because he growls again, and the sound resonates in my chest, my head, between my legs.

There are people talking outside, somewhere down on the street. Laughter, shouting, a car horn blaring. But none of it exists, not here.

In fact, my shitty apartment is disappearing.

All I can feel is my body moving, writhing, contained in his arms. Trapped, and loving it. His tongue invades my mouth. His large, capable hands are cupping my ass, moving me closer, lifting me up and down so I ride the behemoth I feel between my legs. I press against it, suddenly wanting heat and pressure and friction between my legs. I moan into his mouth when I grind down on his ridiculously hard cock. But it feels so good. I move my hips faster, I bite him like he bit me—

Gray pulls back suddenly, his chest heaving, his molten eyes staring at me.

He looks shocked.

Aroused.

There's color on his cheeks, and I realize his dark blonde hair looks like he's just been wrestling with a woman between the sheets…

And that woman is
me
.

And then it hits me what we're doing. We're one inch away from my bed and I want him to throw me down on it. I want—if I'm honest with myself—I want everything. I want him to pull my jeans off, part my legs, bury himself inside me like I've imagined it over the years.

But what happens if I let him in? It won't just be sex. I'm already half in love with him as it is—or, half in love with a ghost.

I have no idea who this man is. I have no idea what he does, or why he married me.

All I know is he was forced into it and it's just a sham. I can't let myself lose control, because if we become intimate, if we act like husband and wife, once this ends I'll never get over it.

"Stop," I gasp. I put my hand over my wildly beating heart.

C
lick
HERE
to continue reading
Shotgun Wedding
.

* * *

E
xcerpt from Fast and Loaded
: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

It had been three days since my world started to spin that night in the bar. I kept blaming it on the alcohol but in my heart, I knew it was a lie. Since then, I had done everything in my power to stay busy and avoid Desmond. I didn’t want to become another notch on his belt. Plus, no one would take me seriously for the next few weeks if I slept with my boss.

I needed to keep my head in the game and steer clear of him and any chance of complications. Each time that I saw him, I repeated to myself, “I’m here for my shop,” over and over again in my head until I was able to calm down my burning desire for him.

Today was no different, between each press release he would come in to see how the new improvements were coming. Each time he came in, he seemed more determined than the last to pull my attention away from the car.

I was starting to lose my battle of wills against him. I wanted to spend time with him, but I wouldn’t risk my reputation to do so. As the shop door opened, I braced myself for another round of banter.

“Can I help you?” I said in a friendly tone when the man who walked in wasn’t Desmond.

The man grinned, “I bet you can. I just came to meet this famous mechanic Desmond has.”

I smiled, “You must be looking for someone else then, I’m just doing my job.” I said politely.

I knew who he was, he was Luke Chambers. I also knew that Desmond despised him above all other racers. He was attractive, but not like Desmond.

“I don’t think so,” he said politely, “I believe you are more than what I have been looking for.”

“Boy, you know how to charm a girl, don’t you?” I asked playfully.

He smiled, “I wouldn’t know a thing about that. I just call it as I see it; beautiful, smart, and talented. Desmond is a lucky man.”

“I’m just doing my job, but thank you,” I replied.

“That’s a shame, if I had you on my team, I would treat you like a queen,” he cooed.

My senses were tingling, “He treats me just fine, thanks. Is there something I can help you with?”

My temper was starting to show. I didn’t like Luke being in the shop or around the car. He seemed a little too interested in me and my skills for my liking.

“Oh now, there’s no need to get upset. You never know, after this race there might be a future for us,” he said slyly. “Professionally, of course.”

I didn’t believe that he meant only professionally, and in any case, I didn’t want anything to do with him in either way.

“Sorry, but I have my own shop,” I replied as I started working on the car again.

I could see how interested he was in what I was doing, but I also knew that he wouldn’t be able to tell what was happening for the most part. He didn’t strike me as they type to work on his own cars or even to know how they were running. When the door to the shop opened for the second time, I looked up and let out a sigh of relief. Desmond was back, and he looked angry.

“What the hell are you doing in here Chambers,” he said, without even looking at me.

Luke smiled, “Now Desmond, I was just coming to meet the mechanic that I have heard so much about. No harm in that.”

“With you, there’s always some harm,” replied Desmond, glaring at the man.

“Now, that’s not very good sportsmanship Desmond, I was just paying a little professional visit, for now,” replied Luke with a wink to me.

I could see the anger building up inside of Desmond and knew that this wasn’t going to go anywhere good.

“I don’t think that drivers are allowed to be in the competition’s tents Luke, you should go,” I interjected, hoping to avoid bloodshed.

He smiled at me again, “You’re right. I should go. Hopefully though, I will see you around after the race Amber. I would love to spend some time with you, professionally, of course.”

Luke turned and headed for the door before I could reply and tell him I wanted nothing to do with him. One look at Desmond though, and I knew that it wouldn’t have done me any good. He was jealous, and it was a little flattering to me.

I couldn’t stop myself from smiling a little bit. I wondered how often a handsome man like Desmond got jealous over women. No doubt, when he hooked on, they stayed by his side for as long as he wanted.

“Desmond, he was just saying hello,” I said, hiding my grin.

“Bullshit, he was up to no good. I didn’t like the way he looked at Theresa,” he muttered.

“Oh. You didn’t like the way he looked at your car, huh?” I asked him, a little surprised at his response. I knew that there was more to it.

“Yeah, that among other things,” he replied.

I could see him starting to get nervous, and I couldn’t help but goad him a little bit. It was too funny not to.

“Sir, are you getting jealous that another racer was talking to me? I didn’t realize one little old mechanic was so important to you.” I said with a smile.

He looked at me but then quickly looked away, clearing his throat, “I just know Luke, if he was in here, he was up to no good. He is a dirty racer. I know that he tried to sabotage my car last time and this time he will do it again. He thought that he could get in here and mess something up with José out of the way. I just hope that you are as good at seeing through his crap as José was.”

I noticed that he didn’t deny being jealous, but I couldn’t help but be a little bit offended by him. “You don’t think I’m smart enough to know he was trying to do something?”

Desmond looked at me, “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry.”

I smiled at him, “It’s okay.”

“It’s just, Luke gets under my skin. He’s just an all-around bad guy,” said Desmond.

“I sort of got that vibe from you earlier. Do you think he will try to come back? Knowing it’s against the rules?” I asked him.

Desmond nodded his head, “He doesn’t give up credence to rules. If he does come back, tell him to leave right away. If he even so much as sets foot near you or Theresa, call the race police in here. I won’t have him near anything of mine.”

I raised an eyebrow. I knew that he was talking about Theresa, but I also got the feeling that he meant more than just the car. I wasn’t sure if I was okay with that or not but I had to admit that his words sent a chill down my spine.

I couldn’t help but let my mind wander; thinking about what it would feel like to be owned by Desmond Keys. To feel his body, naked, underneath me. I shuddered before shaking my head, bringing myself back to reality.

“Right,” I said, clearing my throat, “I will make sure he doesn’t come back. I think I should go over the car now. I didn’t pay attention to him while he was in here, he could have done something without me noticing.”

Desmond looked angry all over again as he spoke, “I think I will stick around and help you. If that’s okay?”

I smiled, “It’s your car remember?”

“We are running out of time, the next leg starts in a few hours.” he said.

“Right,” I replied, now I was in the zone to get started on checking the car over.

With Desmond at my side, we began to comb over every inch of Theresa. I was surprised when I realized that he had a lot more knowledge about cars than he had originally let on. As we worked, we talked, and he told me about how he and José first met and how much the older man had taught him.