“You will catch flies with your mouth, meu querida. You are shocked and you’re right. He is very young to have so much training from the masters.” Gabriel shrugs. “But he does, and he’s here with us. Our job is to make sure he gets to use his potential in the cage.”
“He doesn’t need us for that,” I mumble. Thankfully, Gabriel already left his office and doesn’t hear my comment.
I head back to my own little room and sit at the computer. Fascinated and needing to know more, I bring up K’s file and I read the scant information I find.
Who is this guy?
I don’t even know his real name. Killer Bishop. That’s what the file says. His date of birth shows he turns twenty-eight later this year, which makes him a little less than four years older than me. No address, no phone number, no hometown, no medical file. It’s as if K didn’t exist until he showed up here. The league requires him to provide all of that information to go pro.
Even though I should be afraid, I should stay detached from the man who throws up every red flag in the book, I’m not. K is a complete mystery, and I’m enthralled. He’s a mystery I intend to solve.
Killer
Halfway through my second day at Souza MMA, and I’m still watching from the sidelines, itching to punch something. Gabriel handed me off to his wife, Mariana, for a tour when I arrived this morning. No one said a word about me rushing out the door after my appointment yesterday with the tiny blonde physiologist.
Britt, her name is Britt.
She isn’t here yet today. Not that I’m looking. Fuck, who am I kidding, I’m totally looking for her. I shouldn’t. She’s all big, innocent blue eyes and rosy pink blushes. I’d take everything good about her and ruin it in a heartbeat. And god do I want to ruin her. I want to strip off those uptight clothes, force her to her knees, and grip her hair while I fuck her face.
No, that’s not true. That’s what I do to women, what I’ve done to women in the past. Use them. Get off and toss them aside. Britt… she’s not like that. She’s… different. And that’s what makes her dangerous. This girl could easily undo everything I’ve created to survive over the last ten years, tear down every wall I’ve built, every fa?ade I’ve put up.
Shit. It’s like she’s an obsession. I dig my fingers into my palms until they bite through the skin. Adjusting my cup under my skintight fight shorts helps to ease the pain of having a semi-hard dick trapped inside. I’m getting turned on and I haven’t even laid eyes on Britt yet today.
“Killer! Ready?”
I press my lips together and nod at Gabriel. In one quick move, I reach back, yank off my hoodie, and toss the fabric to the ground.
“Good.” Gabriel turns to the other fighter. “Raoul, ready?”
The man bounces on the balls of his feet and nods, his dark eyes bright with excitement.
Enjoy it while it lasts, buddy. I’m gonna knock that smug expression right off your face.
I follow Raoul up the steps into the cage. The door closes with a satisfying clink behind me. Gabriel moves to the center, urging us to come forward.
“Okay, meus amigos, this is only sparring. No hard hitting. We’re concentrating on form, speed, and footwork.” He shoots us both a stern glare. “Now is not the time to show-off your hotshot moves.”
Raoul acknowledges Gabriel with a quick salute and a grin, his teeth hidden behind his bright yellow mouth guard.
“Killer?”
My eyes flick back to Gabriel, and to the trainer’s credit, he doesn’t flinch under my scrutiny. Most men do. Waiting another second, I dare him to break eye contact with the monster. When Gabriel stays fast, I finally grunt, nodding my chin toward this man who never wavers.
“Good. Five minutes.” Gabriel pulls out a stopwatch and holds it out. “Go!”
I brace my feet on the mat, letting my opponent strike first. Raoul does exactly what I predicted. He raises his hands, protecting his face, and goes at me with a left hook. As his fist comes toward my face, I tilt back on my left leg and rotate my hips, bringing my right foot across to collide just beneath his exposed ribcage, hitting him slightly above the liver.
Raoul’s punch whiffs past my chin and he collapses to the mat in a loud, whining heap.
“Fuck, man! I thought we were sparring,” he groans from the floor. Raoul staggers to his feet with Gabriel’s help. “I think you cracked a rib.”
Pussy. I went easy on him. If I hit him where I wanted to, he would have been unconscious from that liver strike. Idiot showed too much in his warm-up. Karate. Those guys always try for hits to the face and they’re shit at watching for Muay Thai kicks.
Emotionless, I stand with my back against the chain-link cage. Gabriel walks Raoul out, the man clutching his midsection and glaring at me.
“Crazy fucker,” he hisses as he passes by.
The shit talking doesn’t faze me in the least. I know what I am and I’ve been called worse.