“I don’t give a shit what you meant, you sick fuck!” K roars.
Now I know why I didn’t recognize the voice. K is raising his voice. It’s so rare, most of these people have never even heard him speak, let alone shout loud enough to be heard by every hotel on the strip.
“I know what you are,” K hisses, his face less than six inches from Max’s pale visage. “Don’t go near her again.” He slams Max against the wall again. I flinch when his head bounces painfully off the painted cinder blocks. “Don’t ever touch her, don’t look at her, don’t fucking go near her.” His voice is chilling.
“Meu filho. Por favor, let go. You will be disqualificado.” Gabriel puts his hands over K’s, gently, but firmly, prying his fingers out of Max’s shirt.
I don’t notice who hands me an ice pack for my face. Numb, I simply take it and press it to the throbbing ache.
“I’ll have someone take you back to the hotel. You need to calm down.” Gabriel waits until K steps back from a wide-eyed Max. “Take Britt with you. She needs to rest for later. We have a press conference and dinner tonight.”
Gabriel turns to me, waving me over. I gather my notebook and purse one-handed, balancing the ice pack with the other. “Go to the hotel with Killer,” Gabriel instructs.
“But—” K frowns and takes a step toward Max, causing Max to scurry back in fear.
“No.” Gabriel’s voice is firm and final. “I will take care of this one.” He flicks his hand at Max. “Both of you leave, now.”
There is no arguing with Gabriel when he’s like this. The only option is to do as he says. I step forward and take K’s wrapped hand. “Come on, K. Let’s go.” I can see the raw fury in his eyes, the reluctance to leave without his pound of flesh. He is a fighter after all, but a good fighter must also be able to control his urges no matter the circumstances. I tug on his hand and he finally relents.
Ten minutes later, we’re dropped off in front of our hotel. The silence on the short ride was excruciating. I wanted to crawl into K’s lap and kiss him senseless for defending me, and then chastise him for endangering his career. The AFL and the Nevada Athletic Commission can and will suspend his license for bad behavior outside the cage.
We enter the crowded hotel elevator without saying a word. K dips his head, letting his hoodie cover half his face to hide from any AFL fans. When the elevator stops to let more people on, K grabs my waist, tugging me to his side possessively. My heart leaps into my throat and I have to hide a smile. He’s so close I can smell the seductive combination of sweat and man and K.
I squirm uncomfortably and catch him glancing at me from under his hood. His eyes land on my cheek and go cold, the silver turning the color of hard stone.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
He shakes his head but says nothing.
After an eternity and about five different stops to let other guests on and off, the elevator finally reaches our floor. K slides his arm from my waist, effortlessly finding my hand and entwining our fingers. The sweet gesture is so contradictory to the man I know, I nearly melt into a puddle on the floor.
“Come to my room.” His voice is rough, strained. Like he even has to ask. I’d do anything he wanted. Anything.
“Okay.”
With a sharp nod, he leads me down the hall. K deftly removes a card from his pocket and opens the door.
“Go sit.” He points at the bed. “I have some first-aid supplies.”
I drop onto the pristine white duvet. “What?”
“A medical kit. I have to fix you up.”
A medical kit?
He brought me to his room to give me first aid? The thought is more depressing than I imagined. Maybe that kiss in Gabriel’s office was a one-time thing, a mistake in K’s mind. Either way, I don’t need or want his pity, or anyone else’s for that matter.
“I’m fine, K. I’m not bleeding. Ice is really all I can do for it.” I move to get up and K pins me in place with his eyes. The argument drains out of me and I sit back down.
K scowls. “No. You need anti-inflammatories. It’s going to swell and it’s going to hurt. Fuck.” K squeezes his eyes shut, his beautiful face twisted as if he’s in agony, the tendons in his neck bulging. Those haunting silver eyes pop back open, locking on to mine. “I wanted to kill him for touching you.”
Stunned at his admission, I pat the bed. “Come sit with me.”
His lethal expression vanishes, replaced by uncertainty. The bravest man I know takes a step back. “I shouldn’t,” he whispers.
I stare at this big, strong fighter as he attempts to turn away. No. I refuse to let him do his usual dodge and flee routine. This time, he’s going to answer my questions. “Why not?”