Chapter eleven #2
I stare at him, looking for him to explain what’s happening.
He must feel my focus on him; he looks up, and sadness has come over his previously bright expression.
“I’m sorry, Bella. I need to go. You finish, and my driver here will take you home.”
“Where are you going?” I snap as he dabs at his lips with his napkin.
“Out.” He places the cloth on the table and pushes himself up to stand. “I have business to attend to.”
“Hunter, you will not leave me here to walk out of this restaurant alone. Where are you going?” His eyes bug slightly as we stare at one another. “Walk out that door, and I’ll pack my stuff and leave tonight.”
“Is this what having a live-in wife feels like?” he asks his driver. The man attempts to remain impassive, but his face betrays him. “I have a business to attend to, my love.”
“Is it a woman?” The question rolls off my tongue naturally, surprising both him and me.
“Would it bother you if it was?” he asks, his eyes dancing with amusement at the idea I could be jealous.
“No, of course not!” I spit back, knowing that I had played my cards too soon and that he knew it. “But it’s rude to leave a lady in a restaurant alone. Whatever it is, I am coming with you. I’ll gather my things.”
He watches me stand and collect my bag. I signal to the nearest staff member for our coats. As I shrug into my wrap, Hunter rounds the table and comes to my side. His warm palm lands on my hip, and he leans down, his lips dangerously close to mine.
“Bella,” he whispers, his breath tickling my skin. “There has never been another woman.”
He takes my hand without further explanation, and leads me out of the restaurant.
***
Titan MMA Gym, London
“It’s midnight,” I say as Hunter escorts me from the car to the entrance of his gym. The streets are deserted. The only sounds are distant traffic and the odd fox raiding a trash can.
“I’m aware of that, Bella.”
“What are we doing here?”
He doesn’t respond, merely pushing open the door leading to a staircase heading downward.
The further we move down the steps, the more voices can be heard.
There seem to be many of them, and the general atmosphere is high.
A second door blocks our path. As it opens, I am hit with excitement and noise well above the recommended decibel level.
The open industrial space is crammed full of men dressed in smart shirts waving beer cans in the air. At the rear of the room is a long bar with people three deep shouting at the pretty girls behind it for a drink.
Hunter tightens his grip on my fingers as we weave through the melee. Men on every side acknowledge his presence as we pass. Their eyes fall on me but immediately snap away.
In the far corner of the space is a giant metal cage.
The door hangs open as two security guards help a beat-up man out of the enclosure.
Another fighter stands in the center of the ring, surrounded by the framework; he raises his arms high with fists clenched and screams, not that he can be heard over the spectators.
As we reach the side of the arena, Hunter stops at a table with two seated men in suits. They blatantly count money and take bets, the odds for the upcoming matches scribbled on a chalkboard behind them.
“Where’s Harrison?” Hunter barks. The larger man looks up and shrugs.
“Violet has him under house arrest,” the other man tells him. He’s almost identical to his companion but smaller. “Hormones.” Hunter rolls his eyes as both men focus on me. They stand and extend a hand each.
“Isabella,” Hunter says formally. “This is Russell and Connor Chase, my…” He pauses before categorizing who they are. “Friends.”
“Nice to meet you both.” I shake each of the offered hands, and they both nod.
Looking at them, I would say they are highly educated, and money isn't an object by the cut of their suits.
As I go to ask how they know Hunter, a bubbly blonde dressed in a denim mini-skirt and glittery top places two pints of beer on the table.
“Thanks, Trouble,” the Chase brothers say in unison. She leans across and kisses each of them on the cheek before turning to Hunter.
“Do you want one?” she asks bluntly. Her tone tells me she knows him, and his status doesn’t bother her one iota.
“No thanks. How are you enjoying being a ring-girl?” Hunter asks her. Before she can reply, the men opposite do.
“It won't be happening again,” Russell says. “Too many bastards are imagining her in their bed. She’s ours.”
The woman skips around the table and slips between the brothers. She wraps an arm around each of their necks and they both turn to face her. Her eyes dance between them, bright red lips pulled wide.
“Are my boys jealous?” she purrs, and suddenly I realize what the fuck is going on.
“Always, Trouble,” Connor mutters. “Now, go do what you need to before we drag you home and tie you to the bed.”
“Don’t make promises you won't keep,” she teases, and Russell grabs her waist and pulls her onto his lap.
“We always keep our promises, Trouble.” His lips lock onto her mouth, and she pulls at his hair with bright red nails.
After he’s satisfied, he releases her, and she stumbles to her feet.
Connor grabs her waist, thick fingers steadying her uneasy frame.
She turns back to Hunter and catches sight of me. Her eyes widen with interest.
“You must be Isabella,” she says, leaning over the table and extending her hand. I take it, and she shakes it with the grip of a man. Fuck, she’s confident. “I’m Samantha. Would you like a beer?”
“Sure, that would be great.”
I watch as she weaves through the crowd in search of our drinks, one long slender leg crossing the other, captivating every man who catches her eye.
“She’ll be the fucking death of us,” Russell says to his brother, and they grin like idiots. “But we’ll die fucking happy.”
Samantha returns with two beers but immediately leaves again. Hunter doesn’t point out the fact he said no to a drink as she hands one to him. The next time I see her, she’s strutting around the stage with a sign announcing the next match.
A familiar face enters the ring: Damon. I met him briefly at Hunter’s house. His opponent is bigger but leaner, and within minutes, the two men are swinging at one another in the cage.
Damon is knocked to the floor but staggers back to his feet.
The four of us drink our beers and holler for his success.
Nobody sees the young blonde woman throwing open the door to the cage and marching inside.
She’s tall and curvy, dressed in a tracksuit with her hair tied in a ponytail.
She taps Damon on the shoulder, and he turns to face her, his jaw dropping spectacularly.
“Oh fuck,” Hunter says. “Emma’s here.”