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McQUEEN:Las Vegas Bad Boys(31)

By:Frankie Love

He hold the door open for me, and I step inside the familiar sweat-filled gym.

"You sleep here, Coach?" I ask. He looks tired, but smiles at me—though a bit tightly.

"I do, sometimes." He shrugs, flipping on the lights in the gym. "Didn’t expect to see you so early.”

"Figured as much." I stop at his office door. "Is it okay that I'm here? I needed to let off some steam."

"Sure, uh, of course." He enters his office and begins clearing the desk with abandon. He won't meet my eyes, and I can tell something is off.

My stomach sinks as I prepare for the worst. Maybe the fight got called off and he's scared to tell me.

"Hey, can we talk for second?" I step into his office without waiting for a response.

"Um, yeah, of course, JoJo," he says. His eyes dart around the room, and he closes his laptop quickly.

"Well," I begin, as I take a seat in an empty chair. "I left the other day on less than stellar terms. And then yesterday I didn't show. I just want to apologize."

"You don't have to say sorry to me. I'm just happy you came back. I don't know what I'd do if my top fighter left for good. When McQueen stopped by asking for your address, I knew he'd get you back here."

I pause, confused. "You gave McQueen my address?" I scrunch my nose, trying to understand. I guess I hadn't thought through how McQueen knew where to find me. But I never tell anyone where I live. Only Lucy knows. I sure as heck have never told Kit, and definitely not McQueen. No way in hell would I want any of those guys showing up around my family.

"How did you have my address, Kit? I never gave it to you, did I?"

His face reddens, and he wipes a trickle of sweat from his forehead. "Oh, sweetie, you gave it to me once a long time ago."

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I didn't." I’d feel awful if information about where Dad’s house is got leaked. I may have told him I was leaving the family, but it doesn’t mean I want harm to come their way.

"Well, anyways, I’m sure there was just a mix up," Kit says, brushing my questions off. "I'm glad you’re here. The fight's going to come up fast. And don't worry about the reporter. I rescheduled with him."

"But how did you know I wasn't coming to the gym yesterday?"

"Oh, I'm a coach, I have a sense about these things, darlin'." His eyes rest on me a beat too long, and I try to shake the feeling in my gut that something is off.

"Okay." I’m annoyed at myself for not being able to get a good read on Kit; he and I always see eye to eye. But maybe he’s pissed at me for flaking this week. Wanting to assure him that I’m here for good, I try again, "Well, I'm not quitting fighting, and I'm okay with my name being on the banner. So maybe we can get those headshots done, after all. I know how much you've put into working with me, and I don't want to let you down."

"Good girl," he says. "You know, I've got a camera, I could take some photos of you in the ring today."

"You're a photographer? I mean, no offense, Kit,” I say, laughing, feeling more relaxed, “but I want these to look really good if they're gonna be plastered around the strip."

"They'll look good. Promise. Just let me get my gear."

I shake my head, laughing, waving him off as I stand. "Whatever, boss. I didn't know you were a photographer, too, is all."

I turn to leave, but see his camera bag on the floor. Reaching for it, wanting to help with the gear, I knock it over.

"Oh, shit, hope I didn't damage anything." I reach inside the bag, seeing a large scope and a camera that really does look professional. Taking it out, I give a low whistle. "Oh, wow, you really are legit."

"Yeah, just give it to me," Kit says, grabbing for the camera and taking it from my hands. His fast movement surprises me and I lose my balance. I fall, catching myself by grabbing the seat of the chair, but the fabric camera bag is smashed by my foot in the process.

"Thank God I took out the camera," I say, laughing at my clumsiness. As I pull the bag out from under me, a pile of photographs flutter out.

My heart stops. My brain adjusts. My eyes focus.


In the moments it's taken me to look at the photos, he has managed to maneuver to the door, to lock it.

"What's going on?" I ask, stumbling back from the crouching position I’m in. His office is crowded and messy, but it's also holding evidence that tells me Kit isn't who I thought he was. Not in the least.

The photos are filled with me, changing in the locker room, half dressed, fully nude. Photos of me with McQueen, photos of me touching myself, looking in the mirror, private moments when I thought I was alone.

I blink back tears as the pictures fall from my hand. There are so many.

"You? You've been the one stalking me? All along?"

Kit's eyes run over my skin, and I feel my flesh shiver under his gaze.

Kit, who always leaves the gym when I'm done with a workout, who never minded me being here alone ... each time he must have snuck away and spied on me.

"But why? You've been so kind to me." I'm scared to stand, to come face to face with him.

"Because I love you, Josephine. Love you more than McQueen ever could."

I struggle with his words, wanting to outwit him, wanting to outsmart him so I can get the fuck out of this office, away from him. But he's standing in front of the locked door, and maybe my MMA moves worked on Frank Grotto, but Kit has taught me everything I know.

They won't work on him.

"Then why let McQueen stay here and work out with me? If you wanted me for yourself?"

"Oh, sweetie, I love to see you happy, to see your body spread out for him. I love to watch you give in to the pleasure, to the thrill. I wouldn't take that away from you. Besides, I'm a patient man. I can wait my turn."

"No," I shake my head, trying to get my bearings. The panic in my chest presses down hard. This cannot be happening. I’ve trusted Kit with my life, and he’s just another man, using me to get what he wants.

"There is no turn for you,” I tell him. “It doesn't work that way."

"Yes, darling, it does."

He steps toward me, and I scream, shocked that he would be coming this close to me.

"I thought the photo of you and McQueen would be enough to send him running, but I was wrong. He liked the idea of you being watched as much as I did. He didn't even do anything to stop me."

"Because he didn't know."

"If he really wanted to catch me, he could have. He doesn't love you. He had some idiots come here, scour the place, but of course I hid my trail. He didn't call the cops because he didn't really care about you."

"That's not true. I told him not to call in back up. It was because I was stubborn and stupid—and anyways, why are you telling me all of this? Why do you want me to know how twisted you are?"

I stand, my feet apart, my shoulders square. I’m not going down without a fight. But it’s hard to get in the right frame of mind when I’m still assimilating the information, terrified that he's going to come closer to me.

I can't have two men coming after me in twenty-four hours. Grotto, then him. It's too much.

"Baby, I'm telling you because I want you to know how much I love you. How I'd do anything for you." He licks his lips and steps in front of me, pins me to the wall, not giving me any leeway to get out of his grip. "Did you like the picture of my cock?"

"I never saw it," I tell him, trying to fight out of his hold. I kick at him, but it only makes his grip on my wrists harder.

"Well, it's your lucky day. You can see it now."

"No," I say, screaming again, thrashing against the wall in an attempt to free myself, to break away. "You're supposed to be the good guy, Kit. The one who's looking out for me. Not this man."

How could I have been so wrong about him?

He pushes his body against mine. Forcing me into submission as he holds my arms over my head. I can’t move.

I know I'm tough, I know I'm strong, but right now, I need someone to rescue me from myself.


Five minutes later I'm in my car. I'm gonna find my woman before she gets herself in trouble.

She never wanted to call the cops about her crazy-assed stalker, and for all I know he's kidnapped her and is crossing state lines.

I can't call her brothers even if I wanted to, because they sure as fuck aren't listed in the yellow pages.

Calling them isn't an option anyway. If JoJo and I are gonna have a chance at happiness, we've gotta get as far from her family’s clutches as possible.

Connecting to Bluetooth, I dial her number again as I drive, but it goes straight to voicemail. Exhaling, I turn into the gym parking lot. This is the only place I can imagine JoJo going. If she's not here, I’ll have to figure out where her sister lives, where Lucy lives ... and then my last resort will be showing up at her father's house again.

But damn it, I hope to God she isn't there.

I pull to a stop in the lot, relief flooding me when I see her car.

Okay. Maybe I overreacted a little bit. I look at my bandaged hand holding the steering wheel. It hurts like hell, but shit, thinking she was gone, that she had left me, with no one protecting her, freaked me out. She has no fucking clue how serious this stalker shit is.

I told her about my baby sister, and I don't think she understands the lengths freaks go to when they get obsessed. There’s no more reason, no logic. They can only see their prize.