DARE: A Bad Boy Romance (13 page)

“You okay, Grant?” Dare asked him.

No response. The big guy stood the radio unit right side up, brushed all the sand off it like it was a new toy he’d found buried in his sandbox, and switched the power on.

The explosion blew him apart.

The force of the blast hurled everyone off their feet. The ringing in Dare’s ears and the acrid taste of flash-boiled blood in the air and the chunks of Grant still peppering the sand around them were too much for him to process. He stopped feeling. He looked on from a place of safe remove, where there was an invisible wall between him and what was happening…

A wall that had been there ever since. The only difference was that, now and again, holes appeared in that wall. Holes through which reality flooded, unfiltered, and he had no choice but to relive the experience from which his brain had tried to spare him.

And it wasn’t just that incident out on patrol. There were others. Many others. Fighting in the ring was a finite thing: the threats were quantifiable, mostly predictable. If you kept your head, you could control the outcome. But war was in so many ways beyond a man’s control.

Even after, when the danger
was
over, the echoes of those moments of powerlessness were so potent, so haunting. They had the ability to cut right through time and space and wedge themselves in the face of everything a man was, everything he thought he’d become since.

A part of Dare was still there in the deserts of Iraq and Afghanistan, but he’d at least managed to move on and not let it take him over. He could only imagine what Finn was going through.

“The tribunal went okay?” asked Finn. “You’re not suspended or anything?”

Dare was pretty sure he’d explained it to his friend already, but he couldn’t be certain. It had been a strange day, with nothing really resolved. So many things were still up in the air. His memory might be the defective one. “No. It sounds like they don’t want to put me and Oregon under the microscope,” he replied. “There are too many implications. They’re worried what I’ll dig up if they push me.”

“Really? Do you have anything on them?”

“Nothing concrete. But it’s all there just beneath the surface. It wouldn’t take much to light up the whole freaking snake pit.” He wondered if Finn would get that rather oblique movie reference.

“Yeah. ‘Asps—very dangerous. You go first.’” Spoken in a spot-on Middle Eastern accent, just like the character from
Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Dare chuckled. “Maybe we should have dug out there in the desert, found ourselves some ancient Persian treasure or something.”

“Digging? In that heat?”

“Beats hauling ass over hot sand in fucking circles for months.”

“True.” A half-bottle swig of Coors later, Finn added, while staring down at the table, “Does any of that stuff ever get to you?”

“What we did out there?”

“And saw.” He fidgeted in his seat. “Feels like nobody ever wants to talk about it. I get occasional emails from some of the guys, and it’s all small talk and banter, which is fine. They only know me as “Cork”, I guess, what I was like out there. I just wish we could have all sat and talked that shit through sometime, you know, instead of pretending as if it never happened, as if it’s just part of the job. I know it’s not the “done” thing and all that, but sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who can’t get over that shit. Like I’ve failed somehow, just because I can’t shrug it off and move on like a good Marine. You know what I’m saying?”

“I hear you, brother. It’s the one thing they can’t teach you, I guess. How to switch it off.”

“Yeah. Like a part of you is always plugged into what it was like over there. I mean, I can’t even think about half that shit without reliving it. The docs say it helps to talk through it, you know, describe it in detail, so I can accept that shit just happens, that none of it was my fault. But I think I saw too much. I mean, how can you ever accept that a guy you spent all that time with, a guy whose family you heard so much about, could have just exploded like that?” Finn’s hand began to shake; he had to set his bottle down. “One second he was there, then there was nothing left. Everything that made him Grant was gone. I-I just can’t get my head around that. And I see it all the fucking time: switching on that old knackered radio, and…everything that happened next.”

Neither of them spoke for a while. The occasional loud clash of pool balls made Dare flinch, because his back was to the rec room. Finn, though, didn’t appear present at all as he sat there, sipping at his beer. For Dare, the memories cut sharply and deeply, but they were short-lived; his friend seemed to dwell in them, somehow captive to his experiences as they unfolded in real time.

“That’s the big one for me, too—what happened to Grant,” Dare explained. “It was just so unexpected, and it happened right in front of us; I guess it’s as much of a battle scar as all our other cuts and scrapes. Only we can’t see it. We can’t wrap it with a field dressing. It’s still a war wound, brother. And we’ve both got it. We’ve both got plenty. It’s important that you know that. You’re not the only one who’s hurting from that shit. And there’ll be others in the unit. It might not hit them till they get stateside, but it will. Sooner or later, we’ll all switch on that old knackered radio, whether we want to or not.”

Finn seemed to look right through him for a few moments, then said, “Man, this got really freaking heavy, didn’t it?”

“Tell me about it.”

“Fuck it. Let’s keep it going.” With a manly burp, the man known in the Corps as “Cork” seemed to want to be that man again, if only until the drinks ran out. He slammed his empty beer down, then gestured for Dare to fulfill his obligation: more rounds,
pronto
. Unfortunately, Dare had to drive home after, so Diet Coke was as dangerous as he could get. This time. Next time, he’d get a cab.

He returned and set three beers down for Finn, plus a pack of potato chips apiece. “So how are you doing with your studies?”

“Getting there. It’s a chore, like all studying. A means to an end. I’ll get there. How’s the training?”

“Ditto. Plus, I’ve had a few…distractions.”

“So I hear.” Finn’s sly grin said he wanted to pry. “But first, tell me what Manny had to say. What’s the news from over there? Then you can answer that question you’ve been dying for me to ask.”

“What question’s that?”

“Who’s this mysterious hottie that’s got you chasing your tail?”

“Oh. Yeah. It’s kind of a long story.”

“It always is, brother. It always is.”

Holly had never felt so exposed in her life. Naked even. As the only ringside VIP guest of Dare Bowden, she was the object of too much unwanted attention in the packed Staples Center. The wives and girlfriends—WAGs—kept eyeing her, but no differently than they had when she’d been Trey’s girl. They weren’t judging her necessarily; hell no—they swapped partners more frequently than rednecks at a square dance. They were just curious. She was a rogue element in their midst, someone they couldn’t figure out. She had never fit in with their fashion or their inside jokes or the way they turned a blind eye to all the sleeping around, and she’d only ever attended a handful of their regular get-togethers.

The fact that she was now with Dare, someone else they couldn’t get a handle on, would only make their tongues wag all the more.

She was trying her best to concentrate on the fight. Dare was still sizing up his opponent, a huge black bear of a man named Fortune Parker, a South African. Dare was quicker and clearly the more cultured fighter, but he was wary of getting in too close. The way Parker was stalking him around ring left little to the imagination; he wanted to get hold of his opponent any way he could and break poor Dare in half.

Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea, coming here to watch. He might get hurt. Sure, she’d been through it a hundred times with Trey, but her life was at a fragile point right now, and she couldn’t take any more heartache.

The arena’s spotlights had converged on the octagonal ring. Holly’s front row was on the border of light and shadow; she was fully lit, and the cameras would easily pick her out. Her toned-down but still sexy ensemble—blouse, waistcoat, and suit pants—had been a last-minute idea. She’d hoped no one would recognize her in it, and it would therefore help her to blend in. But she now realized, too late, that it was making a statement. It said: “Don’t mess with me, I’ve got the power.” In the eyes of the bling brigade, she was re-defining herself and taking charge of her life, and part of that was to set her sights on the most mysterious hunk in MMA.

Helena Titov waved to her. She waved back, then cringed when she realized Helena’s husband, Oleg, was good friends with Trey. She scanned the surrounding seats.
Phew.
Thank God her crazy ex wasn’t here. However, he’d definitely find out about her
being here. Even if the cameras and the media gossip didn’t give her away, the Titovs would spill the beans to Trey sooner or later.

Let’s burn that bridge when we come to it,
she thought.
Tonight’s about Dare. I owe him this much.

Parker lifted his enormous leg to try and kick Dare against the ropes, but Dare saw it coming a mile away. He sidestepped just enough to catch the big man’s calf, then swept his trailing leg from under him. Holly leapt to her feet, the first in her row, probably in the whole arena. That was not like her at all. She was normally the reserved one, the reluctant one, who only got to her feet when everyone around her stood up.

Tonight was different. Tonight, a strong pull inside her insisted she make this effort. For Dare. For herself. And the more she cheered like a maniac, the more she understood the love-hate relationship she’d always had with this blood sport. It had been true right from the start, when she’d first watched Trey perform in the ring, but it had never crystallized in her mind until now.

She hated fighting, but loved fighters.

What they did to each other was barbaric. On some level it left her queasy—not in a good way. But damn it, they were so
hot.
Watching Dare Bowden strut his stuff in the ring, muscles rippling, practically naked, and demonstrating how to take a big bully down without resorting to mindless brawling—now
that
shit made her queasy in all the
right
ways.

He was what a man
should
be. Cut, confident, and always in control. The way he set about dismantling his opponent was so…efficient. Every blow, every block, every hold so precise. And he had charisma to spare, lots of little quirks and signature flourishes to his technique that just screamed to his opponent:
I own this sport; you’re in my ring now.
She’d never seen such a skillful display of hand-to-hand combat. Fortune Parker was like a huge bull in the ring with a world-class matador (another blood sport she hated). The big man was getting frustrated.

Holly leapt to her feet again and whistled her approval when Dare snagged Parker in an athletic head-scissors. He pulled it off so quickly, the rest of the crowd barely had time to react before Parker was on the canvas, struggling to hold on. The ref got in real close, watching carefully for a tap-out.

In that moment, something made her turn to catch Helena’s eye. Maybe to brag. Maybe to announce the start of this new chapter in her life, free from Trey’s control. But Helena didn’t look her way. She was busy shouting in her husband’s ear, then nodding gravely at his replies. Were they worried about Dare Bowden? About just how good he really was? Holly liked to think so. That every fighter in the world was now intimidated by Dare—not because he was some psychotic, steroid-fueled brawler in the ring (fuck you, Trey!), but because he was just
that good
.

The idea set her heart racing. It was a feeling of relief more than anything else—that a guy so powerful could be so in control as well. Sure, he was bound to have his rough edges, as any fighter would. But Dare Bowden could give her what Trey had lost a long time ago. Put simply, he could make her feel safe.

That was worth a victory right there.

***

Parker, having escaped the head-scissors, finally tapped-out inside a headlock near the end of the second round. No one was surprised. However, Holly had never heard so much chatter after a fight. After the cheering died down, the whole arena seemed to be gripped in intense debate. Parker was ranked pretty high. For someone to have taken him apart so clinically like that, it had to signal to the IMMAF that its next bona fide title contender was in town.

Holly was about to leave the building and catch a cab straight to Jessica’s when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She recognized the youngish Hispanic man from Dare’s small corner team.

“Excuse me, miss. Dare sent me to fetch you. He said there’s something he wants to ask you, if haven’t got other plans…”

“Um, no. I can see him…if I’m allowed back there.”

The guy shot her a confused look. Hey, it wasn’t
her
fault that Trey had never explained the backstage protocol for these things.
He’d
never invited her into the locker room. That was his time, he’d always said, for himself and his team.

“Okay, show me the way,” she said.

It did feel bizarre, after all these years, to finally gain access to the fighters’ secret sanctum. The smells were all familiar—like those of any gym or locker room. However, there was a strong male vibe here, almost overpowering, that made her feel both uneasy and curious at the same time.

“Holly! Glad you could come.” With a towel wrapped around him, and with his physio massaging his feet in a tub of cold water, Dare looked totally pampered. He also looked flat-out sexy: all sweaty and wide-eyed, with his six-pack heaving like it had after the multiple times he’d screwed her brains out that glorious night.

She swallowed. Her tummy did its fluttery-tingly thing. “I wouldn’t have missed it,” she said.

“I did good, huh?”

“You were amazing!” That was not hyperbole. And she could tell by the way that he looked at her that he knew she meant it.

“Thanks.” He accepted a bottle of orange energy drink from the Hispanic lad who’d fetched her. “Listen, I know this is short notice, but my agent is hosting a party at his house in Hollywood Hills. Well, technically it’s my house as well, but he spends more time there than me. We lease it for parties, charity functions, things like that. He’s kind of a big shot. I just stay there now and then, use it as kind of a luxury retreat when there’s nothing else going on. Anyway, we’re holding this after-fight party tonight, and I wanted to know if you were up for it.”

Holly mentally scrambled to figure out what he really meant. How much time did he intend to spend with her? Would she end up as the wallflower while he drank beer with his Marine buddies? Who
else
would be there? The bling brigade? A few WAGs she could handle, but in truth, the only party she wanted right now was a party of two. The private kind. The naked, athletic, private kind.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“On you.”

The Hispanic boy glanced at her, smiling to himself. The physio briefly stopped rubbing, then resumed with enthusiasm.

“Okay, put it this way,” Dare said. “If you don’t go, I don’t go.”

“But it’s your
party. Your after-fight celebration. You’d be letting everyone down.”

He shrugged. “See what you’d be making me do?”

“Oh, so it’s blackmail now, is it?”

“You bet your sweet—”

“I’m in,” she interrupted.

Dare sprouted a pleased-as-punch grin that dropped—almost—when the physio looked up at him. He cleared his throat. “Good. So I’ll see you there. Julio will take you to my car. Just tell my driver you’re going on ahead; I’ll make my own way there.”

“I can wait,” she said.

“Nah, I’d rather you didn’t. I’ve got too much bullshit to take care of here before I can leave. I
promise
I’ll be there as soon as I can. Meantime, make yourself at home. What’s mine is yours. Okay?”

Holly flicked him an insolent salute.

“Feisty,” he said. “Hold that thought. Julio, you know the way.”

The young lad followed her example, snapping off a salute. This time, Dare didn’t appear so amused. He just glared at Julio, who scurried out.

“This way,” he called back.

“Wait up,” she replied.

Dare winked at her, and she winked back.

This might just be a party to remember
, she thought.

***

It was a large, impressive estate that stood out among its neighbors in Hollywood Hills by dint of a massive white iron front gate that resembled the entrance to a theme park. It towered over the road. Inside, the rest of the estate was fairly similar to the others in this posh, high-up enclave of the city: tropical and subtropical trees, a floodlit tennis court, more expensive cars than she could count, and a hacienda-type home that might satisfy an up-and-coming South American drug baron until he really hit the big time.

It was the kind of home that would suit a modest Hollywood star or a high-flying agent. But it absolutely did not suit Dare Bowden. She just couldn’t imagine him living here in all this luxury. Maybe if he pitched a tent in the garden and occasionally stormed the house as some sort of military training exercise. Maybe shoot a few silicon WAGs while he as at it.
Pow! Pow!

Probably the best thing about the property was its absolutely stunning view of Los Angeles. From the upper balcony, she could see for miles across the sprawling city. The faint rust-colored glow of the night sky hanging low over L.A. suddenly made her proud to call it her home. So it could be unpleasant a lot of the time, even dangerous, but none of that mattered on nights like tonight, with its cloak of mystery and romance spread over the whole mess.

Holly said hello to a handful of people she knew, and a few others who seemed intent on making her acquaintance. One Blanche-Dubois-type stalked her half way around the house, biding her time, before finally introducing herself as a gossip columnist for an online magazine. Yes, Holly had dated two top fighters in a row. No, she wasn’t giving interviews. And hell no, she’d rather die than
divulge any bedroom secrets the readers were dying to know. Did she
look
like that much of a trollop?