Submission Specialist: A Bad Boy Romance (Still a Bad Boy Book 2) (12 page)

Skylar

The next few months were heaven on Earth for me.  With all that drama behind us, Austin was able to concentrate on training for his upcoming title fight, and I could go about my studies with a clear head.  Clear, that is, except for the intrusion of the occasional dirty thought about Austin thrusting into me from behind, or one of a million other soppy daydreams about him.

Every day or two, between my classes and his training sessions, we’d fit in an hour for him to teach me a hybrid of self-defense moves and a variety of ground-fighting styles.  For him, it was just enough to keep him warmed up for the next grueling set of drills that Ross had in store.  For me it was a workout and a half.

Whenever I needed a couple minutes to recover, I’d lock him up in my signature move, a deep kiss.  It was the only thing I could do in the middle of the MMA gym that distracted him from his relentless training ethic.

Today, right now was just such a time.  “Come here, you,” I said.

“No.  I’m going to strangle you, Hollywood style, and you’re going to escape like we practiced, got it?”

“Aw…”

With me flat on my back on the mats, Austin straddled my stomach.  I rested my palms on the thick muscles of his thighs, and he reached down with both hands to grasp me around the neck.

“Escape.”

His grip tightened to the point where it was almost impossible for me to breathe and, despite the fact that I
knew
I was safe, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of panic.  Whatever you might know, academically, cut off your air and your body’s fight or flight response is triggered.

I fought down the panic, remembering what Austin had said during one of these sessions.

“You know what my greatest weapon is?” he had asked, then held his arm up to the side, flexing his bicep as he curled his arm.  It took a second for me to drag my eyes away from that crowd-pleasing sight enough to realize he was pointing at his head.

That’s what I had to do now.  This was a strangle, as opposed to a choke.  It was cutting off my air supply rather than my blood.  Scary as it felt, I could survive and function for a while like this, like holding my breath.  A choke would be a different story.

I took my hands from his thighs and put my palms together like I was praying, before pushing my hands and arms up between his.  Once my arms were over my head, I spread them to each side, kind of like the breast stroke in swimming, which broke Austin’s grip on my neck.

With his hands semi-trapped under my armpits, I heaved upwards and to the side with my hips.  As he had no arm free to brace himself, we rolled until I was on top.  For a second I felt pleased with myself, but the exercise wasn’t complete as far as Austin was concerned.

“Don’t wait for me to recover!  Get up! Get up! Go!”

I sprang to my feet, feigned a stomp between his legs and backed off, as he had shown me.  Austin rose to a sitting position and gave me the thumbs up.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“I’m goin’ over there, over here!” I said in my best Robbie Johnson impression, which always cracked Austin up.

This was no different, and Austin laughed, holding out his hand for me to help him up.  “Come over here, over here!”

I reached out and for a moment had no clue which way was up.  When I gained my bearings again, I was lying on top of Austin, but facing the ceiling.  He had his legs wrapped around me, feet hooked into my inner thighs and his arms wrapped over one shoulder and under the other.  I could feel his breath on my neck just below my ear, but I couldn’t turn around to face him.

“Never let them recover.  If you’re out on the street, there is no giving up, no tapping out.  You hold the submission until you hear bones break, until they lose consciousness, until they’re in so much pain that they’d rather fight the devil than fuck with you again.”

“Yes sir,” I said.

“Sir?  I like that.”

He loosened his grip on me with arms and feet, letting me turn to face him.  Brushing my sweat-soaked hair from my face, he cradled my head and pulled me towards him, planting a kiss on me that tasted faintly salty.

“I’m glad I married you,” he said.

I closed my eyes and let myself float in the beautiful, exhausting… but beautiful, moment for a few seconds.  I loved being around him, I loved how he made me feel like some kind of sexy badass chick instead of the timid wallflower I’d tried to be my whole life.  Most of all, I loved him.

“Me too.”

“I was thinking.  You wanna move in with me?  Like, officially?”

My mouth dropped open and I must have looked like some kind of stunned idiot.  My first inclination was to squeal like a schoolgirl, kiss him again and say yes.  Then I thought of my uncle.

Sure, I was already spending most of my time at Austin’s house, but I was still using my uncle’s apartment as a kind of home base for myself.  It was closer to the campus, for a start, and I kept most of my stuff there, because I had this idea that guys didn’t like it when their girlfriends… or wives I supposed… started leaving toothbrushes in the bathroom and doing laundry in their houses.

I was surprised at just how much I wanted for us to have a place that was
ours
, instead of feeling like a visitor there.  My heart ached for the chance to build a home.

The only thing holding me back was the fact that if I gave up on my uncle’s apartment, packed away all his things and moved out, well, that would be like giving up hope on him ever coming back.  Could I do that?

It had been over a year now, and the police had basically pulled the plug on the investigation.  They’d framed it as a “reallocation of human resources,” but giving up was what it boiled down to.

What would
he
want me to do, under the circumstances?  He’d put his neck out for me, defying his brother, my dad, and vouching for me at NHBFC, all so I could make a life for myself.  Given how much effort he’d spent trying to help me escape the past, would he want me stuck in it?

“You don’t
have
to, you know…” said Austin, after waiting as long as he could for an answer.

“No… I mean, yes.  Yes, I’ll move in,” I said as fast as I could before I changed my mind.

Austin took a stab at the source of my reluctance. “If your uncle turns up, we can get him a better place than that apartment.  OK?”

I gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded.

“OK?” Austin repeated, and tickled me just below the ribcage.

I giggled and squirmed, fighting the impossible fight against the submission specialist.  “Ahhh!  OK!  Stop!  OK!  OK!”

My husband pulled me close and whispered in my ear.  “Now, the first thing you do when you move in, is you get down on your knees and you suck.  My.  Cock.”

“I’m listening,” I said.

My facial expression wavered between scandalized and ecstatic as he gave some
very
specific instructions.  It sure sounded like the first steps to a happy home to me.

Austin

Fucking Bertolini cocksuckers.

I was driving around a heavy industrial district of New Ashby I wasn’t overly familiar with, looking for the depot of some shitty construction company that nobody, least of all me, gave a fuck about.  Why?  Because Enrico Bertolini had called me in for a meeting.

This should have been all settled the last time they visited Ross’ gym.  I knocked out Sanchez in the third for free, and they were supposed to back me to win against Brenton Southgate.  Having another talk could mean only one thing: they were fucking around with the arrangement again.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a dark cloud hovering over my car as I drove along.  Bending down to look up at the street sign, I spotted the one I was looking for and turned the steering wheel to the right.

“At fucking last,” I said to nobody, because Ross wasn’t invited to this little get-together.

There was no obvious parking lot near the gates of Bulgarelli and Sons Construction.  I pulled up in a clear space in the stock yard near a few other cars. They were all parked at odd angles near a little building that announced itself as ‘Office’ via an old sign with peeling paint that looked about as shitty as the rest of the place.

Two guys who looked like they couldn’t build a sandcastle, let alone any kind of large-scale project, sat on a stack of prize-winning rust-farms that used to be heavy steel I-beams, eating their lunch.  One of them would probably win employee of the month, because I couldn’t see anybody else doing anything.

As I stepped out of my car, a mob guy in a suit that looked completely out of place in a dump like this came out of the office. He held the door open as I approached.  Somehow, I resisted the urge to run my keys along the immaculate black paint of the car parked next to mine.

I gave the guy a dirty look as I passed.  To his credit, he seemed unfazed despite the massive size difference between us, and piled as much contempt as he could into his own expression.  He was obviously old school mafia who had seen a lot in his time.

He followed me in and closed the door.  Counting him, there were five guys in cluttered little office and I had only met one of them before.

Two of them were ratty-looking wiseguys flanking the desk to either side.  Leaning by the window was some guy about my age dressed a lot more casually, who looked like he could be recruited as an offensive tackle in college football if he could ever pass the drug tests.

He puffed himself up as much as possible when I walked in, muscles twitching as if he was on edge.  If they thought he was big enough to impress me, they were sorely mistaken.  That was the joy of being at the top of my game.  If he was any good at fighting, I would have heard about him already.

You had to be more than just big to stand a chance with me.  If he wanted to find out what it felt like to have a broken leg, then he could try his luck.

Still, the very presence of somebody like him, like the guy now standing behind me by the door, and the
lack
of Enrico Bertolini was definitely concerning.  Sitting behind the desk itself, looking smug as fuck, was the one person I recognized.  Renato Picolli.

“Nice place you’ve got here.  Where’s Enrico?”

“Thanks.  It may not look like much now, but it’s about to win some very lucrative contracts from the city.  Amazing how things can change so quickly, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.  Where’s Enrico?”

“Why don’t you take a seat?” Renato gestured at the chair in front of the desk.

“No thanks.  Something tells me I’m not going to be here very long.”

He chuckled.  “Well you might just be right about that.  Suit yourself.”

Roid Rage, over by the window, snickered quietly under his breath.  I decided I might have to fuck him up on general principal.

“So, like I was sayin’, things can change, and change pretty fuckin’ fast.  Take today for example.  Big change.  Don Bertolini has kindly accepted my proposition to buy into certain sectors of the family’s business here in New Ashby.  Hence this fine construction company being under new management.”

Renato gestured around the general area and I gritted my teeth, already having a good idea where this fucking stupid speech was going.  My fingers were tingling and I resisted the urge to bunch them into fists.  The air was already thick with tension; everybody was ready for a fight.

“Part of the deal is for the Bertolinis’ interest in MMA match fixing.  So congratulations, you punch-drunk son of a bitch, you are now property of the great Picolli Crime Family.  How does it feel to know I own you?”

“The fuck you do,” I said.

I heard a rustling behind me and a quick glance told me that Old School had pulled out his gun, a shiny little black number with a silencer already fitted.  With narrowed eyes, I turned back to Renato, feeling every breath send the essential fuel of oxygen to my muscles.

“The fuck I do,” said the Picolli. “I told you guys he was a mouthy motherfucker.”

“You want me to shut his mouth for ya, Uncle Renato?” said Roid Rage.

“I told you to shut up and listen, Benny,” said Renato.

Great, the next generation of fuckwits was represented here too.

“Listen to your master, bitch,” I said to him.

Benny went red and flexed hard enough that I thought he was going to pop like a balloon.  However, Renato had him on a short enough leash that he probably wouldn’t wipe his ass without texting for permission.

“Just in time too, with your big fight this weekend and all.”

“I’m winning that fight,” I said.

Renato leaned back in his chair. “Here’s the thing… no, you’re not.  Things are gonna be different around here, punk-ass motherfucker.  The way you spoke to Enrico?  You don’t speak like that to me, to
any
Picolli.  You do what
the fuck
you’re told, exactly what you’re told and nothing
but
what you’re told.  Welcome to your new life.  Do I make myself clear?”

“I made a deal with the Bertolinis, not you.  We had some good times, made some money, but it’s run its course.  It’s not such a good deal anymore, so it’s over.”

Renato laughed and leaned forward again, shaking his finger at me.  “You cocky motherfucker.  You don’t have a fuckin’ choice.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I said.

Renato’s eyes went to Old School and he raised his chin for a second.  Old School shuffled forward and I felt cold steel against the back of my head.

Big mistake, Old School
, I thought.

He never should have got that close to me.  He never should have let me know exactly where his gun was without my having to look for it.

“Fuck myself?  Hold him there, Al, I think fuckface needs to be tenderized by some baseball bats to help him get accustomed to his new circumstances.”

Sweet, fuck-off, adrenaline was flooding my system, making me want to explode, but this was a delicate situation.  I focused on controlling my breathing and watching everything with laser precision as Rat One and Rat Two picked up baseball bats from behind the desk.

Rat One was holding the bat with his left hand above the right, a left-handed grip.  That meant he would be swinging from the inside, crossing paths with his right-handed counterpart and getting in each other’s way.

Benny was puffing air in and out like a bull.  I didn’t have to see him to know his cheeks were blowing out every time he exhaled.  It was a fucking annoying sound to be honest, the loudest one in the room.

The closer the rats came, the louder he blew.  If Al found him as annoying as I did, he might…

There
.  I felt the slight shift in the gun against the back of my head as Al looked at Benny with what I assumed was mild disgust.  Now was the time to explode.

Ducking down and slightly to the side, I reached up and pulled Al’s arm over my shoulder.  Making sure his thumb was facing towards the ceiling, I pushed up with my legs at the same time as I pulled down with my hands, snapping his arm at the elbow with a crisp crunching sound.

Al screamed and the gun went off.  I saw Rat Two crumple over, clutching his stomach.  I tried to grab Al’s gun, but didn’t have enough time to disentangle it from his fingers before Benny charged at me like the stupid fucking bull he was.

He was fast, I had to give him that.  He was big.  That too.  All that weight, all that momentum, was his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.  Standing in front of that was dangerous.

I ducked down and felt my right shoulder make contact at his waist, and all his weight moved over me as he missed with a mid-charge, right hook where my head had been a moment before.  Straightening my legs and twisting to the right was all it took to relieve Benny of what little balance he had.

His feet came off the ground as he flew over me, crashing upside-down on to a flimsy coffee table on my left.  I charged forward at Rat One, heading to his right hand side rather than into the path of the oncoming baseball bat.

Thankfully I was fast enough that he fucked up his timing on the swing, barely managing to hit me at all. The bat made contact with the side of my body just above the grip of his left hand.  As a ratty-lookin’ slightly below-average size guy, he was probably the most out-matched in the entire room, and I sent him off his feet with a hip toss, ripping the bat out of his hand as he flipped over backwards.

I only managed to get a good grip on the bat as Renato raised his gun.  Swinging for the fences, I smashed it out of his hand before he could point it at me, then caught his lower jaw flush with the back-swing as he was in the middle of cursing at me.

Tenderized.  That’s what he’d said they were going to do to me, and that’s exactly what it sounded like when his jaw was sent off to the side of his face at an utterly grotesque angle.  A wet meaty thump.

A strangled cry drew my attention back to Al, who was having even more of a problem getting the gun out of the grip of his dangling arm than I had, due to the obvious pain every movement was causing him.  He almost had it, though.

Benny was just getting to his feet as I rushed towards Al.  I leapt in his direction, kicking at his knee and hyper-extending it before he was upright again.   He missed with a punch that wouldn’t have done much damage anyway, off-balance as he was, then screamed and staggered backwards.  Fuck sake.  If he was a smaller guy, that leg would have fucking broken.

There was no time to have another swing at the tree trunk though.  Al was almost under control of his gun again.  Switching to a left-handed grip as I rushed him, I swung the bat from that side, because he had no fucking hope of blocking it with anything.

Bat connected with skull and it was lights out for Al.  He collapsed like a rag doll in an expensive suit.

I turned, just as Benny limped into me with enough speed to shunt me backwards.  I took a step back to maintain my balance and my heel met with Al’s unconscious face.

I fell to the ground on my back, Benny falling on top of me.  Instantly, I dropped the baseball bat, trapped one of his arms under mine and brought my legs up around his neck, locking him into a triangle-choke before he realized what was going on.

Squeezing as hard as I could, I cut off the circulation to his head, and saw that flash of pure panic in his eyes.  In a last-ditch effort, he tried to lift me off the ground, no doubt to try and slam me back down again.

I hooked my arm around one of his legs to try and stop it.  Even with his knee as fucked as it was, he had enough raw power and steroids that he almost managed to do it.

Rat One was back on his feet now, and he rushed over to try and stomp my head as Benny refused to lose consciousness.  With guys with thick muscle-bound necks like Benny, you had to have the choke sunk in
real
tight.

With every passing second, Benny’s struggles became weaker, but it couldn’t come fast enough for me, as I tried like hell to grab Rat One from my ground position and avoid a footprint on my face.  It took a few close calls, but on the fifth or sixth attempted stomp, I caught his foot and locked my arms around his lower leg before wrenching backwards.

Rat One’s leg twisted and I heard a twang come from his knee.  Sadly for him, he came to the ground close enough for me to hold him with one hand and drop some vicious elbows to his head while the last traces of consciousness slipped from Benny.

When Rat One went limp, I let Benny go and regained my feet.  Renato was still sitting in his chair, caught between trying to straighten the lower half of his face and the torturous pain it caused.  Rat Two was on the ground, moaning in the middle of a spreading pool of his own blood.

Everybody else was having a snooze.

Renato’s eyes widened in fear as I stalked towards him.  I couldn’t understand whatever sounds his broken jaw was limiting him to, but I got the gist.

Reaching out with all the speed of a jab, I grabbed his loose jaw and held it still in the midst of his screams until he quietened down.

“I said, the deal is off, you cunt.  If you’re the praying sort, pray that I never see you again.  Understand?”

Renato’s frantic squeals were confirmation enough.  I circled back around the desk, opened the door as far as I could, due to Al’s limp body lying in front of it like a bulky welcome mat, and left.