Three guys stood by a car in the far corner of the parking lot. It was a few hours after sunset, and the only light illuminating the space was the orange glow from a distant streetlight. No moonlight penetrated the cloud cover tonight.

The fight wouldn’t start for another hour or so, giving Rosalyn plenty of time to get some interviews. These guys were clearly fighters—they all wore variations on boxing shorts and loose t-shirts, and one of them was strapping his hands.

They all laughed at some joke the broad-chested one told them. None of these fighters were The Sexy One from last time, but that was probably for the best. She shouldn’t be lusting after her subjects, anyway. It would distract her from her work.

But what had he said? Ask too many questions around here and you might get disappeared or killed. Surely that was an exaggeration? That kind of thing didn’t happen in real life. Right?

Rosalyn steeled herself to go over, squaring her shoulders. She couldn’t have doubts now, when she was so close. So close to realising her dream and proving to herself that she could do this. So close to definitively escaping the life she’d been forced into.

She adjusted her clothing as she walked towards the men, showing an extra inch of cleavage and thigh. It never hurt to use her sex appeal sometimes, particularly not with red-blooded men that would be more likely to help her if they also wanted to bang her.

She managed not to roll her eyes at the thought.

Not that it had worked on The Sexy One.

“Hey there, guys,” she said as she approached, giving them her best flirty smile.

The tall guy’s eyes widened in surprise at the sight of her. The broad guy spun around to get a better look at her.

“Well, hello,” the broad one said with a smile that made Rosalyn feel even more naked than she was. She tried not to let her distaste show. “I’m Spider. How can I assist you this fine evening?”

She almost snorted at his attempts at being gentlemanly, but managed to keep a straight face. “Well, Spider. I’m so curious about how this all works. I thought you might want to answer some questions to help me out.”

Spider’s demeanour changed instantly. He straightened. “What kind of questions?” Even the faux-gentlemanly accent had disappeared.

A chill ran down Rosalyn’s spine. Her instincts were prodding her, telling her it would be smart to extract herself from this situation, but maybe she still had a chance to turn it around.

“I’m so curious about you. What made you want to be a fighter?”

A fraught moment of tension, then Spider subsided a little. He still watched her warily, though. Rosalyn knew to tread carefully.

“I’m good at it. The best,” he added.

The tall guy whacked him on the shoulder with an offended look. “Hey, that’s not fair. I’m pretty good, too.”

Spider scoffed. “Sure, Weston. Whatever you say.”

Weston pouted. Rosalyn’s gaze shifted to the third guy, who was skinny and squirrely, but he said nothing, hovering in the background. Okay, so she wouldn’t focus on him. Maybe if she played on the clear competitive nature of the other two, she’d get some decent information. Since Spider’s reaction to her wanting to ask questions hadn’t been encouraging, she’d keep the fact that she was a reporter on the down-low for now.

“Do you train lots? You guys have so much muscle.” She almost winced, convinced she was overplaying it, but the guys both puffed out their chest in pride.

“Every day,” Spider told her.

“Almost,” Weston added with a scowl.

“And do you ever get hurt? What happens when you do?”

“Doc patches us up pretty good,” Spider told her, as if this explained everything. She nodded as if it meant something to her, too.

“Doesn’t happen very often, though,” Weston added, and Spider nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

It was going well, the two men having relaxed against the car. Some of the suspicion had left their expressions, so Rosalyn thought—hoped—it would be a good time to test the waters a little with a more revealing question. “So how did you find out about this place? How does one get ‘in’ so to speak?”

Spider’s gaze immediately shifted back into suspicion, coming off the car with a jerky movement. Weston gave him a surprised glance, then followed as Spider took a few steps towards her. Rosalyn held her ground, her heart beating rapidly in fear. She’d done it now.

“I don’t think I like where you’re going with these questions.” He stopped a few steps away from her, far too close for comfort. His brows were pulled down in anger. Still only simmering anger, but frightening nonetheless.

Her gaze bounced to his bulging muscles and back, fear tightening her throat. This guy could kill her, as the other fighter had warned her last time. Why hadn’t she listened?

“I’m just curious,” she told him, her voice an octave higher than usual. She swallowed, trying to wrest back control. Don’t show fear.

“A little too curious,” Spider replied, shifting on his feet and seeming to grow taller.

Rosalyn clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into her palm to snap herself out of her fear. She could talk her way out of this. She had to.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know it would be an issue. I only wanted to know a bit more about you.”

“About me?” he asked, taking another step forward. He was much too far into her personal space now, looming large. “Or about these fights?”

“A little of both?” she tried.

A muscle twitched in his jaw and his nostrils flared. Rosalyn knew instantly it was the wrong thing to say.

“Are you a cop?” he spat.

Rosalyn shook her head. “No, definitely not.”

“What, then? Why do you want to know so much about us? If you were an invited guest, you’d probably know all this stuff already.”

Oh dear. She’d exposed that she didn’t belong. Not a smart manoeuvre. Her chances of getting out of this were getting slimmer by the second.

“How about we forget I asked, huh?” she said, her voice shaking.

Spider tilted his head, then stepped forward again. This time, Rosalyn didn’t stop herself from stepping away, wincing as his sour breath hit her nostrils.

“McCready would want us to deal with you. Can’t have people nosing about our business.”

Rosalyn swallowed. “Really, there’s no need. I’ll just—”

“But I think I might need to frisk you first,” Spider said, his gaping smile telling her he’d enjoy the act. Rosalyn’s heart thumped against her ribcage, adrenaline rushing through her. Every atom in her body was screaming at her to run. But her feet were frozen in fear.

Spider grabbed her upper arms so hard she could already feel the bruises forming. She sucked in a breath of surprise at the movement. It took her a minute to process what was happening—that this man was actually laying a hand on her—but as soon as her mind cleared, she gathered her courage.

“Let go,” she hissed.

“Not until I check you for a wire.”

She squirmed, but his grip was rock solid.

“Don’t touch me,” she said.

“Why not, cop?” he spat.

“I’m not a cop, I just don’t like strange men touching me.” She wrenched her body, trying to escape his hold but it was no use. He was far too strong, with muscles upon muscles.

“And here you were moments ago fawning all over us. Pretty suspicious, no?”

Rosalyn cursed herself. She never should have flirted like that if she couldn’t follow through. Too late for regrets.

Her gaze bounced from Spider, to Weston, but both looked to be enjoying themselves far too much. She glanced over at the third man by the truck, but he’d disappeared, not even offering to help her.

“Weston, hold her still,” Spider told his friend. Weston took a step forward. Before he could reach Rosalyn, Spider let go, clearly not concerned that she’d escape.

Rosalyn took the chance, turning and sprinting back the way she’d come. But two steps later, she slammed into a hard male chest, blocking her path.

 

 

 

Diego didn’t know why he stepped in. He should have let it go and ignored it. Rosalyn had got herself into this mess by ignoring his advice. He’d tried to warn her, he’d done his duty.

But then he’d seen her struggling, at the mercy of Spider. And Diego knew exactly what Spider was capable of. The long dormant part of him—the chivalry and decency that had been beaten out of him years ago—roared back to life, and Diego knew he couldn’t let this woman be assaulted.

It was the second time this had happened in the last year, and the first time had resulted in him killing a man, faking his own death, and escaping into this fighter’s life that was little better than the one he’d left.

He hoped—not very optimistically—that this saviour’s act wouldn’t have the same life-destroying effect.

“Leave her alone,” he told Spider, keeping his voice level. He wrapped one arm around Rosalyn’s shoulders and pulled her close to his chest. His bare chest. He could feel her shaking palm press against his skin and protective urge swelled up inside him.

She didn’t pull away, either. Her soft body pressed against his hard chest. Diego glanced down, only to see her looking up at him in shiny-eyed gratitude. He got lost in her eyes for a moment, caught in the seductive lure of being seen as a hero. But it was a false heroism. She didn’t know the truth about him, who he really was and what he’d done.

Still, he didn’t let go, just tightened his grip and returned his gaze to Spider.

Spider smirked. “What, you want her all to yourself?”

Diego grinned. “She’s already mine. So leave her alone.” Not the truth, not even close. But Spider didn’t know that. And men like Spider only respected a superior claim on a woman, cretin that he was. Diego may not be a good guy, but he knew what ‘no’ meant.

“You’re taking responsibility for the nosy bitch?” he asked incredulously. “Did you hear the questions she was asking?”

“Nothing too suspicious, I’m sure.” If they were anything like the questions she’d asked him, that was. He didn’t trust her, not for a minute. She was too nosy, too curious, too obviously didn’t belong. But that didn’t mean she deserved whatever Spider wanted to do to her.

Spider frowned, his eye going blank as he clearly thought back on the conversation. He opened his mouth to reply, then snapped it shut again.

“Boss,” Weston said. “Let’s fuck them both up, to be sure.”

Spider’s eyes lit. “Not now. McCready would kill us.”

“But—”

“Let it go,” Spider ordered. He turned to Diego. “I hear her asking one more question—one—and she’s gone. You understand me?”

Diego nodded. He understood all too well.

Spider stalked off. Diego followed him with his gaze until both he and Weston made it inside the warehouse. That had been too easy. He couldn’t trust it was over.

“Thank you,” Rosalyn whispered into his chest.

Diego reluctantly disentangled himself from her and held her away from him. The soulless part of him wanted to pull her closer, keep her warm and soft against him. Run his fingers through her hair and—

He cut off that line of thinking.

“You need to leave,” he told her.

She blinked, the admiration fading from her gaze. “Now?”

“Well, the best time would have been last week when I told you to the first time. I didn’t want to say ‘I told you so’, but here we are. Second best time is now.”

“I’m not leaving,” she declared.

Diego blinked in surprise. “What the hell? Yes, you are. Do you know how close you came to being assaulted, even killed?” She swayed a little, and he tightened his fingers around her, keeping her upright.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice urgent.

She shook her head, maybe trying to clear it, maybe telling him she wasn’t. He wouldn’t take the chance. With one movement, he swept her up into his arms, next to his heart. Then, he carried her towards the warehouse, where Doc would be waiting to treat the fighters.

She didn’t struggle.

“You’ll be all right,” he murmured. “I promise.”

It felt suspiciously like a vow.