Chapter 10: Fighting Back
Torran stared at the computer screen in front of him, completely flummoxed. Of course, in the week since the fight, the media had gone crazy. Everyone wanted interviews with him and sport commentators the world over were all wondering just one thing: What had happened? He was the favorite to win the match, and his upset was the fighting news of the decade.
But he couldn’t say a word. Not only because he had his own secrets to keep, but because of the counsel Savannah had given him. Torran fully expected her to walk out on him when he wouldn’t explain how he lost. He couldn’t even remember the lame excuse he’d given her now, but it was far from the truth.
And as long as Savannah didn’t know the truth, she wasn’t in danger.
Christ, he was going soft. Two months ago he cared about little save for getting in her pants, but now that Torran actually had, everything had changed.
“Torran?” To start with, she didn’t bloody knock when she came into his office any more. Savannah all but barged in with no warning, gracing him with her uptight and, frankly, engrossing presence. It was one thing to imagine how those lips tasted, how her tits would feel in his hands and how she’d moan when he was inside her...but now that he knew, his life was pure torture.
That was, torture aside from the fact that his MMA career was circling the drain. “Torran, are you busy? There are some things we need to discuss.” Today she was wearing a light blue sweater that showed off a fair amount of cleavage and a black pencil skirt that made her arse look amazing. He would have preferred heels, but flats worked just as well… “Torran.” At her sharp tone, he snapped to attention.
She always tried to rein him in, but these days, she couldn’t keep her cheeks from burning when he met her gaze. “Are you listening? I said we need to talk.”
He couldn’t help but smile - lazy and indulgent. Once he’d realized that Savannah wasn’t going anywhere - that she was stubborn enough to try and save his career though there was little she could do - he couldn’t help but take advantage of their new...situation. She snarled and growled and threatened to throttle him if he didn’t let her help him manage the fallout from the fight, and, funnily enough, he promised to behave.
As long as she let him have his way.
Certainly, he could worry about the shitty detour his life could taken all day, but he wasn’t going to deny himself the pleasures in life while he still had them. “I’d listen better if you were on my lap.” He patted his muscular thigh obtrusively, making the gorgeous young woman in front of him scowl.
“This is serious business. We have to start trying to fix this if we want-”
“I can’t hear you from way over there.” He cut her off succinctly, gesturing to his lap once more with no small amount of smugness. “Come closer.”
She knew the drill. His good behavior for her willingness to be close to him. As close as he needed. With a long suffering sigh, Savannah stalked across the room, tossing a stack of papers on his desk before she reluctantly settled on his thigh. Her behind was a warm, welcome weight against him and she smelled heavenly.
The truth was, his concentration was probably suffering with her so close, but she didn’t need to know that. “Now, Torran,” she took up her papers again starting to leaf through them. “I think now is an opportune time for us to start doing interviews. I’ve already started speaking to some smaller networks and what the hell is this?” All at once, Savannah’s voice turned incredulous and she dropped her papers in her lap to stare, thunderstruck, at his computer screen.
Fuck. He hadn’t even thought to close the window. “Torran, what is this?” She repeated, her eyes widening as she read over the e-mail before her. “Rezzla quit?”
He scowled, remembering why his day had been going so fucking awfully. Martin Rezzla was his trainer - former heavyweight champion of the MMA world and one mean motherfucker. It was his guidance that had helped shape Torran into the fighter he was.
And the man had walked away from him.
Torran didn’t have to play dumb. He knew Rezzla was pissed. Any trained fighter could see that he had thrown the match on purpose; and as he himself hadn’t made an appearance to explain why, let alone contacted his trainer, the man was offended as hell. Torran had disrespected his tutelage. He’d smeared his name. In losing his title fight, he’d all but spat on the man - so, Rezzla responded in kind.
His e-mail detailed how he was moving on to work with another fighter. The Italian didn’t even try to sugar-coat things. There was venom in every word on the page.
Pissed was an understatement.
And now, Torran was less his coach and ridiculously skilled trainer. Definitely not the greatest day.
“I’m sure you can imagine what he thinks of my losing after all the work he put in.” At his comment, however, Savannah merely scowled deeply.
“You’re still not going to tell me what happened, are you?” Her voice was low and surprisingly gentle, considering all that was riding on his answer. Torran could only guess how torn up he’d looked the night she came to him that she wasn’t busting his balls over it.
“I choked.” He lied flawlessly. “Pressure.”
Savannah merely exhaled a long breath, drawing a hand over her face before she shifted her weight on his lap. Despite the somber nature of the moment, Torran struggled to keep from getting aroused. “So you don’t have a trainer now.”
“No.” He replied, reaching around her to delete the e-mail abruptly, some of his anger returning.
“And there’s no one you could take on? No one who owes you a favor?” Instead of tossing his laptop across the room in irritation, Torran merely leaned forward to nip at the base of Savannah’s neck sharply, making her yelp in surprised pain before she glared at him.
“Don’t need a trainer. I lost remember?”
The young woman’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve got a better memory than you’d think, Torran. More than enough to recall that losing one fight does not ruin a fighter’s career.”
It did when they were forced to lose as humiliatingly as he did - when so fucking much was on the line. “You need someone else.”
A snort of disbelief escaped him. “I’m sure you have a long list of volunteers. Taking on a loser sounds promising as hell.”
To his surprise, however, Savannah didn’t look deterred. In fact, she merely fixed him with a distinctly triumphant smile that made him more than a little bit nervous. “Actually, I might know a guy. It’s just getting him to agree to take you on.”
It didn’t take long for Torran to fully understand Savannah’s frustration when she couldn’t get him to cooperate. She wouldn’t tell him anything about his potential trainer, instead merely demanding that she take a car with him to Long Island. Their destination was a good hour or so from the city, and by the time they arrived, Torran was torn halfway between irritation and curiosity.
Where the hell was she taking him? He prided himself on knowing most of the fighters in the northeast, and where exactly they worked out. There was no one close that he knew of.
Nonetheless, the young woman led him into a large gym tucked away in a small hamlet of the island. It was the last and hugest building on the tiny town street. In the entryway, Savannah smiled at an aging, dark-skinned woman behind the reception desk. “Morning, Janet.”
“Morning, baby.” It seemed she and the receptionist were old friends. Was this where Savannah herself worked out? When the older woman noticed him, she arched a brow in surprise. “Well, this is interesting.”
Torran looked from her to Savannah’s grinning form and then back again. All this subterfuge was driving him insane. “Where the hell are we?” He demanded in a low growl. “I hope you’re aware that no country boy will have any idea what I need-”
“I’d appreciate it, Mr. Maloney, if you’re refrain from speaking to my daughter in that tone.” A deep baritone warning was enough to capture his attention and Torran’s head jerked up to see a sizeable man standing behind Savannah.
The mere sight of him was enough to make the Irishman’s mouth drop open in total shock.
Tyrone Jones. The Tyrone Jones, boxing legend, former world heavyweight champion and one of the most decorated fighters in the history of the sport, stood before him, strongly muscled arms crossed over his broad chest.
And he looked pissed as hell.
“Daddy, don’t.” Torran’s shock only increased as Savannah turned to the man, her gaze exasperated. “It’s just in his nature. It’s fine.”
“Well it’s in my nature to kick a man’s ass if he can’t speak to my baby girl properly.”
Tyrone fucking Jones.
Torran must have been gaping like an idiot, because the next thing he knew, Savannah was smiling - laughing softly at his expression. “I think I surprised him.”
“Pretty sure you did. I know he surprised the hell out of me when he let Kelton beat the shit out of him.”
That was enough to snap him out of his star struck reverie. “I didn’t let him beat the shit out of me.” That was, in fact, almost exactly what he’d done. “I fucking choked. I was under a lot of pressure.”
“Right.” Jones didn’t even pretend to consider his profession, instead turning back to his daughter with a small smile. “Any particular reason you come to visit me in the middle of your work day, baby?”
Torran realized exactly what she was going to say about a half second before it came out of her mouth. There was enough time for him to be shocked without the additional second he needed to stop her.
“Daddy, Torran’s coach quit on him. He needs a new trainer and I was hoping you could help us out.”
“Fuck no.” He responded a moment too late, much to the surprise of father and daughter, who both looked at him as if his opinion mattered slightly more than that of a three-year-old child. “I can’t. I’m not a boxer and I don’t have time to learn an entirely new technique.”
“Strong words for a man whose own technique failed him.” Fucking Christ, Tyrone was just as savage as his daughter. Torran finally realized exactly where she got her sharp tongue from. “I’m sure that choking will be the perfect way to get that title back.”
Torran’s eyes narrowed at the blatant challenge. “If I wanted my title back, I’m sure my technique would do me just fine.”
“Certainly. I can see how you’d depend on it. It’s just reliable enough to let you luck your way to the top without serving you well when you act on impulse.” Torran was used to getting into fights. Before he started working with Savannah, fighting was his MO - both in and out of the ring. But Tyrone Jones’ reputation was such that, even in the heat of the moment, Torran thought twice about swinging at him.
And the older man knew it.
“You look like you got a little steam to let off, young one.” Tyrone arched a dark brow in unquestionable amusement. “Why don’t we step into the ring?”
If anything, Torran would have thought that his pacifist publicist would be against his fighting her father. True, the man was a boxing legend, but in Torran’s mind, they were pretty evenly matched. He was pretty sure that he could take the old guy, and Savannah would at least try to prevent her father getting hurt.
But the young woman said absolutely nothing. In fact, she only smiled at him as Tyrone turned to lead the way into the gym. “Coming, Torran?”
Fuck.
She had set him up - and he fell for it hook, line and sinker.
**
Savannah had never been one for pointless fighting, but this match was one of the most interesting she had ever witnessed. If she wasn’t mistaken, that was nervousness she’d seen in Torran’s eyes as he reluctantly followed her father into the training ring. In her mind, the two were evenly matched. While her father had experience on his side, Torran had youth and the sheer drive to win.
At least, he had before his last fight.
She was still trying to figure out how someone as stubborn as him had suddenly lost his will to fight, and she was determined to help him win his title back - damn what everyone else said.
And they were saying quite a lot.
Carthright was sure she had tanked her career, and he was far too gleeful for his own good, asking her if she wanted to return to her desk at least five times a day. She got at least ten or eleven calls a day asking for interviews and articles. So far, she had given them nothing - and that was the way it was going to stay until she figured all of this out. Torran, of course, had his lips sealed tightly - and Savannah was bound and determined to figure out why.
But for the moment, the immense man needed to be taken down a peg or two. Not because Savannah liked to see him beaten, but because he was far too apathetic for a man who’d just been robbed of something he had worked so hard for. Savannah wasn’t self-absorbed enough to think that Torran was content just because she let him get all touchy feely. In all honesty, she wasn’t even sure how she felt about that. Only that she wanted to comfort him if she could - and he definitely seemed to enjoy the comforting.
But he needed to get his head back in the game. Torran was a fighter, and he deserved to be in his element. Pretending got neither of them anywhere.
Standing on the edge of the ring, Savannah crossed her arms over her chest, trying to appear casual as her heart thundered in her ears.
Considering how nervous she was, the fight was exceedingly short. Torran went for her father immediately with everything he had - a completely different man than he’d been the day of his fight. It was obvious that he thought he had something to prove.
Tyrone Jones had no such illusions. He’d spent his entire youth proving himself. Now, it was just about placating himself.
And that was more than enough to counteract Torran. When the younger man came at him Tyrone just used his own fuel against him. Their fighting styles were different, but the elder man had studied his art enough to know where and when the former champ would strike. He might have about twenty years on Torran, but his fists were heavier, corded with strength from those additional years of fighting.
True, Savannah wanted to see how the fight would go, but the moment her father’s fist connected with Torran’s recently set nose, she hopped into the ring, alarmed.
She’d seen enough.
“Ok, ok!” Taking hold of Torran’s shoulders, Savannah, pressed him backwards, frowning at his gushing nose. “That’s enough. You good?” Both men looked to her in surprise as she dug a handful of napkins out of her purse to press to Torran’s face. His hands rose immediately and, for a moment, she thought he was going to push her away. But then, his eyes caught hers and he merely took the napkins from her, using them to clean himself up.
Once he had turned from her to saunter from the ring, Savannah took a deep breath, turning to face her father. The older man looked from her to Torran’s retreating back before arching a brow.
She knew what he was going to say before he said it. “I know, I know.” She breathed, running a hand through her loose curls embarrassedly. “Never step into a ring in the middle of a fight. His nose is already broken, Dad. I didn’t want to do any more unneeded damage.”
“Right.” Tyrone gave her a long look that made her cheeks bloom. She didn’t like that look. Her father had always known her better than anyone else, and that didn’t particularly appeal to her right now. The last thing she needed right now was questions about her personal life. “I think you need to talk to your boy.”
Savannah groaned. “He’s not my-”
“Talk to him, Savvy. I can’t work with the unwilling.” With that, Tyrone stepped from the ring himself, flexing his fingers to revive the circulation there. Savannah watched him retreat to his office before reminding herself why she’d come here. She was trying to bring two stubborn men together, no matter how hard it might be. Torran couldn’t go on without a trainer - and he was going on.
“Torran.” Deftly, Savannah slipped from the ring to find her client sitting on a bench just beside it. His nose had stopped bleeding, but he looked no less upset with himself. “Torran, I just...I want you to get back on your feet.” Tentatively, she reached out to touch his arm. “I’m not trying to force anything, I just...I thought my dad might be able to help.”
For a long beat, he said nothing. When he did speak, his bitter tone made her flinch. “Your Dad, Tyrone Jones? Fuck, Savannah, why didn’t you say something?” She could tell he was putting it all together in his mind - the way she sparred, the way she must have grown up - and most of all, how he’d underestimated her knowledge of the fighting world.
“I like to think I don’t make my way through life riding my father’s reputation.” The young woman couldn’t stop herself from bristling slightly. This was exactly why she didn’t like people knowing that Tyrone Jones was her father. She didn’t want them assuming anything about her before they got to know her as a person. Of course, Torran wouldn’t see it that way. He was just pissed she’d been hiding something so huge from him. “It wasn’t important until you made it important.”
“Me?” He barked incredulously. “You’re the one who brought me here?”
“And you threw that fight.” At the accusation, Torran’s eyes widened. But Savannah didn’t want to argue, she just wanted to fix whatever was broken. “I get it, you don’t want to talk about it. But if you’re not going to help me help you, I’m handing you off to my Dad.”
“Handing me off?” Torran glowered at her, tossing his handful of bloodied napkins aside. “Last time I checked, Savannah, you’re my publicist, not my babysitter. I told you I don’t need a new coach, and I don’t-”
“Torran.” Savannah’s tone was so sharp she even surprised herself. “You might be fine with lying to me, but don’t lie to yourself. That title is yours and you’re getting it back. If you won’t agree to simple training...I’ll never let you touch me again.” Her last promise was uttered in a tone barely above a whisper - lest her father or anyone else working out hear.
Despite its volume, her threat was just as potent as it would have been had she yelled it at the top of her lungs. Torran stared at her as if she had lost her mind, and for a split second, Savannah found herself strangely flattered. He hadn’t even looked that disheartened after he lost his title match. It almost made her think she was important to him…
But that, she knew, was wishful thinking. Torran liked the sex - and she happened to as well. It was a way of ensuring his good behavior.
Not that she was entirely impartial to his bad behavior…
“Savannah…” His warning growl was meant to intimidate her, but Savannah held her ground. He needed this just as much as she did - perhaps more.
“No, Torran. It’s a simple yes or no question: Are you training with my father or not?”
What the hell was he so afraid of? The man she met two months ago had nothing on his mind but winning. He was a fighting machine so dangerous that his opponents could barely touch him. Now, it was almost as if something was physically keeping him from the ring.
“You do realize you’re betting your career on me, don’t you? That you might have a little too much blind faith in me?”
At the mere suggestion, Savannah only smiled. She may have a lot of shortcomings, but trusting her intuition wasn’t one of them. That and her father’s teachings had always led her down a pretty interesting path. “Are you saying you don’t want free reign anymore?”
Torran’s eyes narrowed. “Fine. You win, Savvy. I’ll talk to your father...and you and I will have a private discussion later.”
At the prospect, Savannah’s thighs clenched and she swallowed thickly. While Torran had certainly touched her since their first night together, she’d been too busy running damage control to do much more than quiver at the memory of him inside her. Apparently, her grace period had come to an end.
Lifting her chin, she merely met his gaze challengingly. “Fine.”
She expected him to pinch her ass - to grab her and stake his claim. Either of those things would have been typical Torran behavior. Instead, he merely reached out to brush a thumb across her lower lip, his expression unexpectedly dark. “Fuck me, you’ve got more spirit than I do, Savvy.” His words were unexpectedly tender. So much so that by the time he left her, Savannah convinced herself that she’d imagined them.