Chapter 12: Snatched
He wasn’t happy - that Savannah knew. At least, he wasn’t happy that she was the one putting him out there. But she’d have to be blind not to see the fire that had returned to his deep blue eyes.
If Torran had expected her to be cowed by the dicier aspects of his past, he was bound to be disappointed. When she found a gun in his office, she had known it took a particular type of man to try something like that in New York City, regardless of what kind of money he had. Torran hadn’t flashed the weapon around, and he hadn’t threatened anyone. He just wanted an extra layer of security.
And not only for himself.
On many different levels, Savannah was both humbled and flattered that Torran was so worried about her. The man had once been so voraciously focused on getting in her pants that he hadn’t been willing to entertain the notion that she could help him. Now, he was worried that she was too good at her job.
But Savannah had no such reservations.
It wasn’t that she denied that there was danger involved. She’d held a gun in her hand for God’s sake. Savannah’s confidence came from those around her. She was almost constantly either in Torran’s office building, with its round the clock security force, or in her Soho office, which was pretty well protected itself. When she was at home, she spoke to her father every day, and heaven forbid that someone actually come after her while he or Torran was present. They would end up in the hospital for the foreseeable future, if not six feet under.
Despite the threat looming over her, Savannah felt safe. Safe enough that she went about working with her father to plan Torran’s return to the spotlight.
Of course, the media leapt on the prospect of him reclaiming his title. When they got wind of the possibility that blackmail was the only reason he’d lost in the first place, the scandal headlined the papers for a good two weeks. The Irishman went on dozens of TV shows to expose what had really happened when he lost his fight.
His story shocked some into empathy, and rankled others. Of course, Kelton - the current “champ” was in no mood to be toyed with. While he spent the first forty eight hours calling Torran every name he could possibly think of to anyone who would listen, he gradually realized that his outbursts were only helping to confirm what others suspected to be true.
Worse, some people might even believe that Kelton had something to do with the blackmail. In any event, he was a much more readily available figure that the amorphous Two Finger, who lived half a world away.
And speaking of Two Finger, the man refused to step from the shadows to deny or uphold his claims. For the first few days after Savannah convinced Torran to go public, both she and he waited with bated breath for Two Finger backlash. Torran doubled security at his office building and called her every other hour they weren’t together.
But the Irish Criminal remained completely quiet. No accusations about Warrick surfaced, and when they didn’t, there was a sudden clamor for a rematch to be sure that it wasn’t, in fact, Torran’s skills that had failed.
Kelton managed to avoid the demands for a week or so before he finally gave in.
Savannah was watching her father train Torran when she got the call, and the moment the UFC chairman told her what was happening, a cry of triumphant delight echoed through the gym.
For a split second, all eyes were on her, and she felt her face burning in embarrassment. But, not even that could dissuade her from rushing to the side of the ring to tell her father and her client the good news. “We’re on! They’ve scheduled the rematch ten days from today!”
“Hot damn!” Tyrone grinned, punching Torran in the shoulder enthusiastically. “You’re back in the game, man.”
Torran, however, was focused on Savannah. The look he gave her was so intense that she found herself clearing her throat as she tore her gaze from his. It wasn’t fair that he could undress her with a single look. It was like the man were challenging her - not only laying her body bare, but every part of her.
And Savannah was shocked to find that she craved it.
But, of course, with Torran undressing her with his eyes in the middle of the gym, it wasn’t long before her father had something to say on the subject. He dropped the bomb on her about five days before the fight was scheduled, when she was at his house for a celebratory dinner. Torran, training solo, was absent.
They were halfway through an amazing meal from her favorite barbecue place when Tyrone broached the subject.
“So how long have you and Torran been a thing?” Though Savannah had suspected that her father knew what was going on, she hadn’t expected the question at that exact moment; and as a result, she nearly choked on a bite of green beans.
“W-what!?”
Tyrone Jones merely gazed across the table at his daughter, his expression carefully neutral. “I assume you and Maloney are sleeping together. I think I’ve done pretty well not to turn his ass inside out every time I catch him staring at yours.”
Oh Christ...Vainly, Savannah searched for the right words. Of course, she’d talked to her father about boyfriends before, but this was different. The quality of Torran’s training depended on her father not killing him. Briefly, she pondered telling him that it was just sex. She was a grown woman, Torran was a grown man, and they could both make their own decisions.
But she had never been very comfortable lying to her father.
“Dad...I...I don’t know what you want me to say. I know it’s...not the best decision to get involved with a client. That was never my intention.” The young woman chose her words as carefully as she could. However, she found that once she started talking, her feelings just came spilling out - far less censored than she might have hoped they’d be. “But then I started working with him and it’s just...I mean....I can’t defend him. He’s hard to work with. He has a strong personality and he’s hell bent on getting his way...but he’s also determined, loyal and sincere. He might be brutal, but he’s always honest, and I admire that. I love it, even.”
Tyrone was silent for a long time before he finally answered her with another question. “Do you love him?”
She couldn’t deny it. The word no was nowhere near her lips.
Of course, Savannah hadn’t seriously considered the L-word. She certainly knew that, while the sex between she and Torran was life altering, there was definitely more to it than that. How much more, she herself was nervous to contemplate.
Or, at least, she had been until her father asked her.
Slowly, she nodded.
Tyrone sighed, long and low, and Savannah prepared herself for a lecture. If there was one thing her father had taught her, it was that you were never too old to get knocked down a few pegs.
When Tyrone opened his mouth, however, it wasn’t to admonish her. Instead, her father only laughed lowly, his mouth turning up slightly at the corners. “I suppose it makes sense that my Savvy would fall in love with a man just like her.”
For a long, protracted moment, Savannah just stared at him. She placed her fork on her plate and rounded the table to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight. Tyrone rubbed his daughters back comfortingly - as he had ever since she was a small child. It never ceased to amaze her how his huge, powerful hands had always been so gentle.
And always there when she needed them.
Was it surprising that she woke up the morning of the fight in high spirits? It was brilliantly sunny and deliciously cool that morning - not that she felt it when she was fit up against Torran’s massive, furnace-like chest.
Savannah couldn’t remember exactly when she had started staying certain nights at his house, only that one night she had the best sleep of her life and, after that, staying only seemed natural.
For her entire life, Savannah had been focused on furthering herself and escaping her father’s shadow - she had never really stopped to wonder what it would be like to have a man she cared for more than her career. Now, when faced with the prospect, she had no idea what to do with herself. Did she tell Torran, flat out, that he had royally messed with her emotions? Somehow, she was pretty sure that was the last thing he wanted to hear before his title fight.
But even if she wasn’t going to make any professions, she was free to watch him, completely unfettered, in the moments before he woke. Any woman with eyes could see that Torran was one of the finest male specimens to walk the earth. Close to seven feet of gorgeously muscled, freckled Irishman with a few days’ worth of stubble covering his swarthy face. He was completely naked, and completely hers.
It occurred to her that, at some point, she should be worried that an infamous womanizer would find her wanting. Before she met Torran, the Irishman had boned his way through half of the world’s most beautiful women. Now, she somehow doubted that he was similarly inclined. Not when the man was clamoring for her like she was the only woman in the world who existed.
With a satisfied smile, Savannah pressed a kiss to his chest. He was gorgeous like this, characteristic frown absent, all muscle and glorious sinew. Even if she didn’t have the courage to tell him, the knowledge that she loved him was enough to have her floating on air.
It took her about an hour to finally drum up the wherewithal to slip away from him, but she finally did. Her to-do list for the fight that night was a mile long, and she wasn’t even sure where she would start. Savannah showered quickly, careful not to get roped into staring at her lover again as she dried off. She dressed and grabbed a piece of toast before leaving his penthouse apartment, her spirits high.
She couldn’t wait until he won his title back. She’d be there with him to celebrate - to tell him that she’d told him so, and to bask in his elation.
Savannah’s head was high in the clouds when her arm was taken in a firm grip just four blocks away from Torran’s apartment. When she turned to tell her assailant off, however, something sour tasting shoved past her teeth into her mouth, muffling her shout of surprise. Strong arms shoved her into the nearest available alleyway - out of the view of passersby - and for the first time since Torran had told her about Two Finger, the young woman found herself genuinely terrified.
**
It was Torran’s tradition to sleep late on the mornings he had big matches. Chances were he had been up late the previous night, either fighting or debauching, and he’d be damned if he was caught without the eight hours he needed. When he woke around eleven in the morning, his first impulse was to reach for Savannah.
She’d fallen asleep in his arms last night, visibly exhausted from all the hoops she’d been jumping through to plan his fight. True, he’d did his part to make her even more tired, but afterward, Torran stayed awake for a good half an hour watching her sleep.
And he knew he had it bad.
Of course, he had no intention of telling Savannah. Not yet. He would wait until sometime after the fight - maybe tomorrow, maybe a month from now - but, somehow, he’d tell her. God, he could only imagine the look on Tyrone’s face. The man he’d come rapidly to respect not only as a trainer, but also as a mentor, was going to beat the ever loving shite out of him.
But, for once, the prospect only made him grin.
When Torran’s hand only found empty space when he reached for his lover, however, his eyes slid lazily open. He was disappointed, if not overly shocked. Savannah wasn’t a woman who could lie idle for very long. She was an early riser and she always liked to be busy. He wondered if she was at the arena or if she’d met her father for some last minute strategizing. Either way, she was probably wondering why he was still lazing around.
She was lucky she’d gotten up before him. If she hadn’t, they would both still be lazing around. He knew that he had a lot to get done before that evening, and it would be easier to tackle his to do list when his mind wasn’t full of Savannah.
He managed to shower and grab some breakfast before checking his phone to see if she had sent him any last minute information. He expected to see at least ten texts from the high-strung beauty. Savannah always liked to be perfectly prepared for everything, and they had been planning this for a good long while.
But Torran was surprised to find radio silence from Savannah’s end.
It was close to one in the afternoon and she hadn’t called him once? Had she passed out somewhere? He supposed it wouldn’t be too surprising. She’d been working the hell out of herself for the past few weeks, so she probably wasn’t getting enough sleep. He planned on rectifying that after his fight by spending the foreseeable future in bed with her.
But he couldn’t have her disappearing on him now.
With half an eye on the news, Torran dialed her number as he prepared to head to Long Island. He expected her to answer on the first ring, incensed that he’d woken so late. Instead, after ringing six times, the answering machine picked up.
Though he knew it was probably unfounded, a prickle of worry nudged the nape of his neck. Torran didn’t leave a message, choosing instead to call her office to see if he could catch her there. Carthright, her simpering boss, was all too happy to tell him that she hadn’t been in for the past three days or so, and Torran resisted the urge to reach through the phone and choke him.
Where the hell was his publicist?
In a last ditch effort to get ahold of her, Torran called her father. He knew that Tyrone was probably crazy busy trying to balance training him and his gym, but he needed to know that Savannah was alright. Call him crazy, but something didn’t feel right. Not when Savannah wasn’t calling him every other minute.
When Tyrone picked up the phone, he sounded irate. “Man, I know you got a whole lot of better stuff to do than calling me. What’s up?”
Torran’s lips twitched in amusement. “Is Savannah there with you? I’ve been trying to get ahold of her.”
There was a pregnant pause before Tyrone answered, his tone suspiciously tight. “I thought she was with you. She hasn’t been answering my calls.”
Torran immediately stiffened as his chest tightened reflexively.
Savannah hadn’t spoken to her father or him all day?
Somehow, he didn’t think she would have just forgone communication completely. “Tyrone, I’ll call you back. I’m going to try to reach her again.”
“Ok. Torran,” Tyrone hesitated slightly and the Irishman could tell that he wasn’t the only one worried, “Just let me know when you get a hold of her.”
“Sure thing.” Once he hung up, Torran had to force himself to take a deep breath. If Savannah wasn’t with her father and she wasn’t at work, she had to be somewhere with her cell phone. As a publicist, she’d never leave home without it.
But she wasn’t answering her phone.
Despite his mounting apprehension, Torran was pretty sure calling the cops would be overkill at this point. Not to mention that it would bring unwanted publicity to him when he was supposed to be getting in the mindset to fight.
Not that he could even do that without knowing where Savannah was.
After a moment of careful contemplation, Torran decided to visit both his own office and the fight venue, just to make sure she wasn’t in either of those places either. With any luck, he’d find her wondering why he wasn’t at the gym. Of course, this meant he’d have to work his way through the inevitable tide of reporters outside both his apartment building and Madison Square Garden - but he cared less with every moment that passed. He just wanted to hear her voice.
Torran had one foot in the elevator when his phone began to ring. He reached for it with such force that he fumbled it before looking at the number scrolling across the screen.
It was Savannah.
The tightness in his chest released almost instantly and Torran blew out a breath before answering. “Christ, woman. I was about to tear half the city apart. Where the hell are you?”
The voice that answered him was hauntingly familiar - and bitingly cruel. “Maybe if you’re a good laddie, Torran, I’ll tell you.”
The entire world fell away and Torran felt every muscle in his body seize.
Fuck.
Fuck.
For a moment, he was so shocked that he thought he had to be dreaming. This was a horrible nightmare and he’d wake any moment with Savannah safely clutched in his arms.
It took him a good fifteen seconds to regain his composure, but once he did, Torran felt cold fury start to suffuse him. “What the fuck do you want, Two Finger?”
On the other end of the line, the criminal’s low chuckle made his fists clench. “I think I’d be a little nicer to someone who had my little piece, eh, Torran?”
Torran swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He didn’t need to ask himself if Two Finger was crazy enough to kill her - that was a foregone conclusion. He had no doubt that the man was going to tell him exactly what he wanted Torran to do to prevent that happening - just as he knew that perhaps it had been a mistake to so look forward to tonight’s fight.
“Let me talk to her.” First thing was first - he had to make sure she was Ok. He swore to God that if Two Finger had touched one hair on her head, he was going to find the fucker and turn him inside out.
“Easy there, Torran. She’s perfectly fine...for the most part.”
Torran almost crushed the phone in his powerful hand. “Let me talk to her.”
“Fine, fine. Suit yourself.” There was a low rustling noise and then a low, soft cry of pain that made his heart stutter in his chest. But then, finally, he heard Savannah’s voice.
“Torran?”
Fucking Christ. Two Finger had her and Torran had no idea where she was. “I’m here, baby.” He did the best he could to keep the infuriated tremor from his voice. “Are you OK? Did he hurt you?”
“I’m fine, Torran. Listen to me: Go to the cops. Don’t listen to a word he says. This guy is on thin ice and he knows it-” A sharp yelp escaped her and then, all at once, Two Finger was back on the line.
“Mouthy little thing, isn’t she?”
Torran growled in warning. “If you fucking touch her-”
“You make a lot of threats for a man holding none of the cards.” Torran had never wanted to kill someone so badly in his life. “Maybe if you ask me nicely I’ll tell you what you’re going to do for me to get her back.”
The fighter thought taking his head might be a good start, but considering he was in no position to do so, he forced himself to remain silent. He was already running over what he guessed would be Two Finger’s list of demands in his head. The criminal would, of course, want him to throw another fight. Atop that, he might want some bribe money - both things Torran wouldn’t think twice about if it meant getting Savannah back.
“You’re going to cancel the fight tonight. In fact, you’re going to cancel every fight you have for the foreseeable future, because you’re going to retire. I don’t ever want to see you in a cage again.” Torran swallowed thickly. The thought of doing such a thing after all Savannah had gone through to get him back in the cage made him slightly sick; but he couldn’t say he hadn’t been expecting it.
“Fine.” He didn’t want it. Fighting allowed him to be his true self - in the cage, he worried about what no one thought. He remembered where he had come from, and where he was going. But what good was all of that without Savannah by his side? “Whatever you want. Just let her go.”
“Oh, but I’m not done yet.” Two Finger was quick to sweeten the deal. “I also want you to draw up some papers for all the controlling stock you hold in your company and prepare to sign it over to me.”
All the blood drained from Torran’s face.
The controlling stock in his company? Two Finger couldn’t be serious. There was no way. As it currently stood, he had controlling stock in his company. That was what his financial advisors suggested he do to make sure he maintained control of the firm. If he sold the stocks off, not only would the company be under someone else, but he would have almost no say in how it was run.
In essence, Two Finger was asking him to give up Warrick’s legacy.
“You know that’s impossible, don’t you?” Torran kept his voice tightly controlled. “I can’t just sign the shares over to you. They have to be bought; and not only that, I can’t get paperwork like that in one day. It would take weeks. Months, even.” It was the truth. Certainly, Torran wasn’t keen on giving his company over to Two Finger, but with Savannah’s life hanging in the balance, he wasn’t about to lie to him.
“Well that’s a crying shame, because I’m giving you five hours. If you haven’t brought the paperwork to me at Chelsea Piers, I’m going to rearrange little Savannah’s face, among other things. Does that sweeten the deal for you?”
Torran didn’t think he’d ever felt so helpless. Not when he was a kid on the streets stealing his own food, or when he was worried he might freeze overnight during a cold Dublin winter. No, this was much, much worse than that.
Five hours. How the hell was he going to do anything in five hours? He couldn’t even properly cancel the fight in that amount of time. Not without his publicist.
While his head was still spinning with Two Finger’s demands, the criminal continued to make them. “You do this alone, Maloney. Get anyone else involved, breathe a word to the cops, and I swear to God I’ll send her to you piece by fucking piece. Do we understand one another?”
He was purposefully making unreasonable demands. Any fucking idiot could see that. Two Finger was pissed that Torran hadn’t gotten the hint the first time and now he was intent on punishing him. He had Savannah, and he was going to do God knew what to her.
And there was nothing Torran could do. Nothing but what he asked.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes in an attempt to curb the panic beginning to well in his chest. “I understand.”
“There’s a good lad then. Five hours, Maloney. Chelsea piers. Come get her or come watch her die.” With that, Two Finger hung up, leaving Torran staring down at his phone as if it had betrayed everything he held near and dear.
But Torran knew he was really the only one to blame. It was he who had done this. If Savannah hadn’t been so hell bent on getting him back in the ring, this could have all been avoided. If he had just fired her as his publicist, she would never have been in danger. Really, she had never understood how convoluted his past was. If she had, she would never have stood up for him.
Fuck. Fuck.
Torran raked both hands through his hair, his heart in his throat. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Short of bashing Two Finger’s head in, he had no brilliant plan for getting Savannah out of this. She was the planner. She would have kept a level head.
But Savannah also would have known better than to tackle this alone. Two Finger explicitly told Torran that if he tried to go to the cops, he would kill her - so that was a no go. He had to find some other work around. In that moment, he had no time to talk to anyone about the fight. Whether he was there or not mattered little. He was more concerned with finding some way to placate Two Finger.
Either placate him or take him out.
Sliding his phone into his back pocket, Torran tried to focus. He needed to figure this out, and he had no time to do so. There was no one he knew who could help him - no one who would be righteously pissed enough to try and help him rescue the woman he loved…
But that was wrong.
The realization bowled over him like a ton loader. There was absolutely someone who loved Savannah enough to fight for her - perhaps even more than Torran himself. Of course, the Irishman would probably be signing his own death warrant in contacting him to tell him what happened. But honestly, at this juncture, what choice did he have?