Chapter Eighteen
Kya
I got up the stairs and onto the sidewalk before Fenton passed out. I held on as he slumped onto his knees on the sidewalk. There was no way I could hold him up.
"Bet the pit bosses are clocking you because you are one lucky gal," the cab driver said. He rushed over and helped me haul Fenton into the backseat. "I almost left, but decided to give you just a few minutes more."
"You've been waiting here this whole time?" I asked.
"Like I said, with your luck, you're going to win big one of these days and then you'll remember ol' Mike," he said.
"Thank you, Mike, I will. But I don't know why you think I'm lucky. Everything I get near is turning into a mess." I climbed into the seat next to Fenton and cradled his head in my lap.
"Honey, you climbed out of the basement of Ling Pho Lounge without a scratch on you. That's lucky." Mike jumped into the driver's seat. "I've heard they take women from the crowd and toss them into cat fights. You don't even have a hair out of place."
"I wish I could say the same for him," I said.
"Just banged up," the cab driver eyed Fenton through the rearview mirror. "Probably drank a lot, fought like an animal, and then crashed when the adrenaline ebbed."
Despite his optimistic prognosis, the cab driver flew through the Vegas traffic until he reached the driveway of the Tropicana. There, he slowed and pulled over on the street. "Looks like he's got other problems," the driver said.
Fenton Morris fans had converged at the entrance to the hotel. Women in tight, white t-shirts imprinted with his name bounced by. Large cardboard cutouts of his face covered in lipstick kisses bobbed above the crowd. Flashes went off like fireworks and multiple entertainment crews stood around with cameras and microphones ready. Word had spread that Fenton Morris was partying at the Tropicana and everyone wanted in on his no-holds barred fun.
"I'll never get him through that unnoticed," I said. "Is there a back way?"
"Stevie? This is Mike, yeah, I know it’s late, but I'm calling in a favor," the cab driver clutched his phone. "I got a high profile drop off and I need the loading dock at the Tropicana."
He pulled back out into traffic one-handed and kept talking as he steered around the giant casino and pulled up to a blocked entrance. Within minutes, he was thanking his friend and a uniformed guard unlocked the gate.
"I can let you in the back, no problem," the guard said.
"Thanks, man. I gotta leave the cab and help her up. Okay?"
The guard looked at me and nodded. "Service elevator goes all the way from the dock to the top floor. Opposite end, it's a long walk, but you'll miss the crowds."
We slung Fenton between us and he came to enough to shuffle along to the service elevator. When the doors closed, I asked, "How did he know I needed to get to the top floor on the other end?"
"You're staying in one of the big time suites. The entire hotel has seen your picture so they can cater to you. A little invasive if you ask me, but definitely a perk," Mike said.
We made it to my suite, and I unlocked the door. Fenton came to as Mike lowered him to the couch. "No hospital, I'm fine," he said.
"That's what I told her. Though if you don't start treating her right, I can assure you there'll be a tire iron in your future. Then, you'll need the hospital."
"Nice guy," Fenton commented as Mike left.
"Yeah, I'm lucky I got into his cab." I took off Fenton's hat and pushed him back down on the couch. "We're lucky. Now just relax for a while, recover."
I went to get ice and a wet washcloth and when I came back, Fenton scowled up at me. "How do you know those men from the bar are trying to fix my next fight?"
I sat down next to him and started swabbing away the dried blood. "I, um, may have followed them and watched them do it to another fighter. Some poor featherweight boxer over at the MGM Grand. They must have some pull because it was all out in the open and no one seemed to notice."
"Except you. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?" Fenton asked.
"More dangerous than letting one of them buy me a drink?" My joking tone was lost on him.
Fenton snatched the washcloth from me and sat up. "You have no idea, do you? You're just running around doing whatever you want, whatever you think will land you this deal, and you don't even care what danger you're stepping in."
I slammed the ice into a small towel and folded it up. "I don't care? What about you? You just up and decide to join an underground fight for a little cash? What about your career? Like it or not, you have people that care about you and what you do. Why would you do something like that?"
"For this," Fenton said. He pulled out the stack of cash and handed it to me.
I dropped the ice to the floor. "That is an insane amount. For one fight?"
"For one fight, just me. I needed it to pay for the private gym. You think I'd make Kev or my coach pay my way? I only switched gyms because the owner is in on the fix."
"I know you think you didn't have a choice, but you did. I could have helped you. I would have." I scooped up the ice and handed it to him. "I will, if you'll let me."
"And, I'm telling you I'm fine." Fenton took the ice, but stood up. "All your help comes with strings attached. You just want me to sign your endorsement deal, so you can go trotting back to Chicago, buy your little house, and live your comfortable life in your new office. I learned a long time ago not to lean on someone who has one foot out the door."
I picked up the washcloth and twisted it in my hands. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Yeah? Well I am," he said. He unzipped his sweatshirt to reveal his hard and bare chest. Then, he yanked a t-shirt out of his back pocket and pulled it over his head. He could not hide the grimace of pain as he raised his arms. There was a wicked bruise forming over his ribs.
"You're hurt; you need to rest. I'll leave. I'll get out of your way. Just stay here and give yourself a break," I told him. "You can't go out there. A sea of paparazzi is waiting for you."
Fenton tugged the black hat back on his head. "I'll be fine. And, I'm not about to let you leave. You'd probably end up in some back room betting on a cockfight."
"Only if that's where you're going," I stood up and marched in front of him.
He shook his head and the ghost of smile brushed past his mouth. "I'm just going to that expensive private gym of mine. I left all my stuff there." He pulled a card out of his pocket and checked the address.
"You don't need any of it tonight." I moved to block his way.
"I need my phone. I'm expecting a call," Fenton said.
I dodged in front of him again. He put his wide hands on my waist and went to lift me out of the way. As soon as he flexed, he grimaced again. Fenton's hands dropped from my waist and one pressed over his ribs.
"You're not going anywhere," I cried.
"It's just a bruise." He swayed on his feet. "But maybe I should lie down for a few more minutes."
He made it back to the couch and smiled when I came back with another cool washcloth, a blanket, and pitcher of juice. "Please tell me you’re going to mix some tequila in that for me. You know, for the pain," he said.
"Oh, so now you'll admit you're in pain?" I asked. I slipped onto the couch next to him and laid the cool washcloth on his forehead. I retrieved the ice and placed it under his sweatshirt where his ribs hurt. Then, I poured him a glass of juice, tequila, and pulled a few aspirin from my pocket. "What was the last thing you ate?"
"Please, no, I can't stand the angry chef slamming his pots around all jealous over you," he said.
I laughed. "Then it’s a good thing we've got leftovers. I'll make you a steak sandwich."
Fenton reached for the remote, dimmed the lights, and turned on the fireplace. "To help me recover," he said with a devilish glint in his eyes.
I came back with the sandwich and sat down next to him again. "That's all I want, you know. I don't really care about the endorsement deal or whether or not you sign. I just want you to be okay."
"Is that all?" He propped himself up on one arm and ran his other hand over my hair. "I'm not interested in doing business with you. I want more."
His hand guided me closer and I met his lips willingly. The kiss was light and gentle. I did not want to hurt him, and he seemed to be testing something. Our lips brushed gently, and I felt a warm glow of tenderness wrap around me. This was more – not just attraction or passion, but something more precious. The kiss was fierce and delicate. I felt his pulse pounding in his neck, but it was nothing compared to the wash of longing that flowed between us.
"I was jealous," I said. "I couldn't stand to see you with those other women, rival agents or not. I wanted to make you jealous, too."
"I wanted to protect you, keep you safe. I need you safe. I need to know nothing bad will happen to you," he said. His soft kisses seared me more than our other passionate entanglements.
"I am safe. We're both safe. Just stay here tonight, please," I said.
Fenton leaned back onto the couch cushions again and pulled me alongside him. I happily tucked myself against his body, careful not to lay my arm over his sore ribs. I nestled my face into the crook of his neck and felt his body relax. We dozed in the flickering firelight, wrapped up together.
I woke up a half an hour later to Fenton muttering in his sleep. I sat up, worried that I was hurting him, but his dream continued.
"It's not like that, sis. I can do it. I can take care of us this time. Don't hang up, please don't hang up," he mumbled.
"Fenton?" I laid a hand on his shoulder, but he did not wake up.
"Don't hang up, sis," his hands fluttered in his sleep.
I slipped off the couch and found the card he had looked at earlier. The address of the private gym was printed on the plain white card stock. No wonder he wanted to get his things; he was expecting a phone call from his sister. I remembered that was what I had overheard him discussing with the private investigator. He had tried to make contact with his sister.
The address was not far away from the Tropicana. I could get there and back before he woke up. I looked at Fenton. He was more actions than words, and I had to find some way to show him he meant more to me than a business deal. It would be easy to bring him his phone and clean change of clothes.
I sneaked out the suite door and headed out into the Vegas night with a smile on my face.