Yanna

I fell asleep before I could figure out anything about last night and I woke up still not knowing what the hell I’m doing letting a stranger into my home. A stranger who’s also been stalking me online for a long time. Being so popular attracts the weirdoes and the crazies. I learned that the hard way in the beginning, when I first got popular and a guy would hang out outside my apartment building day and night. He even broke into my place five times and left me flowers and candy on the bed. I could never look at flowers the same way after that. I didn’t have a green card yet then, so the cops weren’t very helpful. In the end, I had to move and thankfully never saw the guy again. And I never publically announced my address again.

But last night, I let the guy sleeping on my sofa into my home and he could just be another crazy.

That’s a problem. The fact that he’s sleeping is also a problem, since it’s getting hotter outside by the minute, and I have to complete my morning run without getting hospitalized for heat stroke right after it.

I’ve gone to stand by the sofa at least five times since I woke up, but I chickened out before shaking him awake each time. I’m doing it again right now. I’m also checking out the perfectly chiseled angle of his jaw and noticing just how pretty his face actually is, now that his deep eyes aren’t piercing me and making it impossible to look at anything else.

Pretty? Is that even something you can say about a guy? Handsome, I guess. But this guy has a face that goes beyond handsome, and I’ve never yet had a cause to think about a guy’s face that way. I like his neck tattoo too. It’s a bird, a hawk—or sokol as it’s called in my native tongue—I think, but with the way he’s lying I can’t be sure, since I only see one of the wings. My real last name is Sokolova. That means I’m already his, that I already belong to him, if you follow the translation all the way, and I have no idea why I’m even doing that. He makes it impossible for me to think straight when he’s around, that’s why. Even when he’s sleeping, it’s impossible.

I could just go for a run on my own, leave him a note or something. But then he’ll be alone and unsupervised in my home, and I don’t need to know much else to know that’s not a good idea.

“Hawk, wake up!” I say loudly. My hand reaches out to shake him awake, but I yank it back before it connects. Somehow, I know if I touch him there’ll be no going back to how it was before I did.

“Hawk! I have to go train!” I say even louder, yelling it practically. “You have to wake up now!”

He doesn’t even stir, and I’m starting to accept I’m gonna have to touch him if I want to wake him. He took off his leather jacket, but he’s still wearing his t-shirt and it’s straining very nicely over his chest, and the part of his bicep it covers. Those muscles of his are braided just perfectly and I wouldn’t mind getting a feel. I wouldn’t mind that at all. But there’ll be no going back once I do. I also know that.

I have to speak to Vlad. Maybe he’ll know how to handle this. Because I sure don’t.

“Hawk, come on!” I say. “Get up.”

His breathing doesn’t seem even anymore, or at least his wide, perfectly shaped chest straining against the t-shirt isn’t rising and falling rhythmically like it did when I first came to stand over him, but his eyes are still firmly shut.

“I know you’re awake,” I snap indignantly. “Open your eyes.”

He does it after that, grinning at me in that same way he kept doing last night, like he’s some sexy guy in a magazine and the smile is for everyone, but it’s actually just for me and I feel that very clearly. His eyes look like the sky at sunrise, and as much as I dislike being awake early in the morning, I really like his eyes.

How long has he been toying with me like this? Was he awake the last time I stood over here trying to wake him? Did he see me checking him out and imagining what it’d be like to wake up next to him? Have those strong arms of his wrapped around me, feel his naked skin against my own? I practically never fantasize about things like that, but I’ve been doing it all morning while trying to wake him up.

“I thought you hated getting up early,” he says as he sits up on the sofa, the muscles of his chest and his stomach and arms mesmerizingly coiling just so as he finds a new position to entice me with. The alarm that went off with what he actually said isn’t very loud at all. But it’s going off.

“You sound like my stalker when you say things like that out of the blue,” I say.

His face turns serious and his eyes narrow. “You have a stalker?”

He seems genuinely concerned at hearing this, but he completely missed what I was trying to say.

“No. I mean you sound like you are a stalker of mine,” I explain, hoping I’m being clearer, but also feeling kinda ashamed for accusing him.

He nods and blinks the last of his sleepiness from his eyes. He’s not grinning when his eyes focus on me again. “I’m not a stalker, but I do know a lot of things about you. I don’t want that to be a secret. That’s why I keep mentioning it.”

If we were just talking, somewhere public and not in my living room, I’d believe him. But we’re not just talking. I’m making a decision on whether to let him any further into my life or not. And I’m not doing a very good job of making that decision. It’s no clearer than it was this morning, or last night for that matter, when I took the first step in this direction.

“I have to go for a run now,” I say. “Get up and come with me.”

He grumbles about it, but follows me outside, where he promptly puts on his shades and heads for his bike.

“I’m not much of a runner,” he says. “I’ll follow you on my bike.”

I nod since it’s a fair offer, and start jogging down the driveway.

But if I was hoping the run would help me find some peace, which I was hoping, it’s not happening. Not with his bike rumbling beside me and his gaze on me. Despite the shades, despite the fact that I can’t even see his face since he’s always behind me, I feel it piercing me. And as unnerving as that is, I like it. But it just confuses me more. I get plenty of male attention, but it’s never affected me this strongly before.

So I cut the run short and turn back after just twenty minutes.

I have to discuss this with Vlad, because I’ll never make the decision on my own. And even if I do, I’ll never know if it was the right one.

I’ve never had a person get under my skin so quickly and so perfectly, so undeniably as Hawk has. But he has and I can’t deny that.

* * *

“You’re late,” Vlad barks as me and Hawk finally make it to the wonderfully air-conditioned gym where I’m preparing for the tournament. It’s full of people and it’s only a temporary solution, since I will be investing into my own gym as soon as the tournament is over. That’s been my dream since I came to the US, and now I can finally make it a reality. But it’s too stressful to attempt before the tournament is over. So we rented space in this one. We have two rooms to ourselves in the back, but have to do the training on the main floor, since the rooms are too small for anything but conditioning practice.

“I know I’m a little late. Let’s talk,” I say and pass him on the way to the back room, then turn to Hawk. “You wait here, OK?”

He nods and grins wider.

“That’s the guy from last night, isn’t it?” Vlad asks as soon as we’re alone. “Why is he here? I thought you sent him away for good last night before you yelled at me for letting him into your room in the first place.”

It’s good that he’s talking so much, since I’m not sure where to start this conversation. But it’s also not good, because I have to start this conversation.

“After I left the Arena last night, a Russian man approached me,” I say. “I think he was mafia, in fact I’m almost certain he is one of Yuri Kazarov’s men, and that guy stepped in and interrupted the conversation, which I think wasn’t heading anywhere good.”

“Slow down. What are you talking about?” Vlad asks kinda breathlessly. “How do you even know who Yuri Kazarov is?”

“Everyone in Moscow knows the Kazarovs,” I say evasively, because it’s not yet time to tell him exactly why I’d know Yuri Kazarov and at least five of his men anywhere.

“Last night, that guy, whose name is Hawk, by the way, came into my dressing room to warn me that the Russian mob might be trying to fix the tournament,” I continue. “I thought that was bullshit so I sent him away, but then a Russian approached me in the parking lot when I was leaving. And before then some guy in a suit was looking at me weird from the audience.”

“That still doesn’t explain why this Hawk guy is here now,” Vlad says, his eyes wide and bulging like he can’t believe he’s hearing what I’m telling him.

“I hired him as my bodyguard after what happened last night,” I say.

There’s a pause during which Vlad’s eyes bulge out even further.

“Do you think that was a good idea?” I ask although it seems pretty clear that he doesn’t.

“What makes you think he’s gonna be able to protect you?” he asks. “The whole thing could’ve just been a set up to get close to you.”

“It didn’t seem like that,” I say, but he could be right. Hawk could be working for the Russians and getting close to me just so they could fix the fights easier. “Why would anyone want to get close to me though? Two of the other fighters in the tournament are much better ranked than me.”

“To control you,” Vlad says curtly. “It’s easier to fix fights through the small fish.”

“Hey, I’m not exactly small fish,” I say. And I’m gonna show that to the world by winning this tournament.

Vlad nods. “Maybe they’ve been following you and know this, so they wanna catch you on the way up. There’s been interest over the years, you know that. I could deflect it back East, but out here it’s a much bigger playground.

“I doubt Hawk is just playing me, and I’ll sooner stop fighting then allow myself to be bought,” I say and the decision I’ve been trying to make all night and most of this morning is finally clear. “He stays.”

Vlad grimaces and shrugs. “Your choice, I guess.”

It is. All I got to go on is my intuition, the one that makes me feel safe when Hawk’s around and the one that filled me with icy dread while the Russian spoke to me. The intuition that’s never led me wrong yet.

Vlad claps his hands. “Let’s get to work. You’re already an hour late for practice and you have a tournament to win. ”

I nod and unzip my sweatshirt to get ready.

“Start warming up. I’ll go talk to the guy,” he says. “Then I’ll make some calls and find out more about him if I can. We’ll figure this out after training. For now, focus on the work and stop thinking about him.”

Easier said than done. But I’ve been able to focus through worse distractions. I’m not one who doesn’t handle her own problems, and I do have the final say in everything to do with my life and my career, but right now I’m glad Vlad’s taking the initiative and not just letting me walk into this blindly. I’m better off without any distractions, because I need to stay focused on my goal. And Hawk…I may not know much about him, but I do know that he’s definitely a distraction.

* * *

Hawk

Yanna’s trainer, Vlad Ilych, is a huge guy and still imposing even though he’s well over fifty now. But back in his day, back when the sport was young and he was the champion, Vlad was a force to be reckoned with, and that’s something that never fades completely even after a man gets old. I researched him too, because I sometimes have nothing better to do than to spy on people, and I was interested in what kind of man Yanna’s trainer was. He’s the good kind, but going by his pissed off face as he walks toward me now, he hates me.

“Let’s talk,” he says once he reaches me, and doesn’t slow his stride as he leads the way out into the scorching hot parking lot.

“What are your plans with Yanna?” he asks, once the cool interior of the dojo is just a chilly memory.

“My plans are my own,” I say slowly and deliberately. It’s a technique that can slow down even the most heated conversations, and something my father taught me back when he still believed I’d follow in his footsteps. I think he’d be happy to know I listened to his teachings and took them to heart. He might not be very happy with how I used them over the years, but they do work. Well, he’d be proud of me if he just looked at that, in the absence of everything else I’ve also done with my life since I left home.

Vlad is glaring at me, waiting for me to speak, which is pretty impressive given that he’s clearly quite pissed at me.

“Yanna hired me as her bodyguard last night,” I say. “But I take it you think she should’ve cleared it with you first?”

He shakes his head. “Yanna is her own woman. She hired me to train her and make her the champion. But I will always do what I think best to keep her safe.”

“She’ll be safe with me,” I assure him. “But I guess you’re gonna want to check me out first.”

Vlad has connections in a lot of down-low places of this business, since he’s been around for so long. He nods and keeps glaring at me.

“You won’t find out much. I’m a member of Devil’s Nightmare Motorcycle Club.” I pause to see if hearing that has any effect on him, the way it does on most people who learn it. Fear is the most common reaction, since our MC is well-known for being made up of the most ruthless and efficient killers for hire in North America. Hell, in Canada and Mexico too. But this guy doesn’t even flinch, he just keeps glaring at me like I’m a stubborn piece of trash he needs to take out. Man, I hope I get to keep half of my own primal aggressiveness when I get to be his age.

“This is supposed to tell me something?” he asks, since I let the pause drag on too long.

“It will once you ask around,” I assure him. “Start with the guys working security for the tournament. They know me and I assume you trust them.”

“I will ask around,” he assures me and it sounds like a threat.

“Ask about Hawk. You won’t be disappointed,” I say and grin, since this guy’s overbearing seriousness is getting ridiculous and we both know which of us would win a fight today. Thirty years ago, it might have been different. But these days, he’s over the hill.

“Yanna will train until five PM and then she has to rest,” he tells me pointedly. “In all the years I’ve trained her, no Russian mobster tried to bend her and none will do it now,” he assures me, and I think it’s meant to let me know he thinks my warning to her last night was bullshit.

“I know what I know, and I passed it on,” I assure him. “If you knew me, you wouldn’t doubt me.”

“But I don’t know you,” he spits. “And neither does Yanna.”

But damn it, do I want her to. I don’t say it though, because this guy is riled up enough as it is, and he’s proving to be quite an obstacle on my way to her. Instead I put on my shades and search my pocket for the keys.

“I’ll be back at five and then we can talk some more,” I tell him. “Yanna can tell me where she wants me then too.”

I hope it’s in her bed. But I don’t say that either.

“She will,” Vlad assures me and it kinda sounds like he thinks she’s gonna send me packing this afternoon.

I sincerely hope he’s wrong. But right now, I have to go see the guys and find out what info they got on the Russians last night. I won’t mention this new job I’ve taken on to Cross though. Not yet anyway. Not until there’s something to tell him. I only tell him things when I’m sure anyway and he’s used to that arrangement. So much guesswork goes into what I do that a wrong accusation could lead to war, so I always double and triple check everything. He understands that and never complains about it the way some of the other brothers do.

But he’s gonna complain if I start shit with the Russians, I have no doubt about that, yet I might not be able to help it. Yanna is already more than I ever hoped she would be, and I haven’t even seen her naked yet. After I do, after I’ve touched her and tasted her, I doubt I’m gonna take anyone’s complaints seriously. Not even Cross’.