The Fighter's Prize - Jessa Kane Page 0,20
over themselves to reach us. Flashbulbs going off, reporters shouting questions. Maxim seems to realize at the same time as me how popular we are—and he doesn’t like it. He holds me like King Kong held his blonde sacrifice while climbing the Empire State Building and bellows for security. Several men in black suits and earpieces rush over and help block the paps on our way into the club while I cling to my fighter, face buried in his neck.
“I would never have brought you out if I’d known.” His arms are wrapped around me tighter than steel bands. “Or I would have put you in sweater and jeans.”
“I’m not dressed any differently than the women here.”
He scoffs. “None of them are you, Whitney.”
I sigh into his neck. With the wild rush taking place around him, I feel like I’m centered. In the middle of my very own serene island. Safe. Loved.
Yes, loved. This is what it feels like. I’ve only known the sisterly version of love. This is an animal unto itself. Volatile and exciting. Warm and inviting. And knowing I have this man’s affection opens up the gates to my own. Allows the feelings he stirs in me to rush out, like wild horses, stealing my breath. How can I love this man after such a short time?
I don’t know. My heart is making the decision for me.
“We will be quick,” Maxim says, kissing my forehead. “I want you home, kotik.”
The men with earpieces are directing him, telling him his manager is waiting in back, along with some fight promoters and an emcee. Maxim will be introduced and brought out on stage in five minutes. Before they leave us, the security guards ask for his autograph, their guy crushes on full display. Maxim signs with his right hand, his left arm still wrapped around me, crushing me to his side.
We go to an oblong room at the back of the club that is more like a VIP area. The smell of marijuana mingles with perfume and alcohol. But it’s cool and dark and luxurious, leather couches and beautiful people draped over each other. I find myself wishing Scout was there to see this. She’d be wide eyed and scandalized.
I notice that Maxim seems agitated.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to bring you on stage to be ogled, but I don’t trust anyone enough to watch you while I am gone.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I laugh, rubbing his arm. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
His grumbling almost drowns out the music. “Come. You will wait at the bottom of the stairs where I can see you.”
The hard line of his jaw tells me it’s pointless to argue. He keeps me at his side as we leave the room, reentering the main club, just behind the stage. A man I assume to be his manager arrives in front of us, visibly drunk and celebrating, slapping a gold belt into Maxim’s hand. “You forgot this last night.” He looks at me, but wisely keeps his attention respectful. “You had another prize in mind.”
Maxim grunts, his big fingers stroking up and down my bare arm.
On stage, someone says his name and the crowd goes nuts. Champagne bottles are uncorked and sprayed all over the place, Public Enemy starts to blare. Maxim reminds me with a stern look to stay put, then he and his manager climb up from the rear of the stage, their figures swallowed up by the spotlights. Feeling kind of tingly and proud, especially after what Maxim told me about his youth, I smile, cheering along with the rest of the club.
Only about twenty seconds have passed when someone grabs my elbow.
A chill goes through me even before I turn around.
But it gets worse when I see who it is. My father.
He’s wearing a hood and his face is a mess of bruises and cuts. I’ve seen him like this before when he couldn’t pay a bookie, but this is the worst condition I can remember. “Come with me, you little traitor,” he hisses at me through a split lip. “Don’t make a scene.”
No. No, whatever he wants from me is not good. I try to pull my arm away, but he holds on. “Stop! I’m not going with you.”
“Do you want to see your sister or not?”
The fight goes out of me. “What?”
Satisfaction curls his upper lip. He has me and he knows it. Before I can ask another question, he slips into the crowd, and after a brief hesitation, I