Chasing What’s Mine by Ava Gray
Gemma
Iwipe the steam from the bathroom mirror and inspect the mark Dax left behind on my neck. It’s still red and tender where he buried his teeth into me last night. I brush my fingers over it lightly, and the touch sends shivers down my spine. Not so much my touch, but the memory of his. Of all of him. I can’t believe it really happened.
A decade of attraction and desire finally culminated in what I can only describe as the most passionate, all-consuming sex I’ve ever had. Granted my experience in that area isn’t that vast and I’m sure he picked up on it, but still. No man has ever made me feel the way Dax did last night. My teenage self might have had fantasies about scattered rose petals and candles, but last night was so much better than anything my childish brain could’ve dreamed up. Because it wasn’t a dream, it was real. I have the bruises to prove it, and I can still feel his cum dripping out of me.
I hear my phone ringing from where I left it on the edge of my bed. I slept like the dead after I got back from his place and sent him a text the second I woke up. After waiting a while for a response and not getting one, I decided to jump through a shower.
When I rush from the bathroom to answer, one hand clutching my towel around me, I’m sure it’s Dax who’s calling. A rock of disappointment sinks to my stomach when I see Kate’s name on the screen. This is probably going to be about how I ditched her before and after the fight last night, and I’m not really in the mood to be brought down. I reject the call and toss my phone back on the bed.
But I barely make it two steps to the bathroom when it starts to ring again, and when I check, it’s her. Again. I’ve known Kate since I was four years old, so I know that this is going to go on until I answer. Short of flushing my phone, I don’t have much of a choice in this one.
“What’s up,” I say, aware of my abrupt tone, but not caring either way.
“Have you been on Twitter this morning?” She sounds hyper-animated, the way she gets when some big news breaks.
It immediately piques my interest, because whatever’s got her hyped up was enough to make her forget to give me a hard time about last night.
“I slept in,” I say. “What’s up? What happened?”
“Well, once you see what’s trending, you’ll be glad you listened to me and stayed the hell away from Dax Daytona.”
Oh. This is about him losing the fight. Well, it’s no surprise that people are having a field day with his failure. It’s what we talked about last night—how everyone’s just waiting for him to mess up.
“I wouldn’t take it seriously,” I say. “It was just a friendly to warm up the fans for the title bout. It doesn’t even count as a loss on his record.”
There’s a silent pause on the other end of the line, and then Kate says, “Gem, I’m not talking about the fight at the arena. I’m talking the illegal fight that the cops had to break up.”
I swallow hard. What illegal fight? And when did he manage that if I was with him until the early hours of this morning? My legs give in and I drop to sit on the edge of my bed. I open my mouth to say something, but my tongue is dry, and my voice has apparently taken leave.
“Are you there?” she asks.
I nod.
“Gemma, can you hear me?”
I end the call and bring up my Twitter feed. Just like Kate said, the story is trending in the top five. I click on the hashtag, and the top posts tab is headed up with cell phone footage taken somewhere in the city. My finger is shaking when I press play.
It’s dark, so I can’t really make out many details, but the sound of flesh pounding flesh comes through with crystal clarity over the general jeers and cheers from onlookers. Dax and that creep who’s been giving him a hard time are in the middle of it all, plowing into each other with bare fists. The video is less than a minute long, and it ends with police sirens wailing in the background.
My heart feels like it’s going to beat its way out of my chest. This must’ve happened right before sunrise. Right after I kissed him goodbye at his elevator. I scroll through some of the other tweets and they’re all pretty much saying the same thing. That Dax Daytona is street scum back where he belongs, or that he can’t handle the pressure of being pro and is tanking his career. Dax Daytona is a has-been who never was. I close the app after I read that one and toss my phone aside.
What the hell was he thinking, going down there and getting into a fight with that guy? Why would he even allow himself to be provoked into doing something that could jeopardize his career that he’s worked so hard for?
I push off from my bed and hurriedly pull on the fresh clothes I’d set out before my shower. I was planning on spending the day vegetating at home, so it’s nothing fancier than cotton shorts and a tank top. But I’m less concerned about dressing up than I am about getting to the bottom of this. Asking myself all these questions isn’t going to help anything. I need to see Dax and speak to him face to face.
Just as I suspected, I find Dax in the middle of his weight routine at the gym. The place is abandoned, aside from the spotter I saw the last time. Thankfully, he’s got his earbuds in on the treadmill, so he won’t be much of a bother to us. As I get closer to the weight bench, I can see Dax clearly in the mirror, and the sight of him makes my feet stop dead.
He looks a hundred times worse than after he left the cage last night. His right eye is swollen shut and fresh bruises are blooming along his jaw. I also notice every one of his knuckles have been torn open. The anger I felt in my bedroom before comes back and slowly starts to rise in me. That’s what gets me to find my feet again, and I go over to him.
He spots me as I approach the bench and sets down the weights. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says.
“That’s what you’re opening with?”
I can see that my tone surprises him, but I’m fucking fuming and I have no interest in playing nice.
“Gem, please. I don’t want to get into this now, okay?” He turns away from me and goes to grab a water from the fridge at the smoothie bar.
I take a second to process the fact that he practically dismissed me without a hearing just then and follow him.
“Too bad,” I say, “because we are getting into it.” Dax rolls his eyes. Well, I can only see the one, but I’m assuming the other one followed suit under that swollen lid. “I’m not leaving here until you tell me what the hell happened.”
He slams the water bottle down on the bar, making some splash out from the force, and glowers at me. “Well, if you’re here then you obviously saw it online. You know what happened. You can go now.”
He storms over to the vertical bag, and even though his hands aren’t wrapped, starts laying into it. The power of every punch ripples through his muscles, his face contorting with pain each time his open skin makes contact with the bag. But he doesn’t stop.
“Dax—”
“I said you can go,” he says through clenched teeth.
The cold detachment in his voice cuts through me, and I’m finding it hard to think about how this is the same sensitive, passionate man I shared a bed with mere hours ago. It’s like I’m standing in front of a whole other person. He’s the person who went out after I left last night and almost got picked up by the cops for illegal street fighting.
“Okay, so I know what happened,” I say, working hard to keep my calm this time. He’s already on edge, and I won’t get anywhere with him if I make it worse. “Tell me why.”
His punches get harder, faster, and I can see that he’s really hurting himself. I reach out and place my hand on his back. It’s the lightest touch, but it works, and instantly puts a stop to it all. He turns to look at me, out of breath and sweating.
“Let me see.” I move to take his hands so I can assess the damage, but he pulls away from me.
“I’m fine,” he says.
“You’re a lot of things, but fine isn’t one of them.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not your problem, is it?” He glares at me.
I don’t know why he’s being this way, treating me like I’m the problem here when all I’m trying to do is help. It infuriates me.
“You’re right,” I say. “It’s your problem, but I care about you and I want to help.”
He laughs, and it’s a bitter, cutting sound. “Miss Fix-It wants a go at the mess that’s my life?” He shakes his head, looking at me like I’m just some naïve little girl. My blood starts to boil. “Go home, Gemma. This is no place for someone like you.”
“Screw you.” I see his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Good. Because he has no clue what someone like me can handle. “Tell me what’s going on with you and that guy. First, he shows up at the press party, then the club…and those are only the times I’ve seen him. There’s been more, hasn’t there?” His silence is enough of an answer for me. “What does he have on you?”
“Look, I mean it, Gemma. You’re better off not knowing. It’s for your own good.”
“You don’t get to tell me what’s good for me and what isn’t.”
He rakes his hands through his hair in frustration. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Now leave it alone and go home.”
“If you think I’m going to walk out of here and leave you to destroy everything you’ve achieved, that you’ve worked so—”
“What? You’re too high class to be slumming it with me if my career goes down the drain? Is that it?”
“Are you for real?”
“Yeah, are you?”
“You honestly think that’s what this is about? That I care about your money and your lifestyle?”
I’m screaming now, too, but I don’t give a fuck. Earbud over there can’t hear us anyway, and I’m just so damn angry at Dax for thinking up such bullshit, I feel like having a go at that punching bag myself.
“Isn’t that why they all come?” he asks, wearing a smug, sickening smile. “To get a taste of what it’s like?”
“They? You mean all the other whores who constantly throw themselves at you?” I see something flash behind his eyes, and he clamps down on his jaw. Oh, but I don’t care much for his regret right now. “Tell me that’s what you meant. Tell me you just grouped me in with the rest of them. Go ahead.”
He shifts his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, and just as he opens his mouth to speak, the bell above the front door jangles. I turn to see his team streaming into the gym, headed by Miles.
“You—” he says, pointing to Dax, “—get in there with Nate. Now. I want you patched up and on the floor in ten. And you—” He points a gnarled, old man finger at me next, “—get out. Also, now.” He storms off to his office and slams the door so hard it rattles the entire gym.
Nate comes up to Dax and gives his face a closer look. “Jesus, Dax, what were you thinking?”
“You weren’t thinking, were you, Dax?”
We all turn to see who of Dax’s team would be that kind of asshole, except it’s the whole team who turns around. Because it wasn’t one of them, it was a lone reporter who slipped into the gym after them.
The muscle who guarded Dax’s door at the locker room steps forward and holds up his hands to stop the reporter. “Hey, man, you can’t be in here.”
The reporter pushes through him without a thought, holding his cell phone up high. “A few years ago, I wrote an article on you called ‘Back from the Brink,’ but isn’t it true that you were never back? Not really, anyway.” He talks really fast, his words spilling out of his mouth like they’re in a sprint.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Dax says, his rage bubbling up.
“Dax—” It’s a warning for him to stay calm, and I touch my hand to his arm to help drive it home.
I can feel how hard and tense his muscles are. He’s like a wild animal, perfectly poised to leap out and kill its prey. In the wake of what’s happened, that’s the last thing he should be doing. My intervention seems to help because Dax holds back. For now.
“What do you have to say to your fans who’ve fallen away, saying you don’t have what it takes?”
The bodyguard comes up and takes the reporter by the scruff of his neck. “You’ve overstayed your welcome,” he says.
“I say fuck those fans.”
“Dax!” I spin around, my eyes wide with alarm. He’s playing right into the little rat’s hands.
And as though his words lit a fire in him, the reporter starts to fight to get out of the bodyguard’s grip. “They’re saying you should pull out of the fight. That you’re bad for the sport.”
My eyes are going from him to Dax, like I’m watching the most intense tennis match. I can tell that Dax is close to losing it, and I just wish Mean Mister Muscle would pick up the reporter and carry him out already.
“I am this fucking sport,” he shouts after him. They’re almost at the door and his phone’s camera is still trained on Dax. “And I’ll be in that cage even if my corner’s empty!”
There’s a bustle of activity as Riley walks in and bumps right into the reporter, sending his phone clattering to the floor.
“Watch it, asshole.”
“Hey, get up, motherfucker.” This time the bodyguard really does pick up the reporter, just as his fingers close on his phone.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
I stare at Dax, mouth open. He did not just speak to my brother that way. And I’m not the only one who’s disturbed by it. Even the bodyguard has paused to consider what just happened. These are the people closest to him, and if they think he’s acting out of character then there must be something to it.
Riley looks at Dax, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Me?” he asks, pointing a finger at his own chest.
Ciara’s tucked away behind him, not sure whether she should come in or slip back out to safety.
“Who else would I be talking to?” Dax says to him. “I’m looking at you, aren’t I?”
Riley’s expression hardens, and he starts walking over to Dax with Ciara following close behind. My hand is still on his arm, and I feel it the instant he sets himself for a fight. I squeeze down, hard. The reporter is still there, still recording this whole thing.
“What’s your problem, man?” Riley asks.
“Hey, Saul!” Dax calls out to his bodyguard. “Get them, too.”
“I don’t understand. I was just coming to train.”
“I don’t want you to so much as look at my gym from across the street. You got that?”
“Come on, Riley. Let’s just go,” Ciara says, tugging on his sleeve.
Riley looks at me, his eyes pausing a little too long on the hand I have on Dax’s arm, and I see his jaw set tightly, nostrils flare. Shit. Add that to the growing pile of absolute chaos I’m dealing with. But luckily, Riley doesn’t say anything and just shakes his head as he and Ciara make their way out. Saul holds the door for them after making sure the reporter ducks out first.
With the show over, I turn on Dax, shoving him as hard as I can manage. Of course, he barely moves, but at least I got my point across.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” He says nothing. “Where do you get off treating my brother like that?”
“This is my gym, and I say who’s allowed in here.”
“Well, if he’s not welcome here, then neither am I,” I say, my voice catching near the end of it.
But the tears don’t come until after I’ve stormed out and gotten back to the privacy of my car. It’s anger, disappointment, frustration—even a little fear, all pouring out of me, wracking my body with sobs as I try to breathe my way through it and regain enough composure to drive off.