Bad Professor (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (109 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Kya

"
Have
you heard of the Ling Pho Lounge?" I asked the
driver, as I jumped in to the waiting yellow taxi.

"I've heard
enough to tell you I'm not taking you there, young lady," the driver said.

"Hey, I
recognize you," I said. "You took me to the strip club the other
night."

"And I'd
rather take you back there than to the Ling Pho Lounge," he said. He
pulled the cab out into traffic and drifted along, not committing to going in
the direction I requested.

"A girl can't
have a late night craving for Chinese food?" I clutched my purse with both
hands and tried to sit still in the back of the cab.

"If that's
the case, then I'll take you to my favorite place. Well-lit, crowded, full of
locals, but the nice kind," he said. "It's just up the street, be
there in five minutes."

"Thanks for
the recommendation, but I would like you to take me to the Ling Pho
Lounge."

"I gotta say
it, I know it's not my place but I gotta say it." The cab driver gripped
the steering wheel harder. "I don't like the company you're keeping. I saw
you with that fighter the other day, the mixed martial one. He's got a bad
reputation. You should hear the things I hear about him in this cab. What's a
lady like you doing chasing around after him?"

I slumped back in
the seat. "It's for work. I'm an endorsement agent and clients of ours
want him for their next campaign."

"Plenty of
other sports guys around town. There's a golf tournament going on next weekend.
Lots of nice gentlemen, no tattoos."

I slumped even
further. What was it about me that needed to be surrounded by nice men? I was
not tough enough, independent enough, to stand up to the challenges Fenton
threw at me. Everyone thought I was just a pretty face better off ensconced in
a safe corner of the world.

Neon lights,
crowds, and thousands of chances rushed by the window. This was Las Vegas.
Every kind of person from ultra rich playboy to the openmouthed tourist to the
calculating card shark was here – and so was I. I had had enough of well-to-do
families from decent backgrounds and athletes that had talent, but no real
fire.

Fenton was
different. He had the talent, but it was fueled by an explosive need to succeed
on his own. His background was rough, lonely, and hounding him at every turn.
It was no wonder he had built up the reputation he did. It was one-half truth
and one-half protection. No one looked too much farther than his wins and his
wild behavior.

"Miss, I'm
serious. This isn't the place you want to be. Just grab some Kung Pao to go.
I'll wait," the cab driver said.

I got out and paid
him through the window. "Thanks, but I might be a while."

Inside, the Ling
Pho Lounge looked just as I had worried it would. The lighting was dim, not by
design, but by neglect. Red walls and black, lacquered screens divided the
round empty tables. The sounds of horseracing blared from a television in the
kitchen and I could hear two people yelling at it in Mandarin. A half empty,
neglected buffet glowed under heat lamps in the corner.

I pretended to
peruse the menu on the wall and check my watch as if I was meeting someone. No
one came to seat me. A pair of men came in and went down the back staircase
without even looking around. I glanced back at the door. No, Fenton was being
threatened and he did not need to face it alone. His whole career was at stake.

A wide man and a
rail thin woman in a white fur coat came in next. They also headed down the
back staircase, so I followed them. The man muttered something to the two big
bouncers and they let the couple push through the heavy red vinyl doors. I
stopped on the stairs, but it was too late, the bouncers had already seen me.

"Password?"
the one on the left asked.

"You're
kidding, my, ah, friend was supposed to meet me upstairs and he didn't say
anything about a password," I said. I walked down the rest of the stairs
and gave the imposing bouncers my best smile.

They both returned
to staring halfway up the stairs, over my head. Muffled cheers broke out behind
the heavy doors. What was Fenton into now? If the bouncers were ignoring me,
then I would just wait for the next person to come by and listen for the
password. I had to get to Fenton and tell him how to deal with the fight
fixers. We could not go to the police, but I had a plan.

The next footsteps
on the stairs turned out to be an ugly pockmarked man in an expensive suit
surrounded by a harem of women. I watched his eyes slither down my legs and
back up to the neckline of my dress.

I threw myself
against his chest, smiled brightly, and ran a hand around the back of his
collar. "There you are. I've been waiting for you."

The pockmarks
deepened as the man laughed. "Sure, honey, whatever you say. She's with
us. Stratosphere."

The bouncers
shrugged, accepted the password, and let us all inside. The harem of women
quickly spun me to the side and the ugly man continued without me. The basement
room was cleared out except for a raised boxing ring, a long metallic bar, and
a few rows of folding chairs. Most people were standing, hands up in fists, as
they watched the fight.

I was glad I did
not see the two men who had threatened him. I moved around the room, but did
not see Fenton. Had he come down here to meet someone?

"Get him,
knock another tooth out!" a fan yelled.

I pushed my way
into the crowd to get a better view of the boxing ring. Fenton was inside,
barefoot and bare-knuckled, with a smear of red down the side of his naked
chest where he had wiped off the other man's blood. His opponent stood at
Fenton's eye level, bald as a cue ball, but wider and barrel-chested. He was
slow, but his punches had a heavy sound that made my heart clutch.

In order to get
near him, Fenton had to take a few hits. The two lunged together and dull thuds
buffeted my shocked senses. They broke away bloody, sweat standing out on their
skin. Fenton smiled as they circled. He taunted the man, opening his fists to
beckon the bald man closer. He laughed when his opponent charged like a bull
and they stumbled back, locked in another brutal exchange of punches.

Where Fenton
normally would have raised a knee to the man's side, he stopped himself. This
was a boxing match and though it looked like a free-for-all, there were rules.
I could hardly watch as they slumped against the ropes, the larger man
pummeling Fenton a few inches from the screaming crowd.

The basement room
was foggy with sweat and cigar smoke. The crowd churned and exchanged money. In
the center, Fenton grimaced then smiled. He finished the bald man with a quick
one-two to the head. Another tooth slipped out as the man fell to the mat. The
crowd erupted.

"Fight again!
Fight again! Fight again!" the crowd chanted.

A large man with
his blue shirtsleeves rolled up jumped into the ring to talk with Fenton. He
pointed to another challenger, already stripping to just his shorts. Fenton
raised both hands and strutted around the ring, a busted lip swelling
underneath his still cocky smile. I felt sick, but stepped forward with the
crowd, hoping he would see me.

Fenton turned the
corner of the ring, coming towards me. Underneath his raised arms I saw a man
with pure white hair. Darius Johnson was hard to miss, even in the wild crowd.
The fight promoter was almost as notorious as Fenton, except he kept a strict
handle on the fights he set up. If he recognized Fenton, the next fight and his
next step towards the title would be canceled.

I shoved my way
around the ring and looked up as I passed Fenton. His laser blue eyes widened
as he saw me, and he stopped his victory lap. I blew him a kiss, but inclined
my head in the direction of Darius Johnson. Fenton glanced over and turned
away. I kept going until I bounced in front of the white haired man.

"You are just
the man I need," I told him.

Darius Johnson
gave me a slow smile and twisted one of his oversized rings around his pinky
finger. "And, I could always use a pretty thing like you around."

"I work for
James Cort. I think you know him. He sent me out here to sign some young boxer,
but how about I sign you, instead?"

"Cort? You
work for Cort? That can't be right. You look too fine to be working with that
swine," Darius said.

I slipped my arm
through the older man's and led him towards the bar. Behind us, I saw Fenton
hesitate, his eyes on me. The crowd was still chanting for him to fight the
next challenger. He was tucking a large stack of money into the waistband of
his shorts and sizing up the next guy.

"Boxing is
not really my sport," I told Darius, "but maybe you could teach me to
like it."

"Sounds like
a date. Here's my card. You call me. Now, excuse me, I need to see what kind of
raw talent is cracking heads around here." The fight promoter handed me
his card and turned back to the ring.

I held my breath,
but Fenton was gone. He was no longer in the ring, I could not see him in the
corner where the fighters got ready, and his black hair was nowhere in the
crowd. I moved through the people as they placed bets on the next fight and
slammed strong drinks from the bar. It was a rough room, and I was starting to
think my cab driver was right – I needed to get out.

A hard hand
grabbed my elbow and I could not wrench myself free. I was trapped at an
underground, bare-knuckled fight, and absolutely no one would know where to
look for me. This was exactly how people disappeared.

"Kya, calm
down. It's just me," the man in black hat said. Fenton's blue eyes blazed
from under the rim. "You shouldn't be here. Are you crazy?"

"Am I crazy?
I'm not the one that almost compromised his whole career to make a few bucks.
You could have broken your hand! If Darius Johnson had seen you the fight would
have been off. You know the rules," I said.

"Rules? Give
me a break. No one else plays by the rules, so I'm not going to waste my
time."

"Is this
about those men? The ones that are trying to fix your next fight?" I
asked. We were deep in the shadows in the back of the basement. I should have
been scared at the angry flash in Fenton's eyes, but I was not. My bright
sparks of worry only igniting the fire between us. I lifted one hand to his
bruised jaw. "It's not business, it's you. I want you to know you're not
alone."

Fenton leaned his
forehead against mine. "Stay away from my problems, Kya. I can't let you
get hurt."

"I
won't," I said. "In fact, I just met the man that will put an end to
the fight-fixing. If you'll stop trying to kill yourself for a little cash, we
might just make it."

"We?" he
asked. He stumbled forward into my arms.

His head lolled.
Fenton was hurt and I had to get him out of the Ling Pho Lounge before anyone
else noticed.

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.