Never Choose Flight (A Fighter Romance Novel) (10 page)

We were taken to a very fancy table in the back of the restaurant. A private room behind a curtain. He’d reserved it for us, and it was as romantic as you can possibly imagine. Fresh cut flowers on the table. A candle burning in the middle. Red curtains. Way too many utensils. It was perfect.

We sat down across from each other and just got lost in each other’s eyes. Eventually he said, “We should probably choose something to eat.”

“Right,” I said, coming back from cloud nine.

The menu was just one page. The only option was a four course meal. You simply need to choose your soup, your salad, your entree, and your dessert. Everything looked amazing, but I wasn’t entirely sure what any of it actually was. We laughed together at how impossible to decode all of the names were.

I noticed that there weren’t any prices on the menu. And there was a rule about that which I’d learned. When there aren’t prices on a menu, that means that if you have to ask then you can’t afford it. I wondered about Samantha’s proposition that Malcolm might be rich.

He didn’t
seem
rich. He didn’t
act
rich. But he certainly did some things that would require a fair bit of money.

We ordered our meals, not knowing at all what we were getting ourselves into. We laughed. We were having a wonderful time.

Our salads arrived and we dug in. They did that fancy thing where you get very little food on your plate, but that food looks wonderful.

Malcolm looked down at his three leafs of artistically placed spinach and laughed. “It’s like they ran out of ingredients but they’re pretending that this still counts as a salad.”

I laughed too. I ended up letting him share mine, which was a bit heartier.

We both leaned in close. Almost close enough to kiss over that candle. Once we were done, the waiter came by and traded our empty plates with our soups. I gobbled mine up, as did Malcolm. The food really was delicious. No matter what Malcolm was paying, I felt like this was worth it.

And then the waiter came by and picked up our soup bowls. There was a lull between soup and entrees, so Malcolm and I just held hands in the middle of the table.

“So what do you think,” asked Malcolm, “where all of my worries unfounded?”

“It’s certainly looking that way,” I said.

Then a man walked in. He wore a suit, not unlike the one the waiter had been wearing. I assumed he was a busboy at first, but he walked right up to the table. He towered over us, and stared right down at Malcolm.

“Excuse me,” he said in an accent from the other side of the continent. “Are you the Beast?”

Malcolm only had time to look at me quizzically before it happened. Lightning fast the man’s fist cross Malcolm’s face with a sickening crack. I thought I saw a tooth fly out, but it may have just been spit.

Malcolm went to stand, but part way up this giant man’s hand landed on his chest and pushed him backwards. There was nothing Malcolm could do.

He fell back, into his chair, and then the chair tipped over backwards. His feet crashed into the bottom of the table, making all of the glasses jingle a bit.

The man got down and pressed one knee into Malcolm’s chest. He positioned his face directly above Malcolm’s, and stared down at him.

I had no idea what to do. Nothing like
this
had ever happened to me either. I didn’t know if I should scream or try to help somehow. And that not knowing caused me to just stay still, frozen because of my lack of knowledge on the subject.

The man leaned in closer as Malcolm struggled to escape from under him. But he was just too large. Getting away was not going to be easy, if possible at all.

Once the man, who had a big goofy face with a fair number of scars, got close enough, he smiled. He was definitely missing a few teeth. “You don’t look so tough,” he said, close enough to Malcolm that I’m sure they could smell each other’s breath.

Malcolm didn’t say anything in response. The man lifted up his other leg for a moment, letting his full weight press down against Malcolm’s chest cavity. I heard something crunch.

Then the man stood up. He turned to me. “Apologies, m’lady. For interruptin’ the dinner.”

I didn’t have anything to say. My eyes were wide and my mind was racing. Who was this man? How had he known where we were? Was Malcolm going to be able to stand?

“And you,” he said, turning back to look down at Malcolm on the floor. “You better understand what you’re getting yourself into. Undefeated. Think you’re some big champ”

He offered a hand, but Malcolm lifted himself to his feet without assistance, grasping his sides.

“I’m just here to let you know,” continued the man, “that you are nothing. You are not a threat. You will not remain undefeated for long. And if you keep this up, things are going to go downhill for you. Fast.”

“Who are you?” asked Malcolm.

And then again, lightning fast, a fist whipped across his face. This man was good at that. Throwing punches from a casual position. Malcolm spat blood onto his plate.

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” said the man. He turned to me. “Have a nice night.” And then he walked out.

I could tell that Malcolm wanted to jump at him. Beat the shit out of him right then and there. But he resisted that urge. He picked up his chair and sat back at the table. And then we were seated there again, like nothing had happened.

“Shit,” he said, as soon as we were settled in. “Shit.”

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Apparently,” he said, “that doesn’t matter.”

“But like, who do you think it was?”

“Some thug. Probably hired. Just here to fuck with me.”

“Has that happened before?”

“Once or twice,” he said. “Trying to psyche me out before a fight.”

“So what fight, then?”

“I have no idea,” he said, earnestly. “The fight this Sunday isn’t against a big name or anything. Definitely not someone who could hire that kind of man power.”

The waiter showed up with our entrees. He placed them down and cleared the plate that Malcolm had spat onto. He acted as if nothing was amiss.

Once he left we continued talking. “So what do we do?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

I just stared at him. The danger, the excitement, that was his part of the relationship. He was supposed to know how to deal with this stuff. Not me. “So what are we going to do?” I asked.

“I just need to think a minute,” he said. “My brain’s been bashed around a bunch, sometimes it takes me a bit to figure things out.”

I cooled down on the questions, letting him think. I toyed with my pasta for a minute, but I didn’t eat any of it. I wasn’t hungry. Not anymore. Even though it smelled wonderful and looked impossibly creamy.

“So they found me here,” he said, slowly. “I didn’t make this reservation until this afternoon. It’s not like I wrote it down anywhere.”

“Did they bug your phone?”

“That’s unlikely,” he said. “It’s much more probable that they know where I live, and that they followed me.”

“Okay,” I said. I wanted him to keep thinking. Hoping he’d arrive at some conclusion.

“And if that’s the case,” he said, “that means they also know where
you
live. And now this thug came in and saw me having a very romantic dinner with you.”

“Shit,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “This… this could be really bad.”

“So what do we do?” I repeated.

“I think we need to leave. We need to get out of here. Catch a cab. Get you home. And then I’ll leave, and just hope that they follow me instead of staying with you.”

“Okay,” I said. “That’s fine. We’ll do that.”

He looked me in the eyes and said, “I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I didn’t think this would happen.”

“You did warn me,” I said. “You told me that this exact thing might happen. I knew it, and I accepted it. It’s just amazing that it happened this quickly, you know?”

“Yes,” he said. “Amazing.” He stood up. “Let’s go.”

I stood up as well. He tossed a couple of hundreds onto the table and then we left without touching out entrees.

So much for our perfect dinner date.

* * *

It was raining as we stepped out into the road. Heavy. I hadn’t even noticed the clouds earlier, but I guess they’d been forming for a while. And the storm that had brewing was finally starting to come down, and it was coming hard.

He hailed the first cab we saw, and we both got in. It felt ridiculous, the both of us wearing such nice clothing in the back of some dirty old cab. We told the cabby my address, and he took off down the road.

“So, what are you two up to tonight?” asked the driver.

Malcolm shot me a look that convinced me not to tell the truth. I guess the stuff he does is illegal enough that he doesn’t want strangers to catch any whiff of what he’s into.

“Just a nice dinner,” said Malcolm.

“Excellent. I thought so. A beautiful couple like you. Enjoying a night on the town. Was the food good, missy?”

I nodded, but then realized he wasn’t looking. “Yes,” I said. “Yes it was.”

“That’s great,” said the driver.

The rest of the ride happened in silence, other than the rain pattering down on the road all around us, and the roof over our head. The clouds were thick enough that it was dark out, and the car rolled in and out of bright patches underneath streetlights.

Malcolm held my hand as we rode. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was trying to plan our next move.

He kept on glancing out the back window. I started to as well, and it was eery. With all of the rain, it was hard to tell. But it seemed like there was one pair of headlights that were following us. They were there every time I looked back. Not close enough that I could say for sure that it was the same car every time, but it sure felt like we were being followed.

He gripped my hand extra tight every time I looked back. I guess he could tell that I was worried. And I could tell that he was worried as well.

We watched as the meter ticked up. More and more this was costing us. This taxi ride. And I’m sure he’d need to pay something for the limo we were going to miss as well.

It had gone down hill so incredibly quickly. One minute we were in the middle of the perfect date, and now, suddenly, we were trying to escape from some thugs in a taxi.

After a few minutes, I guess he’d checked out back enough times to be sure, and Malcolm just got into a state of staring straight ahead. Thinking really hard, or not at all. It was hard for me to tell.

The cab rolled to a stop in front of my place. Malcolm paid the driver and we both got out. I watched as those lights that had been following us came to a stop just a block away, and the headlights went out.

He stayed silent until we were inside, out of the rain.

“Shit,” he said.

“Yeah?” I asked. I’d been hoping that he’d somehow come up with an ultimate solution during the cab ride.

“Yeah. Nice place you got here.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“So, things are bad. Really bad. And I’m not sure what the best plan is.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Well, I’m guessing that they didn’t know about you until tonight. Until just now. And these are just thugs obeying orders. So their orders don’t involve you. That makes sense, right?”

“Right. Their orders don’t involve me right
now
.”

“They could later. But right now I’m sure they’re going to be focussed on me.”

“So what should we do?”

“You probably aren’t going to like this,” he said.

“What?”

“I am going to leave,” he said.

“What?!”

“Not for good. Just for now. There’s some goon out there, probably talking to the boss, asking what to do. And there’s a good chance they’ll come in here if I’m here. They might trash the place. They might hurt you.”

“So what then?”

“If I leave, they’ll follow me. And then they won’t be here. Where you are.”

“So I should call you a cab?”

“No,” he said.

“Well this isn’t the kind of street you can catch a cab on without calling one,” I said.

“Then I won’t take a cab. I’ll walk. But I need to go now.”

“You’ll walk in the rain? With those guys following you?”

“This is L.A.,” he said. “There are a million back alleys and paths that I can walk down, where they can’t follow me in a car. It’s actually an advantage.”

“And what if they catch you?”

“Then I fight them. You know that’s something I’m capable of.”

“But that guy in the restaurant-”

A very stern look came over Malcolm’s face. “That guy in the restaurant caught me off guard. After a couple of drinks. On a date. I’m sobered up now, that’s for sure. And I’ll be on guard my whole walk home, I promise.”

“But what about me?” I asked. “What if they don’t follow you?”

“They will,” he said. “I’ll make sure I’m being followed. This really is the only thing we can do. It’s the safest thing for both of us.”

“You’re leaving me for my own safety,” I said.

“Just for now,” he said. “Just for the night. I’ll figure something out. We aren’t over.”

“Okay,” I said.

He walked up to me and held my head. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. But I couldn’t help a tear from falling down my cheek.

“I believe you,” he said. “I know you’ll be okay.”

I couldn’t help but smile, and then he held my face in his shoulder tightly. Then he walked towards the door.

“Wait,” I said.

He stopped.

“I’m going to do something I should have done a while ago.”

I grabbed a pad of paper and a pen.

“And this time,” I said, “don’t light it on fire or tear it up or anything. Okay?”

I handed him the bit of paper. It had my number on it.

“Okay,” he said.

“Call me the instant you get home,” I said.

“That could be pretty late,” he said.

“That’s okay. I still want you to do it.”

“You got it.”

He leaned in for a kiss. I gave him what he wanted. And then he was out the door, into the rain in his nicest suit.

* * *