Under Pressure (Body Armor #1)(55)

One palm up in the universal sign of surrender, the intruder carefully removed his weapon and gingerly placed it on the table.

“Back up.” Maintaining his aim, Leese waited for him to move, then took the relinquished weapon, stuck it in his own pocket and withdrew nylon cuffs. “Fasten your friend’s hands.” The downed man wouldn’t stay out much longer. “Now.”

Going to one knee, he did as told. “You are making a big mistake.”

“Not over his coat,” Leese said with impatience. “His bare wrists.” Once they were nice and tight, Leese said, “Good. Now lie on your stomach, hands locked behind your neck.” Without taking the gun off the intruders, Leese flipped the lock on the door.

Thinking he was distracted, the darker man rolled fast to his back and grabbed for his friend’s gun.

He wasn’t fast enough.

Leese kicked out, sending the gun to skitter across the floor and probably breaking the man’s hand in the process. Dropping a knee to his chest, Leese used his left hand to slug the man in the jaw twice. He wanted to hit him more. He wanted to annihilate him.

But the asshole had already blacked out.

Damn. Hard to question unconscious men, but how was he to know they both had glass jaws?

“Shit.” Tucking his own gun away, Leese flipped the man back to his stomach and bound his hands behind him, drawing the nylon cuffs tight enough to stifle circulation. For good measure, he went ahead and bound their feet as well, then searched them for any additional weapons.

In total they’d had three guns, a big blade and a Taser.

When Leese imagined men of their ilk ever getting within speaking distance of Catalina, icy rage slid through his veins. He took a few seconds to think about what to do, then made up his mind.

Minutes later, as both men came around, Leese lifted the razor-sharp blade and smiled in evil anticipation.

*

DRESSED IN COMFY flannel pants and a sweatshirt, seated on the sofa with a big bowl of popcorn and a Coke—something Leese would have frowned over, if he’d been there—Cat watched the screen. Every couple of seconds she had a question, and each time Miles patiently answered.

Who knew MMA was so exciting?

As one sweaty man twisted another man’s arm to the breaking point in some complex, pretzel-like move, she lifted the bowl to hide her eyes. “What is he doing?”

“Kimura,” Miles said. “It’s a double joint armlock, used to get your opponent to tap.”

“Oh my God, so why doesn’t he tap already?” She was so tense, it felt like her own arm was being twisted in that unnatural way. “Tap, tap, tap,” she insisted.

Miles laughed. “Why would he tap when he can get out of it? Watch.”

Reluctantly, she peeked over the bowl, and seconds later, somehow, the positions were reversed. “That’s absolutely amazing.”

“For every move,” Miles said, “there’s a counter. It’s just remembering it, being strong enough or agile enough to do it and doing it at the right time to make it work.”

It all sounded very complicated. She tried to imagine Leese in that type of fight. Picturing him in the shorts was easy enough. Such a nice visual. But the rest... “Did Leese ever get in those awful positions?”

“Those and worse, sure. Happens to every fighter at one time or another.”

Sympathy made her wince. “It looked really painful.”

“Because it is. But pain is temporary. Losing is forever.”

That was about the dumbest thing she’d ever heard. “Pain is pain.”

“I guess. But there’s pain that just hurts, and then there’s pain that causes damage. Most fighters learn the difference. If something just hurts, you fight through it. If you know a bone is going to break, or you’re going to tear cartilage, then you tap and plan to come back better prepared the next time.”

Imagining the snap of a broken bone, she shuddered. “Why did Leese quit? Do you know?”

Rolling one shoulder, Miles said, “He’s good, but he decided he’d never be a title contender. That’s the main reason he switched up careers. Being second best doesn’t suit everyone, and only a select few fighters can be the best. Leese still stays in shape—”

“Yup.” He most definitely did.

“—but from what he’s told me, he doesn’t regret quitting the fight scene.” He turned to face her. “Next time I see you, I’ll show you some of Leese’s fights if you want.”

He figured on seeing her again? Cat wasn’t sure how that would happen, since she didn’t even know how long she’d have with Leese. Not that she’d go into all that with Miles. Sharing a portion of her secrets with Leese had been difficult enough. “You’ve recorded his fights?”

“Most fights are recorded. That way we can go over them again, see where we messed up, what we need to work on, stuff like that.”

“I’d love to see them, thank you.” They’d already gone through two whole competitions, but she could have watched for hours more. Unfortunately, when the next fight ended, so did the MMA. The sports channel moved on to football.

How much longer would Leese be? It was past dinnertime already, and she could really use another whirlpool.

Miles caught her rubbing a thigh and asked, “Still uncomfortable?”