1 Last Shot (The Fight Game, #4)

by Nikki Castle

"Don't you dare act like yoga hasn't completely benefited your fighting game," she says with a chuckle. "I bet your breathing has gotten better and the flexibility has helped your jiu-jitsu. Am I right?"

asking, "Jiu-jitsu? Since when do you care about fighting enough to learn the terms?"

"Hailey's always gushing about Jax and the gym, I guess I picked up a few phrases." I quirk an eyebrow. "You sure it's not because you did a little research into the sport to see how yoga might be a benefit?"

"Whatever. I'll just stop caring about teaching you anything that might make it easier to twist people’s arms behind their backs." "Whatever you say, princess," I agree, finally letting my grin appear.

“Sorry, buddy,” she mutters, extending her hand to pet Oscar’s head. “You know I wouldn’t hurt your dad.”

“Thanks for walking me. I guess… I’ll see you at yoga?”

“Have a good night, Isabella.” Her eyes go wide at the sound of me finally uttering her name without condescension, without teasing, just… her name. After a moment’s hesitation, she whispers, “My friends call me Izzy.”

“I’m not going to call you Izzy.”

"Whoa, what—" I freeze when I get a look at the person who grabbed me. "I—I’m s-sorry, I didn't mean to—" "Give me all your money," the hooded man snarls. "And your phone."

"My what?" I ask in a daze. "You want my number?"

laughter. "Lady, you wish I'd take out an uptight cunt like you." His expression hardens and he gestures hurriedly at my purse. "Give me everything you have."

"My… what?" "Jesus Christ," the guy growls, finally seeming to lose all of his patience. His arm snaps toward me. "Just give me that."

"Let her go." My attention turns toward the newcomer at the same time that the stranger's does. And I think we're both shocked to see Kane—all 6'2", two hundred pounds of him—standing at the corner of the street, a growling Oscar by his side.

"Get lost, man, this is between me and her,"

"Whatever happens to her concerns me. So let's figure out a way to solve this without anyone getting hurt."

"Let me put it in a way you'll understand," he taunts.

That I'll never forget in a million years, no matter how badly I try to erase it.

With a gun pointing at Kane's head, the stranger growls, "Get lost or you'll be the one getting hurt." I'm frozen. Slack-jawed, staring in disbelief at the scene in front of me. ...

"Okay. You're in charge. I don't want any trouble. Here, take my wallet. I just don't want the girl to get hurt."

"Nobody wants anyone to get hurt, so just take the money and go. No one's stopping you."

The mugger's gaze snaps to me in disbelief. Like he can't believe he got a two-in-one, that he got two— The second his attention strays toward me, Kane acts.

He leaps forward and knocks the gun out of the guy's hand, at the same time that Oscar charges to stand in front of me, his teeth bared and barking viciously. At the sound of the metal clattering to the ground, both my and the mugger's attention snaps to Kane. Kane, who is already pressing his forearm to the stranger's throat against the brick wall of the building. "You piece of fucking shi...

"Kane," I say softly. Pleadingly. "Please don't. Let's just call the cops. I'm okay, we can just—" But at the word cops, the mugger's eyes go wild.

the situation and shoves Kane's body away from him, then turns to bolt down the street before either of us even realize what's happening. By the time Kane's gaze jerks away from me and toward the mugger, he's already turning around the corner and disappearing out of sight.

"Are you okay?" he demands in a voice that is somehow equal parts urgent and comforting. "Did he hurt you?" "No," I say, breathless in my answer. "He didn't hurt me."

"I'm okay, I promise," I whisper, unable to tear my gaze away from his.

"We should… probably call the cops," he says in a stilted voice, squeezing his hands into fists by his side. He glances at me in a way that seems almost hesitant. "I'm assuming you want to call the cops?"

Kane had several opportunities to deal with the man in a way that probably would have felt very normal to him. Very physical, very violent ways. But he didn't. Because of me. And now he's trying to do the right thing. Because of me.

"You were… very calm during that whole thing," I say quietly. "Panicking would've made him panic," he murmurs. I chance another glance at him. "Even still, it's not the easiest

thing to stay calm when there's a gun pointed at you."

"Have you had a lot of guns pointed at you, princess?" I can feel my cheeks flame. "No, I can't say that I have." I hesitate, but force myself to ask, "Have you?"

He doesn't give me a verbal response, but the answer might as well be written all over his face. "I'm sorry that's happened to you,"

"A guy just tried to mug you, and you're saying you feel bad for me?"

"No one should have to go through that even once, let alone multiple times. I'm sorry it happened to you." He gently grabs my forearm in order to stop me and turn me toward him. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asks.

"Are you saying the fact that I'm sympathizing with your life experience...

"I think I'm a little in shock," I admit in a whisper. Then hurry to add, "But I still meant what I said."

"Kane saved my life," I tell the cop. "If he hadn't shown up, I would’ve ended up dead on the sidewalk with a bullet in my head."

"You're lucky to have had him," the cop says with a comforting smile. Returning to his notes, he asks, "Can either of you describe

"Can I take her home now?" Kane finally asks in a hard voice. "She's exhausted, and she needs to go home and get some sleep." The cop startles and hurriedly closes his binder. “Of course. We should have everything we need for

“Normally I would offer to have one of our officers escort her home, but I’m assuming you’re just as safe with him.”

"Not a chance I'm letting anyone else t...

officer. "Please just call me if you identify anyone,” I tell him.

"Absolutely. We'll call you if we need anything else. Get home safe, and please call us if you need anything else."

I take the teapot over to the kitchen sink and begin to fill it. I can’t think of a single time in my life that I’ve ever made a cup of tea, but it’s the only thing I can think of that might have a calming effect on Isabella.

"No, you don't have to—" she starts. "I know I don't,"

"I didn't think Philly was going to be any different from New York," she blurts out in a rush. "I mean, New York City is a million times bigger than Philly. And we’re not exactly in a bad part of Philly, so it never even occurred to me that something like this could happen. How stupid is that? I don't even carry pepper spray, for god's sake!" It all comes out in a rush, like now that she started, she can't stop the word vomit.

"I never thought of my life in New York as scary, but I was so sure Philly would be way easier to deal with. I thought, it's a smaller city, easy to navigate, easy to figure out, easy to find a new life here.

It couldn't possibly be scarier or harder than the insane life I had in New York: every minute of my day planned, everything provided for me, everything taken care of by others so I could focus completely on dance. I thought… that's what my life is going to be. There's nothing new, so nothing is scary. And then—"

"And then my injury happened, and it was like everything became terrifying. I had no idea who I was—no one knew who I was without dance—and suddenly all I had was new: a new schedule, new hobbies, new ways to interact with people. And I thought, if everything is going to change, I might as well do it ...

"I don't know why it didn't occur to me that I might not be able to do it. I've been the privileged rich girl for as long as I can remember, and everything's always been taken care of for me. Why did I think living on my own wouldn't be the scariest thing ever? Why did I think another new thing—something that's huge, and risky, and clearly even dangerous—was the answer to my problems? And of course I get mugged only four weeks into my lease. If that isn't a sign, I don't know what is. I'm such an idiot for moving here, this was the biggest, stupidest mistake—” "Stop," I finally growl, cutting her off.