Fighting Attraction
Page 46
Fuzzy blows his whistle to start the fight again. Shilla disarms me with a smile.
“I’m impressed you lasted this long,” she says, circling like a predator around wounded prey. “You’re tougher than you look in your frills and pastels and kitten heels.”
“It’s a disguise,” I say honestly. “Pretty on the outside to hide the ugly on the inside.”
She cocks her head to the side, considering. “We all have a bit of ugly inside.”
“Not as much as me.” I take advantage of her distraction by lunging forward. I try to sweep her front leg again, but she is ready for my amateur attempt and rushes me, her shoulder in my stomach as she takes me to the ground. I go down hard, and my tender ass protests the violent thud before my head snaps back and hits the mat.
“Jesus fucking Christ. What the fucking hell is going on?”
From my comfy position on the mat, I see Jack climb through the ropes. Fuzzy steps in front of him and warns him not to interfere with the fight. Jack grabs him by the collar and shakes him like he’s a rag doll and not a two-hundred-pound police officer and top MMA coach.
“Get out, Rampage,” Shilla says, standing in front of me. “I’m just playing with her. Fuzzy wanted me to scare her a bit.”
His head snaps in her direction, and he pushes Fuzzy aside. Shilla and Jack are very close friends, so I am shocked when he reaches for her, clearly intending to have her join Fuzzy on the mat.
But wait. Torment is in the ring, and although Shilla is a top-ranked female fighter, Torment is…well…Torment. He is the man, the boss, the king. Once an amateur underground heavyweight champ, Torment turned down offers to go pro but still trains every day. He runs Redemption with a tight fist, and he has a very low tolerance for anyone who breaks the rules.
“Stand down,” he orders.
Chests heave, biceps flex. Testosterone laces the air between them. For a moment I think Jack will back down, but then his fist flies up, and he takes a swing at Torment.
A fighter challenging Torment is a once-in-a-lifetime event. Punch bags slow. Treadmills stop. Weights are racked. Everyone rushes over for the big event. Cora and Homicide Hank help me out of the ring.
Torment lands a ferocious right hand. Jack tags him back. Torment lands a good uppercut in a clinch and then drives forward, looking for a takedown, but Jack evades, only to take an elbow in the face. He lands a big right punch to the head and goes in for another takedown, just as Renegade arrives with Doctor Death.
“Enough.” Renegade, Torment’s oldest friend and once his underground fight promoter, is the only man who can get him to back down. Torment and Jack step away from each other, chests heaving, bodies covered in sweat.
“How are you feeling, Pen?” Doctor Death kneels beside me.
“Fine. It was just a little bump.”
Thump. Thump. Thump. I look up just as Jack yanks Doctor Death to his feet. “Don’t touch her. Where’s Doc?”
Torment’s girlfriend, Makayla, known as Doc at the gym, is the head of first aid at Redemption and is usually around when she’s not working as a paramedic.
“She’s at home,” Torment says, coming up behind him. “She’s three months pregnant, so I don’t approve of her leaving the house.”
Someone in the crowd snorts a laugh. Others join in. Doc is about the only person who is not cowed by Torment’s controlling and dominating personality, and she is not the kind of woman who would let anyone tell her what to do.
“How’s that working out for you?” Shilla says to him.
“I have a few bruises, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” Torment turns his scowl on Jack. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
“Fuck off.” He looks down at me, and a pained expression crosses his face. “I’ll take Pen to the hospital.”
“Seriously? I don’t need to go to the hospital. My head barely touched the mat.”
“You shouldn’t move her until I’ve checked her over,” Doctor Death unhelpfully says with a naughty smirk on his face. “She might have a concussion.”
“A concussion?” Jack spins around. “Shilla! What the fuck?”
The gym stills, chatter quiets, nobody moves. Except for fights, Jack has never once raised his voice in the gym. He has never lost his temper, never pushed anyone or fought anyone except in the ring, or acted like anything other than a Southern gentleman. He has never lost control, and his behavior tonight is shocking, even to me.
“Jack.” Although I’m supposed to use his ring name in the gym, I suspect his real name is the only way to get through. “He’s winding you up. I’m okay. Really. And there’s no one to blame. I chose to step into the ring.”
He squats down beside me and squeezes my hand. “You’re okay?”
“Yes.”
“I’m taking you home.” He helps me up and turns me around, inspecting me for injuries as everyone drifts away now that the drama is done.
“Actually, I have plans tonight with Cora, Blade Saw, and…um…Doctor Death.”
“Cancel them.”
I step back, putting some distance between us. “Why? So I can spend the evening with someone who thinks I’m broken?”
“So you can spend the evening with someone who cares,” he says quietly. “Someone who can’t stand the thought of you being hurt, and lost it when he saw you lying on the mat.” He reaches for me and pulls me close. “Someone who might be lacking in tact.”
“People are going to get ideas,” I murmur into his chest. “Especially if they hear you grovel like that.”
“Good.”
“Good?” I look up and study his face.
“I’m impressed you lasted this long,” she says, circling like a predator around wounded prey. “You’re tougher than you look in your frills and pastels and kitten heels.”
“It’s a disguise,” I say honestly. “Pretty on the outside to hide the ugly on the inside.”
She cocks her head to the side, considering. “We all have a bit of ugly inside.”
“Not as much as me.” I take advantage of her distraction by lunging forward. I try to sweep her front leg again, but she is ready for my amateur attempt and rushes me, her shoulder in my stomach as she takes me to the ground. I go down hard, and my tender ass protests the violent thud before my head snaps back and hits the mat.
“Jesus fucking Christ. What the fucking hell is going on?”
From my comfy position on the mat, I see Jack climb through the ropes. Fuzzy steps in front of him and warns him not to interfere with the fight. Jack grabs him by the collar and shakes him like he’s a rag doll and not a two-hundred-pound police officer and top MMA coach.
“Get out, Rampage,” Shilla says, standing in front of me. “I’m just playing with her. Fuzzy wanted me to scare her a bit.”
His head snaps in her direction, and he pushes Fuzzy aside. Shilla and Jack are very close friends, so I am shocked when he reaches for her, clearly intending to have her join Fuzzy on the mat.
But wait. Torment is in the ring, and although Shilla is a top-ranked female fighter, Torment is…well…Torment. He is the man, the boss, the king. Once an amateur underground heavyweight champ, Torment turned down offers to go pro but still trains every day. He runs Redemption with a tight fist, and he has a very low tolerance for anyone who breaks the rules.
“Stand down,” he orders.
Chests heave, biceps flex. Testosterone laces the air between them. For a moment I think Jack will back down, but then his fist flies up, and he takes a swing at Torment.
A fighter challenging Torment is a once-in-a-lifetime event. Punch bags slow. Treadmills stop. Weights are racked. Everyone rushes over for the big event. Cora and Homicide Hank help me out of the ring.
Torment lands a ferocious right hand. Jack tags him back. Torment lands a good uppercut in a clinch and then drives forward, looking for a takedown, but Jack evades, only to take an elbow in the face. He lands a big right punch to the head and goes in for another takedown, just as Renegade arrives with Doctor Death.
“Enough.” Renegade, Torment’s oldest friend and once his underground fight promoter, is the only man who can get him to back down. Torment and Jack step away from each other, chests heaving, bodies covered in sweat.
“How are you feeling, Pen?” Doctor Death kneels beside me.
“Fine. It was just a little bump.”
Thump. Thump. Thump. I look up just as Jack yanks Doctor Death to his feet. “Don’t touch her. Where’s Doc?”
Torment’s girlfriend, Makayla, known as Doc at the gym, is the head of first aid at Redemption and is usually around when she’s not working as a paramedic.
“She’s at home,” Torment says, coming up behind him. “She’s three months pregnant, so I don’t approve of her leaving the house.”
Someone in the crowd snorts a laugh. Others join in. Doc is about the only person who is not cowed by Torment’s controlling and dominating personality, and she is not the kind of woman who would let anyone tell her what to do.
“How’s that working out for you?” Shilla says to him.
“I have a few bruises, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” Torment turns his scowl on Jack. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
“Fuck off.” He looks down at me, and a pained expression crosses his face. “I’ll take Pen to the hospital.”
“Seriously? I don’t need to go to the hospital. My head barely touched the mat.”
“You shouldn’t move her until I’ve checked her over,” Doctor Death unhelpfully says with a naughty smirk on his face. “She might have a concussion.”
“A concussion?” Jack spins around. “Shilla! What the fuck?”
The gym stills, chatter quiets, nobody moves. Except for fights, Jack has never once raised his voice in the gym. He has never lost his temper, never pushed anyone or fought anyone except in the ring, or acted like anything other than a Southern gentleman. He has never lost control, and his behavior tonight is shocking, even to me.
“Jack.” Although I’m supposed to use his ring name in the gym, I suspect his real name is the only way to get through. “He’s winding you up. I’m okay. Really. And there’s no one to blame. I chose to step into the ring.”
He squats down beside me and squeezes my hand. “You’re okay?”
“Yes.”
“I’m taking you home.” He helps me up and turns me around, inspecting me for injuries as everyone drifts away now that the drama is done.
“Actually, I have plans tonight with Cora, Blade Saw, and…um…Doctor Death.”
“Cancel them.”
I step back, putting some distance between us. “Why? So I can spend the evening with someone who thinks I’m broken?”
“So you can spend the evening with someone who cares,” he says quietly. “Someone who can’t stand the thought of you being hurt, and lost it when he saw you lying on the mat.” He reaches for me and pulls me close. “Someone who might be lacking in tact.”
“People are going to get ideas,” I murmur into his chest. “Especially if they hear you grovel like that.”
“Good.”
“Good?” I look up and study his face.
