He’s right about that. Kalum and his brother Maverick have been my best friends since we were raising hell on the South Side of Chicago. We might not have been part of a gang, but we knew from a young age that to survive on that side of town, you needed a crew. We were our crew.
Just as I had to live my life knowing I was the spawn of lowlife bookie Stan Kelly, Kalum and Mav’s sperm donor was a dealer and a user who died in prison when they were just kids. Hell, I don’t even think Mav was five when their old man died. But the streets are tough on that side of town, and as much as we tried to stay out of the life—the life that would put us in 6’ x 8’ cells—we got pulled in nonetheless.
While my crimes were usually of the disorderly nature, Kalum and Mav had quite the knack for cars. You know the Fast and the Furious franchise? That’s Kalum and Mav in real life. Or at least was. Like me, they got their shit straight in prison, and when they both got out, they opened their own mechanic business.
So, yeah, three fuck-ups from the South Side are now law-abiding business owners. We still can’t believe it some days.
I want to tell Kalum to fuck off. I’m not a big talker, even to my best friend, and I certainly don’t do this feelings shit. But he and Maverick are the only two who know about Abigail, and they won’t judge me.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about Abigail lately.”
He drops his head and clasps his hands together. Abigail might have been my blood, but she was everyone’s little sister. I never had to worry about her if Kalum and Maverick were around. Hell, I think sometimes they were more protective of her than I was. And that’s saying something.
“Why? Is it her birthday? Is it the anniv—”
“No. Nothing like that,” I cut him off. “It’s just . . . the other night, I was on my way home and heard a scream. A woman—a fucking tiny thing—was being attacked in an alley. Fucker had a knife to her throat. I was able to help her. I kicked the knife away and knocked the guy out cold. I made it more than clear that he wasn’t welcome back here, and I don’t think he’ll show his face again. But all I could think of was: did Abigail . . . did she try to call for help? Could I have helped her?”
Kalum pats me on the back and gives me a few minutes of silence. Those might have been the most words I’ve said about my sister’s death since it happened nearly 12 years ago. She was just a fucking kid—she was 14 when she died.
“You know it’s not your fault, right?” Kalum finally breaks the silence. “Your dad’s shitty bets and getting in with the worst kinds of guys is why your sister was killed. You have to let this go, brother. Abigail would beat your ass if she knew you were still blaming yourself.”
I chuckle, which sounds weird coming out of my mouth because I don’t often laugh. Or smile. But he’s right. My sister would’ve at least tried to kick my ass. She might have been seven years younger than me, and I might have towered over her, but she was a feisty thing. God, I missed her.
“I know you’re right. It’s just not that easy. Maybe I’ll let it go. One day. Today’s just not that day.”
“I get it, man.” Kalum hops off the bench and grabs his gloves. “I’ve got an hour before I have to get back to the shop. Want to go a few rounds?”
I’m a fighter. My dad turned me into one when I didn’t have a choice. Though I might have hated him for many things, I did love fighting. But on my terms. It’s part of why I opened this gym. I wanted a place to blow off steam where other fighters didn’t look at me like I was Stan Kelly’s kid. My dad carried a reputation around Chicago’s fighting circles—not a good one considering how many people he’d conned over the years—and even though I don’t live on the South Side anymore, the fighting community is small. To them, I will always be Stan Kelly’s kid.
Lucky fucking me.
Kalum on the other hand? He did it because he knew it was a great workout, and over the years, he realized he needed to be able to hold his own in a fight. He could throw a few punches, and was a decent sparring partner, but I always took it easy on him. He knew it, but we never said that out loud.
“Maybe this time I won’t hold back,” I say as I adjust my gloves to make sure they are tight around my wrists.
Kalum just laughs. “That’s funny. I’m the one who’s been holding back on you. I just didn’t want you to feel bad. You’re known as the fighter in the group. I’m the good-looking one. If I were both, you’d get a complex. I can’t have that.”
7
Annabelle
When Tori suggested signing up for the self-defense class, I was a bit nervous. But the more I thought about what she said, the more I knew I needed it.
I thought I had prepared myself for what I was getting into—going way out of my comfort zone by walking into an MMA gym. I don’t know what I’d been thinking, but this definitely wasn’t what I’d pictured.
When I thought of fighting gyms, for some reason I pictured a dingy warehouse filled with cages and rings. Maybe some guys in the corner jumping rope with an old guy in a gray track suit telling them to keep going.
Fine. I based a lot of what I knew off of Rocky.
The Pit is in an old warehouse, but it isn’t dingy. And I wouldn’t have even known it used to be a warehouse were it not for its sky-high ceilings and open floor plan.
We walk in to find a reception desk to our right, but in front of us is a boxing ring, a cage of some sort, and plenty of mats, bags, and equipment. It’s masculine without feeling overbearing. It feels . . . strong.
Like I want to be.
“May I help you, ladies?” a man sitting behind the desk asks us since we probably look like deer in headlights. The few times I’ve been to a gym, the people working the desk look like they’re dressed to hit the treadmill at any moment. But this guy is wearing a blue button-down shirt and his hair is styled like he’s ready for a date, not a workout.
“We’re interested in the self-defense classes. Thought maybe we’d come and check the place out first,” Tori says. Thank goodness she spoke. This place is a bit overwhelming, but in a good way.
“Great. We’ve wanted to offer these classes for a long time, and are glad we could finally fit them in. I’m Reggie, co-owner of The Pit.
“I’m Tori. This is my friend Annabelle. So, Reggie, tell us why we should come here to learn how to kick some ass.”
This makes Reggie chuckle, and me too. God love this girl for always knowing what I need.
Reggie begins telling us about the gym, the price of the classes, and that we don’t need to be members to take classes. As he begins to walk around the desk, the phone rings, and he excuses himself to answer it.
“This place is huge,” I whisper to Tori. I can’t help but look around. People are scattered across the gym floor. Two guys are climbing into the ring, and a few women are practicing moves in the cage. It’s a lot to take in.
“And I was right about the eye candy. Look who’s in the ring.”
My eyes shift to the ring, and . . . oh my God. It’s him.
What’s he doing here? How did I not notice him?
Mr. Dark and Dangerous is in the ring, sparring with another guy who is also quite easy on the eyes. He’s shirtless, and for the first time, I can see every tattoo covering his arms and chest. I had dreamed of what he’d look like without a shirt, but this—this did my fantasies no justice.
He’s beautiful. Not your classic definition. But as I take in the artwork on his body, the cut of his muscles, and his short brown hair shining with sweat, I can’t take my eyes off him. And his eyes are so dark and intent on his opponent. I’ve never seen anything more mesmerizing in my life.
And the way his body moves when he’s in the ring . . . holy shit, I need new panties.
“I know you have dibs on Mr. Dark and Dangerous, but if you ever get his name, get his friend’s name too.”
“Are you ready for the tour?” Reggie asks, interrupting our ogling.
He shows us around, and the place is just as big as it lo
oked when we walked in. He takes us to the part of the gym that’s sectioned off with just mats on the floor and on the wall, which is where the self-defense class is going to be held. I think he talks about the person who will be instructing it, but I hope there isn’t a quiz, because I can’t stop staring at him.
The closer I get, the more I can’t tear my eyes away. I’ve never watched someone fight before, but seeing it up close, seeing how his muscles react to every movement, it’s hypnotizing.
I don’t even know where we’re walking; I just follow Tori. Apparently we’ve made it back up to the front desk when I feel an elbow in my side.
“Huh? What? What was that for?” I look at Tori, confused.
“Annabelle, Reggie kindly asked if we wanted to sign up, and you didn’t answer.”
“Oh. Right. Yes. Would love to. Let’s sign up. Today.”
Reggie chuckles as he passes Tori and me registration forms that we begin filling out. “I get it. It’s a lot to take in when you’re not used to being around this. I was never a big boxing guy, but this guy right here convinced me to open it with him, and he’s a pretty convincing dude.”
I look up and see him. I know we call him Mr. Dark and Dangerous, and it’s fitting, but sometimes I don’t know if it’s enough. He’s just so much.
“Annabelle, Tori, this here is Jaxson Kelly—somehow one of my best friends and co-owner of The Pit.”
I don’t think I’ve blinked. I definitely haven’t taken a breath.
Jaxson Kelly.
He has a name. And it’s so him. And now he’s in front of me, looking at me like I’ve never been looked at before.
8
Jaxson
Usually when I’m in the ring, I’m completely focused on my opponent, even if I’m just sparring. If you let your focus go, even for just a second, it’s the difference between a win and a loss. Or whether you need to go to the hospital. Hell, sometimes it’s life or death.
Never lose your focus. Nothing matters outside the ropes.
But when I saw her red hair out of the corner of my eye, I couldn’t concentrate. I told Kalum I was done—we had been going at it for about a half hour anyway—but I didn’t want to accidentally take a punch. Kalum would never let me live it down if he got one in on me.
I left the ring, threw on a T-shirt, grabbed a bottle of water, and began to take off my gloves when Reggie waved me over.
Christ, did he have to? He always gets a kick out of introducing me to the new female clients. He says it’s funny to watch them trip over themselves when they see me—his words, not mine—and I usually give them nothing but a grunt and a head nod.
I really don’t want to see her, but that doesn’t stop me from walking over to the reception desk. I’ve been avoiding the coffee shop since the attack. It had been hard to trust myself around her on the best of days. But after seeing her go through something like that? Fuck, it messed with my head.
“Annabelle, Tori, this here is Jaxson Kelly—somehow one of my best friends and co-owner of The Pit.”
I nod and extend my hand. “Nice to meet you, ladies. Did Reggie take good care of you? Or did he screw up his one job?”
Reggie just stares at me like I’m growing a second head. He didn’t expect me to speak actual words—because, well, I usually don’t. I don’t do small talk. So hell, even I’m surprised with myself.
I recognize the friend. She works at the coffee shop too. Normally, she’d be more my speed in terms of looks, but for some reason, next to Annabelle, she’s just another girl.
Annabelle. Even the name screams “innocent!”
“Nah,” Tori said, “Reggie here was great. And now we’re all signed up for the self-defense class.”
“That’s great. Welcome to The Pit. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”
I turn to leave, and I’m sure if I looked back, Reggie’s jaw would be on the ground. Serves the jackass right.
As I head back to the ring to grab my stuff, I almost feel a smile creeping onto to my face. Almost. I don’t think I’ve smiled in more than a decade. I’m glad Annabelle is taking the self-defense class. She held her own that night, but after what she went through, she would have every right to stay hidden and never go out again at night. She’s trying to fight back. That’s fucking badass of her.
I take a seat on the bench, piling my crap into my duffel bag, when out of the corner of my eye, I see a tiny figure walking over to me. I don’t even have to look up to know it’s her.
“Hi . . . um . . . Jaxson?”
I barely have to look up to see her. With me sitting, and her being small as hell, I’m nearly eye level with her.
“Hi. Annabelle, was it?”
“Yeah, that’s me. I . . . you have a really awesome place here.”
“Thanks. It’s not much, but it’s something to call my own. I figure owning a boxing gym is much better than being an actual boxer.”
“Weren’t you boxing earlier?”
I knew she noticed me. I don’t know why I like the thought of that, ‘cause I sure as hell shouldn’t.
“Well, yeah, I do it as a hobby. Don’t want to make a living getting my face bashed in.” I could have added anymore, but luckily, my mouth stopped before I said too much. Probably because I hit my conversation limit.
Awkward silence now sits between us. I don’t think she came over here to shoot the shit with me, or tell me that she likes my gym. But it’s not exactly like I’m used to making small talk—or talking in general—and she’s got her nervous-vibe thing going like she does when I go in to get coffee.
“I . . . I wanted to come over here and say thank you. For the other night.” She pauses and sucks in a breath, like she needed every bit of air to say those last words. “I don’t know how you heard me, or where you came from, but you saved my life that night. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
“You don’t need to repay me. The fact that you’ve come in here, signed up for that class, and are taking steps to make sure you’re prepared is payment enough. And not just because I own this place.”
She gives me a small smile, and I’m pretty sure it’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Well, I want to repay you somehow. Free coffee? I’m sure I could convince my boss to give you free coffee.”
I chuckle. Who am I? I don’t chuckle.
“Honestly, that’s all right. But I do have one request.”
I pick up my bag and signal her to follow me to a bench beneath my office.
“Wait here. I’ll be right down.”
I could have invited her to follow me up, but that would have just been creepy. Yeah, I might check her out when I go get coffee, and I might have saved her from a fucking psycho, but I’ve just learned her name, and I don’t want to scare her.
Annabelle.
She’s gorgeous, but I have a feeling she doesn’t know it. When she thanked me, those green eyes just about did me in. They were so clear and honest. I couldn’t look away. And those freckles sprinkled around her pale skin? Fucking adorable.
She’s probably that girl who’s had the same boyfriend since the 10th grade and they got perfect grades together. That is, of course, after they were done leading a church group.
Innocent. That’s what she is. And she’ll stay that way. At least on my part. No one that pure should ever get caught up with the likes of me—a former illegal fighter, ex-con, motorcycle-riding asshole.
I might not be able to have her, but I can still protect her.
I come back down the stairs and hand her the business card I grabbed from my office.
“What’s this?” She looks at the card like I gave her a rock.
“You told me you want to pay me back. Here’s how. Make me a promise. Promise me you’ll never again walk down that alley alone at night. If you’re closing alone? You call me. I will come and get you and make sure you get home safe. Deal?”
She stares at it a few more seconds before looking up
and smiling at me. God, that smile could end wars.
“Thank you, Jaxson. I promise.”
9
Annabelle
When I was about six or seven years old, I remember asking my mom about a rainbow. We were at a park in town, it had just rained, and the biggest, brightest rainbow appeared. My mom grabbed her paint supplies and we raced to the park so she could paint the skyline before it disappeared.
“Mommy? What are rainbows?”
I had seen them before, but had never really understood them.
“Rainbows are God’s way of telling us that something beautiful can come from even the most horrible storm.”
I don’t know why that memory has always stuck with me, but it’s one of my favorites of my mom and me. Every time I see one, I always stop, look up, and smile. I know that she’s not responsible for every rainbow I see, but it always makes me feel closer to her.
The weeks after the attack weren’t the big rainbow I saw in the park all those years ago, but they were definitely the bright side of a storm.
The self-defense class at The Pit is awesome. The class is based on Krav Maga, which I had never heard of until I started the course. Apparently, it was developed by the Israeli army back in the 1940s. And it’s all about using reflexive responses to threatening situations.
Not only do I feel like I’m prepared if anything ever happens to me again, but I feel strong in my mind and my body.
And it feels fucking awesome.
I’ve started going a few times a week. Tori only goes once a week, but I’m fine going by myself now, which shocked me the first time I did it. Plus there are a lot of great people in the class.
Tori was right—I stepped out of my comfort zone and it was worth it.
Getting to be near Jaxson a few more times a week is an added bonus. He doesn’t teach the class, but just knowing I’m in his gym does something to me.
Say You're Mine Page 3
