by Amity Cross
Obviously, I’d won the bike, and whatever the guy’s ‘problem’ was, it was no business of mine. The motorcycle was slick as.
Grabbing my jacket from the seat, I shrugged it on and reached for my helmet. When I’d told Callie I had a commitment I needed keep, I wasn’t lying. I hadn’t lied to her at all if I wanted to get technical about it, but I hadn’t exactly been the life of the party she’d been expecting. It was written all over her face. She’d climbed onto that tram fighting back tears.
I’d disappointed her.
Still, I fell back on the same reasoning I’d been beating myself with since the fire. I didn’t want to mess up the good thing she had going with her shop. If it got out she’d been saved by me, her life would be turned upside down by association.
Keep telling yourself that, Storm.
Kicking the motorcycle to life, I pulled out onto the street and waited for the garage door to roll back into place. Once it dropped, I roared down the street, the engine I’d spent hours tinkering with echoing loudly. Boys with their loud-ass toys? It was all about flaunting the size of your cock.
When I arrived at the warehouse in Abbotsford, I parked near the entrance and strode inside. Time to honor my commitments.
Nothing ever changed at The Underground. Faces came and went from time to time for whatever reason—retirement or a cosmetic rearrangement in the cage—but the atmosphere didn’t alter. People drank, gambled, fought, and fucked to their heart’s content. Their reasons, like mine, were their own.
Pushing out into the fighter-only area, I went into the men’s change room to dump my stuff.
“Guess I don’t have a fight tonight, after all,” I heard Hamish say behind me. “We all know Storm’s goin’ to withdraw.”
Turning, I scanned the lineup sheet pinned on the wall of the men’s change rooms. I’d been paired with Goblin again. It was an omen.
“Don’t let your hate get the best of you, ginger,” I said, curling my lip.
Walking away, I opened my locker and threw my jacket and keys inside.
“What, you’re not forfeitin’ tonight?” Hamish called out after me.
Ignoring him, I undid all the buttons on my shirt, shrugged it off, and flung it into my locker, as well.
“I’m talkin’ to you, Storm.”
“Yeah, well I’m not replying.”
He slammed his palm down on the locker next to mine.
Rolling my eyes, I said, “You’ve always wanted to beat my ass, Ginger, so here’s your chance. Make your girl proud.”
“You don’t make things easy for yourself, you know that?”
“Isn’t that what you want?” I retorted. “Don’t let my smart ass bother you.” My prickly exterior did wonders keeping people like him away…and stunning women like Callie. One was a welcome relief and the other not so much.
Dropping my jeans, I changed into my shorts, not bothering to glance up when Hamish finally stalked off. Our bout was the second of the night, and we would be called up soon.
Wrapping my hands, I found myself thinking about Callie instead of mentally preparing myself to face off with Goblin. What was the point? I already knew the ending to our story before it began. If I pursued her, I would wind up breaking her heart just like I’d broken Lori’s. I didn’t deserve kindness, and I especially didn’t deserve to be loved by a woman like Callie Winslow.
She couldn’t want me like that anyway. The fire had brought us together in an unexplainable moment, but that was it. Beyond that, we were doomed. Callie would go on with her shop and become a raging success while I stagnated in the prison of my own making.
“Storm. Goblin. You’re up.”
Flexing my fingers, I ignored all the eyes plastered on my back and followed the referee out into the warehouse. In the cage, we were being announced to the crowd, and no fucking surprises when I received nothing but boos as I walked through the gate to toe my line.
“Can you feel the love, Storm?” Hamish smirked and rolled his head from side to side.
Remaining silent, I raised my fists, ready to get this shitshow started, and when the referee lowered his arm between us, I launched myself at Goblin. My fist collided with the side of his jaw, and he blinked, shocked I’d managed to hit him so early in the game.
He recovered quickly, bringing his knee up into my stomach. The blow caused me to double over, and some of the air was forced out of my lungs. I wheezed, dodging to the side as his fist flew up from below. His knuckles grazed my cheek, and I rammed my shoulder into his ribs, forcing his ginger ass back into the cage.
We collided with a bang, the entire structure rattling, and the crowd booed and hissed. Hamish slammed his elbows down onto my shoulders, then punched at my head, trying to break free. Loosening my right arm, I rammed my fist into his stomach.
Then his elbow collided with the side of my face, the bone jamming into my eye, and I slackened. It was the chance Hamish was hoping for. He slipped free of my grapple and was on me in a flash.
I saw his fist coming, and I knew the right move to block—putting my forearms in the line of fire to protect my face—but I didn’t raise my arms. I took the hit to the side of my head, his knuckles grazing the corner of my eye socket, and I stumbled.
The crowd cheered and rattled the cage as I recovered, but I knew their cries weren’t for me. I was the villain in this story, and Goblin was the righteous hero.
As I twisted to the side to avoid another punch, I felt blood trickling down my face from an open cut in my eyebrow. My head swam, and I fought to hold my balance as Goblin kicked. His foot hooked through the middle of my legs, and before I knew it, I was landing on my side, my shoulder jarring painfully on the concrete. Luckily, it didn’t pop out of the joint. Otherwise, I would be down for six weeks with no cash flow.
Too stunned to move out of the way, I took another fist to the head as Goblin tried to knock me out, but like the stubborn asshole I was, I held on.
“Tap, Storm,” he was saying. “Stop trying to be the hero, and just admit it. You’re done.”
“What if I don’t want to?” I tasted blood on my tongue.
“You got a death wish?” He hit me again.
Maybe I did.
He raised his fist and hesitated. I didn’t move. I didn’t do anything. That was when the referee stepped in, dragging Hamish off me and declaring him the winner.
I didn’t hear the crowd cheering, I didn’t hear the boos directed my way, I didn’t even register when the cage door opened and someone pulled me to my feet, and I definitely didn’t register the light shining into my eyes. My pupils were reactive, I wasn’t brain dead, but I felt like I deserved it.
Shaking off the unfamiliar hands, I strode from the cage, my head spinning. People parted to let me through as I swiped at the blood pouring from my face. Out back, I stumbled, and my shoulder hit the wall.
Breathing deeply, my ears rang as the effect of the beating I’d just taken began to take hold. If I didn’t pass out, I was going to puke. Blood was all over my hands and was dripping onto my chest. Watching a couple of drops splatter on the polished concrete under my feet, I didn’t hear the door open behind me even though beyond it, The Underground was blasting with noise.
“Hey!”
Someone grabbed my shoulder and turned me around. Hamish.
“Come back for more?” I drawled.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked, his stupid Irish face hardly had a scratch on it. “You didn’t even try.”
“You want to know why I never fight you, ginger?” I said, snarling.
His lip curled. “This oughta be good.”
“Because I made a promise to Lori,” I declared, the vein in my forehead twitching.
Hamish’s expression darkened, and he shoved me back against the wall. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”
“A year ago, when you were too busy pushing her away, I went and saw her.”
The fighter’s eyes narrowed. He was an inch a
way from punching my face in for the second time that night. This time, all it would take was a little slap around the mouth, and he would drop me like a stone.
“What we talked about is none of your fucking business,” I went on. “But I promised her I would leave her alone, and she would never have to see me again. Letting you fight me? It would pull me back into her world. I may be a total dick, but there was no way I was going to hurt her again.”
“Then why did you just fight me, Storm?” he said with a snarl.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I could do with a little punishment. Like hell, I was telling him that.
“You never deserved her,” he said, his eyes darkening.
“Yeah, but the way you’re acting right now? She doesn’t deserve that, either. I can only hope you cut the crap when you go home to her.”
“You don’t know anythin’ about us, Storm, so shut your mouth.”
“You’re right,” I said to the Irishman. “I don’t know.”
Hamish blanched and leaned back slightly. That was the last thing he’d expected to come out of my mouth, but I was so done with keeping my mouth shut. Being the local punching bag had worn so thin it was translucent.
“I’ve kept my head down,” I went on, anger rising thick and fast. “I’ve pushed everyone away. I punish myself for my stupid-ass mistakes every fucking day. I can’t go pro. I can’t get a real fucking job, and my name means shit… Hell, I just let you fight me so you could finally shut the fuck up about how much of a twat I was to your girlfriend. What else do you want from me, Goblin? What the fuck else do you want?”
He stared at me, his expression changing so fast I wasn’t sure he knew what he wanted, either.
Finally, he said, “Get the fuck out of my face.” Stepping away, he strode down the hall and disappeared into the change room, leaving me leaning against the wall.
Wiping the back of my hand against the cut over my eyebrow, I didn’t even hiss when it stung. Glancing at the blood on my hand, I thought about Callie and her green eyes.
I shouldn’t have gone tonight. I could never live up to the hero she believed I was. Not when my past kept punching me the face.
My stomach rolled, and I barged into the change room. Ignoring the hushed whispers, I locked myself into a stall and immediately threw up.
It was nice to meet you. I’ll see you around.
9
Callie
Slamming the front door closed, I stomped into the kitchen and dumped my handbag onto the table.
“Uh-oh,” Macy said, leaning against the counter. “I don’t like the look on your face.”
“What are you doing home so early?” I asked. “I thought you were going to be out late.”
“Change of plans,” she replied, looking me over. “Everybody bailed at nine. Pussies.” She rolled her eyes. “For a bunch of highly strung accountants, you think they’d get blind drunk on a Friday after work, but no… They’re all in bed by nine thirty.”
“I always believed work drinks were a bad idea,” I retorted. “There are some people in this world you should never see drunk. Your boss is one of them.”
“You have a point.” She laughed and shook her head.
My mood had only soured the closer the tram had carried me home. I’d thought over every little detail from my night with Mark and couldn’t find the point where it had gone so wrong. His default response to most of my questions had been nothing special. Had it been doomed from the start?
“You look like you need a drink,” Macy said as I sat in the closest chair before I fell on my ass. “I’m making you a cocktail.”
“I’ve already had, like, three gin and tonics,” I said, slouching against the table and resting my head on my arms.
“I could do with one anyway, and you can just sip it if you want.”
Tinkering around in the kitchen, she opened and closed cupboards, gathering ingredients. Retrieving some ice from the freezer, she dumped it into the blender and slapped her hand against the lid. Then she twisted the dial, and the little room was filled with the loud and obnoxious sound of ice being crushed. I watched the little appliance struggle with the cubes, but as they broke down, it began to whirr happily.
“Now,” Macy said as she turned the blender off and began mixing something bright red. “Tell me about the guy. Did he show?”
“It was awkward as hell,” I said with a moan. “I felt like a stop on the way to somewhere more important.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Macy said, handing me a glass. “The guy pulled you out of a burning building.”
“And I bullied him into contacting me.”
“To be fair, you didn’t expect your post to go viral the way it did.”
I sipped at the drink, which was some fruity concoction with a heavy tang of vodka. When I posted that message, I wasn’t exactly in a coherent state of mind. I’d just woken from a bad dream, my head was all mixed up, and I had to get it off my chest. In hindsight, maybe I should’ve set the privacy to private and deleted it in the morning, but then I wouldn’t have found him at all.
“He was so evasive, Mace,” I said, staring at my drink. “He was half an hour late, and when I asked him about it, he said he almost didn’t come at all.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Okay, it is starting to sound a little jerky.”
“But when I got annoyed and went to leave, he practically pleaded for me to stay. I don’t get it.”
Macy sucked in a breath and gave me a look. “Sounds like the boy has problems.”
I frowned. Maybe he did, and I was a speed bump on the way to smoother waters. I wasn’t arrogant enough to think I was the calm in the eye of the storm he’d been looking for. That was a scene out of a movie, not real life.
“His name is Mark… He is so good looking,” I went on. “Muscled, rugged, an ass to die for… When he pulled me out of that fire, I felt something, and it had nothing to do with his cock. Maybe I was dreaming, but I thought he’d felt it too, but looking at him tonight…” I trailed off, not wanting to say the words aloud. If I said them, then they would be real, and I would still be as lonely as I’d always been. Then I would throw myself into the repairs to the shop so I didn’t have time to think about how awful my heart felt beating just for itself.
Macy snorted, and I glanced up at her. “Callie, one day, you’re going to see what everyone else does, and what a glorious day that’ll be.”
“See what?” I stared at her, wondering if it was the alcohol talking.
“You’re really beautiful, you know. In your own way.”
“Is that code for something?” I asked with a scowl.
“No, it means exactly that. There’s only one Callie, and she’s pretty hot.”
“I’m fat.”
“No, you’re not!” Macy exclaimed. “You’re normal. There’s nothing wrong with that. Besides, you have skin to die for, Callie Winslow. You’re like a fucking porcelain doll, you bitch.” She grinned and lifted her glass. “The grass is always greener, right?”
Rolling my eyes, I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face. “Right.” I clinked my glass against hers, and we drank.
“So how did it end?”
“As awkwardly as it began,” I replied. “I asked him if he wanted to go out again, and he hesitated. He said he had somewhere else to be. Who has somewhere else to be at ten p.m. on a Friday night that doesn’t involve a prettier woman?”
“Callie,” Macy scolded.
“I know, I know,” I said, waving a hand at her. “Almost burned alive on Tuesday, only to have my heart snapped on Friday.”
“It doesn’t mean he was going to see someone else,” Macy countered. “Do you want to see him again? Did you get the vibe he might be interested?”
“I’m so confused.” I thumped my forehead onto the tabletop. “Everything’s chaotic, and I can’t handle it. I don’t want a broken heart on top of my burned-out shop.”
“If you want to see him
again, just ask.” She said it like it was the easiest thing in the world.
I slapped my hands over my face and moaned dramatically. “What if he says no?”
“Then he says no. But he might say yes, too. Agonizing over it won’t help, so it’s better to put it out there than stew over it.”
“You’re so wise.”
“You’re so drunk,” she said with a giggle. “Completely blotto.”
“Uh, I need to pee really bad,” I said, starting to laugh.
“Then go pee, and get yourself into bed, girl.” I didn’t move, my smile fading, and she added, “Don’t worry about Mark tonight. Things will look clearer in the morning.”
“Do you think so?”
“I know so.”
Dragging myself into the bathroom, I hoped she was right.
I was too chicken to send Mark a message after that. When Monday dawned and reality knocked, I pushed the awkward encounter to the back of my mind and rode the tram to the city.
Standing in the charred shell of The Fitzroy Cake Company, I listened to the contractor the insurance company had sent me to meet as he went over the game plan for the repairs. He’d given me his card and introduced himself as Ray Easton. Fifteen years in the business, impeccable safety record, and completely certified and vetted by my insurer.
“When can you start?” I asked. “I’m keen to let my customers know when they can expect the shop to open to the public.”
“We’re still waiting on the verdict on the wiring, but I don’t think it’ll take longer than a day or two. Once that’s cleared, I can get my guys in straight away.”
“Sounds great.” I glanced at the kitchen, my gaze not quite reaching the storeroom.
“Don’t worry,” he added. “We’ll have this place looking a million bucks in no time. You won’t even know any of this was here once my guys are done with it. You’re getting the full treatment.”
“Thank you, Mr. Easton.”
“Oh, please call me Ray.” He held out his hand.
“Ray.” I smiled and shook his hand before he gathered up his giant planner that was dog-eared, tired, and full of loose papers and Post-it notes.
