by Rose, Ranae
Battered Not Broken
Ranae Rose
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This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are products of the author’s imagination and are in no way real. Any resemblance to real events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Battered Not Broken
Copyright © 2012 Ranae Rose
Cover Design by Ranae Rose
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Dedication
For my favorite sparring partner.
Chapter 1
“No freaking way. I told you I’m not interested in being a ring girl.” Ally pulled her gloves off and let her hands breathe, tossing her head so that a sweat-dampened lock of dark hair was removed from her eye. Her hair never stayed put in a ponytail for more than two minutes, and she’d just finished a five minute round.
“C’mon,” Cameron said, leaning on the ring’s ropes. “Stacey was going to do it, but she’s sick. Fridays are our biggest nights – you know that. Just one night. Please.”
“No.” Ally shot a not-this-again look across the ring at Melissa, her sparring partner.
Melissa raised one gracefully-arched brow and shrugged, as if to say that’s Cameron for you.
“I’ll pay you,” Cameron said, gripping the ropes and peering up at Ally, locking her in eye contact. “Double the normal ring girl rate.”
“Double nothing is still nothing.” Ally shook her head, resolving to pay attention to the background noise instead of Cameron’s pleading. The steady whap whap of bags being hit was almost rhythmic, but not enough to drown out his voice.
“It’s not nothing,” he said indignantly. “It’s generous for a few minutes of easy work. And you get free admission for that night’s fights.”
“I already get free admission into all fights – it’s a membership perk, remember?” Ally narrowed her eyes, hoping her sweaty face and head full of crazy, damp waves would help her to look intimidating instead of just sloppy. “Ask someone else. Put an ad in the paper or something. You’ll probably get responses from some college girls who’d get some sort of thrill out of parading around in a bikini in front of a crowd.” Maybe she was being a little harsh, but she was too short on breath to be anything but blunt.
“College girls are flaky,” Cameron said, frowning, “and too picky. They see this place from the outside and they think it looks like a dump. They never give it a chance. Besides, there’s no time. Friday’s only two days away.” He glanced from side to side, then donned a grin, as if a light bulb had just gone off above his head. “Make you a deal – you help me out and I’ll give you some free one-on-one training sessions. We can start now – I’ll help you get ready for Saturday.”
“Look,” Ally said, climbing out of the ring and settling her bare feet on the cold concrete floor, “the answer is no. Stop hassling me or I’ll find another gym to train at.”
That was an empty threat and Cameron knew it. His gym was near her house – a major plus considering the fact that she didn’t have a car – and she had friends here. Even Cameron wasn’t bad, normally. She admired his business sense and his persistence – just not when he refused to take no for an answer from her.
Luckily, she could be just as stubborn.
Cameron frowned, his lower lip jutting out. “You wouldn’t leave Knockout! You’ve been here for over two years.”
Fighting the snort of laughter that threatened to escape at the sight of his pout was harder than fighting Melissa had been, and that was saying something. There was just something bizarre about seeing a former middleweight boxing champion-turned-MMA-entrepreneur stick out his lip like a disappointed seven year old.
“Fine,” Cameron said. “Fine. What about you, Mel?”
Melissa shook her head, crossing her arms over a perfectly svelte figure that any red-blooded male would’ve loved to see in one of the skimpy bikinis Cameron required his ring girls to wear. “You know I work Friday nights.”
Cameron threw his hands up into the air, raising thick arms that evidenced the time he spent working the bags in his own gym. “Fine. If either of you two know a cute girl who’d like to make a few bucks, give her my number.” He turned on his heel and strode toward his office, shaking his head.
Melissa tossed back her head and laughed. The sound was rich but undeniably feminine, and several heads turned in her direction as the half a dozen or so guys present and training in the gym slowed or stopped altogether to stare.
Melissa acted like she didn’t even notice. “God, he sounded like a creep when he said that, didn’t he?” She stepped down from the ring with her head held high, like a queen descending from her throne.
Ally agreed and indulged in a few moments of laughter that were cut short when she turned around, nearly colliding with someone else.
“Crap.” She breathed an exasperated sigh as she was treated to a point-blank view of a sweaty male chest. “Mel and I are finished with the ring. You could’ve just asked, you know.” He – whoever he was – had sneaked up on her as silently as a cat stalking prey. Or maybe Melissa’s laughter had drowned out the sound of his footsteps. Either way, he clearly didn’t know the meaning of the words personal space.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding at all like he meant it as he remained planted firmly in front of her.
Ally raised her gaze to meet a pair of unfamiliar blue eyes. They were cool, almost icy, but lit with a hint of amusement. A brief glance at the rest of his face revealed a perfectly straight nose and surprisingly full mouth. She ignored those features, refusing to break eye contact as a spark of surprise lit somewhere in her middle. “Are you a member? Because the ring and bags are only for members.”
Every once in a while, some wanna-be MMA fighter would wander into the gym and try to prove his manliness by challenging the guys who trained there. It was weird, but it had happened before. The fact that he was good-looking didn’t mean he wasn’t an idiot.
“Just joined this morning,” he said, surprising her by extending a hand. “Ryan Moore.”
He more or less seized one of her hands and gripped her fingers before she could move. What he did then was more of a squeeze than a handshake.
“Nice to meet you,” she said in a flat voice, taking a little satisfaction in the knowledge that her hands were still hot and sweaty from her gloves. “You can have the ring now. Who’s your sparring partner?”
“That’d be me.”
Ally looked past Ryan Moore’s shoulder to see Daniel Sanchez, a long-time member of the Knockout MMA Gym, abandoning his bag and stepping toward the newcomer. He flashed Ally a devious grin and a wink.
She smiled. “Good luck, Sanchez.” Withdrawing her hand from Ryan’s grip, she stepped aside, taking up a post at Melissa’s side, near one corner of the ring.
“I think you’ve got an admirer,” Melissa said, tipping her head to speak into Ally’s ear as the two men climbed into the ring.
Ally rolled her eyes. “He’s probably one of your fans.” Melissa was built like a supermodel with a weight-lifting hobby. Slender but noticeably toned, her long limbs gave her a height advantage of several inches over Ally and accounted for her incredible reach. Her figure combined with her long ebony curls and smooth cocoa-colored skin made her one of those women who attracted men without even trying, and Ryan Moore wouldn’t be the first gym rat to crush on her.
In comparison, Ally was shorter and definitely curvier, her skin a significantly-lig
hter caramel tone. She and Melissa didn’t look alike, but they thought so alike that they’d become best friends after meeting at Knockout two years ago.
“I don’t know,” Melissa said as the men faced each other in the ring, “he was looking at you like he wanted to eat you up.”
Ally’s stomach did a funny little flip-flop maneuver. Her reply was lost as Sanchez and Moore assumed their positions and an almost tangible air of interest settled over the gym. The whap whap noise of fighters working bags stopped abruptly as every head in the building turned toward the ring.
Everyone wanted to see what the new guy was made of, and Ally was no exception. Not that she expected much. Lots of guys came and went. Some paid the first month’s membership dues, signed the required waiver and then left for good when they got their butts kicked on the first day.
Ryan Moore would probably be one of those guys. He was tall, cut and broad across the shoulders – surprisingly broad – but that didn’t mean he knew how to fight, or even how to tell a hook from a jab. It was amazing how many guys watched a few rounds of MMA fighting on TV and then thought they were ready to take on the world. And then there were the self-proclaimed street-fighting champions who were usually just guys who’d gotten into a few bar fights and were just as bad if not worse.
“Who are you betting on?” Melissa half-whispered in Ally’s ear.
“Are you kidding?” Ally kept her voice low.
Melissa shrugged. “The new guy looks like he’s in pretty good shape, and he’s not standing there flat-footed like most of those guys who walk in here after watching MMA on TV do. He might know what he’s doing.”
Ally hadn’t even looked at his feet – not really. She’d been too busy staring at the flamboyant design that stretched from his shoulders to his hips, an intricate blanket of ink that took up his entire back. It wasn’t the usual obligatory skull or tribal armband tattoo that so many of those sports channel-addicted tough guys had, but it rubbed her the wrong way nonetheless. Maybe because she’d spent too much time staring at it and hadn’t noticed the obvious fact that Melissa had just pointed out. “I guess we’ll see.”
Ryan Moore did know how to move – that much was evident as soon as someone signaled the beginning of the match and he was forced immediately to bob, avoiding a jab that Sanchez aimed at his face. Half a moment later, he shifted to the right and landed a hook against Sanchez’ ear. The muffled sound of impact resounded throughout the unusually quiet gym.
Ally couldn’t help exchanging a glance with Melissa, who looked significantly less surprised than Ally felt.
Damn Ryan Moore’s distracting tattoo. It blurred as he moved, surprisingly light on his feet for someone who had to be six feet tall. The design was a complicated blend of a line of script that spanned his shoulders and scrolling Celtic knots that covered his entire back. It was impossible to tell what the words said from a distance, especially while he was moving. One would have to get close to read the script – almost close enough to touch him.
Oof. Sanchez’ breath rushed out with a startled sound as Moore’s knee hit his stomach and he began to double over. He got ahold of himself quickly and straightened into a fighter’s pose again, his shoulders rounded and his eyes wiser.
Clearly, it wasn’t Moore’s first time in the ring. Sanchez toned down his aggressiveness, taking a more defensive approach and guarding himself against his opponent’s strikes. Soon, he landed a hook that tipped Moore’s head of short-cropped brown hair.
Moore took the punch well and hardly paused before launching into a leg sweep that nearly sent Sanchez to the mat.
Nearly. Sanchez managed to break the clench after a couple tense moments and was back on his toes, his eyes flashing with calculation.
All of the gym regulars knew that Sanchez considered scissor takedowns a specialty of his. Moore had no way of knowing, so maybe that was why he seemed taken by surprise when the other man threw himself into the air, pulling off the move flawlessly.
It was one of the best scissor takedowns Ally had ever seen, even for Sanchez. It floored Moore, shaking the ring with an audible smack as his back hit the mat.
An intense struggle for power ensued and Moore managed to work his way to the top. Sanchez weighed in at one eighty-five. Moore couldn’t have been much heavier, if at all – he was taller, but Sanchez was built like a brick house.
Moore landed a few blows to Sanchez’ ribs and the other man hit back, striking Moore across the jaw once. Then their limbs tangled, discernible only because of differences in skin color – where Sanchez’ was a rich, sienna-like shade, Moore was both lighter and darker, his naturally fairer skin lightly tanned where it wasn’t covered in black ink.
It ended in an armbar, and the victory went to Moore. By that point, the gym was so silent that Sanchez’ tap out echoed throughout the whole open, high-ceilinged room that made up most of the gym.
“Lucky you, Sanchez.” Cameron’s voice rang throughout the gym. “You’ve finally got a sparring partner in your weight class who’ll keep you on your toes.”
Sanchez didn’t look as pleased about his loss as Cameron sounded, but nodded in Moore’s direction anyway as he rose, sweat-slicked from head to toe.
“Good thing we never placed an official bet,” Melissa said under her breath.
“Yeah,” Ally conceded. “Dinner’s on me anyway. We’re having enchiladas tonight. You should come by and have some before you leave for work.”
Ryan Moore’s gaze had inspired her to invite Melissa to dinner. He was staring in their direction like he’d never seen a female before, and the intensity of his gaze sent a prickle of protectiveness down her spine.
It was hard to tell whether he was gaping at both of them or one of them, but either way she wasn’t going to let Melissa walk out of the gym with the new guy staring in their direction like that – not after she’d watched him wipe the floor with Sanchez. Melissa was tough, but she couldn’t have been much more than half his weight. And Ryan Moore might be a gym member, but he was still a stranger.
Melissa flashed Ally a dazzling smile. “Sounds great.”
They headed to the women’s changing room together. As usual, they were its only occupants. The gym only had two other female members, and the grand total of four was the highest it had ever been, according to Cameron. The fighting events he sponsored on weekends had been drawing more and more female competitors though, and he hoped to recruit some of them to train at Knockout.
Ally wiped the perspiration from her face and body with the clean towel she kept in her gym bag. She always sweated like a racehorse – a trait she’d been unfortunate enough to inherit from her father. She hadn’t exactly cooled down while watching Sanchez and Moore spar, either. It had been pretty intense. She attributed the heat flushing her cheeks to Sanchez’ scissor takedown, refusing to consider that Moore’s broad, inked shoulders might have contributed to her internal heat wave.
Clad in jeans, a long-sleeved tee and jacket, she exited the changing room with Melissa at her side. They’d barely made it a few steps before Ally nearly ran into Ryan Moore’s chest for the second time that day.
He’d stepped out from behind a bag, directly into her path. This time, he didn’t seem to have done it on purpose, but she frowned anyway.
He’d apparently hit the bags directly after his sparring match with Sanchez. He was so sweaty that his skin practically seemed to glow, his chest and washboard abs ink-free and rippling. She stared at them for a moment too long, and when she raised her gaze to his face, his blue eyes met hers. “Sorry.”
“It’s not a big deal,” she said, every ounce of commonsense she possessed urging her to get out of his line of sight before her cheeks turned crimson.
“Ally, right?” He kept his gaze trained on her – a considerable feat considering that Melissa was standing right beside her, looking gorgeous as usual.
“Yeah.”
He didn’t try to shake her hand this time, but he didn’t move, either
.
The prolonged eye contact was weird, but Ally couldn’t bring herself to break it. The muffled sound of heavy-hitting on heavier bags created a familiar, almost soothing blend of background noise, and she found herself noticing the striations of color in Ryan Moore’s eyes. They were a spectrum, really, of every shade of blue, from pale icy shades to deep navy, the color of the sea. And there were the thinnest rings of golden-orange around his pupils.
He tipped his head in her direction, looking at her down the straight, almost sharp line of his nose. “Nice to meet you.”
It became impossible to keep her eyes on his as he spoke. Her gaze drifted downward, rebelliously settling on the surprisingly shapely Cupid’s bow curve of his lips. If his sensual mouth hadn’t been balanced by a strong jaw, it might have seemed unmasculine. As it was, the contrast did strange things to the cautious coolness she’d tried to cultivate toward the newcomer. With each movement of his lips, each syllable he spoke, the room’s temperature seemed to rise by a degree.
She’d already met him – more or less – earlier, before his match with Sanchez. So what was there to say? A weird lump formed in her throat and she settled for nodding, as if that meant anything.
After several strangely agonizing moments, she found her voice. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“You will,” he answered without hesitating. “You’ll be here Friday night, right?”
“I was planning to come watch the fights.” She usually showed up to watch the open men’s MMA matches on Friday nights. Cameron organized them and held them right in the gym, pushing the bags back against the walls and setting up chairs instead. It was his dream to run Baltimore’s best amateur MMA circuit – Harbor City MMA Events – and his competitions had been growing steadily in popularity. “I like to be here to cheer on the guys from our gym when I can.”
Most of the gym members competed regularly – some for the admittedly modest cash prizes, others just to challenge themselves.
