Jack had a mischievous grin on his face as Travis answered, “Well, sugar, you could lose the fight. You could throw up, cramp up. Who knows?”
Slade looked at Jack, then Chrissy. “Oh, no. Please don’t say it. Don’t tell me. You ate right before coming here, didn’t you? Fuck, Chrissy, did you bring him a burger with fries or something? Please don’t tell me you gave him soda.”
“No! What? No.” She was flustered—and not a little surprised that her brother was so oblivious that he would think that she’d bring Jack the wrong kind of food instead of having almost-sex with him. But it was probably for the best, she figured.
“Hey, I want her to sit with the guys, okay?” Jack told Slade.
“Yeah, good idea,” Slade replied. “She’s likely to get herself in trouble if we let her loose. I’ll show her where when we walk out.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“I’m standing right here,” Chrissy pointed out sulkily.
“I can watch her.” Travis waggled his eyebrows.
Both Slade and Jack yelled, “No!” at the same time. Cain smiled, which caught Chrissy off guard. The guy had a beautiful smile; he should smile more often, she thought. Travis held out his hands in surrender.
She heard the emcee call “Jack the Ripper” as they made their way out of the locker room area. She snorted. “And you thought Jack Daniels was silly?” she teased him.
He rolled his eyes. “You don’t learn your lesson easily, do you?”
“I’m trying to rile you up so you’re ready to fight.”
“You’re doing a great job.”
Chrissy followed close behind him as he started making his way to the center of the auditorium. Travis, Slade, and Cain followed. When he was close to the cage he heard her mumble, “Who’d have thought I’d love cage sex this much?”
He leaned toward her and whispered into her ear, “Babe, we haven’t even had sex yet. That was foreplay. When we finally have sex, it’ll be on my bed first, then my table, on the floor, and yes, if you want to, against every wall of my house. And trust me, you won’t care if the entire neighborhood hears you scream my name.” He kissed her cheek and nodded to Slade, who took her hand and led her to a row of seats a few feet away from the cage. Jack stepped up to the cage, with Cain following closely behind. They walked up to the referee. She sat down, still shuddering at his words—those sexy dirty words—that had come from his lips. Even that innocent peck on the cheek had made her knees weak and her mind fuzzy.
The rounded chain-link steel cage, raised as if it were an altar, looked menacing. The referee checked Jack’s wrapped hands and gave him the okay; then Slade helped Jack put on his gloves, patted him down, and whispered a few things to him. Finally Jack walked through the chain-link door of the cage, which locked behind him with a loud bang that echoed throughout the auditorium.
Oh, my!
She had been so heady with the storage room romp and the last words Jack had said to her that she hadn’t noticed the huge man in black shorts already standing inside. The man, who Chrissy quickly learned from the crowd’s cheers was named Marcus, jumped up and down while moving his neck side to side. The referee called the fighters to the center of the ring. Both men stalked forward, their eyes locked in a death stare, their chests moving in and out in shallow breaths. Marcus’s blue mouthpiece showed through his snarl, and Jack’s nostrils flared. The two-second stare-down made the men look like savages, and Chrissy couldn’t help but shiver. Then the referee said, “Fight,” and the two men touched gloves and backed away. The fight had begun.
Slade, Cain, and Travis stood close to the ring, in what Chrissy assumed was Jack’s corner. Slade seemed to be in charge, because he was yelling things to Jack. The two men circled each other, neither throwing a punch. It looked like a dance. One would extend his arm as if measuring the length of the throw, then pull back. The other would do the same. All the while they circled the ring, their eyes connected to each other’s. The crowd cheered. Chrissy’s leg bounced up and down, and she was chewing on a fingernail. After what seemed like an eternity but was really only about thirty seconds, Jack’s opponent threw a punch with his right hand. Jack quickly leaned back, ducked down, and threw an uppercut, which landed on his opponent’s ribs. Chrissy knew it had landed perfectly by the cheer of the crowd and the pain in Marcus’s face. But the man recovered quickly, and apparently the punch had angered him because he threw another punch, this time with his right hand, and it connected with Jack’s eye. Chrissy gasped and stood up. The crowd went crazy, and Slade yelled into the cage. In the split second it took Jack to recover from the blow, Marcus charged at Jack, but Jack quickly lifted up his knee, which hit the man in the face. The man fell back, and blood spurted everywhere. Chrissy recoiled in alarm. The referee went to Marcus, who was lying on the floor. Travis, Cain, and Slade were talking among themselves, and then Slade yelled something to Jack, who nodded even though he wasn’t looking at Slade. Marcus got up, his nose bleeding, and the referee stepped aside so that the bout could continue. The moment the referee moved, Jack landed a punch to Marcus’s face and the bell rang.
Just five minutes, and there was blood everywhere. Five minutes was the length of the rounds, and there were three of them. Chrissy felt nauseous. When the men retreated to their respective corners, Slade and Cain went into the cage to tend to Jack. Chrissy ran up to the cage and held on to the fence as she spoke.
“Can I go in? He needs a doctor,” she yelled to her brother.
“This isn’t an ER, Chris. We got this,” Slade said brusquely.
“But—”
“We only have one minute, damn it. Go sit down. Now,” Jack said without looking back at her. She jolted at his tone. His voice, the blood, the violence—the whole thing was bringing back memories she had spent years avoiding. She stepped down but didn’t immediately go back to her seat, instead trying to see what was happening.
Cain applied something to Jack’s face that she deduced was petroleum jelly from the shine and texture. He then pressed an enswell under his eye. The cold metal instrument would help the swelling. It wasn’t the best first aid she’d seen, but it wasn’t bad. Meanwhile, Slade continued to give instructions to Jack while squeezing his biceps and shoulders. The two men left the cage a second before the bell rang again.
Jack was on his toes, seemingly faster and definitely angrier. The same was true for Marcus. It was as if the first round had been a test round, because there was a new resolve on both men’s faces. This time it was Jack who threw the first punch. He missed. It was back and forth for about a minute, neither man landing a punch. Finally Marcus charged Jack. It looked like a rhino charging another rhino. This time Jack hesitated and wasn’t able to connect his knee to Marcus’s face, so Marcus got his arms wrapped around Jack’s body. Marcus lifted Jack in an attempt to throw him to the floor, but with the sweat and blood coating the mat, Marcus’s foot slipped and he fell to one knee, losing his balance. Jack, who seemed to be getting crushed by Marcus’s tight squeeze around his torso, took the opportunity to push back and untangle himself from Marcus, then landed an elbow in the other fighter’s face. Marcus went down flat on his back, and Jack used the walls of the cage as leverage to pin Marcus down and swing his fists left, right, left, right onto Marcus’s gut and face. The crowd roared. Chrissy’s heart raced. Marcus tried to shield his face with his hands, but most of the hits landed and it was a mess of blood and sweat. Jack looked feral; Chrissy had never seen him look more intimidating. The men in Marcus’s corner yelled for him to get up, but as Jack continued to pummel his opponent, the crowd became louder and electric. Then the referee dove in between the two fighters, using his own body as a shield, to stop the fight.
Travis, Cain, and Slade cheered, and Jack pumped his fists up in the air. His eye was swollen, and blood stained his body. Chrissy wasn’t sure whose blood it was, Marcus’s or his own. Marcus remained on the floor as the ringside paramedics examined him. When he finally stood, the man
looked deformed. Both eyes were swollen shut, he had cuts and swelling all over his face, and he held an arm around his waist—probably a broken rib, Chrissy thought. When the referee took both men’s wrists and lifted Jack’s arm, indicating a victory by technical knockout, the crowd went crazy, and so did Jack and his small entourage.
Chrissy’s hands shook. The fierce intensity of the fight, coupled with the exuberance Jack displayed, terrified her. She found the chair she was supposed to be sitting in, and collapsed into it, her body and mind unable to process the totality of the event. She had spent years trying to put Brian and the time of abuse out of her mind, and in less than ten minutes it had all resurfaced. She felt physically ill. Jack had won, but she didn’t care.
By the time she looked up, the rest of the guys had left, Cain had wiped off most of the blood on Jack’s face, and Jack had slipped into a black T-shirt with the name of the Academy emblazed on it. He hopped down from the ring, and as soon as his feet hit the floor, he rushed to Chrissy, grabbed her by the waist, and swung her around. She could tell he was pumped full of adrenaline.
“You did great, Jack.”
“Why do you look like someone killed your puppy?” he asked as they walked hand in hand to the locker room so he could shower and change.
“Sorry, it was a little nerve-racking. The cage, the fighting, the blood … the whole thing. Not only are you the town hero because you’re a cop, but you proved tonight you had the biggest dick in Tarpon Springs by beating the shit out of that guy. Good job.” She couldn’t help the sarcasm; it just slipped out. But Jack, still revved up, seemed oblivious.
Seeing him so violent scared her. She’d never thought Brian would hurt her, and yet he’d beaten her to the point of unconsciousness. Clearly she was a terrible judge of character. She wanted to trust Jack, but, seeing him fight had been a mistake. She didn’t want to rain on his parade, though, so she mustered up the biggest, fakest smile she could manage and said, “Go, take a shower. Then we’ll go celebrate.”
As they drove to the Pier, Jack took call after call from his friends congratulating him. She could tell he was over the moon. But her mind kept wandering to how violent that fight had been and how much he’d seemed to enjoy it.
When they got out of his car, she tried to examine his swollen eye, but he just shooed away her concern and then led her inside the bar. He ordered a pitcher of beer and was quickly engulfed by half the town, greeting him with questions and congratulations.
About an hour later, Slade strolled in to join the gathering. Shortly afterward, Jack’s phone rang, and he excused himself to take the call outside. While he was gone, the bartender, a pretty girl Chrissy’s age with short spiked hair that had red and purple streaks, walked over to take Slade’s drink order. But before Chrissy or Slade could say a word, the girl cocked her head and gazed at Chrissy.
“Is that you, Chrissy Martin?”
“Oh, my! Jamie Lynn?”
“Yes. Wow. It’s been ages. I think I haven’t seen you since high school graduation. I heard you were in town.”
“Word really spreads quickly here, doesn’t it?”
“It sure does.”
“What a small world. I saw your brother Travis just a little while ago.”
“I’m guessing at the fight,” she stated, and Chrissy nodded. “Hey, Slade. How you doing, sugar?” Jamie Lynn said.
“I’m doing good, JL. Hey, cool tat.” He pointed to an intricate tattoo on her forearm.
“Thanks, Slay. Whatcha drinking?”
“Just water.”
Chrissy looked at him questioningly, but Jamie Lynn said simply, “Sure thing, sugar.” As she worked behind the bar she said to Chrissy, “So, how long you in town for?”
“Just a few days,” Chrissy answered.
“You’ll probably see Travis around. He’s working down the street at the diner for a few weeks.”
“Oh, cool. I was just there a few days ago.”
“You should stop by and say hello to him. I’m sure he’d love to see you again.” She leaned closer to her and whispered, “You know, he always did have a crush on you.”
“Oh … well, that’s flattering. But I won’t be around much longer.”
“Come on, you can certainly take a minute to say hello. That’s innocent enough, right?”
“Uh … yeah. I guess so.”
“Travis is a good guy, but he’s not your type,” Slade interjected as he looked at his watch. He seemed a little tense, which was very unlike him.
Jack walked back in. “That was the chief. It looks like we may be able to get your charges dropped if your girlfriend will testify as to what transpired. Apparently this isn’t Dennis’s first run-in with the law. The chief is tired of covering for him, even if he is the mayor’s nephew,” Jack said, taking a big swig of beer.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. Thanks, Jack.” Chrissy gave him a smile.
Slade, however, didn’t look as confident or as happy.
“What’s your problem?” Jack asked.
“They’re back together.” When Jack and Chrissy looked confused, he added, “Dennis and Jessica—they’re back together. I don’t know if she’ll come forward and help me out.”
“Fuck,” Jack and Chrissy both drawled at the same time.
“I’ll talk to her later today,” Slade said. He looked at his watch again, and she could have sworn he gave Jack a significant look. She shook her head; perhaps she’d imagined it. “Actually, maybe I’ll leave now to go find her,” he said.
“Okay. See you tomorrow, or if not, then at your fight. I’m so worried and I’m not condoning it, but I’ll be there,” Chrissy said as she waved goodbye. Slade nodded, glanced at Jack again, and then left. Lost in her own thoughts, Chrissy moved the food around her plate, unable to eat. She listened to the conversation between Jack and some of the other patrons at the bar. “Good left hook … that knee to his midsection was great … broken nose … awesome liver shot …” They went on and on, detailing all the intricacies of the fight. She couldn’t fathom how they could talk about it for so long or so casually.
The car ride back to Jack’s after dinner was relatively quiet. “How’s your wound? Did you get hurt anywhere else?” Chrissy asked.
“I feel great, baby.” He reached for her hand and squeezed. The entire drive back, he caressed the top of her hand with his thumb.
Still feeling uncomfortable about the fight, Chrissy thought she would go to Slade’s instead of Jack’s, but he was so happy, she just couldn’t bring herself to do that to him. She knew it would cause an argument, and she didn’t want to bring him down, nor did she have the energy to argue.
Before the front door had fully closed, Jack already had Chrissy in his arms and was heading toward his bedroom. Drogo must have heard them walk in, because he lazily got up, stretched, yawned, and followed them upstairs.
“No, stay,” Jack snapped at Drogo, but the pup ignored his command and kept walking. Chrissy pointed down at Drogo and repeated exactly the same thing Jack had just said, and he stayed. “Traitor,” Jack whispered, but he soon lost interest in the dog and turned all his attention to Chrissy.
“I finally have you all night and day,” he told her, waggling his eyebrows.
“You don’t work tomorrow?”
“Nope. I have you all day tomorrow. And I also have a bed instead of a wall. Looks like all the stars are finally aligning for us.”
“And your eye? It looks a little better. Does it hurt?” She reached up to touch it.
“I feel completely fine, Chrissy. Stop worrying.”
She smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her mind was all over the place. It didn’t seem like Jack wanted a one-night thing. In truth, she had realized that it had stopped being just about sexual desire a while ago. They had history and a connection that went beyond sex, yet she couldn’t help but think that they were doomed to fail. The problem was that after seeing him tonight, a small part o
f her was afraid of him—physically afraid of him. It wasn’t the dominating sexual way he spoke to her; she actually really liked that. It was the fighting. She just couldn’t seem to get past that, and she couldn’t help comparing him to Brian. But then he kissed her hungrily, and that sent her mind spinning.
Last night he’d given her the pleasure she needed. He’d helped her forget her past, even if only for the night. Today she would give him what he needed. Her affection. Her body. Help him celebrate his victory. Jack had no idea of all the turmoil going on in her mind at the moment, nor did she want to hurt him by telling him. She closed her eyes and let his magical hands consume her and help her forget. Tomorrow? Tomorrow she would face her fears.
“I lied to you,” he said. His kiss was deep and intense.
“About?” she managed to respond.
“I wanted our first time to be beautiful and meaningful. I wanted to make love to you slowly. But I can’t wait, Chrissy. It feels like it’s been years in the making and I have to be inside you right now.” In less than a minute he was naked. And wow, what a gloriously beautiful man he was. She realized at that moment that turning off the side of her brain that controlled rational thinking and turning on the part that just allowed her to feel was the right decision. Because feeling was good. Very good.
“You’re beautiful.” It slipped from her mouth—probably because of the Off button on the rational side of her brain. She hadn’t meant to say it. Her eyes trailed from his thick neck down his massive chest to his huge and growing erection.
He threw his head back and laughed. “You look like a kid in a candy shop.”
She licked her lips and giggled. He lunged toward her and lifted her to her feet. He was so strong, and he handled her like a rag doll, positioning her how he wanted. She happily obliged. Jack pulled her shirt over her head, undid her bra, and threw it on the mounting pile of clothes on the floor. He unzipped her skirt, and in a flash it was pooled at her ankles. He slid her glasses off her face and carefully placed them on the dresser. He picked her up effortlessly and moved her aside so that the skirt was no longer at her feet. She had to stifle a laugh. Chrissy couldn’t help picturing him pounding on his chest and saying, Me Tarzan, you Jane. He didn’t bother communicating. He didn’t bother giving her a hand to help her out of her skirt. He just carried her and moved her around like she didn’t weigh a thing, and right now he obviously wanted her naked and couldn’t be bothered to ask her to take off her clothes. She’d be lying if she didn’t say she loved it. She’d gladly change her name to Jane, Queen of the Jungle, if it got her closer to the pleasure his hungry eyes were promising. When she stood in front of him completely naked except for the tiniest, almost nonexistent black lace panties, he groaned.
Against the Cage (Worth the Fight #1) Page 14
