Strong Hold

by Sarah Castille

  “So smart and yet so fucking dumb.” Sol shoves my head down until my cheek is pressed against the cold floor. “You know what this technology is worth? Billions. I’m gonna be a rich man. I’ll pay off all my bookies, buy myself an island, and spend the rest of my life in the fanciest casinos in the world, fucking girls like you who think they’re hot shit. But in the end, you are all just another piece of pussy.”

  “Do you really think they won’t track you down? They’re an IT company. One of the top ones in Silicon Valley. How are you—”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Sol’s partner pulls some fancy equipment from a bag at his feet and hooks it up to the computer. Now illuminated by the dual screens in front of him, he is clearly the more imposing of the two. Tall and dark with a suit jacket hanging loosely off his shoulders and a T-shirt stretched tight over his chest, he’s got a mafia look and the attitude to match. “Tie up the fucking girl, and give me a hand while I decide what to do with them. They’ve seen too much.”

  Even as fear wraps an icy hand around my heart, his slight accent over the word girl niggles something at the back of my brain.

  It’s a fucking girl, the thief said a few weeks ago before he escaped over the fence.

  And what did I say then? Not a girl like you’ve ever seen before.

  No, I’m not a girl anymore. I’m a woman who has been through hell and back. I became a wife for the wrong reasons and a success for the right ones, lost everything, and got back on my feet to chase a new dream.

  Chasing. But never catching. And now I know why.

  I’ve been afraid of losing my MMA dream, just like I lost my dreams of love and marriage and becoming a professional dancer. I’ve been afraid to go on the offensive, to take that final step, throw that final punch, open myself up to the success that is waiting on the other side of fear.

  It is time to stop being afraid. In the underground, when the outcome of the fight didn’t matter, I took those steps and threw those punches. That is the fighter I need to be.

  The fighter and the woman I truly am.

  I breath in deep, pushing away my fear, just as I did in the underground. “Were you behind the last break-in, Sol? Is that why you didn’t fight? Or are you just the loser I always thought you were? Did you pretend to throw a few punches because you couldn’t stand the thought that you were bested by a girl? Now you’re hiding behind that gun, so you’ll never know if you could really beat me.”

  Sol drops the gun and grabs the collar of my jacket, hauling me to my feet. He slams me against the wall so hard, I lose my breath, but the pain clears my mind, helps me focus on what I need to do. My body comes to life, and I find my fight. I spin and throw a kick and then a punch, forcing Sol back to the doorway. With a combo that would make even Torment proud, I drive him into the dark room and move in for a takedown.

  “Enough.” Sol’s partner holds up the gun, and I raise my hands in surrender. “Sol, get the fucking flash drive and the bag, and get the hell out so I can clean up your damn mess.”

  “I can deal with her myself,” Sol snaps, breathing hard. “She just caught me off guard. Just gimme a minute, Clive, and I’ll wipe the floor with her ass.”

  “Get. The. Damn. Bag.” Clive’s gaze stays locked on me, and adrenaline surges through my body. I might only get once chance, and I need to be ready. I won’t let Cheryl die and miss out on the chance for real love with a good man. I won’t let Amber be raised by deadbeat husband number four. I won’t give up my dreams of becoming a professional fighter, or of loving the man of my heart and seeing him again.

  Even if it means putting myself out there in front of a bullet.

  “What are you going to do? You can’t kill them.” Worry laces Sol’s tone as he brushes past me, and it hits me that he would never have pulled the trigger. All the big talk and self-aggrandizement hid a coward through and through.

  “I’ll do what needs to be done.”

  I meet Clive’s cold, steely gaze, and I have no doubt he’s telling the truth.

  Sol sighs. “I can’t find the flash drive.”

  Clive shifts his gaze, just the slightest bit, and I take advantage of his distraction just as I’ve been trained to do, just as Sandy did when she knocked me down in the ring. I lunge, throwing myself forward with everything I have, aiming low for a takedown, beneath his outstretched arm. We crash to the ground, rolling on the cold cement, fighting for control of the gun that could turn the tide of this fight in the very worst way. I use every move I know, including the tricks I learned from Zack when we rolled together on the mats. I manage to take a dominant position on top of him, straddling his body. Using all my strength, I smash his gun hand on the concrete over and over again until I hear something crack. Clive screams and drops his weapon. I smash my fist into his face, and he shudders beneath me.

  Bang. A door slams in the distance. I hear footsteps on the stairs, and then Joe appears in the doorway.

  “Shayla! What’s going on? Cheryl’s alarm went off.”

  “They’re stealing software. Watch out for Sol.”

  Too late. Sol bursts from the shadows, slamming Joe into the doorframe as he barrels down the hallway.

  “Go after him,” I shout. “I’ve got this situation under control.”

  And I do. I have found my fight on the other side of fear in the basement of Symbian Cloud Computing.

  25

  Zack

  Zack knew something was up as soon as he saw Sadist standing in front of the red line painted on the ground at Redemption’s entrance, his arms folded over his massive chest. When Sadist stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder, he had a strong suspicion whatever it was had to do with him.

  “Sorry, Slayer. Only members are allowed to cross the red line.”

  “I’ve got a three-month pass.”

  Sadist held out a meaty paw. “Let me see.”

  Zack handed over the pass Shayla had given him. He hadn’t been to Redemption for a week, but he was damn sure the pass hadn’t expired, because he’d only had it for a month and a half.

  Sadist inspected the plastic card. Then he crushed it in his massive fist and scattered the pieces on the ground. “Looks like it was a three-week pass and not a three-month pass. You must have made a mistake.”

  Zack was disappointed but not surprised. In all his years in the business, he had never met a team as close-knit as the team at Redemption. They truly were a family, and as any family would do when a member had been hurt, they were closing ranks and shutting him out.

  No Redemption meant no training. No training meant no Torment. No Torment meant he wouldn’t have the opportunity to put himself to the test. When he went after Shayla’s ex—and nothing had changed his resolve to give her justice—he would have to do it not knowing whether he had the self-control to pull back before things got out of hand.

  “I’m just here to work out.”

  Sadist shrugged. “You need a new membership to get in, and the membership desk is closed.”

  “I’ll buy a day pass.”

  “We’ve run out.”

  Damn. He needed to work off some of his anger and frustration in a proper MMA facility and not the cold, poorly outfitted hotel gym that he’d been forced to use after picking up his stuff from Shayla’s apartment.

  “Okay, man. I get the message. I’m out of here.” He lifted his hands in mock defeat. “Tell everyone I said goodbye. I’m back on the recruitment circuit and flying out to New York tomorrow.”

  “So that’s it?” Sadist scowled. “You’re going to San Francisco?”

  “I was here to coach Shilla. She doesn’t need me anymore, and she doesn’t want to see me. I need to get back to work.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Sadist’s voice rose in pitch. “She’s your girl. You don’t walk away. You don’t give up because you lost your card.”

 
“I do if she says that’s what she wants.” His hands curled into fists. “You think it’s easy for me? I’ve called. I’ve texted. She’s made her feelings clear, so I’m going to do a few trips and hope she cools down before I come back.” He wasn’t giving up. Not yet. But he was going to give her some space.

  Sadist gave an indignant snort. “You betray her and then you abandon her. Nice.”

  Zack bristled at Sadist’s sarcastic tone. “I watched her go down when Sandy hit her, and I watched her go down in the underground fight. To me, her reaction looked exactly the same. I even suggested she see a doctor after the underground fight, but she said she was fine, and I respected her decision. I made the mistake of not letting her make her own choices before, and I wasn’t going to do it again. But a third time? When she could barely stand? She wasn’t going to quit so I did what I had to do to protect her.”

  “Is that what you’re telling yourself so you can sleep at night? That she hit her head hard enough to have another concussion?”

  Zack folded his arms and glared. “It’s what I saw.”

  “Through your Okami-colored glasses?”

  “You don’t know anything,” Zack bit out. “What happened with Gordon was the nightmare of my fucking life. Yeah, maybe I’ve still got a hang-up about brain injuries because of Okami, but she could barely walk a straight line after Gordon’s foul. I could have just let her go back in the ring like she wanted, and if I had, I wouldn’t be here alone. But the risk was too damn high. So I told the doc about the fight the way I saw it, and he made his call. Even if I do lose her, I would make the same decision. I’d rather a world with her alive and hating me than one in which she’s gone.”

  Sadist stroked a hand over his jaw and studied him, considering. “Wait there.” He didn’t wait for Zack’s response but crossed the red line and disappeared into Redemption.

  What the hell? Zack was tempted to walk away, but curiosity and a deep reluctance to return alone to his hotel held him in place.

  A few minutes later, Sadist returned. “The Predator is waiting for you out back.”

  Puzzled, Zack frowned. “Why?”

  “He has an extra membership card.”

  If Zack hadn’t wanted that card so badly, he would have laughed. But he did want it. Although it had only been a week, he missed working out at Redemption. He missed the training, the camaraderie, the scents of vinyl and sweat, the sounds of speed bags drumming, weights clanking, and treadmills whirring. He missed being part of the sport that had been his life for so many years, the endorphin rush he got when he pushed his body to the max, and the hope that maybe one day he would be able to fight in the ring again.

  “I’m a recruiter. Not a fighter.”

  “So check the Predator out,” Sadist suggested. “Everyone thinks he’s good enough to go pro. Maybe you’ll want to sign him to MEFC before you head out of town. You don’t want to lose him to Radical Power. I heard they’ve been sniffing around.”

  Zack sighed. “The Predator’s a street fighter. He’s got too much unlearning to do.”

  “Last I heard, you started out as a street fighter, too.” Sadist closed the door behind him. “Maybe you can unlearn a few things with him. Or maybe you’re too scared. I get it. The whole Okami thing. And then Shayla taking a few knocks to the head, making it all come back…”

  “Fuck you.” He knew exactly what Sadist was doing, and yet he was finding it hard to resist.

  “Yeah, that’s about what the Predator would do to you if you fought him. He is undefeated in the underground and a damn dirty fighter. If a man were wanting to push himself to his limit, a street fight in an alley with the Predator would be the best way to go about it. But I get that you’re too afraid to face him. Hell, even if I weighed fifty pounds less, had spent time in Black Ops, and had been trained in covert operations by the CIA like him, I’d be afraid, too.”

  Zack didn’t rise to the bait. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a bastard?”

  Sadist laughed. “They tell me I’m a sadist. But today, I’m being a nice guy and giving you a choice to walk into the parking lot behind Redemption like a man instead of being picked up and thrown to the wolves for betraying our teammate. It’s the kind of choice you didn’t give to her.”

  Sadist was right. When he’d seen Gordon’s knee slam into Shayla’s head, all he could think about was getting Shayla the hell out of the fight so she didn’t wind up dead like Okami. He’d been just as ruthless about making it happen as he’d been the night he walked away and left her in Glenwood.

  “That leaves me with a choice that’s no choice at all.”

  A grin split Sadist’s face. “You could probably outrun me, but I have a feeling you’re not the kind of man to turn down a challenge. And the Predator is one hell of a challenge.”

  “He’s not Torment.”

  “You aren’t ready for Torment.”

  Zack studied the heavyweight fighter, considering. He was flying to New York tomorrow to sign an upcoming new fighter from the Bronx, and he had planned to hunt down Damian while he was there. This was the perfect chance to really test himself against a worthy competitor. The Predator wasn’t Torment, but he was damn close. “I’ll walk.”

  “Good man.” Sadist clapped him on the shoulder. “Most of the team should be out there already. I wish Shilla could have been here, too. She loves watching the Predator fight.”

  “You said he was in the CIA?” He lengthened his stride to keep up with Sadist as they walked along the building.

  “Second-worst kept secret at Redemption, but he’ll deny it, so don’t ask. If you ever get his wife, Sia, drunk at the annual Redemption Christmas party, she has a good story to tell about what happened when she was kidnapped, and that will pretty much tell you all you need to know.”

  “What’s the first-worst kept secret?” He didn’t want to know, but he did. Everything about Redemption interested him, from its history to its fighters and from their stories to their bond.

  “Shilla’s accident that wasn’t an accident.” Sadist heaved in a ragged breath. “You probably know more about it than we do. When she first walked in the door, she was a wreck. Casts, slings, bruises, bandages…you name it. She told us she’d fallen down some stairs. Torment tried to send her to a rehab center, but she insisted she wanted to learn MMA. That’s when we knew for sure there was more to her story. You don’t look the way she looked from a fall down the stairs.”

  Zack stopped midstride. “I know what happened. Why are you telling me this?”

  “There are benefits to having a history with the CIA. Friends you can call up for a favor. The Predator is a protective sort, especially when it comes to the team. He might be persuaded to do a little investigating for you if there was someone you were trying to find.”

  “And the price for the information?”

  Sadist shrugged. “You have to be part of the team.”

  The Predator was waiting for him in the alley wearing a T-shirt, fight shorts, and a pair of running shoes. Two Redemption fighters were stationed on either end as lookouts. Torment leaned casually against the back door, like he had known Zack would show up. Zack was glad he’d worn his track pants to the gym. Although he’d always fought in street clothes as a kid, he was used to the range of movement afforded by sportswear.

  No words were exchanged. None were necessary. It was an underground fight. No rules. No limits. No mercy.

  The fight began with a nod from Torment. The Predator wasted no time and moved in quickly to smash his fist into Zack’s cheek. Zack welcomed the pain as the payback he deserved and dropped into his fight stance, fending off the attack with an overhand left, followed by a right. The Predator landed a left kick, and Zack countered with a spinning back kick that the Predator easily blocked. The Predator retaliated with a dirty right hook, slicing Zack’s forehead. Blood trickled over his brow, dripped dow
n his eye, and he wiped it away, a familiar heat curling in his belly as the beast that he’d locked away inside himself raised its head.

  Fighting the junior and midlevel fighters had been easy. But the Predator was in a different league. For the first time, Zack felt off his game, unprepared, and acutely aware that he was nowhere near the level he had been at four years ago. Although he hated to admit it, he wouldn’t have lasted three minutes in the ring with Torment.

  The Predator moved in with a right and then unloaded a flurry of punches to Zack’s head. Zack moved to counter, but the Predator was gone, moving like a ghost through the shadows of the alley. He was everywhere and nowhere. The blows came hard and fast, with no discernible pattern except that he never hit the same place twice and nothing was out of bounds. He used moves that would have had him disqualified from sanctioned fights, and for all Zack’s skill, he couldn’t get close enough to take the Predator down to the ground where he would have the advantage.

  He wiped the sweat from his forehead, took a breather while the Predator jeered from across the alley.

  “That all you got, Slayer? Let me know when we’re done warming up and I can really get started.”

  Zack was used to posturing and trash talk. When he had fought professionally, it was part of the show. The fans loved to hear the fighters threaten each other, and their scripted comments were the highlight of weigh-ins and interviews. But here, where there were no fans or cameras, he took the Predator’s comments for what they were—a message that Zack wasn’t worthy of what the Predator was holding back.

  Not worthy.

  It was the story of his life.

  Without warning, the Predator rushed him, forcing him back against the building. He landed a leg kick that made Zack’s teeth rattle and connected with huge shots to the head. Stunned, Zack threw a pair of counter rights, but the Predator’s right hand flattened him against the wall, and he poured on the hurt, wrenching Zack out of the present and thrusting him into the brutal past.

  “Don’t tell me how to live my life, boy. You know why your mother killed herself? Because she had a fucking worthless piece of shit for a son. If I want to drink, I’ll fucking drink. If I want to slap any one of you kids around to shut you the hell up, then I’ll slap you. You think you can stop me? Think again. You don’t have what it takes. You are good for fucking nothing.”