Strong Hold

by Sarah Castille

  “I’m looking forward to picking her up and just having a quiet night at home.”

  “Yeah. About that…” Sadist grimaced. “Something’s come up.”

  “What are you talking about?” Zack followed Sadist’s gaze as he looked around Redemption, but everything appeared to be business as usual. Cheryl and Shayla had finally convinced their colleague, Joe, to join the gym, and Cheryl and he were sweating their way through Fuzzy’s Punch or Perish class. Blade Saw and Homicide Hank were sparring in one of the cages. Doctor Death was rolling on the mats with Renegade. The Predator was drum rolling a speed bag, and Makayla, Sia, Amanda, and Penny were clustered together on the bleachers, whispering like they were up to no good.

  “You’d better ask your Daredevil.” He gestured to the practice ring at the far end of the gym where Shayla was sparring with Sandy.

  A smile spread across Zack’s lips. After Shayla had won her amateur title and signed her professional contract with MEFC, the team had put her “Shilla the Killa” name to bed and asked him for a ring name worthy of Redemption’s top female fighter and California’s newest women’s featherweight amateur champion.

  What was she like when you first met? they’d asked.

  Fearless. Unstoppable. A risk taker. Just like she is now.

  Zack crossed the mats toward the practice ring, taking in the enormity of what was now considered to be one of the top MMA training gyms in the state. With three title belt holders and a shelf full of amateur cups, Redemption was fast becoming the place to be.

  His place to be.

  Torment had put Zack’s picture on the wall the first day he had come out of retirement and started to train. Zack had been deeply moved by the gesture. He hadn’t earned his title belts at Redemption, but Torment had recognized his achievements alongside those of his fighters. It had made Zack even more determined to reclaim his title so he could credit the team. Shayla’s picture now hung beside his own, the fulfillment of a promise he had made to her the night he had traded his ring for a path to Redemption.

  Torment was standing outside the ring with his daughter, Brianna, on his shoulders, watching Shayla and Sandy fight. Zack felt a curious sense of longing as he gave his favorite toddler a high five. He had never wanted kids, never thought he could be a good father because he had no good role model in his life, but Shayla had made him see that he’d been his own role model. Taking care of his sisters had been all the training he needed to be a good dad. And now that Viv was in remission again and living with an intern she’d met in the hospital and Lily was married, he only had one person to look after and room in his heart to welcome another.

  Sandy’s gaze flicked to him as he climbed through the ropes, hoping to surprise Shayla by coming up behind her. He’d pulled the same trick the first day he’d come to Redemption when he’d had the shock of his life, seeing her in the ring.

  “Oh my Lord.” Sandy’s eyes widened. “Look who it is.”

  Taking advantage of her lack of focus, Shayla lunged forward and wrapped her arm around Sandy’s neck in a choke hold.

  “It’s…Slayer,” Sandy wheezed.

  Shayla’s head jerked up, and her gaze locked on his. A lifetime of memories filled the space between them. The day he’d found her at the bottom of Devil’s Hill. The touch that had woken his soul and stirred a fierce protectiveness in him that even now he could not contain. The friendship that had sustained him during his darkest times. Stolen kisses and furtive cuddles. Desperate longing. Sexual awakening. The night they had come together and broken apart. And the day he had found her again.

  She had wanted to make something of herself, and she did. Twice over. Prima ballerina with the New York Ballet, winner of the amateur featherweight title belt, and now professional MEFC fighter. She was her ring name personified. A “Daredevil” in every sense of the word. But he knew what kind of woman she really was. The woman of his heart.

  Frozen in shock, Shayla loosened her grip. Sandy spun out of the hold and clipped Shayla a good one in the chin.

  She stumbled back and lost her balance, but before her head could hit the pole, Zack was there. He caught her and spun her around, pulling her into his chest.

  “Still determined to protect me, I see.” Shayla smiled at him as he bent to kiss away the hurt on her chin. “Welcome home.”

  “You two can have matching bruises.” Sandy gestured to Zack, who was still sporting the evidence of his championship fight. “Did the Terminator spend all his time pounding on your face?”

  “You mean in the seven seconds before I knocked him out?”

  Sandy laughed. “I hope we can get a play-by-play over drinks tonight.”

  “Another time.”

  Shayla mocked a frown. “Someone isn’t very sociable this evening.”

  Zack pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, “Someone just spent the day giving interviews, flew in from Vegas, and came straight to Redemption to pick up his wife whom he hasn’t seen for two days. Drinks are the last thing on my mind.”

  She looked up at him through her dark lashes. “What is on your mind?”

  “Fucking you wearing your title belt and nothing else.”

  “We’ve done that six times already.”

  “Then we’ll do it six times with you wearing my title belt.” He nuzzled her neck. “Once in every room of our apartment.”

  “Think how much better it would be if we had a house.” She smoothed her hands over his chest. “We would have a yard to lie out and look up at Vega and Altair and extra rooms for christening title belts or even for visitors.”

  “What visitors?” His skin prickled when Shayla pulled away. Turning, he realized they had an audience. The entire Redemption team—kids and significant others, too—were crowded around the ring.

  “This visitor.” Shayla handed him a small white box with the Redemption logo emblazoned on top.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Open it.”

  Zack glanced up at the smiling faces of his teammates and lifted the lid off the box. “What is this?” He held up a tiny pair of red Redemption fight gloves. “Slayer” had been printed across one glove and “Daredevil” across the other.

  “I figured we should get our baby started early.”

  “Our baby?” His gaze flicked from the gloves to Shayla and back to the gloves. “You’re pregnant?”

  “Two months. I found out last week, but I didn’t want to distract you from your training.”

  Emotion overwhelmed him, and he pulled Shayla into his arms, burying his head in her hair as the team cheered around them.

  “I love you,” he whispered. “I can’t believe we are going to be a family.”

  “I’m sorry it had to be so public. I was so excited, I had to tell someone.”

  Zack sighed. “You told Sadist?”

  “No. I told Cheryl, and she told Joe. He went for drinks after class with Fuzzy and let it slip. Of course, Fuzz told his sister, Sia, and she told the Predator and…well, you know how it goes here at Redemption. Sadist is still annoyed he was the last to know.” She moved to pull away, and he tightened his grip.

  “Hold on a minute longer. I’ve got something in my eyes.”

  “I hope those are happy tears,” she whispered.

  “I thought I couldn’t be happier than the day I found you again,” he said. “But then you agreed to marry me, and I thought my heart would burst. But now I’ve got it all. You, our baby, my career, and Redemption.”

  Epilogue

  “Torment wants to see you.” Sadist stepped in front of Zack as he emerged from the Redemption locker room, blocking his path to the exit.

  “I promised Shayla I’d be home by eleven tonight. I’ll talk with him tomorrow.”

  “Now.” Sadist folded his thick arms over his chest.

  Zack bristled. What the hell was
going on? “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” Sadist pointed toward Torment’s office. “Let’s get going.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” No way was he going to let anyone order him around. He’d earned his respect at Redemption. Over the last seven months, he’d fought every member of the team, including Sadist, and he’d won every fight. The Predator was next on his list and the only man standing between him and his dream of fighting Torment.

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?” Sadist scowled. “If you want to keep your membership at the gym, you’ll come with me. Otherwise, hand in your card.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Zack brushed past Sadist. “What’s this all about?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.” He trailed Zack until they reached Torment’s office, and then he knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” Torment called out.

  “I’ll be waiting out here,” Sadist said. “In case you need me.”

  The hair on the back of Zack’s neck stood on end. Had he done something wrong? Broken a rule? Had something happened in the week he’d been away at a training camp in Florida? It had been hard enough being away from Shayla and their new baby, but if he’d missed something important at Redemption…

  “Slayer.” Torment motioned him in, and Sadist closed the door behind him.

  “What’s this all about?”

  “How’s the baby?”

  “Good.” He shifted his weight, disconcerted by Torment’s friendly tone. “We named him Dylan after Shayla’s dad.”

  “Strong name. How’s Shayla doing?” Torment leaned back in his chair, his black Redemption T-shirt stretching taut over his broad chest.

  “Great. She’ll be in next week to start training again. The doctor said light exercise. We’re having a difference of opinion over what that means.”

  Torment laughed. “Are you all trained up now? Ready for your fight next week?”

  Zack shifted his weight again, glanced back over his shoulder to where Sadist was standing guard. What was this? Why was Torment trying to put him at ease when he’d sent Sadist to threaten him to get him to come to the office? “Yeah. Kinda wishing it was this week ’cause I’m at my peak.”

  “Excellent.” Torment threw something across the desk, and Zack caught it midair.

  “My title ring.” He’d forgotten about the ring he’d given up to save Shayla from Torment’s wrath. “Why are you giving it to me now?”

  “Challenge accepted.” Torment gestured to the door. “Renegade is clearing the gym now. We’ll have it all to ourselves. No one will be around. It will just be you and me.”

  Zack swallowed hard. It was the ultimate challenge.

  “What about the Predator? I didn’t beat him.”

  “You did on points. And I know you pulled that last punch.” He nodded at the ring. “This has been a long time coming.”

  Zack flexed his shoulders, tipped his head from side to side, making it crack. “You want to take a minute and call Makayla and Brianna to say goodbye?”

  Torment stood, pushing away his chair. “The only call I’ll be making is to tell them how I kicked your ass.”

  “You won’t be able to see my ass when you’re lying unconscious on the mat.”

  They walked out into the hallway, and Sadist followed them to the gym.

  “No one comes in,” Torment said to Sadist when they reached the entrance. “If the doors aren’t open in thirty minutes, call two ambulances.”

  Zack handed Sadist the ring after Torment walked into the now-empty gym. “Make sure this gets to Dylan.”

  Sadist tucked the ring in his pocket. “You think you’re gonna lose?”

  “No.” Zack grinned. “I’m going to win. I just don’t want it to get lost when I’m celebrating.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Every one of my dreams has come true since I came to Redemption,” Zack said. “I dreamed about fighting Torment, not beating him. Even if I lose, I win.”

  For more of the Redemption series

  check out book one

  Against the Ropes

  On sale now!

  Don’t miss the first book in Sarah Castille’s Redemption series, available from Sourcebooks Casablanca

  AGAINST THE ROPES

  Chapter 1

  Oh, betraying lips

  “You come in. You fight. It’s simple.”

  Me fight? He can’t be serious. Do I look like I pound on people for fun?

  “Sorry. I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” Forcing a tight laugh, I shuffle back to the red line marking the fighters’ entrance to Redemption, a full-service gym and training center that is home to one of Oakland’s few remaining unsanctioned, underground fight clubs. Maybe I should have read the rules posted at the door.

  “No, you don’t.” The hefty blond grabs my shoulders and pulls me toward him. My nose sinks into the yellow happy face tank top stretched tight over his keg-size belly. The pungent odor of unwashed gorilla invades my nostrils, bringing back memories of school trips to the San Diego Zoo. Lovely.

  Gasping for air, I glance up and flash my best fake smile. “I’m just here to sell tickets. One of your fighters, Jake, asked my friend Amanda to work the door and she asked me to help her. Why don’t we just pretend you didn’t see me cross the red line and I’ll get back to work?”

  If I were a different type of girl, wearing a different—and lower cut—shirt, I might try another kind of technique to get out of this predicament, but right now, a smile is all I’ve got.

  It backfires.

  “Mmm. Pretty.” He releases my shoulders and paws at my hair, mussing it from my crown to the middle of my back. What a waste of two hours with the flat iron.

  “I’m not too sure about pretty.” My voice goes from a low quiver to a thin whine as he strokes my jaw with a thick finger. “But I am small, fragile, delicate, easily frightened, and given to high-pitched screams in situations involving violence.” In an attempt to make my lies a reality, I suck in my stomach and tuck in my tush.

  He frowns, and for the first time I notice the missing teeth, jagged scar across his throat, and the skull and crossbones tattoos covering his arms like sleeves. Not quite the cuddly teddy bear I had thought he was. More like a Viking berserker.

  My heart kicks up a notch, and I hold up my hands in a defensive gesture. “Listen. I was chasing after some deadbeat who didn’t buy a ticket. He came in just before me. Tall, broad shoulders, black leather jacket, bandana—I only saw him from the back. He was in line talking to people, and then suddenly he breezed past the ticket counter and went through this entrance. Did you see him?”

  A smile ghosts his lips. “You’ll have to talk to Torment. He deals with all line crossers and ticket dodgers. Usually takes them into the ring for a lesson in following the rules. He likes to hear people scream.” His chuckle is as menacing as his breath. Maybe he ate a small child for lunch.

  “Let’s go. I’ll introduce you.” His hand clamps around my arm and he tugs me forward.

  A shiver of fear races down my spine. “You’re kidding, right? I mean, look at me. Do I look like I could take on someone named Torment?” My smile wavers, so I add a few eyelash flutters and a desperate breast jiggle to the mix. Unfortunately, my ass decides to join the party, and my thighs aren’t far behind.

  Wrong message. His heated gaze rakes over my body, and a lascivious grin splits his wide face from ear to ear. “Torment likes the curvy ones.”

  Now there’s a slap in the face. But maybe I can use the curves to my advantage. If I can’t talk my way out of this mess, I’ll just wiggle.

  “Come on. He’ll decide what to do with you.”

  Heart pounding, I scramble behind the self-styled Cerberus deep into the belly of Hell. I wish I had written a will.

  Upon first
glance, Hell disappoints.

  The giant sheet-metal warehouse, probably around 20,000 square feet, boasts corrugated metal walls, concrete floors, and the stale sweat stench of one hundred high-school gym lockers. The ceiling is easily twenty-five feet above me. At the far end, a few freight containers are stacked in the corner, and a circular, metal staircase leads up to a second level.

  Our end of the warehouse has a dedicated training area and a fully equipped gym. Half-naked, sweaty, pumped up alpha-males grapple on scarred red mats and spar in the two practice rings. Fight posters and pennants are plastered on the walls. In one corner a man dressed as a drill sergeant is barking orders at a motley group of huffing, puffing fighter wannabes.

  My stomach clenches as the drumroll of speed bags, the slap of jump ropes, the whir of the treadmill, and the thud of gloves on flesh create a gut-churning symphony of violent sound.

  “Hey, Rampage, you get us a new ring girl?” A small, wiry, bald fighter with red-rimmed pupil-less psycho eyes points to the “FCUK Me” lettering on my T-shirt and makes an obscene gesture with his hips. “Answer is yes, honey. Find me after the show.”

  I berate myself for my poor choice of attire. But really, it is my sister Susie’s fault. She sends me the strangest gifts from London.

  Rampage leads me toward an enormous raised boxing ring in the center of the warehouse. Spiky-haired punkers, clean-cut jocks, hip-hop headers, businessmen in suits, and leather-vested bikers fill the metal bleachers and folding chairs surrounding the main attraction. I’ve never seen a more eclectic group. There must be at least two hundred people here with seating for probably two hundred more. But there’s no sign of Amanda. Some best friend.

  We stop in front of a small, roped-off area about ten feet square. Rampage opens a steel-framed gate and shoves me inside. “You can wait in the pen. It’s for your own safety. We can’t have people wandering too close to the ring.”