Strong Hold

by Sarah Castille

  Torment studies me and smiles. “Come to the club and afterward we’ll go for coffee and talk.”

  Club? Coffee? Talk? Not really what I had in mind. How about testing out the king-size bed covered in six hundred thread count sheets?

  “I wasn’t lying to you when I said violence makes me uncomfortable.” The gentle movement of his thumb sends heat swirling through me, and my voice thickens. “Watching you fight made me feel ill.”

  “I just need to know you’re there.” His rich baritone deepens “I don’t understand it, but you make me feel calm, grounded. I haven’t felt like that since…I was a teenager. I won’t let you run away again. If there is something bothering you, talk to me. I promise I’ll listen.”

  The power of his voice sweeps through me. His voice warms me. His touch electrifies me. And knowing he won’t let me run makes it that much easier to stay. “I’ll come with you,” I whisper.

  I am pathetic. I am weak. I am so overcome with lust, I don’t care. But it is more than lust. Something inside him calls to me—something that needs to be healed. And for all his rough edges and brooding intensity, I sense he’s a good person. I saw it in the way he treats his fighters, the way he runs his club, and the way he looks after me. Dangerous? Yes. Passionate? Definitely. Committed? Still not too sure.

  He smiles slowly, his cheek creasing. “I would have thrown you over my shoulder and carried you to the club if you’d said no.”

  An erotic shiver runs down my spine. The visual image of Torment carrying me away caveman-style awakens something deeply sensual within me. Something forbidden.

  “That would have been totally unacceptable behavior, and I would have been most displeased. Plus, you would never have made it past Amanda.”

  Torment raises an eyebrow and grins. “I could have managed Amanda, or I could have asked Jake to help me. He handles her well. She needs someone like him—firm but gentle.”

  Handles her? Since when has anyone handled Amanda?

  He threads his fingers through my hair and gives it a gentle tug, tilting my head back and exposing my neck to the heat of his breath. “You, on the other hand, need something else.” He presses a kiss to the base of my throat.

  My body trembles and vibrates as if I might fly apart at any second. “What do I need?” My voice, when it comes, is so quiet I can barely hear it.

  “Me.” He trails hot, wet kisses up my throat and along my jaw.

  Red, hot flames of need lick through my body and escape my parted lips with the softest of whimpers.

  Torment groans. “Christ, Makayla. Don’t tempt me. I have to fight tonight.” He wraps his arms around me, squeezing me tight as if I might lure him to the dark side with my touch. He rests his forehead against mine and closes his eyes.

  I could stay here forever. Safe. Warm. Wanted.

  “Hey, Torment!” Jake bangs on the door. “Blade Saw called. They’re waiting for you at the club. Misery’s already arrived. He’s saying you’re afraid to show.”

  “Misery?” My perfect moment disappears with a sigh of disappointment.

  Torment takes a long, deep breath and steps back. “He’s a licensed amateur who is trying to get enough experience to get picked up by a professional league. But there are only so many amateur tournaments. On the underground circuit, he can fight as much as he wants, against whoever he wants. He can test his skills and practice new moves on bigger stronger opponents. A lot of amateurs won’t take the risk. If he’s caught, he’ll face a suspension. But he’s willing to do what it takes. And he’s good. Damn good. When he challenged me, I couldn’t resist. If I beat him, I move up in the underground rankings. We have our own championship belt. One day it’s going to be mine.”

  “Sounds like it’s going to be a very different fight than the one you had with Homicide. Maybe we could just stay here.” My eyes flick over the bed and back to Torment. How is that for suggestive?

  Torment’s brows draw together. “I have to fight, but I want you with me, Makayla. And when I want something, I don’t let go.”

  My body responds to his words, melting, as heat pools in my core.

  God, I want him too.

  Chapter 7

  Did you just kiss me?

  Where are you?

  Safe in Redemption’s first aid room, I stare at Torment’s text message. Crowds snake past my open door and into the club. Torment versus Misery is a big match and with only a few minutes to go before the club is locked down for the show, people are pushing and shoving to make sure they get inside.

  My hand shakes as I type in my answer.

  Hiding

  I am fighting in ten minutes

  Torment is such a slow texter. Maybe I should buy him a book of text language and make him do some thumb exercises.

  My fingers fly over the keys, and I type my answer. Why couldn’t he have a different hobby? Something with a low level of risk—like golf. The image of Torment playing golf makes me giggle. He would probably destroy any ball that dared not make it into the hole.

  I know

  I want you to watch

  I can’t

  I need you to watch

  I’m in the club. Isn’t that enough?

  No. I need to see you when I’m fighting

  I need 2 c u not fighting

  I’ll send Rampage to get you

  I’ll run away

  He’ll catch you

  Only if I’m crawling

  That’s not nice

  Neither is fighting

  How does he have time for all this texting? Isn’t he supposed to be warming up? From the snippets of conversation I’ve heard about Misery’s previous fights, Torment will need every advantage he’s got.

  My cell vibrates yet again. He is nothing if not persistent.

  Did you watch me last time?

  Yes

  What did you think?

  U r good

  What if Misery is better?

  My hand flies to my mouth at this tiny glimpse into Torment’s psyche. He is human after all and in need of reassurance. I text him back.

  U’ll be fine

  Only if you are here

  How can I make a difference?

  You will

  U hardly know me

  I know I need you here

  Wish I knew more about u **sighs**

  Ask me something

  What’s your real name? **bites fingernails**

  If I tell you, will you watch?

  Ah. Ha. The urge to jump up and down and pump my fist in the air is tempting but very unladylike. However, I can choke back another match to get Torment’s real name, especially now I know he’s worried about the fight.

  Yes

  He responds a few seconds later.

  Max

  Max. Max. Max. The name doesn’t stick. He is still Torment to me.

  I push my way through the crowded hallway, race through the gym and training area, and head toward the ring. Rampage sees me coming and clears a path with a few swings of his mighty arms. Maybe one day I’ll forgive him.

  Torment is already in the ring, his back to me. Jake is talking to him, but he is looking down. I type my message.

  Nice 2 meet u Max **smiles** **waves**

  Now will you come and watch?

  Right behind u

  He turns around and gives me the most brilliant smile, all crinkled eyes and boyish charm. Good thing I have no socks to knock off. He points at my phone.

  I read the message, and my heart stutters.

  XX

  Did you just kiss me? **blushes**

  I look up. He is looking down at me. His sensual lips part and he mouths his answer.

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  Misery is one of California’s top-ranked ama
teur heavyweight fighters. At six feet two inches tall and weighing two hundred and sixty pounds, he towers over the fans and cornermen clustered around him. Torment is tall, but Misery is taller. Torment is broad, but Misery is broader. The only advantage Torment appears to have over Misery is his breathtaking good looks. From the size of Misery’s fists, I suspect Torment won’t have that advantage for long.

  My official first aid attendant status gives me a front-row seat. I breathe in the aroma of lemon disinfectant with just a hint of stale sweat. Nice. At least Torment keeps the ring clean.

  “Torment said this was a good match.” I tug on Jimmy’s sleeve, but he is too busy sticking his tongue in Pinkaluscious’s ear to talk. I look over at Rampage beside me. He is watching Jimmy and Pinkaluscious, and the pain on his face tells me everything I need to know. Love triangle.

  “Hey,” I say softly. I nudge him with my elbow and he tears his gaze away and glares.

  “Don’t torture yourself. Sometimes these things don’t work out.”

  His cheeks redden, and he tightens his lips and looks away.

  “Think about something else. Tell me about the fight. How long is it going to last?”

  He looks sideways at me and sighs. “Three rounds of three minutes each. Professionals go three rounds of five.”

  “Does Torment have a chance? He’s a lot smaller and lighter than Misery.”

  Rampage shakes his head. “Misery is incredibly tough and hard to finish. In sanctioned fights, Torment would be classed as a light heavyweight, two classes down from Misery. That weight will make a difference, especially if Misery gets him to the ground. Torment is also at a disadvantage because he’s dominant in boxing. That’s his background. Misery is more well-rounded.”

  Homicide Hank steps into the ring and warms up the crowd with flavorful details of past unsanctioned fights. He announces the money collected at the door will be donated to the County Hospital. I glance up at Torment. Jake is helping him with his gloves. Torment winks. I smile. How sweet is that?

  I check beneath my feet for my first aid kit. I am prepared for everything—cuts, bruises, fractures, and head trauma.

  At a nod from Homicide, Pinkaluscious tears herself away from Jimmy and climbs into the ring. The crowd roars in approval as she goes through her routine. She revs them up with her fake smiles and jiggle wiggles, before waving her pink flag to start the match. Rampage stares at her with naked longing. How could any man not want her?

  The energy in the crowd is almost palpable. Every seat is taken and it is standing room only for the last few stragglers. The gym and training equipment sit idle. No one wants to miss a second of this fight.

  The bell rings and the match starts with wild punching exchanges. Torment takes a hard shot to the head and his eye swells almost instantly. I have to force myself to stay in my seat instead of running down to the ring.

  Torment recovers quickly and settles into a rhythm, peppering Misery with a frenzy of kicks and punches that seem to frustrate and exhaust the bigger fighter. By the end of the round, Misery is on the defensive, swinging tired arms to bat away Torment’s fists.

  Misery gets his second wind in the second round. A solid right punch opens a deep gash under Torment’s swollen right eye. Blood streams down Torment’s face and the referee calls a break.

  Nausea roils in my belly. Too real. Too visceral. On television, I can’t smell the tang of blood or the pungent scents of sweat, smoke, and stale beer; bile doesn’t burn my tongue, and I can’t hear the sickening, live smack of bones hitting flesh. And I’ve never known anyone who voluntarily stood in harm’s way. Except me. But that was a long time ago.

  A sob wells up in my chest and I put my head between my legs and take deep breaths. A warm hand strokes down my back.

  “He’ll be okay,” Rampage says, his voice uncharacteristically warm and soothing. He rubs my back until I sit up and then puts a comforting arm around me. “He’s seen worse. I’ll tell you when not to look.”

  Overwhelmed with gratitude, I instantly forgive Rampage all his sins.

  Jake cleans up Torment’s face and patches the cut. The referee signals a restart. Torment is still the fresher fighter. He dances around and throws a few kicks and punches. Misery deflects them, but his blocks are slow and his feet drag on the mat. Misery’s bulk must be working against him.

  In what seems like a last-ditch effort to win, he shoots in on Torment and knocks him to the ground. They grapple for a few seconds and then Torment, in an incredible display of flexibility, tucks one shin under Misery’s neck and swings his other leg over Misery’s back. He pulls Misery’s head down, applying pressure to his trachea with his shin and effectively choking him.

  The crowd goes wild. People jump, scream, and cheer.

  Rampage leaps to his feet and pumps his fist in the air. “No way. No fucking way. Torment locked him in a gogoplata.” He high-fives Jimmy and Pinkaluscious and then pulls me up to my feet.

  “Gogoplata?” Sounds like a dance from the fifties.

  “It’s one of rarest submissions in Jiu Jitsu. I’ve only ever seen it done once, and I’ve been doing MMA for fifteen years.”

  The crowd draws a collective breath, waiting for Misery’s submission. Instead, we get three short blasts of whistle and a wild-eyed Homicide running toward the ring screaming, “Evacuate. Evacuate.”

  The warehouse erupts into chaos.

  Lights go on. Doors are thrown open. People storm outside in a frenzy of shouts and stomping feet.

  Homicide joins us, gasping for breath. “I just got a text from Flash that he reported us to the CSAC. He was pissed off about being kicked out. We gotta get everyone out and lock down before they get here.”

  I grab the first aid kit and look up at the ring. Torment has released Misery and is standing at the ropes. He points me to the door and mouths “Go.”

  Behind him, Misery has climbed to his feet. He stalks across the mat, his intent clear on his face.

  “No!” I scream and point at Misery. “Torment, behind you!”

  Torment spins around. Too late. Misery lets loose what must be his knockout punch. Torment’s head snaps to the side. He staggers back into the corner, whacks his skull on the post, and slides to the ground.

  “Why did he do that?” I scream my outrage. “The fight was over.” I push chairs aside, trying to clear a path to the ring.

  Jimmy grabs my hand and pulls me back. “Technically, the fight wasn’t over. Misery didn’t tap out or go limp.”

  “But the club is being evacuated. Torment clearly thought the fight was done. He was just trying to make sure I was safe. Surely that’s against the rules, aside from being just plain unsportsmanlike.”

  Jimmy shook his head. “No one will criticize Misery for wanting to finish the match. Torment knows better than to turn his back on an opponent before the fight is done.”

  Torment moans and rolls to his back. His hand twitches, and then he is still. Warm tears slip from my eyes and drip onto my cheeks.

  “We have to go,” Jimmy says, his voice urgent. “They’ll question anyone they find. We don’t want to give them the ammunition they need to shut us down.”

  “But…Torment.”

  “Don’t worry. His people will come for him.”

  Shaking off Jimmy’s hand, I turn back to the ring. Misery is standing in his corner, massive arms folded. Torment is still lying dazed on the mat. Vulnerable. Hurt.

  “We can’t leave him like that,” I say, aghast.

  “I can’t risk getting caught. I haven’t told anyone but I’m applying for the amateurs. Being caught at an unsanctioned event might destroy any chance I have of getting in. Sandy and I will wait outside for you as long as we can.” Jimmy pivots and disappears into the dwindling crowd.

  My heart pounds against my ribs and I climb into the ring beside Torment.

 
; “Torment? Max?” I turn his face toward me. “Are you okay? Talk to me.”

  His eyes open and he gives me a weak smile.

  “Stay with me,” I urge him. “Keep your eyes open. Focus on me.” My hands are already running over his body, checking for breaks and injuries. He has a bump on his head and a cut on his temple. Possibly a concussion.

  “You didn’t kiss me back.” His voice is so soft I barely hear him.

  My eyes widen. “This isn’t the time. You’re hurt.”

  “Kiss me better, Makayla,” he whispers.

  Cupping his face in my hands, I lean over and brush my lips against his cheek. Electricity shoots through me like a bolt of white, hot lightning.

  “A real kiss,” he grumbles as I pull away.

  “That’s all you get,” I snap. “I’m not going to ignore your medical needs so I can indulge myself.”

  He gives me a half smile. “I thought you were all about indulgence.”

  The platform shakes. Misery pounds his way across the ring toward us.

  “Enough. He’s talking, so the fight’s not done. Get out, bitch.”

  My blood runs cold and I position myself between Torment and Misery. “He’s hurt. The regulators are coming. The fight is over.”

  Misery’s face darkens. “I don’t take backtalk from bitches, especially not when their mouths should be doing something else. Looks like you need a lesson in respect.” He stalks toward me, a bald, sweaty Goliath with murder in his eyes.

  My knees shake, my pulse races, and my mouth goes dry. Fragments of memories burst from my subconscious. Long buried. Another night. A man stalking toward me in the darkness. I hold up tiny hands, terrified I won’t be able to protect myself or the person on the floor. I scream.

  Misery stops short. His eyes focus on something behind me and widen to the size of tea cups. Torment steps in front of me and throws a punch and then another. His fists fly, hitting Misery in the head and face, over and over and over again. Misery staggers backward into the ropes. He bounces forward and into Torment’s waiting knee before crumpling to the floor with a groan.