Fighting Lust: A Deadly Sins Novel

by Jennifer Miller

  “You do. You die.” I tell him sternly.

  “You’re no fun.”

  It seems like we’ve been waiting for ages. Levi is using the tongue depressors to build what looks like a teepee, but it keeps falling because he’s clumsy with one hand. I’m trying to ignore him by catching up on social media through my phone. Finally, just when I’m about to give up hope, Tessa walks into the room. Her eyes fall on Levi first and when he gets a good look at her red hair pulled high on her head, her blue eyes, adorable freckles, full lips, and her body language that screams an amazing combination of sexy and sass, his jaw falls to the floor.

  She looks confused at first until I release a chuckle at Levis reaction. When her eyes finally turn to me and hold, my breath catches and my body immediately reacts to her beauty.

  “Dude, I’m sorry,” Levi says, reluctantly drawing my attention away from her.

  “What?” I ask absently.

  “I said, sorry.” He gestures to Tessa, then smiles, “I totally get it now. I should have volunteered to break your nose.”

  When I was told someone was asking for me, I was certainly not expecting that he would be waiting. Seeing him again makes my belly feel like it’s on fire. To mask it, I make sure I have a look of slight annoyance on my face. Crossing my arms over my chest, I look away from the guy with the bloody towel lying beside him and a temporary bandage on his wound, and face Ryder.

  He’s staring at me with those eyes of his. The ones that make me want to take off all my clothes and lay bare before him without a word. The ones that show me he’s thinking about me doing exactly that. Pools of the brightest blue I’ve ever seen. I thought my blue eyes were pretty? They don’t hold a candle to his.

  He runs his hand through his very short dark hair and looks down with a smile, the earring in his ear flashing in the light. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt and athletic pants. His biceps are covered in tattoos and bulging with muscles. I remember the feel of them under my hands all too well. When he looks up and catches me staring, his smile widens and I look away.

  Angry at myself for being affected by him, I look at the man whose name is on the chart in the hallway. “Levi, I presume?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” It takes all I have not to smile at him. Another looker, he’s got blonde hair and green eyes that are currently watery, likely due to his wound. He’s ridiculously built as well and I’m thinking whatever the hell this fighting is that these guys do, I want to go check it out. Or at least the other guys.

  “What happened?” I gesture at his cheek.

  “Just a little mishap while sparring with another fighter.”

  “A little mishap, huh?” After washing my hands and putting on gloves, I go to him and lower the ice pack he’s holding firmly against the area and gingerly pull the bandage from his swollen face. The bleeding has nearly stopped; it’s oozing only slightly. He’s clearly sustained a blunt force trauma giving rise to notable discoloration around the eye above the point of injury, and which resulted in a significant avulsion, deep enough that I can see down through his epidermis. . For an accidental blow, it was precisely placed such that it’s unlikely he sustained any bone fracture or broken teeth. A little bit higher or lower and the injury might have required more than a few sutures. “A little mishap that’s going to require some stitches from the look of it. Seems like you guys should consider getting a doctor on site.”

  They chuckle and I put the bandage back up to his cheek and raise his hand that is still holding the icepack towards his face. “I’ll be back with something to numb the area and supplies. Keep the ice pack pressed to your cheek until I return.”

  “Thanks,” he nods with a smile and I find myself returning it. I spare a glance towards Ryder as I walk out only to find he’s already looking at me.

  Heading to the supply room, I gather what I need to stitch up Levi’s wound and notify Dr. Handy, the assigned physician that we’ll be ready for him soon. My stomach still feels tingly from Ryder’s presence and I’m doing my best to ignore it. Just as I’m about to turn down the hall back to Levi’s room, my name is called.

  Turning, I see a nurse I’ve worked with for a few years now. Smiling, I greet him, “Hey Bryan, how’s it going?”

  “Not too bad, it’s kind of quiet tonight, huh?”

  I put my finger over my lips, “Shh, don’t jinx it”

  We laugh and he shrugs his shoulders with a regretful look on his face, ‘True. I should know better than to say that.”

  “If we get slammed, I’m blaming you.”

  “Fair enough,” he nods. “I’ve been looking for you because I was wondering if you’re still needing some volunteers for the weekend.”

  “Yes,” I answer immediately. “Last I heard, Helping Homes hardly had anyone sign up and they have a massive list of things to do at the home. Flooring, interior and exterior painting and yard work. If you or anyone you know can come out and help, that would be so awesome.” Helping Homes is one of my favorite charities. It’s an organization that provides housing for individuals or families that are victims of abuse. Women or men that are escaping abusive relationships oftentimes don’t have a place to go. Helping Homes has apartments and shelters and a staff that helps them get back on their feet. Then, when they are in a position to buy a new home, they either build needed homes, flip houses such that they fit the individual’s needs, or collaborate with Habitat for Humanity. Regardless, they are a wonderful housing source for many. It’s an amazing organization and I’ve been involved ever since I learned about it.

  “Sounds good, Sharon and I will be there,” he says referring to his long time girlfriend. “I know you posted a flyer a while back, but can you shoot me the address when you have a chance?”

  “Yeah, I’ll text it over in a bit, but if I forget, it’s on their website calendar too.”

  “Great. See you then.”

  “See you,” I smile and turn the corner and almost slam into someone.

  Placing my hands in front of me instinctually I touch a large chest. One hand is full of supplies, the other, touches muscle. Looking up, I see it belongs to Ryder. “Just the woman I was looking for,” he drawls and I’m caught up in the smile on his face and the look in his eyes.

  “What?” I ask stupidly.

  “I was looking for you.”

  “I’m on my way back to Levi right now. Is something wrong with him?”

  “No he’s fine.”

  “Oh.”

  “I was looking for you for another reason.” I raise my brows in question. “I wanted you alone for a minute so I can ask you to go to dinner with me.”

  “Was that a question?”

  “Go to dinner with me?” he asks with a sexy smile that’s hard to turn down. Almost.

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  His smile falls for a minute and he looks confused. “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry, Ryder.” His face falls and I shrug, “I’m just not interested.”

  For a moment he looks stunned. But then it fades and a slow smile begins spreading on his face and he laughs as if we’ve just shared a private joke.

  “What?” I ask him confused. He looks down and I see that my hand is not only still on his chest, but it’s in fact clutching at his shirt. Like I want to rip it off his chest. Oh god. I feel myself flush, which is also embarrassing, and I remove my hand quickly. Clearing my throat, I add, “I don’t date.”

  Side stepping him, I move down the hallway back to Levi’s room. Taking a moment to look back, my eyes connect with Ryder’s. He’s standing, arms crossed and watching my every move with a smirk on his face. Instead of acceptance or even disappointment at my answer reflecting in his eyes, I see pure determination.

  It’s hot as hell. Great. I’m doomed.

  Walking back into Levi’s room, I see that Dr. Handy is finishing his assessment, “Yep, just like Tessa said – no need for x-rays given where the blow occurred; just a few stitches and we’ll get you out of here.” I
efficiently set up the sterile field, using the supplies in the kit and assist the attending as I’ve done nearly a gazillion times before. He doesn’t indicate any discomfort. Upon completion, he continues to chat away as though our prior conversation was never disrupted. “Still can’t believe this happened, really. In all the time I’ve been fighting, this is the first time I’ve ever been cut deep enough to get stitches.”

  “Sounds like your type of fighting is pretty dangerous.”

  He shrugs, “It’s a sport. Every sport is dangerous.”

  “True,” I reluctantly agree. “Next time you should get out of the way, yeah?”

  He laughs, “Good advice.” I feel Ryder join us back in the room before I hear him. The hair on my arms stands on end. “Not all of us can be as good as Ryder here.”

  “Is that right?” I ask feigning disinterest.

  “Yep. You should come to the gym and watch us spar sometime. Or better yet, come to a fight. See him -hell, all of us - in action for yourself.”

  Laughing at his excitement, I can’t ignore him. “Maybe,” I say with a shrug not really committing one way or another.

  Seeming suddenly aware that the procedure is over, he thanks me profusely. I give him his discharge instructions, including how to care for area, signs of infection and that the sutures will dissolve in 10 days or so. I then wish him well. Looking over at Ryder as I walk out, he’s watching me again and I look away quickly. Hurrying down the hall, I duck inside an empty room and hide out there for a bit, trying to calm my nerves. Something is bugging me. I’m not sure if I’m bothered that he gave up so easily, or happy that he did.

  When my shift finally ends, I eagerly make my way home. I’ve been feeling uneasy all day. I haven’t been out to a club lately, haven’t made a connection and felt that moment of much needed euphoria in a while. I feel like I need someone’s hands on me, I need to feel like someone cares about me, cherishes me.

  When I enter my apartment, I place my keys on the table inside the door and notice a note placed there from Gina. Not that I could miss it – the print must be the equivalent of point font and she uses colored ink. “Don’t wait up hot stuff. I made my specialty chicken enchiladas. Left overs are in the fridge. XO.” She scribbled several hearts and kissy lips. She makes me smile.

  Smiling, I walk to the fridge and place a plate in the microwave. Waiting for it to finish, I go to my purse and dig out my phone. Turning it on, I wait for it to fire up, wondering if I’ve missed any texts or messages during my shift. I rarely check it during work, too caught up in patient care, staff crises, and since it is a policy, I’ve become ever more mindful, what with my current promotion. And lately, I admit, those rare free moments have been consumed with thoughts of Ryder.

  Putting my plate together, I sit down and have the first bite in my mouth when my phone chimes. My screen tells me I have a voicemail, so I swipe the screen to listen. “Tessa, it’s Jane Monroe,” I immediately have a sinking feeling in my stomach. Jane is a friend of mine. She’s also a State of Arizona prosecuting attorney – a rare individual to whom I’ve confided my deepest darkest secrets. I haven’t spoken to her in a while, but given the way my stomach dropped at the tone of her voice, I know this isn’t a social call. “You may already be aware of this, but just in case you aren’t, I wanted to tell you he’s coming up for release soon. I have a monitor on my computer and I just got the notification. I don’t know if you’re at all familiar with these things, but while he’ll be subject to some oversight and rules, he will basically be free. There’s only one way to mitigate that occurrence and we’ve discussed that before. We could get things underway now, so it will likely change the course in the weeks ahead. It’s up to you. But, Tessa… maybe it’s time to take some action.” She sighs deeply and pauses. “Okay. Give me a call when you have a chance. We’ll catch a drink if you want and can talk in more detail then.”

  Throwing my fork on my plate, I can’t get out of my chair fast enough. There’s no way I can make it to the bathroom in time, so I lose my dinner in the kitchen sink. Shakes rack my body and once I’ve lost every last bit I had in my stomach and continue to wretch and dry heave, I grab a paper towel, wipe my mouth and slide down to the floor.

  Leaning my head back, it slams into the cupboard behind me and I close my eyes. A memory assaults me…

  Quickly ducking behind the wall that surrounds the playground, I scrunch down until I’m partially hidden from the kids playing without a care in the world. Our school playground is enclosed with a fence, but where the tetherballs are located they have a cement wall surrounding the game as well. It makes for a space between the two fences and when I don’t want to be alone, I hide here.

  Some of the kids have been mean to me lately. Junior high is tough enough, but lately it’s been even harder. A few days ago, a girl that used to be my friend wouldn’t let me sit with her on the bus and called me mean names. Before that, someone, I didn’t see, tripped and pushed me down while walking into the school building, and I skinned my palms and knees. After these incidences, I decided hiding out during recess was probably the smartest thing to do. Better to not be seen or heard. There were only so many times a girl can keep tears at bay, but I refuse to let them see me cry. I made that mistake once, it only spurred them on more. They laughed and pointed and ridiculed.

  Never again.

  Taking a granola bar that I hid in my pocket, I carefully unwrap it and savor the first bite. Each day someone has either been taking my lunch or stealing my lunch money. All day long they take and hide my things and I’m left trying to locate them all at the end of the day. My backpack, sweater, lunch box, and folders, all scattered like some sick scavenger hunt. It’s made me late to the bus a few times already which makes my mom angry. She refuses to pick me up, so I have to walk home those days.

  I think it’s because she’s hiding too.

  I started keeping little snacks in my pocket in case my lunches go missing so I can have something to eat and not go hungry all day. Leaning back, I take another small bite, close my eyes and wait for the sound of the bell to ring, signaling the end of lunch and recess. Classes, while not easy, are certainly safer.

  Just as I let go of the tension in my shoulders, and stretch my legs out in front of me. The worst thing happens.

  I’m found.

  “Well, well, well, lookie here,” Fred the eighth grade bully calls as he locates me.

  My eyes snap open and I immediately bring my knees to my chest and curl into the tightest ball I can. I hear pounding footsteps approach as other kids come to inspect what Fred found.

  “Did you really think you could hide from us, Tessa? It’s our job to keep an eye on you.”

  I don’t answer. It’s never a good idea to respond.

  “Sure, go ahead and pretend you don’t hear us. But we know you do. I have a question for you.” I hear rustling and squeeze my eyes closed and hug my knees tighter. Fear winds its way up my body, gripping my heart tight and making me feel like I can’t breathe.

  “See how you are all huddled up and trying to protect yourself? Do you think that’s what that girl did too? You know the one.”

  I don’t expect the kick to my thigh when it comes. “You’re trash, just like your family.”

  I feel another kick to my side, one on my ankle, a pain so sharp it makes me cry out. Someone pulls my hair, I hear fabric tear and separate from my shoulder. The whole time I remain locked into a ball. Waiting for the pain and ridicule to end.

  Finally, I hear the bell ring in the distance. With one more hard kick to my arm, I hear them all run off. I have no idea how many of them there were and other than Fred, I have no idea who else was with him. Their voices were muffled by me tucking my head down as much as possible to protect myself from the blows.

  Unfolding myself, I take stock of my body. It aches and stings. I know without a doubt I’m going to have scratches and bruises I’m going to have to explain. My mom will just purse her lips and not say a wor
d. She won’t do anything either. My anger at her grows with each passing day.

  All my fellow eighth graders have obviously been told by their parents about the sins of my family. Sometimes I think that it must make me guilty too, even by association. Maybe even some of the children were his victims too, I don’t know. I know in my gut it was more than just the one girl. Each time this has happened I’m questioned by teachers and they want me to tell them who did this to me. I can see their thoughts reflected in their eyes though. I know that a piece of them thinks I deserve it.

  Because he’s my father.

  The sad part is that not one of them – not one single one - ever stops to consider that maybe I was a victim in all of this too.

  Rising to my feet, I make my way to the bathroom and grab my toothbrush to brush my teeth. Looking in the mirror as I brush, I see the anguish in my own eyes, so I do my best to push it away. Show nothing. I should have learned that by now. These feelings won’t accomplish anything; won’t make a difference.

  With resolve, I go to my room, determined to get dressed, and seek comfort. More than that. Tonight, I want oblivion.

  “Here you go Mrs. Rubina,” I hand her a very fat orange tabby cat that always manages to escape its apartment and owner at least once a month. Her cat is so overweight, I will never understand how it manages to get its fat kitty ass up a tree, but it does. Or her roof. Or her shed. It’s always something.

  I always thought the cat in the tree thing when it came to firemen was cliché, but I learned that’s not true. As much as it may make us crazy, Mrs. Rubina really loves her cat and she’s always appreciative of its rescue. The cookies she bakes as a thank you are almost worth the pain in the ass. Almost.

  As we get back to the station and prepare to end our shift, I remind everyone of where and when they need to be tomorrow to help me out. They moan and groan but I ignore them, and finally go home and crash.

  Rising bright and early the next day, I can’t help but feel amused by how excited I am to see Tessa again. Today will be a turning point, I can feel it. I mean, how much longer can she resist my fine ass anyway? After showering I throw on a pair of well-worn jeans, an old fighting t-shirt, and some shoes – I’m ready to go in no time.