by Missy Blue
"Which...part?" I asked hesitantly.
"All of it. How’d you get separated from them?"
"I was following Blaise and got separated in the crowd. Then these reporters surrounded me and it took a second to get away from them. By the time I made it through the crowd to the front, I'd lost everyone. Then the guards treated me like I was just another groupie, and then the groupies were trying to start shit with me..." I trailed off and shook my head, taking a deep breath. "But it's okay. Right? You came and got me."
"Anyone touch you?" he asked gruffly.
"I mean, the girls pushed me around a little. I wasn't trying to get in a fight and make you look bad, though."
"Pushed you around?" I could see the veins along his arms start to throb with anger.
"No big deal," I repeated. "The only thing I regret is not breaking all of their noses."
"Why did you act like I hurt you earlier?"
I blinked. "Huh?"
"When I had my hand on you. You flinched."
"Oh..." I said. "Don't worry about it."
"Don't worry about what?" he gritted out.
I sighed. "It's just a little sore back there."
"Sore why?" he growled lowly.
I sighed again. I hadn't wanted to tell him, but I could sense he was running out of patience. I shrugged. "Some girl right behind me threw a water bottle into my back. It was mostly full, and frozen, and I was close range."
He reached out and closed a hand around the waistband of my jeans and pulled me forward, spinning me around. "Let me see."
My midriff was mostly exposed in my cropped tank top, and it was easy for Asher to find. "Jesus."
"What?" I asked, trying to twist around to see it myself. I flinched again when he lightly brushed his fingers over the area. Even the slight touch made the very sore, tender skin cry out in pain. I bit hard on my lip, and he didn't miss it.
He frowned at me, then maneuvered me over to the mirror on the wall. He spun me around slightly. I gasped, shocked to see the area was already swollen and red, turning dark purple in some areas. I cleared my throat and met his eyes in the mirror. I laughed weakly.
"I bruise like a peach," I said. "This is not as bad as it looks."
"Oh, really?" Asher grunted, and brushed his fingers over the area again, a little more firmly than before, but still not remotely hard. I yelped in pain and jumped, instinctively trying to pull away from his touch. He moved his hand away from the bruise and replaced it on my waist, tugging me closer. “Come here,” he barked. He glanced into my eyes then shook his head and sighed. "I promised you that you’d be safe with me, I promised your father you'd be okay. We haven't even started the tournament yet and already you've gotten into some shit."
I brought my hands to his shoulders and shook them gently. "Asher, it's fine. No big deal, just some mean, hateful girls who are jealous." I smiled up at him as he glanced down at me. "Most of them were out there to see you, I think. It really burned their butter when you came to get me." My smile widened.
He lifted an eyebrow. "'Burned their butter'?" he repeated. "Where’re you from?"
I laughed and leaned in to lightly kiss his lips. "Listen, I'm sending your brother back in here. I'm going to go grab a brew and sit with Tess. Okay? I'm ready to see some ass-kicking."
He shook his head and grunted a laugh at me. "A brew and some ass-kicking. All right then." He tightened his hands around my waist and pulled me closer so he could get a real kiss. "Get out of here. I'll talk to you later."
I sent Bailey back in, and followed Tess through the seeming maze of concrete hallways through the arena. Since we were guests of one of the fighters, we were able to take seats close to the ring. I noticed it was really more of a circular, tall black wire mesh cage.
We had just seated ourselves when a press reporter ambled over to us, wearing a ‘Press’ pass on a lanyard around his neck and holding a smartphone. His eyes were glued to me as he leaned over. And who is this?" he asked, reaching for my hand. "Lovely lady."
I wasn't sure if I should answer. I remembered him from outside, the one who had asked me if I were Asher’s girlfriend. I was instinctively suspicious of the man but didn't want to seem paranoid. I shook his hand tentatively. "I'm Jewel Mucc—" I started to say, until Tess leaned over abruptly and wrapped a hand around my wrist, tugging it out of the man's hand gently.
"She’s with us," Tess said curtly. “Now piss off, Marty White.”
The reporter lifted his eyebrows at Tess and looked amused. "Okay, then. Well, mystery lady. It was nice to meet you. Tess. Nice to see you again. You guys have a good one." He gave me a long look before he finally turned and walked away.
"What's his deal?" I asked Tess.
Tess shook her head in annoyance. "That's Marty White. Don't talk to him. He's a vulture. He was the one who leaked out the rumor about Asher having a dirty affair with Bethany Done. You know, his best friend’s wife. That whole ordeal nearly destroyed Asher. I’d never seen him so angry in my life. He was nearly banned from fighting...Marty White just goes after whatever he can and doesn't give a shit about any of the lives he destroys."
I nodded, looking thoughtfully after Marty White.
I had a strong feeling I needed to watch out for him.
THE TOURNAMENT WAS several fights in, and I was exhilarated. I had no idea I'd come to enjoy watching MMA fights as much as I was right now. I was working on my third pint of the cheap arena beer; I suspected that might have something to do with it. I wasn't sure when Asher was supposed to be fighting, but there had been five fights so far.
The Press box, where the two commentators had set up shop, was just in front of us. I could hear everything they were saying and I had to roll my eyes occasionally. All they did was argue amongst themselves about their opinions on the fighters.
Suddenly the lights dimmed again and some heavy metal song started playing as the announcer began to call forth one of the next fighters. I listened hard but I couldn't make out his name. A punk-looking solid young man began dancing down the aisles. He had a Mohawk and his arms were each covered in a sleeve of tattoos. He seemed to be incredibly amped up as he slapped hands with fans on his trek toward the cage.
The lights dimmed a little again and this time, I was able to hear the name that was being called because there was no music playing. My stomach clenched in excitement as I heard, "Asher ‘The Tornado’ Prince!"
I strained to catch sight of Asher. I finally saw him, wearing a black sweatshirt, the deep hood pulled low over his head as he made his way to the ring. Fans, male and female, screamed, and sudden movements caught my eye as signs bearing his name, some with hearts, rose into the air.
But he acknowledged none of it, solely focused on getting into the ring and ‘getting to work,’ as he liked to say. He was close enough to see clearly now, perhaps twenty feet away from our seats. He quickly stripped off his sweatshirt and handed it to Bailey, who trailed behind him. I held my breath as he entered the ring, and allowed myself a moment to admire his smooth skin and his taut muscles. He shoved his mouth guard in and focused intently on his opponent.
When the match began, he held back, waiting to see what his opponent would do. The young man flew at him with a series of lightning-fast kicks and punches. Asher deflected and sidestepped his blows, not concerned, not worried, just focused in that intent manner. This continued on for a few more moments. I knew Asher was studying the young man, getting a feel for his style, before he ended it ‘Tornado’ style.
The young man launched another kick, toward Asher's head. Asher lashed out with an arm, winding it around the man's leg and pulling it in tight to his side. He blocked a flailing, startled punch from the other man before sending his fist directly into the middle of the man's face. His opponent's head flew back and he crumpled to the mat, sliding out of Asher's grasp.
"That's how it's done!" I heard Bailey shout, pumping his fists in the air. "That's right!"
I cheered loudly, drawing the at
tention of one of the commentators seated in the box in front of me. It wasn't the first time they'd studied me. They always smiled, always waved, or gave me some polite acknowledgment.
As Asher made his way across the ring, I heard them. "Seated directly behind us, Bryan, is the family of Asher Prince," one of the commentators was saying. "We've got his brother, the infamous Bailey ‘Crusher’ Prince, helping him out, but there’s a very lovely young lady who up until now, has been a bit of a mystery. I guess Asher Prince is done with the dead Marine’s wife and has moved on to better and much younger things."
I heard Tess gasp, and my head snapped up. Even Asher paused near the door of the cage, fixing the two unaware commentators with a murderous glare.
"We have rumors that the young woman is Asher Prince's girlfriend who had a run-in with some fans and security earlier today; we're told she was struck with a weapon in the back before The Tornado came to her rescue.” I didn’t think it could get any worse then.
But it did.
Beyond my wildest fears.
“And just a little bit ago we received confirmation that her name is Juliet Mucciarone from Pittsburgh. Originally from New York, we now have confirmation that she was the victim involved in one of the most heinous rapes and attempted murders of the past year. She was the victim of serial killer Jackson James and we have reports that she will be testifying at his trial this coming week, as she remains his only living victim."
I felt the blood drain from my face as a strange, lightheaded sensation came over me. My heart stuttered and jerked oddly as I felt seemingly every pair of eyes turned in my direction.
But I only cared about one pair of eyes.
My eyes dully sought Asher's, and I had never seen such a look of rage on his face before. I'd thought this morning was the maddest I'd ever seen him; he'd seemed almost happy then, by comparison now.
Everything unfolded in what seemed like slow motion. Asher burst out of the cage and sprinted toward the booth. Bailey leapt forward and caught Asher’s arm. Tess was screaming out, and I suddenly couldn't handle anyone else looking at me, pointing, whispering. I was torn, wanting to go to Asher. But his brother and two security guards were restraining him, trying to stop him from getting any closer to the booth and killing the two commentators. But three big men weren’t enough apparently, and another security guard, a much bigger one, had to help hold Asher back, too.
The two commentators had jumped to their feet and backed up, and one of them turned to look at me. The look on his face enraged me. He didn't look apologetic.
He looked amused.
The half-full cup of beer fell from my hand as I whirled. I found myself staring into the eyes of a tall man and his friend behind him. Both were smirking at me. Their mouths were opened. They were talking at me.
Jeering at me. Making fun of my pain.
I tried to shove between them, get away from them, get out of the arena before anxiety overwhelmed me. One of the men, stinking with alcohol, grabbed my arm and tried to hold me back, press me between them. Tremendous fury rose up in me, and remembering everything Asher had taught me, my fists moved of their own accord.
I punched the one who touched me in his nose, feeling the bone crunch underneath my small knuckles. The force of my blow made his head snap back and he went toppling backward, knocking over chairs and people. I heard cries of dismay, but I swung on the other man, whose hand had risen to claim my other arm. I shoved my knee hard into his crotch, burying my kneecap deep in his groin. And as the air audibly whooshed out of him, I flung an elbow into his face to send him sprawling back in the other direction.
I became aware of my name being screamed by someone, but I raced out of the arena into the hallways. I pulled off my heels and ran, fast, down the concrete corridors until I reached the back entrance I'd arrived at.
I just kept running.
Never looking back.
Chapter Twenty
Him
“ASHER,” SHE SAID quietly. Jewel stepped back to let me in her hotel room, then shut and locked the door behind me.
“You okay?” I asked. She looked down at her feet. “Jewel. Tell me.”
“I’m okay…”
I breathed in and out and tried to keep myself from punching the wall behind her head. I was going to kill those motherfuckers who’d revealed Jewel’s identity. I didn't know what the hell I had done to deserve this woman tearing my world apart. I’d just risked everything—everything! All the training, all the blood, sweat and tears, it didn’t matter in the end. I had just given up a two mill purse, for Christ’s sake. For my little Nutcracker.
I didn’t regret a second of it.
I only regretted not saving her.
“Stop lying. I know you’re not,” I rumbled.
“Don’t tell me what I’m feeling,” she rasped. I stared down at her and she was leaning against the wall, hand on hip, her dark eyes somehow managing to blaze heat when their very color belied any warmth. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips were set in a thin, hard line. She was about five-feet nothing, but at that moment, she looked much taller, her anger and passion lending height to her small frame.
I swallowed hard. She was dressed in a pink cropped T-shirt that showed her smooth abdomen. She wore a pair of short white boxer shorts and her long dark hair hung over one shoulder in a loose, messy braid.
“You should be angry with me. You have every right to be.”
“I’m not angry with you,” she murmured. As I looked at her lips, her eyes dropped so I couldn't read her expression and she ran her tongue lightly over her bottom lip, then bit down. “You risked everything for me, Asher. You risked the tournament…for me.” She moved her eyes back up to me, all that white heat suddenly gone and replaced suddenly by something else.
Something that was going to make me lose control.
“I’d do anything to protect you—anything.”
She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t care about any of them out there,” she continued, taking my hand and leading me to the bed. “I don’t care. I only care about you, Asher. You are my whole world. I want you. I want all of you. Be with me tonight.”
“Jewel,” I said lowly.
“No, Asher. Don’t. Don’t fight me on this. I need to be with you. You said once that I no longer needed to be afraid, now that I got you. Show me. Because I am afraid.” She slowly reached a hand out toward me. “You are the only one who can fix me.”
She took hold of the zipper on my navy blue sweatshirt. My eyebrows shot up and I looked down, watching as her hand slowly pulled the zipper down along its track, until she reached the bottom. With a little tug and flick of her wrist, the zipper opened and the jacket fell around either side of my waist. I looked at her again and she was staring. My brow creased slightly.
"Jewel," I said quietly. "What’re you doing?" Based on the trauma she'd experienced earlier, I didn't want her feeling like she needed to prove anything to me again.
In reply she slowly reached out again, this time with both hands and leaned across my chest to pull one side of my jacket down my arm and then the other. I caught her hand and tugged her closer.
"What’re you doing?" I rasped. "You don't—"
"Shush," she said finally.
I blinked. "Shush?"
She suddenly leaned in, her face centimeters from me, her warm breath brushing my lips. "I said, sshh," she whispered. "Okay?"
I scanned her face, suddenly finding it hard to look away from her lips, and slowly nodded. She leaned back and began pulling my arms out of the sleeves of my sweatshirt. When my arms were free, she pulled the sweatshirt from underneath me and tossed it onto the floor before she turned to look at me again.
I jumped slightly when her hands moved to the bottom hem of my white ribbed tank top and pulled it upward. I let her pull it up over my abdomen and helped her to pull it over my head. Her eyes raked down me for a long time while she sat motionless. I had just started to grow slightly uncomfo
rtable under her scrutiny when she whispered, "You're beautiful."
I wasn't sure how to respond to it but whatever lame words I'd pulled forth from the recesses of my brain died in my mouth when her hands reached out slowly again and rested lightly on my pecs. My skin jumped at her touch as warmth flooded my body and blood surged to the sensitive area at the apex of my groin. Her small, soft hands pressed into my chest and then ran down the length of my abdomen, the tips of her fingers digging in ever so slightly. Her fingers traced the ridges of my stomach, following every curve of muscle, every outlined rib. Her fingers then moved higher to my chest and arms and she traced my tattoos. Her fingers skimmed my skin and it was so relaxing, I could have closed my eyes and gone to sleep.
I grew alert again when her hands dropped away and she met my eyes. "Asher," she whispered. She faltered and bit her lip.
"What?" I whispered back.
"Do you want...to see me?" Her fingers played at the hem of her cropped T-shirt.
I swallowed hard. "Jewel," I said again. "You don't have to—"
"Do you want to see me?"
I searched her eyes for some semblance of her not knowing what she was doing but saw only want and calm in them. So I nodded slowly and swallowed.
She took the hem of her shirt between her fingertips and pulled it slowly upward over her head and tossed it aside. She lowered her arms and watched my eyes move helplessly all over her. She pushed backward slowly until she moved off the bed and brought her hands to the waistband of her little boxer shorts on her hips. My eyes widened slightly as she leaned forward and began to inch them off her hips until they slid down her legs. The overprotective part of my brain made me feel like I should tell her to stop, to put her clothes back on, but I couldn't seem to find the words.
She was beautiful.
Her breasts were perky and round, generous for her frame, but not too big, just perfectly proportioned. Her waist narrowed before bowing out into the slender, beautiful curves of her hips. Her thighs, both slender and thick at the same time, defined with muscle, called out for my hands and my mouth. In addition to her white lacy bra, she wore a matching mesh thong. As she leaned forward to crawl onto the bed, I almost lost it when I saw the way the lingerie disappeared between the rounded, high mounds of soft flesh of her backside.
