by T Steele
But I stare everyone in the eye, letting them know they better not fucking try anything, and then I grab her around the waist. She stares at me with wide eyes, and I kiss her ferociously. It’s a claim, and I don’t care if it makes me territorial. I am. And these fuckers need to know that she’s mine. They’ll have to face the consequences of my anger if they disrupt her happiness in any way.
When I pull away, Ella is breathless, with rosy cheeks and swollen lips. People around us let out whistles and catcalls.
“Sorry,” I murmur lowly.
“Did you have to mark your territory in front of everyone? Am I your property?” she asks, but she doesn’t sound mad about it.
“No, you’re my prize, and I’m showing you off. And… well, okay, yeah, maybe I don’t want none of the assholes in here thinking you’re not mine.”
“Am I yours?” she asks.
“Are you?” I retort back. I had told the fuck-head at my other fight that Ella was mine, but he was just one sleazeball. The group of people in the audience is always changing. I never know who will or won’t see us in here together. Looks like I may have to make a habit of kissing Ella like this in front of everyone at all my fights. Oh poor me, I think sarcastically.
Before she can answer, the announcer's voice booms through the speaker. “The Annihilator is in the motherfucking house!”
I pull my shirt off and notice Ella’s eyes trailing up and down my body. I wrap the shirt around the back of her shoulders. “Take care of this for me, hmm?” I whisper in her ear, and when I pull away, she’s blushing fiercely.
Everyone cheers, and I give her one last heated look before walking up to the ring. This time the fight is taking place inside of a gutted gym. The equipment is all gone, and the drywall is half-rotted, but there is already a stage-like area with mats set up in the center.
My opponent stares me down, trying to appear intimidating, but I sense his fear the way a tiger senses his prey.
The bell rings, and we circle each other for a few moments. As we stay in this state, eyeing each other for what feels like forever, I realize he’s done his research. He knows I usually don’t take the first hit. Alright, he wants to make me go first, then that’s what he’ll get.
I strike hard, hitting him square in the nose, before delivering a swift kick to his temple. He goes down like a sack of potatoes, and I watch him for a beat, wondering if I should just jump on him and end it now, or drag it out a little. This one hasn’t even been fun. But in the millisecond I spend pondering that, the fucker kicks his leg out, sending me to the floor.
I land on my back with an oomph. When the breath returns to my body, I grin and jump back up within a second, ready to go.
He’s up too, bloody nose and all. My heart beats excitedly in my chest. With everything going on in my life right now, I’m fucking ready to let loose.
“Glad to see you have some fight in you,” I tell him, angering him more.
He growls, charging at me and I block him. He does it again, I block him again. I do this for a few moments, wearing him out. His arms are gaining momentum with his rising fury, but it’s causing him to become sloppy. Finally, I slap him in the face because I can. It’s a shitty move, but it gives the beast inside me satisfaction. Because that’s the way I feel in the ring most of the time, like a ferocious beast hunting down his prey.
When I finally get him with an uppercut that sends him flying to the floor, I jump on him, holding him until he taps out. My body is throbbing from adrenaline, hot and slick with sweat, but I feel accomplished. This is one more step in the right direction for my goal of becoming an MMA fighter. And more money for my mom.
The bell rings, and the crowd roars, but the noise barely registers. Whenever I’m finished with a fight, it takes a moment for my senses to get back to normal.
Jake stands beside me, blunt hanging from his lips as he raises my hand in the air.
My chest heaves, but I’m feeling unstoppable. I look for Ella in the crowd, and when I spot her, I’m not prepared to see the lust in her eyes. A slow smile spreads across my face and she blushes, smiling back, clapping her hands and cheering for me.
I jump out of the ring, making my way to her. She watches me approach, her eyes roaming my body, drinking me in, and when I reach her I lift her in my arms.
“Doesn’t the winner get a kiss?” I ask cheekily.
“Yes,” she breathes, and fuck if the sound of her voice doesn’t send all the blood straight to my cock.
“Not here,” I say, grabbing her hand and I begin pushing through the crowd, leading her outside. Normally, I would want to kiss her, claim her in front of everyone, just like I had when we’d first arrived. But right now I’m too hyped up. I want her so badly that I’m not sure I can control myself. I don’t bother to look and see if Waverly and Jake are following. Everyone at this damn place knew my intentions when I stalked toward Ella, I doubt Jake and Waverly were any exception. Besides, Waverly has approved of me now. I can see it in her eyes. Everyone knows when the best friend approves of the new boyfriend, then he’s golden.
We reach my truck quickly. I stare at the bed of the truck meaningfully, and then back to Ella. “Too bad there are so many people around, or we could make good use of the truck bed again.”
She licks her lips, and my body responds instantly to just that tiny reaction from her.
“Maybe we can go back to the woods and use it again,” she says, and the heat on her cheeks matches the heat in her eyes and fuck me, it’s damn near impossible for me to wait. Instead of taking her here and now. But then I stop. I stare at her face, and I know I can’t do this. I can’t keep leading her on when I haven’t told her the truth.
I lean down and gently kiss her lips, my hands rest at her cheeks, and she softly hums into my mouth. It’s a sweet, light sound that I don’t deserve, but I take it. Take everything she’s giving me at this moment because I know what I’m about to say next will leave her feeling rejected.
“Actually…I think I’m just going to take you home,” I say, and I can hear the regret in my own voice.
She steps back, furrowing her brow as she scans my face. I see the hurt in her expression, but I can’t bring myself to tell her just yet why I can’t take things any further with her.
I’m a fucking coward, and she deserves better. Maybe I’ll get up the nerve to tell her soon, but with Ella, I don’t want to hurt her. Yet, she is scarier than any opponent I’ve ever fought in the ring. Because hurting her will hurt me, and it won’t be the physical pain that can heal.
This girl has imprinted herself into my brain. Not only do I have a physical reaction to her, but an emotional one too. There will be no getting Ella Black out of my system. She’s there like a vital organ, needed, and never going away.
Chapter 13
Ella
The morning after Nixon’s fight, I’m standing in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. My whole life, I had never really considered myself beautiful. Not ugly, either, just some mixture in between. Plain, maybe? I like my blue eyes, but my red hair was just…meh. But now, I was starting to feel different. I could tell Nixon thought I was attractive, and that made a ball of warmth erupt into a million butterflies inside my stomach. I don’t recall anyone ever thinking I was beautiful besides my parents, and they didn’t count. But when Nixon looked at me, I didn’t feel like anything was wrong with me, and that was priceless.
Waverly stares at me in the mirror, wearing her usual comfy clothes of a hoodie and leggings. “What are you grinning about? It wouldn’t have anything to do with a big, tattooed man, would it?”
I blush, fiddling with the makeup brush lying on my small desk. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s got a mirror on it, so I can pretend it’s a pretty vanity, right? “No, I just want to look pretty today.”
“You look pretty every day,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“Aw, that’s nice of you to say. Thank you.”
She grins. “I’m practicall
y an angel.”
“If you’re an angel, I’m a lizard,” I say, raising my brows and grinning.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Waverly says.
“Sure, it does.”
I make sure to put extra care into my makeup today using mascara, eyeliner, and even some red lipstick. I sit back and admire my work, wanting it to look as close to perfect as I can get it. Would Nixon care about me wearing makeup? Probably not, but it made me feel good, and it was nice to express myself in this way. It’s been too long since I’ve paid any attention to my appearance.
When I’m finished, I run my fingers through my hair, trying to give it as much volume as I can until Waverly’s smug voice comes from behind me. “You guys did hump, didn’t you?!”
I start, bringing a hand to my chest, eyes flying to her reflection in my mirror. “Jesus, dude. You scared me!”
“Muhaha,” she cackles, green eyes lit with excitement. Then her gaze becomes serious. “Well, did you?” she asks.
I laugh, shaking my head, exasperated. “No.” Then I frown. “We could have, though,” I say, blushing.
Waverly raises a brow. “What do you mean?”
“He…” I trail off, not really knowing how to explain it. “Well, we do…other things…but then he always stops it before we get to the main event.”
She scrunches her face up. “Why would he stop things? I don’t see Nixon as the ‘let’s wait till we’re married’ kind of guy.”
“I know. That’s why it’s weird. Do you think there’s a reason he doesn’t want to?”
“No, you’re hot. I don’t see why he’s holding back.”
I frown. “You don’t think it’s because I’m a virgin, do you?”
“Hmm…in my experience, most guys would jump at the chance to pop your cherry, but maybe he’s got some kind of noble thing going on inside his head. I don’t know,” she shrugs. “You should talk to him about it.”
She’s right, I should. But was I even ready for that step? I knew my body wanted it, but how would my mind deal with it? A sick feeling enters the pit of my stomach. Could I trust him enough to take that final step and let him see me, all of me? And if I was ready, did he even want to?
***
Twenty minutes later, Waverly had already taken off and I’m ready to head to class. I open the door and prepare to step out, but there's a box at my doorstep. My head whips back and forth, looking both ways even though I know no one will be there. I haven’t ordered anything, and for a minute I can’t figure out why I’d be getting a package. But then dread fills me and I stand rooted to the spot, completely frozen for a moment. This “friend” person wouldn’t start sending me packages now, would he?
I pick up the box and gently shake it as I walk back inside my dorm. It sounds like it’s full of…paper? I set it on my bed, then I notice the tag. I jerk back, as if it’s a bomb.
It’s addressed to “Sweet Ella Black”. Only one person calls me that.
I pick up my cell and call Nixon. He answers on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“I got another present.”
“I’ll be right there,” he says before hanging up.
I sit, tapping my nails against my nightstand, wishing it was my flute. Playing it would be a good distraction right now, but I’m feeling too numb to get up and get it out of my bag. Plus, I don’t want to annoy any of our neighbors. I wait for what feels like an eternity.
Then, there’s a knock at the door, and I look through the peephole to see Nixon’s worried face. I open the door and he storms in, looking around as if someone’s going to pop out at any moment and attack. Finally, he looks at me, and is by my side in two long strides. “Are you alright?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet.”
His eyes scan over my face. “Want me to open it with you?”
I nod, feeling weak for wanting help, but grateful I didn’t have to ask. We sit on my bed with its pink comforter, Nixon looking entirely too big for the tiny twin size.
He rips the tape and pries open the box. A bunch of pictures spill out, and they’re all of Nixon fighting. Beating people to a bloody pulp. I gasp, fear trickling in like a sharp claw down my spine. Nixon clenches his jaw as he opens the note that fell out with the photos.
“Sweet Ella Black,
Do not go to the police again or I turn these pictures in.
Sincerely,
A Friend.”
How did this person, this “Friend” guy know that we had been to the police? And just how long has he been watching us, to have all these pictures of Nixon?
Nixon sets the note down with a trembling hand. He looks furious, and I don’t blame him. I’m overwhelmed with fear, but also with guilt. Guilt because if the police find out about Nixon’s underground fights, I’m sure it wouldn’t be good, especially for someone who already has a record.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, trying to keep my voice from trembling.
Why is it that as soon as I start to feel any sense of normalcy, something like this happens?
“Don’t you dare apologize for this. It isn’t your fault,” Nixon growls. “And I hope you don’t think this is stopping me. They can turn me in all they want. Fuck whoever’s sending these notes. Your safety is more important.”
My mouth drops open. “The police can’t know about your underground fighting. They would try to send you back to prison. I can’t let you go to prison for me.” My voice is hysterical, my hair flying every which way as I shake my head frantically.
Nixon’s face goes carefully blank, and his blue-grey eyes pierce into me as if he’s willing me to do something, but I don’t know what.
“I wouldn’t necessarily go back to prison. And anyway, like I said, I don’t give a fuck about myself right now. This obviously isn’t some joke. This is serious.”
“No. I don’t care. I’m not letting that happen to you,” I say because how could I? Now that I’m close with him, I feel like it isn’t possible for him to hurt anyone that he’s not in the ring with. And sure, he told me a little about the reason he went to prison, and the story about his tattoos. At least that was one personal thing about himself, but I still don’t know much about him at all. He doesn’t know about you, either, my mind quips. Should I ask him more about it? Is it rude? Do I have the right to know? Are these things even important to think about right now?
He continues to watch my face, studying me with an intense expression, and I fear he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“What is it?” he asks quietly. “What are you thinking?”
I feel my cheeks heat. How can he read me so easily? I look away, and I notice the clock.
Dammit! I’m late!
“Shoot, I’m late! I gotta go to class today. There’s this important keynote speaker coming. I can’t miss it.”
Nixon looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. “I’ll walk you there.”
We stand together, and exit the dorm.
“If you feel threatened by anything today, I want you to text me immediately, okay?” Nixon says seriously once we’re outside.
“I will,” I say. “Thank you.”
He nods.
We get a few odd stares here and there, but most people don’t have the guts to look at Nixon for too long, and for some reason, I like that. It makes me feel safe. Like no one will bother me. I’ve never felt untouchable in this way before.
When we arrive at my class, the place is crowded. That’s not unusual since it’s an entry-level science class that a lot of freshmen are forced to take, and I really wish I could have skipped it, because I can’t stand the subject.
Suddenly, I feel Nixon suck in a sharp breath and stiffen beside me. I go to turn my head to see what has him reacting like that, and Nixon flinches. “Ella, no!” he says, guiding me away. But it’s too late. I’ve already seen.
At first, I’m shocked. I’m so numb that I’m nothing but skin and limbs moving back in the directio
n of my dorm. But my stomach is burning and there’s so much pressure in my chest that I’m afraid it will crush me. I don’t know how to get rid of it.
Nixon is talking, his voice deep and soft, but I can’t hear anything. Why is he taking me away? How does he know that the man back there standing in my science class is my biggest fear?
Chapter 14
Nixon
Rage. That’s all I’m feeling right now, overwhelming every other emotion, because that motherfucker who tormented Ella is back. And to add to the complete shitstorm, he just so happens to be the reason I’d gone to prison. And now, Ella knows. She has to realize that I’m aware of what happened between them because of the reaction I’d had. But more importantly, it was the expression on her face that had me gutted. I’d rather rip off my own arm than to see her face the way it looks now. Ashen and wet with tears. I’d wager that she didn’t even realize that she started crying. I can’t blame her—this is old trauma. Horrible, awful trauma that no one should have to go through or relive.
I finally get her back to her dorm and open the door, ushering her inside before locking it. As soon as we’re alone, I wrap her in my arms, and her body is trembling. Powerful sobs rip through her throat. Forceful and brutal. It’s pain and fear and anger, and I feel it all. I wish I could absorb it from her, take her pain away.
I’m suddenly reverted back to my starving eighteen-year-old self in the lunch line. The day it all happened. Fuck! It’s hard to think about it. To go back to that place, but my mind won’t stop.
Ella’s good deed had weighed heavily on my shoulders that entire day as I planned to rob one of the teachers. The skinny, freckle-faced girl had saved me that day, and she didn’t even know it. Giving me just one extra dollar for lunch had probably meant nothing to her, but it meant everything to me. That had been my only meal that day because my dad had taken all our money the night before, and I knew he would be back that night, too. I had thought if I could just stay after school, I could break into one of the teacher’s classrooms. Steal their wallet, go through their desks, maybe find a few things in their rooms I could sell. Something. Anything.
