of my neck prickles.
“What are you doing here?” she snaps.
“I want to speak to Makayla.”
“She’s busy. She doesn’t have time for men who are going to mess
with her head.” Amanda is in full protective mode and although she is
only one third Torment’s size, the force of her will makes me shudder.
“It’s okay. I want to talk to him.” I pat her shoulder but she
doesn’t move.
“She wants to talk to me.” Torment’s firm voice silences the whis-
pers at the back of the room.
“She doesn’t.”
“She does.”
“She doesn’t.”
Torment explodes into motion. “Dammit, Amanda. Get out of
my way.” He reaches around her, grasps my hand and pulls me into
his chest.
My pulse races. My body flames. Moisture pools between my thighs.
So hard. So rough. So warm. So dominating. I want more. More of
this erotic manhandling of my body. More forceful, alpha-male.
No. I give myself a mental shake. Dominating bad. Manhandling
bad. Forceful bad. Did I learn nothing when I was a child?
I press my hands against his chest and push myself away.
Torment frowns. “I need to see you. Now. Alone.” His body vi-
brates with tension and I slide my hand into his to calm him down.
“Okay. We can talk in my bedroom. It’s just down the hall.” I give
his hand a squeeze. He gives my hand a tug. Next thing I know, I am
flying down the hallway behind him. He pulls me into the bedroom,
slams the door behind us, and spins me around to face him.
“That was dramatic and just bordering on unacceptable behavior,”
I say, breathless.
He rakes his hand through his hair. “I couldn’t wait. I had to talk
to you.”
With a shaky inhalation, I press my back against the door.
Every nerve in my body is on fire. “Here I am,” I breathe a whisper.
“Talk away.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
My eyes widen. “You came here to tell me that?”
“I came here to see you.”
I melt against the door in a pool of warm fuzzies. “You saw me
last night.”
“I saw you leave last night. I didn’t understand why until I got your
text.” He takes a deep breath and leans his forearm against the door
beside my head. So close. So hot. His broad chest blocks out everything
in the room, and I have to tilt my head back to see his face.
“You should have given me a chance to explain.” His eyes soften
and he twirls a strand of my hair around his fingers. “I would never lead
you on. I’m a one-woman man and right now you’re the woman I want
to get to know. I’ve never met anyone with so much compassion. You’re
beautiful, strong, and brave. You see into the heart of people. You listen.
You did more for Homicide and Flash than patching them up. You
made their lives better in the short time you were with them.”
Stunned by the onslaught of compliments—more than I’ve ever
had in my life—I have to force my words out. “But I saw you with…
Pink…Sandy…and Homicide said she was your girlfriend.”
His face darkens. “Maybe you misheard. Sandy and I had a casual
and brief relationship. It didn’t work out. She has had a hard time ac-
cepting that it’s over.”
“No one else?”
His slow, easy smile steals my breath away. “No one.”
He tucks my hair behind my ear and strokes a finger along my jaw.
“Will you come to the club, now?”
Argh. What a confusing man. Did he do all this just to get me to
work after all?
He cups my jaw with his hand and tilts my head back, stroking
my cheek with his thumb. “You have the most expressive eyes,” he
murmurs. “Beautiful, emerald green eyes. I can see what you’re think-
ing. And you’re wrong. I would have come here tonight even if I didn’t
need you at the club.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and press my lips together. How nice to be
so transparent. What if he can see how badly I want him to kiss me?
Hmmm. My eyes fly open.
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 uncomfort-
able.” 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 inten-
sity, 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 prob-
ably 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 fight 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 amateur 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’ 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 heavy-
weight, two classes down from Misery. That weight will make a differ-
ence, 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 cro
wd 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 in-
stantly. 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 sicken-
ing, 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
Against the Ropes Page 9
