Against the Ropes

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Against the Ropes Page 9

by Sarah Castille


  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

 

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