by Skyla Madi
Jai turns so I can’t see his face, only the rigid muscles in his back. I know the stance. I’m not getting an answer out of him and it makes me nervous. Does he actually want to help me, or does he have some kind of secondary motive? I’d like to think I can trust Jai, but something is holding me back. It could be the atmosphere, the situation, that’s preventing me from trusting him...or maybe it takes more than a pretty face to fool me. The shrink I saw a few times earlier this year would chalk it up to mommy and daddy issues. He’d claim I was finding it difficult, accepting the fact someone cares about me when the two people who were meant to didn’t.
I sigh. For the first time since meeting Dr. Stein, I hope he’s right. I hope it’s my issues preventing me from trusting Jai and not some weird sixth sense.
Because I need him.
I won’t survive alone.
Preparation
I pull the fabric of his shirt higher over my head. The sound of Jai beating his fists into the punching bag over and over is making me nauseous. He started an hour ago and I don’t know how he’s still managing to connect with so much power. I’m only listening to him and it’s enough to make my arms feel like jelly. I don’t know much about his punching technique, but he’s strong, that I know for sure. I can hear the material struggle to absorb his strength, hit after hit. The chain and the pipe he’s slung the heavy bag over creaks and complains, and I expect it to come crashing down every time he connects. Somehow, it doesn’t.
“You can’t hide under my clothes forever, Kitten,” Jai announces, amusement lacing his tone.
“Maybe not forever, but I’m happy with right now.”
Jai stops punching his bag and a small eternity later, a single, warm index finger circles my ankle and glides up my calf, leaving a line of fire in its wake. My breath is trapped in my throat when the finger falls away. Where will it appear next? I try to feel his presence, feel his body warmth, but it’s already so dense in here.
That’s when the shirt I’m using to cover my face is yanked away from me and tossed across the small space. Luckily, I put clothes on a little while ago, otherwise my goodies would be out for all to see.
I adjust my lime-green tank top and fold my arms.
“Get up. We’ve got training to do,” he orders.
I pout. There’s no way I’m punching that thing. What if I miss? What if I hurt myself, or pull a muscle? “I’d rather die.”
He sneers at me, his eyes flaring wickedly. “And you probably will if you don’t learn something before then.”
Jai extends a wrapped hand to me and I eye up the thick, blue fabric. It’s a killer color next to his tanned complexion.
“Why’s it wrapped?”
He smiles. “To compress the soft tissues of my hand when I’m punching faces.”
Charming. “I don’t have any wraps.”
He clicks his fingers impatiently and nudges his open hand closer. “Doesn’t matter right now. Get up.”
Defeated, tired, and still with a killer headache, I put my hand in his and let him pull me to my feet. He grins down at me when my head lolls to the side. His apparent happiness glistens in his blue eyes. I’m glad he’s happy, but I’m not on the same level. To be honest, I’m still a little bothered he ignored my question earlier. Why does he want to help me if there’s no money in it for him?
“How old are you?” he asks, angling his head.
Usually, the age questions is something you ask before fucking like animals. What if I was sixteen? Too late. “Twenty-five. Why?”
“Twenty-five? Are you sure?”
I arch a brow. What kind of question is that? “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m twenty-five.”
“Funny. You have the exact same attitude as my sixteen-year-old sister when she’s told to do things. It’s unnerving.”
Instead of finding the fact he compared me to a sixteen-year-old annoying, I find myself endeared he even has a sister. There’s something about him loving and caring for a sibling that moves me. I bet all of her friends crush on Jai. Hard.
“You have a sister?”
He frowns. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like someone just handed you a puppy.”
My lips pull wider, despite Jai’s confused expression. Rolling his eyes, Jai presses his wrapped hand to the small of my back and nudges me towards the bag.
“I just think it’s sweet your sister has someone like you to look after her.”
He presses the fingers of his other hand to the bag to prevent it from swinging. The bag is tattered and worn—even more so now Jai’s had his turn with it. Dust floats in the air around it and I can taste it in my throat.
“My sister can handle herself. She’s stronger than any boy her age. I made sure of that.”
He moves behind the bag to steady it, and with a flick of his head, he says, “Show me what you got.”
I don’t move. “You know I don’t have anything.”
“You have something, we just have to find out where your starting point is. Punch the bag.”
“Jai—”
“I’m not asking you again, Kitten. Punch the damn bag.”
Clenching my teeth, I cock my arm back and punch the bag. A small pain tugs at my tendon and I pull my hand back as it spreads to my elbow. Cradling my wrist, I look at Jai. He’s less than impressed with me, for some reason. Punching is a lot harder than it looks.
“Well…” he utters, letting go of the bag and scratching his head. “That was pathetic.”
I scoff at him. “It wasn’t that bad.”
Jai plants his hands on his hips and narrows his eyes at me. “Out of ten, I was expecting you to at least be a three or a four in strength.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “So I’m a two, no big deal.”
He shakes his head and chokes on a genuine laugh. “No, baby, you’re a one—even that’s pushing it.”
“Baby?”
He steps around the bag and towards me, ignoring the last word that fell from my mouth. “You need to work on your stance. That’ll increase your power.”
I sag, letting my spine take the bulk of my upper body weight as Jai takes my hands in his. He moves my left hand.
“Your left hand should be five inches in front of your left shoulder.”
His fingers smooth over my wrists and into my palm. They touch softly, but with purpose as he curls my hand into a fist. “Your knuckles need to be parallel to the ceiling.”
As I watch his hands expertly glide over each of my knuckles, I can feel his stare on my face and my breathing steadily becomes labored as a result. I’d peer up at him if I weren’t so mesmerized by his thick, calloused fingers as they work so beautifully over my skin. A moment later, Jai moves to my right hand and I keep my left one where he shaped it.
“Your right hand should be by your right ear, not too close, and your right elbow glued to your ribs.”
My stomach clenches as he runs the tip of his finger along one of my ribs. Maybe I’m going to like this training thing after all.
“That’s it?” I ask, when he steps around me.
“Not quite.” His light tone excites me and hot air warms the back of my thighs.
Unashamedly, it lights me up like the Forth of July as his fingers return to my skin with a vengeance, sending fireworks shooting up my legs and exploding right between my thighs.
“Your feet should be planted shoulder-width apart and your weight needs to be isolated on the balls of your feet.”
“Why can’t I stand normally?”
He exhales and the air caresses my skin. “Because the balls of your feet are the first on and off the ground. On the balls of your feet, you have two points of power.”
I frown, confused. “And what does that mean?”
“Can I explain it to you when we have more time? For now, just listen.” He plants his hands on the back of my knees. The fabric tickles my soft skin and I can’t help the giggle that seeps from my
lips.
“Your knees need to be bent. This’ll keep your hips down and help you when you throw a punch.”
I have no idea what that means exactly, but it doesn’t matter too much when I feel his large hands grip my hips. I have a flashback of yesterday, when he gripped my hips and drove into me. That’s all it takes for an unbearable heat to spread up my neck and into my face. I swallow hard. If he doesn’t take his hands off me soon, I’m going to overheat.
“Your right hip should be back, with the left hip pointed toward your opponent.” He speaks right into my ear, making my posture slacken.
Jai tightens his grip, putting a sexy amount of pressure onto a dimple in my lower back. Instead of completely turning to jelly on the floor, I tighten my core and straighten my spine. I want to impress him, to make him happy by listening to him. For once.
I feel him smile against my ear. “When you turn into the punch, your hips shouldn’t make a full rotation. You’ll lose power that way.”
Loosening his grip, he rocks my hips, flicking them slightly, but powerfully all at the same time. From my hips, his fingers spread onto my stomach, making me clench and gasp.
“Relax a little. The more you tighten up, the more you restrict the connection between your arms and legs. You need your movement to be fluid, but strong. Understand?”
I nod.
“I know you’re nervous about your fight, Kitten, but it’ll be fine. Hit this bag until you’re comfortable with the movement. If you’re balanced and relaxed the basics will take over. It doesn’t take a lot of muscle or power to knock someone out. You can do it.”
He moves away from me and I shuffle closer to the bag with new-found determination. Maybe this wouldn’t be as hard as I’d first thought.
“Like this?” I ask, waiting for his go ahead.
I shiver as he smooths two hard fingers down my spine, making me shudder. “Your spine was made to hold you up straight. I don’t ever want to see you slouching in a fight.”
I blow out a soft exhale. “Okay. No slouching. Got it.”
I swing at the bag and when my fist connects, the bag jolts backwards a little, much to my surprise.
“Good.” Jai praises from somewhere behind me. “Add a little bit more power to your punch and you’re good.”
I hit the bag over and over. By the sixth punch, my body is warm and my arms start to burn, but I feel lighter—faster. I pause for a brief second before peering over my shoulder. With his hands unwrapped, Jai pulls on a T-shirt and tightens the strings on his black pants. From the side pocket of his bag, he pulls another roll of money and stuffs it into his pocket. Eventually, his eyes meet mine.
“There’s someone I’ve got to see. Keep punching. Don’t stop until I get back.”
He bends low and slips into his sneakers before exiting without another word. He often disappears with money and I can’t help but wonder where he goes. A small portion of me wants to follow him, but the other portion knows it’s better to mind my own business. Whatever Jai’s into is not something I want to be involved in. His plan includes destroying Skull and I’m not entirely sure I want to be around to take the fall if he fails. Despite how strong Jai is, failing is still an option.
A scary, life threatening option.
Round One
I rub my sore knuckles before pressing the back of my hand to my mouth to stop myself from throwing up. For three days I’ve stressed myself to the point of physical sickness and I can’t take it anymore. I can’t fight, I’m not ready, but I don’t have a fucking choice. Although Jai’s happy with my progress, I’m not. My punches are still weak and they’re all I have to defend myself with. Jai is confident I’ll win, but I know better. My opponent is going to smell the diffidence on me and then she’s going to demolish me. In front of everyone. When that happens, Skull will see me as the fake I really am and Jai isn’t going to be able to do a damn thing to stop Skull from spilling what’s left of my blood.
Blood.
I hate the taste of it and yet, here I am, trying to convince myself to be locked in a cage with the possibility of drinking mouthfuls of it.
I contemplate staying in the room, but the lines of people who walk by on their way to witness Jai’s fight make it impossible. I have to be there if not to support him, then at the very least to watch him.
I push off my bed and join the mass of people filtering from the smaller tunnels and into the larger ones. As I enter the main area, I quickly slip away into the back of the room, and climb up on a big, pointless block of concrete so I can see over the heads of everyone else.
Then I see Jai.
In the cage.
All the warmth in my body moves south and I squeeze my thighs together as desire pools and pulses in hot waves. Wearing a pair of black gloves that don’t quite cover all of his hands, he flexes his fingers at his sides and every time they close and tighten, so does my core. Jai bounces on the balls of his feet and the cage recoils and shakes under his weight. Somehow, he manages to keep his balance, unbothered by the possibility of the chains snapping and sending him plummeting to his death. I’d be petrified, clinging for dear life to the rusty cage metal. As the chains grind against pipes and other pieces of steel, the smell of rust becomes distinct and in the spotlights, I see little specks of it float to the ground.
The crowd is up in arms once more, cheering for him to win, cheering for him to fail. Either way, my body absorbs each shout for him. Excitement heats my blood, enrages my nerves and causes little bubbles of sweat to emerge along the surface of my skin. Though the cheers would distract someone like me, Jai acts as if he can’t hear them—as if he were as deaf as he is strong. Occasionally, his gaze circles the large tunnel before locating me in the back corner. When our eyes lock, I see the very corner of his lips twitch, making my heart pound like nothing else. I let my stare roam his perfect physique. His shirtless torso is straight and tight, covered in rippling abs and beautiful depressions. I notice not one inch of his skin is marred by ink—strange given society’s obsession with tattoos. Jai strikes me as the kind of person who takes immaculate care of his body, always watching what goes in it and on it. It shows too. His physique is a masterpiece.
He crosses the cage and waits patiently as his opponent approaches the gate. His opponent is scary. Jai is tall, easily six-one, but this guy has him beat by a whole foot at least, and not only is he built high, but the width of his body is incredible too. He’s wide from his shoulders right down to his ankles. His bald head reflects light just as well as his glistening form and as he rolls his neck and cracks his fingers, his stare finally locks on Jai. I hold my breath as the two watch each other. If I were Jai I’d be petrified. If he does feel any kind of fear, he’s certainly not showing it. He’s ready to take on his opponent and I can tell by the way he flexes his fingers and holds his posture that he won’t hesitate to throw the first punch.
My attention flicks to the movement on the ledge above the cage. Seemingly bored, Skull leans on the dodgy railing, two bum boys behind him, as his eyes scan the crowd. My lips part as a shaky breath blows through. I’ll never get used to seeing Skull. The way the black ink around his eyes makes it look like he has no eyelids terrifies me and the gentle curves of the brain tattooed on top of his head is surreal. What made him want to do it to himself? What was happening when he decided to permanently scar his face? What thoughts went through his head? I wish I knew.
His mouth, and the tattooed teeth surrounding it, moves as he chews gum. He seizes up both fighters, his posture straightening when he sees Jai. I think I even see a smirk. Then, with a lazy nod, the fight begins.
Like I expected, Jai wastes no time in lashing out, swinging with brute force. The last few days, Jai has advised me against attacking first. He said I should gauge my opponent before attacking; learn their technique. It seems Jai’s taking a different approach. The brute takes a couple of quick steps back as Jai’s fists rain relentlessly down on him. The crowd murmurs in shock, sending a surge
of tingles through me. The cage shudders, creaking louder with every hit. I see Jai’s core relax whenever he connects, giving him the ability to move quicker—more confidently. The brute might be bigger, but Jai is definitely more dangerous. As the large man brings his hands up to shield his face, Jai drops low and slams his knuckles into his ribs. Though monstrous, the brute has nothing on Jai.
He moves unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. There is stark beauty in the swift, controlled way he maneuvers his body and I become mesmerized in it—in him. The crowd cheers around me, but I hear nothing. All I see is him. Jai doesn’t hold back, not for a second, taking a more offensive approach. The brute he faces keeps to a tight circle near the center of the cage, moving back and forth only to defend, never to attack.
I chew the tips of my fingers, catching skin between my teeth as the scene changes. I watch in alarm as the round deteriorates by the second, the winner becoming obviously clear. Jai has turned rabid.
Veins in his arms are visible.
His clenched jaw, noticeable.
The loud growl that tears around the room, unavoidable.
Jai grabs the brute by the back of his neck and drives his face into the metal cage, over and over again. The rust cuts into his skin, scarring his face, but Jai doesn’t give a fuck. He roars again and I gasp right before he throws his opponent’s head down and drives his knee into his face.
Thump.
The sound of a kneecap smashing into a nose reverberates through me and my gut revolts at the level of ferocity being exhibited.
Thump. Thump.
I want to look away, but I can’t. Blood rolls down Jai’s leg and onto his bare feet, but the anger on his face doesn’t leave. Even as the brute’s body goes limp and collapses, Jai hits him. He doesn’t stop until two of Skull’s guys enter the cage and push him away before dragging the lifeless body off the canvas and away from the swinging death trap.
I watch Jai, shocked, and when our eyes meet, I don’t see embarrassment or sympathy. I see warning and darkness. I see Hell itself and it’s fucking terrifying. To my surprise, when I look at Jai’s opponent, leaning on the outside of the cage, he moves a hand to wipe the blood off his face. Relief rolls through me. I’d thought he was dead for sure. When Skull’s goons realize he’s alive, they leave him alone to wallow in his own self-pity. My heart bleeds and beats into my ribs for him. Like Jai said, most people leave here broke and broken, and this man definitely will.
