12 Rounds

by Lauren Hammond

  Loud chatter swells in the air and trails over to where I'm standing. There's an area with some treadmills, ellipticals, and weights where a few men and women are working out. In the far right corner there's an extremely muscular man squatting and as he dips down he grunts. My eyes center on all the weights he has stacked on each side of them dumb-bell. I wonder how heavy that is. I mean that man looking like he has mini footballs lining his tanned biceps so there has to be a lot of weight on the end of it, right?

  Suddenly I avert my attention to the left when a flash of light fills up my peripheral vision. There's another bevy of photographer's crowded around a guy who is jumping rope. He's shirtless, dripping with perspiration, his pecs bouncing as he hops up and down each time the jump rope sweeps against the hardwood floor. The muscles in his biceps are flexed and he's got a half-sleeve of tattoo's on each one of his arms. A breath catches in my throat and I can't help, but stare. He stops jumping rope and hands the rope off to a bald man next to him, and at the same time locks eyes with me.

  A look of shock registers on my face and I can feel all of my blood flooding to my cheeks. He slits his eyes and clenches his jaw. I look away nervously and my heart is hammering against my ribcage. I'm having a hard time breathing and I feel like anxiety is running laps throughout my body. I've never received such an intense look from someone I don't even know. I steal a peek at him through my lashes and he's still staring, blue-green eyes blazing with a fierce hatred, and at that point I scamper off to the desk and Lara's already heading toward me.

  She looks over my shoulder at the guy and a seductive smile curls on her lips. “I know. He's hot isn't he?” she sighs. “Too bad every girl on campus is trying to get on that.”

  I think about looking at him again, but don't. I'm not interested in another death by stare-down moment. “Who is he?”

  Lara and I take seats in a row of black folding chairs lining the entrance. “You don't know?” I give her a look that tells her what she just asked and she exhales, “That's Sean Reilly. He’s the Middleweight Boxing Champion of the World.” I lean forward, glancing around Lara. Sean's back is to me, and my eyes sweep across his sweaty, muscled back. He steps into an area that's squared off like a boxing ring and takes a mouth guard from the same man he handed the jump rope to. I watch him, eyes filled with intrigue as he hovers over the side of the ring. His body is like an ice sculpture; carved, chiseled, and molded in all the right places. Part of me wonders what it would be like to glide my fingertips across something so rugged and perfect. Then his head snaps up and he locks eyes with me again. Another hateful glance. This time I make a mental note not to look at him again, but who knows if I'll actually follow through with that.

  Lara clears her throat and glances over her shoulder before meeting my gaze. “I guess he's got a title fight or something coming up soon.” She shrugs. “Hence all the photographer's.”

  “Has he ever lost a fight?” I ask, my voice filled with curiosity.

  “Nope. Undefeated.”

  “Wow. That's impressive.”

  Lara snorts and giggles. “What's even more impressive is that his rise to fame came really fast. I'm pretty sure he's only been boxing for a couple of years.”

  “What are you, his publicist?” I joke and nudge her in the shoulder.

  “When you work across from a sporting goods store you get the 411 on the greats I guess. The guys are always raving about him and imitating the right-hook he's famous for. Apparently, it's lethal.”

  “That's kind of frightening to think about,” I add. “The fact that a person has a punch so deadly he could kill someone with it.”

  “Or,” Lara smirks, “it makes him ten times hotter.”

  I shake my head, sighing. “Maybe to you.”

  “Or maybe to every girl around.” Lara tilts her head to the left. “Look, he has a fan club.”

  Completely disregarding the mental note I made to myself a few minutes ago I glance in his direction again. Several scantily clad women dressed in sports bras and spandex shorts are crowded around the ring whispering and giggling. Sean is aware of them and a cocky grin spreads on his lips. He nods at the tall, tan blonde in the middle of the group and winks at her. I have to admit that when first seeing him I was enthralled and swept up in his essence just like the rest of his adoring fan club, but after witnessing his flirtatious gesture, I decide it would be best that I forget I ever saw him and let him play with his cesspool of plastic blond bimbos.

  “He kind of seems like a jerk,” I tell Lara, staring straight ahead.

  “I mean I'm sure he's cocky,” Lara admits, “but I guess there's more to him. I mean the guy has millions of dollars. I think he got about six million for his last title fight and I heard from one the guys at the mall he's getting double for this one. And that's minus the manager's and promoter's cut. But, he does do some pretty awesome stuff with that money.”

  “Like what?”

  “Charity stuff I guess. I mean when Ted was telling me about all the money he wasn't that specific.”

  “That probably makes the fan club even more enthralled.”

  “You bet,” Lara scoffs. “Hot, rough around the edges, and loaded. One of those bimbo's is dying to be a baby mama.”

  I laugh out loud and snort and earn a few stares from some of the women sitting across from us. I clamp a hand over my mouth to hold in the rest of my laughter as a tall woman, arms roped with muscle, walks toward us wearing a pleasant smile. She has a kind face and soft feminine features. “Hello ladies,” she greets us with a warm tone. “I'm Melissa Thorpe the self-defense instructor.” Lara and I stand and the rest of the ladies follow. “Now,” Melissa continues, “who's ready to learn how to kick some ass?”

  Hoots and howls echo from the group and at the moment I can't find my voice so I just slowly raise my hand. Melissa guides us through the back of the gym to a small classroom and I keep my eyes on Sean as he spars with another boxer. His jaw is taught, his stance firm, he lets out a menacing growl as he pummels his opponent with blow after blow. His face is twisted and laced with such an intense rage that it takes my breath away.

  Jaw clenched.

  Ab muscles taut.

  His opponent throws a punch and Sean manuevers out of the way, letting out a primal growl. Beads of sweat cling to both of their bodies, but drip down their ridges of muscle as they move back and forth across the ring.

  The sparring partner’s punch enrages him further and he goes in for the kill, backing him up into the corner of the ring, nailing him with body shots and jabs to the face.

  As the rest of the women in the class files into the room, Melissa walks up to the door and closes it, cutting Sean off from my view. In that moment I find myself thinking something I would never think of.

  I think…I never knew rage could look so rapt, so daunting, yet so utterly beautiful.

  ~ ~ ~

  There are several types of rage.

  I've witnessed two of those types up close. When I was attacked I got a glimpse of psychotic rage. That kind of rage is merciless, and frightening, and doesn't relent until someone winds up dead.

  The type of rage Sean just exemplified was predatory rage and it's only terrifying when you mess with something that belongs to that person. In this case the rage was aimed at Sean's opponent because in his eyes the boxing ring and title belt will always belong to him. At least that's what I got from my observance anyway.

  Melissa cuts into my thoughts when she starts pacing across the length of the small, square room. The wall behind her is lined with wide square mirrors. I glance at my reflection, frown then look away. My hair looks frizzy and there are dark circles under my eyes. Normally I don’t look this bad, but I didn't really get a good night's sleep. I forgot to take my Ambien before bed because I was up late cramming for my English Lit final, and I feel asleep at my desk.

  Peering over my shoulder I count the women in the class. There are ten of us total and we're all sitting on the plush, blue carp
eted floor. Facing Melissa, she starts to speak and I tune her out. I'm wondering if the rest of the women in the class have come here for the same reason I have. Were they ordered to come here because they had something traumatic happen to them in the past? Maybe they're here because they think it might be fun. No. That doesn't seem right. Who takes a self-defense class for fun?

  “You!”

  What if the women in the class have a horrible home life? What if they're spouses are abusive?

  “Hey you!”

  My head snaps up and Melissa is standing directly in front of me, staring down at me with a fierce look in her eye. “Yeah,” I answer her weakly.

  “Would you like to introduce yourself to the rest of the class?”

  “Sure. My name is Hadlee Flax. I'm a student at Carver University.”

  Melissa smiles. “Very good. Nice to meet you, Hadlee.”

  The rest of the class follows Melissa's lead. “Nice to meet you, Hadlee.”

  “Nice to meet you all.” My voice is soft, small, and barely audible. I don't like being singled out, and apparently I've made myself a target for not paying attention when Melissa began the introductions.

  “Join me for a demonstration, Hadlee.” This is a command not a request. Melissa leans down, extending her hand to me. I don't want to do this. I hesitate and look to Lara for some kind of back-up. She just shakes her head, shrugs, and gives me a nonchalant look that tells me I'm on my own. My fingers tremble as I take Melissa's hand and she helps me to my feet. I can feel my heart beating rapidly in my chest as a nervous flutter whips through my stomach. I really don't want to do this.

  All eyes are on me and I keep my eyes on the floor as Melissa guides me by the shoulders, positioning me in front of her. “The first major component in being able to defend yourself is knowing where your attacker is.” Melissa steps in front of me and I meet her gaze. “Now Hadlee, I want you to close your eyes. Pretend you can't see your attacker. Without sight you need to rely on your other senses to locate him or her. Understand?”

  I nod and reluctantly close my eyes.

  The silence in the room is deafening. I strain to hear any movement Melissa might be making. But I can't hear anything. I don't remember if she was wearing any perfume or if her body was giving off any kind of odor because the smell wasn't distinct enough. My body stiffens when I feel Melissa's presence behind me. In a nanosecond, she's on me, wrapping both of her arms around the core of my chest. At that moment I panic. My neck, her hands are too close to my neck. In my mind I'm envisioning the hands I always envision. The calloused, manly hands. “No!” I shriek. “No!”

  Before I can control my emotions I start screaming. My whole body is shaking and Melissa spins me around, her fingers digging into my shoulders. I bury my face in my hands, trying with all of my might to keep my tears from falling. My chest vibrates and my breaths are coming out short and raspy. Melissa shakes me gently. “Hadley. Hadley, calm down. It's all right.” Her voice is soft and soothing, but I'm still shaken up. I can't get the image of the hands out of my mind.

  “I'm sorry,” I mumble. “I'm sorry. I thought... It felt too real. It felt too real.”

  Melissa smooths back a strand of my hair and I drop my hands at my sides, finally able to control my breathing. I feel like I not only let Melissa down, but I let myself down. “Why don't you sit out of class today, Hadley. I'll have Lara fill you in on what we go over.” Melissa shoots a look at Lara. “Is that okay with you, Lara?”

  “Fine by me,” she says.

  “Go have a seat in the waiting room, Hadley. I'll come talk to you after the class is over.”

  “Okay,” I say softly and walk toward the door, ears filled with the whispering voices of the other women in the class. Then ashamed and embarrassed, I make my exit.

  Chapter Nine

  ~Sean~

  I never forget a face.

  Ma used to tell me it was a gift that I have a photographic memory, but there are times, times like a few minutes ago, where I think it’s a curse.

  Not that I’d ever forget her face anyway.

  You never forget the face of the person’s life you saved.

  And she’s here…

  She just randomly shows up where I train. That can’t be a coincidence, right?

  I take a breather from knocking the shit out of my sparring partner and walk over to the back left corner of the ring. There was a tall brunette who was eye-fucking me earlier and she’s still next to the ring. She notices that I’m going for my water bottle and beats me to it, handing it to me with a wide toothed grin. “Hi there.” She has a light, airy voice and my eyes immediately zone in on her boobs. Hey, I’m a man. What do you expect? This girls’ jugs are massive. Each one the size of a grapefruit.

  Super perky.

  Tan.

  And most likely fake.

  I squirt water all over my over heated face, drink some, then stretch my arms out across the rope. I smirk at her, tilting my chin up. “What’s up?” My eyes sweep over her heart-shaped face. She’s hot. Symmetrical features. Nice light blue eyes. Then they drop to her stomach. Her toned stomach. But she’s got an hourglass shape. Which I like. Very much.

  She glances around me at my sparring partner and puts on a pouty face. “You didn’t hurt him too bad did you?”

  “Nah,” I say with a cocky chuckle. “He’ll recover.” But I’d hate to see what Avery Mullins looks like when I’m through with him though.

  The girl bats her eye lashes and me and chews on her lower lip. “So what do you do for fun?”

  My eyes burn into hers. “Lots of things.” I like to keep it short and simple with the broads I meet. I’m careful not to let them see the real me. Or let them know about some of the things I’ve done.

  The girl smirks at me seductively, a sensual gleam in her eye. “Like what?”

  She wants me to elaborate, but I don’t. I’d like to tell her, you are what I’d do for fun, but my thoughts are interrupted when Joe comes up behind me and whacks me in the back of the head with his palm. “Easy Casanova,” he walks to the other side of the ring and stands next to my sparring partner, “ keep that dick in your pants.”

  I groan and glare at Joe from over my shoulder. “Cock blocking bastard.”

  His eyes narrow. “What’s the first b?”

  I let out a deep breath and stare at the girl standing in front of me. “No broads.” My eyes sweep over the girl and I give her a devilish grin. “Until after my title fight, that is.”

  “All right lover boy!” Joe shouts. “Get back over here! We’re not finished yet!”

  I wink at the brunette and she smiles excitedly. And just before I make my way over to Joe, I see the door to the classroom open and the girl I recognized from earlier creeps out. She keeps her head down and shuffles to the waiting room, not making eye contact with a single person in her path. She’s got mahogany colored hair, but I remember her being a blonde.

  Maybe she colored it.

  Or is wearing a wig.

  I shrug. I don’t know why I care.

  She obviously looks upset about something and there’s a part of me that’s curious to what it is. But I push that thought aside because something else makes me feel like her and the feds showing up at the same time is anything but a coincidence.

  Chapter Ten

  ~Hadlee~

  The gym is quiet.

  A few people are still using some of the machines, but other than that it appears the crowd that was in here 45 minutes ago has dispersed. My eyes wander over to the empty boxing ring and a flood of relief washes through me. After the moment I had in class just now the last thing I want is to see Sean Reilly's beautiful, yet menacing eyes full of hatred.

  Swallowing, my throat feels raw and irritated from my incessant screaming so I make my way over to a vending machine in the corner of the waiting area and pull out a dollar from the pocket of my sweatpants. I've calmed down since being out of the class and all I can think about is ice cold wate
r sliding down the back of my throat.

  At the vending machine, I insert my dollar and press the bottled water button. The bottle is released from its claw and drops into the bottom of the vending machine and at the same time the sound of something thudding against the floor rings out behind me and I spin around, clutching my chest. My heart starts pounding. Hard. So hard, that I swear I can almost feel it blasting through my skin.

  Sean Reilly is standing there.

  In front of me.

  He's staring.

  His full, pouty lips turned down into a frown, his angular jaw-line clenched, just staring.

  I can't move or speak. My insides are like birds threatening to take flight and fly south for the spring, almost flapping out of my skin. At least he isn't looking at me the way he was earlier. His gaze is still dark, menacing, but I can't see the full-blown hatred in his eyes.

  He strolls toward me, his eyes never leaving mine and when he's only a few inches away, I bend my knees, dip down, and snatch my bottle of water from the vending machine. I grip it tightly, hugging it to my chest as Sean's eyes sweep over me in one fluid movement. I'm fascinated yet terrified at the same time, and as he hovers over me, propping an arm on top of the vending machine. I close my eyes and inhale deeply. He smells musky, a mixture of sweat and whatever cologne he wore this morning. When I open my eyes I focus on his lips and his profound, chiseled jaw that isn't clenched anymore, but now relaxed. Then I look up into his eyes. They are the lightest blue-green eyes I've ever seen, reminding me of leaves on tropical trees in a rainforest. But it doesn’t matter how light and how gorgeous they are because they still have a hard edge to them.

  It's like I can see his life in his eyes and somehow I know it was a difficult one. He leans in lower, his lips a breath away from mine, and my breath hitches. I'm excited, scared, yet captivated at the same time. And just when I think he might do something crazy like kiss me he says, “Why are you here?”