Bad Boy's Treat: The Possessed MC

by Amy Love

  Damn. Where is my mind?! I can’t be doing this -- not tonight. I’m fighting Coltrane Washington. He’s one of the top am-pros out there and is ranked number three on the circuit for the West Coast. If I can beat him, there’s no doubt in my mind that I’m going pro. Already my coach and manager have given me this lecture about distractions and the importance of the match during my warm-up this afternoon. “Where the fuck is your head, Murphy?! Get in the damn game! Your whole career is going to depend on if you KO tonight.”

  He wasn’t exactly thrilled to see Alana or her friend enter my locker room. As she sat next to me, pulling out her laptop from that black bag of hers, he stood up out of his chair and began to pace. “We’re not doing this right now, kid. You know the rules about broads. I let it slide before, and you’ve always lost those matches!”

  The muscles in my jaw twitched. Ricky couldn’t care less if Alana or the others hanging around my dressing room heard him running his damn mouth. This was an ongoing issue for him. Ricky believed firmly that fooling around before a big match was a complete dealbreaker, a fast way to guarantee a blow out match against yourself. Pussy was a distraction, but he didn’t know Alana.

  She wasn’t like those girls I occasionally let through for a real quick pick me up before a session. She wasn’t even like the one I let stay around more frequently than the rest. Crazy Amy wasn’t exactly my steady or anything like that, but she was a good luck charm for a short run. When I started losing, and Ricky gave me a hard time, I followed his lead and dropped her. Too bad. Amy was good at conversation in between rounds in the private lounges and she certainly knew how to roll with The Possessed.

  “Back off, Ricky,” I say as firmly as possible. “This is Alana. She’s going to be sticking around for awhile.” Awhile. I had no idea what that meant. Was it until I sold off all the diamonds and paid her for her work? Or was it until she said so? Right now, I just wanted to get her through this match so that a while could be longer than business close.

  “I don’t give a fuck who she is! We’ve got an hour before we go out there for intros. You wanna act a fool and risk everything? Diamond Dog Talent is out there scouting for you! That’s the big leagues, boy!” My manager, Eric, leaves the room, obviously tired of hearing about this. He knows that I’m in control. Ricky, on the other hand, still sees that kid in me that needs a bit of discipline and an occasional smack in the face with a bare fist.

  “Maybe we should go. Jana and I can go find our seats. I thought I would just come and ask you some questions for the site.” She gestures to her laptop, which is already open on a blank Word document. Her friend, a lanky raven-haired girl about the same age as Alana, is already standing to go. I can tell that just being near me is making her uncomfortable. I wonder how much Alana told her about how we met and why she scored those tickets.

  “No. You’re staying. Ricky is going to work the press line. He’ll come get me when it’s time for me to get into the arena. Right, Ricky?” He scuffs at the ground with his trainers and walks out silently. The door slams behind him as I hear him scream towards the crowd in that way only Ricky can. All eyes on him. Lights flashing. Both men and women are nearly beside themselves. This is how Ricky loved to play the role of agent and coach.

  “Sorry about that,” I murmur. “He can be a fucking asshole.”

  “No. No,” Alana says as she pushes a strand of hair from her eyes. “I shouldn’t be here. I just thought --”

  “I want you to be here,” I interrupt. “You’re supposed to be here.” I know I’m doing that thing again. I’m getting too close. I’m making this too real. This is just like last night. I need to save face. I quickly add, “You remember what I told you about my ex? She’s probably here causing drama as we speak.”

  “Yeah. What exactly do you want me to do? I’m not exactly up for a catfight or anything.”

  “For real,” her friend Jana interjects. “She got into this fight with a drunk sorority girl once, and she almost got knifed. It was horrific.”

  “Jana!” Alana exclaims, her face blushing darkly. “Don’t tell him that.”

  I laugh. The thought of Alana with those thin arms and chicken legs rolling on the floor with some boozy co-ed is both hilarious and totally hot. I brush away a tear as I say, “Don’t worry about fighting her. I don’t think she’s that beyond… I just need you to listen and look out. If she finds out that you’re with me, she may try to make your life hell. If she gets to be too much, you tell me or one of the security guards. They already know to be looking out for Crazy Amy.”

  “Crazy Amy? Really?” Alana looks at me skeptically. “Crazy Amy” was the tamest of the nicknames we gave her after the breakup where she went over to the other side, sleeping with the heads of the mafia and other motorcycle clubs. The bitch couldn’t figure out why the other guys wouldn’t take her when they heard she was damaged goods from Liam Murphy’s stash.

  I scroll through my phone and pull up a picture of Amy. It’s the only one I got. I kept it just in case I ever needed to show it to some cops or a hitman. It’s her smiling with her open mouth, the purple-red lipstick smeared across her oversized lips. Her red hair falls on my shoulders as I’m holding her up by her legs and her tube top just barely covers the fake tits she always swore were real. She looked the part of some MC’s old lady.

  Alana and Jana take the phone out of my hand and study it for memory. They point out things I’ve never really noticed or remembered, like the heart tattoo on her shoulder or the scar on her cheek. I honestly can’t tell if they’re just trying to get info on this girl they know I dated or if Alana is taking her job very seriously. Either way, the sight of Alana measuring up Amy is making me uneasy.

  “Hey,” I interject, “I’ve got to get in the right headspace now, and you guys should find your seats.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Plus, I’ve got some writing to do.” Alana winks my way.

  “You’re not writing during the match, Alana,” her friend scolds. “You’re actually going to watch the damn thing.”

  “I know nothing about boxing, and I couldn’t care less either. I’d rather write about all this drama.” She stands to leave, following her friend towards the door. I don’t know what comes over me as I take a few giant steps towards her, my wrapped hands pulling her back towards me.

  “You’re going to watch. You’re going to cheer for me,” I command, my voice darker than before. She blinks at me, completely stunned. Her frame goes stiff in my arms and her eyes fixate in on mine. They close softly as I lean into her, pressing my lips against her for one deep, frenzied kiss. She floats above the ground in my grip but manages to give in restlessly to the heat between us.

  When I pull away, she sighs heavily with her breath still stuck in her throat. I can barely make it out when she promises, “I’ll watch. I guess.” Alana slips down towards the ground, adjusts the neckline of her dress, and practically stumbles out of the dressing room behind her friend. I turn towards the mirror and use the white tape around my wrists, palms, and knuckles to wipe away that deep red lipstick that has been implanted on my own lips. That kiss was going to stay with me the whole fight.

  CHAPTER 13

  This confirms it. I am not a boxing fan. Okay, in fairness, I really didn’t like most sports. But boxing was on a whole new level of hatred. Like a, “I want to run away, throw up, or something else” kind of hate. And we’re not even at Liam’s fight yet.

  Jana and I took our seats after wading through scores of betters hawking around the stands. I’m pretty sure that sports bets like that are illegal, especially when it’s done inside men’s pockets and suit coats, but no one else seemed to care or notice. I even saw some of the house security get in on the action. Most were betting against Liam.

  “Do you think he has a chance?” I lean over and ask Jana as the first match begins. “I mean, not that I care or anything…” I really couldn’t hold that back anymore. She saw that kiss and the way he touched me. Jana was the most in
tuitive person I knew. There was no way she didn’t catch me falling to pieces inside his large, bare arms.

  Jana flips open the program she bought from the lobby salesperson. Liam’s picture is on the cover. He looks more terrifying than ever with a black mouthguard darkening his face and sweat dripping down his forehead. “I don’t know. This says he has 1:25 odds at the casino. That’s not terrible, but it’s not amazing either.”

  The bell rings. Two men in front of us pull apart with the ref standing in the middle like some kind of shield. One of them is bleeding already. My sensitive stomach already begins to turn. These seats are too close. I don’t want to see these details -- the pained look on their faces, the shouts from their coaches on the other side of the ring, the clear and pink spit that gurgles from their mouths.

  “I’m going to the bathroom,” I say in an admittedly panicked voice to Jana who is too busy eyeing a guy over to the side of us. I momentarily consider staying to make sure she stays out of trouble. This is Jana though, and I know she can hold her own. She’s walking and talking hot nerd girl, sex-on-a-stick with that black, low-cut dress and the heels she insisted I wear until she saw me attempt to walk in them.

  She waves me off as I dart past her and through the tunnel. I head straight for the women’s room, thanking every higher power for the lack of a line. I just need a splash of water on my face and to re-do this lipstick. If I have to sit through rounds of that punishment on a person I know, I need to get myself back together.

  “You know Liam Murphy is fighting tonight, Amy!” I hear the voice through the stall. Liam’s name instantly catches my attention. I duck my head under the door for a quick peek. All I can see is a pair of hot pink stilettos leaning over the sink. Through the crack, I watch in horror as a woman with bright red hair straightens her pins and adjusts her bra straps through the emerald green dress. Liam’s Amy. It has to be.

  “Of course I know that you dumbass. I know about all of his fights. You really think I would let that one get away? Plus, Marco doesn’t know I’m here. All the better to get in a good screw around after my man wins the fight.” Her voice is like crystals -- too high and too sharp. The accent is strong too, maybe some east coast hold over.

  “You better not tell Marco,” Amy adds to her friend. “I’ve got big plans tonight. After I’m done with Liam, I’m meeting the rest of The Possessed for a little pow-wow.” Her friend laughs in response. What the hell was a pow-wow, and, even more importantly, did Liam know about this? I grasp at my heart as I try to think of what I should do next. My phone was back at my seat with Jana and messaging him now would be pointless. The only thing I can do is listen.

  But as I stand up and lean in towards the cold metal door, Amy is interrupted by the sound of the booming speakers anchored to the walls of the bathroom. “Ladies and gentlemen…. It’s the fight you’ve all been waiting for! Let’s meet our fighters…”

  Amy and her friend strut out without another word, and I follow quickly behind them. I wasn’t going to miss the introductions. If it was like what I imagined, this was pretty much the only part of the fight I was going to enjoy. The lights in the stadium are turned off and a blue and green laser dances on the floor. The music pounds in my ears as I dash back to my seat. I scream over the sound of the crowd above and under us towards Jana, “I SAW HER!”

  “WHO?” Jana strains.

  “AMY! LIAM’S AMY!”

  “WHO?!?”

  Suddenly, everything stops. The music fades into the background, still beating in my ears. I look past Jana pointing at her ear, gesturing she couldn’t hear me, and the light show fills the center of the small ring. I see him. Liam. He’s decked out in a green and black robe with gold trim. The hood covers his head and face, but I can see the curl of those wicked lips. He sways gently back and forth as he waits for his name to be called.

  The crowd erupts when they hear his name: “MR. MURPHY! The Irish Boy with the Golden punch!”

  What was paused in my mind now speeds up. He runs through the stadium, his trainers keeping up behind him, as he high-fives a few fans with his black gloves and then throws himself into the ring and under the ropes. The robe slips off him, revealing the body that took me last night. He practically glistens under the stage lights. A thousand eyes are focusing in on his pair of greens. They are no doubt studying the tattoos that I have traced with my fingers, and commenting on those chiseled muscles that held me up to the fridge as I cried out. Several thousand people were here to see him fight. I was here to see him win.

  The match begins with a bell and then a bam. I wasn’t prepared for the first blow, the one that whips Liam’s head so far over that I thought it would spin off of his neck. His hands flail towards the other man, but they just can’t connect. He goes stumbling backward as my heart stops with each step he takes away from the center. The rest of the round goes the same way. Liam is the prey. His opponent is the chaser. The group of men behind me, holding their betting slips high, are enraged.

  The second and third round are not much better. Even with my limited knowledge of how the sport actually was played, I can tell a blowout when I see one. I rest my head on Jana’s shoulder, unable to watch him take another punch. That face of his is slowly turning into streaks of white, pink, and purple. His chest and back show signs of his opponents gloves in round red welts on his pale skin.

  And then there is the fourth round. Jana keeps whispering to me, “It’ll be over soon. No way the judges are going to keep this going. It’s a bloodbath.” She is right. His actual blood is staining the white floor of the ring. His black shoes smear the dots as he darts back and forth, still limber on his feet.

  Standing up, I do the only thing I could think of -- I call his name. “Liam!” I say it over and over again until my throat is rough and sore and my head pounds. People behind me join in, taking over for me when I can’t chant any longer. I stand in the center of the row, lifting the crowd. “Liam! Liam! Liam!”

  He turns. It is brief -- only a second at most. But he turned. His green eye, the one not bruised shut, focuses squarely on me as his head ducks slightly. I watch as his lips part, taking a deep breath. He turns towards his opponent and swings. His jet-black glove connects with the sound reverberating over the entire arena. Everyone, even the chanters grow silent as Coltrane backs away, stammering with heavy, unsure feet towards his corner.

  The ref doesn’t stop Liam as he charges again towards the man, this time with another raised fist. His jab smacks the man’s face back rapidly. And again. And again. And again. No one speaks. No one cheers. We watch in complete awe as Liam pounds that man until his knees buckle out from under him and the body waves forward and back. The man falls to the ground with his arms flat on his side. The ref lands next to him, counting the seconds. An eternity passes. Jana grabs hold of my arm. Everyone is on their feet screaming, shouting, hysterical. It is a wave of frenzy with no one quite sure what the hell just happened in that ring.

  And there’s Liam, dead center with his back turned to the man on the floor. He walks slowly towards the side of the ring where I am standing, and he points the glove square at me. Every part of my body vibrates and ticks. I bite the edges of my dry lips as I realize just how much I want my champion.

  Jana leans in and shouts over the crowd, “Go now before the rest of the crowd gets to him.”

  “What?” I’m not sure if I understand her.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll wait for you back at the dorm for the juicy details. Go get that man, Alana!” I don’t even wait to hear the rest of what she has to say. I grab my purse and jet off as quickly as I can in these stupid wedge heels back towards the dressing room. My hands clutch onto the VIP lanyard pass around my neck, flashing it at anyone calling after me. No one could stop me at this point if they tried, but luckily his security guard at the dressing room remembers me and lets me in without hesitation.

  Over my shoulder, I call out to him, “Tell Liam I’m here before he comes in, please.”
>
  Alone, I pace the small room. My reflection in the mirror gives myself away to me. My arms hug my chest, while my feet dance on the tile floor. I can’t sit. I can’t stand. All I can do is walk the length of the room until I hear his voice outside the door.

  “Who? Really?” I steady myself in the center of the room, my fists balling to my side. I yell at myself to get it together. This is just Liam. It’s the same guy you screwed last night. He’s also a freaking warrior God who has the power to take down a man with his own two fists… but that’s beside the point. This was just Liam.

  The door opens. Flashes of light fill the room, and a roar of noise fills the space. A battered and worn Liam pauses as the door shuts behind him. Neither of us says a word. The pulse between us beats loudly as I step toward him, my hands outstretched. They find his moistened arms with his hands still wrapped in the stained gauze and tape. I pull the robe off of him slowly, letting it fall to the ground at our feet. My hand presses into the deep lines of his chest gently, not sure if I can touch him like this without causing pain.