by Juniper Hart
The Torch fell against the ropes, his gloves trying to protect his face and body in unison, but he was no match for the rain of punches. In seconds, Harley was on the ground, and Ansel was being pulled back to avoid doing any further damage.
The referee declared a knock out, and the spectators exploded. The fight had lasted less than a minute.
“Holy shit!” Louis screamed. “That was a record! That was a record!”
Ansel barely heard any of it. His eyes had fallen to the front row, where a line of stoic faces stared back up at him: particularly Tony Valducci’s, who slowly shook his head. He was the only one who wasn’t cheering for Ansel, and he felt a stab of apprehension in his gut.
Not my problem, Ansel thought, turning back toward the emcee and the referee. He picked the wrong bird.
His gloved hand was raised into the air, and even standing beside the announcer, Ansel could barely hear what was being said. It was the usual blather, he was sure. His accomplishments and titles were being listed, and as his entourage surrounded him, Ansel allowed the circus to continue.
Once that was done, he nodded at Harley, and the two boxers hugged in a show of good sportsmanship. Ansel’s mind, however, was still on the row of displeased men sitting ringside.
I guess I’m going to hear about this when I get back to the staging area, he thought, grunting to himself. It wasn’t his first tango with the mob, but it was his first encounter with the mob from Las Vegas.
“I’m heading back,” he told Louis, and his trainer nodded, still beaming.
He acts as if every win is the first one, Ansel thought, shaking his head. He enjoys this freak show more than anyone.
He wondered what the former heavyweight was going to do when Ansel retired—probably find another lost cause like him no doubt.
Ansel fought his way up the aisle, touching the hands of adoring fans as he moved toward the quietness of his dressing room.
Suddenly, the shine of a dark eye caught his attention and he froze in his tracks, pausing to look up at the sultry brunette in the black sequined dress leaning back against the wall.
Their gazes met, and Ansel blinked for a minute, his breath in his throat. The woman’s beautiful face broke into an alluring smile, and she licked her lips.
“Hi,” she mouthed.
Ansel’s brow furrowed, and he continued his way to his dressing room, scowling slightly to himself. In the hall, some fans caught up to him, their voices all around him.
“You were incredible!”
“Amazing fight!”
“I knew you had this!”
“Can I get your autograph, Dragon? I love you so much!”
The praises and platitudes were almost as deafening as the insanity in the arena, but Ansel barely acknowledged anyone anymore. He fell into his dressing room and forcefully slammed the door closed before sinking onto his sofa and spitting out his mouth guard.
It was customary for him to have spoken to the emcee after the fight. Unfortunately, Ansel was starting to run out of victory phrases he could use without sounding repetitive.
They can just cut and paste some statement together like a collage. What the hell else can I possibly say? I’m a fighter, for Christ’s sake, not a writer.
Louis threw open the door and rushed inside, wearing a broad smile on his face.
“There are a dozen reporters out there waiting on you!” his trainer told him happily. “Get dressed so you can meet them, and then we’ll go celebrate!”
“Celebrate?” Ansel repeated. The word was almost bitter on his tongue. What was there to celebrate?
“Yes, celebrate!” Louis chirped in his usual high energy form. “You were—”
“Amazing, incredible, top drawer,” Ansel interjected, his British accent only accentuating the sarcasm in his tone. “Right. Can we go home now? I’m not in the mood to sign autographs and have my arse kissed, if you don’t mind.”
Louis’ smile faltered.
“Why are you always so miserable after a fight?” he demanded. “Do you know how many men would cut off their own balls to be in your position right now?”
“Then maybe you should go collect someone else’s testicles,” Ansel retorted. “I’m sick of all this fussing.”
“You’re becoming overconfident,” Louis muttered. “Most people in your shoes would consider themselves lucky.”
“Do I seem ungrateful?” Ansel asked dryly, throwing his feet onto the sofa. “Forgive me.”
Louis’ dark eyes narrowed. “You’re becoming embittered,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the sofa. “What’s going on with you these days?”
Ansel closed his eyes, considering the question. What could he say? Where could he start? He wasn’t even sure of the answer, of how to put it into words.
There was a knock at the door, saving him from having to answer.
“Go away!” Louis yelled, but then the door swung inward, and Ansel opened his eyes to see who dared cross his mentor.
He slowly sat up.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” Louis said curtly, not recognizing the two men who now stood in the doorway. “Ansel is not taking visitors right now.”
“Surely, he can make an exception for us,” Tony Valducci said with his hands behind his back, strolling inside the room, his gorilla bodyguard close at his heels. “Ain’t that right, Ansel?”
“Have them bring the car around, Louis,” Ansel said flatly. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Louis glowered.
“No!” he snapped. “We are in the middle of a discussion!”
“One we can continue over dinner,” Ansel sighed. “We’ll do that celebrating thing you mentioned.”
Louis eyed the well-dressed stranger and then glanced back at his protégé. “Ansel, I don’t think—”
“Oh, for the love of God, man!” Ansel snapped. “Just leave us alone for five bloody minutes! Can’t you wait to give me a tongue lashing?”
He had not meant to sound as angry as he did, but it was the only way his trainer would leave him alone. Ansel didn’t want him to be there for whatever happened next. He watched as Louis’ lean face grew stony.
“I guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” he replied, storming out of the room.
Tony wore a bemused expression on his face as the door slammed in Louis’ wake.
“He’s emotional for someone who just had his man win the fight,” he commented, turning his attention to the boxer. “I’d say he’s in a worse mood than I am.”
Ansel shrugged.
“You know what they say,” he replied lightly. “Trainers are worse than mothers.”
Tony smiled coldly. “I ain’t never heard that one, but it does make sense. I guess he feels like he gave birth to ya.” He held Ansel’s gaze for a long moment before turning to his body guard. “Luca, leave us.”
The huge man did as he was told, leaving Ansel alone with the mobster.
“Something you want to say to me, kid?” Tony asked.
“About what?” Ansel asked innocently. “Oh! I forgot to ask. Did you enjoy the fight?”
The amusement fell from Tony’s expression in the blink of an eye, and without warning, he lashed out to slap Ansel across the face.
“You were not supposed to win that fight!” he yelled. “What part of that did I not make clear?”
Ansel shrugged indifferently, rubbing his face where the gangster’s handprint stained his cheek.
“You were perfectly clear,” he retorted. “But I also thought I was clear when I told you I wasn’t throwing a fight for anyone. No disrespect, Mr. Valducci.”
Tony narrowed his eyes at him.
His attempt to seem intimidating is failing miserably, Ansel thought, but he kept his comments to himself. No sense in adding fuel to the fire.
“You cost me four hundred thousand dollars,” Tony growled. “How you gonna pay that back?”
Ansel snorted before he could stop himself.
“With all due
respect, Mr. Valducci, I would not think that four hundred grand would make or break you,” he replied calmly, rising to his feet and unwrapping the tape from his hands. “I feel like you’re trying to throw your weight around here.”
And that is a lot of weight, Ansel noted, trying not to gape at the fat man’s belly protruding from his belt. How does he even find pants that size?
Tony’s face grew red, and he gaped at the boxer.
“I can’t tell if you’re cocky or stupid,” he said.
“Maybe both,” Ansel replied pleasantly. “Now, if you don’t mind…” He trailed off and looked purposefully at the clock.
Tony’s face was almost purple with fury as he reached into his waistband, withdrawing a pistol from his pants.
Ansel tried not to laugh. That man is going to blow off his own sack one day. He is much too obese to be wearing a firearm like that.
“Your fancy boxing moves ain’t gonna protect you from a bullet, you little shit!” Tony snarled, drawing close. He pointed the pistol directly toward Ansel’s forehead, and as Ansel waited for the mobster to act, he could see the veins in his forehead throbbing.
“This is not necessary,” Ansel said, swiping the gun away from his face as if it were a toy. “And it’s certainly not going to solve anything.”
Tony’s jaw almost hit the floor in shock. He raised the gun again and aimed it, ready to fire, but before he could make another move, Ansel’s face transformed.
His chin jutted forward into an elongated reptilian head, nostrils flaring. A mishmash row of gleaming pointed teeth protruded from his mouth, and Ansel’s gray eyes became glowing yellow embers of fury. His lips curled slightly, exposing the jagged incisors, a long, thick tongue falling from his mouth as he took in the look of horror on Tony’s face.
The old man stepped back, his face opaque with panic.
“What the—?”
Ansel opened his mouth and released a roar so loud, it shook the entire room. Tony passed out immediately, his corpulent body collapsing onto the ground.
The door flew open and Luca appeared, his face twisted in shock as he stared at his boss lying on the floor.
“What happened?” he demanded, rushing to Tony’s side.
Ansel stepped closer to knock the discarded gun under the sofa before Luca could see it, and his expression when the bodyguard turned to him for an explanation was one of concern.
“I couldn’t say!” Ansel exclaimed. “He heard that terrible ruckus and fainted dead away! What on earth was that noise?”
Luca didn’t respond, patting his boss’ face. A second later, Tony’s eyes opened. He gasped as he saw Ansel staring down at him.
“Diavolo!” he hissed, pointing at Ansel with a long accusing finger. “Diavolo!”
Luca glanced at the boxer.
“What happened?” he growled, jumping to his feet and reaching for his own firearm.
Ansel stifled a sigh, preparing to shift again, but Tony struggled to his feet.
“No!” Tony screamed. “No! We gotta get the hell out of here!”
Luca glanced uncertainly at his boss. Tony, however, was already scrambling to his feet, halfway out the door.
“Cheerio!” Ansel called. “Thanks for coming to watch the fight!”
Luca cast him one last look before taking off after Valducci.
Ansel shook his head, sighing as he turned to stare at his reflection in the mirror. Then he began to laugh.
I wish Nora had been here to see that, he thought wistfully. She would have loved it.
He stopped laughing as soon as he processed that thought. It had been unexpected, but he knew it had come from seeing that brunette in the hall. She had made him stop in his tracks—the resemblance to his beloved had been uncanny.
She was obviously not Nora, and Ansel knew it perfectly, but she would suffice.
If I squint and the lighting is dim, he reasoned. He was aware that the longing for Nora was not going to be sated by a brunette, no matter how many he went through trying to replace her. But he still grew tired of being alone, of missing her when part of him knew he would probably never see her again.
Ansel spun from the glass and hurried toward the door. He hoped the brunette was still around.
3
Nora had never heard Jerome so enraged.
“What were you thinking?” he yelled. “How could you be so reckless, so stupid?”
Fear filled her heart, and she stared at the receiver in her hand with dismay. “Chéri, I only wanted to—”
“I don’t care about what you wanted, Nora!” he snapped at her. “You know better than to go anywhere without me! How dare you do such a thing?”
Nora’s eyes travelled to the doorway, and she saw a strand of blonde hair duck back. Alex was listening to her conversation from the hallway, and Collette was surely with her.
Ingrates, Nora thought furiously. After everything I did for them!
She had thought the three of them had had a wonderful afternoon, stopping for lunch at a lovely restaurant on the snow crusted banks of Lake Lucerne before going to the Mall of Switzerland.
I bought them both outfits and shoes, and this is how they repay me?
Yes, she had used one of Jerome’s credit cards, which she had found months earlier tucked away in his nightstand drawer; and yes, perhaps she had bought too much at the mall, but she could not imagine that after such a long time, Jerome would still be so concerned. He had never made such a big deal about money before.
Then again, I had never done anything like this before, either, Nora reminded herself.
“Mon amour,” she said placatingly. “There is no cause for—”
“You are not to leave our bedroom until I return,” Jerome hissed.
“And how long will that be?” Nora demanded, exasperated. She could barely hold herself back from throwing her arms into the air. “I am going crazy here without you!”
There was a deep silence from the other end of the line, and for a moment, Nora thought he had hung up.
“Jerome?”
“I will have a surprise for you when I return,” he told her gruffly, and Nora felt a flutter of happiness in her body.
“Oh?” she purred. “What is it?”
“You will see when I return,” Jerome said, but something in his tone gave her goosebumps. She didn’t know if those goosebumps were from exhilaration or anxiety.
“I miss you so much,” she sighed. “Why do you have to be gone for so long?”
“Stay in your room,” he continued, like Nora hadn’t said anything. “I have instructed Collette to feed you in there.”
“What about my art?” she cried, but the dial tone suddenly echoing in her ear told her that he had already hung up. Slowly, Nora replaced the receiver on the cradle and sat back in the black chair, her mouth becoming a fine line of worry.
He is overreacting, she thought, gritting her teeth. She rose from the desk and turned toward the rectangular windows, staring out into the blanket of ivory in every direction.
“Mademoiselle Nora,” Collette announced, stepping into the room, “you must return to your room now.” Nora spun to glare at her.
“Why did you call him?” she questioned. “Why did you tell him?”
Collette paled slightly, but she maintained her firm expression. “Monsieur Charpentier worries about you, mademoiselle. He has instructed me to update him on your movements when he is not here.”
Nora snorted contemptuously.
“If he worries so much, why does he leave for so long?” she muttered, but the question was more for herself than it was for the housekeeper.
“Come along, Mademoiselle Nora,” Collette said. “You should rest. You have had a long day.”
She reached for her arm, but Nora yanked it back, glowering at the woman.
“I was only trying to do something nice for all of us!” she spat. “Rest assured that I will not make the same mistake again.”
“Our intention was not to
upset you, mademoiselle,” Collette said, trying to appease her. Nora glared at her hatefully, and when she didn’t say anything else, Collette opened the door to her suite. “I will bring you some tea and something to eat.”
Nora pushed past the caretaker and entered the sitting room, flopping onto the cream-colored settee. Collette hesitated at the doorway.
“What is it?” Nora snapped impatiently at her.
“I have been instructed to lock the door, but I would rather not,” she explained. “Mademoiselle, you must promise not to leave the room, or I will be forced to secure it.”
Nora’s mouth fell into a frown.
The housekeeper stared at her. “Mademoiselle Nora?”
“I won’t leave,” she pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Even though this is ridiculous.”
Collette turned away and closed the door, leaving Nora alone to ponder her thoughts.
He is overreacting, she thought, closing her eyes. It is not as it was ten years ago. We are in love now.
Suddenly, she was transported to a night she had lived ten years ago, so far away that it felt like it had been another lifetime, like she had been someone else.
Nora was standing by the Thames, a gentle wind caressing her hair as she leaned against the railing and tears slipped down her cheeks.
How much longer will this go on? she cried to herself. We will never be together as we were meant to be. Why do we keep trying?
But there was no answer in the lapping waters below.
I need to leave this place, leave the thought of him in the past. We have tried and failed. The fates are against us. Opal has seen to that.
“Are you alright, mademoiselle?”
She jumped, startled at the voice, and whirled to look at the stocky stranger at her back. He handed her a handkerchief, and Nora took it reluctantly.
“Yes,” she replied shortly, not wanting to be bothered. “Thank you.” She dabbed her face with the cloth and returned it to the man, but he shook his blond head.
“You may keep it,” he told her, his French accent lilting in her ears. “You do not seem cried out yet.”
