The Beat and The Pulse Box Set 2

by Amity Cross

  Kicking helplessly at the back door, I began screaming.

  “Help!” I kicked again, but the door was stuck. “Help! Anybody?! Help!”

  I kicked and kicked, my body covered in sweat and my lungs filling with smoke. Coughing, I screamed again before falling to my side.

  Was this where that saying came from? The one where your dreams went up in smoke? I bet some other poor bitch’s life savings exploded in a wall of flame, and they made a saying out of it. All those things came from somewhere. Like a warning for overconfident pastry chefs who couldn’t even cut it in the selection process for MasterChef. I could have a cookbook by now. A really good one with an embossed hardcover and everything.

  “Help!” I screeched with the last of my strength. “I’m stuck! Help!”

  There was a crash and the sound of splintering glass from someplace far away. Pressing my cheek to the floor, my eyes drooped. The smoke was getting to me, and soon, I would be out cold. If I died now, it would be a real pain the ass. I wondered if my insurance covered mysterious fires? Was I liable for the faulty sprinkler system, or could I sue the shit out of my landlord? Bah, I would sue the fucker anyway!

  “Help…” I said with a rasp, my voice straining as I kicked lamely at the door. “Help…”

  “Fuck,” a male voice cursed, and suddenly, I realized I wasn’t alone. Either that or I was hallucinating.

  He was wearing big black boots with sloppy laces he hadn’t bothered to tie. The trailing ends had been tucked inside, as well as his jeans. I peered closer. The toes were all scuffed.

  He knelt, and I felt his fingers press against my neck, checking for a pulse.

  “I’m stuck…” I muttered, my eyes rolling. “The thing… The fire was…too hot…”

  “I’ve got you,” the man said, lifting me into his arms like I weighed nothing at all. “You’ll be out of here in no time.”

  Flopping in his grasp like a rag doll, my gaze met his, and my mouth fell open. I didn’t know if I was delirious or I’d already reached the point where the smoke inhalation was beginning to eat away at my brain, but he was handsome as hell. Hot as sin…and considering my current predicament, it wasn’t a fire related pun.

  Tall, dark, brooding, chiseled out of marble…his eyes bore into mine. He wasn’t underwear model good-looking or anything, but there was something about him that made all my bits tingle. His eyes were full of sadness, pain, and depth I’d never seen in anyone before. They reminded me of those mysterious pools scientists had found in the middle of the wilderness that went down, down, down into the earth with no bottom. The deeper they went, the darker it became, and still, it stretched on. What mysteries lay within? Was there an end? Was there meaning?

  I was completely and utterly delirious. Wasn’t I? Felt like it.

  “The door’s stuck,” I managed to croak.

  The man glanced at it and grimaced, then like we were in an action blockbuster at the movies, he kicked. I felt his muscles tense as his heel collided with the door. Once, then twice, then cool air rushed into the storeroom, and he was leaping out into the lane like Arnold Schwarzenegger in Terminator 2.

  Red and blue flashing lights and a wail of sirens greeted us as the mysterious stranger carried me to safety. I clung to his shirt, the stench of smoke still thick in my nostrils.

  “Oh, God,” I muttered, the gravity of what had just happened beginning to crash down on me. “Oh, fuck…”

  “You’re okay,” the man said, his grip tightening on me as we approached the fire trucks lined up on the street. Water was already pouring from hoses, dousing the flames inside my little shop of dreams. “You’re safe now.”

  “Sir… Miss…” A firefighter had approached us, and the man set me down on my shaking feet.

  “She’s inhaled a lot of smoke,” the mysterious stranger said.

  The firefighter nodded, his gaze turning to me before he took my arm. “Let’s get you on some oxygen. An ambulance is on its way.”

  Confused and on the verge of hysterical tears, I let him lead me away, and by the time I turned around to thank the handsome stranger for risking his life…he was gone.

  All I saw were the smoke and flames that had engulfed my shop and dreams and the ten firefighters and their three trucks that were hosing it all down.

  2

  Storm

  Rubbing my jaw, I ignored the blooming pain that seared through my bones.

  Brunswick Street was oddly quiet tonight. I’d caught a ride with some woman who thought she was getting lucky, and then hopped out at the traffic lights a few blocks from where I was now standing. She’d screamed some obscenity after me, but I’d disappeared before I caught the entirety of her venom-filled spiel.

  Once a dick, always a dick, I suppose.

  A disgraced cage fighter with nothing left to lose. That was my jam.

  I fought three nights a week at The Underground—a criminally run cage fighting league and the source of my aching jaw—not because I wanted things to be that way but because I was forced to.

  I’d gone to America to try my luck in the UFC—the Ultimate Fighting Championship—and earn the big bucks. I’d wanted to be showered with the fame and glory I’d so desperately wanted, and I’d fucked over plenty of people to get there. It still shamed me to this day that I’d had a threesome behind my girl Lori’s back. I cheated when I should’ve cherished. What happened next, when I finally reached the US, was karma at its finest.

  Accused of a crime I didn’t commit, I was taken for everything I was worth. A UFC ring girl accused me of domestic assault. I mean, I was a dick, but I would never raise my hand to anyone, especially a woman, outside of the octagon. We’d gone out a few times, had some amazing sex, the whole nine yards. She liked it rough and consented…and enjoyed. Thoroughly.

  A bunch of photographs, a police report, and a very public arrest later, I was forced to settle out of court or serve jail time.

  Completely broke and with a lifetime ban from the UFC, I came home to Australia with my tail between my legs. I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I’d immediately gone back to The Underground and tried to pick up where I’d left off. There, I was Storm, a fighter to be reckoned with, not Mark Ryder, disgrace to men everywhere. In that warehouse, I was still somebody.

  But life is never that simple. No matter how far you run, your past always catches up eventually, and when it does, it tears everything apart. Everything.

  Before, I’d been a dick. An arrogant, selfish, cocksure, asshole who only ever thought about himself.

  After my very public fleecing, I was closed, lonely, quiet, and angry. I had very little left to offer the world, so I didn’t offer anything. I was a floater in the only cesspool that would take me, and even then, it was only because I was still profitable.

  What a naive bastard I’d been.

  Now I fought inside a wall of chain link with a bloodstained concrete floor so I didn’t end up on the street begging for spare change. There was nowhere else for a washed-up prick to earn a living.

  “That shop’s on fire!” someone exclaimed. “I’m calling triple zero.”

  Glancing up, I forgot about whatever it was I was agonizing over. My gaze was instantly drawn to a plume of smoke trailing out of cracks and vents in the facade of a shop across the street. Inside, it had nowhere to go and had built up, quickly filling the enclosed room. Farther in, I could see the bright orange flicker of flames.

  An explosion tore through the little shop, and everyone stumbled back a step. The windows rattled, and the sound echoed over the traffic noise.

  “Did you see that?” some guy asked next to me. “Holy shit!”

  “It just went up,” someone else said. “It just took seconds…”

  “Help!”

  I hesitated, listening. No one else standing on the street had noticed anything—they were all on their phones, taking pictures of the chaos. Vultures.

  “Help!”

  This time, I heard it plain as day.
It was faint, but it was there. Someone was inside, and they were trapped.

  Glancing up and down the street, I could hear the approaching fire trucks, but they were stuck a few blocks up the street, boxed in by traffic. There was only a split second in this. Whoever was inside might meet their maker before help arrived.

  “Fuck it,” I cursed and rushed toward the shop.

  “Hey!” one of the bystanders called out. “What are you doing?”

  Ignoring everything around me, I dodged cars and bounded toward the fire. I shook the door, but it was locked. The fire hadn’t spread outside of the back room, but the handle was hot, and smoke was billowing into the front section of the store at an unbelievable rate.

  “Help!” The cry was louder this time. A woman’s panicked voice filtered from beyond the glass, and my heart rate began to gallop.

  Gathering my strength, I kicked with everything I had. My boot bounced back, and with a curse, I tried again.

  “Hey, buddy! Buddy!”

  I glanced up at the sound of a passerby’s voice. Having seen what I was trying to do, a random guy was brandishing a tire iron, and I snatched it from him and cracked it against the door. Once, twice, three times.

  The glass shattered in one big sheet, splintering into thousands of tiny granules. Kicking it out of the frame, it smashed to the floor, and smoke streamed out onto the footpath.

  “You’re going in there?” the stranger asked.

  I raised my eyebrows as smoke poured out of the opening. “Sure. Why not?”

  I didn’t know why I went into that building. I didn’t even know what the hell I was supposed to do, but I could hear the roar of flames and a woman’s cry for help, and that was it. I covered my nose and mouth with the sleeve of my shirt and dived headfirst into the maelstrom.

  I crossed the first room with no trouble. Smoke was the only obstacle here, but it was hot as hell, and sweat erupted across my forehead. Passing by a bunch of stacked tables and chairs, I forged into the next room and was immediately pushed back by the flames. A quick glance at the scene gave me an idea.

  A table sat in the center of the space. The explosion had set it alight, along with the walls and the roof, but if I could push it to where the flames were at their worst, maybe…

  Grabbing the table, I flipped it onto its side and kicked it across the room, forcing the flames back. I’d managed to carve a tiny path, but I would have to be quick. I bolted across the room, heat from the fire burning against my exposed face.

  In the room beyond, I stumbled. A woman was lying on the floor, her cheeks smeared with dirt and what looked like paint. Beside her, a can had been knocked over, and it had spread across the floor. She’d been painting in here when the fire broke out.

  There was no more shop to explore. This was it. She was the only person trapped in here.

  “Help… Help…” she cried, her eyes attempting to focus on me. Then she went limp, her cheek returning to the floor.

  “Fuck,” I cursed, kneeling beside her. Had she suffocated? Was I too late?

  Pressing my fingers against her neck, I felt a faint pulse.

  “I’m stuck…” the woman said with a raspy voice, stirring at my touch. “The thing… The fire was…too hot…”

  “I’ve got you,” I said. “You’ll be out of here in no time.”

  Shoving my arms underneath her, I lifted her clear off the ground and cradled her against my chest. She was completely out of it, her limbs limp and her eyes glassy.

  Meeting her gaze, I hesitated. Her eyes were green like…like I don’t know what. Moss, grass…a rainforest. Her ash-blonde hair was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Her skin was pale and perfect, and her lips were pink. She looked like a china doll. Delicate. Feminine.

  “The door’s stuck,” she said.

  I glanced up and saw the door through the smoke, and immediately, I saw the problem. Someone had painted it closed, and that was why it wouldn’t open. Morons.

  Holding her tight, I kicked, my boot colliding with the wood. It splintered a little, and then I kicked it again. It burst open, letting in a rush of cool, clean air, and I hurried through into the lane beyond.

  Outside, the fire trucks had arrived, their sirens and lights flashing. Hoses had been deployed, and men in their bright yellow uniforms were hurrying around, trying to get the blaze under control.

  “Oh, God,” the woman muttered, shock beginning to set in. “Oh, fuck…”

  “You’re okay,” I murmured against her hair as we moved up the lane. “You’re safe now.”

  Striding toward the closest rig, I caught the attention of a firefighter.

  “Sir… Miss…” he began, his eyes wide with shock as he saw us approach.

  “She’s inhaled a lot of smoke,” I said, setting the woman on her feet.

  The guy nodded, wrapping his arm around the woman’s shoulders. “Let’s get you on some oxygen. An ambulance is on the way.”

  Shoving my hands into my pockets, I watched him lead her away and retrieve a first aid kit from the truck. A moment later, he took out a small tank of oxygen and eased a mask over her beautiful blonde hair. Her slender fingers wrapped around the apparatus and held it over her nose and mouth as the firefighter wrapped her in a blanket.

  He glanced at me, and I held up my hand. I was fine. A little insane, but I was fine.

  Why the fuck did I just run into that building and drag a woman out of a raging inferno? Because she would’ve died if I didn’t take a risk. It was that simple. There was no other reason.

  She was safe now. She was safe, and that was all that mattered. It was time to walk away before I got embroiled in a situation that would wind up spread all over the newspapers. I could see the headlines now. Disgraced UFC fighter, Mark Ryder, spotted saving a woman from a burning building. No one would give a shit anyway. They would all accuse me of staging it as a publicity stunt to repair my reputation.

  I wasn’t the kind of guy who stood up on a stage and had a medal handed to him. I wasn’t the kind of guy who went out of his way to be a hero for kicks. I didn’t want points or accolades. I was the kind of guy who just disappeared.

  I didn’t want fame or fortune anymore. I wanted obscurity.

  So, I disappeared.

  3

  Callie

  I sat up in a bed in the emergency department at St. Vincent’s hospital, my mind swirling.

  Chestnut eyes. Sad, pained, chestnut-colored eyes.

  The curtain surrounding the bed swept back, the rings scraping over the metal bar. Outside my little safe zone, the emergency department was running at full steam. Crying babies, broken limbs, blood, coughing, and frazzled hospital staff.

  Glancing at the woman who’d appeared, I saw she was a doctor. A glamorous, six-foot, modelesque doctor. She had flawless olive skin, silky coffee-colored hair, and big hazel eyes. And she was a doctor. Life so wasn’t fair.

  “I’m Dr. Gunner in case you don’t remember,” she said, smiling with her perfect teeth. “You were a little out of it when you were brought in. How are you feeling?”

  “Better.” And inadequate.

  “You inhaled a great deal of smoke,” she said, taking the stethoscope from around her neck and sliding the earpieces into her ears. “Now you’ve had time to rest, let me just check your lungs again.” Gesturing for me to lean forward, she slid the end under the hospital gown, the cold disc making me shiver. “Deep breaths. Good…”

  “Excuse me,” I said, tugging at the doctor’s sleeve. “Has he come? The man who pulled me out of the building?”

  “I don’t think so,” she replied, removing her stethoscope. “I can have someone check if you like.”

  “Please.”

  “Well, your lungs are clearing, which is what we want. Any headaches?”

  I shook my head.

  “Dizziness? Lethargy?”

  “No.”

  “I would like to keep you for a little while longer just to make sure that bump on your head d
oesn’t flare up. Is that okay?”

  Great, another hour or so stuck reeking like smoke and ash. “I suppose.”

  She smiled and swept the curtain closed, leaving me in peace.

  Resting my aching head against the pillow, I breathed in oxygen through my mask and attempted to filter out the latest round of screaming children. The man in the bed next to me was busy hawking up a ball of snot stuck in the back of his throat, and I gagged.

  Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts…

  Imagining being lifted into the arms of my handsome stranger once more, I sighed. I hoped he’d come. He looked so sad even when he was leaping headfirst into danger to save me, a stranger. Why was he so sad?

  Bloody hell, I was fantasizing about some random guy off the street. Was that normal? It wasn’t normal. He did risk his life to save me, after all. Could you get high from too much oxygen?

  I hoped he was here. Then I could thank him. That would be a start.

  The curtain swung open abruptly, revealing my housemate and best friend, Macy. She was hastily put together, her sun-kissed strawberry-blonde hair was twisted into a messy knot on top of her head, her face was devoid of her usual flawless foundation and eye shadow—not that it made any difference to her complexion—and she was wearing her Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pajama bottoms.

  I pulled at the oxygen mask, relieved to see her. “Macy…”

  “Bloody hell,” she cried, throwing her arms around my neck. “You scared the hell out of me, Callie!”

  “It went up so fast,” I cried. “There was nothing I could do.”

  She pulled back and tugged my hands away from the oxygen mask. “Leave that on. Get your breath back. The shop can be rebuilt, but you can’t.”

  “Oh, fuck, the shop. It’s ruined! All that work…”

  “It can be fixed, Callie.” She placed her hand on my shoulder. “What happened exactly?”