by Ciz, Alley
“It is. For the most part, I try to keep my guys from needing to drop too much weight before a fight. Helps keep their strength up. To be honest, both girls are major assets to the success of my guys. My daughter might even be more brilliant about fighting than my son. Great instincts and eye on that one, that’s for sure. Too bad she doesn’t want to be a fighter,” he said with a shake of his head.
He chuckled. It’s wasn’t every day you met a dad who was disappointed his daughter didn’t want to fight. “What, couldn’t convince her to step in the cage?”
Vic snickered. “Oh no, that’s not the problem. She gets in the cage all the time, loves to spar… No, she’d rather heal than hurt. Gets it from her mama, that one.” The smile stretching across his face reflected the obvious love and pride he had for both women in his life.
“It’s obvious now why Tony wanted you to take over my training.” For as crotchety as his old coach could be at times, he was a family man at heart. It looked like Vic Steele was cut from a similar cloth.
“Have you made any decisions on when you’d want your next fight to be?” Vic asked, getting down to the business of his career. “I know The Cutter has been making a lot of noise about a rematch between the two of you.”
He frowned at the mention of his least favorite fighter—hell, person—on Earth. Even now, the mere mention of the guy brought a throb to his hip. But he wasn’t the only one to walk away a little worse for wear after their fight. After over twenty minutes of beating on each other, The Cutter had not only lost the title belt but sported a smashed nose and a few broken ribs as a souvenir.
“Yeah, never going to happen,” Gage said adamantly.
Even as he spoke, his phone vibrated in his pocket, and he knew when he checked, there would be at least one notification of The Cutter’s attempts to goad him into a rematch.
Ignoring his phone, Gage continued to talk business and life with Vic a little longer. The trainer knew his stuff and they got along seamlessly so far. He was looking forward to seeing the gym that would be his new home.
“What do you say about heading over to The Steel Maker? Everyone should be in the middle of training so you can get a good feel for the place right away.”
“Sounds good to me. I parked in the lot behind the gym before so I’ll grab my bag when we get there.”
Chapter Three
Rocky had more letters designating all her specialties as The Steele Maker’s physical therapist than were in the alphabet—that’s how she felt at least. As the daughter of a nurse and an MMA trainer, she knew early in life what she wanted to be when she grew up. Her father and uncle's genes gave her the talent and skill to make a go of it on the women’s circuit, but like her mother, she was drawn to fixing people instead of breaking them.
By the time she finished high school, she was already a licensed massage therapist (LMT), a certified yoga instructor (CYI), and a certified personal trainer (CPT).
She earned her Doctorate of Physical Therapy two years sooner than most, using her nerd powers and high school AP classes to enter college as a sophomore, and maxing out her course load while attending BTU.
It was how she ended up with more letters after her name than could fit on a business card—if she had business cards that is. But when your boss referred to you as Pumpkin, that formality usually isn’t needed.
She may technically be Raquel Anne Steele DPT and a whole bunch of other things—but to the guys of the gym, she was just Rocky, or Alphabet Soup when they thought they were funny.
Sports were her life, athletes were her specialty, and though she had once hoped to work with one of the professional teams that courted her during school, she ended up succumbing to familial obligations and stayed at her father's gym. Every certification she acquired helped prove she'd earned her position instead of having it handed to her because she happened to be born a Steele.
It wasn’t all bad though. As much as the guys liked to joke, she was respected and they followed her PT instructions like gospel.
Such as right now, for example.
She flipped one of her long pigtail braids over her shoulder and reached out for her brother’s hand. His right wrist and hand had presented some tightness lately, and she wanted to ensure it hadn’t been aggravated from his morning workout.
Gripping the edge of the athletic tape, she began to unwrap it, followed by the soft gauze cloth underneath. She could wrap and unwrap hands in her sleep, the muscle memory from doing it countless times as natural as breathing.
Once she had everything off and rolled in a ball to throw away, she reached for his hand again to evaluate it.
She bent his wrist back and forth.
Left then right.
Finally, she gently moved it around in a circle, completing the move both in a clockwise and counterclockwise motion.
Satisfied his wrist was fine, she grabbed his massive paw between her much smaller hands, running both her thumbs along the center of his palm from the base of the wrist up to the pads of his fingers, then out along the pads to stretch his fingers.
Nothing felt out of place to her. The swelling she'd felt in the tendons earlier in the week was gone. Treating fighters might not have been her first preference, but no one put them back together like she did.
“How’s all that feel?” she asked, watching his face for any ticks of pain while she manipulated his hand.
“Great, actually.”
Good, things were right on track. A big part of keeping the guys in fighting shape was reining them in when they needed to take it easy for a few days. It was much easier to prevent an injury than to rehab one, especially if it was an avoidable one.
Of course, keeping a group of competitive athletes in line was not easy. Thank god they all feared her and the rest of The Coven more than they worried about their fragile male egos.
She smiled and bent to get the new gauze needed to rewrap his hand and wrist. “You’re never going to guess who I met last night. You'll be crazy jealous.”
"Who?"
She continued to wrap and refused to answer because messing with your big brother was fun.
"Rock." He was getting impatient.
With her smile stretching as far as it could, she finally said, “Gage James.”
Her brother’s eyes grew comically wide, the whites around his rain-cloud grey irises forming perfect circles.
“No. Shit!” he said in disbelief.
She only smiled bigger in response, knowing it would drive him crazy.
“Where did you meet him? And why didn’t you call me so I could come meet you wherever you were?”
She laughed. “Beck and I ran into him at The Ring last night.”
“Damn. I knew I should have gone with you guys last night.” He made a fist with his rewrapped hand and hit it against the palm of his other, testing to make sure he was good to go. He would be—she was pro, after all.
“Well, we do always invite you to come.” She laughed at his scowl. Even though most of the weekly visits to The Ring turned into a Coven night out, the guys were always welcomed to join them.
“I would have called you, but I literally realized he was standing in front of me and had to leave. So it wasn’t anything to write home about.”
Her brother gave her an incredulous look. Everyone, and she meant everyone, knew about her crush on the current Heavyweight Champion. Passing him on the street would warrant a gushing retelling of the story worthy of the biggest fangirl. She wasn’t sure where she found the ability to be so blasé over her encounter with the Greek God of perfection, maybe it stemmed from knowing she would never date a fighter, maybe not, but her current performance was definitely worthy of an Oscar.
Vince waited while she finished putting away the gauze and tape. “But still…Gage James.”
“Yeah, I know.” A dreamy sigh broke free. “And he’s even hotter in person than on TV.” Okay, so that was a little gushy. Whatever, she was due.
He scrunched his nose
in disgust, nudging her in the side with his elbow. “Sooo didn’t need to know that part.”
She chuckled. “Sorry.”
He shook his head. He knew it was her duty as the little sister to torture her big brother when the opportunity presented itself.
They left her treatment room and headed back to the main gym area, Vince tugging on her braids every once in a while. Like most of the Steeles, Vince was tall, topping out around six-four, but being only a few inches shy of six feet herself, she never really felt like a delicate flower amongst fighters.
Unlike last night as she stood near Gage James. She knew his personal stats by heart—fangirl, remember—so she knew he stood at an impressive six foot seven inches and two hundred and fifty-five pounds of rock hard, mouth-watering, panty-melting muscle. It really was a shame she didn’t date fighters.
While she'd made a conscious effort to act like a normal human being the night before, instead of the gob smacked fangirl she really was, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering how it would feel to be lifted in those strong arms of his.
The daydreams were once again trying to take over. She needed to keep her head on straight—she was at work, for god’s sake. When she was alone later, she could let herself imagine all the things she was sure he could do to her, but not now. Time and place, Rock, time and place.
Vince pulled her hair again.
"What?"
“Have you seen Dad at all this morning?” he asked.
She glanced around the gym. Had she? Most mornings, they got together to discuss the fighters and any concerns either of them had, but it wasn’t one of those days. “You know what, now that you ask, I don’t remember seeing him when I got in this morning. I mean, I saw his car in the lot but not him.”
The sparkle in Vince’s eyes spelled trouble. “I know he isn’t a super fan of you being in the cage without his permission.” He chuckled at the understatement of the century. Their father had trained her how to fight, but his precious pumpkin wasn’t supposed to spar unless he was around. “But want to spar?”
She gave a devilish smile. There were a few things she’d been meaning to address with Vince, and she knew just the way to needle him. “You’re getting predictable in some of your takedown moves.” She tossed out the comment as if it wasn’t an insult.
“Predictable?” His jaw dropped.
“Well…predictable might not be the right word.” She drew out the silence between them as they headed toward the cage. “But you’re giving away your moves a split second before you actually make them. I can tell you exactly which move you are thinking of before it happens.”
“Lies.” He gave her a look of disbelief.
They entered the cage in the middle of the main training area. Everything at The Steele Maker was top of the line, from the regulation octagon they climbed into down to the padded floor mats throughout the building. It may not have been her dream to stay in the family business, but she couldn’t complain about the work environment.
Normally she would wear protective gear when sparring, but she was confident enough in her ability to read the tells he'd recently developed to forgo it.
“Come on, I’ll prove it.” She dropped into her fighting stance.
They took position across from each other, and as predicted, she was able to sidestep his move, calling it out without being touched. “Single leg takedown.”
Vince’s back shot straight up, the look on his face absolute shock. “How the hell did you know that?”
She grinned at him. “I told you, you give it away.” She graciously left the “duh” implied.
He shook his head. “Okay, let’s go again.”
Again they assumed their positions and like before, she read her brother’s every move. “Leg trip.”
He motioned for them to reset their positions.
“Double leg takedown.”
Another reset.
“Duck under.”
“Shit! Man, I can’t believe it.” He ran his hands through his hair in frustration.
“Don’t worry it’s an easy fi—”
“RAQUEL ANNE, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING IN THE CAGE WITHOUT ME HERE?”
Rocky and Vince turned in the direction of their father’s roar. “Shit,” they said in unison.
GAGE MADE HIS way into The Steele Maker with Vic. He was immensely pleased with how nice it was. He’d seen pictures of the place and was given a virtual tour, but neither did it justice. The building stood two-stories tall and took up more than half the block. The outside was all reflective glass, and aside from the glass door Vic held open for him to walk through, you couldn’t see inside from the street.
“One-way glass,” Vic explained when he caught him glancing back over his shoulder.
To the right was a mirror-walled room he assumed was used for classes.
To the left was standard gym equipment: treadmills, ellipticals, rowing machines, free weights, along with the more hardcore stations of battle ropes, plate drags, and tire flipping.
His old gym was nice, but The Steele Maker was in a class by itself.
As they walked farther inside, he spotted a large half-circle reception desk with the gym’s logo displayed behind it. Manning that desk was a very familiar redhead.
Elation shot through him. His attention may have been locked in on Rocky the night before, but the bright red of her friend’s hair was hard to miss. Now all he needed to do was convince her to give him Rocky’s number.
He may have been telling himself he didn’t need the distraction Rocky would certainly be, but hell if he wasn’t going to pursue the opening.
After Vic was done giving him a tour of The Steele Maker, he'd circle back to her, confident he could charm her into giving him her friend’s information. She represented the first kernel of hope for tracking down the girl who hadn’t been far from his mind for the last twelve hours.
She was on the phone while doing something on a large computer monitor as they made their way past the desk, acknowledging Vic with a wave, all while keeping her eyes on the screen in front of her.
His brain happily clicked back into work mode as they moved deeper into the gym. While the front was impressive, it paled in comparison to the main fight training area.
Like the front, the walls were the same one-way glass. The floor under his sneakers was covered with high-quality black and gray mats that boasted the gym’s logo. Along the window to the right were rows of floor-to-ceiling anchored punching bags, as well as a row of speed bags.
In the back, beyond the guys grappling on the mats, were a state of the art, black- roped boxing ring to the left and a training octagon to the right.
Vic pointed out the other coaches and fighters. “Working with my guys on the mats are my Muay Thai coach and Brazilian jiu-jitsu coach.”
Gage took a moment to observe the practices, sizing up each of the fighters’ strengths at a glance. The way the four fighters laughed and joked with each other between sets intrigued him. He’d never had that kind of close camaraderie with his training partners.
The two coaches acknowledged them with a tilt of the chin, but their fighters remained focused on the skills they were practicing.
While Vic continued with the tour, Gage admired the tasteful black and white portraits hanging around the gym and the magnificent wall mural that combined the American flag and Olympic rings.
“In the ring is Deck working with my brother Mick, our boxing coach. And in the cage is…” Vic’s words trailed off as he took in the fighters in the cage. “Sonofabitch,” he said to himself before roaring, “RAQUEL ANNE, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING IN THE CAGE WITHOUT ME HERE?”
The two fighters immediately stopped grappling and spun toward him, then the female came forward and hooked her fingers through the PVC-lined links.
“Hi, Daddy,” she answered innocently.
There she was—temptation herself. Fuck if she didn’t look as good in athletic wear as she did i
n those tiny shorts last night.
“Don’t you hi Daddy me.”
Jesus, Rocky was Vic's daughter. That suddenly complicated things.
The doors to the cage pushed open, and Gage recognized Vince Steele as he exited. He held the door open for his sister, both seemingly unconcerned over their father’s ire and too absorbed in whatever they were laughing about to notice him standing by Vic’s side.
“Rock, seriously, what were you doing in the cage? You know I don’t like you being in there when I’m not around.”
Her toned body was shown off in a black sports bra with leopard print edging and straps, the restrictive top plumping her breasts in a way that had him imagining all the ways he wanted his mouth on them. Black leggings with leopard print details inside cutouts encased her long legs from hip to ankle. Even her Nikes had the animal print in the signature swoosh.
His life was complicated enough at the moment, the last thing he needed was to add a girl to the mix. Yet…
Getting involved with a girl was bad enough. His new coach’s daughter—worst idea ever.
But Gage James lived for a challenge and he had never tapped out of a fight.
He mentally touched gloves.
Let's get ready to rumble.
“I was just trying to prove a point to Vince,” Rocky said, pointing to her brother. Vince looked mildly uncomfortable, whereas his sister seemed completely unfazed by the displeasure pulsing off their father.
“And that would be?” Vic crossed his arms over his broad chest. Even decades retired, the man still maintained a fighter’s intimidating build.
“He’s been giving away his takedown moves before he makes them.”
“You had your brother practice takedowns on you?” Vic’s tone was incredulous as he shot an accusing glare at Vince. “Are you out of your mind?”
If Vince looked uncomfortable before, now he was turning positively green.