The Fighter Duet: Two Full-Length, Red-Hot New Adult Fighter Romances

by Tia Louise

  I started to reply, but he cut me off. “Do it, or you’re fired. And don’t leave without cleaning the locker rooms. I expect you on the road by ten.”

  A quick glance at the clock said I had three hours. I’d be on the road in two.

  My old Ford managed the highway better than I expected. The mechanic who sold it to me was pretty scuzzy, but he guaranteed the engine checked out. Looked like he was honest. I made it to Gym Supply in four hours without any issues other than road fatigue.

  The girl at the counter directed me around to the dock. She was a petite redhead in jeans and a maroon tee with Gym Supply across the front in white. “Yeah, we got your order.” She flipped pages back and forth on a loaded clipboard. “This driver’s strike has us all fucked up.”

  “Driver’s strike?” I didn’t like the sound of that. I wasn’t looking to cross any picket lines. Shit.

  Reading my expression, she quickly added. “It’s not our guys, it’s a union thing. We’re not in the loop, but our drivers are taking off to help where they’re striking. Lou won’t stop ‘em, but it’s fucking up everything.” Brown eyes flickered across my shoulders. “Looks like you can load it yourself. I’m Paige, by the way.”

  She checked me out, allowing her eyes to linger as they drifted below my beltline. I couldn’t help feeling that white-hot singe of desire. She was a pretty girl with a nice rack, and I hadn’t been laid in ages. The heat rose to my chest, the old opportunistic urge. I was sure Paige knew where we could go, unwrap those gorgeous tits, shimmy down those jeans. I’d wrap that red hair around my fist and give her the ride of her life. From the look of her, it wouldn’t take much to have her screaming my name.

  Clearing my throat, I stepped back. “Yeah, I can handle it.”

  “Follow me, then.” She led the way, and I looked around, distracting my mind from the bounce of her round ass. Shit. “Here’s the order. If you pull your truck around, you can use the dolly.”

  She stood waiting, eyebrow cocked at me. The hint of a smile was on her lips. Several cardboard boxes were wrapped together with plastic. I wasn’t sure they would all fit, but I hadn’t known what to expect.

  “You got a canvas or something I can use to cover it? We can send it back with our next delivery.”

  “Help yourself to whatever you see.” She put one hand on her hip, as if that included her.

  Holding my eyes away, I nodded. That wasn’t me anymore. I’d buried that part of myself along with the guy I used to be. “Thanks. I’ll be back to load up in the morning.”

  This was an overnight delivery trip, not a one-night stand, although I couldn’t help glancing back. She stood there on the dock, hand on her hip, that little grin on her mouth. Lust was blazing in her eyes, hitting me straight in the gut.

  When I was starving, it was easy to focus on food. Now that I was eating somewhat regularly, that old, primal hunger gnawed at my insides. From the dark recesses of my past, the feel of my cheek against the soft curve of a full breast flashed like lightening. I remembered holding lush handfuls, heavy between my fingers… My mouth clamping down hard on a tight nipple.

  With a growl, I shook my head, climbing into the cab and starting the engine. I wasn’t doing any of that, and I wasn’t fucking up this job. I’d return in the morning to bust my ass hauling boxes, forget these stupid memories, and then head back to Toms River.

  Early Tuesday afternoon I rolled into the Jungle Gym lot. Rook had given me the key, and I went around to unload right at the garage. Moving a load of heavy boxes, driving four hours, and moving them all again had me exhausted and ready to call it a day.

  Truck empty, I headed to Wal-Mart to find a pair of jeans. If this money was an advance on my paycheck, I might as well use it to get a few new shirts and a little more to eat.

  Dinner was half a rotisserie chicken. I could’ve eaten the whole buttery, greasy bird, but I wasn’t flush yet. I’d save the other half for tomorrow’s dinner. In the freezer was a package of pulled pork and some cheap ground beef. A supply of buns, mustard, and cheese, and I’d make it to payday. My one splurge was a burner phone and the cheapest package of minutes—just for emergencies.

  Showered and with my belly full, I stretched. My muscles ached in a good way from exertion they hadn’t felt in months, and I picked up the giant paperback I’d been reading. Even if it was pretty dry, I’d started to care what would happen next to the French kid.

  I read for almost an hour, but my skin itched, and my chest burned. That fucking hunger was back, and none of Doc’s mantras made it go away. What I felt was deeper than that. Time for Plan B—a walk on the shore. Hopefully, the wind and the waves and the fresh salt air would clear my head.

  At the water’s edge, I turned north, moving fast. Longing roiled deep in my stomach, and my pace quickened. Closing my eyes, I was surrounded by a curtain of dark hair, and slim hands kneading the muscles in my shoulders. Soft lips feathered my ear with husky whimpers begging for more, and I stopped walking. I pushed my hands against my head, growling deep, but it didn’t stop the faceless memories tormenting me. I remembered warm thighs circling my waist, and the squeeze of a hot, wet opening pulsing around my dick.

  “Fuck,” I hissed under my breath. I pulled off my shirt and shoved my shorts down, stepping out of them and running straight into the water. It was ice cold as I dropped to my knees, plunging my head under the surface and holding my breath until those tormenting memories drowned in the heat of my wake.

  Control came seeping back with the bitter cold making its way to my bones, and I waded to shore. Dripping wet, I went to where I’d left my clothes. I was at a pretty deserted section of beach, although I could see in the distance, maybe a half-mile away, one of those bars that fronted on the ocean. Rubbing my hands fast over my torso, I managed to get most of the water off me before stepping into my shorts. I held my shirt for a few minutes, letting the air dry my body a bit longer.

  It was a warm night, even though the water was frigid. My calm restored, I listened to the quiet sounds of evening—broken at once by a scream.

  My body went on alert as adrenaline shot through my veins. The scream cut off, but it came from the direction of the bar. Slowly I took a few steps when I heard it again—definitely a female scream.

  Jamming my shirt over my head and jogging toward the noise, I could barely make out the shape of a man behind a smaller form of a woman with long hair. She was pushing and throwing her arms all around, but he caught them, pinning them against her sides.

  Another man was approaching them, so I slowed my pace, waiting. I wasn’t about to let what seemed to be happening happen, but at the same time, if someone else could intervene and help her, that would be for the best.

  “My brother’s military,” I heard her scream. The sound of her ragged voice fanned the rage building in my torso. “He’ll rip your throat out and shove it up your ass.”

  My jaw was tight, and my fists clenched shut as I waited, hoping the skinny guy could help her. I barely heard him say something that sounded like “Let her go,” but the dick holding her shouted, “Go away so I can fuck her.”

  She screamed again, and rage flooded my vision. Skinny backed off, but I charged forward. In less than ten paces, my clenched fist made contact with the fucker’s jaw and a satisfying CRACK! ricocheted down my arm. He flew back, but his hold on the girl’s arms kept him upright. A left hook, another satisfying connecting punch, and he fell back, flat on the sand.

  Abuser, fucking worthless abuser. It took all of my willpower to control the fury blazing in my chest. I stood over him, envisioning myself beating him repeatedly. My days in the ring were in the front of my mind, and I knew every hit I’d lay on him. High-volume punching. I’d smash him over and over until there was nothing left of his head but a bloody pulp.

  Breath pumped in and out of me like a bellows, and I fought to stop the red, to find the mantra. Nothing was coming. Until her voice, clear as a bell, cut through the noise.

  She s
aid something. I didn’t know what it was, but the sound of her turned me. I took a wobbly step away from the body lying on the sand in front of me to her. She was beautiful, broken and pale in the moonlight. Long, dark hair draped over her shoulders, and her dress was torn. She cautiously reached for me, and I wanted to gather her in my arms and hold her.

  I couldn’t do that. She was hurt, and I didn’t even know who she was.

  “Are you okay?” My voice shook. That was a close one.

  She nodded, shaking as well. “Y-you saved me.”

  I could see her working hard to pull herself together. She was so small, but I could tell she was strong. I remembered what she’d said, or rather screamed, and I dug for the burner phone in my pocket.

  “Do you want to call your brother?”

  She seemed confused then I saw her remember. “That was a bluff.”

  Her shoulders trembled hard, and again, I wanted to ask if I could hold her. I took one step toward her, but the fucker on the ground made a noise. “Shit,” I whispered, anger mixed with relief. He was coming around, and I needed to go. “Is there anyone you can call?”

  As much as I couldn’t be found here, I couldn’t leave her by herself. Voices yelled from the direction of the bar, and she looked back over her shoulder.

  “Those are my friends.” It was all I needed to hear. I told her something like goodbye and took off running back in the direction of my apartment.

  She’d be okay. Her friends would take care of her. Halfway back, I realized I never asked her name. I didn’t know who she was. A beautiful creature, rescued on the beach, and I’d never see her again. The devastation of that thought broke my run.

  Staggering to a walk, I looked back over my shoulder. She’d be gone when I got there if I ran back, and even if she wasn’t, an angel as beautiful as that? She deserved so much better than a broken down sinner like me, regardless of what I’d just done on the beach. I had to let her go.

  8

  “Don’t be afraid to try again.”

  Kenny

  Thursday morning the fist was back. It clenched hard in my chest, making it difficult to breathe. I needed to hit something.

  Yesterday, I hadn’t even gotten out of bed. After crying myself into a fitful sleep, I woke up screaming, feeling calloused hands gripping my arms to my sides. I threw my blankets back and went straight to the shower. Standing under the scalding-hot water, I scrubbed until my skin was red and tender. It helped remove the sensations, but it was hours before I could relax again. When I’d opened my eyes, it was after five. Mariska had texted me a few times and left a voicemail once.

  Are you coming in? Was her first message, sent around ten. It was followed by I’m guessing you’re not, around noon.

  I rolled onto my side and listened to her voice on my phone. “Hey, I’m worried about you. I wish you’d call or at least text. Rook thinks you caught a stomach bug, and Tammy covered your clients. Just call or text me, okay? Love ya.”

  Disconnecting, I shot her a quick reply. Will be in tomorrow. Thanks for covering for me. Don’t feel like talking.

  The only vehicle in the lot when I arrived was an old junker Ford someone had abandoned. Pushing through the glass doors, I made a point of taking the lanyard out of my cubby so everyone would know I was here before heading to the small boxing room, ready for my early-morning drill. My hair was up in a ponytail, and I had on black spandex capris and black tank. I didn’t use gloves, only the gel hand wraps that came with the equipment.

  The closer I got, however, I heard the dull thud of what sounded like gloves hitting a bag. Rounding the corner, I froze in my tracks. His back was to me, shoulders up and chin down, and his feet moved lightly as his fists slammed into the canvass body bag in front of him.

  He was shirtless, and he was ripped. Every muscle in his shoulders and back flexed with his strikes. The lines in his stomach deepened along with those on his arms. The gloves inked on his biceps read, Never stop fighting. Only, from what I could see, the fight was either keeping him alive or killing him.

  Perfect form, fists at eye level, his punches flew straight to the center. Quick, precise, sharp. He moved like a professional. He was a professional. My duffel slid from my shoulder, amazement mixing with something else, low in my stomach, as I watched. He was beautiful.

  He didn’t see me, so he didn’t stop. Ice blue eyes focused through his furrowed brow on something invisible. His fists were like cannons. He moved out, then he moved back in, shooting three to four swift hits before moving out again.

  Right jab, left jab, left hook, out.

  Left jab, right jab, left hook, right jab, out.

  My breathing picked up as I understood what he was doing. Tension rippled off him in waves as he fought with something unseen. It was a fight I knew well because it was the same one I’d waged every morning for almost a year.

  His intensity increased with each strike, and the wings inked down his back flexed like they were trying to escape whatever held him. I wanted to step forward and lay my palms flat against his skin. I wanted to feel the strength of those swift, strong blows. I wanted to close my eyes and merge our arms and see if I could feel the power of his fists, see if they would unlock my own pain and release it.

  His punches increased in speed and ferocity, fists shooting forward so fast, they became almost a blur as he pummeled the bag. His furrowed brow creased, and I heard a low growl rising in his throat.

  Jab after jab, punch after punch, I lost count there were so many moving so fast until he let out a loud noise and jerked away toward the cinder block wall, banging the sides of his fists against it just under the rectangular window at the ceiling.

  His head rested on his gloved fists a moment, his breath coming in gulps. Sweat traced the lines down his torso stopping at the black shorts he wore, and I couldn’t help breathing fast with him.

  I wasn’t sure if I should speak or leave. I felt like I’d walked in on something incredibly personal, almost like when I caught Rook and Tammy in the shower. My heart was flying in my chest—only in this case, I didn’t want to run away. I wanted to stay.

  Finally, I found my voice. “I-I um… I’m sorry to interrupt.”

  He looked back over his shoulder, those blue eyes meeting mine, stopping my heart. In a quick move, he scooped up a maroon tank and dropped it over his head before turning to face me. I could see the tops of letters inked in a half circle right at his collarbones, but I couldn’t make out what it said. Why hadn’t I read that? I’d been too overwhelmed by the intensity of his fight.

  “Sorry.” His voice was hoarse. “I didn’t know anybody came in this early.”

  Unable to hold his gaze, I tried to smile as my eyes moved from his square jaw, past the line down the center of his chin, to his muscular arms.

  “I’m the only one who does.” My voice was higher in contrast to his. “I missed a few days, but I try to get my workout in before the members arrive.”

  He grabbed a towel off another bench, and I noticed a small bottle of cheap, generic water and a bundle of what had to be his clothes. “I’ll get the locker room cleaned before you need it. If you’re okay?”

  In that one phrase, recognition almost knocked me down. I was back on the beach. It was dark and I couldn’t stop shaking. Still, in that place of darkness as I struggled not to cry, all I wanted was the man who’d come out of nowhere and saved me to put his arms around me and hold me until my fear subsided.

  My eyes flew to his, but he didn’t seem to realize. Did he not know it was me?

  “I-I’m okay,” I said, and that’s when I saw it flash in his eyes. Now he knew.

  My heart beat unbearably fast, but he didn’t speak, he only clutched his things and headed towards the locker rooms.

  Turning in the direction he’d left, my will to exercise was gone, and now something entirely different tightened my chest. Picking up my bag, I walked slowly toward the front, looking around for him. He was in the supply closet taking out
the mop and bucket along with the plastic signs for the floor and door.

  “Are you Slayde?” I asked when he came back out.

  He paused, but I could tell he wasn’t fully committed to speaking to me. “Yes.”

  “I’m Kenny. One of the trainers here.”

  He looked up at me then, and my chest squeezed. Emotion sizzled just under my skin, and I had to blink away. Somehow I’d have to learn to meet those amazing blue eyes without forgetting where I was.

  “Nice to meet you.” His voice was low. “Sorry I interrupted your workout.”

  “No,” I shook my dark-purple ponytail. I didn’t want him to apologize. I didn’t want him to hold me at a distance. We were legions past that point, even if we were only just now exchanging names. “You didn’t interrupt me. I mean, I could still work out. I just… I wanted to speak to you.”

  He waited, and I couldn’t tell if he was impatient or uncomfortable, so I stepped back. “I’ll let you do your job.”

  His lips twitched as if he were about to say something, but instead he started down the hall, through the doors in the direction of the locker rooms. I collapsed against the counter, watching him go, trying to calm the tornado swirling in my chest.

  9

  “Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional.”

  Slayde

  She was here. In the same club where I worked. Boxing for Christ’s sake.

  I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the angel on the beach for two nights. I didn’t want to think about her, but shit, I couldn’t stop myself.

  Chances were great I’d never see her again. Then again, in a town the size of Bayville, she was bound to turn up somewhere. I just never expected it to be here.