by Alice Ward
There’d been nothing regular about any of my matches over the past two years. I was female, and few people knew how or why I even got involved in the world of fights.
Breaking what little concentration I’d gained as I stretched my hamstrings, a curly haired nerdy reporter entered and announced he was from the quirky local flavor magazine, LEO, then stuck his recorder in my face. I sighed and continued stretching as I remembered my trainer giving me a heads up about an interview.
Holding his arm outstretched as far as it would go, he wore a bug-eyed expression behind dark-framed glasses, as if he thought I was going to punch him and wanted to stare at my tits at the same time.
“Cherry Bomb, can you tell me a little bit about how you ended up where you are today?”
I cleared my throat and focused on being professional. This was for my future, I reminded myself. More importantly, it was for my family’s future. Which also meant ignoring the googly eyes and leers instead of punching anyone who looked at me wrong.
At a lean five-foot-eleven and three-quarters, I was built like Wonder Woman without the armor. I was used to the attention, but it didn’t mean I liked it.
“In my first and only semester of college, I needed a physical education course,” I repeated the story I’d memorized, making sure I sounded competent and friendly. “There was an Introduction to MMA offered. I took it on a lark, thinking I would just skip as many lessons as possible so I could go to my part-time job, but I ended up falling in love with the sport.”
The reporter leaned in. “I can certainly tell that something about it clicks with you. What do you think that is?”
My name being chanted on the other side of the wall washed over me in a wave, like a warm embrace, and I forgot that every word I said would be printed and circulated throughout the city. “I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline from facing down a foe, or the ability to work out all my anger. I love the sport.”
“As a woman fighter, your fans are interested to know what drives you into the ring with each fight. Do you have a lot of anger to dispel?”
I blinked at the question. It wasn’t that I was specifically an angry person… just had a lot of frustration to let out. “All of my life, my parents worked so hard on our farm in Pike County, Indiana, yet even after moving to Louisville, we still barely make ends meet.”
I locked my jaw, images swirling through my head of all the nice things people had around me. How they could go out to eat when they wanted or see a movie on a whim while my teenage brother, Sage, wore the same pair of jeans down to threads. It didn’t feel right that we struggled so hard.
“And that motivated you,” the reporter prompted, staring at my tits.
“Yeah. My dad’s passing away was an unrecoverable event for my family. So I started fighting to pay the bills.”
“Fighting’s a great outlet. Do you still attend college and take MMA classes?”
Heat rose to my cheeks as I admitted all the ways in which I’d failed. “I actually quit college.” I shrugged as if it was no big deal. “It had just been way too time consuming and I needed to work to take care of my family. All the MMA classes within reach of the bus were so far out of my price range they might as well have been on another planet, and the boxing gyms weren’t much better. I knew I would never be able to swing their stratospheric costs and resigned myself to just training on my own.”
And just fantasizing about being in the ring.
I pivoted, grabbed the table behind me and did an assisted reverse chest stretch.
The reporter swallowed so hard I heard the click of his throat. “What, um, how did you meet your trainer?”
I blew out a breath and shrugged like it hadn’t been a big deal, like hanging at that old smoky hole in the wall place with my best friend, Grace Powell, hadn’t been the only sunny spot some weeks. “I got lucky. Broke up a fight at a bar I went to pretty regularly. Hawk was there, but I blew him off at first because I thought his name was cheesy as hell.” I snorted. Hawk had set up this interview and paybacks were hell, but I’d risk his anger for the laugh. “He invited me to see his training grounds and fighters before slipping me a business card. Of course, I showed up the next day.”
I’d been uncertain and cautious, and just as anxious to get my hands wrapped and get in the ring. But I’d been wary. His interest had seemed too good to be true, and good things didn’t happen to me or my family. We worked and fought for everything we had, but it was never enough.
Hawk had called bullshit on that. He’d been all about defying my family’s bad luck. He greeted me with genuine interest, took me on a tour, and the next thing I knew, I was associated with an underground fighting ring.
“Did you fight right from the beginning?”
“My involvement started out small. At first, I was only a ring girl, walking around with a sign signaling which round the fight was in. I had a short bit as a referee. That was fun, but I longed for more action. Then, after just six months of training, I had my first fight.”
“Hawk had very specific plans for you. Can you tell me a little about that?”
I barely kept myself from snorting. In all honesty, Hawk had wanted me to be his outlier, his underdog. To reel in tons of people who would bet against me and bet high on an opponent, only to end up losing to the house. But I couldn’t tell this reporter that.
“Yeah, he put me up against a guy who had twenty-five pounds on me and a face that looked more Cro-Magnon than human.” Thinking about that first fight made me smile, and some of the nerves bubbling in my stomach went to a low simmer.
The nerdy reporter’s eyes lit up. “I was there, and it was tough to watch, with you taking hit after hit until the third round.”
The third round was when I had permission from Hawk to let loose. “I was there too. It sucked.”
The reporter chuckled. “Then you turned the tables. The crowd went absolutely wild when you got your opponent into a chokehold that he just couldn’t escape, winning the fight when he promptly passed out.” He gave me a lopsided grin.
“That wasn’t my best moment, but it may have been my happiest. I’m not some undefeated maverick by any stretch of the word, but I’ve won more than I’ve lost.”
The underdog angle could only work for so long though, especially since I kept winning fight after fight after fight.
“You picked up the name Cherry Bomb. Did that come from your name and the bright red lipstick you’re known to wear in every match, or the fact that Hawk plays up your ‘explosive’ fighting style?”
I pursed my lips, tasting the red gloss that was, indeed, my trademark. I didn’t mind the questions but wanted to keep some mystery about me going. “I think what’s important is that our fights began drawing a lot more women once I started fighting. Where before there had only been the occasional girlfriend, or ring girl, or hardcore fan, our audience shifted until females made up somewhere around thirty percent.”
“That’s true. I’ve heard that after your stints in the ring, you often have women come to you and tell you how much you inspired them to join the sport, or leave their abusive relationship, or report their boss who was sexually harassing them. That your determination inspired them to overcome something in their own lives.”
I breathe that in for a moment, and to my horror, tears prick the backs of my eyes. Bending to touch my toes, I hid my face while I pulled my shit together. To think I inspired anyone was hard to believe.
When I was more composed, I stood back up. “That’s always a bit overwhelming… and humbling. It’s so strange to think that a farm girl from Pike County, Indiana — population 12,845 — is somehow making a difference in people’s lives by busting the faces of bigger opponents, but it is what it is. I don’t let it go to my head because I know all too well how all of it could fall apart in an instant.”
Ugh. Thinking about that made my stomach twist.
“This cage fight could be a real turning point for you. You could go from one of Hawk’
s preferred fighters to the star fighter. And who knows, maybe even try turning to the more legitimate side of the sport to avoid slumming it in the underground.”
At that, my chin came up. I’d been slumming it my whole life, and while I wouldn’t turn down a chance at more, I was grateful for what I had. At the same time, I wanted bigger, better things.
The reporter’s eyes widened. “Forget that question. What the… fans really want to know is, do you have a boyfriend?”
I frowned.
Clink, clink signaled the curtain behind me being pushed to the side and I turned as Hawk stepped into the space.
Skinny and hook-nosed, with a broad grin — bigger and broader now than I’d ever seen — he looked more like he would be a chef than organizing illegal fights. “We got a real crowd out there, Sweet Cherry Pie.”
“Good. All the more people to see me beat a giant.”
“Careful there,” Hawk warned amiably, clapping my back. “I taught you to be confident, not cocky.” Turning his gaze toward the reporter, he nodded. “That’ll be all, Cecil. Remember, no mention of location if you want to continue to interview my fighters.”
The reporter stumbled over himself to agree, as if he knew disclosing the location would more than likely end with a fist to his nose, and backed out of the prep area and disappeared on the other side of the curtain.
I couldn’t help but smile. Hawk was technically super shady, considering he was running a sort of criminal empire, but he always treated his fighters with the utmost respect. He’d never come on to me, or cheated me or the other fighters, or ordered any of us to throw a match. He was good to us, and that was what mattered.
“Sorry. I let that go on too long. This just means a lot to me.”
“Don’t let that psych you out. I know that the kids and your mama weigh on you, but we’ll take care of you no matter what. You’re family. I’m not gonna let you down if you lose this fight.”
“Thanks.” I heaved a breath. That was at least one thing I could shove off my plate. I’d have this even if I lost tonight. “But it’s so much more than that. This could be the turning point, right? The thing that could have me going from just a good street fighter to a real contender. A possible professional.”
“And then you’ll leave me to get all rich and famous.” I scowled, but he just laughed. “Don’t worry, my ferocious Cherry Bomb. I knew you’d make it big from the start. The only question is when, not if. Just try not to forget me when you’re selling out whole arenas.”
“Like I could forget a guy like you.” I dropped my eyelids, hiding the hint of tears just the thought of leaving here brought. He didn’t know it, but Hawk was the closest thing to a father I’d had since my own died four years ago, right before we moved from the sticks to the Ville. Hawk filled a void.
“Take enough blows to the head, and I’m sure you will.” He let out a bark of laughter and clapped me once more on the back. “Come on now, fight’s starting. Time to do your big walk.”
I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin and drew deep for the confidence that got me through so much in life. I pushed aside the worries of letting Hawk down, of letting my family down.
It was time to fight.
CHAPTER TWO
Caleb
“As I’m sure you can understand, we’re concerned about the most recent investments chosen for our diversification efforts.”
From my desk, I leveled my gaze at the speaker before perusing all three of the accountant goons lined up in front of me. They visibly wilted. Their eyes averted elsewhere, the front of my desk, a pen, the door. The leader of the pack’s chin wobbled. They were legitimately threatened by me, and I had no problem exploiting it.
At six-three, I’d inherited my father’s intimidating stature. My square jaw and cold blue eyes just increased the effect that much more. I didn’t mind making people uncomfortable, as I found it usually kept opponents on their toes and playing on the defensive. It had been a perfect skill set for my position within my father’s company before my best bud Hunter and I decided we’d had enough of old-timey ways and started our own research and development company.
Even after starting my own business, there were plenty of people who still tried to put one over on me — people saw me as the dumb blond playboy son of the billionaire who drove expensive cars and went to the gym every night. These guys and many others thought at first glance that I was some sort of idiot they could rope into anything. I couldn’t count how many looks of surprise I’d had once they realized I wasn’t some empty-headed trust fund baby. That I worked just as hard as I played and had no problem ruthlessly cutting down anyone who made a power play on me.
“You’re welcome to be concerned by whatever you want,” I answered coolly, letting the words come slowly. “I, however, as CEO of Birchmeir and Cain Research & Development, have the pleasure of taking risks on prototypes if I can see a use or a need.” I paused and looked at my laptop, pressing a few keys to pull up the same report I looked at this very morning. “And judging by the fact that your department is thirteen percent behind your required output, I would think that you wouldn’t have any free time at all to present this to me.”
That cowed them, just as I knew it would, and I held back a snicker. One of them managed a hasty assurance that they would catch up with their work and had just been trying to help, then all three practically ran out. It was nothing unusual to have one accountant or another in here worried about the bottom line. But it was ultimately my choice whether to move ahead with a product or not, and I was known for giving an individual or company who was deserving a hand up at times.
I kept my eyes on them until they were fully exited, but even with the room empty again, irritation rose in my throat. I hated wasting time, and even though the three little corporate leeches had only taken about ten minutes of my life, it was ten minutes I wouldn’t get back.
“What was that all about?” Hunter Cain, Birchmeir and Cain’s COO and my best friend, stepped in the door. He was dressed in a gray and green suit that was sleek enough to be professional and yet still so undeniably Hunter that only he could pull it off.
Hunter and I had been friends for years — went to the same boarding school, got kicked out of the same boarding school, got our first cars together, crashed his car after getting way too drunk at a party. Crashed my car… the list went on and on. Or at least it had until his father’s company went belly-up. For a moment, it had seemed like there was a whole world between us, and I was sure I was going to lose the only friend who could tolerate me and vice versa.
That had been a pretty tense time, but I convinced Hunter it was time to step out on our own. He was skeptical at first, but the excitement of being out from under his father’s lead had sealed the deal. We opened our business at the age of twenty-seven, and after six years hadn’t looked back. With plenty of hard work and a whole lot of proving ourselves, we were now one of the top research and development companies in the U.S.
“Just some new accountants who got a bit big for their britches and thought they could power play me.”
Hunter gave an exaggerated wince before snorting out a laugh. “I’m guessing they learned their lesson.”
“They always do.” I leaned back in my chair and reached for the drawer where I hid my gin.
“Wow, hitting the sauce already?”
“It’s been that kind of day.”
“Apparently. I’ll join you. It is Friday, and not morning anymore.” He shrugged and crossed over to the side table where I kept my highball glasses and an alabaster ice bucket. I met him there. “But hey, I think I know exactly what would cheer you up.”
I groaned. “For the last time, I don’t care how great you think a certain sex club is, I’m not interested.”
He snorted. “No, not that. I haven’t recommended a sex club since the year we graduated.” He handed me a glass, and I poured a finger of gin for us both. “I’m talking about a fun little fight where we can have some d
rinks and blow a couple thousand on people who are bleeding for our own entertainment.”
“What? Is there some sort of boxing match at the stadium I don’t know about?”
“Not quite.”
I raised one eyebrow and downed my drink. “By all means then, call a driver. I’m game for a little visceral entertainment.”
“Great, I’ll make the arrangements now. It’s supposed to be at nine tonight. Want to catch some dinner first?”
“Sure. I’ll get a spot at that new sushi place.”
“Right-o. You won’t be sorry, I promise.”
***
I watched the city whip by as the driver took us to wherever the hell Hunter had in mind. Normally, I liked to do my own navigating, but I was enjoying the buzz of the gin, and if there was one line I would never cross, it was driving drunk. Not after the accident Hunter and I had when we were young and stupid.
We passed 400 West Market, the skyscraper Hunter and I now owned, admiring the lit dome at the top. It wasn’t long before we were in a part of the city that I didn’t normally visit. One where people’s net worth was less than the suit I was wearing, and they had to worry about making it just day-to-day. Not that I thought I was better than them. Not by far. I just happened to have been lucky enough to be born into wealth and given a passion that I knew how to use to my advantage. But still, I knew better than to make myself — hell, either of us — a target in such an impoverished area, and I began to wonder if Hunter knew exactly what he was doing.
That doubt grew when we arrived at the back of a run-down Japanese restaurant.
I looked at Hunter suspiciously, but he was grinning like a maniac as he hopped out of the car. “Come on, what are you waiting for?”
“For this to make sense,” I shot back, exiting after him, bracing myself against the icy wind.
“Have faith, my old friend. I promise this isn’t one of my schemes. You’re gonna love it — better than the horse races.”