Beneath the Surface

by M.A. Stacie

  “Seen you around here a lot over the last few weeks.” He jutted his chin in the direction of the locker rooms. “I’ve been watching you with one of the guys.”

  Dale thought about lying. However, it would serve no purpose. Her brother worked the bar most nights at Metro, so she couldn’t hide from him. She did wonder how much he’d seen of her and Kyran—how much they gave away and whether he knew who Kyran was.

  “Um, Kyran? Yeah. He’s really good in the ring.”

  “Since when have you been into boxing, sis?”

  She opened her mouth, even though she didn’t know what she was going to say. Trace raised his brows. “So it’s not the boxing. It’s the guy.”

  Hiding behind her hair, she mumbled. “It’s nothing.”

  “I don’t believe a word, D. You forget, I know your tells, and hiding behind your hair is one of them.”

  The bar began to fill and Trace left her to serve a beer or two. She downed the rest of hers, enjoying the sharp tang on her taste buds as the noise that surrounded her increased. Kyran would enter the room any minute, hands clenched and ready to fight. Sam would be building him up, preparing him mentally, and making sure his muscles were warmed. She got nervous for him, although her concern was more than worrying how she would conceal his next bruise. Fights went wrong all the time, increasing in violence and leaving someone hurt. Kyran’s confidence would only get him so far. He couldn’t win every match.

  “Sorry.” Trace returned to his spot in front of her. “You know how it gets before the fight starts.”

  “Yeah. I will call Dad, Trace. Promise. I’m just a bit caught up in stuff.”

  “Reese, you mean.”

  “His name’s Kyran.” She passed him her empty beer bottle.

  Trace held up another bottle, asking without words if she wanted another one. Dale nodded, taking it from him.

  “It’s a bit soon, don’t you think? After Joel, I mean.”

  Dale’s head snapped up, unease and anger mingling in her bloodstream. The mention of her ex’s name hurt far more than she wanted it to. “Joel ended it, Trace. Not me. I’m moving on.” She punctuated her words with a fake smile.

  “He came in here last week.”

  “I don’t want to know,” she said through gritted teeth. “It’s done.

  Done.”

  Trace took a swig of water, and then wagged his finger at her. “It’s only over because of what happened. You’d still be all loved up if you hadn’t found them.”

  “But I did. Saw it all picture-perfect HD and heard the grunts in Dolby. It wasn’t nice, and it fucking sliced me in two, so I don’t need to know that he was in here or who he was with.”

  “No one.” Trace added right away. “The guy was alone. Asking how you were. I kept my mouth shut, before you start ranting. It didn’t stop him spilling his guts, though. He seemed to think that I’d be on his side because we played pool a few times. Moron.”

  “Trace.” It was a warning. “Drop. It.”

  The crowd cheered. A fight was about to start.

  “Okay. Dropping the subject, but just so you know, he isn’t with Shelby. He isn’t with anyone. Maybe you could give Shelby a call? She was your best friend.”

  Dale flipped him the bird. “I no longer care. I’m staying away from both of them. They deserve to rot.”

  Clutching her beer, she spun around on her stool, and faced the circle of people. She gazed from the rowdy customers to the locker room door, anticipating Kyran’s entrance. The jeers grew louder when a tall, olive-skinned man entered the chalked circle. He wore only shorts along with his wrapped knuckles. Kyran’s opponent.

  The man bounced on the balls of his feet, rolling his shoulders as he warmed up. Bets were still being taken on who would win, the odds swiftly altered on the chalkboard on the wall. Kyran was still the favorite. Like always.

  Dale waited, staring at the locker room door. Her stomach flip-flopped in excitement. She loved this time, reveled in the enthusiasm. She’d perched on the same stool every fight she’d watched, keeping her distance but staying close enough to appreciate every movement of Kyran’s body.

  On reflection, her enjoyment was rather sadistic because she liked to watch the men fighting with her . . . her what? She struggled to find a name for what Kyran was to her.

  The door to the locker room opened and Kyran stood in the empty space. As usual, his chest was bare, and Dale salivated at the sight of the black ink adorning his arms. She doubted she would ever tire of the sight.

  Kyran thinned his eyes as he searched the room and assessed the crowd. Dale smiled when he finally settled on her. The side of his mouth lifted, and he winked at her before walking into the chalked circle.

  Dale gripped the seat of the stool with both hands, bracing herself for the fight to begin. The cheering escalated; the whole club primed and ready for the fight. They shouted Kyran’s name, along with the name Angelo.

  Dale could only assume it was the name of Kyran’s competition. Kyran looked confident, jumping on the spot and rolling his head to stretch his neck just like Angelo had done before him. A bead of sweat trickled down her spine as anxiety flowed like acid within her guts. Needing to calm herself, she took a long drink from her beer and held her breath . . . waiting.

  The clanging of a bell signaled the start, swiftly followed by Kyran’s rather wiry opponent throwing a right jab aimed at Kyran’s face. He |

  bobbed out of the way, weaving enough to land a decent punch on his competitor’s ribs. Angelo stumbled back, Dale’s pulse kicking up a notch as she hoped for a quick finish. It wasn’t to be; Kyran’s opposition quickly gained his bearings, lashing out with a series of jabs, punches, and uppercuts. One connected with Kyran’s jaw, and his head snapped back.

  Dale gasped and tightened her hold on her stool. She leaned forward, yelling into the crowd. Kyran had asked her not to shout out because even in the noisy club, he could hear her voice over everyone’s. She distracted him. Nevertheless, whenever he got hurt, she would let rip a string of obscenities, unable to ignore his pain.

  Kyran sent out a counterpunch, hooking his arm out and making contact with his adversary’s cheek. Dale whooped with pride and shouted for Kyran to get another punch in.

  The men circled each other, their chests heaving. Kyran’s shorts dropped lower on his hips, flashing a set of dimples at the base of his spine.

  Dale swooned. She appreciated every inch of his toned flesh. The muscles of his shoulders bunched with each throw of his fists, sweat slicking across his skin and highlighting every contour. His biceps bulged as he pulled back his arm, ready to punch Angelo full force. She bit her tongue, not wanting to distract him by cheering, though the instant Kyran’s bandaged fist connected with his opponent she let go, screaming that he finish it.

  The atmosphere in the room electrified, everyone focused on the fight.

  Dale was aware of Sam beside her but didn’t bother with a greeting. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Kyran. Whenever he fought, her body reacted the same way. She’d given up fighting the arousal, even though she felt weird for feeling such pleasure from pain. But then she wasn’t alone in being the twisted one—Kyran actually enjoyed getting pummeled and bloody. So they made a perfect pair. She didn’t know what it was that turned her on. Maybe it was the sheer animalistic nature of two men using their fists on one another. Whatever the reason, she enjoyed watching her man.

  Dale had watched Kyran so many times now she knew when he was reaching his peak. Other opponents seemed to have a pattern when it came to boxing, but Kyran always kept it fresh. Until it became clear he was leading. At that point he’d increase his combinations, snapping his fists out harder than before. While most fighters started out heavy, trying to get as many punches in as soon as they could, Kyran saved it for the pinnacle, startling his adversaries every single time. The man was nothing short of amazing, and Dale was hooked.

  Kyran’s competitor started to swing his arm but stalled, wincin
g as he brought it to his side. Kyran saw his opportunity, whipped his arm up, and hooked his fist into the side of the man’s face. A second later, he was jabbing him in the ribs, bombarding him with as many punches as he could, as fast as possible. His assault was working; the man paled, unable to gather enough energy to fight back. The noise of the crowd amplified, the cheers thunderous as they could smell victory.

  Dale felt the excitement, feeding off the energy, and screamed at Kyran, “Kick his ass, Ky!” Not that he needed the encouragement; he was in the zone. He offered up one last jab, jab, uppercut, and slammed his knuckles underneath the guy’s jaw.

  A triumphant roar filled the room. Kyran raised his arms in victory before Angelo even hit the floor. Dale jumped up, cheering as she raced toward Kyran. She pushed and shoved at the advancing people headed toward the bar; everyone wanted to get a drink before the next fight started.

  Winners were short-lived at Metro.

  An announcement over the speakers advised that there were fifteen minutes before the next bell would ring. Dale assumed she and Kyran would be occupying the showers by then. If she ever reached him, that was.

  Dale shouted his name, but Kyran couldn’t hear her. Her voice got lost in the din as someone jostled her and almost made her fall. She turned, ready to chew someone out for not looking where they were going, when a pair of heavily tattooed arms swamped her. They wrapped around her waist, lifting her off her feet as Kyran moved his lips against her ear. “I told you not to yell at me.” The gruffness of his voice turned her on so much she had to clench her thighs, positive she would orgasm from listening to him speak. “Next time you get punished for disobeying me.”

  Wiggling around in his arms, she wrapped her legs around his waist.

  She lifted her head and met his gaze. “Really? Well then, maybe next time I’ll shout louder.”

  “Then prepare yourself, Ms. Porter.”

  She kissed him, smoothing her hands over his damp shoulders, and then hugged him. “Well done, Ky.”

  Kyran swayed as he held her. When Dale tried to get off him, he protested and held her tighter. She liked his strength but worried about him.

  Kyran wouldn’t admit if he was exhausted. He’d see it as a sign of weakness, even in front of her. So she gave up protesting and allowed him to carry her into the locker room where Sam would be waiting for them.

  “Put me down,” Dale said without conviction.

  Kyran kissed her cheek and lowered her to her feet. He slumped onto a bench and exhaled, closing his eyes.

  “You okay?”

  “Fucked. Tough fight.”

  His admission stunned her. “Wow. So the great Kyran Reese does have an Achilles’ heel.”

  He shot her a weak, exhausted smile. He pulled her down on the bench against his side, letting his head fall onto her shoulder. “Maybe.”

  “Do you want to go home? I’ll drive you.”

  “Haven’t we done this before?” He kissed the skin just below her earlobe. “I seem to recall it always gets you into trouble.”

  “If you call waking up in your bed with you manhandling me trouble, then yeah, it does.”

  He closed his eyes, mumbling about wanting to sleep. The door to the bar opened and Sam entered along with Trace. She froze. The warmth she felt from Kyran cuddling with her soon chilled as she wondered why her brother had come, too. Sam pointed at the sinks, mumbling about the shelf underneath it. Trace scowled at her but didn’t say anything as he continued his walk across the room. Dale watched Trace squat down and rummage through the gauze, bandages, and peroxide.

  “How’s he doing?” Sam asked.

  She stilled before looking back at Sam. “He’s worn out. Admitted as much. I’m gonna drive him home and clean him up.”

  Sam smirked. “Clean? You two?”

  Kyran huffed against her shoulder. On any other occasion she would have enjoyed the sensation of his hot breath caressing her skin, but with Trace in the room it had the opposite effect. She couldn’t feel aroused with her brother sitting a few feet away.

  “Can you put his stuff in his bag? I think he’s about to fall asleep.”

  “Sure thing.” Sam shuffled off, patting Kyran on his shoulder as he went.

  “Got it,” Trace said, raising his voice as he clutched a metal tin in his hands. He looked at Dale. “You gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s not the first time I’ve driven him home. My concern is not scratching his car. I’d never escape alive.”

  “Text me when you get home?” It sounded more like a question than a demand, so Dale agreed.

  Trace helped Dale rouse Kyran enough so he could walk out of the club. He carried Kyran’s bag to his car. Trace shot Kyran a look, his message very clear: Don’t mess with my sister. Trace snorted, shaking his head as he said, “He’ll be bruised in the morning. His jaw took a knock.”

  Dale opened the passenger side door, making sure Kyran buckled his seatbelt before shutting it. “Again, not the first time I’ve dealt with a bruise.”

  Her brother toed the floor. “Do you know what you’re doing with him, D? I’ve watched him. He can be mean and packs one hell of a punch.”

  “Like I said, he’s a winner. Big, strong, and all mine. And to answer your question, I’m not sure I do know what I’m doing, but that’s never stopped me before.”

  Trace huffed and nodded his head. “True.” He kissed her cheek. “Text me.”

  “Will do.” She rounded the car, climbed into the driver’s seat, and waved good-bye.

  Kyran squeezed her thigh. “Thanks, Dale.”

  “Close your eyes. Sleep. I’ll wake you when we get to your place.”

  To her amazement, Kyran did as he was told. He left her in silence with nothing but her thoughts. Which wasn’t a good thing because at that moment she was wondering when her feelings for him had altered from lust to something very different. Something very danger

  Chapter 13

  Kyran stretched, pushing through the last vestiges of sleep. His body ached—the kind of ache he only gained the morning after a fight. The throb of his muscles wasn’t foreign, however this morning the sting was much more intense.

  He turned onto his side, grunting when his body protested.

  “Morning, sunshine.”

  Kyran pried one eye open, not surprised to see a sleep-rumpled Dale lying beside him in bed. She wouldn’t have left him alone in the apartment.

  She always panicked about him being hit in the head. The woman was insane. He’d been managing just fine before she thundered into his life.

  “Um, hi,” he said, his throat like sandpaper.

  Dale caressed his jaw. “You’ll be needing makeup today.”

  “Bad?” Kyran dragged her closer by the hip, entangling their legs together. Skin against skin, his senses awakened and aroused his body.

  She wrinkled her nose, her voice low when she spoke. “Not so much, but you’ll need to hide it, otherwise people will ask questions . . . again.”

  Reluctantly, he admitted she was right. Over the last month he’d visited the club more often, hooked on the lust that shone in Dale’s eyes whenever he won a fight. The sex afterward blew his mind and had become |

  addictive in its own way. He had run out of excuses for the marks on his body, and people were starting to ask questions. The office already had one fuckup running the place, they didn’t need another. If it was up to Kyran, he would have fired his brother as CFO long ago.

  “I’m sick,” he said, coughing.

  Dale’s brows drew together in concern. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead to check his temperature. The action was one of worry and compassion. It had been a long time since he’d experienced that kind of affection.

  “You don’t feel feverish. What’s wrong? You did seem more wiped out after the fight last night than you usually do. Did he hurt you and you you’re not telling me?”

  Kyran feigned another cough, clutching at his chest. He peeked at her through
half-closed eyes. He recognized the instant Dale understood what he’d meant. A broad grin lit up her face, and she slapped his shoulder hard.

  “Ouch!”

  “Poor baby.” She mocked him. “You get punched in the face with surprising regularity and you don’t even flinch, and yet a feeble girl slaps you and you complain?”

  “It hurt, and you’re hardly a girl.”

  Dale shoved his shoulder and squealed when he grabbed her waist and began tickling her. She thrashed around on the bed, her legs flailing. Dale’s laughter filled the room, prompting his own and causing him to tickle her more. That was until her knee jerked up, almost hitting him in the balls.

  He twisted her around and locked his arms tightly around her waist.

  They panted, Dale’s curly hair muffling his face. Her intense, sweet scent teased his nostrils. Kyran’s dick hardened, the yearning to fuck her until she begged him to stop coiling low in his stomach. He nuzzled her neck while pushing her hair aside with his nose. Kissing behind her ear, he asked, “So what do you think? Wanna play hooky with me?”

  “Hooky? You? Kyran, did you bang your head last night? You need to tell me because right now you’re acting weird.”

  He dismissed her question by unsnapping her bra and dragging a strap down with his teeth. “Come on, Dale. It’ll be fun.”

  She squirmed, trying to turn around and face him. “Taylor needs me today. I can’t.”

  He tensed. “You can. And Taylor will fucking manage.”

  Dale tore herself from his grasp and pushed off the bed. Placing her hands on her hips, she glared down at him, unconcerned that she stood by the large window in her tiny panties and unfastened bra. Her curls rioted around her face and her skin still glowed from the exertion. The woman stunned him when she wasn’t even trying.

  “You can’t just tell me to take the day off. You’re not even my boss— Taylor is! Besides, you still haven’t told me what’s going on between you two. Sure, he has problems, but he’s not a bad person.”