by Kent, Julia
He laughs. “Hell, yeah.”
The minute we pass through the door, I want to change my mind again. It’s a corridor, one straight shot. If anyone comes out of any room, we’re seen.
I hear the muffled sound of lots of voices. The hall ends at a set of swinging doors with circle windows. I can see a blurry scene through them, people milling around. And one side of the cage.
“We can’t just go in there,” I say. “Everyone will see us.”
“We need to stick to a side wall,” Zero says. “That’s where the stairs usually are. In factories, the offices are always up above.”
There’s only one more door to the left. I open it carefully. Inside, extra chairs are stacked on metal carts.
Music begins, loud and pulsing, just on the other side of the wall. I go that direction and put my hands on a solid door. It thumps in time to the bass. “If we open it, we’ll be right in the arena,” I say.
Zero nods. “Let’s try the far door.”
I know the music means Colt and Throwdown are going to come out soon. My feet race to the last door. It sticks for a second, then opens to a stairway. I smile at Zero. Now we’ve got it.
Just like he predicted, the upper level is small, a set of offices overlooking the main floor. The actual rooms are locked tight, but the hall leading to them is lined with windows. We stay very still and close to the wall in case anyone looks up. But the flashing lights will surely hide us.
Down below, only a dozen people are scattered throughout the rows of chairs surrounding the cage. Three men sit at a table to one side. A ref in a black shirt twirls a whistle hanging around his neck.
Brittany is sitting next to another woman, gesturing madly as she talks. She keeps glancing up, as if she can sense my presence in the building.
I don’t know anybody else, but by the looks of the spectators, most of them are fighters.
The side we’re facing must be the front, as double-wide doors are propped open. The massive unbroken wall is blood red, with THE HERD painted in enormous black letters.
I hear a cheer that must mean the fighters are coming out.
I feel like I might faint.
Chapter 10
The roar of the small crowd grows as a black-haired man comes out in a white robe. He has some symbol stitched on the back. He raises his gloves in the air as the lights follow him down a red walkway to the door of the cage. An older man and a blonde in a shiny black crop top and shorts follow behind.
“Who’s the babe?” Zero asks.
I shrug. “I think they come standard.”
“Does Golden Boy have one?”
“I have no idea.” The only person I’ve met on Colt’s team is the trainer, who Colt refers to only as Killjoy.
“There he is!” Zero can barely contain himself as Colt comes out in bright blue sweats that read GUNNER in red letters.
I grip the frame of the window with tight fingers. Colt looks calm and focused. He hops a few times at the base of the stairs. Behind him are Killjoy and a teen boy carrying a box. No half-naked babe on his team.
Colt unzips his jacket and tosses it to the boy. His pants are the tear-away kind. I’m sweating like a fiend and have to take my scarf and hat off. His body gleams under the bright lights.
I’m so anxious I could throw up. I’ve seen him spar a little with a training partner who comes in each afternoon. They actually hit each other, protected with headgear and shin guards.
But this is going to be something totally different. Real hits. No protection.
Throwdown stands, his mouth wide, like he’s roaring. I can’t hear anything but the music and an occasional burst from the crowd. There’s no announcer like on the fights I watched online. It’s just them.
The ref stands in the middle. I stare at the tattoos across Colt’s naked back, and the company logos on his shorts. This is for real. I start breathing hard, and my jacket has to go.
“You okay, Jo?”
Maybe Colt knew not to invite me. Maybe he knew me better than I know myself. He did say that most fighters were single because it’s hard to watch someone you love get pummeled.
The ref backs away, and now the fighters are circling each other.
Don’t lose, I think, trying to beam my encouragement to him telepathically. Be strong.
For a while, there was nobody better than Colt. When they lined up that title fight, there were only a handful of fighters he hadn’t already beat.
I know he’s got it in him. I try to imagine letting some girl get in your way when you’re that tough, that good. But then I think of the days after my dad died, and I know there wouldn’t have been anything that could have put the fight back into me.
Throwdown makes the first jab. It’s a solid punch, but Colt acts like it didn’t even happen. I feel hopeful. Colt lands a couple kicks. Throwdown is similarly unfazed.
Colt goes on the attack, and his arms are a blur as he connects with Throwdown’s face, then knocks him sideways with a sweeping kick. I’m exhilarated, sure he’s going to dominate.
Throwdown backs away, then returns, and Colt pummels him again. Zero and I are trying to keep our enthusiasm in. We can’t jump around and get noticed by anyone who might look up.
Throwdown stands for a moment, feet wide, knees bent, and accepts some licks. When Colt rears back for a killer blow, I see it all in slow motion. I know what’s going to happen. In the moment that he shifts his weight, Throwdown makes his move. He charges Colt, knocking him off balance.
He lands right on Colt, his knee on his chest. The ref falls to the floor, watching close.
I have to close my eyes. At the gym, we have a special bag called the Bad Boy, not just for the brand, but for what you do to it. You’re supposed to kneel on the center, one leg outstretched, and one-two punch the hell out of the top section.
Only now, having just seen Throwdown in that position, do I realize that the Bad Boy is meant to resemble a person. That the top part is supposed to be someone’s face.
And now it’s Colt’s.
I open my eyes, and Throwdown is standing up. I can’t even see Colt’s nose or mouth for the blood. I sink to the floor, below the level of the windows. Zero sits down next to me.
“Did they call it?” I ask.
He nods.
The music pulses again. I desperately want to see Colt. But I’m not supposed to be here. Now I get why.
He knew he was going to lose.
Chapter 11
I pace my apartment. Zero sits on my sofa. We haven’t spoken a word since leaving the Herd.
I texted Colt once I got home, about an hour after the fight ended. I don’t know how long it will take to patch him up. Or if he’ll want to see me once they do. I just say, “Hope however the fight goes, the other guy looks better than Brittany did.”
My phone buzzes, and I lunge for it. Zero stands up. Nobody has my number but Colt.
Up for company?
I could cry, I’m so happy to see this. I quickly type out YES and push Zero toward the door.
I obsess over what to wear. After what happened in the gym that day, I know our having sex is the next logical step. And I want it. I’m ready.
But what do you put on when you plan to lose your virginity to a hot fighter who just lost his first match in months and may have a broken nose?
This is so crazy.
I settle for jeans and a white T-shirt, one I accidentally dried too hot and never wore again because it was too tight. I sort through all my stupid athletic bras. I can’t wear any of those. Why have I never bought a normal one?
I pull the white shirt on without any bra at all. A thrill zips through me. Yes, it’s the right thing to do. I check the mirror. My nipples are clearly outlined. It’s like saying, “Take me.”
My stomach flutters. I’m going to do this. And it’s going to be with Colt. Maybe it will help him somehow. God, maybe he’ll be devastated about the fight. Or mad. Or bitter.
How will I know wha
t to do?
I pace the living room until I hear footsteps on the porch.
Colt forgets about the special knock, but I open the door anyway. I have to hold in everything I’m feeling when I see him.
He looks terrible. His nose is purple and swollen.
He holds up his hands. “Not exactly Prince Charming anymore, am I?”
I swallow hard, remembering the frog necklace. My grandfather said something so similar to Grandma when he gave it to her. I feel comfort from it, like she approves.
I let him in. “Can I get you something?”
He sits on the sofa, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ice is good.”
I run to the kitchen and snatch up a ratty towel, wishing I’d washed it recently. I dump a whole tray of ice into it and roll it up.
When I get back, Colt is lying on the sofa.
“Does anything hurt?” I ask. I’m going to confess to being at the fight eventually. But not yet.
He takes the ice bundle and sets it on his face. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Don’t you have a medic or something?”
He nods. “You should have seen me before they fixed me up.”
I kneel on the floor beside him. “Can I help?”
He reaches his free hand out to touch the little hair knots on either side of my neck. “You already are.”
My skin erupts with shivers as his fingers stroke me. I lay my head on the soft weave of his sweater, threading one finger through a belt loop of his jeans. He smells of soap and just a little of some sort of antiseptic. I wonder if anything else on him is bandaged or hurt.
We sit that way a little while, his hand exploring my neck and shoulders. Then he sets the ice aside and watches me with his hazel eyes. The swelling is down, and in the low light, his face is how I remember. Chiseled. Intense. Godlike.
Despite all the blood at the fight, his mouth seems fine. I lean over and press my lips against his.
His breath catches, and I pull away. “Did I hurt you?” I ask.
He laughs in a low rumble. “No, no way. I’m just trying to maintain some control.”
I think I understand what he means. I want to move fast, to lie on top of him and feel his response to me. The whole week of seeing him working out but never getting close has strung me up tight.
“I could put the ice a little lower,” I offer.
He laughs and pulls me up by the hands to lie on top of him. I can barely breathe.
“Come here,” he says. His hand moves behind my head to bring my face to his.
I’m careful not to bump his nose. I feel like I’m floating on his hard body. My chest is crushed against him, and our hips clash against each other. I spread my knees to surround him. He thrusts up to make contact between us. I think of that day in the ring, and I know my face flushes red at how easily I came. I’ll wait this time. I’ll make it until he’s inside me, the way it should be, I think.
I go very still, realizing that the time has arrived. I’m going to do this with him. But he doesn’t know about me. That I haven’t done it before. I’m not sure if I should tell him.
He senses my hesitation and presses my cheek to his chest. His heartbeat calms me. His fingers tug at the little coils in my hair until they come loose. “I lost the fight,” he says quietly.
I squeeze his broad shoulders. “I’m sorry,” I say.
He sighs. “I can’t explain it.”
“You don’t have to, not with me.” And it’s true.
He holds me a little tighter. “You are my only safe place. I had nowhere else to come but here.”
I feel exactly the same way about him.
I push up to look at him. His eyes are full of gratitude. “I’m glad you came to me,” I say. I hear a break in my voice, and it startles me. I’m not the emotional sort. God, I’ve changed so much.
“Hey,” Colt says. My hair slips forward, and he smooths it back. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to watch the fight.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I knew you had your reasons.”
“I didn’t know how it would go. I didn’t want you to see me like that.”
I can’t hold back anymore. “I went,” I blurt out.
He goes still. “What?”
“I snuck in. But I didn’t watch. Not really.” Terror that I will ruin everything slams through me.
Colt breathes a moment, in and out, his eyes shut.
He’s mad. He’s going to accuse me of spying. Of smothering him. Then he’ll leave. He’ll charge out of here and slam the door, and I won’t see him again. Buster will have to fire me, walk me out for real. I feel hot and sick. I shouldn’t have gone. I should have stayed away.
“Hey, hey.” Colt shakes me. “Jo. It’s okay.”
I realize I’m breathing super fast.
He lifts my chin to look into his eyes. “I should have asked you. Or explained.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“I think I do.” His eyes are locked on mine, concerned. “What we’re doing isn’t exactly typical, but we are doing it. And I should think about someone other than myself.”
“I knew you didn’t want me there,” I say. “I just couldn’t stay away.”
He grins at that. “My animal magnetism.”
My breathing begins to slow. “Something like that.”
He laughs. “It was a plucky thing to do.”
“Plucky?” I ask. “Like a chicken? Is that my animal magnetism?”
He rolls me over with a little roar. I’m pinned beneath him, and my heart starts hammering again. I can’t keep up with his moods.
“A cute little chick whose feathers are too…” — he pauses — “…enticing.” His gaze moves down my body. He takes in the white shirt. I feel his reaction, hard against my thighs.
His broad hand covers my ribs. “I’m hoping this means you were expecting me.” His thumb crosses the nipple. My body arches in response.
“How thin is this fabric?” he asks. His lips close over my breast.
His mouth is hot and wet. The pleasure rushes through me, my entire body thrumming in response. Until Colt, I had no idea I could feel like this. I know everything I want from him. I want it all. Maybe I don’t have to tell him that I’m a virgin. Maybe he won’t notice.
He pulls away. “Mmmm. As sheer as I hoped it would be.”
The white shirt clings to my nipple, pink and taut. Colt looks as though he can’t get enough of me. “But now it’s in the way.” He grasps the bottom and rips it off over my head in one swift movement.
Panic shoots through me. I’ve never been this exposed with anyone, not ever. The only time anyone saw this much of me was disastrous, years ago, at my stepmother’s house. I was naked in the shower, and the clear curtain came down in a crash.
Even on the sofa with Colt, where I want to be, I can’t help myself. I cross my arms over my front.
“Hold on,” Colt says. “Hang on.” He sits up and folds me into him. His sweater is warm, and his arms are tight around me.
I try to shove the memories out of my head. I want to punch them like the Bad Boy bags, kick them until they tear apart, stuffing flying. Then I realize I’m not thinking of the training equipment, but remembering my stepbrother. What I did to him. The blood, the sickening sound of bones breaking.
Suddenly I’m hiccuping into Colt’s shirt, breathing too hard, hyperventilating.
“Shhhh,” Colt says. “Don’t think. Just be in the moment.” He strokes my hair. “Be right here. Nobody’s going to get you here.”
I gulp in air, angry now. I refuse to let that asshole mess up any other part of my life. He did enough. I stopped him. I got away. But it’s time. I can see it’s time to tell somebody. If people are going to come for me, maybe it’s time to let them come.
“I have to tell you something,” I say, my voice unsteady. “I’m just afraid.”
He runs his hands over my bare back. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
; I try to calm myself. I have to do this. I have to tell him. If I don’t do it now, it will be impossible later.
“My real name isn’t Jo Jones,” I say to Colt. “It’s Joanna Mahoney.”
Chapter 12
Colt stands up so fast that I’m dumped onto the sofa. I snatch at my shirt and hold it in front of me.
“You lied to everybody?” His voice is a roar.
“I had to.”
He moves so fast that he knocks over the folding chair. “I do NOT like being lied to.” He’s running his hands through his hair.
“Let me tell you why,” I say, still clutching the shirt.
He kicks the chair out of his way. “I’m sick of all the goddamned liars everywhere!”
“Aren’t you the one lying about your engagement?”
He whirls around to stare at me. The malice in his eyes makes me want to disappear into the floor. “I told you the TRUTH about that.”
I’m trying to breathe normally, to stay calm. I need to find the right words. I have to explain everything.
But Colt doesn’t give me that chance. He strides across the room and flings open the front door. And with a terrible slam, he’s gone.
Oh my God. I struggle with the shirt, trying to get it over my head. I get tangled and actually rip a hole under the arm as I fight to get it on.
I scramble to the door and yank it open. But his motorcycle is already roaring. By the time I’m to the parking lot, he’s down the street.
I sit on the curb. I can’t believe it. It’s happened again. My whole life has just exploded into bits. I wish I hadn’t told him. Now he knows my real name. He could do anything. Look me up. Turn me in. At least I’m too old to be sent back home.
But old enough to be tried as an adult.
It takes all the energy I possess to get up and walk back inside. The ice is melting on the floor. I pick up the towel and hold it to my chest. My shirt is still damp in the one spot, and the cold bites deeply there first, over my heart.