by Amity Cross
Max stood beside me and clapped me on the shoulder.
“Maverick, Steel. Steel, Maverick,” he said, nodding to my opponent before he turned and began to announce us to the crowd.
Staring at Steel for the first time as he toed the line, I sized him up. He was young, maybe about twenty-five, his muscles were well defined, he had a few scars and fresh bruises, but most guys around here did. He looked like a career fighter—he took care of himself—but like Max said, he was fresh. I could smell his desperate need to prove himself, and I made a bet that was what was tripping him up. I could let him get a couple of punches in and maybe a throw to boost the kid’s confidence, or I could just wipe the floor with his ass.
“Maverick,” Steel said with a nod.
I narrowed my eyes and grunted. I didn’t want to play around with pleasantries.
Max held his hand up between us. “You know the rules,” he said. “Give ’em a good show.”
Then his hand was gone, and Steel lunged. He was quick off the mark, I’ll give him that one, but my reaction was instantaneous. His right fist flew high, going for my temple, but I ducked and propelled myself forward. My shoulder smashed into his chest, and he was forced back and to the side. For a split second, Steel was at my back, but he was still off balance, so I twisted and kicked.
My shin slammed into his stomach, and the crowd roared as he fell flat on his back, but then he swept his foot, and I was falling hard. Pain spiked through my ass and up my spine as I landed, and he was on top of me, his fist raised back to punch. That was his free pass, the little fucker.
Bucking underneath him, I lunged upward, grasping his shoulders, and pushed, knocking Steel off me. Scrambling onto my knees, I followed him over and brought my fist down onto his face. The impact jarred up my arm, and the familiar burn of adrenaline began to settle into my veins. It felt good. It felt so fucking good.
Steel kicked underneath me, but I had him pinned. The beast was unleashed, and there was no stopping him. I punched him again, and the crowd roared their appreciation, feeding the animal.
With a roar, he shoved me hard. I fell to the side, and a moment later, his foot was colliding with my stomach. Curling in on myself, I reached out, grabbed his ankle and yanked. Steel fell, his head cracking on the concrete, and I was on him.
My fist smashed into his temple, and he cried out in pain. I had him. It was over so fast, but I had him. I raised my fist and hit him again, but he still moaned like a little fucker as his hands grabbed at me, but he couldn’t get any purchase. There was blood everywhere, but he didn’t tap out. I hit him again, but he still didn’t tap. He tried to fight. I hit him again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
I smashed my fist into his face, and the rage was gone. This was what calmed the beast? Inflicting pain? Was he right all along? I paused mid-punch and blinked hard.
Steel spat blood on the floor, his eyes rolling back.
“Get him the fuck off him!” I heard someone yelling in the background, but I was already stumbling to my feet as arms hooked around me, hauling me across the cage.
Shaking them off, I fisted my hands into my hair, my heart beating so fast it felt like it was going to burst from my chest. The crowd surged against the cage, the chain link rattling, and the door opened.
Turning, I stared straight into the eyes of my greatest love, and all I saw was horror. Horror at the thing I’d let myself become.
Spitfire.
A tear trailed down her cheek, and the world dropped away until it was only me, her and bitter disappointment.
Once a beast, always a beast.
18
Ren
I thought I knew all about heartbreak.
Turned out I didn’t know a fucking thing until I saw Ash standing in the middle of that cage, the beast inside of him in full control.
Not an hour before, I picked myself up off the floor of our apartment and went to the one place I knew he would’ve gone. The one place he could sate his anger—the anger I awoke in him—without mercy. I drove to The Underground to stop him from imploding, but it was already too late.
He stood in the center of the cage, covered in sweat, blood and tears, and my heart broke. It shattered, cracked, disintegrated and went up in flames.
He was better than that, he was stronger…but it had been my actions that pushed him over the edge. I’d dismissed marriage as a joke, pushed him to bare his secrets, pressuring him relentlessly to talk… I allowed Caleb to get close to me the moment Ash was most vulnerable, and for that, I couldn’t apologize enough. I was as much at fault in this as he was. We’d both pushed as hard as we could, and we’d both broke under the pressure.
My gaze dropped from Ash’s to the fighter on the ground. He was moaning, trying to move his arms and get up, but his limbs flopped uselessly. Fuck. I was jostled as some men with a spinal board rushed past, and the crowd surged, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening. Security was trying to keep things under control, but the situation was fast getting out of hand.
Shoving forward, I reached desperately for Ash’s hand. I had to get him out of here.
He stared at me, dazed and confused, his expression betraying how totally adrift he was. I was pushed from behind, and I smashed into his chest, my hand curling around his. Instantly, he awoke from his trance and wrapped his arm around my back. Using his body to protect me from the crowd, he shoved his way through the throng like a colossus smashing through a solid wall of rock.
He was broken and raw, a hot mess of emotion, lost in an ocean of his own despair.
He’d always filled my life to the brim with love and laughter, but in this moment, he consumed everything. Ash Fuller burned brightly without end.
We broke through the crowd and were let through to the fighter-only area by security. The door boomed closed behind us, and we were alone in the hallway, but it wasn’t alone enough for Ash, who dragged me along with him as he pushed through another door.
We were in a storeroom of some kind, and the irony wasn’t lost on me one iota. Making sure the door was closed, I pressed my back against it and cast my gaze over Ash.
He began to pace, fisting his hands into his hair. The wraps over his knuckles were torn and bloodied, and a cut on his face was bleeding down his forehead and across his cheek. He glistened with anguish, blood and sweat, his entire body coiled tight.
“He was right, he was right, he was right,” he wailed, fisting his hands into his hair again. “What have I done?”
He grabbed hold of the closest thing he could find, which was a box, and hurled it across the room. It smashed into the wall, exploding with a crack, and glass tinkled to the floor.
“Ash!” I cried out, launching myself at him, right into the path of the beast once more.
“I killed him.” His eyes were full of tears as he drowned in his despair.
“No,” I murmured, holding his bloodstained face in my hands. I wasn’t sure if it was just his blood that coated his face or the other guy’s as well, but I looked past it and into his eyes. “They’re taking him to hospital. He’ll be okay.”
I didn’t know if they’d get the fighter there in time, or how seriously he was hurt, or even if he would make it once everything was said and done, but right now, I had to get Ash back from the edge. If he fell any further than he had… I was terrified he’d never come back at all.
“Ren,” he said through a heavy sigh. “You hate me. You hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” I replied, shaking my head. “I could never hate you.” He closed his eyes, screwing up his face, and his body tensed against mine. “I love you, Ash. I could never let you go.”
He shook his head furiously, dislodging my grip on him.
“Maverick.” I wound my arms around his neck, my lips an inch from his. I wasn’t afraid of Ash Fuller and all the things he was capab
le of. I never was. The only thing that scared me was the darkness that would drown me when he was gone. I’d help him. We’d help one another. Together we were stronger.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I know.” Placing my hand on his chest, I rubbed up and down, settling on the part of his tattoo that read heart. “Remember this.” I moved again, this time feeling his pounding heart against my skin as I came to rest on the word rebirth. “And never, ever forget this.”
With a moan, he pressed his lips against mine, the tension bleeding from his limbs and into my body. I carried his pain, and I tightened my grip on him, begging for more.
Let me help you, I pleaded silently. Let me bring you back.
My back hit the wall, and he pressed into me, his tongue licking deep against mine. His hands shoved down the front of my shorts, and his fingers found my clit and began stroking. Bucking into his touch, I gasped as my body flared in response. It would always be Ash. Always.
“Spitfire,” he moaned, grinding his erection against my thigh as he worked his fingers deeper until they were inside me.
“Do you need it?” I asked, my hands cupping his face.
He nodded once and pulled his fingers away. Undoing the button on my shorts, he pushed them down and practically tore off my knickers. As I stepped out of them, he discarded his own and stood before me, hard and ready. His eyes were dark with rage and lust, his body covered with sweat and blood from his fight. It should’ve disturbed me, but all I could see was the man underneath it all. I knew this was what he was afraid of. This was the fear he’d tried to hide from me. I didn’t know what had stirred it up, but this was his fear. Rage.
Lifting me up into his arms, he held me against the wall and thrust. His cock slammed into me, and I cried out at the too-full sensation, but Ash didn’t slow. He pulled back and thrust again and again, fucking me hard against the wall. He was chasing the beast, dousing the fire…using his connection with me to bring himself back from the edge.
Our cries mingled together as our bodies joined again and again. His mouth found mine, his tongue twisted and devoured as my orgasm peaked and smashed through my body.
I tightened around his cock, lost in the intensity that was overloading my senses, and then I felt him pulse and erupt. He moaned deep and long into my mouth, circling his hips and driving himself deeper as he spilled everything he had into me. Like a catharsis for his pain, I took it all. I wanted to. I wanted to.
It felt like an age had passed as we held together, him inside me, my legs around his waist, my back against the wall… Our chests heaved in tandem, our breath lost in the wake of our desperate fucking.
Finally, I was able to collect my thoughts. “Ash?”
He let me slide through his arms, and my feet hit the floor.
“Please tell me,” I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper. I felt so empty. The wall was still between us even though his eyes were brighter and his rage had subsided.
He still didn’t reply. All he did was squeeze his eyes closed.
Without a word, I extracted myself from his grasp. I pulled my shorts on and went to find his things in the change rooms. When I got back, he’d put his shorts back on and sat there glassy-eyed as I unwrapped his hands before pulling his T-shirt over his head and tugging his jacket around his bulky frame.
Then, when The Underground had calmed down enough, I led him from the warehouse and took him home to Pulse.
We never uttered a word the entire way there, silence opening a bottomless chasm between us. I had no idea if we could ever come back from all the hurt we’d inflicted on one another. Not this time.
He followed me into the apartment, still silent, and collapsed onto the bed. Instantly, he was asleep. It was the first time I’d seen him so utterly exhausted, and I now knew that there was an end to his energy.
With a sigh, I pulled off his shoes and dragged a blanket over his sleeping body.
For good measure, I went into the kitchen and filled a glass with water. Taking a packet of ibuprofen from the drawer in the counter, I placed them on the bedside table. I gave him one last look, but he was dead to the world, oblivious that I was even here. He’d terrified me in the moment his gaze had met mine in the cage. I’d seen him break before, but not like that…not because of me.
I brushed my fingers over his cheek, and it felt like goodbye. I willed time to go back, but it was impossible—there was only forward.
I took a deep breath.
Then I left.
19
Ash
Knocking at the front door woke me.
Light streamed into the apartment, and I rolled over, my head throbbing. My gaze found a glass of water and tablets on the bedside table, and automatically, I reached for them.
Ren.
Groaning, I sat up and downed a couple of pills, washing them and my bruised soul down. What time was it? It must be late.
The knocking began again, and I climbed out of bed, my toes burying into the carpet. Shuffling out of the bedroom and down the hall, I realized she wasn’t here, and I didn’t know what to make of that. This time, I didn’t blame her for not wanting to be within the same four walls as the beast.
Hesitating by the side table, I slid open the drawer, but I already knew the ring was gone. Knowing it didn’t soften the blow when I was greeted with the empty space.
The knocking started again, and this time, it was more persistent. Slamming the drawer closed, I wrenched open the front door with a scowl.
“Shit, man,” Ryan exclaimed, giving me the once over.
“What?” I grumbled.
His brow furrowed. “You’re covered in blood.”
Glancing down at my chest, I raised my eyebrows. So I was.
While I was dazed for a split second, Ryan took the opportunity to step into the apartment. “What the fuck happened in here?”
“I got angry,” I retorted. I was meant to be an example for him and Cole, but here I was being a fuckin’ child and beating men into hospital. I was a real pillar of society.
“You’re late, you know.”
I grunted, not knowing how to answer that. I was never late, and considering I lived upstairs, it was a hard thing to accomplish. If Ash Fuller was late, then something had to be wrong.
“You could’ve said something,” Ryan said, not even easing into the hard questions. No pussyfooting around, just head first into the problem at hand.
“I don’t have anyone here,” I said, bending to retrieve the broken pieces of photo frame.
“Dude,” Ryan said firmly. “You might be my coach, but you can say shit to me. I hope I can say shit to you.”
“I’m meant to be a leader, not a fuckin’ mess.”
“Remember what you said to me the day you came to see me fight out East?” he asked, leaning against the wall.
Dropping the broken frame, I grunted and rubbed my eyes. I really needed a shower. I stunk.
“It’s been six months since I came to Pulse,” he went on. “Cole and I were both on a road to nowhere. We had a foot in the right corner, but nobody was there to help keep it there. Not until you showed up on some crazy recruitment drive.”
“What’s your point?” I asked, my head still throbbing like a motherfucker.
“You said that we had to know our limits. That we had to know when to cut loose and when to fight. Most importantly, how to control it.”
I straightened up. Ryan knew. He had to.
“I know a guy,” he said with a shrug, confirming everything. “Just me.”
I ran my hand over my face. “Fuck.”
“You lost your way for a sec,” Ryan said with a shrug. “You’re human, not God.”
He didn’t seem put off in the slightest that I went out last night and almost beat a man to death. That was messed up.
Since we were laying everything on the line, I joined the party. “I really fucked up. With Ren. With Steel. With you guys.�
�
Ryan pushed off from the wall and said, “You helped me fix my mistakes before I even made them.” He gave me the once over and wrinkled his nose. “Have a shower, Coach. You stink like shit.”
How a twenty-one-year-old kid was wiser than me, I’d never fuckin’ know.
Turning, he opened the front door. “I’ll tell the guys you’re up here chucking your guts up,” he threw back over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”
Pressing my fist against my heart, I vaguely remembered Ren saying something last night about not forgetting. Not forgetting what?
Glancing down at my chest, I read the word I’d had tattooed right over my ticker and grimaced. Rebirth.
I had to be a man and fix this. I had to fix everything.
20
Ash
Standing outside of St Vincent’s Hospital, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jacket, my bank account feeling significantly lighter.
It took some convincing, but when I went back to The Underground to get my car, I wormed my way in and cleared out Steel’s locker. Going through his wallet, I found his ID, learned his real name and called every hospital in the city looking for him.
Josh “Steel” Caplin had been admitted to St Vincent’s Hospital as a John Doe after he was dumped on the footpath out the front of the emergency department. That was the kindness of the people I used to call friends, but what did I expect from a highly illegal fighting operation? We all knew the rules. Josh Caplin knew the rules, but I’d taken it way too far.
I’d just paid for all of his medical expenses and had left my details on file with a pretty redheaded nurse for when the next round came in. He’d made it through, but there was still a long way to go. Destruction only took a split second, but rebuilding took an age.
Now I stood out on the footpath, the emergency department at my back, with the biggest battle yet to come.