Glances all round. Smiles. Chuckles. “Now that’s something I’d like to see.” Rampage brushes his thumb over his bottom lip in mock contemplation. “’Manda in the ring. I have a feeling she’d really kick some ass.”
“Yeah. Starting with yours.”
“And she means it.” Makayla slides an arm around my waist and joins the group.
“Traitor.” I glare and mutter under my breath. “I knew there was no emergency call.”
“Best friend watching your back,” she whispers. “And I did have an emergency. You needed someone to shake some sense into you and I wasn’t able to do it. Looks like my plan worked better than expected.”
“You can expect to have no best friend tomorrow.” I push her hand away and follow the crowd to the octagon, but Makayla only laughs and falls into step beside me.
“How many times have you unfriended me only to refriend me twenty minutes later? Why not save yourself the stress and just realize I only have your best interests at heart?”
“Because you need to learn that my feelings are not to be trifled with—especially where they concern Jake. However, I’ll forgive you this time because I’m turning over a new, conservative, chaste leaf, and that means finding someone new, conservative, and…”
“Chaste?”
My lips quiver with a repressed smile. “Could be challenging.”
“Could be over fast.” Makayla giggles and a second later we’re both in tears.
“For a second there, I was worried about you,” she says between breaths. “I thought maybe you’d lost yourself after all.”
My smile quickly fades, and I bite my tongue before I tell her that she’s right and if not for Jake, I would still be in bed wondering where to find me.
Fuzzy joins us in the spectator’s area, and we chat about his dad and sister until Jake and Master Mayhem enter the cage. I shudder when the doors to the two entry-exit gates in the metal chain-link fence slam shut.
“Is it a real UFC cage?”
Fuzzy nods. “Now that the club is sanctioned, everything has to be regulation. The cage is thirty-two feet in diameter.”
“Torment also got the taller fence to accommodate our taller fighters.” Makayla gives me a wicked grin. “Like Jake.”
Jake spins around and I am treated to a perfect view of the strong, muscular planes of his broad back and…I take a step closer and frown. “When did he get those tattoos? He only had two when we were going out.”
Fuzzy shrugs and gives me a curious look. “I joined the club about a year and a half ago. Met Jake. He was going through a rough patch. His brother had just died and he was trying to sort out some other…personal stuff. One night we went out, got really hammered. He decided to get tatted up. And that wasn’t all he did.”
Makayla has the good sense to give an apologetic shrug when I turn and give her a “why didn’t you tell me” glare.
“I didn’t think you’d want to know,” she says.
Shayla, now sporting a black and white referee shirt, checks Jake’s gloves, and I take the opportunity to check out his ink. His new tattoos are breathtakingly gorgeous. A tribal design spans his upper back, covering the tops of his shoulders and his shoulder blades like wings. The two sides mirror each other with two curved lines gracing either side of his spine. I imagine running my fingers over his muscular back, tracing along the lines and ridges…
“I love tats too,” an all-too-observant Makayla whispers over the crowd’s chants of “rage in the cage.” “Sometimes I just want to lick Torment’s tats all over, but the minute I get my tongue anywhere near him, it all goes to hell and I find myself in yet another new position. His creativity boggles my mind.”
For a moment, I indulge myself in my own lick-the-tattoos fantasy but with Jake as the star, only to be rudely interrupted by the shrill blast of Shayla’s whistle.
Moments later, the fight begins. Master Mayhem rushes Jake and slams him up against the cage. Shayla blows a warning whistle and Master Mayhem backs away. Although he’s around the same height as Jake, Master Mayhem is twice as wide, with the physique of a professional bodybuilder and the powerful moves of a bull.
Jake circles on the outside as they feel each other out. Master Mayhem steps between Jake and the cage and throws a left, hitting Jake in the jaw before driving him into the fence. Jake pushes him off and staggers to his feet. Master Mayhem trips him. My heart skips a beat as he falls to his knees, but in seconds he is back on his feet.
“Maybe he should be sparring with someone less…experienced.” I shoot a worried glance in Fuzzy’s direction as if he would be able to stop the fight.
Fuzzy barks a laugh. “Jake’s playing him. He doesn’t fight the way people expect him to fight. He’ll fake weakness or an injury, stagger around the ring. Sometimes he just outright breaks the rules.”
“Most times he doesn’t follow the rules.” Makayla glances over at a frowning Torment and sighs. “Torment said Jake’s had warnings at every practice fight over the last few weeks. Not good for the reputation, especially if he wants to fight on the amateur circuit.”
A few seconds later, Jake pulls an illegal move, a downward elbow strike. He gets a warning. When the fight resumes, he pounces on Master Mayhem and digs his fingers into his opponent’s clavicle. Master Mayhem’s face contorts in pain. Shayla blows her whistle and stops the fight again.
“Two warnings now.” Fuzzy shakes his head. “If this was an actual event, he would risk disqualification. Damned renegade fighter. If he keeps up that kind of behavior, Torment will throw him off the team.”
Shayla gives Jake a final warning, and the two fighters move back to the center of the octagon. The fight increases in intensity with Jake and Master Mayhem trading kicks and punches. All that raw power unleashed in a primitive steel cage sets my blood to a boil. Jake’s pecs ripple with each punch, his tight abs strain, and his tantalizing ass teases me as he circles the mat. He is constantly in motion, moving in for the punch and then backing away. In and out. Back and forth. Almost like dancing. Or sex.
The crowd, now three people deep around the cage, cheers as Master Mayhem grabs Jake’s legs and takes him down to the mat. But Jake is quick. He wraps his arm around Master Mayhem’s leg and twists himself into a pretzel shape, holding on for dear life.
“I don’t think Master Mayhem will be able to shake his leg free from Jake’s half guard,” Fuzzy says, as if that means something to me.
In a blur of sudden motion, Jake twists Master Mayhem’s leg backward in a way legs are not supposed to go. The crowd roars in approval. Master Mayhem taps out.
Fuzzy gives Jake a begrudging thumbs up. “He’s a good fighter. Despite all the rule breaking, he won.”
“Renegade fighter.”
Fuzzy glances over at me, a frown creasing his brow. “What did you say?”
“He’s a renegade. Might make for a good ring name.”
“Amanda.”
My head jerks up and I catch sight of Jake leaning against the cage, arms crossed, his perfect body glistening with sweat. He meets my gaze and my cheeks heat. All the awkwardness of high school returns in a flash. I shift from foot to foot. My hands clench and unclench. My eyelashes drift down over my cheeks and I turn away.
At least I think I do. But my feet are still stuck to the mat. And I am lost in a sea of blue.
***
“Renegade.”
Rampage dumps a beer on Jake’s head and Jake officially becomes Jake “Renegade” Donovan.
A grin splits his face and he gives me a wink before he is swarmed by well-wishing fighters who all want to celebrate his new ring name by thumping him on the back or punching him in the gut.
“Do you like your name?” I hand him a towel when he finally breaks free and joins me at the side of the cage. He’s still pumped from his fight and his “christening,” eyes shin
ing, muscles quivering, adrenaline still pulsing under his skin.
“Fuck, yeah.” He grabs me around the waist and crushes his lips against mine, then releases me so quickly, for a moment I wonder if it even happened. “Thanks to you. I heard you came up with the name.”
Stunned, with the sweet burn of his kiss still lingering on my lips, I breathe slow and deep, trying to quell the sudden rush of arousal that has turned my mouth dry and sent my pulse into overdrive.
“You’re…welcome.” My voice is a throaty rasp, made even more painful when I lick my lips and taste his salty sweetness on my tongue.
“You ready to grab some burgers?” He throws a casual arm around my shoulders, which I take as a signal his kiss was just a friendly kiss, a thank-you kiss, and not meant to be a kiss that rocked my world in a way I’m not sure I want anyway.
“Sure. You can’t get too much fat, carbs, and grease into your system, I always say.”
He chuckles and gives me a squeeze. God, I wish he would stop doing that. Despite my brain’s warning that these are friendly gestures, my body is entirely misinterpreting his signals. My panties dampen. My nipples tighten. And I am so hot, I am tempted to strip down to my undies on the pretense of doing some fighting of my own in the cage.
“I’d have to give up the burgers if I wanted to train seriously,” Jake murmurs half to himself. “Don’t think I can swing it though. I need to put more time into the company if I’m going to turn things around.”
We walk in comfortable silence down the corridor and then Jake turns into the changing room. “Just going to grab a shower. Back in a few.”
Desperate for a distraction, I wander around the foyer. The chalkboards are filled with schedules of the daily training regime. No yoga, tai chi, step, or low-impact classes at this gym. Instead, there is “Ground and Pound,” “Grunt ’n’ Grapple,” and “Mission: Submission.”
“You interested in training?” Fuzzy stops on his way to the changing room and gives me a wicked grin. His number two buzz cut does look delightfully fuzzy under the bright, overhead lights, but I restrain myself from running my hands through his hair.
“Just looking.”
“Well, if you are interested, you should start with my boot camp class, Get Fit or Die.” He taps the chalkboard beside his name. “It’s best to get conditioned first, so you don’t injure yourself.”
“What do you do in Get Fit or Die?”
His eyebrow twitches. “I kick your ass until you beg me to stop and then I kick it some more.”
“How can I say no to a good ass kicking?”
Fuzzy’s smile broadens. “You can’t. Next session starts on Monday. I’ll be expecting you.”
“I’ll think about it.”
After he heads into the changing room, I chat with the few remaining fighters in the hallway, catching up with old friends and making a few new ones. Makayla, tucked tight under Torment’s arm, gives me a meaningful wink as they saunter out the door.
Finally I am alone. The screen in the corner flashes the new Team Redemption MMA logo. Showers whoosh in the changing rooms. The gentle murmur of voices and Sandy’s sharp laugh drift from the workout area.
The door behind me opens and closes, letting in a rush of cold air. Footsteps thud softly across the concrete floor. Only when a large shadow swallows my little one does the hair on the back of my neck prickle. I turn quickly to see who is behind me.
“Well, look who we have here.” Bob’s lips press into a thin line and he glances over at the hulking form of his bouncer and then back to me. “Come on, Angel, don’t keep us waiting. Say hello.”
Violent tremors shake my body, and my heart pounds so hard I fear it might crack a rib. It is all I can do not to turn and run, but I will not give them the satisfaction. Brave in the knowledge that I am in a gym full of testosterone-fueled fighters who would destroy Bob and his sidekick no questions asked if I so much as scream, I grit my teeth together.
“Thought you two would still be in jail after your arraignment.”
“We got friends in high places.” Bob takes a step toward me. “Got out on bail. And you know what we did first? We met with our lawyer ’cause someone has to pay for these.” He holds up his arms covered in thick, white casts that extend from his wrists to his elbows. The bouncer does the same.
“Seriously?” Nervous laughter erupts from my chest. “You and your bouncer broke both your arms in the exact same place during the fight? And you both got the exact same casting?”
“You think that’s funny, girlie?” The bouncer reaches over and grabs my ponytail with the dexterity of someone not in need of a cast. “We can’t work no more. You see us laughing?”
Jake and Fuzzy choose this moment to emerge from the shower room with Obsidian, Rampage, Blade Saw, and Homicide behind them.
Their chatter fades and the world stills. Save for the thunder of blood pumping through my veins, I hear no sound. Although the bouncer is still holding my ponytail, I feel perversely safe. Like I’m all rolled up in my comforter in my cozy bed. And safe makes me brave.
Jake’s steely gaze flicks from me to the bouncer and then back to me. “What’s going on?”
“Something from Hellhole is attached to my ponytail.” I shake my head and the bouncer stupidly tightens his grip.
Jake stiffens and his lips curl, baring his teeth. “Let her go.”
The five fighters move forward as one. The bouncer takes a step back, one hand on my ponytail, the other on my shoulder, holding me like a protective shield. Fighters forward. Bouncer back. Fighters forward. Bouncer back. Fighters growl. Bouncer whimpers.
“Maybe we should ask them what they’re doing here first.” I hold up my hands, palms forward as if I could stop the tidal wave of testosterone bearing down on us.
Jake grunts. “Fight first. Ask questions later.”
The bouncer releases me with a barely audible whimper and my ponytail swings free.
“You got something to say?” I look over at Bob. “Better say it fast or I guarantee you won’t get another chance. Renegade doesn’t give a damn about the law.”
Brave now that his hand is within inches of the door, Bob snarls, “We’re gonna fucking sue their asses. We got a doctor who says we’ll never work again. We got a lawyer who got their names from the police report and said we got a ten-million-dollar claim. Told us to bring these docs and hand ’em out.”
Fighters fall back with a collective whimper. Apparently nothing is more terrifying than a lawsuit.
“Unbelievable.” My hands find my hips. “Are you kidding me?”
Emboldened by the fighters’ collective terror, Bob takes a step forward and waves some documents in the air, but at waist height and awkwardly because of the cast. The fighters cringe and shrink back as if they were made of Kryptonite.
Oh for…
“Give me those.” I stalk over to Bob, stopping only a foot away and acutely aware that Jake is now hovering by my side.
“Easy, baby.” He rests a hand on my shoulder when I snatch the documents away. Only then do I take note of my heaving chest and my tight jaw. Hell hath no fury like a woman whose friends are being threatened with a totally bogus lawsuit by gold diggers with no conscience, even less sense, and a terrible attorney. After giving the documents a cursory glance, I roll my eyes.
“First,” I spit out, “since you are involved in the proceedings, you can’t serve legal documents. So…bad legal advice right there. Second, in case you didn’t notice, you were engaged in criminal activity when you broke your arms, if they are really even broken, which I totally doubt. Third, this”—I wave one of the documents at Bob—“is not a proper lawsuit. Again, bad legal advice, or maybe you thought you’d just come over here with a pretend lawsuit and try and shake my friends down. Not gonna happen. Finally, I just may decide to file a civil lawsuit against you for smacking m
e around like a rag doll, so you may actually want to find yourself a good attorney for that and your criminal trial.”
Bob narrows his eyes. “You sound like a fucking attorney. Are you an attorney?”
My mouth opens and closes. Am I an attorney? I don’t have a job and no chance of finding one, at least not in California.
“She’s an attorney and a damn good one.” Although Jake’s voice is cool and calm, I can hear the telltale tremor of a man on the edge of losing control. “She worked at one of the biggest law firms in the state and she was one of their best and brightest. She’s damn smart, a crackerjack litigator, and she knows every trick in the book. She’s gonna destroy you.”
“Yeah.” The fighters punch their fists in the air and cheer as one.
“Uh…Jake.” Aside from the fact I have no law firm and no insurance, I haven’t even agreed to take on the fighters as clients. But Jake is on a roll.
“She’ll put you on the stand and carve out every last detail of your sordid lives until you’re a quivering mess on the floor.”
“Yeah,” chant the fighters.
“She’ll rack up your legal bill so high you’ll wish you’d run screaming the night she walked into your bar. She’ll run that case into the ground until you crawl in here begging for mercy.”
“Yeah.” The fighters whoop and cheer like we’ve already won the case.
“Jake…”
“’Manda, ’manda, ’manda.” Rampage starts up his humiliating chant and then glares at Bob and the bouncer. “We got ’manda. You got nothin’. Now GIT.”
They “git.”
Jake watches them for all of two seconds and then turns to Fuzzy. “Man sees his girl being roughed up in his place of relaxation, sees someone dragging her around by her hair…that considered provocation?”
His girl? “Don’t answer that,” I bark at Fuzzy. He and Jake share a look and then Jake snorts.
“Thought so.”
The door opens. Slams. Jake is gone. Rampage with him. And Obsidian.
In Your Corner Page 7