“I had a man.” She folds her arms and glares.
“You had a worm.” He tosses the newspaper on the table, folded at the entertainment page. The headline catches my eye.
Slugs Front Man, Vetch Retch, Discharged from Hospital.
From a quick skim of the article, it appears Vetch was attacked in an alley outside a concert venue a few weeks ago. He suffered broken limbs, cracked ribs, a broken nose, and a concussion. He appears in the picture in a wheelchair, his arms and legs in casts, and his face a mass of bandages.
I look at Ray. Ray looks at me. I don’t ask. He doesn’t tell.
“I wasn’t talking about Vetch,” Penny snorts. “I had a life in England before I came out here. A different life with a decent man. And I had to leave it all behind.”
Penny has never talked about her past before, and I’m filled with curiosity. But before I can ask, she shakes an admonishing finger at Ray.
“You shouldn’t be offering dating advice. You don’t even have a girlfriend. In fact, in the time I’ve known you, except for Sandy, I don’t think you’ve ever had a date.”
Ray sips his coffee and his gaze flicks to me. “Private things should stay private. Always believed that. Always will. And I didn’t have a date with Sandy. Not my type.”
Curiosity piqued, Penny assails him with questions about what exactly he might be keeping private, why he didn’t go out with Sandy, and what was his type, none of which he answers. And I know he never will.
“You coming?” He taps his watch and looks at me. “We’re gonna be late. I thought you wanted to be there to watch your man fight.”
“All signed and ready to go. Penny’s going to take it down to the courier while I change. Shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.”
“Five,” Penny says, picking up the envelope. “I’m actually going to run. No way am I going to be late.”
Ray pushes himself off the couch. “I’ll go with you and pick up a coupla coffees for the road.”
After they’ve gone, I race into my office and slam the door. Moments later I’ve stripped off my suit and pulled on studded jeans and a T-shirt. Fight events are dress down, but I can’t resist throwing on a pair of heels. Jake loves heels. Clackity clack. Clackity clack. I race to the washroom to put on my “Amanda” face. A slap of blush, a slip of lipstick, a stroke of mascara, and I’m ready to go. I pull out my ponytail and fluff my hair as anticipation ratchets through me. I’m going to see Jake.
My heels click down the hallway to the rhythm of the Slugs’s latest single, “Danger Lies Ahead.” Damn. Penny forgot to turn off her radio. I race back to reception at top speed. After only a few sessions of Get Fit or Die, my top speed is pretty damn fast, and I am at her desk in a heartbeat.
Wham. Someone shoves me against the wall from behind. My purse flies out of my hand and hits the floor with a soft thud.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
Who’s been waiting for me? I don’t recognize the voice and my inquiring mind wants to know. I look back over my shoulder. Oh. It’s Evil Reid. Just hanging around my reception room as evil doers do. The skin on my neck prickles and I fight for calm.
“Reid. Hi. I’m in a hurry. I have to go. Something I can do for you?”
Reid spins me around to face him and his cruel smile cannot hide the darkness in his eyes.
“There’s a lot you can do for me. You fucking owe me, Westwood. Farnsworth kicked me out of the firm. He said I didn’t meet the moral standards for the partnership. Can you believe the irony? And not only did you humiliate me, you did this.” He pulls a sheet of pink paper from his pocket and waves it in front of me.
Heart thumping, I try to focus on the blur of black letters. “What is it?”
“Your complaint to the State Bar. I’m going to lose my practice license. Because of you.”
One less attorney in California. And an unstable one at that. Well, it’s a start.
“I didn’t report you to the Bar.” I try and fail to keep my voice from wavering. “You decided to send a copy of that file to my parents. They reported you.”
“I have no doubt you put them up to it.”
Breathe. In. Out. Slow. Deep. Swallow the fear. Focus on the fight. “What do you want, Reid?” I try to keep the conversation going as I take stock of the room. Why don’t we have emergency psychopath attack supplies alongside the fire extinguisher and flashlight? Maybe a knife or a bat or even a frying pan?
“You’re gonna pay for ruining my life.” He grabs my shoulders and shoves me against the wall.
“Get your hands off me, Reid. I’m warning you.”
He snorts a laugh. “You’re warning me? You think you’re tough because you hang out at an MMA gym?” His eyes slither over my body as he twists his hand through my hair and grips the top of my head. “You’re so tiny I could break you in two.”
Not this time. No one is taking me down.
Holding my hair, I spin out of his hair-grab using a technique Makayla’s stepdad taught me long ago. But Evil Reid is quick; he lunges for me, and in that split second, I smile. Poor Evil Reid is in for a whole world of pain.
Bam. Bam. I punch Evil Reid in the solar plexus just like Razzor taught me how to do. Then I follow it with an uppercut to the jaw. Evil Reid staggers back and he gasps for breath. This time I don’t need to imagine I’m Shilla the Killa because Amanda Westwood has her own moves.
Taking advantage of Evil Reid’s momentary weakness, I rush in with a Shilla-style head butt. When Evil Reid doubles over, I sweep his legs. Success! Evil Reid goes down.
Now what? Should I follow him down and lock him in submission? Hmmm. That would involve lying on top of him, and if I don’t do it right he might get the wrong idea. Also, I haven’t learned any submissions from a dominant position. How damn irritating is that?
My moment of hesitation is my undoing. Evil Reid jumps up with preternatural speed. He grabs me and shoves me into the corner. And suddenly I’m in Get Fit or Die, and Fuzzy is making us jog on the spot with our knees as high as they can go.
Someone’s got you in the corner. What do you do, Westwood? Do you stand around with your mouth hanging open? No, you loser. Use your knees. Knees! Knees! Knees! Get those knees up or you’ll have me all over your sorry ass.
I don’t want Fuzzy all over my sorry ass. Nor do I want to face his wrath. I knee Reid in the sternum, and when he doubles over, I knee him in the chin. Then I hit him in the jaw with a left hook followed by a right cross, just like Jake did in the cage. Evil Reid stumbles backward, and I kick him between the legs.
“You want me to keep going?” I scream. “I survived Get Fit or Die. I can go all damn night.”
But Evil Reid is down for the count. Winded, gasping for breath, he drops to his knees, and I kick him while he’s down. Illegal move, I know. But who’s around to see?
Clap. Clap. Clap.
“Sounds like that was some class you took,” a bemused Ray says as he peels a sniveling Evil Reid off the floor. Penny watches in stunned silence, a tray of coffees in her hand.
“It was a nightmare.”
“Might have to look into it.” He shoves Reid against the wall and pulls a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.
Penny’s eyes widen. “Um…those are handcuffs.”
“Yup.” Ray snaps the handcuffs around Evil Reid’s wrists and then reads him his Miranda rights from a card in his pocket.
“You’re reading him his rights,” Penny astutely points out.
“Yup.”
“I thought you were a private investigator.”
“I wear many hats.”
Still stunned, Penny says, “I’ve never seen you wear a hat.”
“And you never will, sweetheart.” He glances over at me and taps his watch. “Don’t you have someplace to be?”
“Oh. My. God. I’m goi
ng to miss him.”
I can’t be late.
***
By the time we reach the Kezar Pavilion, the event has started. There are fifteen fights on the card, but lucky for me, Jake is near the end.
Team Redemption, easily identifiable by the huge banner strung over the seats and the sea of shaved heads, has blocked off a section near the ring. Blade Saw and Homicide Hank wave us over. Penny is beside herself with excitement as two lightweights battle it out in the huge cage at the center of the pavilion, brightly lit with a circle of floodlights.
“There must be a thousand people here,” she gasps, looking over the sea of seats around us.
But I’m not interested in the cheering crowd, the excitement in the air, or the rattle of bodies against the cage.
“I need to see Renegade,” I whisper to Blade Saw as we slide into our seats.
He shakes his head. “He’s in the changing room and warm-up area. This promotion is following CAMO rules, so the top fighters have a shot at the Amateur State Championships. No one except licensed seconds, media, or officials are allowed out back. Better for the fighters that way because they need to focus.”
My stomach clenches. “But how will he know I’m here?”
Homicide pats me on the back. “He’ll walk through our section. Gives the fighters a boost to have their team cheering them on before they step into the cage. Just make sure you’re standing where he can see you and make a lot of noise.”
We sit through several fights before Ray makes an appearance. He edges in front of us to the seat Penny has saved for him. “Never been to an MMA event. Quite the atmosphere in here.”
I introduce him to Blade Saw and Homicide and then to Razzor, Minotaur, and Master Mayhem sitting behind us. Then I point out a few of the other fighters I know. So many. They are the brothers I never had.
Ray leans over and squeezes my hand. “You okay? Bastard’s been taken down to the police station. I gave them your details and said you’d give a statement after the event.”
“I’m good. And now that I’m here and I didn’t miss him, more than good.”
I am treated to a rare Ray smile. “That’s my girl.”
Team Redemption surges to their feet as Shilla the Killa walks in with Sandy as her second. She is looking incredibly toned and fit, having shed a few pounds to make weight. She’s wearing a sports bra and a pair of fight shorts with the “Team Redemption” logo stamped across her ass.
We stomp and cheer and clap as she climbs the steps into the cage. She is joined by a heavily muscled blond covered in tattoos.
“That’s Sergeant.” Blade Saw takes his seat beside me. “She’s a former Marine. Four tours of duty in Afghanistan and the Middle East. She’s won eight of her ten last fights in the Amateur Open and hoping to go pro after this fight.”
“She looks…formidable.”
Blade Saw nods. “Shilla’s the only one who would take her on.”
The whistle blows. Almost immediately, Shilla is on the attack. Using a move I haven’t learned yet, she throws Sergeant to the ground and locks her arm around Sergeant’s neck.
“Bulldog choke from side control.” The Minotaur gives an appreciative nod. “Unique variation of that choke. Hard to break.”
Sergeant tries to roll to escape the hold, but she can’t break Shilla’s grip. The clock ticks. The crowd cheers. Sergeant taps out. The referee lifts Shilla’s arm and Team Redemption explodes around us. Even Ray is on his feet.
“Christ. That’s some woman. Lookit her. Fucking amazing fighter. It was almost like she was dancing in the ring.”
I sit through fight after fight, my heart drumming against my chest. Why do the fights take so long? Why are there so many? Who scheduled Jake near the end?
Rampage gets his turn against Corn Dog, a giant of a superheavyweight with a tattoo of a corn dog on his back. Rampage avoids two takedown attempts from Corn Dog, who throws kicks to Rampage’s leg and abdomen. Rampage growls and drops Corn Dog to his knees with a solid right punch. Then he dives in with more punches. Corn Dog is unable to get up and turtles on the ground. Rampage is declared the winner at sixty-five seconds. I have never seen a bigger smile in my life.
Finally, Jake is on the card. I squeeze Penny’s hand in nervous anticipation and edge along the row of seats so I can see.
The team cheers as he walks down the aisle, Fuzzy by his side. My God, he takes my breath away. With the weight he’s lost to make his weight class, his muscles are sharper and more defined, rippling as he high-fives his friends. His fight shorts, emblazoned with the Team Redemption logo, cling to his tight ass, and his tattoos shimmer under the light.
But nothing draws my attention as much as his shaved head.
For a moment I lament the loss of his thick, wavy hair. But he looks like a serious fighter now, and without his hair, his jaw seems more chiseled, his eyes more piercing, and his lips more full. Sensuous. Breathtaking.
Emotion wells up in my chest and my throat tightens as he approaches my aisle. I’ve wanted this moment so badly, dreamed about it, longed for it…and I freeze.
And then he walks by.
And he’s gone.
“RENEGADE!” Penny shoves me into the aisle and jumps on the chair just vacated by Hammer Fist. She jumps. She screams. She waves her hands in the air. She draws the attention of everyone nearby. Jake pauses. Turns. Then he sees me.
He sees me.
His eyes meet mine, dark and full of emotion. For a long moment, he holds my gaze. I try to tell him without words that I love him. I have loved him since the day we met. And I will always be in his corner.
A smile ghosts his lips and he nods.
He knows.
My heart fills and tears trickle down my cheeks as he climbs into the ring.
We’re going to be okay.
***
“So that’s The Man?”
Blade Saw rubs his finger over his bottom lip and checks out Jake’s opponent, a bald, tattooed bruiser who keeps moving his head from side to side as if he’s listening to his own personal hip-hop beat.
Homicide nods. “Vastly more experienced than Renegade. He’s 9–3–1 and held the amateur light heavyweight title a few years ago. He was stripped of his title when they found out he’d been taking banned substances and was thrown off the circuit. He’s only just come back, so they’ve been pairing him up with the newbies. He’s never been through a fight without at least one foul. Still, it’s a big step for Renegade. He’s only 2–0 with two submission victories.”
“Fucking stupid ring name.” Blade Saw shakes his head. “The Man.”
Round one starts with Jake stalking The Man from the center of the cage, cutting him off every time he tries to move away from the fence. Even I can see his strategy effectively nullifies the advantage The Man would have from his longer reach. Jake closes in on his opponent with power shots, and The Man tries to tie him up in a clinch. But Jake easily shrugs him off and continues to hammer with powerful punches, eventually backing his opponent to the cage. Suddenly The Man rears back and smashes his head into Jake’s forehead. Jake staggers back and drops to his knees. With a roar, Team Redemption surges to their feet shouting foul.
“No fucking way,” yells Homicide. “Deliberate head butting.”
The referee calls a break, and Fuzzy and the ring doctor race into the cage. Jake shakes his head and Fuzzy goes to speak to the referee. Jake is taking the maximum five minutes allowed to recover from a foul. My heart seizes in my chest. Now I know it’s bad. No one is allowed near the cage, and I have to suffer through watching Fuzzy ice Jake’s head while he argues with the ring doctor.
“If the ring doctor says he’s not fit to fight, that’s it.” Blade Saw glares at The Man’s corner. “The match will then be decided on points.”
When the five minutes are over, Jake pushes him
self to his feet and nods that he’s ready to go on. The ring doctor gives the thumbs-up. The Man smirks when Jake staggers to the center of the ring and my lungs tighten. I pray Jake is still my renegade fighter, feigning injury, playing the game.
Although slightly unsteady on his feet, Jake dives in with a huge, overhand right followed by a left that misses The Man by at least six inches. The Man roars with laughter. I grab Blade Saw’s hand and squeeze it so hard he gasps. “Don’t worry,” I whisper. “He’s faking it. I’ve seen him do it before.”
Blade Saw chuckles and extricates his hand from my vice-like grip. “Now I know you’re really one of us.”
Brimming with overconfidence, The Man goes all out with a big right hand. But Jake is ready. He slips inside The Man’s guard and batters his opponent with a flurry of fierce, powerful blows that leave The Man groaning on the mat. Seconds later, The Man taps out.
The ever-bloodthirsty Penny is on her feet right away, punching her fist in the air and screaming. “Whooo. Renegade. Whooo.”
I join her. But without the “whooo.”
***
The wait outside the changing room is the longest of my life. What’s he doing in there? Why has almost every other fighter managed to shower and change? It’s not like he even has hair to wash. I tap my foot, drum my fingers on the wall, and pace up and down the corridor.
“Impatient, aren’t you?” The surly bouncer chuckles.
“Very impatient. It’s one of my defining characteristics. Total lack of patience, especially for men who take too long in the shower.”
“Boyfriend, brother, or husband?”
I hesitate. I don’t really know. Maybe he forgives me but just wants to be friends. Or less. Or more. Uncertainty worms its way into my heart.
Fuzzy appears in the doorway and motions me over. “The ring doctor wants him to go to the hospital to have his head checked out, but he refuses to go. Maybe you can convince him.”
After a quick word with the bouncer, he leads me into the warm-up room, a large, windowless space covered with thick practice mats. Jake is sitting on a bench in the corner, leaning against the wall. He has showered and changed into jeans and a T-shirt, but he looks pale, haggard. His head is tilted back and his eyes are closed. The ring doctor looks up when I approach and shakes her head.
In Your Corner Page 30