Take Me

by Anna Zaires, Pepper Winters, Skye Warren, Lynda Chance, Pam Godwin, Amber Lin

  “I don’t know what’s going on, but doesn’t Ben look delicious all gleaming like onyx and fighting like a warrior?” She smiled. Her eyes glowing with an infatuation that’d doubled from interested into obsessed. They’d only had a few dates, but she’d skipped right back into the mind-set of a swooning woman lusting after a man who would no doubt claim her and mark his territory the moment the match concluded.

  Tearing my eyes away from Corkscrew’s fight, I focused on the crowd crushing together, subtly drifting toward the boxing ring.

  My eyes flickered over to the man dressed all in black, barely visible through the throng of people. I didn’t know who he was. Something about him unsettled me—further amplified by the force of danger he possessed. I wanted to keep my distance, but was drawn to him nevertheless.

  He’d passed us not long ago and the moment his eyes fell on me, I’d felt a shift. A spark. An awareness. Call it fear or acknowledgement of a virile male, it caught me by surprise. My entire body shot into hyper alert—heart racing, breath quickening. My body prepared to either fight or flee. I didn’t understand why he invoked such a reaction.

  When he prowled past, I had the opportunity to stare at his retreating back, and I wished I hadn’t. He was tall, moving with the elegance of a man who had almost regal bearing. His back flexed beneath a tight fitting shirt while dark, bronze hair gleamed under the spotlights. He carried an air of power, of discipline, and of certain unpredictability. Everything about him sent a frisson of heat racing into my stomach.

  Eight long years had passed since I’d suffered the sickly prickle of physical attraction. Sickly because when I last succumbed, all I’d earned was illness and tragedy.

  It changed my life forever.

  I didn’t have time for attraction.

  Clara was the result of my last infatuation, and I’d been stupid. So stupid.

  A wave of excitement crashed over me from the building crowd. I grabbed Clue’s hand as anxious energy unspooled in my blood. Spectators gathered tighter; heads bobbing, trying to catch a glimpse of the two men by the boxing ring.

  Clue glanced at her hand in mine, then met my gaze. “Feel free to watch other fights, Zelly. I’m sure there are plenty of sexy men you could have fun with.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m not interested in finding a bed-mate, Clue. I’m interested in why everyone’s acting so tense.” The hair on the back of my neck prickled. I couldn’t stand there and not discover the source of the energy. My instincts said to run but my mind said to stay. I needed to understand it. Had to see it, feel it, so I knew how to defeat it.

  Danger.

  I’d always been able to taste when danger was near—when something drastic was about to change my life forever. And I felt it now.

  Ignore it and go home to Clara. This is pointless.

  Pointless, but addicting. Unwrapping my fingers from Clue’s, I murmured, “I’m going to figure out what’s going on.”

  Clue was so enthralled with Corkscrew that she only nodded. Leaving her safe, I moved away from the bright halo of lights surrounding the Muay Thai area and headed toward the boxing ring.

  Weaving my way through the crowd, whispered words met my ears. “It’s him. He’s going to fight.”

  “Whoever pissed him off isn’t going to be happy when they wake with a concussion.”

  I inched forward with the crowd, steadily growing thicker as more people drifted down from their La-Z-boys to mill around the ring.

  Breaking through the swarm of people, I couldn’t understand what warranted the crowd’s building excitement or my nervousness. No threats or raised voices were heard. My skin prickled again.

  You know what’s causing it.

  It was all to do with him.

  The man who seemed more than human; the man who set my teeth on edge.

  My eyes zeroed in on him dressed all in black. He emitted an energy, infecting everyone.

  He stood chest to chest with a huge brute who looked like he’d killed a few men himself. He didn’t move or speak or make any gesture of violence, but he simmered with raw energy.

  My mouth went dry for no other reason than I sensed him as a terrible menace.

  The other man didn’t cower, but he lacked what the man in black possessed: a rigidity, a confidence—the sure knowledge he would win, and there was nothing the other man could do.

  The man in black bared his teeth, glaring at the taller guy. Their lips moved but I couldn’t hear what was said.

  I ducked closer to the side of the ring as the wash of excitement from the spectators built into a crescendo. People pressed closer; the atmosphere thickened with visible tension.

  I blinked and missed what started the scuffle, but one moment the men were talking, the next they exploded into a squirmish that subsided almost as instantly as it began. A few more terse sentences and the man dressed in black pointed at the cage beside them.

  The referee in the cage, who’d been watching the interaction, blew his whistle, stopping a fight mid-way. The fighters looked to the side, saw the man in black and nodded, leaving the cage as meekly as school children facing a strict headmaster.

  My heart pitter-pattered as the man in black spun around and caught me staring from my place by the rigging.

  His gaze glued me into place; I couldn’t move—not even to breathe.

  He frowned; colourless eyes darkened with annoyance. His teeth clenched as he reverberated with energy. His square jaw looked powerful while his slightly crooked nose spoke of previous violence. His cheekbones were almost too stark for his muscular body. And I didn’t need to see beneath his clothing to know he didn’t have an inch of fat on him. He wasn’t just a man—he was a walking weapon.

  He was just…more. More in every way. More man. More danger. More threat than I’d encountered in any male, but it was the scar that made him unique. Jagged, irregular, it transformed half his face from perfection to sordid story. Half of him seemed approachable while the other steeped in hell.

  The doors.

  The depiction of heaven and hell on the doors was perfect for the man before me.

  I didn’t know him—I knew nothing more than he suffered some terrible past that made him into whoever he was, but my heart beat faster. I wanted to know, wanted to learn.

  That was before he dismissed me with one look and snapped his fingers at the large man behind him. Whatever brief connection existed between us was snuffed out, leaving me with a chill.

  Together they made their way to the cage and climbed the small stage to enter. Once secure inside, the man turned and locked the door.

  The crowd went utterly ballistic.

  The large guy ran hands over his face, speaking to the man in black. Another tense standoff happened, but finally the scarred man shook his head, snapping his fingers at the referee.

  Nodding, the ref pulled a wireless mic from his back pocket and faced an audience that had turned from sedate to mob worthy.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, do we have a treat for you!”

  The volume on the crowd’s enjoyment dipped, holding their excitement in eager bodies. Impatience filled the large space as they tried to quieten.

  My heart raced harder; blood pumped thicker.

  I wanted to run. I couldn’t move.

  The man in black morphed before my eyes. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, rolling his neck, he gathered every bit of energy from the room until he positively glowed with violence.

  “It’s a special event—unplanned and never to be seen again. Between two ruthless contenders, please put your hands together and give a rip-roaring welcome to Mount Everest!” The referee pranced around the large shirtless man, reeling off facts. “Weighing in at two hundred kilos, Everest is well-known for his stable of elite boxers and an all-time winning streak of seventeen to none. Semi-retired, he makes his living off training other impressive fighters but is still a fearful mountain of muscle. This is the first time he’s been in the cage in over six months. Let’s make
him feel welcome…Mount… Everest!”

  The crowd clapped and whistled while a flurry of cash was transferred from one palm to another while bets were placed. I stayed stiff, trying to become invisible by the rigging.

  Everest held up his hands, grinning with gleaming gold teeth. His bravado couldn’t hide the sheen of sweat or pallor of fear.

  The crowd screamed harder.

  I grimaced. He seemed juvenile even though he was older than his opponent.

  The man dressed in black shook his head, saying something that caused Everest to growl in anger.

  The referee put the mic back to his lips and the applause faded away. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce the fighter who will be going head-to-head with this well-known opponent.”

  Screams rose from the crowd. I cocked my head, straining to hear. I wanted to know his name. I wanted to know why he enticed and made me fear all at once.

  The ref carried on, “I’m sure this man doesn’t need an introduction.”

  The crowd went positively bonkers. Feet slammed against floors and women squealed.

  “Fox.”

  “Fox.”

  “Fox.”

  The man in black held up his arms, letting the audience rain him in misplaced affection. He didn’t smile. He didn’t encourage; he wasn’t there to be adored, unlike the other man. He was there to fight—pure and simple.

  Spectators cheered, adoring a man who looked like the devil himself—a man about to indulge in illegal blood sport.

  The referee laughed, shouting over the manic crowd. “That’s it everyone. Our very own! The owner of Obsidian! Please put your hands together for…Obsidian…Fox!”

  My hands twitched to clamp over my ears. I never thought such a sedate crowd, all sequestered in the dark, could conjure such mayhem.

  The moment the ref finished introductions, Fox launched himself at Everest. No hesitation. No pause.

  The fight began with vengeance.

  Fox pummelled a fist to his opponent’s temple. Everest reeled away, thumping with large hands, trying to strike Fox’s head. But he dodged every one, raining punches on Everest’s jaw and chest.

  The pure precision and cold calculation made me hate the spiral my life had become. I valued strict rules and prided myself on planning—I recognised the same discipline in the man in black.

  My body grew hot with anger, absorbing the fight—letting it energize me. I didn’t know what came over me, but the man who owned this place, the man now putting his life in jeopardy just for some masculine power play, had everything I never would. I hated him for being reckless. For causing bodily harm when he had wealth to help find a cure for disease. He could be a saviour; instead he flaunted and abused. Instead he hurt others. For what? A show of ownership or pride?

  I hated him.

  I hated that he invoked such strange feelings inside me.

  I hated that he had so much while my daughter would never live to see her teens.

  I hated him for no reason at all. He was purely the vessel to funnel my hatred into. It didn’t make sense—it wasn’t rational, but my fists curled as I finally acknowledged the deep sense of helplessness I suffered. For three weeks, I’d hidden from it, pretended I could cope, but it took an illegal fight to show me just how twisted my emotions were—just how broken Clara’s diagnosis had made me.

  If I had less sense, I would’ve charged into the ring and hit him myself. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to bite and lunge and inflict as much pain as I felt.

  I wanted to go to war and battle and come out a victor, so I could save Clara.

  Everest snapped and charged. Tackling Fox, they wrestled, yelling obscenities into each other’s ear.

  Fox swung and connected with Everest’s abdomen.

  Everest stopped, gritting his teeth before swinging and aiming with a sucker punch.

  Ducking, Fox wheeled around and thumped a fist into his liver. My eyes never left Fox’s face. He winced in pain as his fist made contact, but then smiled, growing bolder, angrier as the fight went on.

  He was completely in his element and fear threaded through me for Everest. He may be larger, but Fox had something he didn’t.

  No remorse.

  No respect for life.

  The crowd booed as Everest landed a fist to Fox’s head.

  Instead of dancing away and preparing another strike, Fox laughed. His voice rang around the club, weaving with base notes from the music, sounding almost psychotic.

  Everest shouted, “You’re a fucking crazy son of a bitch.”

  Fox didn’t reply. Moving within hitting distance, he delivered four punches in quick succession. Instead of going down, Everest sprawled forward, forcing Fox to back up as his large fists connected with his sides and cheek.

  Everest went for the cheek.

  The scar.

  The one place I’d never be brave enough to touch. It seemed almost sacrilegious.

  Then Fox stopped. Dead still, he dropped his arms, leaving his body unprotected. His lips moved, and Everest froze.

  My feet moved forward on their own accord, needing to be closer, needing to hear. I’d never been so wrapped up in a fight before. Even though I deplored it—hated the waste of pain and stupid need for domination—I couldn’t look away.

  “You want to knock me out? Be my guest and fucking try it.” Fox’s voice sounded rough and angry. Accented. He swallowed certain words and accented others in a way that made me shiver.

  Everest exploded forward, waving his fists like clubs. One struck Fox’s cheekbone, the other his gut. But instead of curling over in pain and backing away, Fox did the opposite.

  He stood taller. Squeezing his eyes, he seemed to drink the pain, feed off it.

  One moment he seemed utterly content, the next he tackled Everest, and they fell in a tangle of body parts to the ground. Legs wrapped with legs; arms twisted with arms.

  In one sharp kick, he shattered Everest’s kneecap.

  Everest bellowed and bucked, squirming like a child instead of a mountain of a man. “Get off me, you bastard!” Genuine terror laced his tone.

  In a blink, Fox slammed Everest’s face against the floor, breaking his nose before kicking him again and wrapping an arm around his neck. Tightening his grip, he slowly throttled him.

  All thoughts of fighting disappeared from Everest. I knew the switch from fighting to surviving. I’d been victim of it myself numerous times.

  Kicking with one useful leg and one broken, he scrabbled. He tried to dislodge Fox’s arm, but he fought an already lost battle. Fox used his momentum to jerk Everest’s left arm behind his back.

  The crowd chanted as Fox leaned back, taking the limb with him.

  My heart pounded, sick to my stomach.

  “Crush him.”

  “Gut him.”

  Fox didn’t pay attention, only choked his opponent harder, all the while jerking his arm further and further backward.

  Everest gave a small groan as his shoulder dislocated, and he fell unconscious—a limp body on the floor.

  The moment he passed out, Fox climbed to his feet and acknowledged the crowd with a nod. Wiping the blood trickling from his nose, he frowned at a tear in his shirt.

  For the first time, I noticed he remained fully clothed the entire fight. He’d rather ruin his clothing than fight shirtless.

  Why?

  Fox waved once; the roar of appreciation took the roof off.

  This man was loved or feared or hated—maybe a combination of all three.

  Staring at him, once again the prickle of interest and fear sent my skin scattering with goosebumps. Something told me the crowd wouldn’t be so welcoming if they knew what he kept hidden behind those colourless eyes. He’d been inhuman while fighting—dishing out revenge with no thought or compassion.

  Wiping his forehead with his sleeve, Fox brushed past the referee and left the cage to an uproar. “Obsidian Fox! Obsidian!”

  I didn’t care for the glory of win
ning—it seemed neither did Fox. He moved smoothly, ignoring everyone. The crowd kept their distance, sensing they could look but not touch.

  The wash of trepidation filled me again as he came closer. I didn’t want to be any nearer—not after seeing how dangerous he truly was.

  Time to go home. To return to my normal life. And your dying daughter.

  The thought fisted my heart. Shit, would the memory never stop sucker-punching me?

  I turned to leave. I needed to be away from this all-consuming madness.

  The crowd dispersed, and I made my way slowly toward the Muay Thai ring.

  Four steps, five steps, before strong fingers bit into my upper arm, spinning me around.

  I looked up, a curse on my lips, but all words evaporated into shocked muteness.

  I was prepared for a small shock at having a stranger touch me—a hint of newness and uncertainty, but I wasn’t prepared for the electric bolt that whizzed from his flesh to mine, resonating like an epicentre in my chest.

  My eyes widened, and I swallowed, trying to get my brain to work.

  Fox made a sound in the back of his throat, tightening his fingers. He glared, looking ready to murder me. “Who are you?”

  When I didn’t respond, he swiped his face with his other hand. His forehead furrowed while his expression turned pissed and stormy. “You think I didn’t see you watching? You had your eyes all over me. Answer me. Who the fuck are you?” His deep, accented voice stiffened my nipples even as the thrill of fear jolted through me.

  My temper gave me false courage. “I’m not in the habit of answering such rude questions.”

  His jaw clenched; fingers bit deeper into my arm.

  All I could think was: run. His eyes looked almost white. His face sheened with sweat, and the small smear of blood from his nose smelled metallic. The scar on his cheek screamed that he wasn’t a nice man. This was a man who lived with no rules or laws. This was a man to fear.

  “I’m not in the habit of touching women, and yet, I am.” He shook me to emphasize his point. “Answer me. Who the fuck are you and where did you come from?”