by Lilly Atlas
Zach nodded. “Always.”
“So why don’t you go up there and be her fucking trainer?” He hadn’t meant it to sound quite as hostile as it did but, come on, no one fought completely solo. Who the fuck would drag her out if something happened?
Running a hand through his perfectly styled blond hair, Zach pursed his lips. “Hmm, not a bad idea. Sure you don’t want the job?”
“Yes, I’m fucking sure.” Shit, all the tension-relieving benefits of his own fight were flying out the goddamned window as restless agitation crept back in.
“All right then. Super Zach to save the day.” Zach shrugged out of his cut and handed it to Jig. “Keep it safe for me, brother.” Then he clapped his hands together three times. “Gonna go win me some more cash.” Bounding up to the ring, he let out a whistle and a holler that broke through Izzy’s focus. She turned her head in the direction of the noise, and her gaze met Jig’s.
A quick flare of the eyes and parting of the lips was her only acknowledgment of his presence but showed she hadn’t known he was there. Ignoring the hot punch of desire that struck low in his gut as he imagined those lips parting for his cock, he dipped his chin once.
She blinked then lifted her own chin back at him. Zach ducked through the ropes and slung an arm across her shoulders, bringing his head close to hers. They whispered back and forth, and, if Jig wasn’t mistaken, relief spread across Izzy’s face.
He sure as fuck couldn’t leave now. Crossing his arms, he stared at the ring and tried to block out the nagging question boring a hole into his brain.
Why the fuck did he care what the hell happened to Isabella Monroe?
CHAPTER SIX
THANK GOD FOR Zach.
Izzy’s nerves were stretched so tight the air wafting by irritated her skin. She might not let people into her life easily, but she’d always had a trainer with her at an event like this. The moment she walked into the old warehouse and saw the hundreds of half-wasted men being rowdy and battle-drunk, she had realized her mistake. If she conked out during the match, there’d be no one to make sure she made it out in one piece. Nor would there be anyone to critique her form, catch any subtleties she might miss in her opponent, give her pointers, or slap her ass and tell her job well done if she won.
Then Zach, who owned the gym, appeared out of nowhere like a giant, tatted biker angel of mercy. Just as Zach wormed his big body through the ropes, she caught sight of Jig standing with Maverick and Stephanie, the same scowl he’d had in the shop plastered on his face. His dark hair was matted to his forehead, his shirt was soaked through with sweat, and a puff of purple was growing under his eye. Sometime between when she met him and now, he’d tamed his beard as well.
Was he a fighter? Had he fought tonight?
She’d been hiding out in the makeshift locker room, wanting complete solitude before she was called up. Missing his fight was a damn shame. Watching him unleash all that power bubbling just beneath the surface would have been an experience. She bet he looked beautiful in action. Most people would probably think she was crazy, but she found the dance of fighters attractive. Sexy at times. And she just had a feeling Jig’s fight would have gotten her blood singing and her pussy wet.
He nodded at her, and contrary to how it made her feel in the shop, this time the chin dip warmed her heart. He’d sent Zach over. Somehow, she just knew it.
So she gave a nod of appreciation back and forced herself not to feel disappointed that he hadn’t joined her himself.
“Damn, woman, you look ready to rock this bitch into next week,” Zach said as he slung an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t look too shabby in this tight-ass getup either.”
She snorted out a laugh. The shorts she wore were barely bigger than some of her boy-short underwear, but she couldn’t stand loose fabric when she fought. At some point, she’d become immune to prancing around in the ring in a sports bra and itty-bitty spandex shorts.
Zach put his head close to hers. “You good? Nerves under control?”
After flicking a quick glance at her opponent, Izzy nodded. “Think so. She’s a beast.”
He cupped the balls of her shoulders in his large hands and squeezed. Though he was hot, she felt nothing for the man as far as attraction, but it was nice to have the support. Her wayward brain couldn’t help but wonder how her body would respond if it were Jig’s hands on her.
“But she’s on the bulkier side. Big shoulders, thick legs. I bet she’s slow as shit,” Zach replied.
“You think?” On the other side of the ring, her opponent stretched her arms high and bounced on the balls of her feet. Zach might be right. Due to the bulk of her deltoids, she didn’t have quite the range of motion Izzy did.
“See?” He bumped her hip with his.
“Yeah.” The buzz of excitement that had been absent from the night started to flow through her. She needed this bad. The release, the physical exertion, even the pain.
Maybe she needed to work on getting laid instead of beating her frustrations out of her system.
“How’re you on the ground?” he asked. She’d mostly been working on her strikes at his gym. She’d have to find a sparring partner soon, but she was still confident in her groundwork. “Pretty damn good,” she said.
“There you go, girl. Seeing some fire in your eyes now.” He turned her to face the announcer and rubbed the muscles in her shoulders. “Go win me some cash. My woman’s got a birthday coming up.”
Izzy laughed. “And here I thought you were just interested in the sport.”
Zach snorted. “Think green thoughts, babe.”
Waving them to the center, the announcer spoke into the mic. “Okay, ladies, no biting, no eye gouging, no weapons. Anything else is fair game. Fight’s over if one of you two fine things taps out or goes limp. Understand?” Both women jerked their chins in understanding.
Izzy inhaled a deep breath, pursed her lips, and blew it out to the count of six as she slowly rose to the balls of her feet. She liked to be ready to spring straight into action when the fight began.
“Feel free to throw in a tit grab or two. Give the crowd a thrill,” the emcee said into the mic as he wagged his eyebrows. The man wore a button-up shirt that screamed seventies porn star, complete with gold chains and bushy mustache.
Izzy rolled her eyes. Over the years, she’d come to expect asinine comments at these games. Didn’t mean they weren’t annoying as shit. The crowd of mostly men laughed and screamed catcalls, though she swore she heard one voice above them all shout, “Shut the fuck up. Let ’em fight.” If she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn it was Jig. But the man was way too stoic for an outburst.
The announcer called for the fight to begin, and Izzy blocked out everything but the woman out for her blood. They danced in a circle once, twice, sizing each other up and seeking the perfect in. Never one to wait for someone else to make a move, Izzy lunged forward and caught her opponent with a jab to the midsection followed by a rib-crushing cross, then a quick hook to the side of her head.
“That’s fuckin’ right!” Zach screamed out. “Stay light on your feet, girl.”
Right. She ducked a lightning fast hook that flew at her head and aimed another well-placed strike at The Razor’s ribs. Her opponent grunted and stumbled back a step.
Not getting away from me, bitch.
Izzy came at her with another wicked combination. This time, The Razor crouched low and came in hard for the takedown. Izzy saw it coming a mile away and lifted her knee as The Razor opened her arms and tried to grab hold of Izzy’s waist. Quick as the crack of a whip, Izzy’s knee slammed into The Razor’s chin, sending her head snapping back.
“Fuck yeah,” Zach yelled. “Take that bitch down, girl. Get her on the ground.”
Razor didn’t lose her footing as Izzy hoped she would, but sprang up and down, shaking off the jarring knee to the face. She caught Izzy with a solid jab to the side.
“Ooof.” That shit hurt.
Izzy cou
ldn’t help but smile as she breathed and absorbed the pain. It fueled her, chased away her demons, gave her something to work with. She was fucked in the head. A psychiatrist would have a field day picking around in her brain to find out why she enjoyed the pain of taking a punch.
Razor’s left hand came around the back of Izzy’s neck, grabbing and holding her close. Izzy returned the move, clasping her fingers across the back of Razor’s neck. Locked in the clinch, she knew what was in store for her, a hard knee to the gut. But Izzy’s reflexes were fast as fuck, and this was her absolute favorite takedown. She turned her head to the left, looking away from Razor at the same time she slammed her right forearm up under Razor’s arm, breaking her hold. Then she rolled her right shoulder inward and knocked Razor’s arm clear off.
The action spun Razor straight into Izzy’s arms, and she grabbed her opponent around the waist, used her legs and hips to lift the larger woman, and thrust forward, taking her to the ground.
The high of adrenaline and triumph coursed through Izzy. Fuck, yes, she loved this shit.
Sparing a fraction of a second, she glanced up and right into Jig’s captivated eyes.
The man was impressed with her.
She was impressed with herself. Time to put this match to bed.
WEDGED BETWEEN JIG and Maverick, Stephanie jumped up and down, slapping their arms and screaming, “Oh, my God! Get her! Get her!”
Jig laughed as Steph grabbed both men’s arms and dug her fingernails in. “Jesus, woman, leave me a little skin, would ya?”
Stephanie patted his abused arm, but never tore her gaze from the ring. “Sorry. So sorry, but would you look at her? She is such a badass. We are totally going to be friends.”
What? Women were weird.
Steph faced him, smile toothy and wide. “And were you actually laughing at me? Like a sound that expresses enjoyment of life? I knew you had it in you.”
The squeal that came from her had him wincing. Shit, at that decibel, dogs from the neighboring town would come running. He rolled his eyes and playfully pushed her chin away so she was facing the ring once again. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Mav’s slack-jawed expression.
Jesus, he knew how to have fun. He could enjoy life. It shouldn’t be such a headline-making event.
Jig tuned out Stephanie’s excited ramblings and focused on the ring. He hadn’t known what to expect from Izzy, but it wasn’t the skilled fighter taking names in the ring. She was fierce, full of concentration, intelligent strikes and maneuvers, and like Stephanie said, she was just plain badass.
She was also hot as fuck. So hot he had to adjust his stance as the fit of his shorts grew uncomfortably tight. A problem most men in the room probably had, if their dicks weren’t too drunk to work. But unlike most men in the room, it wasn’t the vision of the two women shedding the rest of their clothes and switching from fighting to fucking; it was straight-up Izzy herself.
In every calculated movement she made, her strength was evident, with muscles flowing and bunching under her tattooed skin. And even though she was engaged in a physical battle, there was still an overtly feminine quality to her. Something he couldn’t describe. The experience was nothing like watching two men fight.
Izzy was all woman.
On the ground, she grappled with her opponent for about a minute, and Jig’s respect grew tenfold. Damn, she was impressive. He could probably learn a thing or two from her. As the bell dinged, indicating the end of the first round, he had to hold himself back from rushing to her. She didn’t so much as glance in his direction, but guzzled water and listened intently to everything Zach told her.
Once or twice Zach demonstrated something, showing her an effective maneuver to use against her opponent. Despite being the smaller woman, she had this in the bag. Jig could feel it in his bones.
“Enjoying the fight?” Mav asked with a smirk, his eyes drifting down to Jig’s crotch before returning to his face.
“Shut the fuck up. Maybe you should be paying more attention to your woman and less to my dick.”
“Huh?” Mav spun, just realizing Stephanie had wandered toward the bar. “Goddamnit!” Mav growled as he stormed off after her. “Woman! What the fuck did I tell you about leaving my side?”
With a chuckle, Jig focused back on the ring. The second round began much as the first, but within thirty seconds, Izzy had used one of the techniques Zach recommended and had her opponent back on the ground. Without hesitating a second, Izzy flipped her body until her legs were across The Razor’s chest. She jerked Razor’s arm into a painful armbar, arching her hips to increase the angle and give Razor the feeling that her arm would snap in two.
The Razor withstood the position for about ten seconds then slapped her palm against the mat. The crowd erupted in unruly cheers and more than a few sexual slurs. Jig wanted to lay out every one of the motherfuckers who shouted something about Izzy’s tits or, even worse, her pussy.
Rising in the middle of the ring, Izzy extended an arm to help her defeated opponent up then gave Razor a back-slapping hug before the announcer grabbed her wrist and lifted her arm high. Zach whooped and hollered, running to the center of the ring. Arms coming around Izzy’s waist, much in the same way Razor failed to achieve earlier, Zach lifted Izzy off her feet and paraded her around the ring for a victory lap.
Jig couldn’t help but smile at the elation on her face.
After a few moments of celebrating in the ring, Zach guided her straight to where Jig waited. Izzy was grinning from ear to ear, and a spark of electricity crackled all around her, almost sexual in nature. Jig got that. He loved nothing more than a hard fuck after a victorious fight.
Was she the same? Would she go out and find some asshole to fuck a few orgasms out of her? Shit, the thought of it made him want to climb back in that ring with whomever she chose for the job. Maybe she’d just go home and take care of it herself, plunging a thick vibrator in and out of her pussy and buzzing it across her clit until she was as sweaty as she was now.
Jesus, what the hell was wrong with him?
“Damn, Jig, our girl was on fire!” Zach licked his finger and touched it to Izzy’ shoulder, making a sizzling sound.
Before Jig had the chance to respond, or even think of what to say, Stephanie bounded over and flung her arms around Izzy. “You are seriously the most badass woman I’ve ever met.”
“Whoa,” Izzy said with a laugh as she caught Stephanie. “Had a few drinks, have you?”
Mav snorted. “A few turned into many about twenty minutes ago.” He pulled his ol’ lady off Izzy and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. As Steph fussed at him for making fun of her, he nipped at her neck and she giggled.
There was a time when Jig hadn’t been able to tolerate being in the same room as happy couples, but he’d long since hardened his heart and shoved his emotions into a two-foot-thick vault. Now he reacted no differently than he did watching two people shake hands.
“Oh, I just had an amazing idea!” Stephanie shouted right next to Mav’s ear, making him flinch and draw back.
“Shit, babe, wasn’t planning on hearing aids for another forty years or so.”
Giggling, she rubbed Mav’s arm. “Sorry. Izzy, what are you doing now?”
“Oh, uh…” She shrugged. “I was just going to go home and crash.”
So, the vibrator it was. Jig had no business thinking this way, but a tiny bit of relief hit him knowing she wouldn’t be searching for a flesh and blood cock that night.
“No, no, no! That’s so boring. Come to the clubhouse. We’re having a party. You should come. Shouldn’t she come, Mav?”
Jig hadn’t known Stephanie all that long, so it was safe to say he didn’t know if this bubbly thing was her drunk-norm, but it sure as hell was entertaining.
However…Izzy at the clubhouse?
He needed to get wasted and find someone to fuck, and the last thing he wanted was the strange attraction he had for Izzy scratching at his back all
night.
“She should definitely come.” Mav might have been speaking to Steph, but his snarky gaze was all for Jig. “What do you think, Jig? You want Izzy to come?” When he stressed the word “come,” Jig’s dick twitched.
Asshole.
He cleared his throat and met Izzy’s gaze. She was amped, pumped from her fight. As ready to fuck as he was. But it would never happen. Izzy was the exact opposite of the women he sought out.
“Sure, she can do whatever she wants.” He didn’t miss the quick flash of disappointment that crossed her face at his statement. “I’m heading out. See you guys later.”
Without another word and ignoring Stephanie’s muttered “dickhead,” he weaved his way through the crowd.
His night was fucked. He shouldn’t even go to the party, but he had no choice. The perimeter they’d been working on non-stop was finally complete. His brothers needed to blow off some steam. It was pretty much mandatory fun.
How the hell was he supposed to find someone to fuck when he had some weird attraction to the kickass woman he’d just left behind?
And God fucking help any of his brothers who came on to her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHAT WAS SHE doing here?
Izzy had moved from New Orleans to Tennessee because she wanted fewer entanglements. Fewer people with the chance to screw her over. She’d had a roommate walk out three months before the lease ended, leaving Izzy in a lurch. Three months! Izzy was stuck paying double rent. It was the last straw in a long string of letdowns. She’d known taking on a roommate was a mistake, but had fallen in love with the expensive two-bedroom apartment in the French Quarter of New Orleans. And she’d paid the price…literally.
She was sick and tired of people being unreliable. Such a shame because, at her core, she wanted social connections. Enjoyed interacting with others, playing, having fun, but the pain of desertion and neglect far outweighed the pleasure of other’s company. Never once had someone been willing to put her above themselves. So she’d closed herself off emotionally, and when Rip offered her the job, for the tenth time in three years, she’d jumped at the chance to separate herself physically.