by Lilly Atlas
JAB. CROSS. UPPERCUT. Hook. Cross. Jab. Hook.
Jab. Cross. Uppercut. Hook. Cross. Jab. Hook.
“Come on, champ, thirty seconds left. Don’t puss out on me now.”
Izzy growled and picked up her speed as she pounded out the combination.
Puss out.
Please.
Why did men always think her vagina was going to make her turn tail and puss out?
Just as she was about to give him the tongue lashing of a lifetime, Jig winked. Actually winked. The bastard was playing with her. He knew just what to say to get under her skin and motivate her to push harder. She just didn’t realize he could be playful.
Every muscle in her body burned with the delicious ache of exertion and power. For the past two hours, she’d been pushing herself to the max. Each time her gloved fist connected with Jig’s punch mitt, beads of sweat jumped from her body, sometimes landing on his straining biceps, his rounded shoulders, or the smooth expanse of his chiseled chest.
Ninety-five percent of her focus was concentrated on precisely landing each punch and speeding through the combination, but that rogue five percent couldn’t keep from imagining other ways their sweat could mingle. Maybe with direct skin on skin contact. Or perhaps she could drag her tongue over the damn ridge of the Adam’s apple that teased her every single time he swallowed.
“Pick it up, woman.” Jig barked out the order, snapping her back in the game.
Jab. Cross. Uppercut. Hook. Cross. Jab. Hook.
Jab. Cross. Uppercut. Hook. Cross. Jab. Hook.
Just as her muscles reached the point of exhaustion, Jig called out, “Time,” and she slackened her arms, letting them flop to her sides.
He pulled off his punch mitts and tossed them on the floor against the wall mirror.
“Shit, woman, you’ve got some power,” he said as he grabbed her shoulders and massaged the aching muscles. “You got any fights on the horizon?”
For a second, Izzy froze. Jig’s large, warm hands were on her. For the first time. Electricity seemed to travel from his fingers throughout her entire body, waking the muscles that had just been fatigued. She shook her head as she yanked one of the gloves off with her teeth. “Nothing anytime soon. Not too many women looking for an underground fight. I’ve fought a few men, but I’m very selective and won’t get in the ring with a dude if I haven’t seen him in action before.” Using her now free hand, she wiggled the other boxing glove off and tossed them on top of Jig’s mitts.
Jig frowned. “You shouldn’t be fighting men. Don’t be stupid.”
Over the past two weeks, she’d met with Jig and Zach five nights a week at the gym. Zach kept the place open well past closing just for them. Most of the time, it seemed they were making progress toward some kind of mutual respect, if not tentative friendship. When they were working balls-out, Jig forgot to be a standoffish, macho asshole. Hell, he even complimented her on occasion, like telling her she was a powerhouse.
But then reality would set back in, and he’d say something dickish like the garbage he’d just spewed. Two steps forward, one step back. Still, progress overall.
“You don’t think it’s possible for a woman to fight a man? Well, bubba, it’s possible. I’ve done it. And I’ve won. All four times.” Let him chew on that for a while.
After releasing her shoulders, he bent and scooped up her water bottle. “I’m not saying you can’t beat a man, just that you shouldn’t,” Jig said as he underhanded the bottle in her direction.
She caught it with one hand and took a long drink of the cool liquid. “Why the hell not?” she asked once her mouth wasn’t full of the thirst-quenching water.
“I already told you. It’s stupid.”
“Oh, it’s stupid.” She rolled her eyes and jammed her free hand on her hip, not blind to the way his gaze tracked the motion. The guy may not be thrilled with her, but he sure had an appreciation for her ass. Those haunted eyes of his drifted to her booty every chance they got. So sue her if she made sure to wear the shorts that gave her a little extra oomph. A girl needed an ego boost every now and again, and nothing did it quite like knowing you had power over a man. “Now I totally get it. Thanks for that eloquent explanation. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of genius or something?”
One side of his mouth quirked. “You asking around about me?”
Seriously? He was going to go and get all cocky? “Sorry to disappoint you, bubba, but no. People just talk. And don’t try to change the subject. I wanna hear why you think a woman shouldn’t fight a man.”
He ran a hand through his damp hair and pulled at the strands like she was frustrating the hell out of him. Oh, yeah? Too bad. He was the frustrating one. “Of course, you’re gonna win against a man in the ring. They’ll hold back. The instinct to avoid hurting a woman is strong.”
Throwing her hands up in the air, Izzy walked in a circle then stopped right in front of him. “Seriously?” she asked, getting right up in his face. “Maybe you should give that bullshit speech to all the women in shelters, running from abusive assholes.”
“That’s not what I me—”
“Okay, okay, fighters to your corners,” Zach said as he strode out of the locker room. “You two about done with the foreplay here? I got a woman waiting at home naked, if I know her.” He winked. “And trust me, I know her.”
“Yeah, just gotta grab my shit,” Jig said. With a narrowed-eyed nod for Izzy, he stalked off to the locker room.
“Ugh,” Izzy said as she gathered her things and shoved them in her duffle. “That man is infuriating.”
Crossing his arms, Zach propped his bulging shoulder against the mirror. “That man is changing. And I think we all have you to thank for it.”
Bent over, Izzy peered up at him. “What do you mean? I haven’t done anything. Unless you count pushing his buttons and arguing with ninety percent of what comes out of his mouth.”
Before he spoke, Zach shot a quick glance toward the locker room. “Listen, babe, Jig’s been through shit you can’t even imagine. The kind of shit that would send most people to a padded room. And I say that only knowing the surface details.” Zach shook his head, and Izzy couldn’t help wondering what skeletons hid in Jig’s closet.
“Not sure I want the full story. It’s nightmare shit. Known him almost five years, and he’s always been a loner. Trust him with my life. Hell, I trust him with Toni’s life, which is saying something. I know he’s a brother through and through, but he’s always been one step removed from all of us. Hardly smiles, laughs maybe twice a year, doesn’t argue, doesn’t come here and work out with anyone else. He fights and he works. Wanna know why?”
Izzy straightened and slung her duffle over her shoulder. “Why?”
Zach pushed off the wall and closed the distance between them. “Because he doesn’t give a shit about anything beyond his role in the club and surviving the fucking demons in his mind.”
“He trains with me. And he argues with me. All the time.”
“Exactly.” Zach bopped her on the nose like she was a child who just learned her ABCs. “You have to care to argue. You have to give a shit to be willing to help someone train.”
“You’re trying to tell me he cares about me?” Nausea churned through her gut. Caring wasn’t in the cards. Caring meant feelings. And feelings led to commitments, promises, and eventual soul-crushing disappointment.
“Not claiming to read the man’s mind. Just telling you, he’s changing. Acting differently than he was two weeks ago. That’s all.”
Jig emerged from the locker room and walked straight toward the exit without so much as a glance in their direction. “Night, brother,” he called over his shoulder. Then he paused at the door and turned, snaring Izzy in his gaze. “Tomorrow?”
She swallowed. Getting close enough to let anyone in wasn’t part of her plan. Still, hearing that she might be helping a man who’d suffered warmed her heart. How many times over the years had she wished someone would put her
first, help her through her trials, and support her? She could do those things for him and keep her ten-inch steel walls intact. “Same bat time, same bat place,” she said.
Jig rolled his eyes, and a ghost of a smile appeared. “Dork,” he said before pushing through the door.
Zach’s shoulder bumped hers. “See? That’s not Jig. At least not the Jig I’ve known for years. Smiling? Fucking teasing?” He started toward his office. “Keep casting whatever spell your ass is casting, Iz. And get the hell out of my gym so I can close up and go fuck my woman.”
Izzy laughed. “I’m going. Tell Toni I said hi. But make sure your clothes are on when you do. I do not want my name crossing your lips while you’re nekked.”
The final thing she saw as Zach disappeared into his office was his middle finger wiggling in her direction. Chuckling, Izzy gathered the last of her equipment and headed for the parking lot.
As she stepped outside, the chilled air blew across her perspiration-soaked skin. “Shee-it,” she muttered as she dug through her bag for a sweatshirt while still booking it toward her car. Zach’s truck was the only other vehicle parked on the opposite side of the lot. He liked to give his patrons the close spots, so he always parked the farthest from the door.
“Gotcha,” she said as she pulled the soft fleece from her bag. Just as she freed the hoodie, strong hands gripped her upper arms and slammed her face-first against the side of her ten-year-old Accord.
“What the fuck?” She struggled in vain against two bulky men trapping her against her car. Her fight or flight response kicked in immediately, jacking up her heartrate, tunneling her vision, and causing a tremor to run through her. But there were no thoughts of flight. She’d fight her way out or die trying.
“Turn her around,” a third man said, and she was wrenched away from the car only to have her spine crunch against the metal two seconds later.
“Who the fuck are you? What do you want?” she asked as she used her training to control her breathing. Accustomed to quick thinking when under attack, Izzy did a millisecond survey of the situation, and it wasn’t good.
Three men on one woman? Sure, she was a badass in the ring and had whooped a few men in her day, but three on one was never good odds. Her arms were completely immobilized by the large thugs on either side of her, and her body was pinned to the car. Still…
She inhaled a slow, deep breath, then struck out on the exhale, slamming her right foot into the knee of one of her attackers.
“Fuck!” he screamed, catching himself just before the joint that gave out took him to the ground.
“You two assholes can’t get one woman under control.” The man in front of her drew his arm back and rammed it into Izzy’s stomach. She knew how to absorb a punch, but honestly hadn’t seen it coming, distracted by the men restraining her. The metal of her car crushed her spine again as her stomach and diaphragm spasmed in misery.
“Ooof.” All the air rushed from her in a painful expulsion as her upper body folded forward. The grips on her arms didn’t lessen even a fraction, and her shoulders pulled in an agonizing stretch as her body tried to curl in on itself but was held captive by two jerkoffs.
Trying to inhale, all Izzy could manage was a high-pitched wheeze. There went the idea of screaming for Zach, which had been plan B if taking the goons out didn’t work. Perhaps it should have been plan A before she got socked in the stomach.
There wasn’t time to feel fear, only anger and frustration at being helpless. While she struggled to right herself, a long-fingered hand wrapped around her throat and pushed her upper-body back against the car.
The men on her sides hooked their feet around hers, spreading her legs and holding her completely immobile. Now the fear slithered in. Three men, spread legs, unable to move…not a good position for a woman to be in. The only consolation she had was that someone would have to let go of her to remove her clothing. And that’s when she’d strike.
Even though it was a wasted effort, she thrashed against their hold. Maybe she’d be smarter to conserve her energy, but she didn’t want these pieces of shit to think she was weak for one second.
The hand on her throat tightened, and she stared into the eyes of a guy who couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. As he continued to increase the constricting pressure, he said, “This would go a lot easier and faster if you’d stop thrashing around.”
“Fuck…you,” she whispered, because it was the loudest sound she could manage.
He smirked and squeezed tighter, completely cutting off her ability to speak. And breathe. If she hadn’t trained for years, hadn’t had her neck in a choke hold countless times, she’d have fallen into a complete panic. Instead, she embraced the feeling and concentrated on looking for an opportunity.
“Now, we have about thirty seconds before you pass out, so listen closely. I need you to deliver a message to your friends for me. Tell them no amount of fencing and little boys on watch will keep their clubhouse safe. Our business is booming, and Lefty won’t let anything fuck with that. If he has to kill every one of those motherfucking bikers, he will, and there ain’t a thing they can do to stop him.”
Darkness closed in on her vision, tunneling it down to a pinpoint as she wrenched her neck and tried to break free.
“See how easy it is to catch someone off guard?” he whispered against her ear right before releasing her neck.
Izzy sagged and immediately sucked in giant lungsful of air. Her vision returned and the buzzing in her ear died out. She was so focused on oxygen and not passing out, she missed the continued attack. Another fist plowed into her stomach. This time, the men liberated her arms, but she was weak from lack of breath and the second punch.
She collapsed to the ground just as a booted foot connected with her side. Once, twice, she absorbed the punishment as best she could, curling up to protect her vital organs.
Shouting could be heard in the distance, but it was mostly drowned out by the buzzing in her ears.
“Fuck! Move out,” the leader said as he delivered one last kick, this time to her low back. Suddenly they were gone, and Izzy’s body went limp against the asphalt.
“What the ever-loving fuck?” From her position on the ground, Izzy caught sight of Zach’s running shoes speeding in her direction. As best she could, she rolled to her back and, within seconds, he stood above her, a wooden bat in his hands.
Opening her mouth, she tried to speak, but all that came out was a frog-like croak that began a round of painful coughing. She tried to sit, but her stomach muscles wouldn’t obey.
“Holy fuck, babe.” Zach dropped to his knees beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t move.”
She ignored the order and, once she was sitting, rested against the wheel well of her car and shook her head. “I’m okay,” she rasped. Her throat felt like it’d been raked over a cheese grater.
“Your neck’s a mess. I’m calling an ambulance.”
“No,” she tried to yell, then winced.
“Sorry, babe. It’s the hospital for you.” He yanked out his phone, called nine-one-one, and two minutes later was tucking the cell back in his pocket. “What the fuck happened? I heard a bang, so I grabbed Louie and ran out.”
She nodded. “Three guys.” Even to herself, it sounded like she’d swallowed a bucket full of rocks. Hopefully, there wasn’t any permeant damage to her vocal cords. “Tried to fight them, but…” She shrugged. “Three.”
Zach let out a mirthless laugh. “You may be a badass, but even you aren’t superwoman.”
Izzy allowed her eyes to close as she huffed out a laugh. “They gave me a message. Never said it was for the Handlers, but…”
Zach tensed. “What did they say?”
“In a nutshell, clubhouse isn’t safe. Their business is booming. It’s easy to get to you guys. And you can’t stop them.”
“Godfuckingdamnit,” Zach spat out as he stood and paced in front of her car. He ran a hand down his face, scratching the five-o�
��clock shadow. “Jig’s gonna have my ass. Shoulda walked you to your car. Hell, that stupid fucker shoulda walked you out. Can’t believe we didn’t put a guard on you. Shit, I can already tell Louie is pissed he didn’t get a piece of them.”
That was the second time he’d mentioned someone named Louie. As far as she knew, she and Jig were the last in the gym. “Who’s Louie?” she asked.
Zach lifted the bat, and an evil grin crossed his face.
“Your bat’s name is Louie?”
“Fuck, yeah, and he’s a vengeful motherfucker.”
Oookay. Totally normal.
“I’m the club’s enforcer, Izzy. Bat’s cleaner and leaves far less DNA than my fists or bullets. You okay if I make a few calls, babe?” he asked.
In a sick way, it made perfect sense. Keeping her eyes closed, she nodded and waved him away. “Go for it,” she whispered.
“Shit, Iz, I’m sorry our club business touched you,” Zach said before he stormed off a few feet, barking orders into his phone.
A few minutes later, the shrill sound of a siren signaled the ambulance’s arrival. Two paramedics climbed out the back and rushed toward her.
“They’ll have you feeling better in no time, girl. And I called Jig. He freaked the fuck out and will probably get to the ER before you do.”
Huh? “What? Why did you call him?”
Zach just grunted and rolled his eyes.
Why on earth would Jig show up at the hospital? They weren’t in a relationship. Hell, they weren’t even really friends. Just two people who trained together a few nights a week.
Izzy sagged against the car as she answered the rapid-fire questions from the paramedics. Zach stayed by her side the entire time, snapping at the EMTs if he felt they weren’t gentle enough. It was strange and kind of nice to have someone to lean on during a difficult time.
And Jig was coming to the hospital. She almost laughed. She’d believe that when she saw it. There was no reason for him to come, and in her experience, people didn’t stick their neck out for others, even those they claimed to love.
CHAPTER ELEVEN