Chain Reaction

by Tara Wyatt

  “You’re seriously not mad?”

  “Not even a little.” Taylor glanced down at Sean and Sierra. “Does anyone know?”

  “Jamie does, and now you. But no one else. It’s complicated.”

  Taylor nodded. “Yeah, I can see that. But really. Don’t let the fact that Zack and I dated hold you back, okay? Stop being so damn nice. Go after what you want.”

  Alexa smiled, and the knot in her stomach started to dissolve, relief sinking in. “Thanks, Taylor. I…Your blessing means a lot.”

  Taylor held a hand over her heart. “I would never stand between a friend and good dick.”

  The sixty-second break between rounds seemed incredibly short, and as the fighters rose from their stools, Alexa’s battered heart pounded against her ribs. As hot as it was to watch Zack fight, it was also nerve racking. He hadn’t sustained any major damage, but her heart sank with the knowledge that there were still four excruciating rounds to go, and that the odds were stacked against him.

  * * *

  Pain exploded across Zack’s face as Ferreira’s elbow smashed into him, splitting open the skin above his left eyebrow. Blood trickled down the side of his face, warm and wet, and he shot his leg out, landing a hard kick against Ferreira’s thigh. Using the opportunity to create some distance, he danced back a few paces, wiping away the blood running into his eye, pain throbbing from the gash. He glanced quickly up at the clock. Still two minutes left in the third round.

  Fuck.

  He didn’t have the luxury of time or space to poke at the dread settling low in his stomach.

  He couldn’t allow himself to think, even for a second, that Ferreira might beat him and take the belt. He couldn’t allow himself to think or feel, period. There was only his body and his opponent. Nothing else. There was no room for anything but an instinct honed through years of training and dozens of fights.

  They circled each other, trading a few more testing jabs, each looking for an opening. Seeing his chance, Zack charged, hooking his arms around Ferreira and slamming him into the cage. Ferreira struggled against the grappling clinch, grinding and working to get free. Zack kneed him in the stomach, trying to maintain his hold, but the dude was fucking strong. Using his sweat-slicked skin to his advantage, Ferreira began to slip free. Zack readjusted his grip, hooking an arm under Ferreira’s leg and slamming him to the ground with a hard, echoing thud. But Ferreira was able to scoot his hips free, and he struggled to his feet, slipping out of Zack’s grasp. He was so much bigger than anyone Zack had fought before, and Zack couldn’t keep him pinned down.

  Ferreira kicked at Zack, but he was gassed from the clinch, and the kick was sloppy and slow. Running on instinct and seizing his opportunity, Zack grabbed his foot and pulled him down once more to the mat. This time he didn’t give Ferreira the chance to scoot free, and he moved into full mount, his legs tangled with Ferreira’s as he unleashed a series of brutal hammer-fisted punches, his own blood dripping from the gash above his eye onto Ferreira’s chest. He poured everything he had into breaking through Ferreira’s defenses, his arms heavy and aching, his lungs on fire from the lack of oxygen.

  Zack landed a hard blow to Ferreira’s cheek, the skin splitting open and beginning to bleed almost instantly. Ferreira’s head bounced off of the ground with the impact, and he flopped an arm out to the side. Fueled by a raw, primitive hunger, Zack laid into Ferreira again, pushing past his own exhaustion, the thrill of victory brushing at his fingertips. Close enough to feel. Close enough to touch.

  But not close enough that it couldn’t be snatched away by the sound of the horn. That primitive hunger still humming through his veins, Zack pushed up off Ferreira and stalked back to his corner.

  * * *

  “What’s that metal thing?” asked Alexa, her eyes glued to Zack. Now that they’d stemmed the bleeding—God, he’d been bleeding a lot—one of the trainers held what looked like a small metal iron against the gash just above his eyebrow.

  “It’s called an enswell,” said Carter. “It helps prevent swelling.”

  “Really? How?” The how didn’t matter, but she needed something to focus on besides the anxiety of seeing Zack bleeding and bruised. She rubbed at her chest, trying to soothe the tense ache centered there. Her eyes scanned over the floor of the octagon, drops of Zack’s blood visible against the pale gray.

  “It’s kept in a bucket of ice water, so it’s chilled,” said Ian, leaning forward, his forearms braced on his thighs. “The cold constricts the capillaries, which decreases blood flow. Decreased blood flow means less swelling.”

  Alexa nodded, still watching Zack. “Is he winning?” she asked, the words like sawdust in her mouth. Although he was bleeding, he’d landed several solid hits and takedowns against his opponent. The fight was close.

  Carter shrugged his big shoulders. “Hard to tell. They’re giving each other hell, though, that’s for sure.”

  She wanted to stop watching the fight, to stop watching Zack get hit, over and over again, but she couldn’t. She’d stay, for him, and watch, no matter what.

  She also wanted to rip his clothes off, wanted to use her body to make him forget about the pain he must be feeling. A primal urge sank its teeth into her, and heat flared up her spine. She wanted Zack again with an intensity that made it hard to think, amplified by the fact that Taylor knew and wasn’t upset with her. She was allowed to want him, and that made her want him even more.

  She glanced over at Zack’s family. They’d been just as confused as everyone else at the sudden change in opponents and had cheered him on—very, very loudly in Donna’s case—but were now quiet as they waited for the next round to start. Mark’s face was pale, lines etched around his eyes. Chris rubbed gentle circles over his mother’s back. Alexa wanted to ask how they were doing, if they were okay, but she didn’t want to intrude.

  The fighters rose from their stools, and Alexa’s stomach clenched, anxious sweat beading along her hairline. She hoped the fight was over soon. Brutal and primitive, and so, so hot, it was almost too much to take. She rubbed her sweaty palms on the skirt of her dress, trying to breathe around the tangle of nerves and lust that made her feel as though she could jump out of her skin.

  * * *

  Zack’s fist slammed into Ferreira’s face, drawing fresh blood as the cut on his cheek reopened. Ferreira grimaced but regrouped quickly and shot his leg out, hitting Zack hard in the right side with a forceful, snapping kick.

  Pain seared through his torso, and his vision blurred around the edges. He staggered back a step, fighting to keep his hands up, and his legs wobbled beneath him. He gasped, all the air sucked from his lungs as if by a vacuum. The octagon spun for a second, and he dropped to one knee, unable to stay on his feet. The kick had hit his liver, hard, and the pain was excruciating.

  Ferreira’s hips swung back, and Zack knew he was lining himself up to send his knee smashing into Zack’s face.

  Zack saw his chance, and he grabbed it, knowing it was a long shot.

  He was out of options and had to cling to hope in order to push through the pain. With a surge of energy, he pushed up to his feet and launched into a spinning kick, as fast and hard as he could. Pouring all his strength and power into the movement, he went for Ferreira’s head, his leg high in the air, pain screaming down his side. With a hard, wet crack, his heel slammed into Ferreira’s jaw.

  Ferreira’s arms dropped to his sides and he fell to the ground like a cut tree.

  It was as though the entire world had slipped into slow motion, and as he lowered his leg back to the ground, all Zack could hear was his own rapid breathing, his own heart pounding in his chest. Sweat and blood trickled down his face, drops earned in the fight. Sharp, hot knives stabbed at his side with each breath.

  The ref pointed at Zack, and for a second all he could feel was shock that the kick had landed and done exactly what he’d wanted it to do. Relieved triumph surged through him, and he raised his arms, letting out a victorious yell. As he loo
ked up, sweat dripped in his eyes, blurring the bright lights into something soft and glorious. He swallowed, his throat thick with the mix of emotions that came with living a moment he’d dreamed of and worked toward for so long.

  As the crowd roared, he hauled himself up on the octagon, straddling the padded top, and once again raised his arms and let out a triumphant yell. His blood rushed through his veins in time with the crowd’s screams, and a surreal incredulity settled over Zack.

  He’d never felt more alive.

  Chapter 19

  The private nightclub in downtown Los Angeles was smaller than Alexa had been expecting, holding only a couple hundred people. A huge marble bar dominated the front, surrounded by a crush of people, many of whom Alexa recognized from Take Down. A row of curved black leather booths lined the wall facing the dance floor, with a cluster of tables off to the other side. At the far end, a DJ worked at a table, blue and yellow lights flashing over the mass of bodies moving in time to the music.

  She followed Carter to the bar, letting him cut a swath through the crowd with his broad shoulders. She craned her neck, looking around. She knew Zack had to shower and get his wounds tended to and might not show for a while, but she looked for him anyway.

  “Was that a hell of a fight or what?” asked Jamie, shouting over the music as he joined Carter and Alexa at the bar. He and Carter exchanged a back-slapping man hug.

  “It was fucking incredible. I thought he was done, and then he pulls that kick out. Unbelievable,” said Carter. “You want a drink?” he asked Jamie.

  “Yeah, sure. I could use a tequila. Or five.” He smiled at Alexa.

  “Can I get a mojito?” she asked, standing up on her toes and shouting to make herself heard.

  Carter nodded and signaled to the bartender. She rocked back on her heels, eyes roving over the club again. She felt kind of awkward, just standing there not saying anything, but the music was so loud that conversation was almost impossible.

  “So Zack’s okay, right?” she asked, shouting up at Jamie.

  Just as the bartender handed her her drink, she felt a pair of arms slip around her from behind.

  “You worried about me, princess?” Zack’s voice slid over her skin like silk, and she arched her back, his breath warm against her ear. Setting her drink down on the bar, she spun around, still in his arms. Even in the dim, flashing lights, she could see that his left eye was black and swollen, the skin an angry reddish purple. The gash along his brow had been stitched up. More bruises colored his left cheekbone, but, battered as he was, he was standing in front of her, solid and warm with an adorably cocky smile on his face. He was wearing a light-blue button-down shirt tucked into a pair of dark jeans, the collar open and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

  Unable to help herself, she slid her hands up his hard chest, and she felt a rumble against her fingers. His grip around her tightened, and he hauled her off her feet and kissed her, his mouth hot and urgent against hers. She knew people were probably staring at them, and she didn’t care. As if she could care about something like being stared at when Zack’s tongue was stroking against hers, sending liquid heat pooling low in her belly. She’d wanted this, exactly this, from the second he’d set foot in that cage.

  After several seconds he set her down, her body sliding along his. She wobbled slightly on her heels and looked up to see that Carter and Jamie were, in fact, staring at them.

  Zack shrugged, cocky smile back in place. “Adrenaline. Sorry.”

  Carter shook his head, smiling. “Yeah, you look real sorry.”

  Zack laughed and shot Alexa a wink before signaling to the bartender and ordering a gin and tonic.

  She tugged on Zack’s arm, and he dipped his head so she could shout into his ear. “Of course I was worried about you. What happened? Why did you have to fight that guy instead of Diaz?”

  He shook his head slowly and shrugged. “I don’t know. Nothing like that’s ever happened to me before.” The bartender set his drink down in front of him, and he picked it up and took a healthy swallow. Already, sweat was beading on the outside of the plastic cup, and she retrieved her own drink.

  “It didn’t seem fair that he was so much bigger than you.”

  “It wasn’t.” He shrugged again and then smiled, that cocky pull of his lips. “Didn’t stop me from winning, though.”

  She ran a hand up his arm, so hard and solid beneath her fingers. “It was hard to watch, but I’m so proud of you.”

  He clinked his cup against hers. “Thanks, princess.”

  She took a sip of her drink and glanced up at him. Tentatively, she reached a hand up and traced the tips of her fingers over the bruises on his cheek. “Does it hurt a lot?” she asked, biting her lip.

  “Nah. It looks worse than it feels.” He moved a bit closer, and his breath was hot against her as he spoke directly into her ear. “I want to kiss you again, right now, so damn bad.”

  Heat flushed through her, and it had nothing to do with the mob of people around them. She caught his earlobe in her teeth and nipped slightly. “Watching you fight…God, Zack, it was so hot.”

  “We’re going to dance,” he shouted to Carter and Jamie. He didn’t give her a chance to say anything before he set their drinks on the bar, grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward the dance floor.

  * * *

  Zack was only half-aware of the high fives, fist bumps, and shoulder slaps he received in congratulation as he tugged Alexa farther into the club. He needed an excuse to put his hands on her, to hold her close, to do something with the adrenaline pumping hot and fast through his veins.

  He felt as though he’d been floating ever since he’d knocked Ferreira out, defying the odds and winning the championship. He’d been floating when the league’s president had slapped that big gold belt around his waist. Floating when he’d answered the journalists’ questions after the fight. Floating when he’d emerged from the arena, his championship belt—later sent home with Jenks for safekeeping—slung over his shoulder. Even the creeping sensation that the fight had somehow been rigged hadn’t been able to bring him down. For tonight he’d push that aside. Tonight was for celebrating.

  And then, with Alexa’s body pressed against his, her voice in his ear telling him he was hot? Yeah, definitely floating.

  Tonight. Fuck, tonight was everything.

  They reached the dance floor, and he slid his arms around her waist and slipped his leg between her thighs. Immediately, they fell into a rhythm, hips rocking from side to side in time with the music pounding through the speakers. He pressed his thigh more firmly into her, and she ground against him, her dress riding up her thighs. He could feel the warmth of her pussy through his pants, and his cock twitched in response. He trailed his hand up her arm and then wove his fingers into her hair, tilting her head back. The cut above his eye was throbbing, and his side, where he’d taken the kick, was tender and almost burned, but he didn’t care. Not with Alexa, so beautiful, so sweet, grinding against him the way she was.

  “You feel so fucking good, princess,” he said into her ear before kissing her, their tongues sliding together, matching the rhythm of their hips, the music, the thrum of his pulse. When he broke the kiss, he could feel several sets of eyes on him, and he glanced over his shoulder. A group of women had danced closer, watching him as he danced with Alexa. Watching him, not her, and one glance down at Alexa told him she’d seen it too.

  Still in his arms, Alexa did a sexy half turn, pressing her ass into his hips, writhing against him in time with the music. Claiming him, showing every other woman in there that she was his, and that he was hers. She leaned forward and circled her hips against him, raking her hands through her hair, and he slid a hand up her spine, imagining how good it would feel to fuck her like this, her ass bouncing against his hips as he lost himself inside her.

  Alexa leaned back against his chest, and as one song blended seamlessly into the next, they kept dancing, swaying together, hips grinding, hands stroki
ng. He lowered his head and caught her warm scent and, unable to help himself, kissed her neck, sucking and nipping at her skin. She arched her back and raised one of her arms, spearing her fingers through his hair. His heart pounded harder as he moved his hips against her in time with the music. Even though he should’ve been exhausted from the fight, he was riding an adrenaline high, and the feeling of Alexa’s body against his as they moved to the music was only pushing him higher.

  Everything—the danger her father posed, his need to keep her safe, how incredible she’d felt beneath him last night, winning the fight—seared through him, and he scraped his teeth along her earlobe. He couldn’t hear her gasp, the music was too loud, but their bodies were pressed so tightly together that he felt it.

  He didn’t know how long they’d been dancing. Three songs? Four? All he knew for sure was that as much as he was enjoying it, it wasn’t enough. He felt so big, so alive, so awake that he craved more. “I need you.” Three little words that contained so much. She turned in his arms, still swaying against him in time to the music. There was no way she couldn’t feel how hard he was, pressed together and grinding the way they were.

  “You can have me, champ,” she said into his ear, her breasts pressed against his chest. “Any way you want me. I’m yours.”

  Mine. The word flashed through him, and he grabbed her hand, holding on to her as they wove their way through the crowd on the dance floor. He’d been to this club before as a bodyguard, so he knew its layout well. Well enough that he knew there was a hallway that ran along the back, containing bathrooms, an office, and, at the very end of the hallway, a small storage closet.

  It wasn’t ideal, but the storage closet would have to do, because if he didn’t get inside Alexa within the next five minutes, he was going to lose his damn mind.

  Alexa let him lead her down the hallway, and as soon as he was sure the coast was clear, he tried the door leading to the closet. He thanked every deity he could think of that it was unlocked. Alexa followed him inside, the door slamming when he cupped her ass, lifted her, and backed her up against it. He fumbled for a light switch, and a dim bulb flickered to life above them. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the faint light, and warmth radiated through his entire body. That warmth was so many things. It was need and hope and joy and…Fuck yeah. He was in love with her.