by Anne Jolin
My resolve cracks at the pleading tone in his voice and I sigh, nodding my head. “Fine.” I really ought to thank Frank for picking up Hannah anyway.
“He’ll be waiting out front.” Tipping my chin up, he kisses me on the forehead. “Be careful, babe.” After he nods at Nikki, he returns into his office.
Grabbing my purse, I look over to see Nikki fighting back a grin.
“It’s a long story,” I say.
“Mhmmm. I bet it is,” she replies saucily.
I sigh, falling in step beside her on our way to the elevators. “It’s nothing.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go around sighing like you’re off the hook with that answer,” she tells me, and I inwardly groan, knowing where this is going. “There’s no way I don’t want to know what’s going on between you and the dragon king.”
Before I can catch myself, the words come rushing out defensively. “Don’t call him that.”
“Hmm,” she hums, pursing her lips together as we step into the elevator. “Nothing my ass.”
Guilty as charged.
When we finally step out onto the sidewalk outside the building, I search for Frank. I’m not sure what I expected him to look like. I suppose I thought he’d be sort of like Alfred from Batman. Boy was I ever wrong.
“Ma’am,” an Irish accent regards.
“Frank?” I clarify, eyebrows raised.
I’ve never had a driver before, but this guy looks like a cross between Jason Statham and The Rock. He’s a little older, maybe early fifties. His hair has been buzzed short and his eyes are covered by black aviators.
“Yes, ma’am,” he nods, opening the door to a black Porsche Cayenne.
Nikki smirks at me again before climbing into the back seat.
“Beth,” I say, holding out my hand. As he shakes my hand, I smile warmly at him. “Thank you for driving my sister yesterday.”
“You’re welcome, love.” He smiles back, gesturing towards the door again.
When I sit down beside Nikki, he shuts the door behind me.
“He gave you his driver?” She laughs.
Smartass. “Oh yeah, ‘cause you’re any better?” I cock an eyebrow at her. “Mrs. My Boss Reserves A Table For Me Every Monday.”
“Touché,” she concedes, pretending to give a mock bow.
The front door opens and Frank slides into the driver’s seat. “Where to, ladies?”
We ended up choosing a restaurant called Mahoney and Sons. It’s on the water, and many of downtown’s business clientele frequent it. We got a booth in the back and hour later, I’d explained everything that had led to my meltdown yesterday. I told her all about the Kyle situation. Well, almost all of it, anyway. I told her that Brax had saved me. I’d simply left out the fact that it had been after a fight he’d starred in. The rest was nothing but the truth. By the time I was done, she was left speechless. Not that I blamed her. It was a lot to take in.
Frank dropped us outside the office building and proceeded to walk us to the elevator. I’d tried to insist that it was unnecessary, but he didn’t budge.
Now that I’m back at in my desk, I scan through my e-mail. One stands out, and I smile. It’s from my cousin, Wyatt.
B,
I tried calling your cell phone, but it went straight to voice mail. I’ll be in your neck of the woods tonight. Dinner?
Miss you oodles!
Xo
Wyatt
I quickly type back a response, letting him know that, for the time being, I don’t have a phone and I’d love to do dinner. My cousin is one of those people who always puts a smile on your face. He’s hilarious, talented, and one of the most fabulous people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. We decide to meet at seven in a trendy little restaurant in the city.
Brax returns from court at around six and I follow him into his office. His eyes are still wild, like a caged animal, and I immediately wish I hadn’t agreed to go out tonight.
Sitting down on the leather couch, he leans back onto the headrest and drapes an arm over his eyes.
I know he’s going to be pissed, but I blurt it out anyway. “I’m going to meet my cousin for dinner tonight, so I won’t need a ride home.”
Instead of the knee-jerk reaction I expected him to have, he answers calmly. “Frank will take you, then. I have a prior engagement in the city anyway.”
“Oh,” I say dumbly.
He doesn’t move from his spot on the couch or say anything else, and I’m starting to feel like an idiot just standing there. He’s incredibly intense or completely aloof, and his mood swings are starting to give me whiplash.
Not bothering to say goodbye, I leave the room and head downstairs to see Frank.
DINNER WITH WYATT was fantastic. It’s always exciting to hear about his newest adventure. Whether it’s Fashion Week in Milan or riding camels in Dubai, he really does live a fabulous life. But he worked tirelessly to get there and I am so proud of him. Despite the company and exquisite food, I was been distracted the entire evening worrying about Brax. He’d looked so far gone when I’d left and the guilt for letting my pride get the better of me was eating me away.
“A nice dinner, love?” Frank asks, opening the door as I step onto the sidewalk.
Smiling, I hand him the take-out bag I was carrying. “I hope you like dessert, Frank.”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”
I almost trip on the curb from laughing so hard while I climb into the SUV. It’s not that it was entirely that funny, but his accent combined with the few glasses of wine I had made it seem pretty dang hilarious.
Frank slides into the driver’s seat and pulls out onto the road. It’s silent for a few minutes before the liquid courage in my veins has me asking about him.
“Where is he?”
I can see Frank eyeing me in the rearview mirror. “He has an engagement.”
“Yes. He said that,” I snap.
The car is silent for a few minutes while he navigates through the dark city streets. Checking the clock on the dash, I realize it’s almost nine. Whatever. I’ll take it. Tomorrow at nine. Clips of Brax’s phone call yesterday evening flash through my brain.
“Who is he meeting?” I ask again.
I don’t miss the way my driver winces. “Ma’am, I—”
“Beth,” I correct him.
“Beth, love, I can’t. He told me not to,” Frank pleads.
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I sit forward, leaning into the open space between the two front seats. “You’re not supposed to tell me where he is?”
When he shakes his head, a sinking feeling washes over me.
“You know, don’t you?”
Frank doesn’t even have to say anything. It’s all over his hard face. It’s not that he’s being disloyal to his boss and friend, but it seems like he doesn’t want to lie to me either.
“That’s why you aren’t supposed to tell me, isn’t it? He’s fighting tonight.” It may have been worded like a question, but it was really more of a statement.
My driver nods.
“Take me there,” I demand, leaning back in my seat.
Pulling the car over to the side of the road, Frank turns around in his seat. “I’m under strict orders to take you home, Beth.”
I hate to pull out the big guns on the poor guy given that he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do it. “Two options,” I say, holding up two fingers. “Option one”—I hold up my index finger—“you take me there. I’m safe and have protection. Option two”—I make a peace sign with my fingers—“I get out of the car right now and try to find it myself. Not safe. No protection.”
He glares at me, running a hand over his buzz cut.
Reaching for the handle, I level my stare at him. “Your choice. What’ll it be?”
Cursing something I don’t understand, he pulls the SUV back out into traffic. I vaguely hear him mumble something along the lines of, “No wonder he likes you.”
&nb
sp; We drive for no more than ten minutes, and when we finally pull up outside, I shudder at the realization of where we are. I guess it never occurred to me that it might be in the same place. As I look down the alley, an onslaught of memories from that night plagues me and the wine in my stomach protests.
Frank parks the car a block away from the alley before coming around to get the door. “Are you sure about this, love?”
Nodding my head and righting my shoulders, I climb out into the warm summer night. Frank holds his elbow out to me and I take it. Then he leads me to what looks like a locked door.
“Where are we going?” I ask, confused.
“Back entrance. Fighters only.”
Hmm. I’d thought the other door was the back entrance.
We walk through a hallway much like the one I entered through that night, and I come to realize how familiar he is with the building.
“Do you come with him to the fights?”
Frank smiles grimly. “I’m his trainer. I come to almost all of them.”
“But not tonight,” I finish for him.
“No, love. Not tonight,” he agrees. “Tonight, I was to watch you.”
We reach another heavy door that opens into what looks like a makeshift dressing room. There are a couple of lockers, a bench, a shitty table on one side, and a shower on the other. Adjacent from the door we entered is another open door, shouts from a screaming crowd dance our way down the long hallway. I hear the familiar tune of “Cinderella Man” by Eminem start to play as we descend down the stairwell at the other end of the hallway.
When we finally reach the light at the end of the nasty hall, I can see him climbing into the ring. The hoodie he’s wearing covers almost all of his face as he begins his turn for the fans. They’re in an absolute uproar from just looking at him. Even I have to admit that he’s utterly captivating this way—my Cinderella. He looks every bit the lethal brawler covered in his maze of tattoos and lean muscle. His entire body is vibrating. He mirrors the way racehorses behave when they’re locked into the gate: a harnessed power waiting to unleash the moment the gun goes off.
The same slimy, bald announcer begins to explain the rules—or lack thereof—to the crowd, and Frank tugs on my elbow, pulling me back a few steps.
“Don’t let him see you until it’s over. Okay, love? He needs this, and he won’t be able to enjoy it if he knows you’re watching.”
Enjoy it.
“This is how he copes…with the anger,” I say out loud, more to myself than to Frank.
“Ya,” he answers back sadly.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I turn to face him. “He’s fighting tonight because of me. This is my fault,” I confess, looking to the floor.
Frank lifts my chin. "That boy feeds on very few things, love.” He nods towards the ring. “He’s a prisoner of bloodlust and a slave to an unhinged rage. He wages a daily war on himself to keep his worlds from colliding. Imagine a constant state of unparalleled turmoil.” The older man pauses, and my heart bleeds for him—my Cinderella. “How the devil in him contends with the angel on his shoulder, I never knew. Until you.”
I furrow my brow in confusion.
“His anger, like the siren’s song, is luring him to wreckage, but you…” He swipes the lone tear from my cheek. “His soul feasts on the light in yours. You’re going to save him. You’re Cinderella’s white knight, even if neither one of you knows it yet.”
“But he saves me…” I trail off softly.
“We’re all just looking for someone to hold hands with in the dark, love. The person whose voice silences the demons waiting for us in the shadows.” Catching another escaped tear, he smiles warmly at me. “The dark is an awfully scary place to be all by one’s self. Why do it alone if we don’t have to?”
The bell sounds, calling my attention to the ring, and the hungry crowd erupts as the first blood is spilled.
IT’S AN EQUAL battle inside me. There’s a part of me that wants to tear into the ring and drag him out, but there’s an equal part of me that stays rooted in place, marvelling at the way he moves. He’s lethal. Lethal and utterly brilliant—such a deadly combination.
Tonight’s opponent, whose name I missed, is another brute. He’s a six foot, black man with veins bulging from his no-doubt steroid-induced muscles, and over every inch of his body, crawling all the way up his neck, are tattoos. They darken his already dark skin, and the result is terrifying.
There’s less calculation, less control in Brax tonight. He’s beating the anger from his soul straight into his opponent’s face. Instead of waiting for the man to come to him, he’s in full-on attack mode. Jabs, crosses, and hooks land in his opponents face, ribs, and stomach. He’s relentless, never letting up for a second as he ruthlessly allows the other man no surrender.
A knee in the stomach followed by an elbow to the face drops the opposing fighter to the ground and the crowd starts to chant.
“One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.”
The gasp that escapes my mouth is uncontrollable as I watch the man begin to crawl to his knees. Then, with the help of the surrounding ropes, he pulls himself up to his feet.
“Seven.”
Brax has turned his back away in a cocky display of power, his chest heaving as he looks out over the array of blood-sucking individuals in the crowd.
The opponent, who I’ve now come to know as The Sheriff, moves swiftly. Too swiftly for someone who had such trouble getting up moments ago. Brax realizes too late that the other fighter has stood up, and The Sherriff lands a brutal, illegal blow to the middle of Brax’s back. A kidney shot.
Brax bares his teeth, sucking in air through his clenched jaw. The Sherriff spins him roughly by the shoulder and lands a cross right on Brax’s eye. He shuts them in a fury, and I can see the water pouring from his eye. His opponent takes advantage of Brax’s distress, connecting another fist to his other eye.
“What is happening?” I shout at Frank over the crowd. “He won’t open his eyes!”
He scowls at the ring but answers without hesitation. “Chili peppers.”
“What?!” I scream, my eyes darting between him and the ring, where Brax is getting pounded repeatedly against the ropes.
Frank leans down closer to my ear. “Some of the fighters rub chili peppers on their wraps.” His words make my jaw drop open. “They temporarily blind people’s eyes due to the stinging.”
“How can they—” I start to chirp.
“No rules, love,” he says matter-of-factly, looking much too unfazed by the fight’s horrific turn.
I start to walk out of the shadows, but Frank puts his arm out in front of me, shaking his head.
“He’ll be fine. Always is.”
Dragging my eyes back to the ring, I watch. It’s like a train wreck, and I’m unable to look away. Brax has his hands up to defend his face as he takes multiple shots to the stomach. His inked abs clench tight as each punch ricochets off them like bullets.
During the split second in which The Sherriff pulls away to coil himself for another hit, Brax explodes in a fury of violence. Grabbing his opponent on the back of his head, he slams it down on his knee. His eyes are red, no doubt from the peppers, and it only makes him look crazier as he stalks towards his stumbling opponent, the devil’s grin etched on his beautiful face.
Once he reaches the kneeling dark-skinned man, he grips him by the arm, yanking him to his feet. There looks to be an exchange of words, but I’m too far to hear it and reading lips isn’t a skill set I’ve ever possessed.
Brax’s right arm retreats back before his fist cracks down over the side of The Sheriff’s face, his opponent’s limp body falling to the floor. The crowd begins to count again.
“One. Two. Three.”
I feel overwhelmed with the urge to touch him as he prowls the ring and turns slowly for the fiends.
“Four. Five.”
Pushing past Frank’s arm, this time meeting less resistance, I step out from the shadows of the ha
llway.
“Six. Seven. Eight.”
Brax completes his final turn, his brilliantly tattooed chest still panting for air and his eyes a wild sea.
“Nine.”
And then he sees me…
“Ten.”
The fat, bald announcer lifts Brax’s arm in the air, declaring Cinderella Man’s victory, his undefeated title still intact. I barely hear any of it though. I’m entrapped by a grey stare and my already wildly beating heart is begging to be freed from its cage.
As he climbs out of the ring, his eyes never leave mine. Not even when the fans claw at him, when they shout at him, when they throw themselves at him. He sees nothing but me as he stalks like a lion towards the hallway.
He’s nearly ten feet away when the invisible chord to my inhibitions snaps and I break free. Frank doesn’t even try to stop me as I take off in a run, my heels clacking over the concrete prison like floor but drowning in the sea of screams around us. Launching myself into his arms when I reach him, I feel at peace. It’s such an odd feeling to have in the middle of such chaos, but it is peace nonetheless that floods my system as his arms wrap around my back and my arms snake around his neck.
“Babe,” is all he says as he continues to walk with me in his arms.
I devour his lips with mine, nipping and sucking feverishly. When the light behind my eyelids darkens, I know we’ve left the arena and ascended into the hallway stairwell. Pulling away, I rest my forehead on his while I catch my breath.
“I needed to see you,” I confess. “Please don’t be mad at Frank. I made him bring me.”
Cupping my face with his wrapped, bloody hands, he runs a thumb over my bottom lip. “I’m not mad, babe.”
I wrap my legs around his waist as he sits down on the locker room bench.
“I wish you hadn’t seen me that way though.” He hangs his head.
I run my hands over his sweaty chest and up into his messy hair, tugging slightly and tipping his head back. “Each and every side of you is perfect, Braxton. Even the side that’s a complete asshole sometimes.”