Strong Hold

by Sarah Castille

  But Zack is back, and I don’t know how to fit him into my life.

  Zack’s face softens. “That wasn’t fair of me,” he says quietly, mistaking my silence for an admonition. “I can’t stand the thought of someone else making you happy. I can’t bear the thought that you loved someone other than me.” He digs into his pocket and pulls out a bracelet. “Viv sent this. She said there was more than enough love to go around. I think the message was more for me than for you.”

  I take the beautiful bracelet, a fine silver band with deep blue and violet beads interspersed with silver charms and a single silver heart. “It’s lovely,” I say, sliding it over my hand. “How is she?”

  “She’s good.” His jaw tenses, and he looks away. “She’s having tests, because she’s been very tired, but I’m sure it’s because she’s been overdoing it. Ever since she went into remission, she’s determined to squeeze every second out of life.”

  Suddenly, all the pain and heated words between us don’t matter. Zack has always been very respectful of his sisters’ privacy. If he’s telling me about her tests, then he’s more than worried; he’s scared.

  “She’s strong. And she has you.” I wrap my arms around him. Our bodies cleave together, our connection snapping back into place with every shared beat of our hearts. This is how it always was with us. Touch brought us together. Touch bridged the gap between us. Touch spoke the words that we could not always say.

  “Shayla?” Reg’s voice echoes in the courtyard.

  “He’s coming back,” I whisper. “Why is he coming back?”

  “Because he’s a fucking shark and he smells blood in the water,” Zack growls. “He promises to make all your dreams come true, and it’s only when the dust settles that you realize you’ve signed away your soul.”

  “Is MEFC so different?”

  “I’m different.” He covers my mouth in a searing kiss. “I won’t lie to you. You’re not ready. No matter what I had riding on that contract, I wouldn’t sign you now, because you would get hurt if you stepped into that ring with fighters who are at the top of their game. But we can get you there. And when we do, you can fight for MEFC.” He hesitates. “If you want.”

  I acknowledge his concession with a smile. “We?”

  “You and me, sweetheart. I’m here for you in any way you need me to be.”

  “There you are.” Reg rounds the corner, all casual, like we weren’t wrapped around each other in the dark.

  Releasing me, Zack greets Reg with an irritated nod. “Thought you had the good sense to give up.”

  “Thought you’d have the good sense not to resort to the same old tricks,” Reg counters. “Especially not after what happened last time.”

  I shoot Zack a questioning look, but his entire focus is on Reg.

  “Were you looking for me?” I step out of the shadows, put my game face on.

  “Don’t fall for his bullshit.” Reg hands me an envelope. “You’re an outstanding fighter. And we’re not the only promotion who sees your potential. Beat Gordon, and you’ll have options, but you’ll see that Radical Power has one of the most fighter-friendly contracts in the business. We don’t need to resort to dirty tricks to get you to sign. And we don’t disrespect our fighters. I thought you might want to take a peek at the contract. Use it as motivation. If you sink Gordon, I’ve got a few things to sweeten the deal.”

  “Thanks.”

  He takes a few steps away, then looks back over his shoulder. “Don’t jump into anything for the wrong reasons. Make sure you do what’s best for you.”

  “He seems nice,” I say after Reg is out of earshot, solely to wind Zack up. But my head is spinning. My dream is in reach, but Zack thinks I’m not ready for it. Zack who, apparently, has been sleeping with the fighters he’s been recruiting. Fighters like me.

  “He’s not.”

  I toy with Viv’s bracelet. “So you never seduced a female fighter to get her to sign a contract?”

  Zack scrubs his face with his hands. “It’s a very competitive business. We do what we have to do to make the deal happen. Sometimes women…fighters…enjoy spending time with us to…get a…perspective on…what it could be like.”

  “So that’s a yes,” I say flatly. “Is that what you’ve been doing with me?”

  “Jesus Christ. No. Of course not.” He looks so annoyed, I believe him.

  “Do you want to give me a ride home?” I reach for his hand. “I have a death wish tonight. If we make it in one piece, I might have a bottle of cinnamon whiskey that I’d be willing to share over a late-night crime show.”

  “You’re still watching those shows?” Zack never shared my interest in crime shows, but I loved them because they made me feel closer to my father.

  “Crime never sleeps, and neither do I when I’m all wound up.”

  Zack throws a casual arm around my shoulder. “It will be like old times. The only thing missing will be your mom pounding on your bedroom door to tell you to turn off the television and go to sleep or Matt yelling that he knew I was there.”

  It turns out not to be like old times, because we have sex on the couch, and he uses the door instead of the window when he leaves at the first light of dawn to get in a workout before we start our morning training session.

  And I don’t tell him one hundred times that I love him.

  20

  Shayla

  “I kicked ass in the underground on Thursday night.” I have cornered Torment at the snack bar in Redemption, incredibly without any fear for my safety. I don’t know where this courage has come from, but I am determined to make my case. “Evil Elsa is ranked higher than me on the amateur circuit. If I had beaten her in a sanctioned fight, I would be in the running again for the finals.”

  Torment lifts a warning I-don’t-like-to-be-cornered eyebrow, but I’m not moving. His only option for escape would involve knocking over the potted palm beside him, and he has too much class to do something like that.

  “I want you to put me back on the circuit,” I say into the silence. “TVA Promotion is holding a fight in three weeks at the Kezar Pavilion. It’s a small event, but Carla Gordon will be there. She’s ranked number ten. If I beat her, I might still have a shot at the finals.”

  “You’re in my way.”

  I stiffen my spine, swallow hard. I just won an underground fight against a much higher-ranked opponent. I broke into a boathouse and had crazy rough sex in a public place with a man I hated until a few weeks ago. I can handle Torment.

  “A recruiter from Radical Power was there. He came out to the Protein Palace to talk to me. He says if I beat Gordon, they’ll make me an offer.”

  “Who?”

  “Reg Knight.”

  Torment snorts. “He’s lying.”

  “Maybe he is. Maybe he’s not. All I know is there’s a chance out there, and I want to take it. Get me on the card for the fight.” With crazy determination, I plant myself in Torment’s path and try not to look at his thunderous scowl. “Please. I called, and it’s too late to get on the card, but they’ll do it for you if you call before noon.”

  His gaze drops to my feet, and I take an involuntary step back as if my feet are powerless to resist his force of will.

  “It’s not my call. Slayer is your head coach.” More glaring at my feet. More steps back. When he is finally “uncornered,” he strides past me and down the hall, forcing me to run to catch up and feed his alpha ego.

  “Slayer and I had a difference of opinion about the fight last night, and I can’t get in touch with him this morning. He was supposed to be here, but I can’t find him and he’s not answering my texts.”

  “Your inability to communicate with your coach isn’t my problem,” he barks without looking back. “But talk to Sandy. They came in together about an hour ago. Maybe she knows where he went.”

  “Oh.” My
feet stop following Torment around and freeze on the floor.

  He looks back, and he must see something in my face, because he says, “Ah.” And not in a now-you-realize-you-should-have-been-in-touch-with-your-coach kind of way but in a didn’t-you-know-about-Sandy? kind of way. At least I think that’s why his face softens the tiniest bit.

  “You asked him to be your coach, so you need to respect his opinion. If you don’t want him as your coach, then you can ask me again.” He frowns. “Nicely.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” I say, although I’m not sure why I’m thanking him except for ruining my day by telling me about Sandy and Zack. Did he go straight to her place after mine?

  After sending another text to Zack letting him know the promotion might be convinced to let me on the card if they hear from him or Torment by noon, I head into the gym to find Sandy.

  “Well, look who’s decided to join us.” Stan’s sarcastic snort is audible through Redemption’s cardio section when I step onto the treadmill between Blade Saw and Sandy. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence thirty minutes late on a Monday morning,” he continues. “Why don’t you just jump right in without a warm-up? Always good for tearing muscles and ligaments.”

  “Did you see Slayer this morning?” I whisper to Sandy.

  “He came over to my place first thing, and we lost track of time. I missed the first few minutes of class because of him.” She gives me a self-satisfied smile, and my stomach heaves.

  “I think I need that warm-up after all.” I head over to the stretching area and sit on the mat. What the hell was he doing with Sandy? Was Reg right about Zack? Am I just meant to be another notch in his recruitment belt, or is he genuinely interested in rekindling our relationship?

  “So, what did Sandy say to piss you off?” Doctor Death joins me on the mat, and Sadist follows a few moments later.

  “Why do you think she said something to annoy me?”

  “You had the look.”

  “What look?”

  “The Sandy-pissed-me-off look.” He scrunches his face into something between a glare and a scowl. “Like this.”

  “Funny.” I glare at Doctor Death and also at Sadist behind him, who is laughing a little too hard. “Very funny. Such a comedian. I’m in stitches.”

  “Were you fighting over Slayer?” Doctor Death asks. “I saw her draped over him this morning in the snack bar. Was she poaching your man?”

  “He’s not my man.”

  “Shame.” Doctor Death shakes his head. “He was the first guy you’ve been with that we could actually respect. Not like that sniveling Richard, the cord-wearing performance artist who drove a gray Ford Taurus, the dullest car on the planet, and couldn’t have a beer with us because he couldn’t handle fizz.”

  “He didn’t snivel,” I huff, regretting yet again my poor decision to introduce a few of my hookups to the guys at Redemption.

  “I don’t snivel either,” Doctor Death says. “Are you free tonight?”

  “I have to work.”

  “How about tomorrow? We can play doctor. I have all the right equipment.”

  I hear a growl. And then he’s gone.

  Zack slams Doctor Death down on the mat. Then he fists Doctor Death’s shirt and shakes him back and forth like a rag doll. Doctor Death scrambles to his feet and curses in medicalese, referencing certain parts of Zack’s anatomy that are off-limits in sanctioned fights. He charges Zack, and the fight begins.

  “Well, that’s your name scratched off the singles list again.” Sadist sighs. “I was gonna set you up with my friend Gino. Only guy I know, other than Zack, who is worthy of you.”

  “As far as I know, I’m still single.” I watch Zack and Doctor Death grapple on the mat, but I make no move to intervene. They are both big boys. They know the consequences of fighting outside the ring. And I’m pretty damn sure Torment will be storming into the gym any minute to take them to task.

  Sadist gives me a sympathetic pat. “Once Doctor Death puts the moves on a woman, it’s a sign that she’s taken. He can’t help it. He’s instinctively attracted to women he can’t have—Makayla, Amanda, Sia, even my Penny—and the guy who shows up to beat the shit out of him is the one.”

  “The one?”

  “Your one. Slayer is telling you he cares.”

  “I’d like it better if he said it with flowers.”

  A few short minutes later, Torment arrives and rips Zack and Doctor Death apart. Zack makes a beeline straight for me amid the cheers of the Redemption crowd. Everyone loves an illegal fight.

  He stops a foot away from me, chest puffed out, preening like he just won the title belt. He’s wearing a bright-blue T-shirt that clings to his pecs and a pair of navy-blue gym pants that sit low on his narrow hips. On another man, the casual attire would have made him look soft, but with the hard muscles rippling beneath his clothing and the five-o’clock shadow darkening his jaw, he’s all raw power. All man. And, if I want to take the chance, all mine.

  “Was that really necessary?” I ask him when Sadist and the guys have finished with the hand slapping, fist bumping, and shoulder thumping and returned to training under Torment’s watchful scowl.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Zack gives an irritated sigh. “I heard him. He was trying to get in your pants.”

  “No one takes him seriously. He’s a man whore. That’s what they do.” I fix him with an admonishing glare, but Zack doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Not to my woman.”

  “Apparently, Sandy is your woman.” I fold my arms across my chest. “I wondered why you were in such a rush to leave this morning. But I heard you went straight to her place from mine.”

  Zack’s brow creases with a frown. “Sandy? I stopped at her place after leaving you to drop off some documents for her parents. They run a charity for underprivileged kids, and Sandy asked me to be a sponsor. It was on my way, and I didn’t want our training session to be interrupted today. She had a few more things for me to sign, and then I gave her a lift to the gym.”

  My cheeks flame. Oh God. I thought he was screwing me over, when really he was doing a good deed. “That’s all?”

  “That’s all.” His lips quirk at the corners. “Did you think—”

  “No.” I cut him off quickly. “Of course not.”

  He tucks a rogue lock of hair behind my ear, and his voice drops to a sensual purr. “Tell me again how you thought I was with Sandy.”

  “Zachary Grayson. Do not tell me you get off on my jealousy.”

  A slow smile spreads across his face. “You admit you were jealous.”

  “Even if I was, I wouldn’t tell you, because your ego is already so big, I have to step around it.”

  He leans forward and whispers in my ear. “That’s not the only big thing I’ve got.”

  I tip my head back and groan, but I feel his words as a delicious throb in my core. “How about we get back to being professional?”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Professionals don’t slack off, miss their cardio workout, and stand around jibber-jabbering with their friends.”

  “I had to talk to Torment about the TVA event,” I say defensively. “If you call them before noon…”

  “No.”

  “No?” I shake off his hand. “You saw the fight on Thursday night. I kicked Evil Elsa’s ass. If I win the TVA fight, I might have a shot at the finals and a professional contract.”

  “You’re not ready. You aren’t willing to put yourself out there.”

  “Are you crazy? There’s nothing I want more.”

  Zack makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “You forget I know you. I watched you take risks most kids wouldn’t take—biking down Devil’s Hill, swinging on a rope over Fisher’s Creek, climbing out on the roof, rolling under a train car to meet me, dancing until your feet were blee
ding and I had to carry you home, and that time you jumped across the stage, not knowing if the male dancer they hired had the skill and strength to catch you…”

  He shakes his head, and I can’t help but feel nostalgic for the days where fear was my friend and not my enemy.

  “Those are the kind of risks you need to take if you want to win,” he continues. “You need to be willing to be vulnerable, to get hurt. If you can open yourself up, your opponent will let her guard down. Right now, you’re so focused on defense, you are missing the benefits of an offensive position. I watched the videos of your fights. Most of your points came when you were defending and your opponent slipped up. Yes, you were quick to seize the opportunity, but at this level, you need to make the opportunities. You need to be the one in control, but you’re still afraid to take that next step.”

  My breath leaves me in a rush, and I feel his words as a stab of truth in my heart. I learned to fight so I could defend myself if I was ever in a bad situation again. I didn’t learn to fight to become a fighter. What if I’ve been doing the right thing for the wrong reason? What if this is as far as I can go?

  “Shay? Talk to me.”

  He reaches for me, and I back away, trying to process everything he has said. Why did no one ever see what he sees? Why didn’t I?

  “What are we practicing today? Do you want me in the training area or on the mats?” I take the maelstrom of emotion that is threatening to overwhelm me and lock it away. If I don’t distract myself quickly, I’m going to crack.

  A pained expression crosses his face. “Mats. We’ll do submission flow drills from half guard. How long do you have?”

  Submissions. I would laugh at the irony, but it’s taking all my effort not to run out the door. “Cheryl is coming to pick me up for work at noon,” I mumble.

  We walk to the mats, and Zack explains the moves he wants to practice and where he thinks I can improve. I lie on my back on the floor, and he straddles my right leg, then leans over my body to grab my left arm to demonstrate the three moves that put pressure on an opponent’s arm. He drops his weight, and I shudder as something snaps inside me. He is warm and solid and safe, and every breath I take is filled with the scent of him.