An announcer was already introducing the fight. "In the camouflage trunks, our very own underground knock-out heavyweight champion, undefeated in eight consecutive fights, Marshall "The Law" Fowler!"
The crowd cheered and whistled for the clear favorite. I watched as a thick man with a shaved head walked around the perimeter of the cage, acknowledging his fans, making his way to the center. Aston pulled me with him, toward a roped off area, some kind of makeshift VIP space that was apparently reserved for important people like him.
"Do you have money on the fighters?" I asked Aston, who was only half listening to me. His grip on my arm tightened absently. Aston had a number of vices, and I knew gambling was one of them. What I really wondered was whether this was a new business venture. Dealing in flesh came naturally to Aston.
"There's always money on everything, doll, didn't you know that?" Aston asked. "Of all people, you should know that."
Of all people. Of course I knew that. I was his prized possession, after all.
Standing in the middle of the ring, the announcer looked from one fighter to the other, and then announced "Fight!" before exiting the cage.
The fighters circled each other, each looking for an opportunity to strike. Sweat glistened on the length of their bodies, their sinewy muscles rippling, causing light to glint off them under the dim lights in the warehouse. The bald fighter in the camouflage shorts was turned in my direction, his face revealing that this wasn't the first fight he'd seen.
I couldn't see the other guy's face. But he was tall, lean, and carried thick muscles around his neck and shoulders. The way he stood and moved reminded me of a Muay Thai fighter. His movement was fluid, calculated, and he had a leanness that came from hours and hours of working out. A large tattoo covered his back- an emblem and the words "Inferno Motorcycle Club" at the top. I could see tattoos covering the length of both arms, on his calves, and I wondered if they covered his chest as well.
He sidestepped a sudden onslaught of swings from the man in the camouflage shorts, never stopping his rhythmic movement.
But when he turned, I saw his face. I recognized him, or I thought I did. I squinted at him, staring like an idiot. It wouldn't be him. The odds were astronomically high.
But it was. I was sure of it. It was the man from the casino, the one who had been wearing slacks and a collared shirt, looking every inch the corporate employee. Except for the fact that even then his shirt sleeves had been rolled up to reveal his tattoos. And the look in his eyes that day, when he saw the lashes on my arms, that scared me. There was a darkness there, anger that made me afraid to imagine what was going through his mind.
I held my breath, glanced at Aston to see if he'd noticed. He'd been so far away, that day in the casino, there was no way he'd actually seen the man's face. I waited for Aston to recognize him, but he didn't seem to.
His opponent in the camouflage shorts had managed to work him backwards towards the chain-link of the cage, pushing him against it while striking at it him from the knees. My breath caught in my throat as he took a few shots, then I felt myself exhale as he spun quickly, and backed away.
The crowd threw out a few "boos," expecting more action from the fighters, I supposed. I heard a few of his friends, dressed in leather like the bouncer at the door- bikers- shout. "Come on Hammer, let go already!"
Hammer.
It didn't seem to faze him. He continued to move around the cage, and seemed satisfied to let his opponent bring the fight to him.
He didn't have to wait long.
As he circled backwards, the bald man ducked low and dove at his foot as it was catching his weight. Caught on his heel, Hammer was already falling backwards, and the large man in the camouflage landed rapid blows on his face and torso. My heart thumped loudly in my chest as I watched Hammer put up his hands to cover his head, then bring up a knee to push his opponent slightly off of him.
As the man took another swing at him, Hammer latched onto his arm and pulled it straight, while throwing his free leg up and across the man's face. Lightning-fast, he extended his torso, putting his opponent immediately on the defensive, and in obvious pain, as his frantic movements demonstrated. His opponent grabbed his ankle and was able to duck under it, relieving the tension on his arm; and both men scrambled for an advantage, before breaking away from each other and returning to their feet.
There were no "boos" now. The air was electric. The crowd was on its feet, energized by the flurry of action, mesmerized as Hammer approached his opponent, feinting throwing a punch, only to turn his torso and quickly deliver a kick to the other man's thigh. The slap of the strike could be heard even above the roar of the crowd.
Hammer's opponent immediately recoiled and stumbled backwards as the crowd began chanting his name, encouraging him. It seemed to give him a burst of energy, and he gestured at Hammer to come at him.
The two men circled, staring each other down like animals ready to fight over a kill. One of Hammer's biker friends yelled from the side. "Hey Hammer, kind of looks like Tink's long-lost brother, don't you think?"
I had no idea what their words meant, but it seemed to have an effect on Hammer, and I wasn't sure it was a good one. He just stood there, frozen.
The man in camouflage shorts sensed an opportunity, moving with lightning speed to deliver a knockout punch. I held my breath, silently willing Hammer to move.
And then he did.
In a single fluid movement, he ducked the punch, dropped low, and was in mid-extension with a strike of his own. His opponent's momentum carried him into the oncoming blow, and the impact was tremendous. Striking him squarely in the sternum, Hammer stopped the man's movement immediately, driving him to his knee while the man fought desperately to get a breath of air.
Hammer delivered a knee to the man's face, knocking him to the floor in a shower of blood. My heart pounded as I watched him straddle the man, delivering rapid and vicious blows to his head.
The fighter on the floor lay still, motionless, and I wondered for a moment if he were dead. He was bloody, his face a mass of pulpy purple that I couldn't bear to look at. I felt my heart racing, beating wildly in my chest. My hands were tight, clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palm.
I heard Aston yelling beside me. "Get the fuck up, Law! Jesus Christ, you fucking pussy!"
Hammer stood up, and three men clad in leather were on him, pulling him out of the cage. Then the announcer spoke. "Your winner - the Inferno's very own Hammer!"
The roar of the crowd was deafening, but it was background noise to me as I watched Hammer exit the cage. I was shaken by what I had just witnessed. Hammer was clearly a rage-fueled animal, but I couldn’t help but wonder, what the hell was a biker doing working some corporate casino job? And fighting on the weekends?
The other fighter finally lay motionless on the ground. A group of men surrounded him and placed him on a stretcher. I was unsure whether his destination was the hospital or the morgue.
Aston was close to me, his grip tight on my arm. "Fucking worthless piece of shit," he yelled, his face close to my ear, but I could barely hear him over the noise in the room. "Just cost me eighty grand."
I didn't want to listen to Aston bitch about his loss of a bet. I didn't want to take my eyes off the biker. "I'm sorry," I murmured to Aston as he gripped my arm tighter. Then, my voice louder: "Who is he?"
"I don't fucking know," Aston said. "But I need to find out. That guy is a fucking beast."
Yes, I thought, he certainly seems like one.
I didn't know what to make of the secret thrill I felt rush through my body at the memory of his touch. Or of what I felt when the biker was led by a couple of guys from his biker club, clad in leather with the club emblem on the back.
A few feet away from me, Hammer looked up, and his eyes met mine.
And time stood still for a moment.
I didn't know what to make of the flush that came to my face, the way my heart leapt when I looked into his eyes.<
br />
ATTACHMENT
Whence she who saw me, clearly as myself,
To calm my troubled mind, before I ask'd,
Opened her lips, and gracious thus began.
~ Paradise, by Dante Alighieri, Canto I (Cary's translation)
Two of the brothers from the club held me, one on either side, gripping my arms, and I stumbled as they helped me out of the ring. That asshole had gotten in a couple of good swings at me, and I was pretty sure my nose was broken. I could feel blood dripping down my face, but I couldn't feel any pain. All I could feel was the blood pumping in my ears, and the vague din of the crowd like they were at a distance.
I was exhausted, but felt more alive than I had in a long time, since back when I was a member of the Inferno MC - not in the later days, when Mad Dog's poison had begun to permeate everything in the club, but in the early, youthful days, when April and I were still in that heady newlywed phase and I'd just joined the club. Back then, everything was great. Back in those days, life hadn't begun to wear me down. Back then, Mad Dog had yet to take away everything I held most dear.
But right now? Now I felt the rush of adrenaline, that rush I'd glimpsed for the briefest of moments when I was exacting my vengeance on Tink. It was the same feeling I'd had when I thrust my knife into Mad Dog and watched the life begin to drain from his eyes. But both of those times, that feeling was extinguished quickly, blotted out by the reality of what I was doing- taking my vengeance on the men responsible for April's death. That knowledge was too weighty, too dark to allow me to feel much of anything other than rage.
But for the briefest of moments, I felt what I felt now, the sense of clarity, the feeling that everything in the entire world was falling into place, coming together exactly as it should be. All of my senses were heightened, sharpened by the thrill of the fight. In the middle of the ring, when my fist connected with the fighter's face over and over again, I felt lost in the moment, like there was nothing else but what I was doing right then that mattered.
I felt fucking powerful.
Fucking omnipotent. Like a god.
I didn't feel pain, even though I knew I was hurt. Right now, I was invincible. Nothing and no one could touch me.
As the brothers pulled me away from the ring, I looked up and my eyes met hers. It took me a moment to recognize her, even though she stood out from the crowd like a sore thumb. She definitely didn't belong here in this shitty warehouse, with that asshole, the one who had probably left the marks on her.
Even standing there in jeans and a plain shirt, she looked more regal than if she'd have been wearing an evening gown. She couldn't have blended in if she tried. It was something about the way she stood there, tall, proud...haughty, I thought. Like she was royalty. Her long black hair swept over her shoulders in waves. She was tiny, petite, but there was something about her presence that was larger than life. She could command a room, I thought, bring a man to his knees with a single glance. I knew it about her instantly.
The man beside her, a different one than I'd seen with her at the casino, put his hand on her arm and leaned in close to her, saying something in her ear. She didn't respond, and her eyes stayed focused on mine.
And then someone stepped between us, in my line of sight, and the moment was gone. The brothers were guiding me away from the crowd toward the back of the warehouse, a back room somewhere, and when I looked in her direction a few seconds later, she was talking to the man at her side.
As I walked away from her, I found myself unable to get her out of my head.
Those eyes.
And then, just like that, a flash of guilt. I had no business, thinking about her the way that I had. Looking at her like that. April was my wife. She had my loyalty. Forever. It was part of who I was as a man. I couldn’t escape it.
"Holy fuck, Hammer, that was some shit, man!" Skunk slapped my back. "I always knew you could throw down, but holy sweet Jesus, that was nuts!"
"Just a fight man," I said. "Nothing but a fight. And don't think I didn't hear your fucking Tink comment, cocksucker." I turned and looked him in the eye, and he backed off.
"Man, I was just throwing a little motivation your way," he said. "You seemed a little tied up in your head out there, and I was a concerned, is all. And besides, I put a nice chunk of cash on you winning tonight. So don't get all pissed off crazy on me. I made enough tonight to get a brand new sled."
Pipes rolled in and gave me a slap on the shoulder. "That was some of the most savage shit I think I've ever seen, man. He's breathing again by the way, just in case you wanted to know."
I shrugged. I guessed it was good I didn't kill him. I knew I should be glad I hadn't.
I felt a twinge of pain in my shoulder. Probably just a strain or something. Doc, one of the brothers who used to be some kind of military EMT - I didn’t exactly ask him for his fucking credentials- noticed my grimace and squatted down beside me where I sat in the old beat up chair in the back room of the warehouse. He probed my shoulder with his hands, manipulating it, and I groaned involuntarily.
“Shit, quit fucking doing that, Doc,” I said.
“Just need to make sure you’re not dislocated,” he said.
“Well, I’m not. It’s my nose that’s the goddamn problem,” I said. “It’s been broken before, I’m sure it’s broken now, so let’s get this shit over with.”
When he reset my nose, I nearly punched him. "Fuck!" I yelled. "That hurt like a sonofabitch."
"Sorry, man," Doc said, stepping away from me. "You could have gone to the hospital. You know, if you wanted to be a pussy." He grinned.
Pipes handed me a bottle of cheap whiskey, and I took a swig of it, grateful for the alcohol after the fight and getting worked over by Doc. I looked at Doc. "Be glad Pipes gave me this, or I would have beat your ass, too."
"Anytime, brother," Doc said, but there was no malice in his voice. And there shouldn't be, shit, with as small of a guy as Doc was. He sure as hell hadn't been an infantry guy in the military. He was on the short side, with a smaller frame. It would be no match between the both of us.
"Brother," I said. "I haven't heard that in a while."
"Shit, man," Skunk said. "You need to think about coming out of retirement. Come over to the clubhouse, bring the bike this time, and seriously, any repairs are on me."
I nodded. It felt good to be called brother. Shit, it felt good to kick someone's ass. I just didn't know about getting back on the bike. It felt like if I did that, I was right back in the club, and I didn't know about that shit. How the hell was I going to be a good father to MacKenzie if I was back in the club again? I needed to get her back from Puerto Rico, and getting wrapped up in a bunch of club bullshit wasn't going to be the way to do that. "Yeah, well, thanks man. I'll think it over."
All of the pain was setting in, and my body was sore. My face hurt. My head was throbbing, now that the adrenaline rush had subsided. I was tired too, dead tired, and all I wanted at that moment was to sleep.
I was going to look like a hell of a mess going to work tomorrow, which I was sure was going to raise some questions. By now, my work knew I wasn't exactly like all the other fucking hackers in the office, these pasty white tech geeks who sat under fluorescent lights and subsisted on a steady diet of caffeine and sugar. Those guys saw daylight on the way to their vehicles, if they even left work. I think most of them slept at the office.
I wasn’t one of them and they were fucking terrified of me. I saw the glances and raised eyebrows. It didn’t exactly help that my boss was a contact of Benicio’s, and when Benicio heavily suggested you to do something, you did it, whether you liked it or not. So, the boss was a little scared of me too.
Anyway, fuck it. This shit, the beat up nose and all the rest of it, would only add to my legendary status around the office. I liked the guys I worked with, but it was also kind of fun to fuck with them.
It couldn't have even been thirty minutes after I was done with the fight when Big Mike barged through the
door. "Hey Hammer," he said. "Helluva fight, man. You and me should get together sometime. I'll go over some technique with you." He gave a nod to the guy standing beside him. "One of the high rollers here wants an audience."
And there he was, the fuckstain I'd just seen holding onto her arm.
Her.
The girl from the casino.
I found myself looking past him, looking for her. She wasn't there. Why the fuck did I feel disappointed all of a sudden?
"You," the man said, not moving from where he stood, wearing his designer jeans and a polo shirt. Christ, a polo shirt. He looked like he should be playing - whatever the hell rich people played - cricket or something. I glanced at the brothers, who stood there in the room, their hands crossed over their chests, unmoving. I thought I saw Skunk roll his eyes.
The man spoke again. "You cost me eighty grand."
I shrugged, felt the twinge of pain in my shoulder again. I didn't know who the fuck this guy thought he was, or what he wanted, walking in here like he owned the place. Christ, did he want me to fucking apologize or something? "That's what happens when you bet on the wrong guy."
A slow smile spread over his face, but there was no pleasantness in it. I knew this guy’s type, without even needing to think about it. Some rich guy, slumming it here by watching real men beat the living hell out of each other. I didn’t fucking like it, and I wasn’t in a desperate position here. At least not financially, I thought. Emotionally was a whole different ballgame. But I wasn’t dependent on this fighting shit to survive. So I wouldn’t be easily intimated.
Oh, hell, I wouldn’t be easily intimidated even if I were broke and fighting to survive. It wasn’t in my nature.
"Eighty grand isn’t exactly something to laugh about,” he said.
Breaking Hammer (Motorcycle Club Romance) (Inferno Motorcycle Club Book 3) Page 7