Against the Ropes

by Sarah Castille

  taking away my choice, my control.

  He reaches for the doorknob.

  “Agusta,” I whisper.

  Max freezes. He takes a deep breath and then he drops me gently

  to the ground. I take a deep breath and lean against the bed. My

  panic subsides.

  “Getting to know me, giving us a chance, is more than you can

  bear?” His voice is raw with emotion and my heart gives an empathetic

  thud. He listened to me. He said I mean something to him. He wants

  to share a piece of himself with me. How can I refuse?

  “I want to walk.”

  His breath catches in his throat. “You’ll come with me?”

  “I’ll come because I choose to come, not because you made me.”

  He sucks in his lips and studies me for the longest time. “What

  made you so strong, Makayla Delaney?”

  I shrug. “If I was strong I would have said no and meant it.”

  He tucks my hair behind my ear. “A strong person faces their fears.

  A weak person runs away.”

  “Like I said, weak.” I tilt my head into the warmth of his palm. He

  hisses in a breath and pulls me close.

  “Like I said, strong.” He clasps my hand and leads me through the

  warehouse to a small, circular flight of stairs in the back corner. We

  climb at least fifteen feet, and Max unlocks a heavy metal door and flicks

  on the lights.

  Wow! A loft space has been created at the top of the warehouse.

  Floor to ceiling windows meet exposed beams and wood paneling over-

  head. Highly polished tiger wood angles across the floor space. Exposed

  brick walls are interspersed with textured drywall, and a black, wrought

  iron staircase runs up to a half-finished second floor. Stone and brick

  dividers separate multiple living spaces. A bed is tucked behind a wall

  made of glass bricks, and a huge, modern kitchen stands half built in the

  middle of the open space.

  “Max. This is you,” I breathe. Rustic and modern, hidden and

  exposed, rough and classy. He has a foot in two worlds, and this place

  combines the best of both.

  Max’s face softens. “I’ve never brought anyone up here. I’ve done

  all the work myself.”

  No one else has been up here. No Pinkaluscious. No girls. No

  friends. Just me. Butterflies flutter in my stomach and I squeeze his

  hand. “You’ve done an incredible job. It’s beautiful.”

  I wander to his makeshift living area: couch, television, bookshelves,

  a soft shag area rug, and…pictures. My mouth waters at the thought of

  getting a glimpse of the real Max. “Are these of you? Can I look?”

  “Anything you want.” His voice is a soft rumble. “I brought you

  here because you said you didn’t know me. Here I am.”

  I drop to my knees in front of the table and sort through the pic-

  tures. I pull out a grainy, faded photograph of Max as a toddler, chubby

  and cute. He poses for the camera in kid-size boxing gloves beside a

  beautiful woman with long, dark hair.

  “She’s beautiful. Is she your mom?”

  “Was.”

  I have so many questions, but this isn’t the time. I pick up his

  preschool picture and smile. His chubby cheeks are gone, but his face is

  still soft and recognizable as my Max. He grins from a makeshift boxing

  ring surrounded in bushes. I find a few pictures of young Max at the

  beach, and playing at the zoo, but mostly the pictures are of Max boxing

  or holding up trophies or medals.

  I shuffle through the pictures. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “No. It was just me.”

  “Where did you grow up?”

  “The South.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “The South. Well, that narrows it down.”

  Max sits on the couch behind me and tucks me between his legs.

  His arms slide around my waist and he squeezes me tight as if we’re on

  a roller coaster and he’s hanging on for dear life.

  “You didn’t lie when you said you started boxing young.” I hold up

  another picture of toddler Max.

  “My father wanted me to follow his dream.”

  “Looks like you were very good.” I point to all the pictures of Max

  and his medals.

  “I was.”

  “You are.” I look over my shoulder and brush a kiss over his cheek.

  He has bought his forgiveness by letting me into his inner sanctum, and

  I want him to know I appreciate the gift.

  He shudders and murmurs into my hair. “I wasn’t good enough.”

  “Is this your dad?” I hold up a picture of five-year-old Max at his

  birthday. His mom is pressing a kiss to his cheek while beside them,

  an intense-looking man glowers at the camera. He could be Max but

  smaller, thinner, and not as handsome. But I know that scowl.

  Max rests his cheek against my head, and tightens his arms. “Yes.

  He was a professional boxer but was kicked out of the circuit after a

  series of injuries. He had worked his way through his savings when he

  met my mother. She was high society and very well off. They fell in

  love and eloped. The family turned against her. They thought he was

  after her money so they disinherited her. She didn’t care. They were

  happy together until I was born.” His voice catches in his throat, but

  as I turn to face him he redirects me to the table and folds his arms

  around me.

  “What happened? It looks from these pictures like you had a

  happy childhood.”

  “I did. My dad worked as a boxing coach at a local gym. He didn’t

  make much but he wanted me to have the shot at stardom he never

  got. All his money went to pay for coaches, trainers, gym time, and

  equipment. My life revolved around school and boxing. I didn’t mind

  because I wanted to make my dad proud. But no matter how hard I

  tried, I was never good enough.”

  The pain in his voice cuts me like a hundred little knives. My arms

  ache to hold him. I try to turn, but he tightens his arms and rests his

  chin on my head.

  “As I got older, I never thought to ask how a coach got the money

  to pay for all my training. Turns out he borrowed it from the local mafia

  at an exorbitant interest rate, and one day, when I was fourteen, they

  came to collect. Only Mom and I were home. “

  I gasp and my hand flies to my mouth.

  “You remind me of her,” he murmurs. “You have the same hair. You

  are beautiful and headstrong and self-reliant. She never asked for help.

  She never listened to anyone—not even me—when it mattered most.”

  My heart pounds. “What happened?”

  “Four mafia enforcers broke into our home to collect the money

  my father owed them. I think he had hoped my winnings would cover

  the payments, but it wasn’t enough. They found my mother and me

  hiding in the bedroom. They saw her engagement ring. It was a huge

  diamond. I don’t know how my father ever afforded it.”

  “Oh no,” I whisper.

  “They wanted it. She refused. She said it was all she had left to

  remember my father the way he used to be—when they were young and

  in love and nothing else mattered.”

  “She was a romantic.”

  “They all had kni
ves but she wouldn’t let me protect her.” He takes

  a deep breath and exhales slowly. “I pushed her behind me. I knew how

  to fight. I had a wall full of trophies and championship belts to prove it.

  But she wouldn’t stay out of the way. And she wouldn’t give up the ring.

  I tried so damn hard…” He buries his face in my hair.

  Tears spring to my eyes. “Oh, Max. I know you did.”

  “I managed to knock out two of them, but by then the other two

  had her. They tried to pull the ring off her finger, but she fought them

  off. One of them threw her against a glass cabinet. It shattered and a

  piece of glass cut her throat. There was so much blood.”

  My stomach clenches. The glass must have cut her carotid artery.

  She didn’t have a chance.

  “I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t save her.” His voice is so low, I

  can barely hear him. “I should have fought harder. I should have made

  her listen. If she had done what I said she would be alive today.”

  Tears stream down my cheeks. “Max, honey, you were only four-

  teen. You were her baby. I’m sure she was just trying to protect you.”

  He draws in a ragged breath. “My father didn’t see it that way.

  He blamed me. He said I had failed her. I wasn’t good enough. After

  all the training, when it really mattered, I failed. He shot himself

  that evening.”

  “Oh God.” I twist, breaking his grip, and turn to throw my

  arms around him. I hug him tight. “I’m so sorry. To go through that

  at fourteen.”

  Max stiffens. “It was a long time ago.”

  “What did you do?” I press my cheek against his, and tighten

  my arms.

  “I lived with my aunt and uncle until I was old enough to leave.

  Then I took my inheritance and never looked back.”

  “You didn’t stay in touch?”

  “My father’s family were scattered all over. They weren’t close. My

  mother’s family blamed me for her death. I could see it in their eyes. I

  could hear it in their voices. They didn’t want me around.”

  My heart aches for him. I wish I could do something to ease the

  pain I see in his eyes. I sit back and run my fingers over his chest. “Is that

  what your tattoos are about? Is that why you say they represent failure?”

  “Not just that night,” he rasps. “I ink every failure into my skin so

  I remember.”

  I press my lips against his chest. “Your failures are beautiful to me,”

  I whisper. “They make you who you are. They make you my Max.”

  Max’s body tenses. He slides his hand to my shoulders and holds

  me at arm’s length. “I won’t go through it again,” he says, his voice

  thick. “I’ve worked hard to get to the point I know I will be able to

  defend the people I love.” His voice drops to a husky whisper. “I love

  you, Makayla. I couldn’t bear to lose you. I want to protect you and

  keep you safe, but you need to let me in.” He cups my face in his hands

  and gently tilts my head back. Tears spill over my cheeks. His eyes are

  filled with pain, and tenderness. He slants his mouth over mine and our

  lips brush in a gentle, soft kiss.

  He loves me.

  He loves me, and I can’t say it back.

  He kisses away my tears and then our lips meet once more. His

  tongue slides inside my mouth, stroking, searching for something I

  don’t have to give.

  “So beautiful,” he whispers. “Heal me, Makayla.” He picks me up

  and carries me to his bed, rumpled and cool and smelling of Max. We

  undress each other, slowly, gently, and then we make sweet love sur-

  rounded by memories and sawdust in the very heart of Redemption.

  Three hours later we descend the stairs into chaos. The Friday night

  Redemption party is in full swing. Max keeps one arm around my

  shoulders, and we mingle with the fighters. He introduces me to his

  venture capitalist business partner, Jason. Taller than Max, and leaner,

  with blue-gray eyes, dark hair and a chiseled jaw, he would send Amanda

  into a flirting frenzy. How does Cindy get any work done?

  “So have you talked Max into fixing up this dive and making it

  into a proper mixed martial arts facility?” His voice is deep and low.

  Definitely Amanda-worthy.

  “I didn’t know he was considering it.”

  “I’m not,” Max interjects. “I like it the way it is.”

  Jason shakes his head. “I’ve told him again and again, he could

  make some serious money if he fixes the place up and gets all the proper

  licenses. He lost a lot of guys to sanctioned clubs, and yet he still has

  a waiting list. He’s a great instructor and he’s hired some great people.

  With very little effort, this could be one of the top MMA training facili-

  ties in the state.”

  Max shakes his head. “I’ve told you before, too many rules, too

  many regulations, and too much money.”

  “Don’t you want to test yourself against the best?” I ask. Don’t you

  want to train your fighters to fight against the best? And you wouldn’t

  have to worry about anyone shutting you down.”

  “It’s not going to happen, baby.” Max gives my shoulder a squeeze.

  “I would have to stop the unsanctioned fights. It was my dad’s dream to

  run a club like this. I don’t need anything more.”

  “What about your own dreams?”

  Before Max can answer, Blade Saw starts a game of Shake Shake

  Bang Bang, and our attention is drawn to the crazy man banging a

  shaken beer repeatedly on his head. However, instead of the usual hole

  forming in the side of the can, the top pops off and beer sprays all over

  me. Rampage, Obsidian, Homicide, and Jackhammer try to hold Max

  back. They fail. Blade Saw apologizes profusely when I bandage him

  up in the first aid room. I promise him he will be back to fighting in

  a few weeks.

  Jake shows up with Pinkaluscious attached to his lips. Amanda flips

  out. I have no idea where she has been since she let me down at the door,

  but from her slightly disheveled appearance, I can guess. She deals with

  her first experience being dumped as anyone would. She becomes totally

  inebriated. After leading two rounds of the Chicken Dance in the ring,

  she races Hammer Fist up and down the bleachers, challenges Rampage

  to a wrestling match, and makes it through a few rounds of beer pong

  and quarters before collapsing on the bed in the first aid room. Max

  insists we take her home together in his limo. After I’ve tucked her into

  bed with a jug of water and a bottle of aspirin, we go back to his house.

  This time we don’t make love. We have sex. Wild, wicked, passionate,

  soul-cleansing sex. Afterward, we cuddle. We are back to normal. There

  is no more talk of love. I like it better that way. I think.

  Chapter 21

  I Want Minx

  It’s Saturday morning and I have a post-party hangover. My

  mouth tastes like glue. My eyes feel like sandpaper. I have a pounding

  headache and my face is greasy with makeup. At least Max took off my

  dress, although if I remember correctly his reasons were totally selfish.

  Max pushes a button and his electric blinds go up, lett
ing in the

  evil sun.

  “Bad sun. Bad Max,” I groan into the pillow. “Turn it off.”

  Max chuckles and skims his hand down my bare back. “I have to

  be in Fontana at noon for work. One of our target companies is testing

  a new remote control device at a racetrack.”

  “So is this the ‘wham bam thank you ma’am, get out of my bed I

  have to work on a Saturday good-bye’ speech?” I groan.

  “This is the ‘you wanted to know about me so now you get to see

  my work and you’d better get your ass out of bed and come with me or

  you’ll be sorry’ speech.”

  “Too many words. Hangover brain overload.”

  Max chortles and slaps my bottom. “Get up. We have to get you

  dressed, fed, and in the limo in an hour.”

  “Fontana is at least a seven-hour drive,” I moan. “I’m not so good

  at sitting still for long periods of time while hung over and with a

  slapped bottom.”

  Max rips the covers off the bed, exposing me to the cold air. “We’re

  going by plane. The flight is just over an hour. There’s more bottom

  slapping in your future if you don’t get up.”

  I don’t budge.

  “Makayla.” His warning tone makes me giggle.

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Don’t tempt me, baby. I’ve been waiting a long time for suffi-

  ciently bad behavior to warrant a spanking.” He caresses my bottom and

  my body heats up, yet again. Will it never end? Will we get to the point

  where I’ll come just from him looking at me? I flip over to remove the

  temptation of my overly round cheeks.

  “Your personal plane, oh rich society dude?”

  Max chuckles. “No. We chartered a plane for the trip, but Jason

  told me last night he can’t make it.”

  “I was planning to wash my hair today, but I suppose I could come

  with you on a private plane to a racetrack, but I…uh…need underwear

  and clothes that aren’t covered in beer.”

  “We’ll stop at Angel’s Bike Shop, just outside the airport. We’ll buy

  you some panties, and once we’re in the plane I’ll rip them off you.”

  “How romantic.”

  “I’m all about romance.” Max leans down to suckle my breast, and

  pleasure licks up the inside of my thighs.

  “You’re all about sex.”

  He raises his head and locks his dark, dangerous eyes with mine.