Strike (The Beat and The Pulse #10)

by Amity Cross

  Sitting at the bar, I downed the last of my beer and slammed the empty bottle down with a thud. Behind me, people were shouting and laughing, music was blaring, the bookies to my left were running full tilt taking bets for the night, and a fight had just wrapped up in the cage. It was business as usual, but I didn’t hear any of it.

  All I could see were green eyes and flame. Whoever the woman from last night was, I couldn’t shake her image. Maybe it was just the life or death situation that had lodged her in my brain. A moment of high intensity had forged an obsession with a mystery. Fuck, that was some deep shit right there.

  “Storm,” a female bartender said. “For a fighter with a name like that, you sure blow in on the quiet side.”

  Glancing up, I saw it was Faye. The blonde haired, blue-eyed stunner that every man would kill to fuck. Every man but me, that was.

  She swiped up my empty Corona bottle and dumped it into the bin. It crashed against the pile of glass within, and I thought about getting another. I wasn’t fighting tonight, and I could afford the extra calories…as long as the alcohol gave me a buzz.

  “You’re always lurking,” Faye said, leaning on the bar. My gaze fell to her breasts, which she was pushing in my direction. “You never talk, and you never mingle. You just fight.”

  Since my disastrous return to The Underground over a year ago, I’d made it my mission to keep clear of drama and entanglements…even friendships had been on the back burner. I didn’t talk, I didn’t confide, and I definitely didn’t let go of my heart.

  “So?”

  “So what happened? You used to be different.”

  “None of your business.”

  “No girl?” she asked, ignoring me.

  “Nope.” My thoughts settled on the woman from the fire. Ash-blonde hair. It was like some kind of fucked-up metaphor.

  “Then what are you doing later?” Faye fluttered her eyelashes and pouted her lips. “Need some cheering up?”

  I stared at her, not surprised at her blatant demand for sex. She was the kind of woman who reveled in her sexuality and didn’t mind flaunting it, but it didn’t mean she was easy. She was the one who did the choosing, not the other way around, and it looked like she wanted to take me out for a ride.

  I rolled my eyes. “I know you like trawling for dick, Faye, but everyone knows you’ve got an arrangement with Blade.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “So?”

  “Corona,” I said, glaring at her.

  Pouting, she straightened up and flicked her hair behind her shoulder. “Coming right up.”

  Running my fingers along the edges of the mat on top of the bar, I stared at the television mounted on the wall opposite. Usually, it played a variety of pay TV sports, like live football, UFC bouts, rugby, or car racing, but tonight, someone had left it on the news. I watched absently, my gaze flicking over the closed captions.

  I was really beginning to question the point of everything. Life, love, wealth, meaning, giving a fuck. Diving headfirst into that fire had shifted something inside of me, and the life I’d withdrawn into wasn’t serving its purpose anymore. That much was clear. I was fucking miserable.

  The blaze erupted in the Brunswick Street store at around ten p.m. last night. Flames engulfed the fledgling business in minutes.

  I straightened up, staring at the screen as Faye returned with my beer. Thumping it down on top of the bar, she peered at me.

  “What’s up your ass?” she asked, glaring at me.

  Not giving a stuff about her bruised ego, I said, “Shut the fuck up. I’m watching that.”

  She glanced at the television, then back to me, but I didn’t pay any attention. I was too busy waiting for a glimpse of the mystery woman with ashes in her hair. Not to mention waiting for the part referencing the Good Samaritan who risked his life.

  The case of the blaze was determined to be a fault with the electrical wiring. The matter is now under police investigation.

  Police investigation? I frowned.

  The story ended, and another began. There had been no mention of the woman or me. It was probably a good thing considering my need for obscurity, but I couldn’t help the pang of disappointment at not seeing her again. I was seriously whacked.

  “A shop fire?” Faye looked me over. “Know something about that?”

  “No,” I snapped, pushing to my feet. Slapping a ten-dollar bill onto the bar, I grabbed my beer and walked away.

  Pushing through the crowd, I took a sip of alcohol and tried to think of something other than my stupidly heroic actions. Last night seemed a long time ago already. No one had died—otherwise, they would’ve said in the report—but police action?

  It may have been my past interactions with con artists posing as beautiful women, but my first thought was an insurance scam. I would like to give people the benefit of the doubt considering I didn’t know the woman from shit, but I’d been burned in the most complete and horrific way. Even if she was legit, it was better this way.

  A shoulder smashed into me, and I lost my grip on my bottle of beer. It fell to the concrete, smashing into a million pieces. Alcohol splashed over my jeans and boots, and I allowed the surge of anger I’d been holding onto to burst forth.

  “Hey!” I shouted, turning to give the asshole a piece of my mind.

  “Watch where you’re walkin’, Storm.”

  Great, just my fucking luck. Staring directly into the angry face of Hamish ‘Goblin’ McBride, Irish asshole of the century, I sneered.

  The guy hated my guts, and I hated his, but at least it was for a legitimate reason and had nothing to do with the length of our dicks. He was with Lori now. Lori being the woman I cheated on back when I was a steaming pile of shit. Lori, the woman I could’ve found eternal happiness with but had been too arrogant to slow the fuck down and appreciate what I had.

  Now she’d found all that and more with Hamish. She might’ve forgiven me to some extent—after finally agreeing to hear my side of the story—but Goblin never would. I was enemy number one in his eyes and always would be.

  “Watch where you leave your fat ass, ginger,” I retorted.

  “Still a complete dick, I see,” was his reply. “Still fallin’ victim to con artists, limp dick?”

  I took a step closer. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

  “I would shut yours, but you’re too coward to face me in the cage. You would forfeit the moment your name was drawn with mine.” He narrowed his eyes in warning. “You’re not worth riskin’ the Championship to fight now. I wouldn’t even give you five cents for the chance to knock your head off, let alone risk losin’ a cool million.”

  “It’s all about money to you, isn’t it?”

  “Integrity,” he replied, laughing in my face. “That’s what it’s about.”

  My lip curled as I stared him down, struggling to keep my temper under control. No, I didn’t want to fight him because I’d made Lori a promise. She didn’t come to The Underground anymore, but her boyfriend did. If I fought him, I would be breaking it, and I didn’t want to hurt her any more than I already had. If I fought Hamish—win or lose—I would be drawn into her stratosphere once more.

  I’d promised to leave her alone and never contact her again, and I intended to honor it. I owed her, not her grudge-wielding boyfriend. I didn’t need to explain myself to him.

  I thought about all the things I could throw in his face—my promise, my shit existence, my misery, saving the ashen-haired woman from the fire—but it wasn’t worth it.

  Hissing, I shoved him back and stalked off, the crowd parting like I was the embodiment of my namesake. A storm was brewing, and they were scrambling to get out of the way before they were steamrolled.

  It was better I remained anonymous. Here, out there, and when it came to that fire. It was better for everyone if I kept punishing myself with obscurity.

  I was glad the ashen-haired woman was okay. At least her life was repairable. Mine had gone up in flames a long time ago.

&
nbsp; 5

  Callie

  I woke with a start, sweat sticking my flimsy T-shirt to my skin.

  Wiping my forehead with the back of my hand, I stared up at the ceiling, trying to shake off the dream. I still seemed to be within it even though I knew I was back in reality. Fire, clear as day, crawled up my curtains, and smoke the color of darkness was choking my lungs.

  Blinking furiously, the image began to dissolve, and I was back in my room.

  The darkness was broken up by the streetlight outside. Artificial light was creeping around the cracks in the curtains, leaving lines across my bedspread. The city was quiet, the little side street in the inner city suburb of Northcote was empty. Everyone was asleep, but I was wide-awake.

  Who are you?

  Rubbing my eyes, I reached for my phone and checked the time. One thirty-two a.m. Groaning, I unlocked the screen and checked my notifications out of habit. Social media was the great distraction of the twenty-first century if you asked me. People could say whatever they wanted online, and who the fuck cared if it was true or false or blatantly offensive? Take away accountability, give a person some anonymity, and it was a free for all.

  Still, I couldn’t help checking to see if I had any messages. Slave.

  There were a lot of comments about the fire and some shares and likes on older images and posts, but there didn’t seem to be anything from my mystery savior. The man with the chestnut bordering on chocolate eyes was still as mysterious as ever.

  Setting my phone down, I rolled over and closed my eyes. My mind heaved with images, thoughts, and a strange longing, and sleep was beyond me. Frustrated, I picked up my phone and opened it again.

  What was I doing? It was almost two in the morning, I was exhausted yet wide-awake, my body was coiled with a weird-as-fuck frustration, and I was dreaming about being burned alive. I needed to get something off my chest, but what was it?

  The man. That was what. Who are you?

  I tapped the notepad icon, and a new note appeared. Staring at the flashing icon, I allowed my thoughts to roam freely. I wasn’t the best writer in the world, but I had to get this out. He’d disappeared after doing such a selfless thing and had forced me to live without closure. I needed to tell him how I felt. Not how I found him hauntingly handsome but the ‘thanks for saving my life’ part.

  My fingers flew over the little keyboard, and I went back and fixed some autocorrects, but I put it all out there. My life was in such a limbo state, with everything up in the air, I just had to tell somebody. I had customers who were dying to sample my creations in person, so I had to tell them what was going on, right? I owed it to my followers to tell them the story…

  Honestly, it was more of a selfish reason that drove me to copy and paste the note into my social media accounts and attach a photo of the burned-out shop and another of me with one of my cakes—a ten-tiered wedding extravaganza I’d made a few months ago—and hit post. I wanted to find my handsome stranger. It was becoming an obsession with the amount of time I spent thinking about him and not rebuilding my business. I knew it was only two days since the fire, but I knew me. When I became fixated on something, look the fuck out.

  Reading over the post again, I edited a typo.

  * * *

  My name is Callie Winslow, and two nights ago, I was almost burned alive.

  I was painting in the storeroom of my soon-to-be-opened shop, The Fitzroy Cake Company, on Brunswick Street, Fitzroy.

  You guys already know about me and my dream to one day have my own little slice of the retail pie (pun totally intended) and share my sugary creations with the world. Cupcakes with rainbow buttercream icing, a ten-tiered wedding cake to help celebrate a special union, a slice of red velvet and chocolate sponge with chocolate ganache drip icing to cheer up a dreary afternoon. Small, humble, personalized happiness on a plate. That’s The Fitzroy Cake Company’s core value…and mine.

  The shop was set to open next weekend with free samples, balloons, glitter, and music, but unfortunately, I’ve had to postpone it. To when? I don’t know.

  Two nights ago, a fire broke out in the kitchen. Within minutes, it had engulfed the entire room, leaving me trapped in the back with no way out.

  I remember lying on the floor, smoke filling the tiny storeroom, then the sound of crashing glass. A man appeared through the flames and scooped me into his arms like an action hero. A stranger with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. He saved me and made sure I was delivered to safety, and then he disappeared without leaving his name.

  He disappeared, and now he’s all I can think about.

  I dream about smoke and fire, and it always ends with you saving me.

  My shop can be rebuilt, my dream repaired, and The Fitzroy Cake Company will have its time to shine, but I was so close to suffocating, being burned alive or worse. You saved me from a terrible fate. You risked your life for a stranger, not even knowing if you would be able to help let alone get out yourself.

  The man with the chocolate eyes. The gruff, sad, handsome stranger who I just can’t shake.

  Whoever you are, please let me say thank you. Please let me shake your hand and speak the words.

  You saved my life…and haunted me instead.

  Please. Who are you?

  * * *

  Satisfied, I turned my phone off and promptly went to sleep. It seemed hashing it out helped after all.

  I woke feeling groggy but oddly calm.

  The sound of clattering footsteps rumbled down the hall, and a moment later, Macy threw open my bedroom door. She had this irritating habit of never knocking, which had resulted in her seeing my boobs more times than I could remember. The first time she’d done it she was all like ‘Nice tits, Callie!’ then promptly started talking to me like nothing was out of the ordinary.

  This morning, she was dressed for work—as an administration assistant at an accounting firm in the city—in her usual getup of a cute silk blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt and sexy black kitten heels on her feet. Perfect hair and perfect makeup completed the ensemble.

  “Uh, Callie?” She held up her mobile phone, a quizzical expression on her face. “Have you seen this?”

  “Seen what?” I rubbed my eyes as she flopped down on the bed beside me.

  “I think your midnight social media post has gone viral.”

  “What?” My heart did a full somersault with a twist, and I snatched up my own phone. Unlocking the screen, my mouth fell open when I saw the notifications that had been lighting it up while I was asleep. It was still going—banners were appearing thick and fast. I would have to turn it off at this rate. “There’s thousands of them… Oh, my God, I can’t look. Do I want to look? I can’t. Look for me.” I tossed my phone at her.

  She laughed and scrolled through her own. “It’s all good. You’ve mobilized an army.”

  “They aren’t trolls?” I asked, my shoulders sagging. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. Callie, calm down a little. Take a deep breath…then look at your post.”

  Taking a deep breath, I said a little prayer and picked up my phone. Opening the Facebook app, I tapped on the notifications and was led to my post.

  There were tons of shares and likes, but the comments were nothing but positive. Well, there were a few jerks typing out negative things about my weight, but most of them were nice. Things like I’m glad you’re okay, I’m sorry about your shop, I hope you find your mystery guy, and I’ve shared in case someone I know knows him.

  “Holy shit, Macy,” I said in total disbelief. “I didn’t think it would end up like this. I wasn’t even with it last night. I was completely brain fried.”

  She snorted. “It’s done now.”

  “I mean, I was dreaming about the fire… I was rattled…” I glanced up at my housemate, suddenly feeling sick. “Mace… Have I done the right thing? What if he didn’t want to be found, and now I’ve forced the guy to do something he didn’t want to do?”

  “If you ask me,” sh
e began, putting down her phone, “he can’t expect to save you, then not have you wonder about his identity. It’s common sense. After this, if he still doesn’t come forward, then you’ll know for sure either way. It’s all you can do. Reading the post might be enough of a thank you.”

  She was right. I couldn’t force the guy to do anything. Besides, I didn’t know him at all. He could be anyone, but it didn’t stop me from conjuring up his image again.

  “I can’t stop thinking about him,” I murmured. “It’s borderline obsessive, actually.”

  “Was he hot?” Macy asked with a wicked grin. “He was hot, wasn’t he?”

  I nodded, a smile pulling at my lips. “Yeah.”

  “I knew it! It’s about time you were obsessed with a guy,” she declared. “You need to get yourself some cock, girl.”

  “Macy!” My cheeks heated with embarrassment. She was so forward about these things, and a part of me wished I were like her. If she wanted sex, she went out and got it. If I wanted sex, I went out and flailed around like a moron and came home alone and miserable. I was so clueless.

  “Don’t be such a prude,” she said with a giggle. “Anyway, let the post run its course, and if he wants to talk, he’ll let you know. Simple.”

  It didn’t feel simple. I knew I would be glued to my phone all day, hitting refresh until I wore a hole in the screen.

  “Well, I’ve gotta fly,” Macy said, standing and smoothing down her skirt. “I’ll see you tonight. If you need anything, call me at work, okay?”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  She stopped at the door and glanced back. “And Callie? Don’t obsess. It’ll happen, or it won’t. Either way, you’ll be just fine, I promise.”

  Smiling, I pushed down the nausea rolling in my stomach. “Sure.”

  Before she left, she made a face. “You’re not going to do that, are you?”

  “Nope.” I grinned sheepishly and picked up my phone to refresh my messages.