Strike (The Beat and The Pulse #10)

by Amity Cross

  “What are you drinking?” Justin asked.

  “Gin and tonic.”

  I stood beside him, giving him the once-over as he placed an order with the bartender. Justin scrubbed up nice out of uniform. He was wearing a tight pair of blue jeans with his boots tucked underneath. His black shirt was buttoned up to the collar, and the arms were rolled down all the way. His hair was artfully messy. The kind of rough and ready look that probably took a good fifteen minutes to arrange each strand just so. And he was clean-shaven. Everything about him was the opposite of Mark.

  Paying for our drinks, he picked them up as we scoured the little bar for a spot to sit. Finding a table among the crowd, we sat opposite one another. I perched awkwardly in the corner, nursing my bag on my lap.

  “How’s the shop coming along?” Justin asked, attempting to get the conversation started.

  “Good. They should be ready to start the fit out soon.”

  “So back on track?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “It’s almost back to the point I was at before the fire. I just need my oven and a fridge or two installed, and I can start using the kitchen again.”

  “That’s great,” he said with a smile. “I often pass by and see tradies working in there. How are you after the fire? Have you been feeling okay?”

  “Yeah.” I shrugged. “I was fine after a little oxygen. No sweat.” Apart from a few nightmares. I didn’t add that last part on account of not knowing the guy. Best way to put a dampener on a first date was to talk about the dreams where you were being burned alive. That would go down a treat.

  “You ended up finding the guy?” Justin asked, bringing up the inevitable.

  “Yeah. Before it was in the papers,” I replied with a shrug. “I didn’t exactly know.”

  “Of course, you didn’t,” Justin said with a reassuring smile. “No one did. He hasn’t given you any trouble, has he?”

  “No.” I eyed him warily, sensing he wanted to go in to bat for me. It was a little too much, too soon. Calm down, I thought to myself.

  I swirled the straw around in my drink, the ice cubes clinking against each other, then I stabbed the slice of lime repeatedly.

  “That cake you posted online is amazing, by the way,” Justin said, attempting to change the subject.

  “Thanks.”

  “I don’t know how you come up with your ideas, but it looks complicated.”

  “It’s not really,” I said. “It’s just chocolate sponge with a boysenberry jam filling. Then fairy floss and lots of icing and lollies.”

  “You lost me at sponge.” He flashed me a dazzling smile.

  “So how long have you been a firefighter for?”

  “Five years,” he said, his face lighting up. “It’s a really difficult selection process. There’s a written exam, a fitness test, medical, psychological evaluations…”

  He began to rattle off his life history in the Melbourne Fire Brigade, and I stared blankly at him, nodding and smiling at the right intervals. He was nice even though he was a one-dimensional guy, so why did I feel so disappointed? The moment I left, I had the odd feeling running up and down my spine that I would burst into tears.

  Deep down, I knew nothing would come of Justin and me. Nothing at all. When I looked at him, I didn’t feel the spark I’d felt when I looked at Mark. When he spoke, my thoughts drifted away, and when he asked me a question, it was an effort to answer. I was such a bitch.

  Glancing at my phone, I saw it was ten p.m.

  “I’ve got to get going,” I said, showing Justin the screen. “It’s getting late, and I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

  “Shoot,” he said. “Me, too. I lost track there.” He smiled again and pushed his chair back. Holding out his hand, he helped me to my feet like a gentleman. “Can I give you a ride home?”

  “Uh… I’m not far. I have to make a stop on the way, anyway,” I replied, deftly dodging his attempts at getting me alone. He would try to kiss me, and I would have to let him down. I just couldn’t do it.

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, I’ll see you then?” He raised his eyebrows hopefully.

  “Sure,” I replied as we walked through the bar and out onto the street. Damn, he even held the door open for me. Why couldn’t my bits zing for him? He was hot, sweet, and all the things a girl could ever want in a guy. What was the problem?

  We hugged goodbye and parted ways, and the date was over.

  Walking down Brunswick Street, my shoulders sagged. There had to be something wrong with me.

  Standing outside my shop, I smiled when I saw the signs had been put up in the windows. The glass was still blocked out with newspaper, but the gold decals were in place. The Fitzroy Cake Company was that much closer to becoming a reality, and for the first time since the fire, my heart began to race with excitement.

  Grabbing my keys from the bottom of my bag, I unlocked the door and stepped inside. Darting behind the counter, I flicked on the light switches and took a deep breath. It was exactly as I’d envisioned it. Better, actually.

  All that was missing was the shop fixtures. The counters, the shelving, display cabinets, tables, and chairs. And out in the kitchen, the ovens, fridges, and appliances were yet to be delivered. Then once the doors opened, it was time to start paying back my business loan.

  I was on the downward slope of the speed bump. The one and only decline I was grateful to ride. This was the tipping point. The last month was an ugly pimple between my eyes, and now it had popped. This was it. Finally.

  Turning, I envisioned the place where I would put the Twister-themed cake. Maybe I could do a special display every month and make a feature out of it. Spinning around, I could see the display cases lit up and stuffed full of colorful cupcakes and macaroons. Mix and match, pick and mix, twenty different flavors. Christmas-themed cinnamon spice, pumpkins at Halloween, mangos in summer, sparkles at New Year’s, rainbows for Gay Pride.

  Turning, my elation popped and fizzed, then died completely as I came face-to-face with Mark ‘Storm’ Ryder. He stood inside my shop, his jacket half hanging off, his left arm in a cast, looking like a lost puppy that had been fossicking through a dumpster.

  I opened my mouth, but he beat me to it.

  “Before you get that restraining order, you need to know one thing.” He stared at me, his brow furrowed. “It was a lie.”

  “What?” My gaze fell to the cast and back up again. I didn’t understand.

  “What happened with that woman in America. It was a fabrication. I’ve never raised my hand to a woman in my life.”

  “How am I supposed to believe that?” I asked. “Am I just supposed to take your word for it?”

  “What would you like me to say?” he asked. “I wasn’t the first person she conned. It was her word against mine, and the evidence was stacked against me. A few photographs, a few tears, and all of a sudden, she was a hundred thousand dollars richer, and I was broke. She didn’t care what happened to me. I was destroyed. My reputation, my career, everything. I can’t even get a minimum wage factory job.”

  It was my turn to stare at him. It was the most I’d ever heard Mark speak in back-to-back sentences, and I wasn’t sure how to take it. Those sad eyes that had haunted me the night of the fire were back and in full force. Was this his version of broken? Was this his truth? I didn’t know.

  “Callie, I would never hurt you,” he went on. “I’m fucked up, but I would never hurt you like that.”

  I wished there was a chair for me to sit on because my knees were wobbly like jelly.

  “I want to believe you,” I whispered. “But… I went out with Justin tonight.”

  His expression fell.

  “If the story was a lie, then why did you let me believe it?” I asked. “Why didn’t you say anything when…”

  “Because…” He took a deep breath. “Because…”

  “Because?” I prodded.

  “I didn’t do it, but maybe I
deserved the punishment.”

  “What are you talking about?” I scowled. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I was a jerk. I still am.”

  I shook my head, not even knowing what to say to that. “I don’t know if I’ll ever understand you, Mark.”

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone else, so I stay away.”

  I snorted. “And what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You say you’re pushing people away to protect them, but who’ll protect you? Huh? You can care about other people but won’t let anyone care about you?”

  “You sound like Lori,” he muttered.

  My scowl deepened. I didn’t know who that was.

  “It doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me,” I said. “Not outright but by omission. Now you’re asking me to take it on faith you’re innocent, and you’re admitting to hurting people to save them. From what? Being associated with that domestic violence story?” I shook my head. “This is fucking crazy, you know that?”

  He lowered his gaze. “I know.”

  “So what changed?” I asked. “Why did you come back?”

  “I’d given up,” he muttered. “I’ve got nothing, but when I was with you…”

  He trailed off, and I waited, my heart jackhammering in my chest. This was the zing I was hoping for all night. The snap, crackle, and pop of electricity that signaled I was attracted to someone. Like a sordid joke, it was a complicated, brooding, messed-up man like Mark. How could I survive this?

  “Callie…” he whispered, taking a step closer. “You’ve gotta believe me.”

  His chocolate eyes were sparkling. Were they tears? For real?

  Before I could reconcile my thoughts, Mark strode forward and pulled me against his chest. When his lips met mine, I wanted to push him away, but I melted. He was the fire, and I was molten metal. His desire bent me to his will, and I was a goner. The trouble was, I wanted him.

  His tongue ran along the seam of my lips, demanding entrance, but it was I who forced my way forward. I buried my hands into his scruffy hair and held him close, kissing him back just as deeply. My body reacted to his, my nipples tightening and my clit aching as his taste overwhelmed me. This was what I was hoping for all night. Justin wasn’t Mark. That was the problem.

  His left arm was tight around my waist, the cast feeling strange against my lower back, and his right hand tangled in my hair, holding me in place as his lips caressed mine. What should I do now? Believe his story and give him a chance?

  “How could this be wrong?” he asked, his mouth brushing against my swollen lips. “How could it be when it feels like this?”

  “Like what?” I whispered.

  His eyes were hooded, his jaw tight.

  “Like what?” I asked again.

  “Like nothing else matters.”

  We stood in the middle of my shop, tangled in each other, for a long time. I studied the flecks of black in his chestnut-colored eyes, memorized the line of his jaw, traced the curve of his cheek, and took in the last yellow tinges of the black eye he’d shown up with on our second date.

  He was deeply complicated and a puzzle I might never solve, but I found myself wanting to give him a chance. One final chance.

  Finally, I sighed, cupped his face in my trembling hands, and spoke the words in my heart.

  “I believe you.”

  18

  Storm

  “Come home with me,” I said, holding Callie close.

  She was trembling, her eyes downcast. The scent of fresh paint lingered in the air, her shop looking a lot better than the last time I’d seen it.

  “I want… There are some things I need to explain about myself and…” I hated how I was lost for words, but I suppose it was meant to be this way. Fighting was tough, and even in the cage, an easy win wasn’t as satisfying as a hard-won battle.

  “Mark…” She was hesitating even after she’d said she believed me.

  “I just…” I swallowed hard. “The only thing that matters to me is you. Your opinion. Your feelings. I didn’t expect to leap into that fire, and least of all to find you. You could have been anyone, but you’re Callie.” I brushed my fingers through her hair and breathed in her sweet scent. “You’re Callie.”

  Her entire body shuddered, and her grasp tightened. “I’m not ready to let you go.”

  My heart twisted. “Then don’t.”

  Her fingers uncurled from around my shirt and found mine. Grasping my good hand, she nodded toward the door. She didn’t have to ask me twice.

  Outside, we walked through the streets side by side, barely touching. Something had changed between us, something I didn’t understand, and there was no telling if it was good or bad. She was willing to listen, and that was the first step. She would listen and then decide if she would leave me or stick around.

  “What happened to your arm?” she asked as we turned into my street.

  “It got stood on.”

  “Stood on? During a fight?” She seemed outraged, but I knew the cost of fighting at The Underground. If this was the worst it dished out, then I got off lightly.

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “That’s fucked up, you know.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir,” I retorted.

  “I’m not even going to ask why.” She turned her face away but didn’t stop walking.

  Callie was not impressed by my chosen profession, but I didn’t really have a choice unless she wanted to give me a job handing out cupcakes at her shop. Imagine that. A cage fighter wearing an apron.

  Approaching the entrance to the block of apartments, I let us into the communal area and led her upstairs. I was number five, right at the end, and for the first time since moving in, the trek down the hall felt like a million miles.

  Finally, we reached the door, and I unlocked it. Inside, I flicked on the light and held the door for her, closing it once she’d stepped across the threshold. Noticing her shiver, I turned on the central heating.

  “This is yours?” she asked, looking around.

  “This is mine.”

  The loft-style apartment was unique for Melbourne, the brick feature walls and industrial-style windows were a feature of the original building. It was a renovated warehouse some developer had converted into five separate two bed, two bath, open-plan living, and small outdoor terrace apartments. Below us were lock-up garages and a two-minute walk to Brunswick Street.

  “When I got back to Melbourne, I was crashing on couches,” I said, watching her wander through the place, her fingers brushing over the furniture I’d gotten some stylist to choose for me. “I was skint…and broken.”

  “Then how…” She stopped by the leather couch, her hands gripping the back.

  “Cage fighting.”

  She glanced at me. “You earn that kind of money there?”

  I nodded.

  She snorted and shook her head. “And here I am doing it the hard way.”

  “The honest way,” I said firmly. “If I could, I would be doing the same thing, but I’m stuck.”

  “Right…” She didn’t say it, but it was written all over her face. No one wanted to hire a guy accused of bashing a woman regardless of guilt.

  “Can I get you a drink?” I asked lamely.

  “No. I think you had better start explaining.” She rounded the back of the couch and sat gingerly on one end. “I can’t… I’m not sure how this is going to go. I can’t promise you…”

  “I know,” I murmured. “I get it, Callie. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want, but…I want this. I want you.”

  Her cheeks flushed, and she patted the couch beside her. “Then tell me all about it. Tell me why I should believe you and not them.”

  Her words cut, and I almost fell back into old habits. It was easier to walk away and marinate in my own misery than to stand up and fight. Not with my fists but with my words. My heart had been closed for business for a long time, and I wasn’t q
uite sure how to use it anymore. I wanted to…it was just… It was rusty as fuck.

  Sitting beside her, I tossed my phone and keys onto the coffee table. Shucking off my jacket, I lay it over the arm of the couch and nursed my broken arm in my lap.

  “I started out fighting at The Underground,” I began.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s where I fight now. It’s this warehouse in Abbotsford. The whole thing is illegal, from the bar, the betting, the fighting, and a great deal of other shit that no one talks about. A fighter can make good money there. Hundreds of thousands, even millions.”

  Callie’s eyes widened. “But it’s criminal?”

  “No rules. No accountability,” I replied with a nod. “I had a talent for fighting, and when an opportunity came up to train for an opening in the UFC in America, I took it. Money was great, but I wanted fame. I wanted to be in the big leagues so bad I did everything in my power to get there. Anything.”

  “Anything?” She swallowed hard.

  “I double-crossed, I cheated people out of money at The Underground, I bragged, I…” I ran my good hand over my face. “Lori was my ex. I cheated on her.”

  Callie visibly stiffened.

  “I’m not proud of it,” I went on. “I regret treating her the way I did, but she’s happy now. She moved on with this guy Hamish. He fights at The Underground, too.” I lifted my left arm. “I used to think he hated my guts. Well, he did, but he took me to the hospital.” I shrugged.

  “It sounds like… People don’t like you very much.”

  “They don’t. I didn’t give anyone a reason to think otherwise. I thought it would be easier if everyone went on hating me. If no one got close, then I couldn’t drag them down with me. I never thought it was possible to be dragged up.”

  “Tell me about the woman,” she said.

  “I was naive,” I said, gritting my teeth. “When I first got to the States, I smashed my qualifier and was set to be the next big thing. People were all over me, offering me endorsements, money, cars, inviting me to parties, offering me drugs… Women wanted me, guys wanted to be mates… I realized too late it was all empty. They wanted to get in on the ground floor. You know what I mean? Ride me all the way to the top, sucking me dry like a pack of leeches. That woman, that ring girl…she was the biggest leech of all.” I glanced away, the memory of the cops knocking at my door clear as day. “We went out for a couple of weeks…” I glanced at Callie. “Do you really want to hear all this?”