Strike (The Beat and The Pulse #10)

by Amity Cross

  “Man, you are dedicated to your work.” He shook his head with a playful grin. “I bet you haven’t even looked up even for one second.”

  “Not really. I want this to be perfect…” Extracting myself from his arms, I moved over to the door and peeked through the opening. Melissa was placing the rainbow cakes I’d just made into the display case while Stephan and Mallory, the front of house staff I’d hired, were tidying up the counter and arranging the last of the decorations for the opening. Beyond them was the outside world—a place I’d forgotten existed in the last few days—and it was equal parts alarming and exhilarating.

  People were lined up along Brunswick Street, filling the entire length of the window. If they went any further, I had no idea, but it didn’t matter. There were people waiting for the store to open so they could taste my cakes. I began to wiggle on the spot, shifting my weight from one foot to the other like I had ants in my pants.

  “They go right down the street,” Mark said. “Have you got enough cakes?”

  “Oh, fuck!” I cursed. “I made a schedule and have inventory, but… I don’t know… Oh, fuck!”

  “Calm down,” he said, grasping my shoulders and turning me around. “Enjoy this moment, Callie. They’re here for you and your cakes. This is your dream, remember?”

  I sighed, melting into his touch. “You’re right. Mark, I…”

  “I’m so fucking proud of you.” He cupped my face with his good hand and gently cradled my back with his cast. The two girls I had helping me in the kitchen rushed around us, giggling as Mark and I kissed.

  “I’m here! I’m here!” We turned as Macy appeared through the back door, shucking off her coat and looking completely frazzled. “The tram was stuck behind a wall of traffic. Then I see the fucking line outside! Holy Fuck!” She froze when she saw Mark, and her lip curled. “Still not a fan.”

  Mark tensed. “Let me see if I can help out front.” He moved through the door and into the shop, leaving my overzealous housemate and me in the kitchen.

  “Leave him be,” I said. “We’re a work in progress. I made my choice.”

  “By dumping Hector Vanderhall?”

  “I told you the other day,” I said, putting my hands on my hips, “I didn’t turn the job down because of Mark. I turned it down because I didn’t want it. This is what I want my life to be.” I gestured to the kitchen and glanced at Mark, who was lingering just through the door. “This.”

  “I really thought you would’ve dropped him,” Macy said, clearly aware he was right behind her. “Not run off to some criminal establishment.”

  “Macy,” I scolded. “I explained it to you.”

  “How pushing everyone away was easier than actually, you know, living?” She rolled her eyes. “You can’t push a rock uphill.”

  “I am a resistant asshole,” Mark said with a smirk.

  “And just so you know,” she declared, turning to face him, “if you hurt her again, you had better watch your back.”

  He raised his eyebrows and glanced at me. “You’ve got good taste, Winslow.”

  “Is he being patronizing?” Macy asked, glancing at me. “Because I can’t tell if the brain is working in connection with the brawn or if there’s one there at all.”

  “He’s being sincere, Mace.”

  “You’ll like me one day,” he added before stepping around her so he could get to me. Sliding his arm around my waist, he pulled me close. “I was going to wait until later to tell you, but I got the call yesterday.”

  My mouth fell open. “You did?”

  “Yeah. As of next month, I’ll be working at Bodyworks Gym over on Smith Street.” I threw my arms around him and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. “I’ll miss the money from The Underground, though.”

  “Mark!”

  “Joking, joking… I think…” He laughed, and the look in his eyes had all the right parts trembling. “The tradeoff is worth it.”

  “Two minutes until ten,” Stephan called out from the front of the shop. “Callie, do you want to do the honors?”

  I squeaked and ran my fingers through my hair, then took off my apron. “How do I look?”

  “Perfect,” Mark said.

  “Go get ’em,” Macy added. “We’ll be right here.”

  Skipping out into the shop, I beamed at the sight of the people waiting. They perked up as I unlocked the door and threw it open.

  “Welcome!” I called out as people began filing into the shop. “I’m Callie, the owner of The Fitzroy Cake Company. If you would like to gather around, I have a little opening ceremony I would like to share before our first sale.” People were smiling and hanging on my words as I directed them to the far corner of the shop front. “May I present the famous Twister cake. You may have seen it online or displayed in the window this past week.”

  The assembled crowd gushed and clapped as I held out my hand. A moment later, Mark appeared with my instrument of destruction. An aluminum baseball bat.

  “I made this cake in a moment of heartbreak,” I went on. “But I’m here to tell you my heart isn’t broken anymore. What this cake represents is a part of my life that I will never ever return to because trusting myself and the man who saved my life is more important to me than any stepping-stone. That’s why, as a symbol of new beginnings, I’m about to introduce this bat to that cake. You may want to take a step back.”

  There were gasps and claps as I brandished my weapon of choice. Meeting Mark’s gaze, he nodded. At that moment, my heart swelled, my head spun, and I knew. I knew it would be him. Always.

  I swung with all my strength, and the bat collided with the mountain of chocolate sponge, marzipan, fairy floss, and boysenberry jam filling. It splattered, making the assembled crowd shriek in delight. Luckily for me, I’d made the outer shell of the Twister heartbreak cake thin enough for the effect I was hoping for.

  “Smash it!” Mark called out from behind me.

  “Yeah!” Macy added. “Put your back into it!”

  I hit it again, and someone shrieked in delight. “I caught a cow!”

  It hit it again and again until there was nothing left but a pile of mush. Man, that was a real stress reliever.

  Turning, I smiled widely and ran my finger over the cake splatter on the bat. “I now declare The Fitzroy Cake Company open for business!”

  Claps and cheers washed over me, and I basked in the feeling, hoping and wishing it would never end. The warm and fuzzy sensation of pure joy and love. I’d made it. Scratch that. Mark and I…we’d made it.

  “Hey,” I murmured, tugging on his arm. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

  “Sure.” He blinked, clearly confused.

  “I’m not sure how I’m meant to do this considering I haven’t said it before, but I’m pretty confident it’s all about the moment. Striking while the iron is hot because I’m ready. I want to live my life. This is all I’ve ever wanted. I don’t need any of that other shit. The line of signature bakeware nonsense. This is enough.”

  “Callie, what are you getting at?” He glanced at the bustling shop as cake after cake flew off the shelves and were packed into boxes.

  “I love you, Mark,” I blurted.

  He stared at me, his eyes widening, and I began to fret I’d laid it on too thick, too fast.

  A long moment passed, and then his lips curved into a smile. A real, genuine smile.

  “I love you, too.”

  Other Books in The Beat and The Pulse series…

  **The series is complete!**

  The Beat and The Pulse is a MMA Fighter romance series that’s full of grit, glory and love!

  Follow the men and women of Beat and Pulse as they fight for love... in and out of the cage.

  It’s time to fight for the broken hearted.

  Beat #1 <—FREE!

  Pulse #2

  Crash #3

  Spike #4

  Rebel #4.5

  Steel #5

  Flow #6

  Surge #7

&nbs
p; Quake #8

  Rush #9

  Strike #10

  Ignite #11*

  * * *

  *Please note: Ignite is exclusive to the Dark Desires boxed set until October 2017. It will be available as a solo title after this date, so please check back!

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at IGNITE (#11 The Beat and The Pulse)!

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  * * *

  Amity Cross is the International Bestselling author of wicked stories about rock stars looking for redemption, gritty romances featuring MMA fighters and dark tales of forbidden romance. She loves to write about alpha males and the strong women who challenge them to fall in love.

  Amity lives in a leafy country town near Melbourne, Australia and can be found chained to her desk, held at ransom by her characters.

  Don’t send help. She likes it.

  Follow Amity Online:

  @amitycross

  theamitycross

  www.AmityCrossWrites.com

  amity@amitycrosswrites.com

  Ignite (#11 The Beat and The Pulse)

  A Sneak Peek…

  CHAPTER ONE - ALISON

  * * *

  “They say the men there are hot as hell.”

  I glanced up, my ears pricking. Another water cooler gossip session was in full swing, and no surprises…I wasn’t included.

  Opening the cupboard in the kitchenette, I took down a tin of instant coffee and tried not to let it get to me. To everyone in the office, I was just the weirdo, Alison Anders. Only valuable because I didn’t complain about being overworked.

  “It’s completely illegal,” Susan said. Susan worked in my department and made it her life’s mission to belittle me. She had stringy brown hair, thin lips, and a sour personality. “They throw money around like it’s confetti.”

  “Would you go?” Fiona asked. She was one of the receptionists. Airy but not in an ethereal beauty kind of way. Airy as in there was a lot of vacant space in her brain.

  “No,” Susan replied, looking shocked. “They fight till they drop, I heard. It’s barbaric!”

  I rolled my eyes. It was always the same. Drama, hot guys, and more drama.

  How did I even get here?

  Three years ago, I was given the position of Customer Service Officer at a shipping company in the inner city suburb of Prahran in Melbourne. Things started off just fine. I turned up, learned the job, did my work, and I excelled. I was a good employee. I was never late. In fact, I was always early. Maybe that was why everyone hated me.

  I’d quickly become isolated, not having the guts to stand up to the bullies or to quit. I needed the job to pay my astronomical rent, and because I was living pay to pay, I didn’t have enough money to move. It was a catch-22.

  So I put my head down and did my work, often ending up doing enough for two people, so I didn’t have to deal with the snide comments. I would empty out my email inbox by lunchtime, and like magic, another pile of tasks would be forwarded to me. It was like IT knew and had an alert set up on my manager’s computer. I never complained even though I usually went home in tears because of stress.

  I was pretty sure I was the definition of a pushover.

  “You don’t want to take a little walk on the wild side?” Fiona asked. “Have a one-night stand with a Greek God?”

  “A woman needs standards,” Susan replied with a humph and flicked her hair. “Pashing a man covered in sweat and blood? Ew.”

  “I bet you wouldn’t say that if you saw them,” Fiona declared. “My boyfriend’s mate Tony went there once and said it’s hardcore. The guys who fight are ripped. Forget six-packs…apparently, they’ve got eighteen-packs.”

  I rolled my eyes again and turned back to the tin of instant coffee. Prying off the lid, I stared at the granules inside, my shoulders heavy. I didn’t care much about their topic of conversation, but I cared about being constantly excluded. I was so isolated in all parts of my life it was beyond a joke.

  I wasn’t exactly the life of the party, but I was interesting, wasn’t I? Even I was smart enough to know the answer to that question was a big, fat no.

  “Hey, do you think Alison would go?” Susan asked, forcing the group to start giggling. She didn’t exactly keep her voice lowered, either. They knew I was listening. I always listened, pretending to be a part of something I was never invited to.

  “Alison at The Underground?” Fiona sniggered. “Fat chance.”

  “Do you think she’s ever had sex?” Susan asked.

  “Eww!”

  Embarrassment seared through me, my cheeks flaring. I was far from a virgin, but how would they know? They didn’t even see past their own noses, let alone care enough to want to know who I was.

  Dumping a teaspoon of coffee into my mug, I poured in some boiling water from the urn. As it filled, the liquid turning the color of tar, I sighed again. What did I ever do to these people?

  Looking down at myself, I could take a stab. For lack of a better word, I was frumpy. Frumpy, shy, overemotional, stressed…the list went on. I looked at the person I’d become, and I didn’t see one positive. Unlike the women who worked around me, I’d never been told I was beautiful.

  My entire wardrobe was full of cheap skirts, scratchy polyester sweaters, and ill-fitting shirts that gaped over my breasts. My shoes looked like bricks, my chestnut hair was frizzy at best, my makeup was bland, and my hazel eyes were dull. I had no family, no friends, a job that was dragging me down, and no way out. My confidence was non-existent, and my spirit had died a long time ago.

  Alison Anders was a shell.

  Picking up my coffee, I went back to my desk, trying to ignore the sniggering at the water cooler. One of these days I was going to snap, and it wouldn’t be pretty. I would totally do a Carrie on them. The doors would slam shut, and body parts would fly. Or, more realistically, I would just gather up enough courage to finally tell them where to stick their shitty job.

  With my coffee warming my hands, I stared at my computer and began to wonder about this mysterious Underground the water cooler bitches were talking about.

  It sounded like cage fighting to me. Illegal betting, hot men, danger, and a place to score a steamy one-night stand with a bad boy Adonis…everything I would usually hide from.

  “Alison?”

  I glanced up and saw Susan hovering over my desk. Queen bitch herself.

  “Did you finish those reports yesterday?” she asked, raising an eyebrow when I didn’t reply.

  “Yes,” I replied. “They were submitted last night.”

  Susan flicked her awful stringy hair over her shoulder and smiled. “Perfect.” She reached down below the partition where I couldn’t see and produced a stack of hard copy files. “If you’ve done those, then you won’t mind doing these.” She dumped them onto my desk without so much as a flourish.

  They fell half on the desk and half on the floor, and I bit my lip to stifle the groan that was about to burst forth.

  “Five o’clock‬!” Susan exclaimed, giving me a little wave before shimmying off to her own desk. ‬‬‬‬‬

  What a bitch.

  Setting my coffee down, I bent over to retrieve the folders, scooping up the papers that had fallen across the floor. There was a pop, and I groaned as the safety pin holding my shirt in place over my boobs fell to the floor. It hit the carpet, the metal bent out of shape, and I felt like crawling under the desk and never coming out.

  I was a complete and utter mess.<
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  That night, half an hour of Internet sleuthing gave me the location of The Underground.

  The illegal cage fighting operation was set up in a warehouse in Abbotsford, just north of Melbourne’s central business district. Or just up a little from the bit with all the skyscrapers. It was a pocket of industrialization the inner-city hipsters forgot, and developers overlooked it for more accessible plots of land by the docks to the southwest. It was the perfect place to conduct shady business if you asked me.

  I’d totally looked up the place with the intention of going. It was a terrible idea, but I was at my wits’ end. My life had been a slow simmer up until this point, and now the pressure had finally reached my brain. Something had popped today, the safety pin holding my boobs in place a metaphor for something a lot larger than my tits.

  I had to do something because so far, excuses had gotten me nowhere.

  This steaming pile could not be my life.

  So, I got into my car—the car I only used once a week to go grocery shopping—and drove across the city. I was never out this late, and it was thrilling even if it was all a little sad.

  I found a spot to park a block away, and when I got out, I was surprised to see quite a few people on the street for such a barren area. They were all moving in the same direction I was headed, and I wondered if they were there for The Underground, as well. Thrusting my hands into my jacket pockets, I followed them toward the warehouse.

  I’d put on a pair of black jeans, a plain navy singlet, a silver necklace, a pair of boots I’d found at a secondhand shop, and a cheap leather-look biker jacket. My hair was scraped back into a loose plait that swung down my back, and my makeup was just as plain as usual. A bit of foundation and some mascara. Glancing at the people around me, I fit right in, and it was the first time I didn’t feel ashamed of what I looked like. Poor and ordinary.