Shadowboxer

by Cari Quinn

  Welcome to New York. Days of intermittent snow, then a night of rain. By tomorrow it could be seventy and sunny.

  A girl could dream.

  I was ready to dream. I was also ready to get out of New York. Georgia or Louisiana were looking better all the time. Someplace warm where I wouldn’t have to wear long underwear to sleep in half the year because I had the core body temperature of a wood tree frog.

  We’d almost reached the finish line. All I had to do was execute the plan I’d devised. Kizzy was right. I wasn’t acting like myself. I never missed training, and today I’d just rolled over and gone back to sleep. I couldn’t risk losing everything when I was finally so freaking close to getting what I’d always wanted.

  Money. Freedom. A new start with my sister, far from everyone and everything in New York.

  That meant I had to stay away from Fox. If people saw us together before our fight, they’d think it was a big sham. Kizzy was already getting suspicious. I had never had trouble controlling my hormones, and I wasn’t about to develop bad habits at the worst time.

  I’d had my fun—ha—and that was that. I’d never met a problem I couldn’t find a solution to. And that’s all he was. A problem. An impediment to my goal.

  A roadblock with a sinful body and smart mouth and eyes like aquamarines.

  Without looking at the doorway, I knew the moment Fox entered. The air in the room changed, the molecules scattering in deference to his overpowering energy.

  He sat on the edge of my mattress, dipping it almost to the floor. I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. I was already imagining the small room as he must see it. I’d shoved the full bed against the wall to make a big open space in the center for my exercise mat. A small worn dresser and kid’s desk I’d lugged home from the thrift store made up the rest of the room’s furniture. I didn’t even have a nightstand. It was a miracle I had a closet.

  He didn’t know Carly and I would be sharing this bed while she was in town. We hadn’t even discussed how long that would be yet. She’d promised to tell me everything this weekend, and since I had enough on my mind with my upcoming fight—my last before I fought Fox—I’d let it slide. My overloaded brain could only accommodate so much information, and she was a good kid. If she said everything was okay, I had to believe her.

  God knew I needed to have faith in something.

  I waited for him to tear into me. For what, I wasn’t even sure. My latest offense was walking out on the guests in my living room and hiding out like some uncivilized beast.

  But he didn’t. He only pointed at the pair of items propped next to the narrow window. “You fence?”

  Rather than answer, I uncurled myself from my position and walked over to pick up my foil. He’d moved to my side so I handed him the other.

  “Kizzy and I fence here sometimes. It’s not sanctioned at the gym.”

  A smile crooked up his mouth. “Can’t fence, but bruising your brain is fine. Good to hear they have standards.”

  “Do you want to?” Afraid he’d get the wrong idea, I gestured with my weapon. “Fence, I mean. I have a protective chest panel you could wear. It’s not as good as a regular fencing outfit, but Kizzy’s won’t fit you.” When he didn’t immediately reply, I hurried ahead. “If you’re unfamiliar, I can show you the basics—”

  “Sweetheart, I’d love for you to show me the basics to just about anything, but I know how to fence. I’ve just never done it in a room this small. It’s dangerous.”

  Because I’d already caught the light of interest in his eyes, I nodded. He was like me that way. Adrenaline junkies until the end. “It can be.”

  He nodded at the closet. “Show me what you’ve got for gear.”

  Into my tiny closet I went. I didn’t have much stuff to sort through. Carly’s belongings already overflowed my meager space and I knew she hadn’t brought everything. But it was enough to make me wonder if she intended to go back upstate at all.

  If maybe our new life was starting sooner than I’d planned.

  I dragged out my fencing top and the protector I’d mentioned. The plastic was covered by the ugliest gray plaid I’d ever seen. Velcro strips wrapped around the back. I bit my lip and turned to him, trying to judge if he could wear it without seeming as if I was ogling his body.

  Who could blame me for ogling a little? Especially now that I knew what he looked like half-naked? All that taut tanned skin stretched over perfectly toned muscles. And that tattoo that somehow matched mine, as if we’d been created as a set and all these years never knew it.

  I rubbed my bleary eyes. What I needed was sleep, not to be jabbing at the guy I’d so foolishly had sex with. I’d done that enough already, minus the deadly weapon.

  “Never mind your piece of government cheese. I’ll use this.” He picked up his coat from where I’d flung it over my bedpost. He shot me a grin over his shoulder. “It’ll act as added incentive for you not to kill me. At least you’ll want to protect the jacket.”

  It hurt me to smile. Physically hurt. My split lip still hadn’t fully healed yet, but that wasn’t why. I didn’t get why things had to be this way. How he could be—well, the way he was. He had his flaws like anyone else. Probably big ones. We barely knew each other, but I already knew he had a hot temper and a propensity for violence. Just like I did.

  I also knew he could be gentle and that he tried to take care of me in small ways he didn’t think I’d notice. The coat, the soaping in his tub. The way he’d followed me home to make sure I was okay after he’d said more than he intended. I wasn’t worth much. I didn’t have any illusions about that. I hadn’t been mad at him for saying those words. They were true.

  Sometimes I forgot for a minute or two. Especially when I was with him. He was the reason my stupid traitorous heart kept pushing at the walls of my chest in a futile bid to get out of its damn cage.

  I wanted to be a woman. I wanted to laugh with a guy, and hold hands, and have sex. I wanted to feel things, even if they hurt. I had no idea how to be in a regular relationship, but I wanted to try. There was so much more to life than what I’d experienced, and in only a few days, Fox had given me a big, delicious taste.

  Now I was so hungry for more that I couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand myself, because I was broken. If I hadn’t been, maybe I could’ve abandoned the fight idea and just gotten a normal job to earn the money we’d need to start over. The wounds on my face would heal. The scars on my body would fade. But I’d never be normal enough to walk the same path as regular people. I’d never feel at ease in an office, with cubicle walls pressing in on all sides and too many pairs of eyes watching me.

  The bar was different. For the most part, I was just a hand on a bottle, pouring my patrons’ preferred poison. Even the extra service I’d provided for a fee hadn’t been about me. I was just one more ghost moving through a sea of them. Hand out, mouth open, it was all the same.

  “Mia?”

  Shaking off the concern in his tone, I shed my shirt and pulled on my fencing jacket. It was a modified, much cheaper version than what real fencers would wear, but the worst thing that could happen was that I’d get stabbed.

  Worst? Best? Hard to say.

  “Nothing above the neck or below the waist.” I picked up my foil. “You’re familiar with the basic moves?”

  He’d shoved his arms through his jacket so he wore it back to front like an oversized leather bib. “I said I was.” He didn’t sound concerned anymore. Now he sounded irritated.

  Yeah, well, his fault for trying to interact with an emotional zombie. At least I wasn’t the only one to blame for this mess.

  “En garde,” I said, my mind already locking into place for battle. In the end, fighting was all I had. All I was.

  We circled each other. From his hesitant movements, I swiftly realized he wouldn’t strike first. He would wait for me. Protecting the little woman to the last.

  I didn’t attack right away. Normally my style was to charge in first before my oppo
nent had his guard fully in place and brawling like my life depended on it. Sometimes that was enough. Sometimes it wasn’t. Only when my opponent thought she had me on the ropes did I become the spider from which I’d earned my name. Waiting, biding my time. Picking my moment to go in for the kill.

  Fencing required a different sort of dance. I had to show Fox he wasn’t the only one with speed. And that I wasn’t going to pull my punches, whether with my fists or my foil.

  I came in low along his right side since he was a leftie. He countered effortlessly, and in riposte, aimed just under my shoulder. I parried and jabbed again, higher on the same side. Shifting closer, tempting him to counter by thrusting at the same spot again. Encouraging him to think I’d keep aiming at the places he would expect. His foil clashed against mine and he gave me a feral smile, teeth bared.

  Oh, yeah, it was on.

  We went again, circling endlessly, slapping blades, lunging low, attacking high. Pushing each other across the room and back again, skirting furniture and avoiding walls. He was right. This room was way too small for this. He wasn’t petite like Kizzy. The guy owned the space, turning me into a planet that orbited his sun. I didn’t like feeling dominated by his sheer size and started getting annoyed and sloppy. I hadn’t fenced in a long time, and he was better than I’d expected.

  Breathing hard, sweating more than a little, I ramped up my game, but it didn’t make much difference. He seemed to know my moves before I executed them and was so light on his feet that I couldn’t even jab the tip of my blade against his coat.

  Until I did, and the material tore with a vicious slice.

  Fox gasped, and I dropped my foil, sending it clattering across the floor. Oh shit. I rushed to him, already praying aloud, apologizing, begging him not to be hurt as I pulled off the coat and saw that his shirt was…

  Not damaged at all.

  Still expecting him to keel over any moment, I glanced up and glimpsed his wide grin. The fucker.

  “Just a flesh wound.”

  He lifted his hand to my sweaty cheek and trailed his thumb down to my mouth. My pulse raged in my ears and I couldn’t take in enough air. I thought I’d stabbed him in the damn chest.

  “Worried about me, baby?” he asked breathlessly, still grinning.

  And I lost it.

  I grabbed his Vinnie’s T-shirt in both hands, maybe to use it to strangle him with. Maybe to rip it off. Whatever my intention, it split just the same, the thin fabric rending with not a whole lot of effort on my part. I was strong, but this was a new level even for me.

  Fox’s smile disappeared. “Uh, Mia—”

  “Shut up.” Blind with fury, I stalked to the door he’d neglected to shut behind him and pushed it closed, then flipped the lock. I turned to find him right at my back, eyeing me with something way different than trepidation.

  One thing I had to say about the guy—he caught on quick.

  He didn’t have to reach for my jacket, because I was already yanking it off. My bra followed while he went for my jeans. He skipped the button and zipper entirely, shoving the baggy denim over my ass, then banded an arm under the back of my thighs to haul me right off my feet. I let out a startled squeal as his mouth descended on mine, hard as a bruise, almost violent in its intensity.

  I welcomed every bit of his wildness. His deeply thrusting tongue, his punishing lips, the way his teeth clashed against mine. We fed on each other like animals. My hunger finally had an outlet and I sated it without thought.

  Without warning, he carted me across the room and tossed me down, jarring my spine against my mattress. A giddy breath whooshed out of me. I’d never thought I would like to be manhandled again, not after I’d had my boundaries so ruthlessly violated years ago. Except this was different. He wasn’t being rough with me to bend me to his will, but because we both needed it that way.

  He crawled across me like a big rangy panther and knelt between my splayed thighs while he struggled with his jeans.

  “Need some help?” I leaned up on my elbows.

  He swore and fumbled with his zipper. His hand shook, a nice counterpoint to my own full-body tremble. The only difference was that I was still trying to act cool and he was all heaving breath and clumsy fingers.

  Somehow that unnerved me even more.

  He got his jeans down and pulled out his wallet, unearthing a condom in record time. Then with his jeans still around his thighs, he rolled the latex over his erection and gripped my hips, pulling me forward. With one push, he surged into me right up to the hilt.

  No hesitation. No foreplay. I didn’t need any. Apparently neither did he. He groaned and hiked my legs higher, flipping them up until they rested on his shoulders. Then he bent me, folding my body like I was an accordion, jamming my knees to my chest and pumping so deep I couldn’t stifle my cries. He slanted his mouth over mine and timed the thrusts of his tongue to those of his cock, finding the rhythm I needed as if he craved the same.

  Hard. Cruel. Nothing held back.

  He slammed into me again and again, our sweaty skin sliding together and chafing at the points of contact. Matching his strokes, I arched to accommodate the depth of penetration we both sought. Back aching, muscles burning, I twisted and turned into a damn pretzel to give him the room he required to take every inch of me. I couldn’t open my thighs wide enough. My lungs didn’t contain enough air to fuel the kisses I couldn’t stop.

  He seized one of my hands and pinned it next to my head. But I wasn’t afraid. He wouldn’t hurt me. Or if he did, I’d love every minute.

  His fingers wove with mine, a tangible anchor in the center of insanity. He used his other hand to squeeze and pluck at my breast. With a flex of his hips, he rubbed the base of his dick against me just right. Exactly right. The mattress nailed the wall again and again, springs squealing, wheels skidding over the floor. We were making so much noise. My sister flashed into my mind and disappeared as he let go of my breast to stab his fingers through my hair. Destroying the braid, streaking pain along my scalp.

  I moaned, so turned on I couldn’t begin to quench the fire in my core. I didn’t know how to. I was right there with him, consumed by his strained features above me and the intense gleam in his eyes.

  He bore down, plowing so deep that I think I blacked out for a minute. Ran out of oxygen, maybe. He clutched my hand, driving my knuckles into the bed, his breath a warm gust over my ear. It brought me back to reality against my will. God, that euphoric darkness was so intoxicating…

  “How close are you?”

  With one question, he nudged me even further toward the edge. Did he really care that much about making me come? Most guys I’d met hadn’t.

  I’d been close when he slid inside me. Now I was trapped, dangling on both sides of the ledge, not going over either side. Stuck between frustration and bliss.

  I reached down and touched myself without planning to. All I wanted was to soothe the ache.

  He groaned. “Yes, baby, yes.”

  I couldn’t think anymore. All I cared about was chasing the pleasure and making sure he found it with me.

  He got there first, grunting out his release, his hold on my hand so painful I cried out in actual fear he’d snap the bones. How could I fight with a broken hand? Then his battering strokes eased and he swiveled his hips, angling into me with such precision that I splintered beneath him. Around him. Shuddering and moaning his name as I rocketed upward to bury my face between his neck and shoulder.

  “Tell me you don’t want more of this.” He grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him.

  My vision blurred with sweat—I hoped it was only sweat—and turned him into an angry, vibrating haze above me. His body suddenly felt so huge and crushing now that I’d used it to quench my endless thirst.

  “You tell me that,” he grated, “and I’ll fucking fight you.”

  Sprawled beneath him, pinned by the overwhelming weight of his chest, I couldn’t see beyond the thoughts I’d had for months. I’d fight him,
make my money—more money than I could make that fast any other way, other than dealing drugs or becoming a high class hooker—and Carly and I would leave.

  We’d leave the city, leave the daily struggle to survive every day. Leave him and all the men just like him. Glossy and untouchable and…clean.

  New York represented my old life. Even though I’d left my aunt’s house upstate to come down to the city to fight, I was still too close. I couldn’t deal with the memories of what I’d tried to rebuild there out of the shards of the past.

  It had always been such a simple plan. So easy to execute. Now it barely made sense.

  I still had faith that I could use my wit and skill to outsmart Tray—Fox, dammit—in the ring long enough to get him to tap out. Even if I couldn’t, I’d still make more than I would in a regular chick brawl. If the crowds showed up to see my tits or to watch me get taken down, I didn’t really care as long as I got paid.

  “Goddammit, Mia.” Abruptly, he pulled out of me.

  I cried out, not because it hurt but because I hadn’t been prepared. He shot a glance at me, his eyes narrowed, the angle of his jaw as sharp as the blades carving me up inside. He disposed of the condom in the garbage can and fisted his hands on his thighs.

  He knew what my answer was. What it had to be. Changing my mind now would feel like failure, and I couldn’t let myself down. I wore my scars on my body because the internal ones had scabbed over and gone numb. If all I was destined to feel was pain, at least it was mine.

  This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Stuff like this didn’t happen to girls like me. He’d given me his coat and accepted me as I am, but that didn’t mean he would tomorrow. We’d barely even talked. All we’d had were fights and sex. For people like us, that was our communication. Actions showed the truth. Words were often lies. Sometimes pretty ones, but lies just the same.

  “We make a deal.” His voice had hollowed out. He didn’t sound like the Fox I knew.

  What made me think I had any sort of handle on him? Why did it feel like I did?