by J. B. Havens
****
I was waiting by the ring when the men came in. I had changed into my boxing clothes: tight shorts that hit me at mid-thigh, a racer-back tank, and my signature neon pink sports bra. Gotta keep something about me girly. The ring was in the far right corner of the hangar, behind our Black Hawk and to the side of the control hub. It looked like any boxing ring you see on TV: red, white, and blue ropes; a red corner; and a blue corner. The lights suspended over the ring were in wire cages. I wasn’t sure why, not like it was a high school gym and the lights needed protection from flying balls or anything. Along the mirrored back walls behind the ring, were speed bags, heavy bags, barbells, and a weight bench. The mirrors were mostly for yoga and for watching our form as we lifted. Yoga may not seem like a very manly thing, but it is physically demanding and very good for mental health. When you are as isolated and as frequently in life-threating situations as us, anything that’s good for mental health is a huge bonus.
I had already taped my hands and was warming up with stretches and some work on the bag. The guys took turns taping each other’s hands and began stretching too. They were all dressed more or less the same; shorts in various lengths and colors, but none shorter than mid-thigh. Flynn tried to show up in a speedo once and I outlawed them after making him burn it. Jordon was the most colorful with the bruises decorating his ribs, broad back, and legs. I winced as I saw him trying to stretch through them; I knew in the long run it would help, but in the meantime it hurt like hell. His tattoos were in stark contrast with the bruises; the black swirls and bold lines flowing along his biceps and shoulders, down onto his chest. Sigh.
I swiped my phone, and a few taps later Rob Zombie’s, Dragula filled the hangar. Perfect fighting music. Another perk of being Steel was the awesome technology we had access to. My phone was synced with the sound system in here, the mess hall, and my cabin. I could also see all of the security feeds from the cameras on my phone and on the computer system in my Jeep. Phillips also had the same set up on his phone and in his truck.
“Ok boys, pair up.” Pierce and Flynn stepped to the side followed by Phillips and Jones; leaving me with Jordon just like I wanted.
“Everyone get warmed up and start sparring. We’ll rotate partners every fifteen minutes.” I walked to Jordon, trying to further assess his injuries as I drew closer. Most of the bruising on his ribs and back were centralized to the left side; must have been where Phillips hit him with his rather impressive flying tackle. I wanted to see what he could do in the ring, but I also didn’t want to aggravate his injuries. I heaved another huge sigh. I seemed to be doing that a lot today.
Jordon was looking at me like he’d rather be somewhere else, not that I blame him. Here he was having to play nice and spar with the people that a couple days ago kidnapped him, beat him, and suffocated him all under the premise of testing his mental fortitude against torture and the likelihood of him squealing like a pig. Sigh.
“You’re with me, Jordon. Obviously.” Apparently my bitchiness was still present and kicking. Cue sarcasm.
“Yes, Staff Sergeant.” As they say, butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
I drew him to the side to a heavy bag the others weren’t using. I did a few jabs and a couple of knees to finish my warm up. I gestured for him to move into position behind the bag and hold it for me. I worked the bag; right jab, left knee, left jab, and then right knee; trading back and forth. The music filling the air around us changed to Meet the Creeper and it got my blood pumping. I could feel the music under my feet, bouncing up into my very soul. I hit the bag with the beat, over and over, sweat beginning to pour off me. I lost myself in the feel of the bag under my fists and legs to the rhythm of the music and lyrics. There was nothing like this, where all that existed was the power in my body and the music all around me. With my next hit, the bag swung back toward me; I dodged it quickly by stepping to the side. Jordon was no longer holding it, but standing to the side glowering at me.
“Speak your fucking mind, Corporal.” Well I guess we were going to do this sooner than I expected. I figured we’d be in the ring before I went all alpha bitch on him. The real kicker was that none of this was his fault. He didn’t ask to be tortured. It wasn’t his fault that I was feeling the way I was. This was my guilt and my anger, but he was a great target. Everyone around us stopped and stared, waiting to see how this would play out. Most of them knew by now that this was my way of working shit out.
“What’s your fucking problem, Mic? I didn’t do shit to you. If memory serves me, it was you that gave the orders for this,” He shouted, as he gestured to his whole body. Sigh. Again.
“You’re right. You’re abso-fucking-lutely right. It was me. I was behind that mirror the entire time. I broke into your cabin, I chased you into the woods.” I could see the shock on his face at that one. He thought I was just giving orders and not actively participating.
“That was you?”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Of course it was me, dip shit. It’s what I do. I get into places. Anyways…” Sigh. Was this over yet?
“So… what are you saying, Mic?” He really was going to make me spell it out for him? He crossed his arms over his chest and stared; not giving me a freaking inch.
“I’m not saying that what we did wasn’t necessary, and I don’t regret it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat because it’s the only way to get the information I need. But... I didn’t like having to do it.” I shook my head and fought not to look down and shuffle my feet. “Fuck, anyways, I’m sorry. There it is. Take it or leave it.” I spun around and hit the bag with a solid round-house. Jordon dropped his arms and walked back over to the bag with me.
“You’re sweating your ass off; I think you’re warmed up. My turn.” He pushed me around to hold the bag and began his own warm up. Smiling at myself, I shrugged and held the bag. Such a guy way to handle it. I’ll take it. Better than the chick way, which was damn uncomfortable for everyone.
****
I was standing beside the ring with Phillips, watching Pierce and Jordon in the ring. Jordon was noticeably favoring his bad side. He had pitched a fit like a toddler when I forced him to wear head gear. Whining that he shouldn’t have to wear it when the others didn’t. He shut up when I pointed out that if he got his stitches busted open, I’d just have to re-do them. For a man with a shit ton of ink, he sure didn’t like needles. I bet it had less to do with the needle itself and more to do with the tugging sensation when you pull the thread through. It made my stomach flip every time. Not that I would admit that out loud or anything.
“He’s good. I’d like to see him box when he’s healthy,” Phillips said, interrupting my thoughts.
“I agree. He’s got solid foot work and great form. He boxes by the book. We need to shake that up. Nobody in the field plays by the rules,” I said as I watched Jordon duck a right hook and follow up with a solid hit to Pierce’s ribs. I think there was a little pay-back going on here, typical testosterone-fueled crap that I should be used to by now.
Phillips nodded in agreement.
“How do you propose to do that, Mic?” He gestured toward the ring as Coming Undone by Korn began playing. I bobbed my head to the beat and sang under my breath. It fit I think. I needed to find a little thread and pull it to see if Jordon came apart. He came close after the torture, but I could see the cliff behind him now and I needed to see if I could push him over or if he’d push back.
“Pierce!” I shouted, drawing them both to a stop. They were coated in sweat and blossoming bruises, standing with their hands on their hips and breathing hard. The sweat coating Chris’s arms made his tattoos look darker and shiny under the florescent lights. I told myself that there is nothing wrong with appreciating the view. It’s no different than admiring a painting, right? Just because you can appreciate its beauty, doesn’t mean you want to take it home with you.
“Yeah, Mic,” Pierce gasped out.
“Take a break, both of you. Get some water. Jordon, you and I are up next.”
He cocked his head to the side and gave me a disbelieving stare. I rolled my eyes for what felt like the hundredth time today.
Climbing under the ropes, I got into the ring and began bouncing on my toes, waking up my calves. I took a couple of deep breaths and stretched my arms over my head, clasping my hands and doing a small back bend. Opening my eyes, I saw Jordon watching me, his green eyes blazing with a look I was fast learning means he’s enjoying the view. I dropped my arms and turned away.
“Ready?” I asked him stepping to the center of the ring. He took a last drink from his water bottle before tossing it to Phillips, who caught it left-handed. Show off.
“As I’ll ever be.” Before we bumped fists, I looked over and saw everyone lined up along the ropes, watching. Flynn was grinning like a maniac and writing something down. They were taking bets. Jesus.
“It’s like watching Rocky and Apollo. Can’t decide who we want to win,” Flynn joked.
“Ding-ding, mother fuckers, ding-ding,” Jordon shot over his shoulder.
We circled each other, looking for a weakness, and an opening. Jordon’s reach was twice mine, but I was smaller and faster than him. He could hit much harder, but he’d tire before I did. It took a lot of energy to move all the muscle around. I jabbed a few times, testing his reaction. He didn’t acknowledge it at all, just kept circling. The guys were calling out encouragement now; all of them shouting at once, made it hard to concentrate.
I tuned them out and instead focused on watching Jordon’s chest; his movements betrayed there in his muscles before he even moved. He shifted his weight forward on his left leg and tensed up his right side. I moved out of the way before he started the swing, coming up behind him and kicking him in the back of his right thigh while he was off balance from the missed swing. I expected him to fall, but he pivoted on his left leg, regaining his balance and turning toward me. I made eye contact, jolted by the determination I saw there. I nodded and grinned, lifting my hands in the universal “bring it on” gesture.
He swung forward, faster than I expected, and I took the jab on my cheek, which jerked my face to the side. He followed with a left that I ducked at the last second. My cheek was throbbing with each rapid beat of my heart. It felt like I got hit with a hammer. Dammit. I shook it off and went on the offensive. I drove him backwards to the ropes, hitting him in the body, but always on the right side. I tried to avoid his bruised ribs as much as I could. He tucked his elbows in, protecting his ribs, and I took the opening. Drawing my shoulder back and shifting my feet to put my weight behind the punch, I landed a solid right hook to his face. His mouth piece flew out and he went to one knee.
I stood in the blue corner and propped my arms on the ropes behind me. I risked a glance at Phillips and silently asked him if I should continue or not. He looked at Jordon and then back to me, giving me one of his stoic nods. Flynn was heckling Jordon, making the others laugh. I didn’t think it was possible but Jordon’s jaw hardened further.
He stepped back to the center of the ring and I joined him. Bumping fists, we did our circle dance again. We continued on this way for a little while, trading a few jabs and looking for the one opening that would finish this. There was no ringing bell and no referee. We had moved on to something more than just a simple sparring match; this was a gladiator match of wills and stubbornness. Neither one of us was willing to back down, or give a single freaking inch.
“Just give up, Jordon. You’re exhausted. Your entire body is a giant bruise. There is no shame in being beat by a girl half your size,” I chirped at him before giving another solid kick to his thigh. The muscle had to be jumping by now. I’d been kicking him in the same spot every chance I got, hoping the leg would give out on him.
“Fuck you, Mic. I’m no quitter. I eat little girls like you for breakfast.” I gasped in pain after he tucked his huge fist into my ribs. Again.
“You couldn’t handle me. I’d give you heart-burn to your ugly toes,” I grunted out.
“You let me worry about that, girly. I’ve got a big bottle of Tums.” His grin faded quickly under my fist.
This felt like school-yard flirting. Dammit. This was supposed to push him to the edge of the cliff, not turn into a verbal sparring match that got my blood pumping.
“You hit like your mom Jordon. Come on. Is that the best you can do?” I ducked his arm and spun away.
“Falling back to “your momma” jokes already? Where’s that snarky attitude you’re so famous for? Am I beating it out of you?”
“Ha! You wish. The only thing you can beat is your cock,” I snapped out.
“You just wish you knew what I can do with my cock. Get your head out of your pants, lady.” The others were roaring with laughter.
I smirked at him and went for the kill. I backed away to the other side of the ring and relished his look of confusion. Seed by Korn filled my head and I set myself up for a move the guys would see coming, but would knock Jordon on his ass. Literally. Up until now, we’d been playing by the rules. No dirty hits. But in a fight to the death in the field, there are no rules. I feigned left, getting Jordon to step his legs apart. I ran at him suddenly, taking him by surprise. At the last second, I threw myself down and forward, sliding feet first between his legs. Normally, if I did this move I would take my KA-BAR and stick it in a kidney, but I wouldn’t be doing that this time. Instead I quickly got to my knees and grabbed two fistfuls of his shorts and jerked them down past his knees. He tripped and landed on his face… and the joke was on me.
Instead of jockeys or boxers I got an eyeful of taught golden skin. He was commando under his shorts. I traced my eyes down the slope of his back, along the dip in the small of his back before the swell of his perfect ass. I followed the line of his body down his heavily muscled thighs before stopping where his shorts rested just below his knees. I eyed the back of his knees like they were a piece of candy. I wondered if his skin tastes as good as it looks. Holy Mother of God, the man was perfect and I hadn’t even seen the front. I could feel a blush staining my cheeks and could hear the roaring laughter of the men behind me.
Chris raised himself up on his forearms and looked over his shoulder at me with a knowing smirk. He was unashamed and comfortable in his nakedness. Nudity. Anyone that secure in their unclothed state is nude, not naked. “Like what you see there, Mic? I could give you a private viewing if you want?”
Flynn doubled over laughing and even Phillips was laughing so hard tears poured down his face.
I had to salvage this moment; I couldn’t walk out of here letting him think that he or the guys had gotten the best of me. He was just resting there, unabashedly nude, grinning at me. A thought came to me; a dangerous thought. I tore the tape off of my hands, ripping skin and hair off in equal measure. I let what I thought of the view before me fill up my eyes; let him see the appreciation I had for him reflect on my face. Slowly and deliberately, I placed my hands on his legs just below his knees, and inch by inch, ran my hands up the backs of his legs; letting my thumbs graze the inside edge of his thighs before sweeping up over his glorious full ass and coming to rest on his back. His skin was hot under my hands and he was breathing faster. His eyes darkened to the color of leaves after a storm. I squeezed my hands in the flesh of his lower back and drug my fingernails firmly down over his ass, making him shiver. I watched goose bumps crawl over his skin in a rush. Four red lines popped out on each cheek, marking him. The sight gave me more pleasure than I wanted to reveal. I grinned at him and stood without saying a word. He’d have to be careful to keep his back to the guys when he stood up, so he didn’t salute them all.
“I want my share of the bets, boys. I think I took this round,” I shot over my shoulder as I stepped down from the ring and made my way past the Black Hawk.
Flynn was laughing so hard he was sitting on the floor snorting, and Jordon was muttering swears at them, too flustered to say much. The smile fell from my face as I left the hangar. I knew I was fanning the flames that I should be letting die
out. As the old saying goes, when you play with fire, you might get burned. I could feel flames licking my boot heels.
****
Jordon struggled back into his shorts, snapping the band over the massive hard-on he didn’t even bother to hide. There was no point, what that woman just did would give a corpse a raging stiffy.
“Looking good there, Jordon! We’ll let you have some alone time in the cabin if you need it,” Flynn joked, jabbing him in the arm.
“Fuck you, man. You’d be hard too if she’d done that to you. It doesn’t mean anything, erections are involuntary.” He was making it worse. Trying to defend himself and his reaction was pointless.
“Sounds like a case of the man doth protest too much,” Phillips interjected, walking out of the hanger.
Chris walked away, jerking his shirt on as he went. He needed to get out of here, clear his head. Mic was screwing with him worse all the time. He couldn’t figure out if she was serious, or if she was just trying to get into his head.
He made his way back to his cabin and got a shower. Not for the reasons Pierce seemed to think he needed one. He considered it for a second, thinking it would relax him, but decided the ribbing he would take if he was in the shower longer than two minutes wasn’t worth it. He was a week into his two weeks of intensive training before this mysterious mission. He needed to get his shit together when it came to Mic. They were going to be in the field soon and he’d be taking her orders. He was grasping at objectivity, and every time he was almost there, she did something else to throw it all to hell. Like clawing him up. Fucking hell. He got hard again just thinking about it. He told himself that it was a normal reaction to a very attractive woman. He was a healthy, hot blooded guy; of course it was going to affect him. What pissed him off was that he knew it was bull shit. He wasn’t thirteen again, seeing his first set of tits. He should be able to control this like a grown damn man, not a prepubescent boy. She was his superior officer. He vowed to think of her as genderless from now on.