In Your Corner (5 page)

“Fuck.” He growls the word, holding me so tight I can barely breathe.

My body trembles at the unexpected firmness of his touch. Jake in the bedroom was always gentle and fun. We traded pleasures equally, teased each other mercilessly, but never once did he push past my boundaries. We were partners in every sense of the word. But this Jake, dominant Jake—forceful, aggressive, and unpredictable—sends my desire to a whole new level.

“Jake.” His name emerges from my lips in a squeak of whisper as I press my hands against his chest. No longer am I the woman who just wants a good time and winds up in Hell, in its infinite variety of forms. For the first time, I want something more, and I won’t get that with the man I hurt. I couldn’t give myself to him before, why would anything be different now?

Shoving him back until he loosens his grip, I wiggle free. “I’ll get you that towel.”

“Amanda…”

Without looking back, I bolt up the stairs. I can’t be the fun, crazy girl he remembers. That girl would probably be having sex right now on the living room floor. She would be adding another page to Farnsworth’s blue file. She would know he was only teasing and in the morning, she would be alone.

***

“’Manda!”

Rampage throws his arms around me and gives me an enormous bear hug at the entrance to Redemption. “’Manda, ’manda, ’manda,” he chants, lifting me so high my feet leave the ground. “You’re okay!”

“It’s
A
manda,” I say dryly. “And I’m okay thanks to you and the other guys.”

“Everybodddeeeee. ’Manda’s here!”

Damn.

“Actually, I was hoping to fly under the radar tonight and just…”

A stampede of fighters swarms me, cutting me off from any possible escape. I am squeezed, hugged, kissed on the cheek, and petted like a kitten while Jake watches from the corner, bemused. But when someone cops a feel of my ass, he dives into the fray and pulls me out.

One big happy family. Another pang of longing and regret washes over me. When I gave up Jake, I gave up these guys too.

Still, it’s good to see nothing has changed in the two years I’ve been away. Well, except for the fact that the club is no longer illegal. A shiny new license takes up space by the door. The chalkboards covering the walls in the spacious main foyer now list upcoming sanctioned fights in addition to all the new training classes. Rules are posted on the bulletin board, and a huge Team Redemption MMA logo flashes on a screen in the corner.

Jake tours me through the renovated facility, a whopping 24,000 feet of the best MMA gear money can buy. The strength and cardio area now boasts three long rows of shiny new cardio equipment and a sea of weight machines, benches, and free weights. The walls have been painted bright shades of blue, red, and green, and wall-length mirrors brighten the space. We turn a corner and a blue sea of mat space stretches out before me. Grapple dummies line the walls like an army of soldiers, and across from them hang a small corps of punching bags. Three practice rings dominate the corners, and the gym is heaving with sweaty bodies.

“Wow. Makayla said Max—”

He cuts me off. “Don’t forget you have to use ring names in the gym.”

Rolling my eyes, I continue, but with ring names. “Doc said Torment had invested heavily in renovations, but I never imagined anything like this.”

“I was blown away too.” Jake nods back toward the entrance. “On that side, he has a CrossFit training room, fitness studios, snack bar, speed and agility facility, video room, equipment shop, lounge, and Doc’s first aid room. There’s also a whole wing that’s still undeveloped. And there isn’t a class he isn’t offering: wrestling, boxing, Muay Thai, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, grappling, general fitness. You name it. He’s got it.”

“It looks more like a secret Special Forces base than just a place to train.”

Jake laughs and throws an arm around my shoulders. “Come see the main attraction.”

Although his gesture is casual at best, I like his arm around my shoulders. His warmth seeps into me, and for a moment, I pretend the last two years never happened and I gave Jake everything he wanted. I gave him me.

We drop our shoes at the door and cross the mats into the center of the warehouse. Where once there was a roughly constructed, elevated ring surrounded by folding chairs and wooden bleachers, there are now two high-tech, solid fight rings with mats and flags emblazoned with the new Team Redemption logo. An octagon-shaped cage sits on a platform a few feet off the floor.

A shiver runs down my spine. Something about that cage makes my toes curl. In a good way.

“Cage fighting too?”

“He can’t run a serious MMA gym without a cage.”

“Do you…cage fight now?”

Jake’s eyes flash. “Yeah. Been practicing for a couple weeks. Always thought I was a ring man, but one taste of the cage and I was hooked. Homicide Hank has been taking me through some basic strategies. The cage can be used as a tool or as a weapon, so it requires a different set of techniques.”

Catching the slightest hitch in his breath, I look up and frown. “Is that why you’re stressed? Because you’re cage fighting tonight?”

His eyes widen as if I just caught him out. “Everyone’s gonna watch me in the cage and decide on my new ring name tonight. My old ring name, ‘Giant Killer,’ was taken by someone else when I was away, and because I’ve got a few fights under my belt now, the guys decided I need a new name. I’m just worried they’re gonna stick me with something humiliating, like Fuzzy.”

“I like the name Fuzzy. It’s cute.”

Jake gives me a look of mock disgust. “The guys gave it to him ’cause he’s such a hard-ass in class and they thought he needed to be taken down a peg. But seriously, in a fight between guys named Torment or Homicide or Blade Saw or even Hammer Fist and a guy named Fuzzy, who do you think will win?”

“The guy who’s so fierce his teammates gave him a cute name to keep his ferocity at bay?”

“Wrong.”

His anxiety is almost palpable, and I try to reassure him as best I can. “I’m sure you won’t have to worry. Once they see the vicious termination machine you are, they’ll be afraid to give you anything but the most fearsome of names.”

Jake laughs and brushes my hair behind my shoulder. “I forgot about your dry sense of humor. But really, I am a vicious termination machine.”

Someone shouts his name and he excuses himself to say hello. I spot Sandy, the once ex of both Jake and Max, climbing into a practice ring and wander over to investigate. Sandy’s platinum hair is piled on her head in a messy haystack and her curvy body is poured into a tight pink sports bra and pink bike shorts. She glares and then whispers to her opponent, Shayla, aka Shilla the Killa, a lean, muscular woman with a short, dark ponytail. They both turn to look at me and giggle. Suddenly I am in middle school all over again.

As they take their places at the corners of the ring, Jake comes up behind me and taps me on the shoulder. “You running away from me again?”

Mortified at the reminder of our break up, I turn to apologize only to catch his lopsided grin.

“I’m still wet.” He points to his hair and a relieved breath whooshes out of me.

The ref blows a whistle, and Shayla throws a right hook at Sandy’s face. I pray she knocks out a few of Sandy’s perfect, white teeth. Aside from scooping up Jake on the rebound after our break-up, a jealous Sandy tweeted a picture of Makayla’s ass when she found out Makayla and Max had hooked up. As Makayla’s best friend, I am duty-bound to hate her vicariously. And I do.

“You ever see Shilla fight?” Jake casually shoves a spectator out of my way, glaring the innocent six-foot leviathan into submission when he dares open his mouth to protest. “She’s got real talent. I’m pretty sure she has a good shot at the state championship.”

He twists a strand of my hair around his finger, but I don’t have time for him. I’ve never watched female MMA fighters before. And although Sandy was a ring girl when I last saw her, she is now holding her own against Shayla.

A crowd gathers as they circle the ring. Although physically not as strong as most of the male fighters I’ve seen, they are no less violent, no less skilled, and no less fierce. They kick and punch and spin and tackle. Sandy is clearly on the back foot. Blood drips from her nose but she doesn’t back down.

“Earth to Amanda.” Jake waves his hand in front of my face, breaking my concentration.

“Shhh. I’m watching the fight.” I swat his hand away and focus on the ring. Shayla pulls off some impressive moves, rolling with Sandy trapped between her thighs and then locking Sandy’s head between her legs and pinning her to the ground in an impressive submission.

Damn, that Shayla can fight. Probably better than some of the guys I’ve seen at the club. I can’t imagine anyone throwing her against a Dumpster. She would have had Bob and his bouncer groaning on the pavement in thirty seconds flat.

“I have to go and get ready for the cage,” Jake murmurs in my ear.

“Sure.” I give him an absent wave.

“Amanda.” His sharp rebuke yanks me out of the fight, and I look up at his furrowed brow.

“I want you to be there.”

“I’ll be there, Jake.”

“Don’t be late.”

“It’s only fifty feet away. I’m sure I’ll make it in time.”

Still, he doesn’t move. Instead he shuffles his feet and sighs. Finally, I turn and give him my full attention. “Anything else?”

“The ring name.” His voice drops to a low whisper. “It’s important. If I ever did get free of the company and go pro, I would need a good ring name. Something tough. Something that will make people afraid. You can hold your own in an argument, and you’re damn good at convincing people to do what they don’t want to do. Maybe you could convince the guys. I just…”

The little hint of vulnerability warms me, as does his faith in my legal skills. “I’ll do my best, Jake. I promise.”

RAGE IN THE CAGE

“Cage fight.”

The words whisper through the gym and people drift toward the octagon like kids to an ice cream truck. Although it isn’t a sanctioned match, a cage fight, even when the fighters are just sparring, is always good entertainment, and a nameless fighter in the cage, apparently even more so.

After a quick glance around the gym, I spot the experienced fighters huddled near the weight equipment, no doubt discussing possible ring names for Jake.

Showtime.

Stiffening my spine, I saunter over to the huddle and they break for a moment and let me join the circle. The gang is all here: Homicide Hank, Blade Saw, Obsidian, Hammer Fist, Rampage, Torment, Drake, aka Doctor Death at Redemption, and Fuzzy. Only Makayla is missing and she had better stay missing. If she dares show her face, I’ll let her know exactly what I think of the backpack setup.

Drake gives me a wink and waggles his finger, motioning for me to stand beside him, but with Jake over by the cage, I deem it not worth the risk. I don’t know if they’ve sorted their issues or whether Jake still wants to rip out Drake’s throat.

I glance quickly over my shoulder. Jake is stretching on the mats while his opponent, Master Mayhem, a bald bulldog of a fighter, is joking with a few ring girls. Jake has changed into a pair of fight shorts, navy blue with teal Chinese characters down the sides, and what looks to be bike shorts underneath. The color combination reminds me of Farnsworth & Tillman, and I shudder.

“Don’t like that name?” Blade Saw lifts an eyebrow.

“What name?”

“The Wolf.”

My nose wrinkles. “Not really him. If you want to name him after an animal, I would go with the cat family. I mean, look at his hair; it looks like a mane.”

“I fucking hate animal names,” Hammer Fist grumbles. “The lists are full of grizzlies, wolves, bears, lions, and tigers.”

“Cougar?” I give a little shrug.

“That would be you.” Rampage gives me a grin.

My hands find my hips. “I am not that old. I just turned twenty-seven. I have a good twenty years before I become a cougar. And by then, that totally sexist and offensive term will no longer be in use.”

“And here I thought you were thirty-five.” Rampage shakes his head as if in disbelief.

“Thirty-five? Do I look thirty-five?” My voice rises in pitch and then drops when I hear snickers around me. My eyes narrow, and I give Rampage my best monotone. “Ha ha. Very funny. You’re a funny guy, Rampage. My sides are splitting. I can barely contain myself.”

“She sounds forty-five now.” A suicidal Drake steps into the fray.

“One day, I’m going to learn how to fight,” I mutter. “And I won’t forget this conversation. You’ll be a sorry bunch of guys when I’m done with you.”

Glances all round. Smiles. Chuckles. “Now that’s something I’d like to see.” Rampage brushes his thumb over his bottom lip in mock contemplation. “’Manda in the ring. I have a feeling she’d really kick some ass.”

“Yeah. Starting with yours.”

“And she means it.” Makayla slides an arm around my waist and joins the group.

“Traitor.” I glare and mutter under my breath. “I knew there was no emergency call.”

“Best friend watching your back,” she whispers. “And I did have an emergency. You needed someone to shake some sense into you and I wasn’t able to do it. Looks like my plan worked better than expected.”

“You can expect to have no best friend tomorrow.” I push her hand away and follow the crowd to the octagon, but Makayla only laughs and falls into step beside me.

“How many times have you unfriended me only to refriend me twenty minutes later? Why not save yourself the stress and just realize I only have your best interests at heart?”

“Because you need to learn that my feelings are not to be trifled with—especially where they concern Jake. However, I’ll forgive you this time because I’m turning over a new, conservative, chaste leaf, and that means finding someone new, conservative, and…”

“Chaste?”

My lips quiver with a repressed smile. “Could be challenging.”

“Could be over fast.” Makayla giggles and a second later we’re both in tears.

“For a second there, I was worried about you,” she says between breaths. “I thought maybe you’d lost yourself after all.”

My smile quickly fades, and I bite my tongue before I tell her that she’s right and if not for Jake, I would still be in bed wondering where to find me.

Fuzzy joins us in the spectator’s area, and we chat about his dad and sister until Jake and Master Mayhem enter the cage. I shudder when the doors to the two entry-exit gates in the metal chain-link fence slam shut.

“Is it a real UFC cage?”

Fuzzy nods. “Now that the club is sanctioned, everything has to be regulation. The cage is thirty-two feet in diameter.”

“Torment also got the taller fence to accommodate our taller fighters.” Makayla gives me a wicked grin. “Like Jake.”

Jake spins around and I am treated to a perfect view of the strong, muscular planes of his broad back and…I take a step closer and frown. “When did he get those tattoos? He only had two when we were going out.”

Fuzzy shrugs and gives me a curious look. “I joined the club about a year and a half ago. Met Jake. He was going through a rough patch. His brother had just died and he was trying to sort out some other…personal stuff. One night we went out, got really hammered. He decided to get tatted up. And that wasn’t all he did.”

Makayla has the good sense to give an apologetic shrug when I turn and give her a “why didn’t you tell me” glare.

“I didn’t think you’d want to know,” she says.

Shayla, now sporting a black and white referee shirt, checks Jake’s gloves, and I take the opportunity to check out his ink. His new tattoos are breathtakingly gorgeous. A tribal design spans his upper back, covering the tops of his shoulders and his shoulder blades like wings. The two sides mirror each other with two curved lines gracing either side of his spine. I imagine running my fingers over his muscular back, tracing along the lines and ridges…

“I love tats too,” an all-too-observant Makayla whispers over the crowd’s chants of “rage in the cage.” “Sometimes I just want to lick Torment’s tats all over, but the minute I get my tongue anywhere near him, it all goes to hell and I find myself in yet another new position. His creativity boggles my mind.”

For a moment, I indulge myself in my own lick-the-tattoos fantasy but with Jake as the star, only to be rudely interrupted by the shrill blast of Shayla’s whistle.

Moments later, the fight begins. Master Mayhem rushes Jake and slams him up against the cage. Shayla blows a warning whistle and Master Mayhem backs away. Although he’s around the same height as Jake, Master Mayhem is twice as wide, with the physique of a professional bodybuilder and the powerful moves of a bull.

Jake circles on the outside as they feel each other out. Master Mayhem steps between Jake and the cage and throws a left, hitting Jake in the jaw before driving him into the fence. Jake pushes him off and staggers to his feet. Master Mayhem trips him. My heart skips a beat as he falls to his knees, but in seconds he is back on his feet.

“Maybe he should be sparring with someone less…experienced.” I shoot a worried glance in Fuzzy’s direction as if he would be able to stop the fight.

Fuzzy barks a laugh. “Jake’s playing him. He doesn’t fight the way people expect him to fight. He’ll fake weakness or an injury, stagger around the ring. Sometimes he just outright breaks the rules.”

“Most times he doesn’t follow the rules.” Makayla glances over at a frowning Torment and sighs. “Torment said Jake’s had warnings at every practice fight over the last few weeks. Not good for the reputation, especially if he wants to fight on the amateur circuit.”

A few seconds later, Jake pulls an illegal move, a downward elbow strike. He gets a warning. When the fight resumes, he pounces on Master Mayhem and digs his fingers into his opponent’s clavicle. Master Mayhem’s face contorts in pain. Shayla blows her whistle and stops the fight again.

“Two warnings now.” Fuzzy shakes his head. “If this was an actual event, he would risk disqualification. Damned renegade fighter. If he keeps up that kind of behavior, Torment will throw him off the team.”

Shayla gives Jake a final warning, and the two fighters move back to the center of the octagon. The fight increases in intensity with Jake and Master Mayhem trading kicks and punches. All that raw power unleashed in a primitive steel cage sets my blood to a boil. Jake’s pecs ripple with each punch, his tight abs strain, and his tantalizing ass teases me as he circles the mat. He is constantly in motion, moving in for the punch and then backing away. In and out. Back and forth. Almost like dancing. Or sex.

The crowd, now three people deep around the cage, cheers as Master Mayhem grabs Jake’s legs and takes him down to the mat. But Jake is quick. He wraps his arm around Master Mayhem’s leg and twists himself into a pretzel shape, holding on for dear life.

“I don’t think Master Mayhem will be able to shake his leg free from Jake’s half guard,” Fuzzy says, as if that means something to me.

In a blur of sudden motion, Jake twists Master Mayhem’s leg backward in a way legs are not supposed to go. The crowd roars in approval. Master Mayhem taps out.

Fuzzy gives Jake a begrudging thumbs up. “He’s a good fighter. Despite all the rule breaking, he won.”

“Renegade fighter.”

Fuzzy glances over at me, a frown creasing his brow. “What did you say?”

“He’s a renegade. Might make for a good ring name.”

“Amanda.”

My head jerks up and I catch sight of Jake leaning against the cage, arms crossed, his perfect body glistening with sweat. He meets my gaze and my cheeks heat. All the awkwardness of high school returns in a flash. I shift from foot to foot. My hands clench and unclench. My eyelashes drift down over my cheeks and I turn away.

At least I think I do. But my feet are still stuck to the mat. And I am lost in a sea of blue.

***

“Renegade.”

Rampage dumps a beer on Jake’s head and Jake officially becomes Jake “Renegade” Donovan.

A grin splits his face and he gives me a wink before he is swarmed by well-wishing fighters who all want to celebrate his new ring name by thumping him on the back or punching him in the gut.

“Do you like your name?” I hand him a towel when he finally breaks free and joins me at the side of the cage. He’s still pumped from his fight and his “christening,” eyes shining, muscles quivering, adrenaline still pulsing under his skin.

“Fuck, yeah.” He grabs me around the waist and crushes his lips against mine, then releases me so quickly, for a moment I wonder if it even happened. “Thanks to you. I heard you came up with the name.”

Stunned, with the sweet burn of his kiss still lingering on my lips, I breathe slow and deep, trying to quell the sudden rush of arousal that has turned my mouth dry and sent my pulse into overdrive.

“You’re…welcome.” My voice is a throaty rasp, made even more painful when I lick my lips and taste his salty sweetness on my tongue.

“You ready to grab some burgers?” He throws a casual arm around my shoulders, which I take as a signal his kiss was just a friendly kiss, a thank-you kiss, and not meant to be a kiss that rocked my world in a way I’m not sure I want anyway.

“Sure. You can’t get too much fat, carbs, and grease into your system, I always say.”

He chuckles and gives me a squeeze. God, I wish he would stop doing that. Despite my brain’s warning that these are friendly gestures, my body is entirely misinterpreting his signals. My panties dampen. My nipples tighten. And I am so hot, I am tempted to strip down to my undies on the pretense of doing some fighting of my own in the cage.

“I’d have to give up the burgers if I wanted to train seriously,” Jake murmurs half to himself. “Don’t think I can swing it though. I need to put more time into the company if I’m going to turn things around.”

We walk in comfortable silence down the corridor and then Jake turns into the changing room. “Just going to grab a shower. Back in a few.”

Desperate for a distraction, I wander around the foyer. The chalkboards are filled with schedules of the daily training regime. No yoga, tai chi, step, or low-impact classes at this gym. Instead, there is “Ground and Pound,” “Grunt ’n’ Grapple,” and “Mission: Submission.”

“You interested in training?” Fuzzy stops on his way to the changing room and gives me a wicked grin. His number two buzz cut does look delightfully fuzzy under the bright, overhead lights, but I restrain myself from running my hands through his hair.

“Just looking.”

“Well, if you are interested, you should start with my boot camp class, Get Fit or Die.” He taps the chalkboard beside his name. “It’s best to get conditioned first, so you don’t injure yourself.”

“What do you do in Get Fit or Die?”

His eyebrow twitches. “I kick your ass until you beg me to stop and then I kick it some more.”

“How can I say no to a good ass kicking?”

Fuzzy’s smile broadens. “You can’t. Next session starts on Monday. I’ll be expecting you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

After he heads into the changing room, I chat with the few remaining fighters in the hallway, catching up with old friends and making a few new ones. Makayla, tucked tight under Torment’s arm, gives me a meaningful wink as they saunter out the door.

Finally I am alone. The screen in the corner flashes the new Team Redemption MMA logo. Showers whoosh in the changing rooms. The gentle murmur of voices and Sandy’s sharp laugh drift from the workout area.

The door behind me opens and closes, letting in a rush of cold air. Footsteps thud softly across the concrete floor. Only when a large shadow swallows my little one does the hair on the back of my neck prickle. I turn quickly to see who is behind me.

“Well, look who we have here.” Bob’s lips press into a thin line and he glances over at the hulking form of his bouncer and then back to me. “Come on, Angel, don’t keep us waiting. Say hello.”

Violent tremors shake my body, and my heart pounds so hard I fear it might crack a rib. It is all I can do not to turn and run, but I
will
not
give them the satisfaction. Brave in the knowledge that I am in a gym full of testosterone-fueled fighters who would destroy Bob and his sidekick no questions asked if I so much as scream, I grit my teeth together.