Fierce Page 11

  Okay, fine. Pretty much, I was bullshitting myself. Hell, I was even failing epically at my own BS.

  Still, I knew this wouldn't last. I would freeze during sparring. Or, if I managed to keep my shit together, then there was only one other possibility. This middle ground of training but not fighting wouldn't be enough. It hadn't before. Even though part of me—the scared part that still had nightmares—didn't believe it, the smaller fraction of myself understood that one day I would need to walk away completely or fight.

  The middle was a strange, temporary purgatory.

  I would undoubtedly lose the fight, and that would be it for me. I would already lose the friendships; I couldn't stand to lose more than that.

  "You're really hot," Max said.

  My hand stopped stroking his hair. What?

  "I mean, like, your body. Wait, I mean your skin. Temperature. Your legs are burning up."

  I was sure my legs weren't the only thing burning up, but he better not go there.

  "Four more minutes, Max. And then we weigh you again."

  "Four more. I can do that. As long as you don't move."

  "Got it."

  "Tori?" He moved slightly, his head and neck pressed against my leg, and more sweat trickled down my leg as it squished out of his sweatshirt.

  "Hmm?" The steam leeched the moisture right out of me. Just opening my mouth made my tongue dry.

  "You know what I really want to do right now?"

  "Beat the shit out of the guy you're fighting tomorrow?"

  "Exactly. Right now, I want to kill the bastard."

  Two minutes ticked by. "Two more."

  "Right now is about the time I ask myself what I'm doing this for. Shane usually just smacks me when I do. Feel free to do the same."

  "You're doing this because you want to challenge yourself. You want to push yourself, and you know that you're the biggest thing in your way."

  I sighed, a wish and longing in my breath. Waking up and having a goal, realizing, while at the gym, that you're better than you were just a day before. My chest tightened; my heart hurt.

  "It's about finding that zone in you and being completely in your head while out of your head at the same time. You do it because you love when it all comes together, and you make multiple disciplines work together like artwork. You do it because it kicks your ass, and you have to be determined and dedicated to make it. You do it because you like the creativity, and yet it's logical, like a science. You do it because it's your way of life. You do it because you love it and you can't not do it, because it's who you are."

  My words clung to the steam around me, leaving whispering trails that echoed far beneath my skin, echoed deep in my bones. "At least, that's why I did it."

  Max said nothing, and I almost wondered if he had passed out until I caught the dark irises of his eyes peering at me through the hazy air.

  "Tori?"

  "Yeah?"

  "That's exactly why I do it."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Max Estrada was a badass.

  His opponent, a boxer, wanted to keep the fight up, and Max had planned on taking him to the ground. However, a minute and thirty seconds into round one, his opponent threw a Thai kick. Max didn't check it. Instead, he hooked his left arm around the fighter's leg, switched the leg to his right arm as he spun around, and sent an elbow into his opponent's face. He followed up with a jab, cross, and then left hook to the man's head. His partner fell, knocked out. Max didn't pounce; he knew he had KO'd him. Once the man regained consciousness, the two fighters clasped hands.

  While watching Max, I couldn't help but think about how he felt, standing in the ring. How it fell together in that single moment. How he focused his energy, and how he played strategically.

  The craving to do the same hit hard.

  Could I do it again? Could I manage not to freeze? Not fail?

  After Max left the ring, the three of us watched from the hallway that led to the fighter area.

  I hugged Max, picking up on the disappointment radiating off him.

  "You're one step closer to the title fight, man," Shane said.

  "That was an awesome KO," I said.

  "Thanks. It wasn't my plan though. Dammit. I hate starving myself in order to get a minute of action."

  I couldn't say anything that wasn't bullshit, so I just patted Max on the back and let Jeff take over the post-fight chat.

  The fighters had to stick around until the end of the fights, which I didn't mind. I was enjoying the fights, and even briefly let myself imagine it was me in the ring, until the main event for the middleweight division.

  When Will "The Killer" Bennet walked into the ring.

  How had I not known he would be here? How had I not known he was in the main event?

  With one name, my thought that just maybe I could do it again crashed around me.

  Hold up. Max had a middleweight fight already, why was there another one?

  "Why is there a second middleweight fight?" I asked. I wasn't sure if I had actually articulated or not, but Shane answered.

  "Max said they had a scheduling screw up. They were going to cancel this fight but got too much pushback from Will's manager. It's weird, right?"

  I nodded, or at least tried to.

  "This'll be interesting," Shane added from next to me. "I've seen Bennet fight before. He's pretty damn good and aggressive as hell."

  It could have been his breath, so close to my ear that I could hear him, but I was positive the words were what gave me the biting chills. Shane's words were too sharp, too bold. They played over in my head.

  Every time I heard what a good fighter Will was—or even worse, what a man he was—I wanted to puke.

  "Tor, you all right?" Max asked.

  "Yeah." No.

  "Do you know who either of these guys are? I'm sure you've heard of them. Ever seen them fight?" Max asked.

  "I've seen Bennet fight."

  "And what do you think?"

  "He's a total asshole."

  "Really?" Shane asked. "He does fight kind of wild and pretty aggressive."

  "You have no idea," I muttered.

  I had managed to get in too deep again. Why had I taken this job? Why hadn't I walked away like I knew I should have?

  "Have you seen that choke he does? It's like a clock choke but way modified. His fans call it the Bennet Choke, which is dumb, but it's nasty."

  Sick. I was going to be sick.

  Or homicidal. The next idiot I heard worshipping Will was going to get strangled.

  The crowd cheered, and the energy that I had been thriving off turned volatile and painful.

  Will raised his arms and circled, getting louder cheers. The lights hit his blond hair, giving him a golden halo. He jumped up onto the cage, his arms high, getting more applause, before stalking around his side of the octagon.

  I needed to get out of here. I looked around Max, but people were standing now and frantically yelling and clapping. The drunk level had no doubt gone way up. Someone a little ways down fell over. Keeping it classy, obviously.

  The music changed and Will's opponent came out. I hadn't heard of him, but I automatically decided I wanted him to win.

  Holy Mother of Shit, I needed out of this place, but my feet wouldn't budge. The round started. Will nailed his opponent with a fast combination followed by a takedown. His opponents back slammed to the ground.

  It happened so fast. One minute up, the next down.

  "Will, tap…tap." I choked. I could barely get the words out. He was heavy against my back, his forearm pressing into my throat, his ribcage craning my neck down and into the arm. I hit his leg, at my side. Tapped. Tapped. Tears formed in my eyes as a reaction to my breathing being cut off. So much pain.

  I dug my fingers into my palm and shook my head to clear the memories.

  Will mounted his opponent He threw an elbow, hitting the guy in the face, but in my mind, the elbow came at me.

  The edge of his elbow c
ut into my skin, over my eye. The skin opened, blood poured into my swelling eye. He didn't stop. Just kept throwing the punches.

  That had only been the beginning.

  The memories teased me, trying to get me to relive them, reminding me why I didn't belong here.

  The crowd became ecstatic, and the cheers only sent shocks through my body. I couldn't stay here. I couldn't. I couldn't.

  My pulse pounded, and rushed in my ears. My mouth dried. Phantom pain shot through the scar at my temple, seared down my face, and lit up again in my ribs.

  Heavy, he felt so heavy.

  A scuffle took place in the ring, but Will put his opponent back down almost instantly. Sitting on top of him, he started punching him repeatedly.

  One second, the metal of the cage was imbedding into my skin, the next I'm down. I didn't slap the mat as I fell. My head slammed into the frame of the cage, at my temple. More blood. My ears rang. His fists came at me. My head hit the mat again. Blood already dripped down my face. I tried to make space, to hip out, but he dropped his weight on me.

  I screamed.

  Hands from each of my sides touched my shoulder as both Shane and Max asked, "What's wrong?"

  "No. Nothing." I couldn't get my words out. They caught, in a jumble at the base of my throat as my breaths came out too fast. "I need. The bathroom."

  Max angled himself so that he faced me. His wide eyes ran over my face as his hand tightened on my shoulder. His eyes lingered at my temple, and I realized my fingers were rubbing the scar. "Are you okay?"

  "Sick," was all I could get out.

  That did it. He jumped to the side so I could brush past him. "I'll come with you," he called after me, but I already started dodging through the spectators.

  As I ran to the bathroom, I swear I could feel Will's heavy, blue eyes on my back. Bracing myself on the sink, I tried to get the shaking to stop, but watching Will ground and pound his opponent kept playing in my head. It was as if I kept switching places with his opponent, under Will's enormous weight.

  I puked. An older woman assumed I was drunk and offered me a bottle of water. I took it, guzzled the contents, and then I puked that up too.

  I left the bathroom when I had gotten the shakes under control, and scoped out the lobby before entering. No sign of Will. Max and Shane, though, were surrounded by a group of people.

  Both of them looked completely uncomfortable, but Max shook hands and signed a few things shoved at him. His ears flushed pink. I slipped through the crowd, keeping an eye out for a tall blond guy.

  "Are you okay?" Max asked when I stopped at his side, after pushing through a throng of girls. Girls that still glared.

  I nodded and tried to look away but he touched my face. I hadn't realized how clammy my skin had gone until I felt the heat of his hand against my cheek. "Tori?"

  "I'm fine. I just felt sick. I'm fine now."

  "You up for room service?" he asked.

  "I'm good with that."

  He dropped his hand. My skin tingled for another minute before it cooled. I rubbed my cheek, trying to get the sudden bare sensation to go away as we started toward the room. One of the hotel concierges cut us off. "Mr. Estrada," the man said.

  "Oh, right," Max said before letting out a deep sigh. "I forgot that I have to make an appearance at the hotel's club. You guys want to join?"

  "Hell yeah," Shane said.

  Hell sounded like a better option.

  Max didn't look nearly as enthused as Shane did.

  "Will the other fighters be there?" I asked.

  "Maybe. I'm not sure. I think some of them had other appearances to make."

  I could go to my room, and do what? Hide like a pansy? Puke more?

  "I'll go," I said. I held in my sigh. I was becoming a pro at this self-torture thing.

  "I'm not planning on staying long unless you want to."

  We turned a corner, followed the concierge, and headed toward the stairs. A blond head a little ways down, hovering inches over other heads, made me stumble over my feet, and I darted to stand behind Max and Shane. If only I were an inch shorter.

  The large lobby shrank around me.

  "Tori? What are you doing?" Max tried to stop, but I shoved my hands against his hard back and pushed.

  "Just keeping walking. I'm...uh...guarding you from that pack of crazy girls down there."

  The music poured from two large open doors. Shane went in first, while Max and I exchanged glances that told me this wasn't really his thing, either.

  Once inside, we settled at a table near the bar. A few security men stayed nearby, but that only caused me to laugh. Max would be able to defend himself better than any of them could.

  Colorful strobe lights reflected off the minimal clothing worn by most of the dancers. A DJ sporting bulky, hot-pink headphones stood on the other side of the club at the sound system.

  "You want a drink?" Max asked.

  I declined. Max ordered a beer, which was on the house for him, and Shane ordered a shot.

  "You want to dance?" Shane asked.

  I shook my head. I wouldn't be able to see if Will walked in from the dance floor. Max started making required rounds, taking pictures with a few select groups.

  "Suit yourself. I'll be back." Shane stood and disappeared into the crowd. He'd have a flock of girls around him in no time.

  The table next to me grew louder after the waitress brought them more drinks. Soon, Will's name surrounded me. What a man. What a fighter. What a champion.

  More like what an assface.

  Max stopped at the side of the table. "You doing okay?"

  "Yeah, but I'll have that drink now."

  "Okay. What do you want?"

  "A shot of anything."

  He said something, but I couldn't hear him. "What?"

  He took a few steps to the side, closer to me, and bent forward. His mouth neared my ear. Energy and bodies already made the room hot, but his breath on my skin made the heat almost unbearable. "I asked if you are all right."

  "Fine."

  "Okay." He stopped one of the waitresses, and asked her to bring me a drink. I also caught "whatever else she wants."

  Worst idea ever.

  Max left again after he said he had a few more tables he had to take pictures with. The waitress returned before the song ended and delivered me my little shot of tequila, also known as my glass of screw-it.

  I downed the shot, and ordered another.

  I had been feeling so good that this low felt so much harsher. Things had been going good at the gym. I hadn't froze. I hadn't even had another panic attack.

  I had just started to think that maybe I could balance fighting into my life. Maybe even pursue my feelings for Max, if he ever felt the same. I wouldn't have to avoid him, Shane or my other gym friends if I didn't have to avoid fighting.

  Yet, I couldn't escape the douche bag.

  Even in freaking Texas.

  Texas. Why was that starting to sound so funny? Texas. Every time I said it, it sounded weirder and weirder. Teeexxxaasss.

  There was an ass in texasssss.

  I giggled.

  "Whoa, there, Tor. You feeling okay?" Shane plopped into the chair next to me.

  I started to feel okay. Kind of. I had lost count of how many shots I had.

  Oh, God. What had I done?

  Getting drunk while I needed to stay on guard was so not part of the plan. I was just failing at all kinds of life choices lately.

  "Dance with me? It'll help burn off that alcohol." He offered me his hand.

  This time I agreed. I stood and swayed. Crap. I really hadn't thought those last shots through. I grabbed Shane's hand and we stopped at the edge of the dance floor.

  "You come anywhere near dry humping me, and I swear I will make your life at hell at the gym next week," I said.

  Shane laughed. He danced, and holy crap, he could dance, but he didn't try to do any of the grinding, sex-with-clothes-on moves the people around us did. Thank Go
d. He took my hand and spun me under his arm. I must have turned green, because he brought me to an abrupt stop.

  The songs started to blur together, and I lost track of how many we danced to. At first, the alcohol made the dance floor spin and made my feet uneasy, but the longer I danced, the less drunk I felt.

  Although, I still felt pretty drunk.

  Warmth from another body seeped through my shirt to my back. My hand fisted. I spun around and, relieved, grabbed Max's shoulder to steady myself.

  "You guys ready? Or do you want to stay?" Max asked.

  "I'm ready to go."

  Max gave Shane a cold look, or maybe it was just the smoke machine playing with the black pools of his eyes.

  "I didn't do anything, man. No gyrating. Just watching out for her. Our girl here decided to do quite a few shots."

  "How do you feel?" Max asked. His hand grabbed my elbow and my hand automatically went for his neck. His eyebrow quirked. "I wasn't planning on grappling. You just looked like you were going to fall over," he said.

  "Sorry," I rushed the word out. Embarrassment made the heat already pouring through my body turn to scorching levels. He was right—he had grabbed behind my elbow to steady me, but it was also one of the grips for grappling. My reaction was stupid. It wasn't as if Max would try to throw me down right here.

  Freaking tequila.

  "Better and worse at the same time," I finally answered. I had moved my hand away from the crook of his neck, but left it settled on his shoulder.

  I laughed, because, apparently, some part of me found that funny.

  Max slipped his arm around me, and I let him lead me out of the club.

  "I'm not sure if I should find it funny or worrisome that you automatically go for getting a grip when someone touches your elbow," he said as I leaned into him.

  I shrugged, which only brought my shoulder closer to Max's chest. "Maybe I'm just a planner. Getting thrown down when you don't expect it sucks."

  Max stiffened, and his chest stayed expanded a little too long against my side. Why was he holding his breath?