Flow (The Beat and the Pulse #6) (7 page)

T
he lesson
I liked to teach the most was with my fists in the cage.

Storm was back and causing trouble already. I didn’t recognize the fucker until Lori said his name, but now I remembered him clear as day. He’d done okay for himself at The Underground, but he loved the spotlight too much. He never won enough fights here to satisfy his need for attention, so he’d set his sights further afield. He’d gone to fight in the UFC in America, and the moment he’d walked out of those doors, everyone forgot him.

Thinking about Josie and her constant pushing to get me into the AUFC, I shook my head. Ten-second fights with referees and television cameras. Soft ass wankers. I didn’t want that. I wasn’t made to fight like that even with all the shit I had to deal with at home.

Storm had probably dropped a great deal of the things that made a fighter great at The Underground, which meant tonight was going to be the most fun I’d had in a very long time. Manners were going to be taught, but he was also going to be shown exactly where he was in the pecking order. On the bottom where he belonged.

Chuckling to myself as I relived the moment Lori had doused the little asswipe with soda water, I began to mentally prepare myself for the fight that was going down in the next twenty minutes. Striding through the crowd, I pushed into the fighter-only area and into the changing rooms with one thing on my mind. Smashing Storm’s face in.

I came to a halt just inside the room and raised my eyebrows at the scene before me. A group of men was huddled together, talking earnestly among themselves, but it was the ringleader who had me curling my lip in distaste.

In the middle of the wall of testosterone was Storm himself, his hair still conspicuously wet, lording it up like a king. I eyed Rebel across the room, and he shrugged. Rebel was a good guy and equal first in the rankings with me for the Championship. If I lost to him, I wouldn’t mind because he was the only other bloke in the place who seemed to adhere to good sportsmanship. That, and second place was still real good money. If I lost to any of these other idiots? Heads would roll.

Staring at the group of fighters, I narrowed my eyes. It was like the prodigal son had returned. After two years away making it big, he’d come back with his tail between his legs. He would’ve dropped out because there was no way he’d chance coming here if he had a contract. Shit, sponsors would drop him without hesitation if they knew he was fighting illegally.

Storm had been kicked out of the UFC. No doubt about it. Now he was flaunting his experience to idiots who were too stupid to go pro in the first place.

“In the welterweight, the guys are tougher,” Storm was saying. “There’s more bulk involved, so you need more skill to bring them down.”

I rolled my eyes and turned to my locker, wrenching the door open. It slammed against the one next to it, the bang echoing through the room, causing a slight lull in the dickhead’s boasting behind me.

“What do you think, Goblin?” he called out to me. “You’re the right size for welterweight.”

I knew he was taking a dig, trying to get me to bite, but the only place he was getting his head knocked off was inside the cage in the next fifteen minutes. Instead, I pulled out the wraps from my bag, shoved my thumb through the loop, and began wrapping up my left hand.

Voices murmured behind me, and I went on, ignoring the lot of them. That was until a hand came to rest on the locker beside mine.

“Well…
Goblin?
”

“I have a fight to get ready for,” I drawled, not even looking up. “Which is what you should be doin’ since you’re drawn with me.”

Storm laughed and glanced over his shoulder. Leaning close, he muttered, “So I hear you and Lori are a thing.”

My jaw tensed, and this time, I glanced at the little fucker. “I also heard the way you spoke to her.”

“Sorry, man,” he said, smiling like an arrogant little tosser. “If I’d known you two were fucking…”

“We’re not fuckin’,” I said, fixing the Velcro closure around my wrist. “We’re friends, and I’m lookin’ out for her.”

“A man can’t be just friends with a woman like Lori,” he said, adjusting his cock. “She’s something, all right.”

A stab of jealousy shot through my chest, and I snorted. Storm wasn’t done with her even after she’d made it absolutely clear she wanted nothing to do with the guy. He was still an arrogant asshole, and I was itching for our fight to start so I could pound some sense into his thick skull.

“So what happened with the UFC?” I asked, turning the tables. Storm’s eyes narrowed, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. “If you’re under contract, it’d be a shame for them to find out you were fightin’ here.”

“I’m done with the UFC,” he replied, his voice sounding thin with restraint.

I smirked and began wrapping my right hand. “Yeah? That’s a real shame, brother.”

He slammed his fist against the locker and stalked off, hopefully someplace far away where he could work himself up into a ball of rage. An overly angry opponent in the cage was easier to work than a level-headed one, but I wouldn’t put it past him to try to use the same tactic against me.

Securing the wrap on my right hand, I glanced up as Rebel leaned against the locker next to me.

“I’d be watching him,” he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “They’re dazzled by the bright lights now, but I give it a couple of days tops until there’s a huge target on his back.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” I replied, closing my locker with a bang. “I plan to be teachin’ him a lesson he’ll not soon forget.”

“Good for you,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Saves me the effort of doing it myself.”

“Storm, Goblin,” a voice bellowed across the change room. “You’re up.”

“Rip him a new one, eh?” Rebel said, moving off.

Snorting, I ignored the eyes that watched my progress and followed the referee out into the arena. Out here, the air was filled with the same aura of bullshit that had been present among the other fighters. They wanted to see if the big-time UFC fighter could hold his own against the top placegetter on the leaderboard.

It was like one of those stupid movies with the rich kid and the disadvantaged scumbag from the wrong side of the tracks. No guessing which one I was meant to be.

I kicked my trainers off at the edge of the cage and padded into the light, the crowd beginning to get louder and louder as Storm approached from behind.

Wearing his silky UFC shorts and fancy hand wraps, he was jumping around on the spot, loosening his arm muscles and throwing his head from side to side. I just stood on my side of the line and stared at him like he was a monkey in a fucking zoo.

“Ready?” the referee asked, nodding at me.

I narrowed my eyes at Storm. “Yep.”

“Toe the line,” the referee barked at Storm, who stopped bouncing and stood before me. “Do you need a refresher on the rules?”

“Nope, I’m good,” he replied, staring at me.

The referee held up his hand. “Then get to fighting, boys.” He backed away, and it was on.

Neither of us attempted to make the first move, so we eyeballed each other until Storm couldn’t hold in whatever smartass comment he was dying to tell me.

“What do you think of those little sounds she makes?” he asked, his lip curling into a smile.

I glared at him, waiting for him to drop his guard.

“She’s a wildcat,” he said, licking his lips. “The sweetest pussy I’ve ever—”

I sucker-punched him right in the mouth, effectively cutting off his foul tirade about Lori. His head snapped to the side, and the crowd cheered, their feet thundering against the bleachers. Storm spat blood onto the ground, and we began circling.

“You say you’re friends, but your actions say otherwise,” he said, grinning at me, his teeth red with blood. “Just so you know, I saw her first. From behind, on top, from below… My face in her pussy, my finger in her ass…”

I went to open my mouth, but he dived, and his fist clipped my eyebrow. He smiled in triumph as I stumbled from the lucky blow. It took a second for the blood to rush to the cut, but soon enough, I felt it drip down my face. Wiping the back of my hand across my brow, I hardly felt the sting.

Storm circled with a grin on his face that said he thought he had the fight in the bag, but he was too cocky. One hit didn’t mean shit here. One hit had shocked me back into the bout with renewed energy. Seemed like he’d forgotten a great deal of things where cage fighting was concerned.

He lunged again, going for a blow to my temple, and I raised my arms, blocking the punch and locking us together. Grappling, we wrestled one another until Storm’s foot slipped from underneath him. While he was off balance, I pushed him backward across the floor, the momentum growing and growing until we collided with the side of the cage. The crowd moved back from the fence as the entire structure rattled, and I pinned him in place.

“You’ve gone soft, Storm,” I said, elbowing his face and shoving it into the side of the cage. “No one’s going to separate us. No one’s going to disqualify me. Your ass is mine.”

“So you are fucking her,” he said, his teeth red with blood. “She was mine first, Goblin.
My cock has been in her mouth
.”

I felt my control slipping as anger swelled inside me. I couldn’t let him get to me. I had to win, not just for Lori but to remind Storm to rein in his foul attitude. What I was about to do to him was
kind
. Ironic considering I was beating the guy up, but this way, he might see some sense and tone his arrogance down before he ended up in the hospital or a ditch someplace.

Wrapping my arm around his neck, I heaved him away from the edge of the cage and hooked my leg around his. He went down like a sack of potatoes, landing flat on his face.

“You need some fuckin’ manners,” I said, ramming my knee into his lower back. “You don’t talk about Lori like that, period. You don’t talk about any woman like that, you hear me?”

“
Fuck you!
” he roared as he bucked against me, but I had him pinned to the ground like the helpless little worm he was.

Fisting my hand into his hair, I snarled, “Last chance to tap, Storm.”

He bucked again, which I took to mean he’d rather win or die trying. That was as good as saying no in my book. I could definitely help him with the latter if he was that determined.

“This is your last warnin’,” I said. “Stay away from her, or I’ll put you down for good.”

Pulling Storm’s head back, I slammed it into the ground, the shock of the blow vibrating up my arm as his entire body went slack. I held for a second, but he didn’t move. KO’d. Talk about a fucking full stop.

As I shoved to my feet, the crowd began to cheer and stomp on the bleachers. The referee went to grab my arm and raise it to declare me the winner, but I pushed him away and walked straight out of the cage, blood still dripping from the cut over my eyebrow.

Maybe it was the buzz from beating Storm’s ass, or maybe it was the testosterone, but I carved a path through The Underground…straight to the bar.

I
couldn’t leave
the bar.

Knowing that Storm and Goblin were currently duking it out in the cage had me wired, and I paced up and down, desperate to see what was going on. I had never been interested in watching the fights, not to the point I wanted a ringside seat, but tonight, I was itching to see who had the upper hand.

I hoped it was Hamish because Storm had an ass beating coming to him.

The crowd let out a collective
ohhh
as someone landed a hit, and I squirmed.

“What’s up your ass?” Sandra asked. “You’re pacing like a hungry lion.” She gestured to the empty bar, waving her hand like a model gesturing to the grand showcase prize pack on a game show. “We never get lulls. Enjoy the silence, Lori.
Enjoy it
.”

The last thing I wanted to do was explain my raised anxiety levels. Then the questions would start, and I didn’t want to be flapping my gums about what happened with Storm. It was humiliating enough, and if it began to spread around The Underground, I may as well just curl up into a ball and cry endless tears of humiliation.

The fight went on, and I tried to put it out of my mind even when everyone started chanting Goblin at the top of their lungs. Pulling a rack of clean glasses out of the dishwasher, I smiled to myself. I hoped he’d landed one right in Storm’s filthy balls.

Placing the heavy load of glasses onto the bench, I got a funny feeling I was being watched. My skin began to prickle, and I uncurled my fingers from the rack, wondering if it was a good idea to turn around. Maybe I should arm myself. For a second, I tried to think of a suitable weapon that was within reaching distance until I shrugged off the stupid notion. The only thing there was a stack of pint glasses.

Glassing a guy at The Underground. That was a surefire way to get booted out onto the street.

Sighing, I turned and saw Hamish standing on the other side of the bar, his gaze fixed on me like a target. He’d come straight out of the cage and was dripping sweat and blood everywhere. He was bare chested, and his hands were wrapped tight, and I found myself staring at his tattooed pecs. I think I licked my lips, but I wasn’t sure I was seeing things clearly or if he was a mirage. You know, like water in a desert or some other metaphor for the sexually starved.

I blinked once, and he was still standing there. I blinked again, and this time, I realized he was real.

“What’s with you and Storm?” he asked, slamming his palms down onto the bar.

“You’re bleeding,” I said, hedging around his question. Grabbing a serviette from the stack under the bar, I pressed it against his eyebrow. He swatted my hand away but took the little square of paper and pressed it over the cut himself.

“What’s the score with you two?” he asked again.

“It’s no big deal,” I said with a shrug.

“Lori,” he said more firmly. “Tell me.”

“We went out a couple of times,” I said, which was true. “He went to America to try his luck in the UFC, and I stayed here. It didn’t work.” A thin explanation that glossed over all the major plot points and cut out all the spoilers.

“I don’t like the way he talks to you,” he snarled. “I don’t like the way he talks
about
you, either.”

“What?” I asked, my blood starting to chill.

“He’s got a fuckin’ nasty mouth on him. I shut it once, and I’ll shut it again if I hear him talk about you like that again.”

“Like what?”

Hamish pulled the serviette away from his eyebrow. Glancing at the blood, he hissed and then dabbed the cut again.

“Hamish,
like what?
” I asked more forcibly.

“He was talkin’ about your…” He gestured to my vagina, and I scowled.

“My vagina is none of his business.”

His jaw tensed. I’d pegged him for a teeth grinder, and right now, he was going for broke. His teeth would be bloody stumps if he didn’t take a beat.

“Did you win?” I asked.

“Smashed his face into the ground,” he replied, his eyes blazing.

“Well, go wash up, Hercules,” I retorted. “You’re dripping your man sweat all over my clean bar, and your testosterone is maxing out all over the place.”

He glanced down. “That thing is clean? You’re delusional.” He opened his mouth but then shut it like he thought better. Then he said, “No woman ever complained about my testosterone levels before.”

I scrunched up my nose. “You might want to put a cold compress on your head, too.”

He slammed his free hand down onto the bar and eyeballed me. “There’s more to it.”

I shrank away slightly. “More to what?”

“You and him.”

“Leave it,” I said, glancing at the people around us who were enjoying the show. If they weren’t talking before, they definitely were now. I didn’t want to be the center of anyone’s attention. I just wanted to coast under the radar. It was safe and warm where no one had anything they could use against me.

“He thinks he’s got a claim on you.” Hamish glared at me as if it were all my fault, and maybe it was—for forcing a guy like him, like Storm, to commit when I couldn’t even put my own life on hold to go to America while he fought for his dream. Shit, now I was blaming myself for the guy’s infidelity.

“Don’t,” I snapped at Hamish. “Don’t think you know shit about it because you don’t. I don’t need you to fight my battles, Hamish. I didn’t ask you to.”

“Don’t you want anyone to care for you?” he asked.

“What’s that meant to mean?”

“Shove a little harder,” he hissed. “I can take it.”

Glancing at my hands, I took a deep breath. After nothing for so long, now there was an influx of everything. Hamish. Storm. Swirling emotions I thought I’d locked away for eternity had been set loose.

The only thing I’d learned tonight was I hadn’t dealt with the pain from what had happened the night I walked in on Storm’s fuck fest. It was like the universe was playing a cruel trick on me. The moment I was strong enough to take a risk and put myself back out there, my past had come sauntering back into my present like a parasite.

“Hamish, we’ve known each other for what…two weeks?” I said, looking back up at him. “It’s a little soon to be fighting like this.”

He stared at me for a moment and then pushed off the bar. “Yeah,” he said, dabbing his eyebrow with the serviette again. “Yeah…”

Then he turned and strode away, the crowd parting to let him through. Seriously, they just stepped aside like he was bloody royalty or something. I supposed in these parts he was, which was just another carriage on the insane train of The Underground.

Hamish and me? That was just as absurd.

Sandra appeared beside me, snapping me out of my daze. Her mouth was hanging open as she stared after Goblin. “What was
that
about?”

A man that protective over a friend after two weeks? I didn’t know what that was about, but it was leaning too far into a zone that didn’t have much to do with friendship. I was clearly not ready to go there with anyone.

“We’re friends,” I said, knowing it sounded lame. “He was looking out for me.”

“He fought Storm?” she asked, grabbing my shoulder. “The dude you doused in soda water?”

I blinked hard, dazzled by her overenthusiasm. “Yeah.”

“Shit, Lori,” she said. “You and Goblin?”

“It’s not like that,” I complained, shrugging her hand off. “It’s not…
romantic
.”

“Are you sure? Because he looked mad.”

“
I’m sure
.”

She eyeballed me in much the same way Hamish had just done. It was an attempt at intimidating me into handing over the goods. “Are you really one-hundred-percent super-duper sure?”

“Why does it always have to be more? He’s a guy, and I’m a girl. So what? We can be friends without all the other shit. What’s the big deal?”

Sandra looked me up and down and pouted. “If you say so.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I cursed, much to her amusement, and strode off to the opposite end of the bar.

“You just keep telling yourself what you want to hear,” she called out after me. “It doesn’t change the fact he was making eyes at you.”

I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to fall for another guy who was constantly propositioned by other women. I didn’t want a guy who’d screw around on me. I didn’t want to let anyone in far enough to hurt me ever again.

So what the fuck was I doing with Hamish?

What did I want from him?

I wanted his friendship, but deep down, I didn’t want to be alone anymore.

Loneliness strangled the life out of people’s souls. I had taken a master class in it, so I should know.

I didn’t want to be alone, but was this thing with Hamish genuine or a Band-Aid for something that might never be able to be fixed? I had to figure it out before either one of us got deeper in this unconventional relationship.

Hamish didn’t deserve the runaround. He was one of those rare mythical creatures that believed in treating a woman like she had a brain. Then there was the fact he was a fighter with a body that begged to be worshipped. Hamish McBride was the Holy Grail.

Nope. He didn’t deserve the runaround.

Not at all.