CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

AMBER

 

THE SMELL OF sweat and the heat was overpowering from the tightly packed crowd. Following everyone's focused attention had me walking towards the center of the room and the closer I got, the hotter it seemed. I felt sweat prickle my neck. As the crowd thickened, I stood on a few toes and took a few elbows as I pushed forward, but finally I could see what everyone was here for. Two men circled each other, their fists raised. Fresh blood splattered the floor. It wasn’t just from these men–there was too much blood. Men must have been fighting here all day. My stomach squirmed. What was Emmett doing here?

The crowd screamed their winner's name, and in their excitement, the crowd would swell and then sink back. Speakers attached to large pillars boomed with the voice of the entertainer. “Last chance to place your bets,” he said. I looked at the queue of men who took money for the bets, their bags bulging. A lot of muscle surrounded them, keeping a tight, protective band around them. A few men in suits sat on large wooden benches placed higher than the rest of us. They looked like kings. One, in particular, had my stomach tighten. His eyes, the same distinct blue as Emmett's, scanned the crowd. He took no notice of the fight below him. He looked like an older version of Emmett, but a colder and harder one. Something about him didn’t feel right.

I got pushed closer towards the fight as the crowd roared, my attention drawn away from the man and back to the fight. I moved myself a row back, afraid of getting hit. The heat left my skin itchy with sweat. Watching two men beat the crap out of each other had me wanting to step away in disgust, yet I had never felt more alive.

One of the guys wore red shorts, and whenever he threw a punch, the crowd roared louder for him than the one in the black shorts. I, for one, always loved an underdog, so I started to cheer on Max, joining in with his supporters. Shouting so loudly in a room had my adrenaline pumping, and I found myself back at the front. Max’s face was a bloody mess. A part of me wanted to yell out to stop the fight but I wasn’t stupid, and these men had signed up for this, so they knew what they were getting into.

When Max grabbed Dan the Dog–not kidding that’s what everyone chanted-, around the waist and slammed him into the ground, the crowd grew mostly quiet while I hollered for Max. My yelling caused most people to look at me. Maybe they thought I was his woman? But I didn’t care. I loved the underdog. The host spoke into the mic when Dan the Dog didn’t move, ending the fight and giving Max his title as the winner.

I cheered, as did others, but most people cursed. Max's swollen face bled, his eyes sealed shut from all the swelling. Music blared over the speakers and the crowd loosened up slightly. No one came to wash the blood away as the next fight was announced. ‘Bulldog’ against ‘The Devil’s Son.’

Everyone seemed to go wild in the room, and bets were being made with assurance. Everyone was betting on ‘The Devil’s Son.’ The men taking the bets did so with unhappy faces. I waited until the crowd thinned out slightly before I placed a bet myself. “Twenty on The Bulldog.”

The man taking my money smirked at me. “No problem.” He handed me a slip.

“See you after the match,” I told him, and he laughed while looking at me like I might be crazy. I moved back to where the crowd once again gathered for the next fight. The excitement building up to the fight had me bouncing. Everyone talked about how ‘The Devil’s Son’ was undefeated. That’s when I lost some of my excitement. No, I backed the right dog, I told myself and smiled at my accidental joke. He was called the Bulldog, after all, and I hoped he tore the Devil's Son a new asshole. The hype vibrated through the crowd and rubbed off on me as sweat trickled down the back of my neck and under my jumper, where no doubt a wet patch formed. 

Bulldog, a huge and muscular man, arrived first. His muscles bulged from everywhere. Only a small gold and black pair of shorts covered him. His grin split his face; a gap between his teeth made him look charming and boyish. He held both fists in the air, and a small percentage of the crowd cheered. I wolf-whistled from the front and got the Bulldog’s attention. He winked at me and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“And now for the undefeated champion, the one and only. Give it up folks for ‘The Devil’s Son!” The crowd went wild, and it took all my might to stay upright while being shoved, elbowed, and at one point, nearly pushed into the fighting ring.  ‘Devil’s Son’ entered, wearing only what reminded me of black karate pants. His bare feet padded on the concrete surface, his back faced me, and I had to admire the view.

He wasn’t a large man, but lean and muscular, a black jaguar popped into my head, as his shoulder blades moved up and down as he walked, even as impressive as he was, it didn’t hold my attention like the tattoo that covered most of his back did. It was a tree, its leaves vibrant, green, red, yellow, oranges all lush, and full of life. The colors the tattoo artist had painted on looked more like a photo than ink. The trunk of the tree was brown but as my eyes moved down the tattoo, the bark started to rot until the roots were black, charred, rotten away. They looked like one touch and the bark would dissolve and float to the bloody concrete floor.

My heart skipped a beat as my eyes moved back up to the man’s dark hair; I wanted to see his face. Something about him felt so familiar. He moved his head from side to side and flexed his hands at the same time, all the while the Bulldog stood, still smiling like he had it in the bag. I hoped he was right, but I had a feeling that the underdog was not going to come out on top this time.

Waiting for the first punch was like being on a rollercoaster–at the very top, you can see the drop coming, you're right there, heart pounding, stomach lurching.

“Fight.” The command was met with hysteria as it began. The first punch was quick and precise, given by The Devil’s Son. It was the first draw of blood. Bulldog wiped it away from the smile that he had held. Now it was gone from his face as he launched himself at the favorite, who sidestepped easily, causing Bulldog to nearly run into the crowd. I wanted to see his face, yet still he faced away from me. Then, The Devil’s Son turned, and I could see his face, and everything stopped. 

Emmett. My legs turned to jelly, and the roars seemed to mash together like someone had stuffed my ears with cotton buds. Sweat filled my palms, and I tightened my hands. The paper that I held brought me back, and the screams resumed. Bulldog charged again, and Emmett didn’t even flinch until Bulldog was within an inch of him. He kicked out, slamming into his stomach and sending him to the ground.

I stared at him, uncomprehending. It was Emmett, but it wasn’t. I couldn’t point out why this all felt disturbing. Why would he be fighting for money? He didn’t need it. Was it pleasure? Did he like hurting people? He was good at it; that was evident as he repeatedly hit Bulldog in the face. Emmett's punches were quick and vicious. Violent.

Sadness filled me as I watched him. He was so filled with anger that I wondered who had placed it there. Bulldog got up, wiping the blood from a deep cut over his eye, but the blood continued to flow. I looked at the stage, where the men in suits sat. Someone should have stopped the fight, but they all looked on with greed and violence on their faces. It was definitely Emmett’s father I had identified earlier; he held that look in his eyes that Emmett wore now. Empty, yet so full of hate.

As Bulldog moved to Emmett, I wanted to scream at Emmett to stop, to leave him alone. This wasn’t a fight; it wasn't fair. But I didn’t have to, Bulldog got his first hit in, then another and another. He punched with speed in Emmett’s sides. Emmett’s hands protected his face and head, leaving his sides wide open, and Bulldog took full advantage, but then Emmett finally got a moment and pushed Bulldog away. Bruises already began forming on his skin. His chest rose and fell fast, sweat coated his defined torso. My heart sank at the marks on his sides. Seeing those marks ignited a fury inside of me, but it was no longer aimed at Emmett. Instead, it was aimed at the man who dared hurt him. I wanted Emmett to show him no mercy. The intensity of my feelings startled me.

Suddenly, Emmett took a massive blow to the face, and I watched him hit the floor. My heart slammed against my chest, as my stomach coiled in on itself. The crowd roared for him to get up, but he curled in, and covered his head, as Bulldog kicked him. Each kick felt so fucking personal. I wanted to stop the fight. Once again, I looked at the suits, and Emmett’s father only watched as someone kicked the shit out of his son, a hint of a smile on his face. This was madness. I joined the rest of the crowd and screamed for Emmett to get up.

But he didn’t, I watched with a shocked detachment as Bulldog continued his assault on Emmett. 

It could have been five minutes or five hours before the announcer ended the fight and declared Bulldog the winner. I stared around me as paper was flung to the ground, the crowd protesting, saying the fight had been fixed. I felt emotionally drained. When I turned back around, Emmett was standing. How, I don’t know, but he was hunched in pain. I swallowed the emotion that rose in me just as Emmett looked up, and our eyes met. His face changed, and I froze as panic, anger, and fear played out on his bruised face before he looked away. My heart pounded, my stomach twisted as the crowd around us reacted. Some said he was still the champ to them, others gave their condolences, but I just couldn’t move, and didn’t as he slowly moved through the crowd around him towards me.

When we were shoulder to shoulder, I thought he was going to walk past me, but he stopped. “You need to leave, now.” The urgency in his voice had me wanting to ask why.

“Let me help you.” My voice sounded raw, and he looked at me.

“I don’t need your help. I want you to leave.” His tone was biting, and he walked away, leaving his hurtful words behind. I looked up at the crowd as they moved around me and after Emmett. I needed to leave. I could feel eyes on me, and when I looked up, the man I assumed to be Emmett’s father smiled at me. It was a smile that had me shivering. I didn’t return it but made my way quickly to the door.

Outside, the sun felt too bright, and I couldn’t make out specific sounds. My ears hadn’t adjusted from all the screaming and shouting. I glanced behind me to see two men looking directly at me. I didn’t pause or think. I ran as fast as my legs would allow. Glancing back, I squealed as they followed me. Shit.

I looked back again. They were close now, so I fired my purse at one of the men’s head, missing him completely. The moment cost me valuable seconds, and my wallet hit the cracked tarmac as I ran.  A phone rang behind me, and I glanced back to see one of the men talking on the phone as he ran. The other man had stopped and now scooped up my purse. I focused forward and kept moving until the footsteps behind stopped. Looking back over my shoulder confirmed that they no longer followed me. Raindrops started to fall; I wiped the rain from my face and kept running.

My jumper and jeans clung to me from the heavy rain. I pushed my hair that had become plastered to my face out of my eyes. The rain came down in sideways sheets, making visibility hard. My phone buzzed in my hand. I stopped at a doorway, the red neon sign telling patrons that the Chinese restaurant was open. My stomach tightened as I answered the call.

“Where are you?” I wasn’t expecting the calm in Emmett’s voice. It scared the shit out of me.

“I’m in a doorway. Look I’m sorry for following–“

“Amber, where exactly are you?” I shivered as I poked my head out of the restaurant doorway, looking up I read the name on the sign.

“Rose Garden Chinese Restaurant,” I said.

“I know it. Don’t move.” I wanted to ask why, but he hung up. I moved deeper into the doorway as shivers took over my body. I looked out into the rain, no one was around. No one with a lick of sense would be, only me huddled like a homeless person. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to force some warmth into my arms. 

“No loitering.”

“Ouch,” I told the small Chinese man, who had hit me with the door. 

“No Loitering,” he repeated, in seriously broken English while waving a dishcloth at me, like I was a stray cat. 

“I’m waiting for someone,” I folded my arms and he shook his head.

“No loitering.”

I pointed out into the rain, my arm getting soaked. “You can’t put me out in that.”

“I’ll call police,” he told me, he changed to Chinese as he spoke to someone behind the door. “Police are call,” he flicked the cloth at me again, he was asking for it to be wrapped around his neck.

“You’re such a gentleman,” I said sarcastically as I walked out into the rain. It was like stepping into a shower fully clothed. I huddled against it, which was pointless. A laugh bubbled up from my throat and I did something that was on my bucket list. No time like the present and all that jazz. I opened my arms, throwing my head back and I spun in a circle on the deserted street, in the rain.

I danced for all of twenty seconds before looking around me. Across the street stood a man, in a hoodie, his face covered in shadows, but he watched me, his hands dug deep into his pockets. I could pick him out anywhere. My breath hitched as Emmett removed his hands from his pockets and jogged across the road, the closer he got, the faster my heart pounded. A flustering feeling started in my stomach and increased to manic proportions when he reached me.

When he reached me, he stopped, his face visible for the first time. Jesus, he had really taken a beating. My hand moved to his face immediately. Maybe it was the nurse in me, or maybe it was because I cared about him. Either way, I never got to reach him; his fingers moved quickly circling my wrist, stopping me. I knew he could feel my heartbeat drumming, fast and heavy. Would he know what his touch did to me? He studied my face, his free hand moving some hair behind my ear. My breath caught at the intensity in his eyes. At once, he let my wrist go and both his hands disappeared into his hoodie pockets. “Come on, you’re freezing.” I trembled, but not from the cold.

He didn’t speak as we walked back to the hotel. He took me in a back door, and we rode a private elevator to the penthouse, which took up the top floor of the hotel. I stood right now in his marble hallway, shivering while standing in a puddle of rainwater that dripped off me. Emmett had moved deeper into the room, the layout used columns and furniture to separate it.  He returned without his hoody, a white collared t-shirt stretched across his broad chest, as he handed me a towel, that I took and started to dry my face with as he watched me. “Do you have a death wish?” His question sounded harsh, but no anger leaked into his perfect features.

  “I said I was sorry. It was stupid–“

“Yes, it was. And reckless.” Emmett took a step closer.

“Do you have a death wish?” I fired his question back at him. I was no longer drying myself; his words pissed me off.

When he didn’t answer me, I continued. “You stood and let a man use you as a fucking punching bag. I stood there…” I pushed my hair back away from my face, searching for the right word. “I felt so helpless watching you, knowing I couldn’t stop it.” Tears burned at the back of my eyes, my breath puffed out of me. Emmett still hadn’t spoken. “Answer me,” my voice raised slightly as I fought not to cry.

“You need to shower, you’re freezing.”

My hands trembled again, but this time it was the cold. “Fine. But this conversation isn’t over,” I told Emmett.

“Exactly, Amber. I haven’t even started.” I noticed how he controlled his words and his anger, and I swallowed. He didn’t speak as he led me to his bedroom, a huge bed took up most the room, double doors opened up into a ridiculous-sized bathroom. “Take a shower. Once you're dry, we will talk.”

He left, closing the double doors that led into his bedroom behind him, and I closed the ones into the bathroom. I didn’t wait for a second, but stripped down and got into the shower. The hot water initially made me shiver, but soon my body turned to jelly as it relaxed. My mind was like a freight train of questions and emotions. The biggest one was what was I doing? This world that Emmett lived in—was it really a world I wanted to step into? Yet my stomach tightened at the thought of walking away from Emmett. His bruised face filled my mind, and now all I wanted to do was make sure he was okay. I didn’t stay longer in the shower than I needed. Finishing up, I got out and wrapped a towel around me. My clothes sat on the ground, soaking wet, and I had no other ones with me. I left the bathroom and looked at the bed, hoping that a neat bundle of dry clothes waited for me, but the bed sat pristinely made; nothing waited for me. I wasn’t going to call Emmett.

Another set of double doors captured my attention, the frame was different, the wood darker. I opened it and found what I knew I would a ridiculously huge closet. The lights came on automatically.  I didn’t linger, and went for the shirts hanging closest to me. I took the hanger off one of the many white shirts and slipped it on, smelling it. I had hoped it smelled of Emmett, but it didn’t. It was fresh from the dry cleaners. The whole closet smelled like it was just out of the dry cleaners. I dropped the towel as I moved deeper into his closet, looking for sweatpants.

“I never thought of clothes for you.”

I screamed like a Grade A girl. My hands clutched my chest, trying to calm down my beating heart. “Jesus, can’t you knock?” I told him while walking out of the closet. I picked up the towel on the way out, bending at the knee. My cheeks heated up with the thought of my nakedness under the shirt, and when my gaze met Emmett’s rueful look, I swallowed.

“Are you ready to talk?” he asked, as if standing in a closet with a girl in just his shirt was perfectly normal. Maybe for him it was, but I was freaking out and feeling exposed.

“Go for it,” I told him, trying to act natural and buy myself a few seconds as I left the closet before turning to face him. He closed the closet doors and when he turned, I examined his face again. My stomach twisted. He really had taken a bad beating, yet I knew his sides would be black and blue and even worse. They took most of the beating. “How are you feeling?” I asked him, conscious of my exposed legs that he was transfixed on. My cheeks heated right back up as his eyes snapped to me.

“I’m angry.”

I gave a snort/laugh. He didn’t sound angry, he didn’t look angry. Shit, I couldn’t even tell you what his angry face looked like. In three quick strides, he stood beside me, wiping the grin off my face.