Conner

 

I jumped off the side of the cage, refusing to regard the mob that had formed after the match. I made my way down the path to the extended hallway, bypassing the announcer and local television crew who reported on the fights every week. I didn’t give two shits about talking to someone on camera. They could keep the fame.

With each step I took, the announcer’s voice trailed further behind me, as he tried to rally the horde for a cash drawing they were having. They were still calling my name when I entered the locker room. My head pounded, probably more from the adrenaline dump than the actual fighting. I quickly threw my sweatpants on, along with my socks and sneakers. I hadn’t even cleaned my bloody hands or face before I slid out the backdoor, on my way to my truck.

Screw them. Screw everyone. Too many emotions were shooting through my body at once. Anger, pride, self-doubt, fear…I had no idea how accomplishing a goal could make me feel so lost.

On my drive home from another win, my mind raced. I knew I was thinking way in advance, but if I did ever go pro, eventually the public would find out about my past. And that was something I didn’t want dug back up.

After my sentence had been handed down, I’d never forgotten the look in my mother’s eyes. Like a wild animal caught in a hunter’s trap, she’d wailed once, then quickly closed her mouth. I’d choked back my own tears at the apparent internal struggle she’d fought to keep her emotions from escaping.

She’d become small, like she was shrinking right before my eyes, as she walked over to the victim’s family. I’d never forget her next words. “I feel sick. So sick, I can’t even look at him. My heart is broken and will never mend.”

I watched the exchange, along with the rest of the court room, waiting for the mother of the victim to respond. It was gut-wrenching. Two mothers…both of their hearts laid bare for the entire world to see.

The boy’s mother looked like an empty shell. Like her skin and bones were the only thing holding her up. Her eyes grew in surprise that my mom had approached her. She stayed silent as her family members led her out of the court room. Standing behind my mother in handcuffs, I knew I was the reason for her pain. I’d broken her. I’d broken her spirit, and she’d broken mine with that one sentence. Those words were the last I’d heard from her.

Clearing a green light, only minutes from my home, my thoughts switched to the dark-haired beauty from the fight. Her hair had flowed effortlessly in soft curls down to the middle of her back. And the black pants she’d worn had fit her like a glove. We’d shared a moment, almost as if my thoughts were linked to hers by magic. Her eyes had been drawn straight to mine.

The clatter of my keys being thrown into the bowl by my front door rang out in the small space. I flicked the lights on in the hallway and leaned against the wall. With nowhere to go, or no one to keep me occupied, the buzz from the fight wore off.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The back of my head bounced off the wall, in sync with my heartbeat. The sound grew faster and louder with each passing second. I turned my head back to the small table in the entryway. The keys to my pickup glinted in the light. It is less than a five-minute ride to the liquor store.

I ran my hands through my hair and tugged hard once I reached the ends. I popped my knuckles, knowing I had to do something with the extreme urge to fuck up my life.

The phone in my pocket weighed my pants down on the right side, just a hair. I shivered, and goose bumps settled on the patch of exposed skin between my T-shirt and sweats. Simone would feel good. I could burn a couple of hours with her, then hopefully crash.

Making my way to the shower, I adjusted the temperature of the water and made up my mind. At least it would ease the tension in my body. I quickly undressed and leaned on the vanity, bringing my face less than an inch from the mirror. Searching my own eyes for answers, I eventually closed them, with no newfound resolution. One vice wasn’t any better than the other—I knew that—but one reminded me of who I was, and the other made me forget about it all. At least for a little while.

Me: Come over.

Simone: On my way.

I clicked off my phone and stepped under the scorching spray.

I needed to talk to Rick. I wasn’t even sure what my purse was from the fight. I hadn’t cared, to be honest. It would be peanuts to what Steele made in the pro league, but money was money. Steele had always been aware that Rick paid us for our fights, but kept his nose clean where that was concerned. He could be suspended for illegal betting, and he’d told me once before that no one was worth his career in the pro league. I believed him, which is why I rarely spoke about my pay days with him.

I rotated my shoulders, along with my head, allowing the water to rush over me. The tightness from my neck, up to the back of my head, bloomed into a full-blown headache. The rust-colored water circled the drain and left me numb. I scrubbed as hard as I could. As if the pressure might erase the punches I’d taken, only an hour before.

Bodily pain was no hardship for me. Even as a kid, I could break a bone, slice my hand open, or even fall off the roof, and I never cried. I’d always been physically tough. Why that couldn’t carry over to my mental state, I’d never know. Hence my internal struggle between drinking my cares away and calling on a semi-good lay.

Stepping out of the shower, I ran a towel over my head. I chuckled at myself, for feeling like I was taking one for the team. A win for my body was a loss for the alcohol. At least there was a plus to one of the outcomes. My doorbell rang. I tossed the towel in the hamper and strolled to the door, ready to release the pent-up energy I’d created in the shower.

“How was your fight?” She smiled, eyes moving down my body, landing on my junk.

“Fine.” I stepped aside, allowing her to come inside.

“I’m assuming you—” Her words were cut off as she squealed when I threw her over my shoulder. “Conner!” She giggled.

I carried her into my bedroom and dropped her on the bed. Kissing her shoulder, I pulled off her shirt. My body buzzed with anticipation, clearing my mind. I was thankful there was zero thinking involved in finding my release.

Her hand pushed at my chest. “Conner.”

“What?” I snapped.

Her smile disappeared, and she cocked her head to the side, challenging me.

I hung my head and blew out a frustrated breath. “Look, I’m tired, I’m sore, and I have a killer headache. This was a mistake.” I should have known a decision made in haste wouldn’t have worked out.

If looks could kill, I’d have dropped like a sack of potatoes. Her eyelids squinted until they were mere slits.

I placed my right hand over my junk and stood up. “What?” I was over the whole thing already.

She propped herself up on her elbows, but made no sign of getting off my bed.

I glanced around, making a show, as if to tell her I wasn’t following why she wasn’t leaving. “Did you hear me?”

She rose, taking small steps until she stood facing me. I could see the wheels in her head turning, so I waited for her next move. Her bare breasts hit my chest softly. Then her hardened nipples pressed into me so firm, her round globes flattened like pancakes. Neither of us moved to wrap our arms around each other, nor did my body rise to her challenge.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re an asshole.” Her raspy voice was so low, I had to concentrate on listening to her. “The worst kind too. Because, at the end of the day, even though you squeeze out a couple of nice words here and there, it really is all about you. Every fucking thing. The fights. Your vendetta against mankind. Your family, or lack thereof—”

“Get out,” I said through clenched teeth. “Get your shit, and don’t come back.”

“You’re the sorriest lay I’ve ever had, Conner. I’ve never met anyone more selfish. Have a nice life, fighting in the amateur league.” She huffed as she picked up her shirt and stormed out of the bedroom.

I got back in bed, proving the point that I was perfectly fine with her leaving. If she’d been a dude, I would have punched her in the throat for even thinking she knew anything about my family. Placing my hands behind my head, I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing the last twenty minutes hadn’t happened.

Tuesday couldn’t come fast enough. My next fight, Michael Sullins, had drawn the short straw. Funny how my mind immediately went to thrashing someone. Adrenaline pulsed through my body, and my insides tingled at the impulse. I rolled over, settling in for a miserable night. My thoughts would keep my mind busy, and even if I was lucky enough to find sleep, my nightmares would wake me up. It was my routine—my fucking life.

 

***

 

My phone buzzed, causing vibrations against the nightstand. I slapped the wood with my eyes still closed. After two tries, my hand landed on my phone.

I glanced at my clock to see it was only seven o’clock in the morning. “Yeah?”

“Man, Gregory’s over here talking shit. Saying you’ll never gain a match with him, and that—”

I didn’t hear any more because I ended the call.

Gregory had been talking shit since I’d beaten his cousin Kramer. If it had been up to me, I would have fought his ass first. I knew I could take him—even without much experience—but Steele wanted me to get my feet wet first. I didn’t much care about the order of opponents. I got in the cage with whoever he matched me up with, and would continue to do so until Frank Fuller, the CEO of the AFL decided to offer me a contract.

With that being said, I wasn’t going to let that son-of-a-bitch talk smack about me in my own gym. I pulled my sweats on in one swift move. Shoving my bare feet into my sneakers, I brushed my teeth in record time and started for the gym.

Steele met me at the door and placed a hand on my shoulder. “He’s gone.”

I looked around, taking in the other fighters watching me. They were curious. They’d obviously been witness to Gregory talking shit. I nodded, and followed Steele back to his office. I took a seat and slid my hat low on my forehead, until the shadow of the brim hid my eyes.

“He’s just trying to get in your head.” Steel crossed his arms, leaning against the edge of his desk.

I crossed mine too. “He’s pissing me off.”

“Then I guess his plan is working.” He rounded the desk to take a seat behind it.

I flipped my hat backward and placed my arms on my knees. I knew what he was saying. My temper was getting in the way of my professionalism. “I get it, okay?”

“Do you?” His eyes were pinned on mine. “Conner, you are one of the most talented fighters I’ve ever had the honor to train with. I saw something in you the first time you ever walked into my gym.” I kept quiet, allowing him to go on. “You have the potential to rule this sport, but you can’t let your demons get in the way. I know you carry a burden, but if you want any kind of future for yourself, you’re going to have to find somewhere else to put it.”

“So, you’re telling me, if some fuckface was talking shit about you, you’d turn the other cheek?” I asked, knowing he wouldn’t.

“No. I’d settle it in the cage. Which is what you need to do.” He rounded his desk and leaned on it, directly in front of me. “You reacted exactly how I thought you would though, rushing over here, ready to kick some ass. But remember this…the first rule in this sport is to not take anything personal. This is your job. It’s no different than a thug fighting the police. The thug is fighting the badge, not the man who wears it. Gregory sees you as a threat. He’s been trying to go pro for two years. You are the obstacle standing in his way. The suits are going to put their money in one man. One.”

I took a moment to let his words sink in. I wanted to shred Gregory. I could still feel my blood boiling, but I stayed silent, my thoughts somewhere between violent rage and complete peace. I knew Steele was only trying to help me.

I leaned back in the chair and pushed my emotions down deep. The bottom line was, I needed a pay check. I could either let this work for me—this fighting thing that had basically fallen in my lap—or I could go hammer two-by-fours together for cash that probably wouldn’t pay my rent.

I blew out a breath and bounced my knee. “I get it. I want a career. One I can be proud of.”

“Do you, brother?”

“Brother?” I asked. “Is that where we are?”

He nodded. “That’s where we are.”

I stood, eye level with him at an even six-foot-two. We shook hands, and I slapped his shoulder. I appreciated what he was doing. He’d proven himself to me. He had my back.

“Let’s get out there, so I can kick your ass,” he said.

I chuckled as we exited his office. “In your dreams. I’m still pissed.”

I rounded the corner and noticed the beautiful brunette who’d been at my last fight, standing at the front counter, dressed like she was having dinner at the White House.

Steele walked around me and greeted her. “Willow, right?”

She held her hand out, all business. “Yes. So nice to see you again, Trevor.”

Trevor? So, the cocksucker knew her.

“Are you taking me up on my offer?” Trevor asked.

What kind of offer?

“I am. I’d also like to set up a couple of interviews for the paper.” She held up the media badge hanging from her neck. “If any of your guys are willing, that is.”

No way in hell was I doing an interview.

I made my way over to warm up. She was obviously there for business. No sense in me sticking around for something I was not willing to be a part of. Grabbing the handles on the jump rope, I closed my eyes and started a slow and steady rhythm, counting each jump in my head.

Something swirled around my gut, pulling and tugging, until I gave in and opened my eyes. With her back to me, I couldn’t help but stare. Black, sleek heels graced her feet. The red slacks she had on fit her trim body, showing off her hour-glass figure. I pictured both my hands wrapped around her small, belted waist. My fingertips would touch, no doubt. If I slid them down, I’d have two handfuls . . .

I tightened my grip and sped up, closing my eyes once again. Damn, this would be the day I forgot my iPod. I inhaled through my nostrils and blew the warm breaths out my mouth. Prison had taught me a few things in a fucked-up kind of way. I just needed to get back to that place mentally, where nothing touched me. Nothing affected me.

I didn’t waste any more time thinking impure thoughts about the beautiful woman Steele was still talking to at the front desk. I focused instead on preparing myself for my daily spar.

After jumping, I stretched again, and finished up with a round of tossing a medicine ball. Placing my headgear on, I looked up to see Steele and the woman approaching me.

“Conner. This is Willow Stevens. She’s a reporter—”

“No,” I interrupted him. Her eyes darted to mine and her smile fell. I hadn’t meant to offend her. “Sorry, I uh…don’t do interviews.”

“Do you mind me asking why?” She cocked her head to the side, appearing genuinely curious.

Knowing I’d never divulge the constant turmoil I swam in, I kept my answer short. “Just don’t.”

“Let’s go, Payne,” Johnny said. He stood at the entrance of the cage, waving me over.

Placing my mouth guard in, I stepped in without looking back at her.

Willow took a seat in a chair just to the right of the cage. It was the best seat in the house, but not for positive reasons. We’d designated it the Little Bitch chair, for fighters who let women bust their concentration. It didn’t matter if they denied being whipped. Majority ruled in the gym. So instead of working out and training, the dude on the carpet would have to sit in the purple chair like a little bitch, while watching the rest of us train.

I tried to block Willow out of my mind as I went three rounds with Tommy. The irony of it almost had me rolling my eyes. As hard as I tried, I was aware of her to my right, watching us in awe. Her facial expressions were a mixture of shock and complete infatuation. The look was not lust, but interest in our movements. Every punch, every kick, I’d hear her breath catch. I tried not to lose my concentration, and went extra hard at him for the simple fact that I was sidetracked.

I hated it.

I couldn’t give two shits about anyone on the outside, so the fact that she was taking over my thoughts annoyed me. I didn’t want to think about how the top two buttons on her blouse were unbuttoned, or that her damn red pants were so tight, I could see her thigh muscles and bare ankles. And I sure as fuck didn’t want to be turned on by those stupid black high heels that seemed to get higher each time I glanced over at her.

The angrier I got, the harder I hit. Finally, Tommy pushed me back and told me he was done. Seeing his confusion pissed me off even more. We were supposed to have just been sparring, yet I’d gone at him full speed. I spit my mouth piece out and jumped out of the cage, not offering him an explanation.

As I grabbed my bag, I heard her ask Tommy if he’d be willing to do an interview. He said yes, the jackass. I wiped my face with my T-shirt and casually glanced at them as they took a seat in the bleachers. Her long hair moved in sync with her body, and she tucked a lock behind her ear as she started taking notes.

I tilted my water bottle up, taking two long swigs, but my eyes never left her. I wasn’t sure what it was, but the knot in my throat threatened to stop the liquid from going down. It could have been that I felt like holding my breath to the point of feeling light-headed, or exhaling so long I gave myself a buzz at just the sight of her. I had never been so thrown off at the sight of a woman the way I was with her, and I didn’t even know her. But I wanted to.