Page 18 of Strike
“Don’t say it,” I interrupted, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Just say ‘It was nice to meet you, and I’ll see you around.’ Just say that, okay?”
His brow creased, and his gaze fell. “It was nice to meet you. I’ll see you around.”
The sound of the tram door squealing open was my signal. Turning, I hightailed it out of there, knowing the chances of seeing him again were slim to none. It didn’t bode well for me because the mystery surrounding his sad eyes had only deepened. Then there was the matter of my heart. My stupid, fickle heart.
Swiping my card against the reader, I moved down the tram and found a seat by the window. As the doors shut and we began to move, I didn’t have the courage to look up to see if he’d waited to see me off or had left the moment I’d turned around.
I didn’t have the strength to take another blow like that.
Sinking back into my seat, I knew when I got home, I was going to dream about him again. And this time, it would be dirty as hell.
8
Storm
Iwatchedthe tram begin to move, carrying Callie with it.
She was sitting by the window, her face angled away. She didn’t look back, and I didn’t blame her. I’d avoided answering every question she’d thrown at me while she’d given hers freely. I was such an asshole.
I shouldn’t have gone, but I just couldn’t help myself. I’d watched her through the window of the bar as she’d waited, checking her phone over and over, her hopeful gaze lifting to the door every time it opened. I’d watched, battling with myself. Should I go in, or should I leave her there?
After a while, the pull of her mysterious green eyes had reeled me in, and it was all I could do not to beg her forgiveness there and then. It was all pre-emptive, after all.
Callie Winslow with her cake shop. Single, pretty Callie Winslow with her flushed cheeks and pink lips.
She was beautiful, intelligent, curious, and her awkwardness was enamoring after the kind of women I’d been with before her. She was nothing like the bitches who hung around The Underground looking to bag themselves a fighter. She’d asked questions and fought back, not afraid to walk away when I was a complete dick to her. She wasn’t dying to impress me so she could get a free ride. She’d worked hard for her dreams, and it sounded like she’d sacrificed a lot to get to where she was.
Turning, I strode down the side street and made my way back to my apartment. The same apartment I’d paid for with money I’d won from illegal cage fights. I didn’t rent here. I owned.
A row of lock-up garages sat below the warehouse styled building, and I pressed the fob in my jeans pocket. The door closest to me began to rise, revealing my motorcycle. It was a Yamaha V Star Custom that I’d won in a bet with a guy at The Underground six months ago. The bet being, if I could put down the guy in my next fight in less than two minutes, I would get the bike. If not, I had to help him out with ‘a problem.’
Obviously, I’d won the bike, and whatever the guy’s ‘problem’ was, it was no business of mine. The motorcycle was slick as.
Grabbing my jacket from the seat, I shrugged it on and reached for my helmet. When I’d told Callie I had a commitment I needed keep, I wasn’t lying. I hadn’t lied to her at all if I wanted to get technical about it, but I hadn’t exactly been the life of the party she’d been expecting. It was written all over her face. She’d climbed onto that tram fighting back tears.
I’d disappointed her.
Still, I fell back on the same reasoning I’d been beating myself with since the fire. I didn’t want to mess up the good thing she had going with her shop. If it got out she’d been saved by me, her life would be turned upside down by association.
Keep telling yourself that, Storm.
Kicking the motorcycle to life, I pulled out onto the street and waited for the garage door to roll back into place. Once it dropped, I roared down the street, the engine I’d spent hours tinkering with echoing loudly. Boys with their loud-ass toys? It was all about flaunting the size of your cock.
When I arrived at the warehouse in Abbotsford, I parked near the entrance and strode inside. Time to honor my commitments.
Nothing ever changed at The Underground. Faces came and went from time to time for whatever reason—retirement or a cosmetic rearrangement in the cage—but the atmosphere didn’t alter. People drank, gambled, fought, and fucked to their heart’s content. Their reasons, like mine, were their own.
Pushing out into the fighter-only area, I went into the men’s change room to dump my stuff.
“Guess I don’t have a fight tonight, after all,” I heard Hamish say behind me. “We all know Storm’s goin’ to withdraw.”
Turning, I scanned the lineup sheet pinned on the wall of the men’s change rooms. I’d been paired with Goblin again. It was an omen.
“Don’t let your hate get the best of you, ginger,” I said, curling my lip.
Walking away, I opened my locker and threw my jacket and keys inside.
“What, you’re not forfeitin’ tonight?” Hamish called out after me.
