Page 19 of Strike
Ignoring him, I undid all the buttons on my shirt, shrugged it off, and flung it into my locker, as well.
“I’m talkin’ to you, Storm.”
“Yeah, well I’m not replying.”
He slammed his palm down on the locker next to mine.
Rolling my eyes, I said, “You’ve always wanted to beat my ass, Ginger, so here’s your chance. Make your girl proud.”
“You don’t make things easy for yourself, you know that?”
“Isn’t that what you want?” I retorted. “Don’t let my smart ass bother you.” My prickly exterior did wonders keeping people like him away…and stunning women like Callie. One was a welcome relief and the other not so much.
Dropping my jeans, I changed into my shorts, not bothering to glance up when Hamish finally stalked off. Our bout was the second of the night, and we would be called up soon.
Wrapping my hands, I found myself thinking about Callie instead of mentally preparing myself to face off with Goblin. What was the point? I already knew the ending to our story before it began. If I pursued her, I would wind up breaking her heart just like I’d broken Lori’s heart. I didn’t deserve kindness, and I especially didn’t deserve to be loved by a woman like Callie Winslow.
She couldn’t want me like that anyway. The fire had brought us together in an unexplainable moment, but that was it. Beyond that, we were doomed. Callie would go on with her shop and become a raging success while I stagnated in the prison of my own making.
“Storm. Goblin. You’re up.”
Flexing my fingers, I ignored all the eyes plastered on my back and followed the referee out into the warehouse. In the cage, we were being announced to the crowd, and no fucking surprises when I received nothing but boos as I walked through the gate to toe my line.
“Can you feel the love, Storm?” Hamish smirked and rolled his head from side to side.
Remaining silent, I raised my fists, ready to get this shitshow started, and when the referee lowered his arm between us, I launched myself at Goblin. My fist collided with the side of his jaw, and he blinked, shocked I’d managed to hit him so early in the game.
He recovered quickly, bringing his knee up into my stomach. The blow caused me to double over, and some of the air was forced out of my lungs. I wheezed, dodging to the side as his fist flew up from below. His knuckles grazed my cheek, and I rammed my shoulder into his ribs, forcing his ginger ass back into the cage.
We collided with a bang, the entire structure rattling, and the crowd booed and hissed. Hamish slammed his elbows down onto my shoulders, then punched at my head, trying to break free. Loosening my right arm, I rammed my fist into his stomach.
Then his elbow collided with the side of my face, the bone jamming into my eye, and I slackened. It was the chance Hamish was hoping for. He slipped free of my grapple and was on me in a flash.
I saw his fist coming, and I knew the right move to block—putting my forearms in the line of fire to protect my face—but I didn’t raise my arms. I took the hit to the side of my head, his knuckles grazing the corner of my eye socket, and I stumbled.
The crowd cheered and rattled the cage as I recovered, but I knew their cries weren’t for me. I was the villain in this story, and Goblin was the righteous hero.
As I twisted to the side to avoid another punch, I felt blood trickling down my face from an open cut in my eyebrow. My head swam, and I fought to hold my balance as Goblin kicked. His foot hooked through the middle of my legs, and before I knew it, I was landing on my side, my shoulder jarring painfully on the concrete. Luckily, it didn’t pop out of the joint. Otherwise, I would be down for six weeks with no cash flow.
Too stunned to move out of the way, I took another fist to the head as Goblin tried to knock me out, but like the stubborn asshole I was, I held on.
“Tap, Storm,” he was saying. “Stop trying to be the hero, and just admit it. You’re done.”
“What if I don’t want to?” I tasted blood on my tongue.
“You got a death wish?” He hit me again.
Maybe I did.
He raised his fist and hesitated. I didn’t move. I didn’t do anything. That was when the referee stepped in, dragging Hamish off me and declaring him the winner.
I didn’t hear the crowd cheering, I didn’t hear the boos directed my way, I didn’t even register when the cage door opened and someone pulled me to my feet, and I definitely didn’t register the light shining into my eyes. My pupils were reactive, I wasn’t brain dead, but I felt like I deserved it.
Shaking off the unfamiliar hands, I strode from the cage, my head spinning. People parted to let me through as I swiped at the blood pouring from my face. Out back, I stumbled, and my shoulder hit the wall.
Breathing deeply, my ears rang as the effect of the beating I’d just taken began to take hold. If I didn’t pass out, I was going to puke. Blood was all over my hands and was dripping onto my chest. Watching a couple of drops splatter on the polished concrete under my feet, I didn’t hear the door open behind me even though beyond it, The Underground was blasting with noise.
“Hey!”
