Page 2 of Strike
There was a crash and the sound of splintering glass from someplace far away. Pressing my cheek to the floor, my eyes drooped. The smoke was getting to me, and soon, I would be out cold. If I died now, it would be a real pain the ass. I wondered if my insurance covered mysterious fires? Was I liable for the faulty sprinkler system, or could I sue the shit out of my landlord? Bah, I would sue the fucker anyway!
“Help…” I said with a rasp, my voice straining as I kicked lamely at the door. “Help…”
“Fuck,” a male voice cursed, and suddenly, I realized I wasn’t alone. Either that or I was hallucinating.
He was wearing big black boots with sloppy laces he hadn’t bothered to tie. The trailing ends had been tucked inside, as well as his jeans. I peered closer. The toes were all scuffed.
He knelt, and I felt his fingers press against my neck, checking for a pulse.
“I’m stuck…” I muttered, my eyes rolling. “The thing… The fire was…too hot…”
“I’ve got you,” the man said, lifting me into his arms like I weighed nothing at all. “You’ll be out of here in no time.”
Flopping in his grasp like a rag doll, my gaze met his, and my mouth fell open. I didn’t know if I was delirious or I’d already reached the point where the smoke inhalation was beginning to eat away at my brain, but he was handsome as hell. Hot as sin…and considering my current predicament, it wasn’t a fire related pun.
Tall, dark, brooding, chiseled out of marble…his eyes bore into mine. He wasn’t underwear model good-looking or anything, but there was something about him that made all my bits tingle. His eyes were full of sadness, pain, and depth I’d never seen in anyone before. They reminded me of those mysterious pools scientists had found in the middle of the wilderness that went down, down, down into the earth with no bottom. The deeper they went, the darker it became, and still, it stretched on. What mysteries lay within? Was there an end? Was there meaning?
I was completely and utterly delirious. Wasn’t I? Felt like it.
“The door’s stuck,” I managed to croak.
The man glanced at it and grimaced, then like we were in an action blockbuster at the movies, he kicked. I felt his muscles tense as his heel collided with the door. Once, then twice, then cool air rushed into the storeroom, and he was leaping out into the lane like Arnold Schwarzenegger inTerminator 2.
Red and blue flashing lights and a wail of sirens greeted us as the mysterious stranger carried me to safety. I clung to his shirt, the stench of smoke still thick in my nostrils.
“Oh, God,” I muttered, the gravity of what had just happened beginning to crash down on me. “Oh, fuck…”
“You’re okay,” the man said, his grip tightening on me as we approached the fire trucks lined up on the street. Water was already pouring from hoses, dousing the flames inside my little shop of dreams. “You’re safe now.”
“Sir… Miss…” A firefighter had approached us, and the man set me down on my shaking feet.
“She’s inhaled a lot of smoke,” the mysterious stranger said.
The firefighter nodded, his gaze turning to me before he took my arm. “Let’s get you on some oxygen. An ambulance is on its way.”
Confused and on the verge of hysterical tears, I let him lead me away, and by the time I turned around to thank the handsome stranger for risking his life…he was gone.
All I saw were the smoke and flames that had engulfed my shop and dreams and the ten firefighters and their three trucks that were hosing it all down.
2
Storm
Rubbing my jaw, I ignored the blooming pain that seared through my bones.
Brunswick Street was oddly quiet tonight. I’d caught a ride with some woman who thought she was getting lucky, and then hopped out at the traffic lights a few blocks from where I was now standing. She’d screamed some obscenity after me, but I’d disappeared before I caught the entirety of her venom-filled spiel.
Once a dick, always a dick, I suppose.
A disgraced cage fighter with nothing left to lose. That was my jam.
I fought three nights a week at The Underground—a criminally run cage fighting league and the source of my aching jaw—not because I wanted things to be that way but because I was forced to.
I’d gone to America to try my luck in the UFC—the Ultimate Fighting Championship—and earn the big bucks. I’d wanted to be showered with the fame and glory I’d so desperately wanted, and I’d fucked over plenty of people to get there. It still shamed me to this day that I’d had a threesome behind my girl Lori’s back. I cheated when I should’ve cherished. What happened next, when I finally reached the US, was karma at its finest.
Accused of a crime I didn’t commit, I was taken for everything I was worth. A UFC ring girl accused me of domestic assault. I mean, I was a dick, but I would never raise my hand to anyone, especially a woman, outside of the octagon. We’d gone out a few times, had some amazing sex, the whole nine yards. She liked it rough and consented…and enjoyed.Thoroughly.
A bunch of photographs, a police report, and a very public arrest later, I was forced to settle out of court or serve jail time.
