Page 36 of Strike
Narrowing my eyes at the group of fighters huddled in the center of the room, I suppressed the annoyance rising in my gut. Just like a bunch of jocks in high school, they had never wanted to talk to me until I’d done something they deemed worthy. Saving Callie was my ticket back into the life I’d left behind, the life I’d wanted to pick up when I first got back from America. I would’ve done anything back then, but now it was empty. Shallow fucks.
They didn’t want to know me at all.
Curiosity drew me to them, and I was brought into the circle.
“That was some ballsy shit, man,” the fighter known as Sabre said next to me.
“I don’t know if it was crazy or heroic,” my onetime buddy, Boom, declared.
The compliments kept coming. Once upon a time, the old Storm would’ve lapped it up, but my hackles were rising, my exterior was bristly as fuck, and all I could do was sneer.
“Whatever,” I drawled, shaking off the pats on the back. “I’ve got a fight.”
Turning, I walked away, grabbing my hand wraps and slamming my locker closed. Ignoring the murmurs and the pointed looks, I strode from the change room and out into The Underground, weaving the webbing around my knuckles as I went.
When I was announced, instead of the chorus of boos, there were actually cheers. Fame and favor were a fickle beast if ever there were one. In one minute and out the next.
I toed the line opposite Crowbar, and he actually looked worried like the extra juice from the crowd was going to give me the upper hand. Boy, was he wrong. My emotions were all over the place, my heart was broken, my soul destroyed, and it wouldn’t take much for him to knock my block off. I was in the mood to do something stupid, after all.
Needless to say, the fight was terrible. For me, not Crowbar. He absolutely smashed his way through the first few minutes of the bout. After a particular lax grapple on my behalf, he threw me down and slammed his heel on my left arm. That was the moment I was done. Probably for good.
I knew my forearm was broken even before the pain burned up my limb and the signal lodged in my brain. When it did, the cage began to spin. Cradling my arm against my chest, I rolled onto my side and screwed my face up.
I was vaguely aware of the fight being called in Crowbar’s favor, then people cheering and catcalling before the cage door opened. Faces milled about, and one leaned over me and began prodding at my arm. That was the wrong thing to do. Pain seared even hotter, and I cursed loudly. I could already feel my forearm swelling.
Someone helped me to my feet, and in a rage, I shook them off and strode from the cage. Swaying on my feet, I pushed through the crowd and found my way out back and not a moment too soon. I slumped against the wall, the pain really starting to get to me.
Grimacing, I sucked in breath after breath through my nose while my skin turned clammy.Dammit!A punch to the face and a kick in the nuts I could handle but a broken arm?Shit.
“Hey,” a voice said behind me. “Are you okay?”
“Leave off,” I snapped.
A hand came to rest on my shoulder, and I groaned when I saw Hamish standing behind me. He looked concerned, and it did nothing to calm the rage that was about to boil over. Maybe I could upchuck all over his boots. He would get the message then.
“Mate, your arm is probably broken. You need—”
“Get off me,” I said, shaking out of his grasp. Grimacing as the snapped bone in my arm grated together, I almost threw up.
“No,” Hamish said. “No one else is linin’ up to take you to the ER, even after your heroic story came out in the paper.”
“I can call a taxi,” I said stubbornly. “I don’t need anyone’s help.”
Turning, I stumbled and fell against the wall, jarring my shoulder.
“C’mon,” the Irishman said. “Let’s get you outta here.”
The last placeI expected to find myself was in the ER at the local hospital being treated by a redheaded doctor whilst sitting beside a redheaded fighter. Gingers were everywhere, taunting me.
“You’re such a dick for no reason,” Hamish said.
“Shut up,” I retorted, the cast feeling heavy as hell on my forearm. “There are better things to do than to keep notes on how many times I’ve called you Ginger.”
“See what I mean?” He raised an eyebrow. “At some point, the self-punishment has to stop.”
I ignored him as the nurse came back, checked the cast, and attempted to put me in a sling, which I promptly shook off.
“Lori told me,” Hamish added. “About everythin’.”
