Ash: A Bad Boy Romance (34 page)

That’s why I left, wasn’t it? The fear of destroying her, possessing her, taking her under with me. I left to fix my life and get the drinking under control. I’ve done that now, more or less.

Mostly less, since Frank’s been breathing down my neck and trying to figure out what I’m doing
.

I pause, crack my neck, shake out my arms to loosen up. Reminding myself that this is a fight night, that people will be arriving soon, I punch and shuffle to the side again, trying to push her face from my mind.
 

Jab, uppercut, get him from the side.
Let him think you don’t know what you’re doing, that he’s going to break you. Make it believable for the people watching, the writhing mass of tourists in their seats.
 

I know the way the game is played. I’ve known it for a long time, since I got kicked out of my house at sixteen. Back then, Frank wasn’t as mean as he is now. That sounds almost impossible when I think about it. Frank had me convinced—and hundreds of others over the years—that we were the golden boys of the Outer Banks, that we’d rise in the ranks and take over the damn town, that we’d go pro and book fights in New York.
 

Fifteen minutes tonight. That’s all it is. You got this, Josh. You own this cage.

I shake my head and warm up with a few more punches to the bag. The people are starting to pour in now—townies and tourists alike, all coming for a taste of blood. If there’s one thing Frank’s good at, it’s providing blood—booking dirty fights, getting fighters as young as sixteen hooked on steroids, hiding razor blades in our gloves. A cut to the forehead bleeds and bleeds. The audience goes fucking nuts and throws money into bets, thirsty for more.
 

From the first row of chairs around the chain-link cage, Katy smiles at me and blows a kiss. Girl’s pretty, with red-blond hair and a tall, lanky body that looks slick while she’s holding up the cards. But I wrote her off long ago. I know I fucked her at some point, but I barely remember it now. It’s one of those memories that slips away from me until I see her carrying the cards and booking the bets on nights like this. She works for Frank sometimes, works hard for fighters on other nights. Always hits on me, though I don’t take the bait anymore. She’s not the one I want. None of these girls are.
 

Katy smiles broadly again and squeezes her tits together. I turn my gaze back to the punching bag without acknowledging her. Word is that she’s staying with Frank, so I know whose side she’s on right now.
 

“Hey Long Shot,” she yells. “Good luck tonight!” I nod back to her, but I keep punching the bag, listening to the sounds of the audience as they pour in. From the swell of voices and the chatter swirling around, I can tell that the other fighter has arrived. I turn to see him walking through a doorway on the other side of the gym.
 

Shit, that’s a big dude
. The middleweight towers over the men standing next to him. His chest looks like it might be twice as broad as mine, and his muscles are ropy, twitching, ready to fight. His head is shaved and covered with tattoos, and his trainer looks almost just as mean as he does. Frank claps Cade the fucking monster on his shoulder, and then Frank’s beady dark eyes dart over to me for just a moment. Frank’s wearing his button-down shirt tonight, his black hair slicked back and his shoes polished bright. It’s occurred to me before that he looks like a fucking mobster, and tonight is no different.

I watch as Frank shakes Cade’s hand, and I watch as his trainer leads him up to the cage. My coach, Ash, appears from the sidelines and walks me up to the cage to meet my opponent. Ash’s blue eyes meet mine, and I look over at his stern, angular face. He’s serious about his own beef with Frank, and he’s worked through my plan with me again and again. Not only has he given me the best training I’ve ever had—far better than Frank had ever done—he’s gotten me to where I am today, in every way.

“Remember the plan, Josh,” he says. “Get him hard in the last round. Run that ground game so he can’t flip you with his legs. Drag it out.” I put in my mouth guard and nod as Ash ushers me into the cage. Frank doesn’t even bother to check us for weapons before the fight starts. After all, blood is best when it comes to fighting. Ash puts my gloves over the yellow tape that coats my knuckles, and Katy walks along one side of the chain-link cage, carrying her round one card. The other fighter’s eyes are glued to her body, and the audience roars with appreciation.

“First fight of the night is the Outer Banks’ own Long Shot McRae.” Katy gestures to me. “And for his first fight in Frank’s cage is middleweight and small-time champ, Cade Davis!” The din of the crowd is deafening now. They’ve risen to a fever pitch. “Fight one! Round one!” Katy yells in her shrill, nails-on-a-chalkboard voice.
 

The ref steps between us and nods, then blows his whistle. “Gentlemen, let’s fight!”
 

The crowd roars, and soon we’re shuffling. Cade fakes a punch and comes in with a knee strike. It’s sloppy, and there’s no grace in it, but it gets me in my left side good. I deliver a roundhouse, pretending I’m sloppy too, barely hitting him in the face. I like to see them overconfident, make them sweat before I move in at the end. He nearly knocks me down in the first round, but I’m still standing as we move into the second. I hold and wait, watching Cade’s face as he tries to size me up. And then I’m playing my game, entering the second round hard as the crowd erupts into loud, insane cheering.
 

Cade’s face is angry now, especially when I start with the carefully designed pattern of side strikes and punches. I hit him where it counts—nose, side, close into the groin. He gets in a few punches, and the sucker is strong as hell. He comes at me with shots to the face I don’t expect, and I end up with a gash on my forehead and on my side. The fucker has razors, and I didn’t even know. We’re both angry going into the third round, and I let the rage take me over. It’s good for me now, fuels me through to the end. The sweat pours down Cade’s face, and the audience is deafening now.
 

I scan the audience. Natalie’s friend Summer would have told her I have a fight tonight. There’s a flash of blond hair, and I wonder if I’ll see her, hope to god I will. Cade slips in three knee strikes and slams me into the side of the cage. There’s a sickening crunch, and I know something’s broken or dislocated, but the pain’s not coming yet. I’m still able to turn him, able to get a hold and choke him out until he drops to his knees. When Cade comes to, the ref is already calling it.

“Another win for Long Shot!” Katy screams. Ash gives me water and leans in close.

“You okay kid?”

“Partially dislocated shoulder, I’m fucking betting,” I say. “Gonna hurt like hell.” The crowd is still cheering, and Ash leads me down, holds my right hand above my head. The flyweights—both of them probably sixteen, though Frank somehow reports them as eighteen—are in the cage now, and I can get the hell out of dodge. Frank spots me heading back to the locker room and hands me my money unceremoniously.
 

“Purse is light tonight.” I look down and count about three hundred dollars. If it were any other night, I’d give Frank a piece of my mind. I don’t fancy Frank putting his boot in my face and grinding the grit into my skin—he’s taken me by surprise and done it more than once when I questioned his authority. These days, he’s more likely to get someone else to do his dirty work for him, but he’s meaner than he ever has been. And that makes me sure as hell that I don’t want to fuck with him tonight. Not if I’m going to try to see Nat.

Like he’s reading my thoughts, I see Frank coming towards me from the corner of my eye. He’s got his button-down shirt on and that plastered on grin that I know he thinks looks cheerful. He claps me on the shoulder—fortunately not the one that’s likely dislocated. I try to smile back, but I’m betting it looks more like a grimace.

“Good job, kid. You like the purse tonight?” I nod and don’t respond. He knows damn well how I feel about it, but I ain’t trying to start anything, not when pain is starting to pulse through my entire body, threatening to knock me unconscious at any moment. “I said, you like the purse kid? You enjoy that fight?”

“Yeah, man. It was alright.” I pull away from him and keep my head down. I’d give anything to rise up and beat the shit out of this piece of trash, but sometimes, being in control of your body and mind is the highest form of domination. Not giving in to what he wants me to do. That’s what I need in this moment.
 

“I’ll see you in tomorrow?” Frank asks, catching my eye and staring hard.

“Naw, man. I need some time to get healed up.”

“We better see you around soon, Long Shot. Or I’ll find a way to make your life a living hell.” There’s nothing I can say that won’t be angry or sarcastic, so I shrug and pocket the money. Frank’s threats are usually empty, but I’ve seen him find ways to do exactly that.
 

I nod at Frank and turn to head outside. “I’ll be back next week sometime,” I say as nonchalantly as I can. I look back and see Ash, who strides past Frank and up to me, ushering me out of the door before Frank can say anything else.

“Hurt pretty bad? Need a ride somewhere? Preferably not the hospital?” I nod. I know I need the shoulder back in place. I know I need somewhere I can lay low for a week, or Frank’ll be pushing me for the next big thing. Frank’s made it clear that the hospital’s off limits—I’m betting I could get in and get out without the police getting involved.

“Natalie,” I mutter. The pain buzzes through me now, mixed with adrenaline. I put my hand to my knee and bend over, feeling a wave of dizziness, then squint my eyes and look up at Ash. “Take me to the island, the old house.”

Ash looks at me sideways. “You sure?”
 

“I’m sure,” I say. “I got an excuse now, Ash. It’ll all work out fine.”
 

“If you say so, kid. Frank’ll be pissed as shit when he realizes you’ve left the peninsula. He wants you to be training now and honestly—”

“Ash, I’m hurt
bad
. Get me to Natalie’s now. She’s the only one who can fix it without taking me to the fucking hospital. And Frank would like that even
less
than me being away. I’ll be back in a coupla days. She’ll probably kick me the fuck out after she stitches me up.”

“Whatever you say Joshie.” I look back as we walk out of the gym. Frank is watching us with an evil flash in his dark eyes.

“I’ll be back soon,” I shout back to Frank, stumbling out into the night before the man can say anything in response. Ash grips me tight and helps me into his truck. I’m already hurting pretty damn bad, and even though I know seeing Nat is a damn bad idea, I know Ash will take me there. He has to.

I’m hobbled and limping, broken to the bone, but I won, and I got the goddamn purse. Every bit helps me pay back Ash, and every bit helps me get to the point where I can conquer all that I’ve been fighting against.
 

By the time Ash starts driving, my shoulder and ribs feel like they’re on fire. Not even Nat would turn me away like this.
 

Find
Long Shot
right here!
 

Other Books by Lexi Whitlow:

Long Shot

About the Author:

Lexi Whitlow is a small-town girl from Virginia. She spent her early years growing up between Virginia and North Carolina, playing in the dark rich dirt of Eastern North Carolina at her granddaddy's farm. She's a Southern girl at heart, and she spends her days chasing her five-year-old and her puggle and writing as much as she can between drop off and kindergarten pick-up.

The settings in Lexi’s books are all places that are near and dear to her heart—especially Manteo, North Carolina. She recommends you go and grab a beer there or book a spot on the pirate cruise if you’re ever in the Outer Banks.

She holds a master's degree in English literature from the University of Virginia, and her mom is so proud she's "using her degree."

Lexi harbors a not-so-secret love for bad boys. She loves fighters, tough-as-nails cowboys, bikers, and criminals. Her husband is a scientist... but he has the heart of a bad boy for sure.