Firefight: The Soul Scorchers MC (The Scorched Souls Serial-series Book 2) (9 page)

Grinch chuckled. “He’s got a point, man.”

Leg wasn’t that easily dissuaded. “I know your fight record. It’s not that. Ringo isn’t like other fighters. He’s not right in the head. The man enjoys killing a little too much for my tastes. I’d expect a dirty fight.”

Nodding to get him off my back, I leaned over and stretched my calves.

Both Ringo and I would be thoroughly searched before entering the ring. Attempting to sneak in a weapon meant an automatic disqualification. These were unsanctioned MMA fights, not death matches like some underground leagues featured. Not that there hadn’t been a death or two over the years. Shit happened. Anytime men fought bare-knuckled with few rules, injuries were part of the package, and death was a very real possibility. That’s why the club had an airtight waiver every participant signed. No one entered the ring without a clear understanding of the risks.

For the most part, our operation was run above-the-board in spite of its underground status. Purses for fight winners were substantial, and gamblers could bet online via a secure site Spyder had developed. Our location was ideal as well.

We’d worked out a deal with a local casino and ran a gym on their property, teaching a wide range of boxing and martial arts classes, and offering weekend clinics for tourists. Families could book private parties for their kids and use the facilities for fun. At night, we locked up to the general public and the place became a gambler’s paradise.

We had additional space in a converted basement, below the ring, where patrons could watch the fights on big screen TV’s. Exclusive membership packages were available for high rollers, and costly fees were charged to anyone wanting to enter. Prices included booze that flowed like water and waitresses who looked like models. The atmosphere assured that an abundance of bets were cast, bringing in thousands of dollars for the club.

Until a year ago, I’d spent any night I wasn’t getting my kink on at
The Dungeon
, kicking ass here. My dad had been the one to intervene, suggesting I let the fighting life go in order to focus more on my VP position and parenting the boys. He’d insisted my kids needed me, and I’d been well aware that my time away was having a negative impact on their behavior at school.

I couldn’t deny Olympia’s presence had improved my family relationships even more. As Sally, she was a natural mother, which challenged me to be a more hands-on father. In just two weeks, she’d done wonders with the boys.

More unbelievable – she’d done wonders with me.

For the first time in my life, I had no desire to fuck another female. I wanted to do better and be better. Most of all, I wanted the phony relationship I’d built on lies to become a real relationship based on mutual love and honesty.

How I’d make that dream a reality, once she remembered, was beyond me. Every minute was a minute closer to the bomb dropping. We’d already had one major scare, yesterday, with the cheerleading fiasco. I needed to find out who was working behind the scenes to sabotage our relationship. I also needed to figure out who the hell had interrupted my meeting with Olympia’s father. I couldn’t shake the idea that I knew the strange man with the beard and sunglasses.

“Boone, ten minutes,” Leg barked. “You need to focus.”

He was right. I couldn’t jump in the ring worried about everything else. My sole purpose for the next forty-five minutes, preferably less, was to defeat Ringo. Losing this match would be a serious affront to the club, though winning wouldn’t help our truce either. Bottom line: this was a lose/lose situation no matter how it played out.

Regardless, I intended to win. Ringo would pay for insulting my woman.

Olympia

I huddled closer to Harmony and her old man, Wolf. I hated violence, and watching Boone face off with someone as dangerous as Ringo had my stomach in knots. I took the drink she offered and chugged it down, praying it would calm my frazzled nerves.

For such short notice, the gym was jammed with spectators, and from what Harmony had explained, there was an impressive basement-bar right below us that had reached its occupancy max as well. Apparently, Boone’s reputation as the uncontested champion and Ringo’s notoriety as a coldblooded killer had been major draws.

If I would have just poured the beer in a glass instead of over the asshole’s head, we could have been home right now, Boone beating on my body instead.

I almost laughed at the comparison. Boone spanking my ass was a beating I’d endure any day…or night.

“You doing okay, hun?” Harmony asked, her concern genuine.

“A refill might make it better,” I said, half joking, raising my red plastic cup.

She quickly poured me another, before handing the bottle to Wolf. He set it on the floor by his folding chair.

Upstairs, around the ring, where we were located, it was a BYOB affair with casual seating. I’d learned the downstairs offered free, fancy cocktails for those willing to pay a steep admission price.

Accepting the drink, my mind drifted to how Harmony had blamed the earlier beer-pouring mishap on my memory loss. It seemed she, too, was part of Boone’s scam. She had been with Wolf for years and had obviously known Boone’s wife, Rita. They’d probably been good friends.

I still couldn’t fathom how Boone had managed to convince any semi-sane person that his plans for me were rational. Crusher and Twila certainly didn’t approve. Granted, Twila had ulterior motives for not liking me, but I couldn’t help thinking that Crusher, and at least a few of his brothers, including Bones, had tried to talk him out of his get-even-scheme.

What had I done, apart from being a bitch, to earn Boone’s wrath? I still couldn’t figure out what would elicit such a drastic reaction.

The nasty letter…the one dollar check? Had he somehow discovered those?
I couldn’t see how.
Or had he overheard me talking with Conner that day by the pool?
I’d said some pretty horrible things about Boone in my attempt to convince Conner I wasn’t interested in a biker.

Before I could ponder the possibilities further, a bell dinged, signaling the match’s first round.

Crusher slipped through the ropes and bounded to the ring’s center. “Ladies and gentleman…”

The room thundered, and the applause was deafening.

“Tonight we have a championship match! In this corner…”

Once again, more stomping and clapping halted his spiel.

I took the opportunity to examine my surroundings. The room was divided by club loyalty. The Soul Scorchers filled our area, while on the opposite side, at least twenty men, wearing Hells Guardian colors, took up the first two rows. Their other supporters had claimed the chairs behind them. One Guardian caught my attention. He was staring my direction with open curiosity.

Well-groomed, he looked more like a businessman in leather than a biker. I nudged Harmony. “Who’s the dude with the banker’s haircut?”

She chuckled. “Don’t let appearances fool you. That’s Rowdy, their president. He’s a badass all the way, and smart. He ran a fortune 500 company before taking over Guardian leadership.”

I found myself meeting his stare, a bit awed by his history. He nodded and raised his drink. To my dismay, my cheeks flared with heat. He flashed me a crooked grin.

Thankfully, with Crusher shouting out introductions, no one seemed to notice our exchange. I forced my attention back on the ring, where Boone stood rigid in the corner, his narrowed eyes shooting daggers at me.

N-o-o-o-o! Did he see my reaction to Rowdy?

His lip curled into an ugly sneer and he turned away, giving me an answer I didn’t want.

What I wanted was to climb in the ring and explain. My blush wasn’t because I found Rowdy attractive.
Or was it?

I snuck another glance across the ring. Rowdy met my gaze a second time, making it hard to look away.
Okay. There’s definitely something about him, but it’s Boone I love.

Before I could give further thought to my reaction and Boone’s rage, the bell rang a second time.

Ringo and Boone circled each other, hands extended. Ringo appeared to favor a more traditional boxing style and danced back and forth, his energy stirring the crowd on his side. They alternated between shouting advice and insulting Boone, who moved like a panther, stalking its prey.

Under the bright lights, every drop of their sweat was visible. Both were bare-chested, tattoos on display. Where Boone was smooth and tan, Ringo’s skin was paler, and he had far more body hair than I found appealing. They both had fire in their eyes and looked ready to kill. I had no doubt, given the right opening; they wouldn’t hesitate to end the other’s life.

My stomach knotted again. The liquor I’d consumed providing little relief. I gripped Harmony’s hand and squeezed tight. She mirrored my action, making me even more grateful for her support.

Ringo threw the first punch, hitting Boone between the ribs. I loud oomph exploded from his mouth, along with a spray of spit.

“No!” I screeched, leaping to my feet. By that point, no one was sitting.

Still clinging to Harmony’s hand, I watched with increasing horror as Ringo dominated Boone. His punches landed with ease, while Boone appeared unable or unwilling to block him. Bones and Leg were at the ring’s side, yelling instructions.

The bell rang three times, and the first round ended with Ringo still bouncing around like a kangaroo on steroids and Boone hunched in the corner, where Doc worked to patch up his eye and the bloody scrapes he was already wearing.

I’d seen enough. I charged forward, ignoring Harmony’s calls for me to stop. I reached Boone’s corner and grasped the ropes.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you saw before the fight, but it was nothing. You hear me! Nothing! I love you. And if you want some of this ‘sweet pussy’ later, you better kick that fucker’s ass.”

He dropped to one knee and pulled my face to his, our lips meeting between the ropes. He crushed his mouth over mine. I reached for him, tangling my hands in his sweat-soaked hair and deepening the kiss. When he finally pulled back, I realized the crowd was hooting and cheering, enjoying our passionate display a little too much for my liking.

“I want that pussy,” he whispered, his gaze hungry.

“Then you know what to do, don’t you?” I lifted my eyebrow.

The bell sounded and he was off, firing out of his corner like a missile, bulldozing into Ringo and propelling him backward.

I stayed by Bones and Leg, hollering for Boone to kick the punk’s ass.

My little pep talk and our very public kiss had the desired effect. He was a new man, fighting like I knew he could. This round it was his fists and kicks that connected. One arcing kick knocked Ringo onto his ass. The whole ring quaked from the impact. Before I could blink, Boone was on top of him, twisting his limbs like a pretzel and putting him in a submission hold that would easily assure his victory. I was certain he’d won when a silver gleam caught my attention.

“Boone, he’s got a knife!” I screamed.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out what had happened. During our make out session, with all eyes focused on us, someone from Ringo’s camp had managed to pass him a blade. Once again, I was Boone’s downfall.

I screamed louder, but it was too late.

Ringo sliced Boone’s thigh, releasing a torrent of blood.

Rolling off Ringo, he collapsed on his side, palming the wound.

As Ringo raised the knife to finish what he’d started, an ear shattering boom rocked the room. A crimson flower blossomed on the Guardian’s shoulder. The knife fell from his hand.

He staggered back against the ropes, eyes wild with pain.

Doc and what I guessed was a Hells Guardian medic were already in the ring, rushing toward their respective patients. I started to climb in, but was pulled back by Grinch.

“It’s gonna get crazy in here. We’ll take care of him. You go with Harmony and Wolf. He’ll protect you.”

I wanted to protest, but I’d already done enough damage.

Harmony was at my side, tugging me away from the pandemonium. I let her lead me from the room, leaving behind the one man I loved.

Boone

Olympia’s soft crying released me from darkness’ firm grasp.

Drifting along on the magic carpet, only a high dose of quality narcotics could provide, I struggled, without success, to recall what had happened.

Beneath the pain medication’s shielding layer, my inner thigh throbbed, creating a considerable distraction from coherent thinking.

“Boone? Thank God. You’re awake,” she whispered, her muffled crying replaced by relief. “I was so worried.”

I cleared my throat, and she handed me a water bottle. The damn thing weighed a ton, or so it seemed; my hand trembled as I fought not to drop it.

Cradling my head, she took the bottle away and held it to my lips. I sipped cautiously at first. When that wasn’t enough, I wrapped my hand around hers, tilting the bottle and allowing the cool liquid to create a soothing waterfall that caressed my scorched throat. I knew better than to gulp, but I couldn’t help it.

“Thank you, babe,” I whispered, my voice raspy, despite downing twelve ounces of water. I considered asking for more.

Before I could make the request, the door opened and Doc and my father entered. “You were supposed to call us,” Doc scolded, looking Olympia’s way.

“I just came to,” I answered for her, sounding more like myself. “Don’t make me kick your ass for insulting my girl. The last guy…”

“The last guy nearly killed you,” Bones snarled.

“And what does
he
look like?” I met my dad’s angry stare with my own narrowed eyes.

Doc intervened. “Now isn’t the time. The good news is you’re going to be okay. The blade missed your femoral artery by a centimeter. I’d say you’ve got one hell of a guardian angel.”

I squeezed Olympia’s hand. “I definitely have that and more.”

Her eyes filled again, and she squeezed back.

“Well, is someone going to update me?” I glanced between the two men. “Is he dead? Are we at war?” I didn’t think we were at war, considering I was resting in my upstairs room at the clubhouse.

“No war. Not yet. But it’s only been three days since your fight,” Doc offered.

My dad was too pissed to speak. I knew the look he was wearing well. I’d seen it plenty of times over the years. He wanted to say something but was refraining. I had no doubt I’d hear every word when we were alone.

Doc continued, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I had the motherfucker in a winning hold and he cut me.”

It was Olympia who filled in the blanks, her voice gentle but strong. “Eggs shot Ringo in the shoulder. Doc took care of your injuries. I don’t know much about the whole ‘war’ thing, but I do know their president saw Ringo pull the knife on you.” She paused, giving me a sly smile. “You’re still the champ, by the way. That asshole was disqualified.”

My thoughts made a drastic U-turn. Olympia’s mention of the Guardian’s president sent a spike of adrenaline through my battered body. That fucker had been leering at her from across the room. I knew that look well. He wanted her.

“Boone…?” She didn’t finish, but she wore a worried mask that distorted her striking features, something I hated to see because of me.

I took a deep breath, fighting to calm the fuck down. This whole jealousy thing was new for me, and I didn’t like it. The green-eyed monster was an appropriate description. I felt like a monster, but if my eyes changed color to match my mood, they’d be glowing red not green.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Bones said at last. His gaze rested on Olympia.

I started to protest, but swallowed the words. It was easier to let him say his piece now so I could get back to what I wanted to be doing, holding my girl.

She took the hint and rose from the bed.