Freed (17 page)

“Ah, my brother is smart,” Ransom beams.

“School’s the only thing I’ve ever excelled at.”

A memory nags at me. “Hey, I thought you were having trouble in our history class.”

A blush steals over Stone’s cheeks. “Yeah, I made that up. I, uh, was just trying to find an ‘in’ with Ransom. Sorry about that. I wasn’t trying to be deceitful. I guess I was making sure of what I would be getting myself into.” His gaze turns to Ransom. “I think I was trying to make sure you were nothing like our father. I don’t want anything to do with anyone like him.”

Ransom nods his head appreciatively. “Yeah, I can understand that. So you had nothing to do with him when you were younger?”

“When I was a kid, he was full of empty promises,” Stone sighs. “Every now and then he would come through. Just enough to make me want a real relationship, you know? Then he just dropped out of our lives completely. Honestly, I was glad in the long run, because it forced my mom to move on. She married eventually and had my little sister, Elle. Elle’s been good for us, and so has my step-dad. My mom only has occasional lapses now. Matter of fact, the last one was two years ago when she told me about you and your mom.”

“Well, I hate to hear that, but I’m glad she told you about me. I would’ve never known otherwise.”

Stone just smiles, but it looks like Ransom’s happy smile. I feel mine reflect his.

Chapter Fifteen

Denver

S
NEAKING INTO A
boxing match is not quite as easy, or as fun, as it sounds. I’d been dying to see Ransom compete and charmed the information about his next match out of Austin. Gosh, he’s just easy pickings for me.

Maggie and I followed a huge group of guys in, trailing behind their large frames and trying to use them as cover. Problem was, they decided to turn around and flirt with us. I panicked, wrapped my arm low on Maggie’s hip, and with a wink, told them we were lesbians. Maggie started to choke, which was drawing even more attention to us, so I ground into the top of her foot with my boot heel. That went over about as well as it sounds. She opened her mouth to shriek at me, and I threw my hand over her mouth and dragged her to a dim corner.

Looking down at her now, I see she’s calmed herself a bit, so I ease up with my hand.

“I. Can. NOT. Believe you did that shit, Denver,” she seethes. “These are my babies, she coos at her boots, and bends to see if I’ve done any damage. I used the side of my boot, so I know they’re fine.

That buys me a minute to scope out the makeshift arena. It’s much like I had imagined. Sweat and nerves permeate the air. Loud shouting and horrific grunts echo off the walls of the small place as glove meets skin. Determining Ransom’s not in the ring, my eyes search furtively for him or Pete.

“You see them?” Maggie asks, clearly moving on from my claiming her and then accosting her.

“Nope. You?”

“No, but that guy in the arena’s not looking too good.” She gasps suddenly, so I turn my attention to the match just in time to see a bucket load of blood gushing from one guy’s mouth. His head swiftly follows the trail, and in a matter of seconds, he’s down on the mat. The referee is in the middle quickly, and the winner is declared over the conflicting sounds of cheers and boos.

The winner spits onto the mat, pulls off his protective gear and gloves, and proceeds to shoot double birds at the booing side of the crowd. That only serves to further incite them. I wait for someone to try to quiet the angry crowd, or to get the boxer to stop egging them on, since he’s moved on to grabbing his crotch and shouting out, in detail, what they can do with it. But, his team good-naturedly ushers him from the ring, like nothing is amiss. It’s then that I figure out the motive behind why Ransom has not invited me to a match—this shit is fucking crazy.

I’m nothing if not committed, so Maggie and I huddle in our little corner, hoping to stay clear of the madness. Another match plays out before us, this one much less heated, and less bloody, thank goodness.

As we wait for the next match, I’m suddenly grateful that Ransom chose bull riding over boxing, which is really odd because a lot more people die from riding bulls than boxing. But to me, there’s something decidedly sexy about watching Ransom take on an almost-thousand pound beast, intent on killing or maiming him. It’s primal and instinctual and inspiring. This is just two guys trying to beat the crap out of each other, and the mystique is lost on me.

There aren’t many women here, I note, but that doesn’t seem to matter because they’re all I can hear over the ruckus when the next match is announced.

“Ladies and gentleman, some of you know him as a bull rider, some of you know him as a boxer, but all of you know him as a champion. I give you, your undefeated lightweight champ! The one, the
only
, John ‘Eight Seconds’ Ransom!”

And I thought the cheering for him at the rodeo was insane. They’ve got nothing on this. I’m pretty sure I even hear several inappropriate offers from the few “ladies” in the crowd that surpass even the wiliest comments from the Buckle Bunnies on the circuit. I would get jealous, but honestly, it’s laughable, over-the-top insanity.

His opponent is announced to much less fanfare, but his name and his size make me nervous—the Decimator—and he towers over my man. He has to be pushing the weight limit of this class, and I feel nauseated at the thought of Ransom taking barbs from him.

Maggie and I stand on our tippy-toes to watch as Ransom, flanked by Pete and another guy I don’t know, enters the ring. He looks so different than when he’s preparing to take on an ornery bull—fierce, daunting, and intimidating spring to mind. I guess it is a different mindset all together. I much prefer the quiet strength and determination that riding bulls brings out in him.

Ransom squeezes between the ropes, and all my doubts about him and his abilities flee my mind as I take in the power and stealth in his stance. His muscles, every single one of them more defined than I’ve ever seen, glisten and ripple under the harsh light. I find myself wanting to run my tongue over each bulge, exploring them, teasing them. His abs are taut, leading to the cut and dip into his red, satin shorts. Even his legs look more menacing tonight—tight and compact. And the tattoos that I normally see as beautiful, appear darker and daring on his tanned skin.

The boxers square off and tap gloves. They back up and flex and bounce, riling the crowd up even more. There’s a quick bell, and they are dancing. Decimator throws the first punch, which Ransom evades with a quick feint to the left. Ransom doesn’t give him a second to recover from the missed punch, coming back swiftly with a powerful swing that connects and sends Decimator’s face flying backward.

What ensues after that is pretty much a flurry of Decimator’s missed blows and Ransom’s powerfully and spot-on delivered punches. If I wasn’t holding my breath, I would be cheering for my man, but it’s all I can do to stay on my feet and not hide myself away until it’s all over.

Ransom lands a powerful blow that has me reeling as I hear the crunch of bone, even over the riotous crowd. Decimator goes down hard, squirming and bleeding all over the ground. And that’s that. The ringmaster lifts Ransom’s arm in victory, and the loud, wild roar becomes a unified chant for John “Eight Seconds” Ransom.

About that time, little Miss Maggie Myers makes our presence known when she shouts out, “Ransom, we love you! You’re amazing! You knocked him out!”

Oh my God! I was so caught up in my own turmoil over the possibility of seeing Ransom in that same position that he’d put his opponent in that I failed to notice my sweet friend thoroughly enjoying the match.

I glance back up to the ring in time to see Ransom grinning at me like a loon. Well, at least he’s not pissed. A new kind of excitement burns in his eyes, and I can’t ignore the high emanating from him as he clears the ring and disappears into the crowd.

“Oh my God, Denver! Was that not crazy? Sexy? So cool. Why are you frozen? What’s the matter?” she says so swiftly it all runs together, sounding like one sentence.

“I, uh, I don’t know. Watching him win was good, but thinking about watching him get the hell beat out of him? That nearly did me in.”

Her eyes go wide. “But he won!” She claps.

“I know, but he could’ve lost,” I argue. “He could’ve ended up on that mat, bleeding and hurt.”

“Did you notice his opponent didn’t even get one hit in?” Pete asks, standing at my elbow now. “Shit. Guys consider themselves lucky if they can outmaneuver him for eight seconds, hence the nickname. Along with the obvious reason, of course.”

I nod a little but keep quiet as Pete ushers us outside to where his truck is parked. He and Maggie talk quietly while we wait for Ransom, and a thousand possibilities churn around in my brain, each one more damning than the one that comes before it.

A little while later, a now-dressed Ransom appears, still wearing that little smirk. “If you two were bound and determined to see for yourselves, you should have told us. These things get out-of-hand quick. I’ve seen it go from happy cheering to mob mentality in the blink of an eye,” Ransom chastises, dropping his bag on the ground and sliding his arms around me.

“What did you think?” he asks, bright eyes intent on mine.

“Oh!” Maggie bursts out. “I thought it was amazing. You’re really something, Ransom. That guy didn’t stand a chance.”

He laughs and glances at Maggie offering her a
thanks
before focusing on me again. He nudges my arms playfully with his. “What about you?”

“Maggie’s right. You were amazing,” I offer with a small smile. His grin falls a little, so I add, “I’m a little overwhelmed by it all.”

Pete chimes in, taking the focus off my reaction, with, “I can’t believe no guys hit on you two. They can usually smell fresh meat.”

“Oh,” Maggie says quietly, “they did. Denver told them we were a couple, though. Even ‘manhandled’ me a bit to prove her point.”

I finally laugh at that. “Yeah, thanks for taking one for the team.”

“Ransom, I think our girls are going to keep us on our toes,” Pete muses, burying his face in Maggie’s neck.

“No doubt about that,” he agrees, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “Rain check on dinner, Pete?” he calls, not taking his eyes from mine.

“Sure thing,” he agrees. Hoisting Maggie up on his shoulder, he ignores her shriek and declares, “I got this one!”

“Come on, babe, drive me back to my apartment.”

“Oh, I get to drive you,” I tease.

“Yeah, I’m wiped.”

We drive in silence for a while. I hear Ransom playing on his phone a bit, but he doesn’t offer me much. I don’t know what bothers me so much about the boxing thing. In theory, it had me beyond turned-on, thinking about him exerting that kind of power and passion. So much so, that I’d risked pissing him off by sneaking to a match. It’s not like he doesn’t put his life on the line on a regular basis, and some of his injuries have been hard as hell to walk away from. His body has been broken and beaten, and he has the scars and aches to prove it. On the other hand, I get his need to do it. I could see a lot of the same skills in the boxing ring that he employs in the arena. Just because I get it, doesn’t mean I have to like it. Or watch it.

“Boxing not your thing?” Ransom asks me.

“I get why you do it, but I’m not crazy about it. I was scared out of my mind thinking about you lying there bloody and broken.” I glance over at him and offer a small smile. “I’m not asking you to stop or anything like that. I just don’t know that I can watch it again. It’s nothing like your sparring matches at the school gym.”

“No, it’s certainly not,” he murmurs around his bottle of Gatorade.

“I know bull riding. I know the risks. I know what you do to prepare for that, and I get your mindset. I mean, I know anything can happen—and does. But, you take every precaution. You train for every scenario. I guess, with boxing, I just don’t know the variables or the risks, and that terrifies me.”

I turn my truck into campus, meandering down the hilly roads that lead to his apartment. Tapping on the steering wheel, I wait for him to alleviate my fears, but then I realize that would be full of false promises, and he won’t make those.

Pulling into the lot, I don’t park as I usually would, but put my truck in gear and wait for him to hop out. Instead, he turns to me and scoots across the seat a little.

“How about you go pack a bag and come back here to pick me up in thirty minutes? I wanna take you somewhere for the night.”

Licking my lips, ‘cause that sounds delicious, I nod my head ecstatically, the troubling realization I had, all but forgotten.

“Oh, pack a bathing suit, and don’t keep me waiting,” he teases, sliding from the truck.

We’re back in the truck, headed for where—I don’t know, but a nervous energy bounces around the cab. Ransom gives me directions when necessary, but when I try to get more out of him, he just grins that secret smile. He has me go through a drive-thru and orders himself three cheeseburgers, saying he expends even more energy boxing than when he rides bulls. He puts all that away quickly along with another Gatorade and a tall bottle of orange juice. When we finally pull up in front of an older-looking resort that boasts a natural, hot springs pool, I release a deep breath.

“A guy I used to ride with runs this place and told me to call him up anytime for a room, so here we are,” he says, sweeping his hand out to encompass the quiet property.

“This is gorgeous,” I admire quietly. Nestled in the foothills of a mountain just outside Bozeman is a paradise seemingly a world away.

Ransom has me wait in the truck while he goes in to the office to get a room key. I glance around at the small, wooden cabins that are dusted with a light covering of snow. After a few minutes, he hops back in and directs me to the back of the property. It’s pretty late by the time we get here, so I’m surprised when he tells me to put my suit on. I don’t ask questions since it all seems pretty romantic to me and I don’t want to spoil it.