Never Choose Flight (A Fighter Romance Novel) (11 page)

The rest of the evening was torture, plain and simple.

I watched out the front window as he took off down the sidewalk, walking through the rain at a brisk pace. I saw a car follow behind him, driving very slowly, so as to keep its distance. And then, in no time at all, I could barely make out the taillights. And then it was gone. Disappeared into the dark of the night.

And then I had nothing to do but wait. I tried to pick up a book that I’d started a few days ago. One of the ones based in the Victorian era. A man from royalty falling for a woman from the lower class. I knew how it would end.

I knew they would end up together. Normally that didn’t stop me from reading though. But it was always my fantasy. Now that I was in a relationship, and I was seeing how that turned out, it didn’t seem so fantastically. Me and Malcolm had ended up together, and now I was alone and scared for my life.

I walked around the place a bunch of times, making sure that every single door and window was closed and locked. I flicked on the TV and let the images flash in front of my face, trying to distract myself with them. But no matter what I tried, my mind landed on the same place.

Just an image in my brain. Three guys, three thugs, surrounding Malcolm in the rain under a street light. He tries his best to stop them, to fight them off, but there’s just too many of them. They’re just too strong.

They move in close, and they beat him to a pulp. And lies there, his blood mixing into the rain and pouring down the gutter.

And that was why he hadn’t called yet.

I knew that wasn’t likely. It really was quite a walk to his place from mine. There were many, much more reasonable explanations. But I still had to check my phone every thirty seconds. I was not going to miss his call. And it was going to happen.

Soon, I hoped.

I fell asleep waiting for that call. I woke up on the couch at around four in the morning, and saw that I had one missed call from half an hour earlier.

I tried to call back, but there was no answer.

I moved to my bed and just tried to accept that that was all I was going to get. He had called. I didn’t know his number, so I couldn’t really be sure it was him, but who else would call me that late? It had to have been him. And he would have left a voicemail if it was a call about him being in a dangerous position. He was safe, and he had called.

It was those thoughts that I fell asleep too. But I can’t say I slept well. I was such a strange combination of exhausted and wound up. I wanted to run all the way to his house and check on him. But I also wanted to just collapse and sleep until the year three thousand.

I ended up taking an awkward middle route that involved sleeping poorly and worrying constantly. It was not a good evening.

My alarm went off at eight, like usual. I swiped it off, and then a minute later my phone went off again. I thought it was just something buggy about my alarm at first, but then I saw that it was a call. From that same number that had called me in the middle of the night.

I crossed my fingers, hoping beyond hope that Malcolm would be on the other end. It wasn’t going to be the police who had found my number on his corpse or something else horrible like that.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Jessica. You’re alright?”

“Malcolm?”

“Yes, this is Malcolm. You made it through the night?”

“Hardly,” I said.

“Shit, what happened?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I missed your call and spent the whole night worrying about you.”

“I am sorry,” he said. “I really am. But I just had to collapse the second I got home. I didn’t really have any other option. It was a long-ass walk, and I have work today.”

“You?” I asked. “You’ve got work? Also you’re capable of becoming tired from physical exertion?”

He laughed. “Yes. I do. And you’re coming with me.”

“After work?”

“No.”

I was confused. “Before work?”

“Also no. I need you to skip some work today.”

“Why?”

“I thought it over.”

“When?”

“I had a long walk.”

“Right.”

“And I think we need to stick together,” he said. “For a while. Like, being at the same places at the same time. They know who you are now. And I bet they feel comfortable in the assumption that we’re dating, considering the situation they found us in.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“And I’ve got work today, at one o’clock. I hope you’ll join me.”

“Of course,” I said. For some reason I really wanted to watch him fight. I wanted to watch him fight and win.

“I’ll come by your work around lunch,” he said. “And from there, can you give us a ride to the fight?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

“Your work won’t mind?”

“I don’t really care,” I said. “I need to be with you.”

“For safety,” he said.

“Right,” I said.

“Yep. That’s the only reason.”

“Not like we’re in love or anything,” I joked.

“Still think so even after a night like yesterday?”

“Yesterday was the exact kind of thing I’ve been craving,” I admitted. “It was a rush.”

“Well there’s plenty more where that came from,” he said. “I’ll see you around twelve, twelve thirty.”

“Sounds perfect,” I said.

The line went dead. It was so comforting to just hear his voice. Now I was sure he was still alive. Still fightin’. I got ready for work with a smile on my face.

* * *

I hardly even remember the morning at work. I just sent emails on auto-pilot, answered calls unenthusiastically, and watched the clock.

The minute it hit twelve, I started to watch the door. He didn’t walk in until twenty one after, but I wasn’t mad. I was just so happy to see him.

I sprang out of my desk and ran over to him. “Samantha,” I said, “I’ll need you to tell everyone who calls that I’m unavailable for the rest of the day.”

She looked at me, one eyebrow cocked. “Should I just tell them you’re fucking, or what?”

“Samantha!” I said.

“What? Are you not?”

“No,” I said. “I’ve gotta help Malcolm here with work.”

“Work?” she said. “But I thought he was a-”

“Construction,” said Malcolm, loudly. “I work in construction.” He shot me a look that made me feel a tiny bit guilty for telling Samantha.

“Right,” she said. “You got it, Jessica. Have fun with the… woodworking, or whatever.”

“Thanks,” I said.

We headed out of the building, arm in arm. For some reason I’d forgotten how incredibly strong Malcolm was. Feeling his arm once again, how thick that muscle was, and knowing the rest of him was covered in equally powerful muscles, I felt much safer once again. Not that I really minded the danger.

“So where are we headed?” I asked as we got into my car.

“Frat house,” he said. “Some university boys want to prove that they’re men. And they’re paying me to prove them wrong.”

“You’re going to go fight a bunch of frat boys?” I asked.

“That’s the plan,” he said. “I’ve done it before. It pays surprisingly well. And I get to embarrass the guys. They show up thinking they’ll be able to use me to impress girls or whatever. It never goes well for them.”

“So there will be girls there?” I asked.

“Probably.”

“Sorority girls?” I asked.

“I think so. I’m not totally sure. I never went to college.”

“I am going to stick out like a sore thumb,” I said.

“Better stick out like a sore thumb than be kidnapped and beaten to death.”

I looked at him.

“Sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t always bring up the worst case scenarios.”

We pulled up to the frat house. It looked like there was a party going on, even though it was the middle of the afternoon. A guy without a shirt on chased a girl in a bikini out the front door and around the side of the house. Another guy who was looking out the window on the second floor yelled “The Beast is here!”

I heard cheering from the house. Then a whole group of guys, probably around twenty, swarmed out and around us, and shepherded us into the backyard. There were some bungee cords tied onto tries that made a sort of rectangular ring.

Malcolm gave one last squeeze to my hand, and then stepped into the ring.

“Alright,” he said. Everyone quieted down. “The wonderful fraternity Alpha Omega has entered into a bargain with me. Every man who enters the ring has the chance to earn the club two hundred and fifty dollars. All he must do is knock me off my feet. If, on the other hand, I knock you down, then the club will pay me the same sum. Does that sound fair, brothers?”

The crowd cheers. A few stragglers were still coming out of the house. I looked around and a lot of the guys were ripped. Tanned. Topless. And they were all ready to fight.

To the sounds of the cheers, Malcolm pulled his top off as well. You really could see the difference between muscles that had been paid for with hours at the gym, and muscles that had been purchased with fights and war. “One at a time!” shouted Malcolm. “For now, at least.”

The first guy jumped into the ring. He turned to face the audience and flexed before turning to face Malcolm, who had his hands up and ready.

I could tell that this was more of a show for him than an actual fight. He took his front hand out of the fist position just to wave the other guy towards him. Beckoning him. Asking him to bring it on.

The guy charged at him, trying to tackle him like a football player. But Malcolm just leaned into it, and the second the man’s arms were around him, he brought up his knee swiftly. The man’s grip went weak, and Malcolm pushed him aside and he hit the ground. A few of the other frat boy ran in and pulled him out of the way. The crowd cheered all around.

Then another one hopped in, wearing a backwards baseball hat that read ‘SWAG’. He threw up his hands, mocking the position that Malcolm was in. This time Malcolm went for it. A few quick steps forward, never losing his footing, and then three fast jabs, the last two landing solidly.

The guy over reacted and tried to wind up for a big one. Malcolm grabbed the hand as it swung towards him, and used that momentum to throw the guy to the ground. It was almost like dancing, but the only place he wanted to lead them to was the ground.

Another guy jumped in, bottle of beer still in hand. He yelled, like some sort of battle cry, and then ran at Malcolm, holding the beer bottle over his head. He tried to bring it down on him, but Malcolm used the same move he’d used on Derek. A swift jab in the elbow, and the hand released. It still came down into Malcolm’s head, but he hardly seemed to notice.

He caught the beer bottle in one hand, then faked a jab with the other. The fake jab made the man flinch enough that Malcolm had no time knocking him over, and then he tossed the bottle onto the body on the ground.

No one was getting too hurt, and he was certainly showing them a thing or two. It was actually pretty fun to watch.

But then it was just Malcolm in the ring, and no one was getting in. “No one?” he asked. “No one left brave enough to face me on their own?”

He looked side to side, but no one was coming for him. “Alright then,” he said, “two. Or more. I can take you all.”

Two guys hopped in immediately and charged towards him. He ducked down at the last minute and they slammed into each other above him. He took a couple steps back and then slammed into them both, knocking them down together.

Beer-bottle man was back standing, a bottle in each hand now. And another, new guy jumped in a pulled of his shirt with a battle cry. The audience liked that move.

Beer-bottle man ran at Malcolm from behind, and he side stepped, grabbing the guy’s arm and propelling him forward, pushing against his back, sending him flying into the new guy, and the hit the ground together. People were laughing and cheering. Hollering.

I saw that Malcolm started hopping up and down in place. He was getting into it. This was the kind of thing that he loved. This was what he lived for. This kind of excitement.

A trio of frat boys all jumped in at once, and these three looked like they knew what they were doing. To some degree, at least. They all got into pretty good boxing stances, and surrounded him. He quickly faced the man who looked strongest.

Malcolm’s first jab was knocked out of the way, but then the second one got him in the nose. The man stepped back and held onto his face, eyes watering up. The other two got a couple hits onto his back, but then he reached around and grabbed the small one by the shoulders. Malcolm lifted him into the air and spun around, and literally tossed him at the third boy on this team. They both hit the ground, and the crowd started cheering louder than before.

Then there was a smashing noise. And another. I looked to the source of the noise and saw beer-bottle man, breaking the bottles. Holding onto them by the necks as he smashed the bodies. Leaving him with a jagged and dangerous weapon in each hand.

He got back in the ring.

“We said no weapons,” said Malcolm, turning to the man who seemed in charge. “But,” he continued, “I don’t actually mind.”

He turned back and faced the man with the broken bottles. Then they ran at each other.

I cringed as I watched the first bottle land into his back. I saw the blood start pouring out immediately. So did the rest of the audience. And they all loved it.

Malcolm stepped back from the guy and delivered a solid blow right to his chin, and the man fell down, out cold. He reached back and removed the bottle, tossing it onto the grass outside of the ring.

“It’s going to take more than that!” he yelled.

“You say weapons okay?” yelled the leader.

“Anything but guns,” responded Malcolm. His eyes were on fire. He wanted this. He wanted the pain. The blood was running all the way down to his feet.

Then a pair of guys got in. As if they’d been waiting for the okay. Weapons fine. Anything but guns. One of them had a baseball bat. The other had a hammer in each hand.

Malcolm looked from one to the other. Quickly sizing them up. Making a plan in an instant. For once, he didn’t want the other side to make the first move. He understood how lethal that might have been.

He lunged for the bat, grabbing it at both ends. He ducked and dodged the first hammer swing, which unfortunately landed on baseball bat man’s face. I saw a tooth fly out. I was certain. That man fell, letting go of the bat.

And then, with two quick and clean swings, Malcolm knocked each hammer out of the man’s hands. They both landed outside of the ring.

The man was stunned enough, probably with some broken fingers, that a simple jab to the chest knocked him on the ass.

Everyone went wild. Cheering. Jeering. Booing. Clapping. Laughing. They’d gotten exactly what they’d hoped for.

Then a whistle went off. It was the leader. The man in charge. “We can only afford one more of you to get knocked down,” he said.

The audience got loud once again, as one final man emerged from the house. He held in his hand a golf club. A driver. It looked heavy. It looked strong. And that man stepped into the ring.

The club was longer than Malcolm’s arm, and the man immediately put it over his shoulder like a baseball bat. If Malcolm made any move towards him, a swing could land on him. A swing that would knock out a normal man, but might kill a man like Malcolm.

He stood back. Dropped out of his fighter’s pose. The golf club man didn’t seem to be moving forward. Malcolm’s eyes continued to dart around. My heart was racing. I didn’t see any way out of this for him. All I could imagine was him getting hurt. Badly.

Then he got down low. Bent his knees far. Leaned forward a bit. And then he ran at the man with the golf club.

The man swung, aiming for Malcolm’s head. As the huge metal drive swung towards him, he stood up straight. There was a sickening smack noise then the club collided with his torso, underneath his raised arm. I still sighed with relief though, as it hadn’t cracked his skull open or anything.

Once he was close enough to the guy, the golf club became useless. Malcolm tore it out his hands and tossed it away and then grabbed the man, one hand on his knees and the other at his armpit. He lifted the man up, this full-grown man, all the way above his head.

“Good fight, brothers,” he yelled. Then he dropped the final contender and stepped back. “Better luck next time.”

Blood was scabbing all the way down his back. A
huge
bruise was forming on his side where the golf club had hit him. But he didn’t even seem to be in pain. He was smiling, he shook a few hands, collected another huge stack of bills, and then came to meet me at the side of the ring.

“Well,” he said, “you want to get out of here?”

“No,” I said, sarcastically, “Let’s hang around with the frat boys some more.”

He pulled on his shirt as we walked towards the car. I saw a bit of a wince as it fell against his open wound. “That was pretty rough,” I said.

“Eh,” he said. “Another day on the job, really.”

We got into the car. “But the hammers,” I said. “The golf club. That stuff is just normal?”

“You deal with customers and paper. I deal with idiot strong-men and their weapons. It’s just what I do.”

That rock reappeared in my stomach. That worry about just how dangerous this stuff actually was. How easily he could have been killed. “But that golf club,” I said. “It could have taken your head off. No problem.”

“In the right hands,” he said. “But that guy had no idea what he was doing. It was easy. Like getting the knife away from Derek.”

“But what if you had messed up somehow. Just one foot in the wrong place. A little slip. And you could have died. Gotten your jaw broken again, at least.”

“I managed with a broken jaw as a child,” he said. “I think I could handle it as an adult.”

“But aren’t you worried?” I asked. “At all? About your health?”

“Of course,” he said. “I don’t smoke. I rarely drink. I get more exercise than your average ten americans combined.”

“But what about just your short term health. Broken bones. That kind of thing.”

“I deal with that stuff as it happens. Every life has ups and downs. My downs just happen to be horrible injuries, whereas yours are, like, a delivery going missing or something.”

I laughed, but my heart wasn’t in it. He wasn’t being serious about this, even though the seriousness of it was just hitting me hard. He wasn’t joking around when he’d said that he could die in any fight. But now he
was
joking, now that I was trying to talk seriously about it.