Against the Ropes
Page 18
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“Won’t happen.”
Torment grabs Homicide’s arm, pivots, and spins. He drops to his seat on the mat and sweeps Homicide’s legs out from under him in a move worthy of any professional dancer. Homicide goes down hard and lands on his back. Torment throws himself across Homicide’s throat. Homicide taps the mat, and Torment releases him.
“Nice rolling kimura,” Jimmy mutters.
Torment explains the kimura hold to the assembled group and then he and Homicide show a few variations. I tune out and look around the gym. Despite the crowd gathered around the training ring, almost all the equipment is in use—treadmills, cross trainers, steppers, free weights, punch bags, a second training ring, and black human-shaped grapple dummies. Kinda like blow-up sex toys without the naughty parts.
“Most of serious fighters train every day,” Jimmy says, following my gaze. “In addition to learning all the submissions, strikes, kicks, grapple techniques, and defenses, they also need to build strength, speed, and endurance if they want to have a chance in the ring. Most of them also take classes in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, Muay Thai, boxing, and wrestling, which are the dominant fighting arts in MMA right now.”
“I didn’t realize it was so involved,” I say. “The fighters must be super fit.”
Like Torment.
I turn my attention back to the ring. Torment is still talking. Homicide Hank is kneeling on the floor with his back to Torment’s knees.
“So from this position,” Torment says, “I can move to mount, transition to back, and then get a submission by rear naked choke.”
Sounds dirty to me. From what I’ve heard so far, fighting seems to have a lot in common with sex. I like sex. Maybe I’ll grow to like fighting too.
Torment flips Homicide onto his back and lies flat on top of him. He talks about being dominant for a ground and pound.
I imagine him lying flat on top of me, grounding and pounding. Fight terms skitter through my brain. Naked. Back. Rear. Mount. Submission. Dominant. Pound. My body heats. I cross my legs and feel the slip of arousal between my thighs.
I am so caught up in my daydream, it takes a second for my brain to register Torment is watching me. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes suggests he knows what I’m thinking. But he can’t. How could he possibly know how filthy I really am?
Homicide takes advantage of Torment’s momentary lack of focus and breaks the hold. He flips Torment onto his back, jumps to his feet, and before Torment can get away, he leaps. Torment lifts a knee and thrusts upward, catching Homicide in the diaphragm. Homicide falls to his side clutching his chest.
Then he moans and rolls on the floor.
Torment drops to his knees beside Homicide and waves me over. I race to the ring and climb through the ropes.
“I thought I’d just knocked the wind out of him, but he’s turning blue,” Torment says. Worry creases his face and he rakes his hand through his hair.
I straighten Homicide’s body just enough to allow me to run my hands over his chest and abdomen. His eyes are wide, panicked, but his pupils are stable. My hands find a hard knot of muscle just below his ribs.
“I don’t think he’s ruptured any tissue,” I say. “I think he’s compressed his diaphragm and the lower lobes of his lungs, and it has forced out all his residual air. He might also have pulled the muscle in his diaphragm. I’ll need a wide ACE bandage and some ice before we can move him.”
“Jake. You heard her. Ice. Bandages.” Torment barks the order and Jake tosses a bag of ice into the ring from a cooler on the floor before racing out the door. Torment catches the ice with one hand and holds it over Homicide’s stomach.
“You need to breathe deeply,” I tell Homicide. “Fight real hard for that first, real deep breath. It will release the spasm and you’ll be able to breathe normally again.”
Homicide grips my hand and locks his frightened eyes on mine. His muscles tense. I give him an encouraging nod as he struggles and strains. Finally, he sucks in a deep breath and collapses back on the mat.
Torment lets out a long, slow sigh. He catches my gaze and gives me the most devastating smile.
Jake arrives with the bandages. We tape up Homicide’s chest, and Torment and Rampage walk him to the first aid room and help him onto the bed.
“Fuck.” Homicide pounds his fist on the bed and wheezes in a breath. “I should have seen that knee coming a mile away. I’m such an idiot. Damn stupid newbie mistake.”
I pat Homicide’s shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. We all make mistakes. If we didn’t, no fight would ever have a winner. We just need to learn from them and move on. And I was pretty damn impressed with your moves.”
Homicide’s lips quiver. He looks over at Torment and something passes between them that brings out Homicide’s smile in all its toothy glory.
My cheeks heat and I look away. “Is there someone you want me to call? I don’t think you should drive.”
Homicide coughs. “Nah. I’ll just catch a ride with one of the guys. My wife, Sally, wouldn’t be caught dead here. I’ve invited her so many times, and she never shows.”
His face crumples, and I give his hand a squeeze. “Were you expecting her to come alone?”
“I thought she’d get bored during the warm-up so I just told her to come when the show started.” He coughs again, and I warn him to breathe slow and easy.
“Maybe she’s afraid to come here by herself. It’s a pretty dangerous area of town. I sure wouldn’t come alone. And if she was afraid, she’d probably think you knew that and you were only asking her to be polite but not expecting her to come.”
Torment grabs Homicide’s arm, pivots, and spins. He drops to his seat on the mat and sweeps Homicide’s legs out from under him in a move worthy of any professional dancer. Homicide goes down hard and lands on his back. Torment throws himself across Homicide’s throat. Homicide taps the mat, and Torment releases him.
“Nice rolling kimura,” Jimmy mutters.
Torment explains the kimura hold to the assembled group and then he and Homicide show a few variations. I tune out and look around the gym. Despite the crowd gathered around the training ring, almost all the equipment is in use—treadmills, cross trainers, steppers, free weights, punch bags, a second training ring, and black human-shaped grapple dummies. Kinda like blow-up sex toys without the naughty parts.
“Most of serious fighters train every day,” Jimmy says, following my gaze. “In addition to learning all the submissions, strikes, kicks, grapple techniques, and defenses, they also need to build strength, speed, and endurance if they want to have a chance in the ring. Most of them also take classes in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, Muay Thai, boxing, and wrestling, which are the dominant fighting arts in MMA right now.”
“I didn’t realize it was so involved,” I say. “The fighters must be super fit.”
Like Torment.
I turn my attention back to the ring. Torment is still talking. Homicide Hank is kneeling on the floor with his back to Torment’s knees.
“So from this position,” Torment says, “I can move to mount, transition to back, and then get a submission by rear naked choke.”
Sounds dirty to me. From what I’ve heard so far, fighting seems to have a lot in common with sex. I like sex. Maybe I’ll grow to like fighting too.
Torment flips Homicide onto his back and lies flat on top of him. He talks about being dominant for a ground and pound.
I imagine him lying flat on top of me, grounding and pounding. Fight terms skitter through my brain. Naked. Back. Rear. Mount. Submission. Dominant. Pound. My body heats. I cross my legs and feel the slip of arousal between my thighs.
I am so caught up in my daydream, it takes a second for my brain to register Torment is watching me. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes suggests he knows what I’m thinking. But he can’t. How could he possibly know how filthy I really am?
Homicide takes advantage of Torment’s momentary lack of focus and breaks the hold. He flips Torment onto his back, jumps to his feet, and before Torment can get away, he leaps. Torment lifts a knee and thrusts upward, catching Homicide in the diaphragm. Homicide falls to his side clutching his chest.
Then he moans and rolls on the floor.
Torment drops to his knees beside Homicide and waves me over. I race to the ring and climb through the ropes.
“I thought I’d just knocked the wind out of him, but he’s turning blue,” Torment says. Worry creases his face and he rakes his hand through his hair.
I straighten Homicide’s body just enough to allow me to run my hands over his chest and abdomen. His eyes are wide, panicked, but his pupils are stable. My hands find a hard knot of muscle just below his ribs.
“I don’t think he’s ruptured any tissue,” I say. “I think he’s compressed his diaphragm and the lower lobes of his lungs, and it has forced out all his residual air. He might also have pulled the muscle in his diaphragm. I’ll need a wide ACE bandage and some ice before we can move him.”
“Jake. You heard her. Ice. Bandages.” Torment barks the order and Jake tosses a bag of ice into the ring from a cooler on the floor before racing out the door. Torment catches the ice with one hand and holds it over Homicide’s stomach.
“You need to breathe deeply,” I tell Homicide. “Fight real hard for that first, real deep breath. It will release the spasm and you’ll be able to breathe normally again.”
Homicide grips my hand and locks his frightened eyes on mine. His muscles tense. I give him an encouraging nod as he struggles and strains. Finally, he sucks in a deep breath and collapses back on the mat.
Torment lets out a long, slow sigh. He catches my gaze and gives me the most devastating smile.
Jake arrives with the bandages. We tape up Homicide’s chest, and Torment and Rampage walk him to the first aid room and help him onto the bed.
“Fuck.” Homicide pounds his fist on the bed and wheezes in a breath. “I should have seen that knee coming a mile away. I’m such an idiot. Damn stupid newbie mistake.”
I pat Homicide’s shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. We all make mistakes. If we didn’t, no fight would ever have a winner. We just need to learn from them and move on. And I was pretty damn impressed with your moves.”
Homicide’s lips quiver. He looks over at Torment and something passes between them that brings out Homicide’s smile in all its toothy glory.
My cheeks heat and I look away. “Is there someone you want me to call? I don’t think you should drive.”
Homicide coughs. “Nah. I’ll just catch a ride with one of the guys. My wife, Sally, wouldn’t be caught dead here. I’ve invited her so many times, and she never shows.”
His face crumples, and I give his hand a squeeze. “Were you expecting her to come alone?”
“I thought she’d get bored during the warm-up so I just told her to come when the show started.” He coughs again, and I warn him to breathe slow and easy.
“Maybe she’s afraid to come here by herself. It’s a pretty dangerous area of town. I sure wouldn’t come alone. And if she was afraid, she’d probably think you knew that and you were only asking her to be polite but not expecting her to come.”
