Fighting Attraction
Page 10

    Still, Master Damien is clearly not a man to be pushed around. With a jerk of his chin he directs Rampage’s attention to the papers on his desk. “She served the club. Gerry Turner made his move. He’s trying to shut us down.”
    “Fucking bastard.”
    “My thoughts exactly.” Master Damien gives my hair a tug. “I thought I’d take out my frustrations on this little rule breaker.”
    “Then you’re no better than Turner.” Rampage lifts an eyebrow in warning. “I’ll deal with her.”
    “She waited four hours to come in.” Master Damien finally releases me, and I rub my head. “You’d better give her a taste of what she wants.”
    Rampage’s gaze flicks over me, and he clasps my hand. “Come.” He stalks out of the room, half leading, half dragging me behind him. The hallway becomes a blur of light and color until he pushes open a side door and leads me into a small parking lot behind the building.
    “You signed the waiver?” he asks, releasing me so abruptly I stumble back.
    “Yes, but…”
    “Then you understand you don’t talk about anything you saw here.” His lips press together, and he fixes me with a glare. “And if you even think about it, what Master Damien was going to do is nothing compared to what I will do.”
    My mouth opens and closes again, and my brain is unable to reconcile this fierce, angry, threatening man with the Rampage I know who has only ever been violent in the ring or with people who have wronged someone he cares about.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here. Amanda needed someone to serve the documents.”
    “Amanda.” He rakes his hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Christ. I didn’t know she was involved.”
    “I won’t tell her about you.” I pull out my phone and hold it up. “I just recorded the time of service. That’s all that goes in the affidavit. Time, address, and confirmation of identity. Nothing else.”
    Rampage heaves a sigh. “Where are you parked? I’ll walk you to your car. It’s too late for you to be walking around here alone at night.”
    He walks silently beside me down the road. I have so many questions about the club and what he does and what goes on and what he was doing with that woman, and isn’t he worried someone will find out and destroy his professional career? But mostly I want to know if I can become a member and if he will do that with me. However, his grim demeanor dissuades me from saying anything more than “This is my car” when we reach the parking lot.
    “I’m sorry,” I say again as I unlock the door.
    “Stop saying that.”
    “Sorry—” I cut myself off when he glares. “It’s a British thing. Tea and apologies are part of our DNA. If someone knocks you down in the street, you say sorry for getting in his or her way. And anytime anything happens—death, war, marriage, babies—we have tea.” I give a little shrug and continue to babble. “Well, except for me because I like coffee. I don’t suppose…”
    “Go home, Pen.”
    I can’t tell from his tone whether it’s pity he feels for me, disgust, or anger. But I do know something is broken between us. I feel like I’ve just lost a friend.
    So I go home. And then I take out my little box of razor blades and cut myself until all my pain goes away.
4

    Why are you looking at me like that?
    RAMPAGE     Until yesterday, my life was stable. I had made it in the MMA world, finally going pro after years of training. Blade Saw and I had finally turned a profit in our distillery business. My sometime play partner, Sylvia, had finally accepted that our relationship was never going to extend outside Club Sin despite that one hot night we had together after a party. I had a room at the club where I could indulge my kink without any risk of public exposure. And I had resigned myself to being forever alienated from my family.
    Now, everything has gone to hell.
    And all because of Penny.
    Shifting on the weight bench in the middle of Redemption, I press the bar straight up above my chest. Blade Saw, my spotter, makes approving noises behind me, while around us people grunt, groan, run, jump, punch, kick, row, strike, and grapple in the twenty-five-thousand-square-foot warehouse that Torment built from the shell of a packing crate factory. When I first joined Redemption, we had a few mats, a makeshift fight ring, and a rack of free weights. Now we have a cardio area with three long rows of equipment, a sea of weight machines, benches and free weights, rowing machines, and stretching mats. The walls have been painted bright shades of blue, red, and green, and over in the practice area, grapple dummies line the walls like an army of soldiers. After I accepted MEFC’s offer to go pro, I could have trained at any gym in the country. But Redemption is my home.
    I try to focus on the bar, on the burn in my arms, on the drumroll of speed bags and the whirr of the cardio machines, the clank of weights, the scents of sweat and vinyl mats, and the murmur of voices, but all I can think about is her.
    Damn Damien for letting her into the club. Although he had no way of knowing we knew each other, he could have just met her in reception instead of telling Kitty to bring her to his office. What the hell was he thinking? And Penny. Christ. Just the thought of her at Club Sin makes my stomach twist in a knot. I can’t imagine anyone less suited to a BDSM club, or anyone I would have wanted less to discover my secret. Penny is the antithesis of Club Sin. She is sweetness and light, delicate and feminine, soft and pretty. Definitely not the girl for me. Been there. Done that. Got my heart ripped out to prove it. Learned the hard way what happens when darkness meets light.
    “Whoa, buddy.” Blade Saw grips the bar, catching it as my arms shake. “You’ve never had trouble with that weight before. What’s up?”