Full Contact
Page 11
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After I buy a wrap and the least offensive-sounding protein shake, Choco Banana Whey Blast, I squeeze into the table at the back of the café beside a tall potted palm. Unless someone is looking for me, I should be well hidden.
“Sia. I almost missed you hiding behind that tree. Come out and say hello.”
Or not.
Torment, the owner of Redemption, beckons to me from the counter. Without thinking, I leap to my feet. But then, Torment has that effect on people. He isn’t just an alpha male. He’s an über alpha. Crowds part when he walks down the street. Tables vacate when he enters a bar. He can make a man cower with the lift of his eyebrow. And in the ring…holy Hannah. It’s no wonder he’s being considered by the pros. The only person who has been able to tame him is his girlfriend, Makayla, the gym’s first aid attendant. They went through hell for each other and now nothing could tear them apart.
“You here to see Fuzz?”
Holding up my travel portfolio, I give him a terrified smile. “Actually, I’m here to give the Predator a few designs. He wanted some fresh ink. But if that’s a problem, I can meet him somewhere—”
“He’s certainly impressed with your work.” Torment snatches the portfolio from my hand and thumbs through the drawings. “All my boys are. The Predator dragged a few of them into my office this morning after I mentioned I was thinking of getting a new piece.”
I can’t imagine anyone daring to enter Torment’s office without an invitation. “Is he still alive?”
“Barely.”
“Thanks for not killing him.”
“Pleasure.” Torment drums his fingers on the counter, and sweat beads on the server’s brow. He wipes his hands on his apron and doubles his speed as he prepares Torment’s protein shake.
“Didn’t want to deprive you of a potential client,” Torment says.
“Thoughtful.” The idea of Ray hauling fighters into Torment’s office to show off their ink gives me a warm, melty feeling inside. Probably how Shayla feels when he kisses her softly, strokes her jaw with his finger, or brushes his lips over her cheek and says, “Tomorrow.”
“I’m not sure why he would do that.” I twist my ring around my finger and the little heart gleams under the light. “We’ve only met once…twice.”
“The Predator is his own beast. He keeps to himself. I don’t try to understand him. But I am impressed with your work. If you ever decide to leave Rabid Ink, come and talk to me. I have something in the works that might interest you.”
The server rushes out from behind the counter and gives Torment an apologetic smile when he hands him his shake. Torment nods and stalks away. I collapse into my chair.
Ray hasn’t shown up by the time I’ve finished my snack and I steel myself for a search of the main gym. But first, I check out the chalkboards outlining the weekly class schedule. Fuzzy is signed up to teach two classes this afternoon: Baby Boot Camp followed by Get Fit or Die. Sweet. He’ll be tied up for at least another hour and a half, and by the time he’s done, I’ll be long gone.
Pausing in the doorway, I take in the twenty-five-thousand-square-foot gym, complete with fight cages, practice rings, and a full range of cardio, weight, strength, and endurance training equipment. Grapple dummies line one wall and punching bags another. In the training area at the back, exhausted fighter wannabes drag themselves around Tag’s killer circuit while he scowls and peppers them with affectionate abuse. The air smells of stale sweat, lemon-scented disinfectant, and a hint of vinyl. Delightful.
Skirting around the equipment to keep out of Tag’s line of vision, I head over to the free weights and catch sight of Ray drumrolling a speed bag in the corner. Sweat glistens on his body as he pounds the bag in a steady rhythm, his biceps flexed, the smooth skin on his lats rippling over the hard muscle underneath.
For a moment, I allow myself to imagine I’m a normal girl caught up in a normal fantasy where he dumps Shayla and takes me home, and we have wild, hot, animal sex until neither of us can move. I’ve never had wild, hot, animal sex, but I imagine any sex with Ray would be amazing.
Ray glances up and catches me watching. Without missing a beat, he gives me a wink that makes my cheeks flame and my toes curl. Instinctively, I do what all prey do when spotted by a predator. I run.
Safe in the shadow of the huge elevated cage dominating the center of the warehouse, I sit on a bench and watch from a safe distance where my drooling cannot be easily noticed.
Ray moves from the speed bag to the bench press and Homicide Hank offers to spot him. Wiry, tall, and lanky, Homicide seems ill suited to the job and is indeed rendered redundant when Ray lifts and lowers the massive weight bar without even a tremble of his arms. I try to keep my hormones in check at the incredible display of male strength, but Mother Nature has her own ideas, and within minutes my skin is hot and sweaty, my nipples are tight, and I’m wet down below. I am almost disappointed when Ray and Homicide Hank shake hands and Ray joins me on the bench.
“So how was the date?”
Momentarily befuddled, dragged out of a fantasy where Ray does push-ups over my naked body, I just stare. “What date?”
“The date you had last night.”
My heart sinks. Ray is about the last person I want to talk dates with. “Well…it went as expected. One look at my ink, piercings, pink streak, and leather, and it was all over. It’s like he was expecting Taylor Swift and got Lady Gaga instead.”
“Sia. I almost missed you hiding behind that tree. Come out and say hello.”
Or not.
Torment, the owner of Redemption, beckons to me from the counter. Without thinking, I leap to my feet. But then, Torment has that effect on people. He isn’t just an alpha male. He’s an über alpha. Crowds part when he walks down the street. Tables vacate when he enters a bar. He can make a man cower with the lift of his eyebrow. And in the ring…holy Hannah. It’s no wonder he’s being considered by the pros. The only person who has been able to tame him is his girlfriend, Makayla, the gym’s first aid attendant. They went through hell for each other and now nothing could tear them apart.
“You here to see Fuzz?”
Holding up my travel portfolio, I give him a terrified smile. “Actually, I’m here to give the Predator a few designs. He wanted some fresh ink. But if that’s a problem, I can meet him somewhere—”
“He’s certainly impressed with your work.” Torment snatches the portfolio from my hand and thumbs through the drawings. “All my boys are. The Predator dragged a few of them into my office this morning after I mentioned I was thinking of getting a new piece.”
I can’t imagine anyone daring to enter Torment’s office without an invitation. “Is he still alive?”
“Barely.”
“Thanks for not killing him.”
“Pleasure.” Torment drums his fingers on the counter, and sweat beads on the server’s brow. He wipes his hands on his apron and doubles his speed as he prepares Torment’s protein shake.
“Didn’t want to deprive you of a potential client,” Torment says.
“Thoughtful.” The idea of Ray hauling fighters into Torment’s office to show off their ink gives me a warm, melty feeling inside. Probably how Shayla feels when he kisses her softly, strokes her jaw with his finger, or brushes his lips over her cheek and says, “Tomorrow.”
“I’m not sure why he would do that.” I twist my ring around my finger and the little heart gleams under the light. “We’ve only met once…twice.”
“The Predator is his own beast. He keeps to himself. I don’t try to understand him. But I am impressed with your work. If you ever decide to leave Rabid Ink, come and talk to me. I have something in the works that might interest you.”
The server rushes out from behind the counter and gives Torment an apologetic smile when he hands him his shake. Torment nods and stalks away. I collapse into my chair.
Ray hasn’t shown up by the time I’ve finished my snack and I steel myself for a search of the main gym. But first, I check out the chalkboards outlining the weekly class schedule. Fuzzy is signed up to teach two classes this afternoon: Baby Boot Camp followed by Get Fit or Die. Sweet. He’ll be tied up for at least another hour and a half, and by the time he’s done, I’ll be long gone.
Pausing in the doorway, I take in the twenty-five-thousand-square-foot gym, complete with fight cages, practice rings, and a full range of cardio, weight, strength, and endurance training equipment. Grapple dummies line one wall and punching bags another. In the training area at the back, exhausted fighter wannabes drag themselves around Tag’s killer circuit while he scowls and peppers them with affectionate abuse. The air smells of stale sweat, lemon-scented disinfectant, and a hint of vinyl. Delightful.
Skirting around the equipment to keep out of Tag’s line of vision, I head over to the free weights and catch sight of Ray drumrolling a speed bag in the corner. Sweat glistens on his body as he pounds the bag in a steady rhythm, his biceps flexed, the smooth skin on his lats rippling over the hard muscle underneath.
For a moment, I allow myself to imagine I’m a normal girl caught up in a normal fantasy where he dumps Shayla and takes me home, and we have wild, hot, animal sex until neither of us can move. I’ve never had wild, hot, animal sex, but I imagine any sex with Ray would be amazing.
Ray glances up and catches me watching. Without missing a beat, he gives me a wink that makes my cheeks flame and my toes curl. Instinctively, I do what all prey do when spotted by a predator. I run.
Safe in the shadow of the huge elevated cage dominating the center of the warehouse, I sit on a bench and watch from a safe distance where my drooling cannot be easily noticed.
Ray moves from the speed bag to the bench press and Homicide Hank offers to spot him. Wiry, tall, and lanky, Homicide seems ill suited to the job and is indeed rendered redundant when Ray lifts and lowers the massive weight bar without even a tremble of his arms. I try to keep my hormones in check at the incredible display of male strength, but Mother Nature has her own ideas, and within minutes my skin is hot and sweaty, my nipples are tight, and I’m wet down below. I am almost disappointed when Ray and Homicide Hank shake hands and Ray joins me on the bench.
“So how was the date?”
Momentarily befuddled, dragged out of a fantasy where Ray does push-ups over my naked body, I just stare. “What date?”
“The date you had last night.”
My heart sinks. Ray is about the last person I want to talk dates with. “Well…it went as expected. One look at my ink, piercings, pink streak, and leather, and it was all over. It’s like he was expecting Taylor Swift and got Lady Gaga instead.”
