RAGE IN THE CAGE
“Cage fight.”
The words whisper through the gym and people drift toward the octagon like kids to an ice cream truck. Although it isn’t a sanctioned match, a cage fight, even when the fighters are just sparring, is always good entertainment, and a nameless fighter in the cage, apparently even more so.
After a quick glance around the gym, I spot the experienced fighters huddled near the weight equipment, no doubt discussing possible ring names for Jake.
Showtime.
Stiffening my spine, I saunter over to the huddle and they break for a moment and let me join the circle. The gang is all here: Homicide Hank, Blade Saw, Obsidian, Hammer Fist, Rampage, Torment, Drake, aka Doctor Death at Redemption, and Fuzzy. Only Makayla is missing and she had better stay missing. If she dares show her face, I’ll let her know exactly what I think of the backpack setup.
Drake gives me a wink and waggles his finger, motioning for me to stand beside him, but with Jake over by the cage, I deem it not worth the risk. I don’t know if they’ve sorted their issues or whether Jake still wants to rip out Drake’s throat.
I glance quickly over my shoulder. Jake is stretching on the mats while his opponent, Master Mayhem, a bald bulldog of a fighter, is joking with a few ring girls. Jake has changed into a pair of fight shorts, navy blue with teal Chinese characters down the sides, and what looks to be bike shorts underneath. The color combination reminds me of Farnsworth & Tillman, and I shudder.
“Don’t like that name?” Blade Saw lifts an eyebrow.
“What name?”
“The Wolf.”
My nose wrinkles. “Not really him. If you want to name him after an animal, I would go with the cat family. I mean, look at his hair; it looks like a mane.”
“I fucking hate animal names,” Hammer Fist grumbles. “The lists are full of grizzlies, wolves, bears, lions, and tigers.”
“Cougar?” I give a little shrug.
“That would be you.” Rampage gives me a grin.
My hands find my hips. “I am not that old. I just turned twenty-seven. I have a good twenty years before I become a cougar. And by then, that totally sexist and offensive term will no longer be in use.”
“And here I thought you were thirty-five.” Rampage shakes his head as if in disbelief.
“Thirty-five? Do I look thirty-five?” My voice rises in pitch and then drops when I hear snickers around me. My eyes narrow, and I give Rampage my best monotone. “Ha ha. Very funny. You’re a funny guy, Rampage. My sides are splitting. I can barely contain myself.”
“She sounds forty-five now.” A suicidal Drake steps into the fray.
“One day, I’m going to learn how to fight,” I mutter. “And I won’t forget this conversation. You’ll be a sorry bunch of guys when I’m done with you.”
Glances all round. Smiles. Chuckles. “Now that’s something I’d like to see.” Rampage brushes his thumb over his bottom lip in mock contemplation. “’Manda in the ring. I have a feeling she’d really kick some ass.”
“Yeah. Starting with yours.”
“And she means it.” Makayla slides an arm around my waist and joins the group.
“Traitor.” I glare and mutter under my breath. “I knew there was no emergency call.”
“Best friend watching your back,” she whispers. “And I did have an emergency. You needed someone to shake some sense into you and I wasn’t able to do it. Looks like my plan worked better than expected.”
“You can expect to have no best friend tomorrow.” I push her hand away and follow the crowd to the octagon, but Makayla only laughs and falls into step beside me.
“How many times have you unfriended me only to refriend me twenty minutes later? Why not save yourself the stress and just realize I only have your best interests at heart?”
“Because you need to learn that my feelings are not to be trifled with—especially where they concern Jake. However, I’ll forgive you this time because I’m turning over a new, conservative, chaste leaf, and that means finding someone new, conservative, and…”
“Chaste?”
My lips quiver with a repressed smile. “Could be challenging.”
“Could be over fast.” Makayla giggles and a second later we’re both in tears.
“For a second there, I was worried about you,” she says between breaths. “I thought maybe you’d lost yourself after all.”
My smile quickly fades, and I bite my tongue before I tell her that she’s right and if not for Jake, I would still be in bed wondering where to find me.
Fuzzy joins us in the spectator’s area, and we chat about his dad and sister until Jake and Master Mayhem enter the cage. I shudder when the doors to the two entry-exit gates in the metal chain-link fence slam shut.
“Is it a real UFC cage?”
Fuzzy nods. “Now that the club is sanctioned, everything has to be regulation. The cage is thirty-two feet in diameter.”
“Torment also got the taller fence to accommodate our taller fighters.” Makayla gives me a wicked grin. “Like Jake.”
Jake spins around and I am treated to a perfect view of the strong, muscular planes of his broad back and…I take a step closer and frown. “When did he get those tattoos? He only had two when we were going out.”
Fuzzy shrugs and gives me a curious look. “I joined the club about a year and a half ago. Met Jake. He was going through a rough patch. His brother had just died and he was trying to sort out some other…personal stuff. One night we went out, got really hammered. He decided to get tatted up. And that wasn’t all he did.”
Makayla has the good sense to give an apologetic shrug when I turn and give her a “why didn’t you tell me” glare.
“I didn’t think you’d want to know,” she says.
Shayla, now sporting a black and white referee shirt, checks Jake’s gloves, and I take the opportunity to check out his ink. His new tattoos are breathtakingly gorgeous. A tribal design spans his upper back, covering the tops of his shoulders and his shoulder blades like wings. The two sides mirror each other with two curved lines gracing either side of his spine. I imagine running my fingers over his muscular back, tracing along the lines and ridges…
“I love tats too,” an all-too-observant Makayla whispers over the crowd’s chants of “rage in the cage.” “Sometimes I just want to lick Torment’s tats all over, but the minute I get my tongue anywhere near him, it all goes to hell and I find myself in yet another new position. His creativity boggles my mind.”
For a moment, I indulge myself in my own lick-the-tattoos fantasy but with Jake as the star, only to be rudely interrupted by the shrill blast of Shayla’s whistle.
Moments later, the fight begins. Master Mayhem rushes Jake and slams him up against the cage. Shayla blows a warning whistle and Master Mayhem backs away. Although he’s around the same height as Jake, Master Mayhem is twice as wide, with the physique of a professional bodybuilder and the powerful moves of a bull.
Jake circles on the outside as they feel each other out. Master Mayhem steps between Jake and the cage and throws a left, hitting Jake in the jaw before driving him into the fence. Jake pushes him off and staggers to his feet. Master Mayhem trips him. My heart skips a beat as he falls to his knees, but in seconds he is back on his feet.
“Maybe he should be sparring with someone less…experienced.” I shoot a worried glance in Fuzzy’s direction as if he would be able to stop the fight.
Fuzzy barks a laugh. “Jake’s playing him. He doesn’t fight the way people expect him to fight. He’ll fake weakness or an injury, stagger around the ring. Sometimes he just outright breaks the rules.”
“Most times he doesn’t follow the rules.” Makayla glances over at a frowning Torment and sighs. “Torment said Jake’s had warnings at every practice fight over the last few weeks. Not good for the reputation, especially if he wants to fight on the amateur circuit.”
A few seconds later, Jake pulls an illegal move, a downward elbow strike. He gets a warning. When the fight resumes, he pounces on Master Mayhem and digs his fingers into his opponent’s clavicle. Master Mayhem’s face contorts in pain. Shayla blows her whistle and stops the fight again.
“Two warnings now.” Fuzzy shakes his head. “If this was an actual event, he would risk disqualification. Damned renegade fighter. If he keeps up that kind of behavior, Torment will throw him off the team.”
Shayla gives Jake a final warning, and the two fighters move back to the center of the octagon. The fight increases in intensity with Jake and Master Mayhem trading kicks and punches. All that raw power unleashed in a primitive steel cage sets my blood to a boil. Jake’s pecs ripple with each punch, his tight abs strain, and his tantalizing ass teases me as he circles the mat. He is constantly in motion, moving in for the punch and then backing away. In and out. Back and forth. Almost like dancing. Or sex.
The crowd, now three people deep around the cage, cheers as Master Mayhem grabs Jake’s legs and takes him down to the mat. But Jake is quick. He wraps his arm around Master Mayhem’s leg and twists himself into a pretzel shape, holding on for dear life.
“I don’t think Master Mayhem will be able to shake his leg free from Jake’s half guard,” Fuzzy says, as if that means something to me.
In a blur of sudden motion, Jake twists Master Mayhem’s leg backward in a way legs are not supposed to go. The crowd roars in approval. Master Mayhem taps out.
Fuzzy gives Jake a begrudging thumbs up. “He’s a good fighter. Despite all the rule breaking, he won.”
“Renegade fighter.”
Fuzzy glances over at me, a frown creasing his brow. “What did you say?”
“He’s a renegade. Might make for a good ring name.”
“Amanda.”
My head jerks up and I catch sight of Jake leaning against the cage, arms crossed, his perfect body glistening with sweat. He meets my gaze and my cheeks heat. All the awkwardness of high school returns in a flash. I shift from foot to foot. My hands clench and unclench. My eyelashes drift down over my cheeks and I turn away.
At least I think I do. But my feet are still stuck to the mat. And I am lost in a sea of blue.
***
“Renegade.”
Rampage dumps a beer on Jake’s head and Jake officially becomes Jake “Renegade” Donovan.
A grin splits his face and he gives me a wink before he is swarmed by well-wishing fighters who all want to celebrate his new ring name by thumping him on the back or punching him in the gut.
“Do you like your name?” I hand him a towel when he finally breaks free and joins me at the side of the cage. He’s still pumped from his fight and his “christening,” eyes shining, muscles quivering, adrenaline still pulsing under his skin.
“Fuck, yeah.” He grabs me around the waist and crushes his lips against mine, then releases me so quickly, for a moment I wonder if it even happened. “Thanks to you. I heard you came up with the name.”
Stunned, with the sweet burn of his kiss still lingering on my lips, I breathe slow and deep, trying to quell the sudden rush of arousal that has turned my mouth dry and sent my pulse into overdrive.
“You’re…welcome.” My voice is a throaty rasp, made even more painful when I lick my lips and taste his salty sweetness on my tongue.
“You ready to grab some burgers?” He throws a casual arm around my shoulders, which I take as a signal his kiss was just a friendly kiss, a thank-you kiss, and not meant to be a kiss that rocked my world in a way I’m not sure I want anyway.
“Sure. You can’t get too much fat, carbs, and grease into your system, I always say.”
He chuckles and gives me a squeeze. God, I wish he would stop doing that. Despite my brain’s warning that these are friendly gestures, my body is entirely misinterpreting his signals. My panties dampen. My nipples tighten. And I am so hot, I am tempted to strip down to my undies on the pretense of doing some fighting of my own in the cage.
“I’d have to give up the burgers if I wanted to train seriously,” Jake murmurs half to himself. “Don’t think I can swing it though. I need to put more time into the company if I’m going to turn things around.”
We walk in comfortable silence down the corridor and then Jake turns into the changing room. “Just going to grab a shower. Back in a few.”
Desperate for a distraction, I wander around the foyer. The chalkboards are filled with schedules of the daily training regime. No yoga, tai chi, step, or low-impact classes at this gym. Instead, there is “Ground and Pound,” “Grunt ’n’ Grapple,” and “Mission: Submission.”
“You interested in training?” Fuzzy stops on his way to the changing room and gives me a wicked grin. His number two buzz cut does look delightfully fuzzy under the bright, overhead lights, but I restrain myself from running my hands through his hair.
“Just looking.”
“Well, if you are interested, you should start with my boot camp class, Get Fit or Die.” He taps the chalkboard beside his name. “It’s best to get conditioned first, so you don’t injure yourself.”
“What do you do in Get Fit or Die?”
His eyebrow twitches. “I kick your ass until you beg me to stop and then I kick it some more.”
“How can I say no to a good ass kicking?”
Fuzzy’s smile broadens. “You can’t. Next session starts on Monday. I’ll be expecting you.”
“I’ll think about it.”
After he heads into the changing room, I chat with the few remaining fighters in the hallway, catching up with old friends and making a few new ones. Makayla, tucked tight under Torment’s arm, gives me a meaningful wink as they saunter out the door.
Finally I am alone. The screen in the corner flashes the new Team Redemption MMA logo. Showers whoosh in the changing rooms. The gentle murmur of voices and Sandy’s sharp laugh drift from the workout area.
The door behind me opens and closes, letting in a rush of cold air. Footsteps thud softly across the concrete floor. Only when a large shadow swallows my little one does the hair on the back of my neck prickle. I turn quickly to see who is behind me.
“Well, look who we have here.” Bob’s lips press into a thin line and he glances over at the hulking form of his bouncer and then back to me. “Come on, Angel, don’t keep us waiting. Say hello.”
Violent tremors shake my body, and my heart pounds so hard I fear it might crack a rib. It is all I can do not to turn and run, but I will not give them the satisfaction. Brave in the knowledge that I am in a gym full of testosterone-fueled fighters who would destroy Bob and his sidekick no questions asked if I so much as scream, I grit my teeth together.
“Thought you two would still be in jail after your arraignment.”
“We got friends in high places.” Bob takes a step toward me. “Got out on bail. And you know what we did first? We met with our lawyer ’cause someone has to pay for these.” He holds up his arms covered in thick, white casts that extend from his wrists to his elbows. The bouncer does the same.
“Seriously?” Nervous laughter erupts from my chest. “You and your bouncer broke both your arms in the exact same place during the fight? And you both got the exact same casting?”
“You think that’s funny, girlie?” The bouncer reaches over and grabs my ponytail with the dexterity of someone not in need of a cast. “We can’t work no more. You see us laughing?”
Jake and Fuzzy choose this moment to emerge from the shower room with Obsidian, Rampage, Blade Saw, and Homicide behind them.
Their chatter fades and the world stills. Save for the thunder of blood pumping through my veins, I hear no sound. Although the bouncer is still holding my ponytail, I feel perversely safe. Like I’m all rolled up in my comforter in my cozy bed. And safe makes me brave.
Jake’s steely gaze flicks from me to the bouncer and then back to me. “What’s going on?”
“Something from Hellhole is attached to my ponytail.” I shake my head and the bouncer stupidly tightens his grip.
Jake stiffens and his lips curl, baring his teeth. “Let her go.”
The five fighters move forward as one. The bouncer takes a step back, one hand on my ponytail, the other on my shoulder, holding me like a protective shield. Fighters forward. Bouncer back. Fighters forward. Bouncer back. Fighters growl. Bouncer whimpers.
“Maybe we should ask them what they’re doing here first.” I hold up my hands, palms forward as if I could stop the tidal wave of testosterone bearing down on us.
Jake grunts. “Fight first. Ask questions later.”
The bouncer releases me with a barely audible whimper and my ponytail swings free.
“You got something to say?” I look over at Bob. “Better say it fast or I guarantee you won’t get another chance. Renegade doesn’t give a damn about the law.”
Brave now that his hand is within inches of the door, Bob snarls, “We’re gonna fucking sue their asses. We got a doctor who says we’ll never work again. We got a lawyer who got their names from the police report and said we got a ten-million-dollar claim. Told us to bring these docs and hand ’em out.”
Fighters fall back with a collective whimper. Apparently nothing is more terrifying than a lawsuit.
“Unbelievable.” My hands find my hips. “Are you kidding me?”
Emboldened by the fighters’ collective terror, Bob takes a step forward and waves some documents in the air, but at waist height and awkwardly because of the cast. The fighters cringe and shrink back as if they were made of Kryptonite.
Oh for…
“Give me those.” I stalk over to Bob, stopping only a foot away and acutely aware that Jake is now hovering by my side.
“Easy, baby.” He rests a hand on my shoulder when I snatch the documents away. Only then do I take note of my heaving chest and my tight jaw. Hell hath no fury like a woman whose friends are being threatened with a totally bogus lawsuit by gold diggers with no conscience, even less sense, and a terrible attorney. After giving the documents a cursory glance, I roll my eyes.
“First,” I spit out, “since you are involved in the proceedings, you can’t serve legal documents. So…bad legal advice right there. Second, in case you didn’t notice, you were engaged in criminal activity when you broke your arms, if they are really even broken, which I totally doubt. Third, this”—I wave one of the documents at Bob—“is not a proper lawsuit. Again, bad legal advice, or maybe you thought you’d just come over here with a pretend lawsuit and try and shake my friends down. Not gonna happen. Finally, I just may decide to file a civil lawsuit against you for smacking me around like a rag doll, so you may actually want to find yourself a good attorney for that and your criminal trial.”
Bob narrows his eyes. “You sound like a fucking attorney. Are you an attorney?”
My mouth opens and closes. Am I an attorney? I don’t have a job and no chance of finding one, at least not in California.
“She’s an attorney and a damn good one.” Although Jake’s voice is cool and calm, I can hear the telltale tremor of a man on the edge of losing control. “She worked at one of the biggest law firms in the state and she was one of their best and brightest. She’s damn smart, a crackerjack litigator, and she knows every trick in the book. She’s gonna destroy you.”
“Yeah.” The fighters punch their fists in the air and cheer as one.
“Uh…Jake.” Aside from the fact I have no law firm and no insurance, I haven’t even agreed to take on the fighters as clients. But Jake is on a roll.
“She’ll put you on the stand and carve out every last detail of your sordid lives until you’re a quivering mess on the floor.”
“Yeah,” chant the fighters.
“She’ll rack up your legal bill so high you’ll wish you’d run screaming the night she walked into your bar. She’ll run that case into the ground until you crawl in here begging for mercy.”
“Yeah.” The fighters whoop and cheer like we’ve already won the case.
“Jake…”
“’Manda, ’manda, ’manda.” Rampage starts up his humiliating chant and then glares at Bob and the bouncer. “We got ’manda. You got nothin’. Now GIT.”
They “git.”
Jake watches them for all of two seconds and then turns to Fuzzy. “Man sees his girl being roughed up in his place of relaxation, sees someone dragging her around by her hair…that considered provocation?”
His girl? “Don’t answer that,” I bark at Fuzzy. He and Jake share a look and then Jake snorts.
“Thought so.”
The door opens. Slams. Jake is gone. Rampage with him. And Obsidian.
I collapse onto the couch and slap my hand to my forehead. “They’re going to get hit with a real lawsuit if they actually break any arms. I’m pretty sure those two were faking their injuries.”
“But even if they weren’t, you’ll get us out of it, won’t you?” Homicide takes a seat beside me. “I mean, me and the wife got a baby on the way. I can’t afford a big shot attorney and I sure as heck can’t afford ten million dollars. None of us can.”
“Don’t worry.” I try to calm the agitated fighters around me. “It’s a totally bogus lawsuit.”
“But what if it isn’t? What if they do find a good attorney? You gotta do something, Amanda.” Blade Saw’s voice rises as he flips through the documents. “You have to take our case…”
The front door slams behind us and a brush of cold air sends a shiver down my spine. I cut Blade Saw off mid-rant. “I quit my job. And I’ve been blacklisted. No firm will hire me.”
“So start your own firm. You always talked about it.” Jake walks toward us, all cool and calm as if he didn’t just chase after two lunatics and probably beat them to death.
My own firm? How many billable hours did I waste daydreaming about my own firm while at Farnsworth & Tillman? A firm where we would have time for pro bono cases. A firm where the staff wouldn’t wear flight-attendant style uniforms. My employees wouldn’t live to serve. No shrimp at the firm cafeteria. No cameras in the hallways. No glass walls. No sleeping pods. No logos shouting FAT FAT FAT.
No money.
All my savings have gone toward my student loans. My only asset of value is my grandmother’s house. Not something I would ever sell. The dream will have to stay a dream. Revenge will definitely be a dish served cold.
“Did you break any bones in the thirty seconds you’ve been gone?” My facetious tone gains me a couple of raised eyebrows.
“He hurt you.”
My hand flies to my mouth, and I shoot out of my seat. “Please tell me you’re kidding. The bouncer just tugged my ponytail. It was no big deal.”
Jake cups my jaw and brushes his thumb over my cheek. “It was a big deal to me.”
My fingers hover over his bicep, bulging from beneath the sleeve of his shirt and a thrill of fear races through me. “Did you…really? That fast?”
He catches my hand, pressing his lips to my knuckles, and my body throbs in response to his touch.
“One of them got away. The other got so scared he pissed himself five feet out the door, then passed out. No point breaking bones if he can’t feel the pain.”
I lift an eyebrow in mock reproach. “Of course.”
Jake laughs and releases my hand. “So, your own firm…you’ll need capital. You can ask Max…er Torment. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help you, and if not, Doc and I can twist his arm.”
“He’s a venture capitalist, not a bank,” I say softly. “This is the kind of thing banks do.”
Jake shrugs. “So he’ll invest in your firm and take a return when you earn money. Same as investing in any business. I’ll talk to Doc and get the best time to set something up.”
“Whoa!” I hold up my hands. “First of all, she’s my best friend. If anyone talks to her, it will be me. And second, I haven’t said I would do it.”
“Look at their pathetic faces.” Jake gestures to the assembled fighters. On cue they all affect sad expressions, mouths turned down, brows furrowed.
My lips quiver with a repressed smile. “They couldn’t look pathetic if they tried.”
“They can’t afford big law firm fees,” Jake continues. “They stuck out their necks for you. Don’t you want to get back to doing what you do best but the way you want to do it?”
“I never said…” But I cut myself off. My life has been one goalpost after another. I’ve never stopped to think about what I really wanted. Maybe it’s time I did. I don’t have to follow the family tradition and become a partner at a big law firm at the age of thirty-two. I could run my own firm. I could help people with their problems instead of helping companies shuffle their money around. I could start a lawsuit against Farnsworth, put him in his place, and repair my reputation. How could my father not be proud?
“I saw you watching Shilla the Killa fight,” Jake says. “I’m sure Torment will waive your club fees if you want to do some training, maybe get into the ring one day, and the guys will be happy to help you out if you take on their case. Then you’ll never have to worry about Hellhole scumbags.”
My body stills. “Me fight?”
He moves his hand to my jaw, a lingering brush of his thumb over my cheek. “You’ve always had a fighting spirit.”
Learn to fight. Not because it’s a client networking opportunity or because it would look good on a CV, but because I want to. I could walk with confidence knowing I can defend myself. I could be part of a world that has nothing to do with law and everything to do with friendship and camaraderie and being the best you can be.
“Okay. I’ll give it a shot.”
A slow, warm smile spreads across Jake’s face. He leans down and his lips hover over mine. I hold my breath, waiting, hoping for the kiss I don’t want, the kiss I do, the kiss that never comes.
His lips brush over my forehead and he ruffles my hair.
Then we go for burgers.
All of us.