Fighting to Forget (4 page)

She licked her lips, suddenly feeling lightheaded. Despite all the violence she’d just witnessed, a wave of arousal slammed into her so hard she sucked in a lungful of air. She had to get out of here. This wasn’t right. Her arousal was too intense, too misplaced for what she’d just witnessed.

Turning on her heel, she started shoving people out of her way, trying to get out of here because she couldn’t breathe all of a sudden. This was insane.
She
was insane. Tasha gasped for air, suddenly feeling so claustrophobic crammed into this coffin like building that could fall in around them at any given moment.

She’d been a fool to think she could handle this, witness Larson in full-on scary mode. But all of that didn’t dim her desire for him, the need and want that filled her at just the thought of him. Maybe she was sick in the head and desperate for something that wouldn’t be hers? She just needed to get out of here and think, because staying would only make things worse.

Chapter Six

Larson left the fight as soon as he had his winnings. He grabbed his duffle, pushed past all the Chasers that came clamoring over to him, and didn’t stop to talk to anyone. People wanted his autograph, wanted to speak with him and hang all over him. He didn’t want any of that shit. He just wanted to get home, shower, and not have to think about anything as he drowned himself in alcohol, and let the adrenaline rush from the fight numb his inner pain for a time. His body throbbed, and his face ached fiercely. But he liked the agony. He hadn’t known if he’d throw the fight and just let that younger fighter knock him around when he’d first set up the match. Sometimes that was what he needed, the pain that came with the punches and hits. Tonight he’d needed to kick ass though, because giving that beat down instead of receiving it made his head lighter and the internal, emotional darkness he carried a little less intense.

Pushing people out of his way, Larson tried to be civil, to be appreciative that they came and watched the fight, but he needed to get out of here. He headed toward the back exit, pushed open the doors, and saw over his shoulder that the two bouncers stood in the way so no one else could come through. There was a set of stairs that led to another door on the side of the club, one that came out in an alley, and wasn’t used by the spectators. He was safe to make a clean getaway¸ head home, and drink until he passed out.

He fought to forget about his pain, to forget about his loss. Although it had been ten years and he knew things moved on, he still had anger built up inside of him. Haines was gone, dead, but so was Melanie. It wasn’t like he held onto the past, wasn’t like he pined for a woman that had been gone from this earth for the last decade, or was still
in
love with her. Larson wasn’t, but he’d always love Melanie. She’d been his wife, and he’d always hold a special place for her in his heart. But the world moved on, and he was trying to desperately do the same. It just wasn’t working out that way. The earth didn’t stop on its axis, and Larson had put the past behind him, to a degree. But moving forward didn’t mean he didn’t still feel pain and regret, didn’t hate himself because he hadn’t been home to save her. It was what it was, and he didn’t know if it would ever change for him.

It was the same routine every time he fought, and although he’d enjoyed the lustful advances from many women in the past, used them to help him forget things, ease his self turmoil, his mind hadn’t been his for a long time. In fact, he hadn’t just been thinking about the fight, but also about the brunette that worked at the gym. Tasha was a girl far too young for him, far too innocent as well. But he saw her watching him constantly, knew that she saw something in him that would never be.

He didn’t speak with her, didn’t try to take for her what she’d be willing to give. He moved on with his life, keeping her away because no matter how beautiful she was, Larson could never be anything to a woman again. He’d hurt them like he’d hurt Melanie, and he couldn’t handle that kind of devastation again. So he fought until he couldn’t fight anymore, hit harder than the next guy, but also took hits because he needed that pain.

It was that pain that helped him forget, to wash away the agony he held so deep inside of him he couldn’t even breathe sometimes. He wanted to keep Melanie’s memory alive, but he knew doing so was only detrimental. And he needed to stop, needed to finally allow himself to forget that bad, dark place. He’d go to her grave tomorrow, talk to her, tell her why he had to stop this, why he had to stop thinking about the past. He was going to die if he didn’t.

He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall of the building. The brick was rough, corroded from the weather, and it went through his shirt. The sting from the brick made him feel alive, and he pressed his back more firmly against it, loved that he had to grit his teeth as he shifted on his feet and the material of his thin shirt didn’t stop the abrasion.

He walked away from the wall, rubbed his eyes with his fingers, and breathed out.

He was so tired, but it had nothing to do with the fight. The exhaustion he felt was on the inside, deep in him and having no chance to escape.

He could see his truck in the distance, the shadows wrapped around it, yet the moon full and shining a silvery glow on it. The front of the building could be seen from where he’d parked, so he quickly made his way toward his vehicle before a mob formed outside. There were a few other fights going on, and the majority of the people would stay and watch all of them, but there were always stragglers that left after a particular match.

He stopped when he got to his truck, but heard the sound of someone trying to start their car. The engine wouldn’t turn over, the sound of it straining and struggling to start seeming loud in the still night. He could have left, not worried about all that shit, but this was a nasty part of town, and he didn’t want to run the risk of no one helping them.

Larson tossed his duffle in the back of the truck, and headed over to the small, light blue Honda. Inside he could only see the hands of someone holding onto the steering wheel, but he heard them cursing softly in a feminine voice. Larson tapped his knuckles on the glass of the driver’s side window, and the tension came from the person on the inside.

“I’m fine, but thanks,” the female said, muffled and kind of hard to make out.

“You seriously want me to leave you stranded here? You do know that this is a seedy part of town?” He rested his hand on the top of the car, closed his eyes, and rubbed his eyes again with his other hand. “Seriously, I can’t do that. Let me at least call you a cab if you need me to, or a tow truck.”

Several seconds passed, and she hadn’t moved, hadn’t responded.

“I’d tell you I’m not some serial killer or rapist, but you probably wouldn’t believe me, and rightly so.” He took a step back, staring at her through the closed window. “But I can make a call for some help if you need me to.”

She tightened her hands on the steering wheel for a second before finally releasing them and opening the door. He moved farther back, giving her space and, he hoped, a bit of comfort. First he saw her legs, saw the open toed shoes she wore, the jean capris, and then when she stood and he faced her fully he felt surprise fill him.

It was Tasha. “You work at the gym,” he stated without question, and felt stupid for even mentioning that. Of course he knew she worked at the gym. She was always staring at him, watching him, and he found her fascination with him … endearing and curious. She stared at him with wide eyes, her embarrassment clear on her face as her cheeks turned red.

She cleared her throat, looked around for a second, and then finally faced him again. “Yes, I work at Harlond’s place,” she said, her voice soft, almost too quiet.

He stared at her, curious as to why she was here, and also worried that she’d thought it was okay or safe to come here alone.

“You’re here by yourself?”

She nodded, looking over her shoulder when the entrance of the building slammed open and a group of men walked out, clearly drunk. “Yeah.”

“Why?” He was pissed, angry that she’d come here alone.

She shrugged.

He curled his hands into fists at his sides, not angry at her, per se, just angry at the fact she hadn’t been smart enough to at least come with someone else.

“I was curious.”

Yeah, he could understand that. The underground fighting circuit was something people tended to get curious about. “It’s not safe that you came here alone. If someone started shit with you inside, there wouldn’t have been much anyone could have done, or much anyone would have done.”

She swallowed, and he watched her throat work.

“That was foolish coming here alone, Tasha.”

Her eyes widened even more. “You know my name?”

He knitted his brows. “Of course I do.” He stared at her, and took in the long fall of her brown hair. She had it in a ponytail that hung over one shoulder, and her large brown eyes seemed to hold a lot of expression, but there was also a hint of worry behind her dark gaze.

“I didn’t think you did,” she said softly again.

He looked around the parking lot, knowing that he needed to get them out of here. Even though he could handle himself, and take down someone that wanted to start shit, he couldn’t stop knives or guns. The fights were held at places the police tended to stay away from. This was a bad part of the city, and even though occasionally a patrol car made rounds, it was a local hangout for junkies, prostitutes, and violence did happen here that had nothing to do with the underground.

“I’d feel better if you at least got in my truck. We can call a cab or tow truck, or I can take you home?” He kept on alert, watched for anything that looked out of place, and wanted to just get her in the vehicle and drive away from this shithole.

“Okay, thanks.”

They made their way over to his vehicle, and once they were both inside he looked at her. “I have a cell if you don’t, although a young girl like you probably does. Do you want to call a tow truck?”

She was digging around in her purse, pulled out her cell, and cursed. “Of course,” she said under her breath, and held up the phone so he could see the screen.

There was no signal.

“Damn. It must be the buildings blocking shit.” He grabbed his cell and saw that he didn’t have service either. “We can drive away from the buildings that are probably blocking everything, and hopefully service will kick back up.”

“Okay.”

He stared at her, didn’t say anything for a second, and when she finally looked at him again he spoke. “You can trust me, even though you don’t know me.”

She smiled, and the sight did something to his chest. He felt it tighten, felt his heart beat a little faster. Shaking his head, Larson faced forward again and started his engine. He didn’t know if he liked the rush of adrenaline that he got when he looked at her, saw her smile, or scented the sweet, floral fragrance that came from her.

They drove in silence for the next ten minutes, and once out of the city he pulled over in the parking lot of a small coffee and bakery shop. It was open twenty-four hours, but it was after midnight and there was only one person currently inside. He checked his phone, saw he had service now, and looked over at her.

“You have service?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes, thanks. I’ll call a tow truck and have the cab pick me up here.”

He looked at her profile, saw her nervous expression, one that was slightly uncomfortable, and wanted to reach out to her. It was such a sudden, powerful urge, one that he wanted to hold onto, but he kept his hands on the steering wheel and clenched his jaw.

“Thank you so much again,” she said.

“Listen, you don’t have to waste money on a cab or tow truck. If you can wait until the morning I have a friend that works at a small garage on the outskirts of town. He owes me a favor, and he can get your car and tow it to the shop, if you want.” He didn’t know why he was going out of his way for her. He didn’t know her, had done his good deed for the day by getting her out of the shitty part of town, but this feeling inside of him wanted to do more. He didn’t want to end the night like this, and that was an uncomfortable, foreign feeling inside of him.

The women he’d been with since losing Melanie had been one-night stands, women that were just into the empty pleasure he could give them as much as the sex he wanted from them. But looking at this girl that had to be at least a decade younger than his thirty-six years, made him want to actually spend time with her. He wanted to know about her, wanted to know why she watched him at the gym, why she’d come to the fight tonight.

He shouldn’t want anything from this woman, shouldn’t want anything more than to help her out and be on his way. Larson certainly didn’t deserve any kind of happiness in his life. Starting his life over didn’t mean finding an impressionable young woman. He was damaged, a piece of him twisted and bent inside. Larson honestly didn’t know if he’d ever get that piece straight and be good to another woman.

She was looking at him, maybe wondering why he was offering such a thing, or maybe she was nervous about accepting. Hell, just because they saw each other at Harlond’s gym several times a week didn’t mean shit. They didn’t know each other, didn’t know anything about the other. Tasha was right to be wary of him. He was a bad man, had done horrible things since Melanie had died. He’d gotten into illegal fights for the sole reason that the pain he received and inflicted gave him pleasure and a reprieve from his emotions.

“Listen, it’s just a suggestion. I don’t care if you accept my offer or not.” And that was a lie, because a part of him did care if she accepted or denied him. He wanted to help her out, and he felt weird for needing to want that so damn badly.

“Why do you want to help me?” she asked, and the earnest sincerity in her voice had the tenseness in his body leaving marginally. He breathed out and leaned back against the seat.

“Honestly?” he asked and looked her way again.

She nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“I don’t know.” He saw her throat work again as she swallowed, watched as she looked away, and he felt the unease come from her. Larson was good at picking up on what others thought, was good at seeing how they felt even if they didn’t say anything. He’d used that intuition to work through life, understand people, and fight with them.